Page 19 of The Billionaire

A woman came to steady me as she led me away before I caught one last glimpse of the jovial crowd.

“No, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

“Are you sure? You’re not looking for a bathroom. To escape?” Her whisper was soft but I heard it. So I nodded quickly.

A cymbal sounded and my heart jumped a beat again at the loud commotion.

I was led through the crowd of men into a sort of powder room that held a private oversized garden tub with golden fixtures, a toilet and makeup mirror with a beautifully covered chair. The room reminded me of what a roman palace must look like.

The clock on the wall displayed 1:30.

“You have twenty minutes until I am to escort you to your color wing.”

“How…how did you know?”

Ignoring me, she was busy unpacking a makeup bag and examining makeup brushes. She wasn’t minding me at all as she went about her business.

“Here, sit.” She motioned by the vanity table with soft lights. I sat down as she held a few colors in her hands and went to work on my eyes.

I watched her create a set of smoky eyes and immediately envied her skill. It was dark plum with dark shimmery brown in the crease. She did an amazing job. As I opened my eyes, I looked like . . . a powerful woman. I held my chin up high examining. She dabbed nude lipstick over my lips.

“This should last you until the wee hours of the morning. This is lip stain.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Are you an undercover journalist or something?” She asked non- threatening. Because good luck getting anything published. Make that move and you don’t want to mess with these people.” Her tone was flat. I couldn’t make her out. She ran her fingers through my curls and draped them over my breasts lightly, careful to never have contact with my nipples.

She unzipped a garment bag to reveal a red one-piece lingerie number. My jaw dropped. It was . . . daring, commanding and something bold women wore. It had a giant plunging v all the way down to the top of your vagina.

The shoes underneath the gold ottoman were strappy gold heels that appeared to tie up all the way to my mid calf. The outfit rivaled any Victoria Secret fashion show number, yet the class, the material, shouted rich couture from the rooftops.

She helped me into the number and began tying the back. There were satin ties that wrapped around that seemed impossible to undo. But there at the top of my Queen V were four small buttons to undue to free her.

“I’ve always loved this one.”

“Do you see this one often? This outfit?”

“I’d be careful with asking so many questions because someone might fumble and tell you things you wish you didn’t know.”

I stared at her reflection in the gold mirror. She was fixing my lingerie and her own heavy charcoaled lids looked down. Had I seen her on the street, I would have thought she was a smart lawyer, or a wall-street woman wearing a power suit like she wore and no doubt designer shoes. Her black hair was perfectly cut and silky hanging just below her shoulders.

“I just . . . was wondering.”

“Ah, yes. Well, curiosity kills the cat sometimes doesn’t it?”

She spun me around for me to examine myself. She stared at me very curiously.

“You’re not here to explore. It’s written all over your face.” She walked to the make up bag and began putting everything back in its place, her back now facing me.

And then suddenly she crouched down and she was right between my legs an inch away from my crotch.

What the hell?

“This button has fallen off and I need to sew it back.”

I looked down and did not see what she was talking about.

She reached for a needle and thread out of her bag and got back down between my legs acting as if she were sewing.

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