The Billionaire's Lover: Curves To Keep (Part One) (A BBW Erotic Romance) Read online

  The Billionaire’s Lover: Curves To Keep

  Part One

  Bethany Rousseau

  Copyright 2014 by Forbidden Fruit Press

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  Published by Forbidden Fruit Press

  Smashwords Edition

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  ***

  A taste of things to come:

  He pushed the chair she had been sitting in moments before backward, gesturing for Gabrielle to take a step back. “Take off your blazer,” he told her firmly. Gabrielle moved to obey with automatic movements, slipping the garment off of her shoulders and down her arms. She cast it backwards into the chair, her hands shaking from a mixture of anxiety and arousal. “Now unbutton your blouse—slowly.” Gabrielle was grateful that she had chosen one of her sexiest bra and panty sets for the interview, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t even considered the possibility of Edwards coming onto her. She began to unbutton her shirt, her fingers nerveless and fumbling from her intense arousal and her lingering fear. Edwards watched every moment, following her fingers with his gaze as she worked downward slowly but surely. She pulled the tail of the blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and finished the last two buttons, her breaths coming more shallowly as she stood there, keenly aware of her exposed skin.

  ***

  Chapter One

  Gabrielle couldn’t help feeling slightly nervous as she sat in the waiting room of Edwards Industrial, controlling her impatience as she waited for an interview. She had applied for a paid internship because she knew that she wanted a foot in the door at the company; the prospect of a future job with an actual salary was tantalizing to her. The paid internships that Edwards Industrial offered were lucrative enough that it might as well be a job, as Gabrielle had learned when she had done her research on the company. She tried not to fidget as she sat waiting, going over the information she had compiled on the position in her mind. She knew she was more than adequately qualified for the internship, and she had always had success in interviews—if she could get to the interview phase of a job, Gabrielle had always managed to secure it.

  She had dressed with particular care, as she always did for interviews. Gabrielle had always been proud of her body; her long legs with lush thighs, her full hips and bust, her not-quite flat stomach and her firm, ample ass were all features that she had celebrated ever since puberty had arrived in her life, transforming her from a scrawny child and into a fully-formed woman in the span of a few short years—long before she had reached the age of consent in her state. While she had been picked on more than once, Gabrielle kept her head high and had learned from her godmother—a woman of Amazonian build, tall with heavy bones and a full figure—to celebrate herself, rather than be ashamed of what she had been graced with. While she was an active person, and she certainly didn’t overindulge in junk food, she had never seen the point in dieting until she was a skeletal size six, or in going to the gym to run on a treadmill for hours to try and fit into couture. That morning she had selected her best, most professional outfit: a pencil skirt that came to just above her knees with a vibrant blouse and a tailored blazer; the outfit highlighted her best features while not looking overtly sexual, which was just how Gabrielle liked her clothes.

  Just when Gabrielle would have checked the time once more, the receptionist cleared her throat. “Ms. Young?” the woman said, standing up from her seat. Gabrielle smiled, standing as well and smoothing her pencil skirt against her thighs. “Mr. Richards is coming out for you now,” the woman said. Gabrielle nodded, taking a deep breath and soothing her apprehensions. The door to the inner office opened, and a tall, thin man appeared; he had sandy blond hair and a bit of razor rash on his close-shaved face. Another candidate walked out from behind him, and he smiled broadly at her, thanking her for her time and shaking her hand with slightly more than casual politeness. Gabrielle watched the tall, thin woman, whose skinny build reminded her of all of the girls she had ever disliked, walking away to the exit, smiling. The man spoke to the receptionist for a moment, having not even noticed her waiting for him. The receptionist answered his question quietly, and he paused for a moment, looking over some papers in his hands—probably applications or resumes, Gabrielle thought.

  “Gabrielle Young?” he asked, glancing up. His dark eyes fell on her and for a moment Gabrielle saw something she couldn’t quite define but which boded no good for her at all—some flicker of disdain in his gaze. The next instant, his expression smoothed and he smiled. “You’re Gabrielle,” he said, looking at her from head to toe in a quick glance. Gabrielle nodded, keeping her polite smile on her face. Mr. Richards extended a hand to her, and she shook it, keeping what her mother had taught her about professional handshakes in mind: firm, not squeezing. “I’m Eric Richards, the manager of the design department.” He took her through the door and into the office, walking briskly; Gabrielle had to adapt her stride, between the pencil skirt and the heels she was wearing, to keep up with him.

