Page 45 of The Billionaire's Shrubbery

“Wow.”

“Shower here.” Will slowly moves the camera around the room and then holds it arm’s length from his body so his face fills the screen. “Please?”

“I don’t know. Rumor has it you have hidden cameras in all the rooms.”

“The driver will text you when he arrives. See you soon.”

And with that, Will covers the camera with his hand. I can still see his bed from the remaining one on the wall, and I can still hear him, which means he can still hear me.

“Virginia Beach, I do not hear any rustling. Why are you not jumping out of bed?”

“You’re impossible!” I ruffle my duvet so it makes extra sound, stomp the five steps from my bed to my door and open it. It squeaks. “Happy now?”

“Beyond words.”

The camera feed dies, and I’m left alone with three thousand newly hatched butterflies flitting about in my belly.

19. Will

BUDDHIST ON THE BEACH

Iam not known for my patience. Not that I’m known for beingimpatient, but since I always getwhatI want,whenI want it, patience is not a skill I’ve had to develop.

Until Virginia Beach breezed into my life.

I’ve been practicing Buddhist-worthy self-restraint in every interaction with her since the first day she swayed her hips for the hydrangea and whispered sweet nothings to the sweet peas in my office. And I’m done playing second fiddle to a fucking fiddle-leaf fig tree. I want those lips blowingmyficus. I want her to teach me how to test the moisture of her flora.

Jesus. I might not be a plant whisperer, but even I can tell that the plants in my office and apartment aren’t just healthy and happy. They’re fucking horny as hell. They’ve been getting all the action from Virginia “Blowing Everything But Me” Beach. Now it’s my turn.

I hope.

My phone pings, letting me know my driver has Virginia and that she’ll be here in fifteen minutes. I call down to the security desk and ask the on-duty guard to escort her up when she arrives. My plan is to be waiting exactly where she left me—standing in my bathroom but with the addition of steam. What she called a shower is also a steam sauna when the door is closed.

Saunas are relaxing, so I decide to take one and invite her to join me before she has her shower. I put the odds of her saying no at less than five percent since she told me she’s dreamed of one day having a home with a cedar sauna. Mine is marble, but with your eyes closed, you’d never know the difference since it’s equipped with a nebulizer, already primed with cedar essential oils.

I pull paper from my printer and a black marker from my desk to draw arrow signs that will direct Virginia to my en suite. I drop the first sign on the floor at the elevator. On the last one, outside the bathroom door, I write, JOIN ME, and place it on top of a plush towel I estimate is only just large enough to cover her breasts and ass. I sit with the same size towel draped over my otherwise naked lap.

I realize Virginia was right—no sleep will be happening tonight. At least, not if I get my way.

After what feels like an hour, I grow concerned that something has happened. She should be here by now, glistening skin taunting me.

I turn off the steam and am surprised to find the towel I left for her is gone. The arrow sign that had been pointing to my bathroom is now facing the opposite direction, out of my bedroom. I follow the reversed arrows straight to my guest bedroom, where the JOIN ME sign is now placed outside the closed bathroom door. But she’s added, “If you sing along with me.”

I sit my damp, towel-covered ass on the bed and listen to her sing the chorus from a Mazzy Star song she loves to hum. “Faaaaade into you,” she belts out as though she doesn’t care if anyone hears her. I only know the chorus. She sings a verse and I wonder how long she’s been standing in my shower. And what other songs she’ll sing. I decide to find out, so I toss the towel in the hamper, pull the blankets over me, and lie down to listen.

She sings the whole song two more times before a warm body presses against my side. Virginia’s voice is quieter but clearer. Her breath warms my ear. It’s the first good dream I’ve had in years, and I’m not going to ruin it by opening my eyes.

A hand lightly touches my chest, over my heart.

“Tonight you are not the boss,” dream Virginia whispers. “Tonight you listen. OK?”

“Hmm,” I moan, afraid to speak.

“Roll to your side, away from my voice.” Her hand slides from my heart, over my ribs to my back, and gently nudges me to twist. “Can you feel my fingers on your back drawing the infinity symbol?”

Yes, I can feel her touch. I can see her touch in the darkness behind my eyelids, following as she swirls from my rhomboid up to my trapezius down and across my spine to my erector spinae, then lower to my obliques …fuuuck. I can’t help it. The energy passes from my back to my front … and I grab for my growing erection.

Virginia’s fingers stop moving for a second. I debate apologizing. But fuck it. I am not going to apologize for feeling good. Her hand flattens against my back and rubs in broad circles. I have a flashback to being small, lying in a single bed and having my back rubbed by … I can’t remember. Was it Dad or Mom? It’s been over four decades. Did they rub Horse’s back to help him fall asleep too?

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