Page 2 of The Billionaire’s Secret Twins (Love for the Holidays #11)

Dominic

Then again, I suppose I have an especial insight into the inner workings of how the human brain functions because my company, Regeneron AI, is focused on artificial intelligence.

We have a bunch of shit in the works, but right now we’re lasered in on text-to-image models, as well as text-to-video programs. It’s exactly what it sounds like.

You punch a bunch of descriptors into a box, and then our program spits out an image matching that description.

It took a while to get here, to be honest. Our first model sucked because our text-to-image generators were limited to collages created from existing component images.

Literally, someone would type in “blue car,” and then our program would assemble an image of a blue car from a database of clip art.

As you can imagine, the results were often choppy and imprecise, and couldn’t be used for their intended purpose.

But over time, our models improved. Instead of using the collage method, we now use a transformer model which utilizes conditional generative adversarial networks.

What this means is that instead of directly training a model to output a high-resolution image conditioned on a text embedding, we train a model to generate low-resolution images, and then use one or more auxiliary deep learning models to upscale it to fill in finer details.

It’s boring shit, but the long and the short of it is that our model improved a lot.

It’s accurate, it’s responsive, and it’s easy to use.

Now, when you type in “blue car,” you actually get a blue car without jagged edges and a steering wheel sticking out of the trunk.

Even more, users are now willing to pay for our product, and the money’s been coming in tidal waves.

But I’m not just a scientist. I’m also a businessman, and it simply made no sense for Regeneron to stay in San Francisco after we started getting big because the Bay Area is bad for business.

Taxes are high, crime is out of control, and the cost of living is exorbitant.

Our employees can’t afford to rent an apartment in the city, and are forced to commute two hours to work each way.

Don’t even get me started on Gavin Newsom, either.

That fucker wants to be president one day, and he doesn’t give a shit about the actual people who live in California.

He only cares about making himself look good, even if it means throwing companies like Regeneron under the bus.

So I did what any self-respecting billionaire does.

I moved my company to Austin. It wasn’t a difficult decision either because the city made us a deal.

We’d re-home our operations in return for sweet tax subsidies lasting over twenty years .

Not only that, but my employees will actually be able to afford to live here in Austin.

They’ll be able to hit traditional milestones like purchasing a home, getting married, and starting a family.

These cornerstones were out of reach when we were in SF, and despite encouragement from the left to “rethink” these life choices, I know my people were despondent about their futures.

California was an impossible situation, and I made the decision to get out.

But now, I’m situated in a huge house in Austin which needs TLC.

No property can run itself, and these old estates are especially prone to disrepair.

When I bought the Holly Pines mansion, it was already crumbling at the edges, and so I had the roof re-done, as well as the interiors refurbished, and the pool completely torn out and re-filled.

But day-to-day maintenance is also key to a well-run estate, and as a result, I’m looking for a housekeeper to oversee my staff.

He or she needs to be professional, orderly, and with the right demeanor.

This property is worth over ten million dollars, and I can’t have a doofus at the helm.

At that moment, a knock on the door sounds. It opens slightly to reveal Timothy, my personal secretary.

“Mr. Masters?” the young man greets. “Miss White is here to interview for the housekeeping position.”

Then, a young woman steps into my office and I catch my breath because this isn’t what I expected from Angela White.

Granted, I didn’t read her resume, but I’ve already interviewed a couple folks today, and for the most part, they were matronly ladies in their 50’s with greying hair and round figures.

By contrast, Angela White is curvy, but she’s also young.

She can’t be a day over twenty-five, with the bloom of youth on her pink cheeks.

Her golden hair is tied neatly back, and she’s wearing a respectable blue dress that comes down to her knee.

But nothing can hide the fact that Miss White is voluptuous with Double D breasts, a narrow waist, and wide hips.

Her lips are a delectable petal pink, and big blue eyes meet mine across the room.

I gasp silently because the innocence in those blue eyes is breathtaking. They’re large, clear pools, and yet shadowed with something lurking deep inside. What could it be? Suddenly, I have an overwhelming urge to find out.

“I’ll just be outside,” Timothy murmurs before nodding. “Please let me know when you’re done.” Then, my secretary leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him, and I’m left in silence with the beautiful young woman.

“Welcome,” I manage in a normal voice. “Please, take a seat.”

Angela nods and sits primly, crossing her legs before arranging her skirt so that her knees are covered.

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Masters. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I nod, trying not to stare from across my desk.

Yet she’s so captivating that it’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, and I’m having trouble getting oxygen.

What the fuck is wrong with you? the voice in my head snarls.

All of this because of a housekeeper? Please, motherfucker.

You’ve fucked celebrities, socialites, and even a princess or two. She’s the help. Get over it.

I nod, knowing the voice is right. Still, I’ve never been a snob so I know that Angela being the help isn’t going to stop me. Hell, I’ve fucked hookers, prostitutes, and even my own stepsister in the past. That kind of shit doesn’t bother me, and I don’t regret a minute of my depraved actions.

But there’s no sense in showing all my cards at once, so I nod, keeping my expression smooth.

“Welcome to my home. I see here that you have some experience with housekeeping?” I ask, picking up the sheet of paper on my desk.

Fuck, this thing could be a menu and I wouldn’t know because I’m so distracted that I can’t focus.

All I can see is the voluptuous woman in front of me, and goddamn, but I’d love her push her down on my desk before parting her knees and sliding deep into that wet cunt.

