Page 3 of Curvy Girl for the Billionaire

I want her.

The intensity of this sudden desire takes me by surprise, the ferocity unlike anything I’ve felt before. And it's not just her body that has me entranced—it's everything about her.

She has this confidence but also this innocence about her.

I tear my eyes off her long enough to pull up my emails. I quickly locate the one with the details about tonight and find what I’m looking for.

Charlotte Greene. Goes by Charlie.

Charlie.

Even her name feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place—a perfect match for the enigmatic woman who now holds my rapt attention.

My heart pounds a rhythm that syncs with the steps she takes, each one echoing the growing need taking root deep within me.

"Excuse me," I say, abandoning my glass on a passing tray with a clatter. The chatter of my siblings fades behind me as I navigate the crowd, intent on one thing.

Get to her.

Every instinct tells me what I’m about to do is reckless, but caution has no place here—not when every fiber of my being demands that I know her.

I close the distance between us, my stride confident. She's a vision against the backdrop of opulence—her curves wrapped in professionalism, yet screaming to be unwrapped, and I’m like a kid at Christmas.

"Busy night, huh?" My voice is silk over steel as I lean casually against the marble pillar beside her.

Charlie doesn't miss a beat, her eyes flicking to mine for just a fraction of a second before returning to her clipboard.

"You're handling everything beautifully. It's rare to see someone so...dedicated."

It’s as if she finally realizes who I am because her eyes flick back up to mine and she apologizes, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bennet. I was engrossed in triple-checking the menu.”

"Alex," I correct her smoothly, letting my name hang between us like an invitation. "And triple-checking?" I chuckle softly. "Sounds like you're as much of a perfectionist as I am."

Her lips twitch, almost smiling, but she maintains her professionalism. "It's important to me that everything goes perfectly at these events."

I nod, appreciating her diligence and the slight flush on her

cheeks as she speaks. Her commitment is admirable, and it only fuels my curiosity about her.

"Can I do something for you?" she asks, all business.

"Something like that." I flash a grin, but it fades as she remains unmoved, unimpressed. "Have dinner with me."

The words slip out, more command than request.

She blinks and looks startled, but then she quickly recovers, her veneer of professionalism falling back over her face. "Mr. Bennett—Alex—thank you, but I don't mix business with pleasure. It's unprofessional."

My heart falls, and something coils tight in my chest. Panic—an unfamiliar and loathsome sensation—grips me.

I can't let her walk away. The thought alone is intolerable.

“I’ll pay you,” I blurt out.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and I wince. “Dammit, that came out wrong,” I quickly ammend.

“I think I should go—” she turns to walk away, and I damn near have a heart attack.

"Wait," I say, and there's an edge of desperation in my voice I barely recognize."Hear me out."

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