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Holy smokes!
Todd (without a last name) suggested I Google Bryce to avoid the newbie mistake of asking too many basic—code word for dumbass—questions.
There was a lot of information on Bryce’s success, but very few photos of him. It’s surprising a tycoon has been able to keep such a low profile in the media. In this age of viral gossip, overnight stardom, and airing one’s laundry on the internet, I don’t know how he’s managed to remain invisible to prying eyes.
Forty-four-year-old Bryce Van Der Linden is the workaholic CEO and founder of Linden Corporation—an empire that generates several billion dollars every year. He’s a college dropout. After many failed attempts at success, he got into the internet security business and built the most important company in the industry. Many international governments depend on him to keep their sensitive data safe.
Although a native New Yorker, the mogul currently lives in Silicon Valley.
Lucky me. My first client is smoking hot.
Don’t forget the cardinal rules.
I replay Todd’s 101 crash course in my head.
“One, this is a business transaction, not a dating service. Two, get the money before giving him a blowjob or allowing him to fuck you. Three, don’t go over time or else he’s getting your sweet ass for free. Four, don’t fall in lust or love with your client. Five, don’t share your personal drama. They don’t care—they’re buying a fantasy. Keep these five rules in mind and you’ll be a success in this profession. Your ultimate goal is for him to require your services again, and again, and again.”
I don’t intend on making any of those mistakes. This is a temporary gig until I get back on my feet, and I’m determined to make this last a lot longer than my failed stint as a waitress.
“Bryce?” His blue eyes meet my dark brown ones. “I’m Amanda,” I say, offering my hand.
“Amanda. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, getting up to greet me.
God, he’s tall.
I’m only five feet two, and nothing turns me on more than height on a man.
He’s dashing in his tailored black suit that fits his athletic body like a second skin. His white shirt is crisp and offsets his black tie. His silver cufflinks add flair to an already impeccable outfit. I can’t resist a furtive glance down at his stylish black shoes.
Nice.
He wears success well.
Conscious I might be ogling his shoes with too much attention, I lift my gaze.
His blue eyes glide over me, taking in every inch of my purple dress and black Louboutin heels. He lingers a little too long on the décolletage of my dress, where I squeezed in my breasts and arranged them so they look tastefully revealing.
What I lack in height, I make up for with boobs.
He gallantly pulls out a chair for me. “Please, sit down.”
I barely have time to drop my clutch on the table when a waiter appears.
“Would you like a drink, Amanda?” Bryce asks.
“Please. A drink would be perfect,” I say, grateful for the opportunity to calm my nerves.
“What can I bring you, ma’am?” the waiter asks.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic, please, with lime. No cucumber.”
“And for the gentleman?”
“I’ll have an Old Fashioned, please.”
Bryce thanks our waiter, and he disappears.
“The service is impeccable here,” Bryce says, as he closes the cocktail menu. “That’s why I always stay at this hotel when I do business in the city.”