She’d fit me like a velvet vise, and my cock jerks at the dirty image.

But Angela has no idea of the filthy thoughts running through my mind, and nods.

“Please, call me Angie,” she murmurs. “Everyone does. But yes, I’m experienced when it comes to housekeeping.

I used to work in Housekeeping as a member of the Clearview Resorts chain.

I was most often at the South Street location, but I sometimes got called to Kennesaw or Ports Road.

I’ve worked at almost all their locations. ”

I nod, still trying to hide my physical reaction.

“I see. And what did you do as a member of Housekeeping?”

Angie blushes a bit, but doesn’t balk.

“Everything a maid does. I wiped off counters, made beds, vacuumed, and stocked amenities. I also sometimes helped in the kitchen if they were short-staffed, and even subbed as a valet on occasion. I’m a team player, Mr. Masters, and I’m more than qualified to manage your estate.”

I nod, steepling my fingers as if deep in thought.

“That’s great. I keep a staff of around ten here which you’d be in charge of overseeing, although we’re still adding to the team seeing that I’m knee-deep in the hiring process.

I just moved to Austin, and we’ve been putting together the staff bit by bit.

But I run a tight ship, and I demand a lot of my people.

Is that something that intimidates you, Miss White? ”

Angie blushes but shakes her head.

“Oh no, of course not. I’m not easy to intimidate, Mr. Masters. I’m spunky and feisty ... up to a point,” she adds quickly. “I’ve never antagonized any hotel guests, and I wouldn’t antagonize your staff either. You can count on me to run things like a well-oiled machine.”

I nod, rubbing my square chin with one hand.

“Great,” I rasp. “And can you tell me why you’re looking for a job?” I scan her resume quickly. “I see that there’s a gap of a few years in your employment history. Can you tell me why?”

For the first time during the interview, Angie pales a bit and swallows hard. I follow the gentle ripple of her throat with avid eyes, but she collects herself and looks me straight in the eye.

“I got married, Mr. Masters, and my late husband’s income was more than enough to support our household.

Unfortunately, Ned passed last year and left me in a precarious financial situation.

I’m fine for now, but if I don’t re-join the workforce I’m afraid I’ll be in dire straits. So I’m looking for a job.”

I nod, my black brows flying up. To be honest, Angie looks too young to be married, much less a widow.

Then again, how old is this girl? I scan her resume quickly and read the date of her high school graduation before doing some quick mental math.

Fuck, she’s only twenty-three! I’m practically double her age.

But I’ve always had a preference for young women.

Don’t get me wrong because I appreciate females of varying birth dates, from all walks of life.

But lately, it’s the young ones who’ve been doing it for me.

I’m not sure what it is – their ripe figures, the innocence in their eyes, or hell, maybe I’ve just been getting old.

More and more, I look in the mirror and see a man who’s seen too much of the world, and fucked too many other folks in the ass, both literally and metaphorically.

The innocence of these young girls is the antidote to my general cynicism, and I like how I feel around them.

I like how I feel around Angie, although she’s only been in my office for all of five minutes.

“So you’re a widow,” I say in a smooth tone.

“Yes,” she answers quickly, her face pale and lips pressed into a thin line. “Ned was the love of my life, but he was killed in a horrific accident on the interstate. Fortunately, we didn’t have children, but it was a difficult time nonetheless.”

Here’s where shit gets rancid because I don’t give a fuck about Ned, her family, her ex’s family, or anyone else who might have grieved over this man’s death.

Instead, all I care about is the fact that Angela White is likely single.

How long does it take to bed a dead man’s wife?

How long is a widow’s mourning period? It’s relevant because I’m that obscene motherfucker that everyone hates.

I want this woman in my bed with her legs spread, gasping as she feels my dick slide deep into her feminine space.

Then, I want her on her hands and knees, big breasts swaying, as she’s fucked savagely from behind.

I want her panting, writhing, and creaming all over my cock because she’s the kind of woman who could use a deep, hard fuck . .. in every hole available.

That’s when I know that the interview’s done. There’s no need to ask more questions, nor to find out more about her background. I know what I want, and Angela White is it.

“Thank you for coming in,” I say in a formal tone before standing. “Your qualifications are perfect. When can you start?”

The young woman looks flummoxed as she rises gracefully to her feet, clutching her portfolio in one hand.

“I got the job?”

“Yes,” I say in a deep voice. “Welcome to the team, Miss White. You’ll be a welcome addition, and I look forward to working together. Now, if you’ll let Timothy know when you can start—”

“Oh, I can start immediately,” she murmurs as we walk to the door. Then, I hold out one hand to shake.

“Wonderful,” I rumble in a smooth tone. “Let’s make it Monday morning, shall we?”

She slips her hand into mine, and that’s when the world tilts.

I had images of this woman nude in my bed, screaming my name as she creams on my dick, but the small palm inside my own gives me different images.

I see Angela White plump and curvy, smiling up at me with a white veil on her golden ringlets.

Her blue eyes are trusting, and as she clasps my hand in her own, I slip a ring onto her finger.

Not only that, but her belly’s big and swollen . .. with my child inside.

What the fuck? What the hell is happening? This time, it’s me who begins to stammer.

“Gr-great,” I stutter like an awkward schoolboy. “See you Monday.”

With one last sweet smile over her shoulder, Angie departs and the door swings shut. Then, my knees give out and I have to lean against the massive wooden slab before I lose my balance because this woman has completely undermined my equilibrium... and we just got started.