Page 4 of Tycoon

My thumb pressed down, initiating contact. The screen blinked in acknowledgment—a small act in the grand scheme, but for me, it was a declaration. I was ready to dance with chance, put my fear on the backburner for a while. And maybe, just maybe, Andrew Del Rossi would be the partner I didn't know I was searching for.

The message composed itself in my mind, words constructing like silk threads through my thoughts. I stared at Andrew Del Rossi's profile picture—a candid shot, a smile caught in the curve of his sexy mouth. His eyes, a piercing shade of gray, seem to stare directly into my soul, holding me captive with their intensity.

Tall and commanding at 6'4”, and tanned skin, Andrew possesses a presence that is undeniable. His muscular build speaks of strength and power, hinting at a life lived with purpose and determination. And as the owner of numerous businesses around the world, he exudes an air of confidence and success that is impossible to ignore.

But it's not just his looks or his accomplishments that draw me in. There's something about him, something magnetic and irresistible that tugs at my heartstrings. It's as if fate itself has led me to this moment, this connection with a man I've never met but already feel inexplicably drawn to.

“Would you be interested,” I began typing, my fingers surprisingly steady, “in attending a wedding with me? It's not just any wedding, but one where I need to make an impression.” My heart raced; stirring its energies and beckoning fate to take notice.

“Of course, this would be purely platonic,” I added hastily, trying to sound casual. “A business arrangement, with a touch of theatrics. Let's discuss the terms over dinner?”

I read the message once, twice, three times—each time my heart raced faster inside my chest. But there was no room for hesitation now. I had stepped into the river, and the current was pulling me forward. With a breath that felt like the first after a deep dive, I hit send.

The wait was agonizing yet held a feeling of allure. Each second stretched, filled with the weight of potential, until finally—his reply arrived, a notification that cut through the silence of my townhouse with the promise of something new.

“Amara,” the message read, and seeing my name in his text sent a thrill through me. “Your proposal has piqued my interest. The idea of being your plus-one is rather intriguing. Dinner sounds like the perfect setting to negotiate our little act. Shall we say tomorrow evening?”

His response was confident, decisive—the mark of a man accustomed to seizing opportunities. A smile spread across my face, warm and genuine. Andrew Del Rossi was willing to step into this charade with me, to play the part that destiny had penciled in on a whim.

“Tomorrow evening it is,” I replied, the words glowing on the screen before they whisked away into the digital atmosphere.

Even though I detested meeting Darriun on Monday morning. I looked forward to meeting Andrew in the evening. I would meet him, learn the sound of his voice, the texture of his presence. Together, we would create a reality that could only convince everyone, perhaps even ourselves, of a romantic relationship that was born from the necessity to save face due to my ex.

***

Andrew

A message, nestled in the digital folds of the BBF app, flickered on the screen of my phone, an ember of possibility in the dim light of my office. The profile displayed her name as Amara Hughes, and her words had been dancing at the back of my mind since they arrived.

I swiveled in my chair, a subtle creak breaking the silence that enveloped the room and picked up the phone. With a swift motion, I unlocked the device, the glow of the screen casting a soft luminescence on the leather-bound books lining the shelves around me. The app icon beckoned with the promise of something new, something uncharted. I tapped it, almost hesitantly, as though the act itself were a threshold to be crossed.

As Amara's profile loaded, the warmth of her smile seemed to radiate through the pixels. It was captivating, the sort of smile that hinted at mischievous and her full glossed lips beckoned for me to taste them. Her brown eyes held a sadness lurking beneath. I wondered who had dared to hurt this brown goddess. I scrolled, absorbing the details of her life. She was accomplished—a career that spoke of ambition and dedication—and yet there was a softness to her, an openness that was as inviting as the daylight that graced cloudless Summer’s Day.

“Successful, beautiful, intriguing,” I murmured to the quiet of my office, allowing myself the smallest of smiles. There was more to Amara than just her awards and accolades; her interests painted a portrait of depth and diversity—jazz music that swayed with soul, culinary arts that promised a dance of flavors upon the tongue, and literature that spanned from the classical to the contemporary.

An intense desire and lust unfurled within me, delicate yet alluring to my senses. This beautiful woman intrigued me, and I needed to know more. I wanted to know more.

Her smile lingered in my mind's eye, a beacon guiding me toward the unknown. And in the stillness of my sanctuary, surrounded by the trappings of my achievements, I found myself yearning for the warmth of that smile to be not just an image on a screen, but a reality within arm's reach.

“Amara,” I said again, testing the name on my lips, a silent vow filled me to get to know this woman. To find out what made her tick.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, the cool weight of decision anchoring my thoughts. It was one thing to admire Amara's profile, and another entirely to step into the dance of interaction. But curiosity got the better of me and I answered the call of this beautiful siren.

“Amara,” I began, “your message struck me. How about we explore this intriguing proposition over dinner? There's a quiet place I know, perfect for good food and even better conversation.”

My heart accelerated as I crafted each word, considering the intricate pattern of possibilities this arrangement could possess. A faux romance—a masquerade to benefit one another in our time of need.

The professional benefits were clear; it would be a strategic alliance, a bolstering of images in the scrutinizing eyes of high society that orbited my life. A stop would be put to the false news of me being a ruthless player. Some men might like that title, but I didn’t believe in playing with women hearts. I made it clear from the start that I didn’t want anything serious, just a sexual alliance to gratify one another’s needs. More and more lately my acquaintances seemed to want more and decided they were that special woman to change my mind. I never met a woman that made me want more— marriage, babies, the whole nine yards. But I turned thirty-six this year, maybe it was time for me to settle down. Maybe with Amara by my side, I could seamlessly blend into any gala or fundraiser, her grace and poise the ideal complement to my own cultivated lifestyle.

But as the thought of her presence lingered in my mind, tendrils of something more personal took root. Was it her smile that seemed to promise laughter and easiness, or the way her achievements spoke of a woman who matched ambition with passion? The prospect of discovering secrets hidden within her interests enthralled me, stirring embers of my thoughts to full flame.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and I sent the message. Would Amara find the idea of meeting as compelling as the cadence of my own heartbeat in this moment? The silence of my office wrapped around me, a cocoon of expectancy waiting to be shed.

A grin broke across my mouth when she invited me to a dinner meeting.

The mundane expectations that had long circled my life like vultures seemed to scatter at the thought of meeting Amara. Here was a chance laid bare before me—a chance to break from the pattern woven by convenience and expectation, to taste the thrill of unpredictability.

“Extraordinary,” I whispered to myself, savoring the weight of the word on my tongue. It felt like a key turning in a lock, opening doors to rooms within my heart that had gathered dust from disuse. This dinner with Amara could be more than just an exchange of pleasantries and negotiation; it might be the very thing I didn't know I was searching for.

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