Anyone But the Billionaire (Anyone But You #1)

by Sara L. Hudson

Yes, I put my cat under my hoodie. What would you do with a hairless cat on a cool spring morning? Let him freeze his hairless balls off? You’re heartless.

You might be wondering what a thirty-five-year-old heterosexual man is doing with a hairless cat. I wonder that every morning when I wake up to his wrinkly butt in my face at the crack of dawn. Pun intended.

So now here I am, trying my hand at rebounding with Mike Hunt, the sphynx. See what I did there? Yeah, I know. Not very mature. But considering my ex had named him Fluffy, which I thought demeaning rather than ironic, I think Mike Hunt is an excellent upgrade.

This causes a few passersby to give me the side-eye. Whatever, keep jogging, man-buns.

This is what my life has come to. Buying sweaters for hairless pussies. God, that’s depressing.

“Trying to take credit for my work and poach clients? Yes, Porn ’stache, I one hundred percent understand the system he was using.” A laugh bursts from Leslie, and she tries to hide it with a cough.

When provoked, I have a tendency to say what’s on my mind without much thought. It’s a habit I developed after staying quiet one too many times in the past.

Once I clear the conference area, I spot my weasel of an ex-employee flirting with one of ’stache’s secretaries. Guy would rather chase tail than show up to his own lawsuit mediation. I slow my steps as I pass her desk, drawing a questioning glance from the secretary and an arrogant sneer from him. I lean in toward her and say in a whisper that’s loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Make sure you’re stocked up on penicillin. Otherwise it takes forever for it to go away.” Both of their mouths drop open in unison as I continue on to the elevator, humming a happy Elvis tune.

And if I don’t put money where my mouth is, he’ll think I agree. Damn it. “You got yourself a deal, Daddy-O.”

“Move it, jackass!” After a few more minutes and a lot of colorful exclamations from the cab driver, I hop out in front of one of New York’s more impressive buildings. Moore’s.

But all the luxury around me pales when I see the most decadent element in the room. Chase Moore’s fine ass.

Well, too bad. He can dictate my dick. Get it? No? Yeah, me either. I must be too tired for funny this morning.

My meeting this morning with said good old boys, aka the corporate managers, was the cherry on top of the shit sundae that is my day so far. The idiots all wanted to lay people off. That old-school way of doing business really chafes my ball sack. So… I may have fired more managers than I’d planned on. But then again, I’d just been taking their advice, hadn’t I? I chuckle at the thought. And then chuckle some more when I think of all the phone calls Stan will get from his work buddies, all bemoaning that his son fired them.

“Fuck!” I yell at the same time as the person who ran into me. The chorus of profanity is enough to turn everyone’s head in the café, making us the entertainment of the morning, I’m sure.

Like the slim hands currently dabbing at my chest with paper napkins. Or the way those hands lead to slender wrists and toned arms. And how the top of this woman’s head is covered in the most beautiful shade of hair I’ve ever seen. Like all the sunset colors and stuff. What? I’m a dude. That’s as descriptive as I get.

I cover her hand on my chest with my own and say, “Baby, I think you just made my day.” I’m pretty stoked at my charming comeback. The barista watching us sighs in delight. Out of the corner of my eye, an old lady clasps her hands to her heart at the romantic scene she’s witnessing.

She just tugs her hand out from mine and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’re okay.” She steps back, and that’s when I see I’m not the only one covered in cappuccino.

“This isn’t exactly the introduction I was hoping for,”

“I beg to differ. I think this was a spectacular way to get my attention.” I wink at her, but unlike every other warm-blooded woman in New York I’ve tried it on in the past, it just seems to annoy her.

“I’m C...

“Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Moore. That’s why I wanted to...

“...

“Yes. I got here early to do some recon on the store and saw you. Didn’t want to be rude.” She gestures between us, exposing one perfect nipple from under her soaked white blouse. “But apparently that ship has sailed.”

The look on her face says she’ll be sorely disappointed if I can’t keep my eyes on hers and off her chest. Though I desperately want to be the perv Stan thinks I am, I never like to disappoint a lady.

She sticks out her hand for me to shake. “I’m...

He winks and walks off. I want to slap him when he winks. Not because I feel it’s chauvinist or insincere, but because it makes me want to jump him and ride him like I’m at the Texas Rodeo.

Apparently, what she can do is set me up in the largest dressing room with a plethora of blouses, dresses, pants, and even lingerie. I know they don’t sell bras and panties on this floor, so I wonder what exactly Chase had instructed Susan to do. That’ll teach me to stare at his ass while the adults are talking.

“Ms. King? When you have the first outfit on, I need you to come out to the platform please.” “The platform?” “Yes, the room with the three-way mirror? We passed it on the way in. I need to see what you have on.” Great, she probably thinks I’ll steal something and wants to catalogue everything I’m wearing. I hadn’t even gotten to try on the Gucci pussy-bow blouse yet. I pout into the mirror but reply, “Sure thing, Susan. Be right out.”

“I’m wearing the bright pink La Perla panties, so you can definitely put those on my bill, Susan,” I say while looking down. I run my hands down the length of my body, enjoying the feel of the expensive fabrics. “And this pencil skirt is in serious contention, though I can’t wear it today. It would look odd with my flat sandals.”

“Then we’ll have to get your shoe size so we can bring you a selection of shoes to go with that outfit,” says a deep, familiar voice.

I close my eyes and count to five, hoping that when I open them Chase won’t be there. That I hadn’t just announced what color underwear I’m wearing to my new client. Slowly, I open my eyes… and sigh. Not only because I had, indeed, announced the color of my p...

“What are you doing here?” I cringe at my sharp tone.

He just grins. Great. Now I’m contending with a sexy hollow and a charming smile. “I thought we could have a Pretty Woman moment.”

He gestures to the room, which I have to admit, does remind me of the shopping scene in that iconic movie. But wait a minut...

I have to admit, does remind me of the shopping scene in that iconic movie. But wait a minute… “Di...

Back to ignoring me, Campbell engages Susan in a conversation about the latest fashion, while I sit back and enjoy the view. Whoever invented pencil skirts should be given a commendation. Every librarian fantasy I ever had is busy streaming through my mind as I watch her twist and turn in the mirror.

Susan and I share a smile. It seems our new marketing guru is a bit of a clotheshorse. I can work with that. * * * I cannot work with this. For an hour I’ve been suspended between pleasure and discomfort, watching Campbell model clothes.

Thank god for the throw pillow I placed on my lap to hide my situation. Closing my eyes wouldn’t have helped either. She hums Elvis tunes in the silence. I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it.

I’ve been too intrigued to call her on it, afraid she’d stop. And don’t even get me started on the pleasure of just listening to her talk. With her sweet Southern accent inciting fantasies of her talking di...