Page 94 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

Still.

Sex with a seventy-five-year-old?

Can I do this?

“I usually go over the client’s expectations with my girls, but Alistair will be the one filling you in on the particulars of your… arrangement.”

“You’re making me nervous, Todd. Please don’t tell me he’s a sadist.”

“I’d never steer you wrong. Never.” His words calm me down. “I spent an hour with him because he’s a new client. He was referred to us by other one of our elite clients.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t tell me anything about the particulars of our arrangement.”

“Let’s just say, I’m convinced you’ll agree to the arrangement.”

Well, that’s not cryptic at all.

I meet Alistair Covey at six thirty at a private room at Boqueria, a Barcelona-inspired tapas bar in Soho. I thought of wearing one of the suits Bryce bought for me in Paris, but decided against it. I can’t deal with another man touching the fabric.

Todd was right. Alistair doesn’t look at all like a man in his seventies. He’s tall, fit, and incredibly handsome. He could’ve been a model or an athlete when he was younger.

Hot silver fox.

After an hour of conversation, he lays out his takeover plan. His itinerary includes Costa Rica, El Salvador, Colombia, Argentina, and we’ll end our trip in Puerto Rico, where Alistair has set up the headquarters for his South American division. After confirming I’m free to travel for two weeks, he moves on to the next item on his agenda.

“I asked Todd not to talk about the details of our arrangement. I wanted to do this personally.”

I brace myself for the worst because he looks down at his hands when he says that, and I can only imagine what kind of perverted and twisted kinks he’ll ask me to satisfy.

His gray eyes hold mine. “There will be no exchange of bodily fluids between us. I’m gay.”

My eyes bulge out of my skull at the news.

“Did I say anything to offend you?”

“No, not at all,” I fumble over my words.

I’m relieved and grateful I won’t have to have sex with Alistair.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Can I ask a question?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why would a gay man hire a female escort for two weeks?” I’m still perplexed as to how I fit in his plan.

“Amanda, we’re going into machismo land—”

“I’m Latina. Things have evolved for women in my culture. The same applies to the gay community. South Americans are fervent Christians and Catholics, but they are open to same-sex relationships now.”

He nods slowly. “True. Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I came out at sixty-nine, and being openly gay is still new to me. My first wife got pregnant when we were dating. We were both eighteen. I did the honorable thing, and married her. We had nine children together. In between being a father and building my many businesses, my relationship with my wife revolved around us being the best parents possible. Translation: We grew apart.” That’s not uncommon in long-term marriages. Mom and Dad are still going strong. Their marriage is what I aspire to emulate. “Somewhere between kids’ birthday parties, graduations, kids going to college, business milestones, kids getting married, and grandkids, I became aware of my growing attraction to men. I promised myself I’d wait until our baby finished college to come out. Along the way, one of our kids got very sick, another dealt with severe depression, and my wife battled with cancer. I stayed in the marriage, remained in the closet, and put their well-being first. After I came out, it took my five sons four years to accept their dad was tired of living a lie and had to come out or die inside.” He shifts in his chair. “It’s a long-winded way of saying I prefer to keep my sexual orientation private. That’s where you come in.”

“Thanks for the explanation. Now it makes sense. I understand about wanting to keep certain things close to the chest.” I’m keeping a big ol’ secret from my own family and using a pretend contract as a translator as smokes and mirror to avoid telling them the truth.

“My partner won’t be joining us. He’s a little younger than me—he’s in his fifties. He’s a college professor and he can’t take two weeks off. He’s wrapping up the school year and getting ready for summer sessions. I hate to use the word beard, but essentially that’s why I’m hiring you. Except in your case, along with being gorgeous, you’re also fluent in Spanish. Your language skills are crucial. I could’ve hired a bona fide translator, but there was no guarantee she’d be able to charm a room.”

I blush. “That’s a tall order.”

---