The Irresistible Billionaire

Chapter 29

I woke up alone in bed this morning, feeling all wrecked and soggy. There was no sign of Johnny anywhere in my apartment—not even a lingering warmth or a dent in the sheets.

What else did I expect? That his so-called confession would be enough of a reason for him to stay?

Joke’s on me if I believed him.

He was desperate to fill a need, and I gave it to him.

Who am I to him anyway? If it weren’t for how familiar my skin and body felt to him, he wouldn’t have touched someone like me.

After all, I’m just his stiff, weirdo secretary—haunted by the past, unsure about the future, and constantly predicting it with way too much hope.

"Are you okay?" Tamara asked, eyeing me from head to toe. "Because you’re walking like a train hit you."

"Oh, yes, I was wrecked by the train between your son's thighs," I wanted to say, full of sarcasm. Instead, I just shook my head and fumbled for a decent excuse.

I was dragging a suitcase that weighed more than I did beside her, looking like gravity was seconds away from pulling me.

The flight to Seattle didn’t help my headache. I hadn’t slept, the jetlag was screwing with my vision, and I hadn’t eaten a thing—I felt like if I did, I’d just throw up and feel even worse.

I could tell Tamara was suspicious the moment she saw me at the airport. I caught her side-eyeing me a few times.

"Yes, Auntie. Just couldn’t sleep last night," I said, hoping to sound casual. She didn’t look convinced.

She can think whatever she wants. I just wanted this night to pass—go with the flow, and end as easily as a blink.

"Someone moved in next door and started banging on the wall. I think they were doing a major renovation in the middle of the night," I added, looking away to hide the cringe on my face.

She hummed and gestured to one of her bodyguards. He casually took my luggage and walked ahead of us, out of the airport.

"Ah... thanks?" I muttered, but he was already gone.

"Just tell me if you want to transfer to a different apartment. I can arrange it—anywhere you want," she offered.

I immediately declined.

I’m only a temporary VIP to her. I’m her puppet. Just like she told me when she convinced me to sign that contract: "You’re the only one I can trust to do this job and get it done."

Her angel face received me.

A hard task, but with a shiny reward at the end.

Feels like I threw myself into a survival game. I’m bruised, bleeding, exhausted—but still clawing forward for a stupid pile of money. Well, not that stupid. It’s half a million dollars... plus the allowance, and every time Tamara has something else to ask me for.

I’d probably be a millionaire by now if I hadn’t filled my wardrobe with clothes I know I can't wear yet. They just sit there—waiting for the day I stop hiding.

Tamara linked her arm with mine. Unusual for someone as demure as her—but typical when something big is about to go down.

"I know you were in my son’s office when I visited him for a board meeting," she said, sounding like a teenager about to blackmail someone with juicy gossip.

My throat turned to sand. My skin dried out like I’d been sunbathing in the Sahara. My dizziness went from bad to "kill-me-now".

And how the hell did she know about that?

"Eh?" I grimaced.

"And I know Johnny was in your apartment last night," she added, and suddenly I was praying for the floor to swallow me whole. "Tell me something, Cassidy. Is my son showing interest in you?"

I think I swallowed my tongue. Couldn’t get a word out, even after we got into the limo waiting for us.

"Is Johnny finally convincing himself to settle down?" she asked, eyes sparkling like she was already planning a wedding.

I licked my chapped lips and cleared my throat. "Well... I can’t confirm it. Yet. But, uhm... I think he’s showing signs that he... might?"

She clapped like a sea lion and leaned in. "Okay, so tell me everything."

So I did. The jealousy, the Oscar-worthy performance last night, even the darn takeout fried chicken story that I'm still not over with.

"He's changed," she muttered, breathing deeply. "I’ll only ask you to do a few more things. After that, I’ll give you the money I promised, and you can go live your life however you want. Enjoy it—you deserve it."

I swear I heard angels singing. Trumpets playing. The kind of choir they play when someone wins a lifetime supply of happiness.

All I ever have to do is to spread my arms, look up, and catch all the blessings that was about to pour on me.

Did I hear her right? I’m almost done? Almost at the finish line?

"A few more things, Auntie?" I asked.

She nodded. "Just stick to the plan. And please, if you’re going to ghost the people I hired again, please at least let me know. Roxy said he got a new wrinkle waiting on you all day."

I winced, imagining Roxy’s eternally annoyed face. Where did he even get space for a new wrinkle?

"We’re here," she said as we stopped in front of a five-star hotel. "The bachelor party’s at ten tonight, in the presidential suite. I booked your room ten floors down."

"So... there’s a chance Johnny might see us here?" I asked as we stepped into the elevator and she tapped a button with her VIP card.

"Zero chance," she said. "Because you’re not leaving your room unless I tell you to. Or it’s an emergency."

And just like that—I became a damsel in distress... or maybe a damsel in disgust. Of myself.

I exhaled hard and wandered to the giant window, just trying to kill time alone.

Tamara left after giving me the rundown for tonight and showing me my outfit. I almost gagged.

"I need to shave," I muttered, doing the bare minimum to look presentable. I was part of the menu tonight... but exclusively for Johnny.

Would he want a taste? Oh, absolutely. He said it himself—he likes anyone with a "kitty". Mine just happens to purr for him, even when I try to sew it shut.

He’ll see her tonight. Lady Masquerade. The one he’s been dying to find.

If he wanted the masked woman of his fantasies so bad, then screwing me last night was just an appetizer.

His flowers meant nothing. His jealousy over Stefano? A lie. His possessive tantrums? Performances. He deserves a round of applause, a standing ovation—and no, I'm not singing Rihanna's song.

I glanced at the clock.

Five minutes until showtime.

I gave myself a final glance.

A fudging red glittery bunny outfit. And no, not for a kids’ show—my whole ass was basically out, decorated with a white, fluffy tail. It was cute, a perfect answer for a fetish. I'm the supposed good girl of the night.

If Daddy says roll, I will. Stick out my tongue, growl... I'll do it. Even play dead.

My lips were as glossy as my dress. My eyes were hidden in smoky shadow. My tattoo? Once again on display.

"The final touch..."

I slid on the bunny mask—a sleek, velvet half-face piece with long satin ears. Just enough mystery to make a man curious, and a billionaire lose control.

"It’s time to be a whore."