Page 2 of Curvy Girl for the Billionaire

Higher-paying clients.

Success and stability.

I can’t stop the grin that breaks across my face.

I’m going to plan the hell out of this gala.

two

. . .

Alex

I stand at the edge of the murmuring crowd, a flute of champagne teetering forgotten between my fingers. Sharp jabs about my perpetually single status assault me from all sides. Well-meaning, but they sting all the same.

I'm weary of this conversation—the same one that's been gnawing at me for years. It's as though my success is nothing without a partner to flaunt.

"Alex, you've got everything—a woman's touch is all that's missing in your life," my sister prods with a nudge that’s less playful and more pointed.

"Maybe he's just too picky," chimes in my brother, before he laughs like he's cracked the funniest joke of the evening.

Their barbs cling to my skin. I resist the urge to rub away their expectations along with the irritation that comes with them.

Why is my love life—or lack thereof—anyone’s business but my own?

It’s not that I don’t want a woman. I just haven’t found that one yet.

Granted, I don’t know how I’ll know that I’ve found the one, only that somehow I will.

I’ll just know.

I think.

Fuck, I don’t know.

I scowl.

My sister makes another serious remark wrapped up in a teasing tone, but before I can conjure up a retort, my attention snags on something—or rather, someone—far more captivating.

There’s a goddess standing amidst the opulence of the gala, a striking contrast to the sea of tailored suits and designer gowns. I watch in awe as she holds her hand up to an earpiece, her lips moving urgently.

Those lips…holy fuck. They’re wet and glistening with red gloss.

Like ripe cherries…

My cock twitches in my pants as my eyes rove over her heart-shaped face.

Green eyes, dark hair that flows down her curvy back. My fingers twitch at the dip in her back, her waist.

She's all curves and confidence, her dress hugging every inch of her like it was painted on just for her.

Her every move radiates efficiency, the way she glides across the floor with purpose, orchestrating the night’s events with an invisible hand.

She must be the event planner I hired. Fucking hell, had I know this sweet thing would be orgaizing everything, I might have taken a more active role in the planning of this evening.

My eyes trace the length of her legs, the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric, a primal appreciation coursing through my veins.

A surge of something darker curls within me, possessive and immediate.

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