“Women!” Derek snapped his cell phone shut and threw it onto his night table. He untied his blue-striped silk tie and tossed it onto the bed. In moments, his Italian-cut three-piece suit lay equally flung aside. Pulling open the bottom dresser drawer, he removed a fraying college sweatshirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. After lacing up his well-worn sneakers and ruffling his groomed hair, he stared at his reflection in his full-length mirror. The transformation from chairman of the board to construction worker took less than five minutes. Grabbing his wallet, he removed his driver’s license, one charge card, and thirty-five dollars and placed them into an old brown wallet. He stuffed it into his back-hip pocket, grabbed his cell phone and exited his bedroom.
Donning his jacket with the New York Rangers team’s logo, he checked the pocket for his car keys, then rode his private elevator down to the basement parking garage. He walked past his three expensive imports, unlocked the rusted, dark blue Camaro and drove out of the upper rich side.
Traffic was a beast. Snow had fallen all day. The roads were slippery and regular people were anxious to get home. Not Derek. He headed to Charlie’s, a topless bar on the corner of don’t know and don’t care. It was his sanctuary from the stresses of daily life.
Opening the door, he stepped out of the mid-November chill into his alter ego world. Charlie’s wasn’t a special bar, just a nondescript drinking joint - dark, hazy and full of people wanting to get drunk. But he loved it. Here he was Derek, not Mr. Davenport. He sat on the stool next to his three drinking buddies. “Yo, low life and scum-beings.” They waved their beers. “Barkeep, whatever they’re drinking I’ll have two of. I’m behind here and gotta get caught up.” He grabbed a handful of peanuts.
“Thought you had a date tonight,” said Steve, married with three kids. He spent many nights hiding out in the bar spending his paycheck on beer and false conversations.
“Women are such pains.” Derek tossed some money on the bar and took a gulp of beer.
“Bulletin,” recently divorced Linc, shouted to the few patrons in the bar. “Derek’s broken up with his woman of the month.”
A buxom waitress wiggled her way past and pressed her ample, naked breasts up against Derek’s back. His groin sent him an easy fuck alert.
“You promised I’d be your next girl.” said a pouty little voice.
Derek turned on his bar stool and was chest to chest with Trixie. He cupped her breasts. “Beautiful. Full and very suckable.”
The bartender cuffed Derek across the back of the head. “How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t touch the girls.”
Derek dropped his hands. Trixie ain’t no girl. Worked here too long. Any girliness is long gone. He grabbed his two beers. “Come on guys, table over there. Game’ll be starting soon and I gotta get drunk.”
“Bad day at work?” Kevin settled on a chair to Derek's right.
Derek collapsed on his chair. “Stinking day. Think I’ll get rich, buy the company and fire my boss. He’s such an ass.” If only I could fire myself.
Steve swallowed his beer. “Hey, could you get rich enough to fire my boss?”
“I’ll get rich enough to fire everybody’s boss. Then we can all be boss,” said Derek.
“And fire ourselves.” Linc raised his bottle.
“I’ll drink to that.” Steve clinked his bottle with Linc’s.
By nine-thirty, Steve and Linc were singing old Beach Boy tunes and led by Kevin, a drummer from a now defunct rock-and-roll oldies band. “I know.” Kevin’s eyes brightened. “Place an ad.”
Derek rubbed his face and gaped at Kevin. “What th’ fuck you talkin’ `bout? Steve, you know?”
Steve shrugged his shoulders.
“Me and Steve, don’t know what ya talkin’ `bout." Derek wanted to ask Linc what was going on, but Linc’s cheek was pressed against crushed peanut shells and spilled beer. “Screw this! I gotta take a leak.” Derek made a beeline for the Men’s Room.
On his way back to his buddies, Trixie snagged him and pulled him into the manager’s office. “He’s not in tonight.”
Derek focused on her as she rolled her nipples between her fingers. “Fuck me, Derek. You know you want to.” Cupping her breasts, she offered them to him. “I can’t believe no woman has caught you yet. With that gorgeous thick black hair and those ice blue eyes.” Her hand reached down and grabbed the swelling in his jeans. “And that big cock. How come you’re still free?”
Blurb and Buy Links
Two O’clock with the Billionaire is one of Daryl Devoré’s hot romance. A contemporary romance sweetened with a bit of vanilla sexcapades.
Where Derek Davenport is concerned, women only had one thing in mind: trap him into a marriage. The perfect way out? Hire a courtesan. While partying with his buddies he places an online ad that reads – Woman Wanted.
Unemployed and nearing financial desperation, Arianne is forced to step out of her comfort zone and answers an ad that reads Woman Wanted. With minimal hours and excellent pay, she accepts the position of courtesan to a handsome billionaire.
Their sexual antics cause emotions neither is willing to admit it. Will Arianne and Derek drive each other crazy…or will they fall in love first?
Tagline
Arianne’s just regular girl pushed into a corner and desperately looking for a way out.
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