  He led her to a small but oddly impressive conference room, closing the door behind him and taking a seat at the table. For a moment, Gabrielle was stunned by how imposing the room was; for such a small space, it had a high ceiling, and the décor of the room suggested that it was suitable not just for interviewing candidates for an internship, but for meeting privately with very important clients. The table was solid wood, gleaming with polish, and the carpets were thick underneath her feet. The chairs looked as though they had been designed by someone with aesthetics in mind, not the typical ergonomic chairs that were usually employed in office settings, but something that was pleasing to the eye. There was a faint scent of some kind, muted but lending a chilly, professional air to the space at the same time. Gabrielle, reminding herself that she had been through a dozen interviews in her life, calmly took the seat across from him, settling into it and easing her feet slightly. She put her portfolio case down and composed herself while Eric flipped through some papers, barely paying any attention to her at all for a long moment. “So. Do you have a copy of your resume?” Gabrielle could tell that he was plainly looking at her resume, but decided not to comment on that fact. Instead, she opened the case and withdrew one of her copies, along with her portfolio. She extended the sheet of paper to him and put the portfolio down on the table, ready to open it to display her work when she needed to. Eric took it from her, looking at it for another long moment, and Gabrielle felt her skin beginning to crawl; she had cultivated a sense of knowing when someone didn’t like her, and Eric Richards was lighting up all of her mental alarms.

  “I was really excited to get an interview for this position,” Gabrielle said, wanting to break the silence. Eric made a small noise in his throat and finally looked up from her resume, setting it down and turning his gaze on her.

  “What makes you think that you’d be… a good fit for the company?” There was something in his hesitation that made Gabrielle feel uncomfortable. She tried to decipher it, but decided against it—he was likely just trying to ruffle her, to get her uneasy. It was a common interview tactic, and one that she had
encountered before.

  “I’ve done a great deal of research on Edwards Industrial, actually. I know that the company loves to innovate, and I’ve studied the psychology of design extensively. In some of my previous internships and positions, I’ve been responsible for successful ad campaign designs as well as taking several key technical positions—I think that I am more than experienced enough to handle the pressure and be an asset to the company.” Richards nodded slowly, and Gabrielle watched the smooth veneer come over his face once more.

  He continued his questions, grilling her about her previous positions and education. The questions were what Gabrielle expected, but the tone of his voice almost rattled her on more than one occasion; there was a subtext to what he was saying that troubled her, though she couldn’t quite initially put her finger on why as the interview continued. “We place a lot of emphasis on our employees being nimble, light of foot so to speak,” Richards said at one point. “How do you think you will be able to cope with that?” Gabrielle began to notice a trend in his questions from that point forward; he kept making subtle comments emphasizing size, painting the job she was applying for in terms of lightness—and when he directed questions at her experience, he kept referring to weight, to heaviness, to largeness.

  Gabrielle answered his questions as best as she could, refusing to get frazzled, but it became clear that he was making jabs at her weight and build. “Can you tell me a time when you’ve had to exercise self-discipline to get what you wanted?” he asked her pointedly, and Gabrielle noticed that his gaze took in the part of her figure that showed above the table. She told herself that his rudeness was probably a tactic, and told an anecdote about a point when she had been in design school when she had been forced to juggle two jobs and her studies, highlighting the fact that she had managed to maintain her stellar grade point average as well as keeping her employers happy. As the questions and comments continued to come, however, Gabrielle remembered the way Richards had thanked the previous interviewee, the easygoing friendliness of his manners; she thought to herself finally that unless he had a tendency to switch tactics between interviews to amuse himself, he was treating her the way he was, not to test her resilience, but because he had a problem with her weight.

  Gabrielle’s temper rose as the comments he made became less and less veiled. “I appreciate your candor, Ms. Young, but what makes you think you will fit in at this company? Part of our company culture is physical fitness; we have group fitness classes, and we encourage all of our employees to live a healthy lifestyle.” Gabrielle felt the blood rising into her face as she became upset at the comments he was making.

  “I think I will fit in excellently here, Mr. Richards, as my research of Edwards Industrial suggests that excellence, skill, and talent are the major requirements you seek in candidates. I would hate to think that superficial factors would get in the way of hiring a qualified person.” Richards rolled his eyes slightly, eyeing her finally with undisguised repulsion.

  “I’m just concerned that you might find it difficult to work with people who prioritize health and fitness as part of their everyday routine; please do tell me how you plan on accommodating this aspect of our culture.” Gabrielle bit her tongue to suppress the angry retort that rose up, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “I mean, I’m not sure that you’d be able or willing to participate in a charity 5K—one of our team’s favorite annual events. Looking at you… I just can’t see you being able to work quickly enough to satisfy our clients.” Gabrielle managed to barely keep her composure, feeling confused, angry, and upset at the inappropriate suggestions that Richards was making. He finally wrapped up the interview with the bare minimum of courtesy, escorting her out of the impressive conference room and into the lobby brusquely, telling her that she could expect to hear from the company within the week about the status of her application.

