Page 115 of The Billionaires

I look down. What the fuck, cock? What’s with this reaction? Do you think Lilly and I are a couple? Are you hoping that makeup sex is on the horizon?

I can’t think of a more ridiculous notion than the two of us dating. I mean, Lilly’s attractive, in a gamine sort of way, but who cares, given how contrary she is? Also, not that it matters, but I don’t plan on dating anyone while the cryptocurrency project requires all of my time and energy. Either way, once I do get around to dating, it won’t be someone like her. Prickliness aside, she’s my employee, and therefore out of the question. She’s also a decade younger than I am and is at an age when all she probably wants to do is take selfies at nightclubs, post said selfies on her social media, and obsess about the likes of Justin Bieber or whoever the girls are squealing about these days. And she’s way too dainty. I’d feel like a fucking ogre if we did anything… which we won’t.

Fuck. That image doesn’t help with the fucking erection.

Maybe opening a 375-degree oven will help?

Nope. Unbelievable.

I stick the cookies in and set my phone timer to ten minutes.

The puppy sits patiently, hypnotizing the oven.

I step around him and lock myself in the adjacent bathroom.

Motherfucker. My cock is still hard, despite everything. You’d think I was the hormone-driven twenty-three-year-old instead of Lilly.

I try thinking about government banking regulations. Nothing. I switch my focus to IRS audits. Still hard. I bring out the big guns—people loudly chewing and slurping their food.

Unbelievable. Even that doesn’t help.

Gritting my teeth, I fist my cock—the one surefire way to get rid of this nuisance.

As I go on, I do my best to finish in ten minutes while keeping images of Lilly from my mind’s eye.

The time limit is a success.

The image suppression is a huge failure.

CHAPTER 5

LILLY

After scanning the room, I put my list of belongings together—and it’s not a long one. Pretty much just my clothes and shoes. And my video games, of course.

Just as I’m about to leave, a thin man with a Mario-like mustache walks into the room.

“Hello, Lilly.” The way he says my first name makes it clear he usually addresses people in a more formal manner. “I’m Mister… I mean, Johnny. Mr. Roxford’s assistant.”

“Whose assistant?” I refuse to call that asshole “Mister” anything.

Johnny twirls his mustache. “You’re kidding, right?”

Taking pity on the minion, I say, “You must mean Bruce.”

“Yes. Mr. Roxford.” This time, he pulls on the mustache nervously, and it’s a wonder no hairs get plucked out.

I scoff. “Yes. Bruce.”

“Right.” He reaches for the mustache again but stops halfway. “He asked me to get your list of things to move.”

I hand him the sheet of paper in my hand.

Not pulling away his hand, Johnny says, “And your keys, please.”

I snatch the list away. “Don’t I get to supervise the movers?”

Johnny’s left eye twitches. “Mister… Bruce said if they break anything, he’ll replace it. He also said it’s imperative that you start Colossus’s training immediately.”

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