  Gabrielle took a deep breath, feeling dejected and bothered by the way she had been treated; she didn’t bother to do more than glance at the receptionist to acknowledge her, “Have a nice day,” as she walked to the elevator slowly, trying to think of how she could have possibly turned the interview around. Gabrielle was no stranger to discrimination based on her build—she was not so naïve, and she certainly had heard enough taunts and jokes about her weight as a teenager and even as an adult to know that there were some people who would always consider anyone other than a Vogue magazine model to be useless, lazy, and incompetent. But she had hoped—she had expected—that in such a huge, successful company, with a reputation for diversity, she wouldn’t encounter such obvious discrimination from a hiring manager, even for a competitive internship.

  Gabrielle stepped into the elevator, and her confusion and hurt began to transform into anger. She had already selected the ground floor of the grand building, wanting nothing more than to get into her car, go home, and have a glass of wine to dull her sorrow over losing the career opportunity of a lifetime. Instead, she looked at the floor selections, her anger consuming her. So what if she wasn’t a size zero Barbie doll? She was a talented, intelligent, qualified designer. Her ability to do the job should be more important than what she looked like—and besides, Gabrielle knew that she was gorgeous, no matter what some asshole of a hiring manager thought. She found the button for the top floor and pressed it, reasoning that the higher up in the building she went, the closer she would be to an authority figure. She decided that she wasn’t going to just let the opportunity go without a fight; she would file a complaint against Richards, she would insist on being interviewed fairly.

  Gabrielle felt the elevator shift as it began to move upward rather than downward, and she cherished her anger, letting it burn through the self-esteem-cutting remarks that Richards had made. She gripped her portfolio case tightly in her hand, talking to herself mentally, coaching herself to be assertive—to be all-out aggressive in demanding to speak to someone with authority. The elevator pinged, announcing her arrival at the top-most floor a moment before the doors pulled apart silently. Gabrielle stepped out, looking around her with apprehension and tightly reined anger. The floor she had come out on was even more impressive than the one she had been on for her interview; as she stepped out onto the fine marble floor, she saw that everything gleamed with craftsmanship. Gabrielle thought irrelevantly that she would not enjoy being the janitor responsible for the area; the wood-paneled walls shone with polish, and there was a brass rail along each side of the room. One wall was dominated by towering windows. The reception desk at this level was empty—a good development, a lucky chance. Gabrielle knew that it couldn’t possibly last; she had to take advantage as much as she could before the secretary returned from whatever errand she was on and asked questions. She glanced at the directory that was posted on one of the walls, glancing down through the office designations, names and titles as quickly as she could.

  Her gaze fell on exactly the person she needed: Harlan Williams, Director of Human Resources. At the level that Gabrielle was at, there were no locked doors into an inner office; instead the atrium-lobby opened into brightly lit hallways left open for anyone to walk down and explore. Gabrielle supposed that the secretary, wherever she was, had the task of preventing unauthorized entry into the sanctified areas—but since she wasn’t at her post, Gabrielle quickly moved into the hallway, glancing surreptitiously to make sure no one was coming around another corner to spot her. She would talk to this Harlan Williams, and tell him just what a discriminating ass Eric Richards was.

  Gabrielle quickly found the office that was marked Director of Human Resources, and would have gone for the door knob immediately; but a sound from within the confines of the office stopped her. It was a low, muffled moan. Gabrielle, an intensely sexual person, recognized the sound of it right away—she thought with amusement that Mr. Williams must be watching porn in the privacy of his office. A sharp crack and another moan told her that there was something much more immediate going on, and Gabrielle’s pulse began to race. She leaned in, peeri
ng through the slightly open slats of the blinds that covered the window into the office, intrigued by the possibility of something inappropriate going on.

  The sight she saw struck her with immediate, intense arousal. A woman—possibly the secretary who was away from the lobby—was bent over the desk, her body stripped bare, her clothes scattered on the floor. She was facing away from Gabrielle’s point of view, the side of her body exposed; she was wearing nothing but a pair of stiletto heels, and was holding herself up slightly, her hips pushed back, and her pert, tight ass up in the air with her back bowed slightly. Her wrists were bound over her head at the front of the desk with a necktie. Gabrielle had to admit to herself that the woman was objectively attractive; her skin was a creamy pale tone, her hair a vibrant red cascading down along her bare back. Nearby, Gabrielle’s hungry gaze took in a tall, well-built man; in contrast to the woman, he was nearly fully clothed in a fitted dress shirt, the first several buttons undone to show the bare, chiseled chest underneath and his tie missing. His sleeves were crisply rolled up to almost his elbows, and Gabrielle noticed with growing desire that his pants fit him exquisitely well. She heard a muffled murmur, saw his lips moving but couldn’t make out the words he said, and watched as his hand came down against the woman’s bare ass, making a sharp, certain crack against her skin. The woman moaned out again, her hips stirring. Gabrielle could see plainly that both of them were enjoying their activity; the woman’s face in profile was full of lust, and the man’s lips twitched with a satisfied smile as he brought his hand down against her again.