Black Butterfly Page 6

  Instinctively she straightened her back and pushed her breasts upward. When his gaze swept over her, she remained confident his appraisal would make him hers. From the appreciative expression on his face as they continued to travel over her curves, she knew she was right.

  Portia had come prepared, for this visit. After Sydney tossed away her opportunity last week with Nolen Adams, Portia vowed not to make the same mistake. Everything was in place. Her hair, an chestnut brown shake of curls that stopped to the center of her back with golden highlights, was pinned back from her face with a rhinestone headband. She wore a jade-green wrap dress. The folds crossed over her c-cup breasts and tied around her tiny waist accentuating her shapely hips. In the winter she became pale, her naturally tawny brown skin wasn’t as vibrant. So she did a little tanning to heighten her Latin features. As far as Portia was concerned, the games could begin. He would make her the centerfold in one of the exclusive magazines for which he shot.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ellison. I’m a big fan of your work.” Todd accepted her hand, kissing three knuckles lightly. “Portia, you’re even tastier than I remember.

  Come with me,” he said, and accepted her portfolio.

  Portia followed him through the airy photo studio with its contemporary decor. The walls and furniture were a gleaming white, and the floors black marble with swirls that made it appear as if she was walking on glass. Four-foot-tall photos of once coveted models ranging from Christy Turlington, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, and Tyra Banks adorned the hall.

  Her stiletto heels clicked hollowly across the floor, pronouncing her movements step for step. She could already see herself as the fifth person on the wall, and before the day was over, Todd would share that vision.

  Todd glanced over his shoulder at her and winked, as if he heard her thoughts.

  When they stepped into his office, she grew even more impressed. The room cast an impression of opulence. A striking fifteen-foot high window was behind his glass desk displaying a full view of New York’s skyline. His office was so spacious it appeared to be designed for someone with claustrophobia. Decorated in a similar fashion to the rest of the house, it conveyed an air of masculinity that affirmed his bachelorhood.

  “Have a seat,” he pointed to the chair. Portia wondered how many hopefuls before her had faced him in the same chair. Sitting down, she crossed her legs and put her jacket in her lap.

  Todd thumbed through the photographs in her portfolio, expressionless. “You were part of Fashion Week two years in a row, huh?”

  “Yes, I modeled for several of the top designers as you can see.” Her quick response came off prideful, and rightfully so. Fashion Week happened to be the only good gig her agent had secured for her. She and the girls had drank and partied the night away, blowing through her commission, but making them all feel like stars.

  Todd looked up at her, smiling. “Impressive.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  Closing the leather-bound folder, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers made a tent before his face. “So tell me, what can I do for you, Portia?”

  Unable to suppress her excitement she heaved her chest upward and moistened her lips. When she’d met him at the photo shoot, they’d flirted constantly, with him praising her eyes and long, slim legs. She’d asked for a chance to show him her work, and he barely acknowledged the request. An hour later, though, his assistant had come to her with his card, detailing the date and time for a private interview. Now she needed to make a convincing pitch.

  “I think I’d like to do more print work. I read that you were doing a spring shoot for Bella magazine,” she began.

  “Aren’t you represented by an agency?”

  Portia re-crossed her legs so that her soft rayon skirt rose up her thigh to give him a better view.

  “Actually, I have an agent. I’ve been unable to get an agency.” Todd smirked. “The models for the Bella spread are from Ford this year.”

  “Oh. I was hoping that maybe I could get a referral from you, maybe some headshots that I could use to market myself.”

  “Now why would I do that?” Todd asked.

  Portia rose from her seat, tossing her jacket back on the chair. Her walk around his desk was slow and seductive. Portia stopped and sat, crossing her long legs once more. “I know a man like you must be quite selective.”

  “I am.”

  “Good. This is your opportunity to get first dibs at raw, natural, eager yet undiscovered talent.” She smirked. “If you could spare the time to let me demonstrate some of my talents, you could then decide if a man of your vast experience could see, let’s say, my potential?” Raising her leg, she used the pointed toe of her high-heeled boot to push the arm of his chair, and turn him toward her.

  Todd responded through his touch. His hand ran up her thigh. It disappeared under her skirt.

  Portia lowered her leg, and parted her thighs, to ensure her message remained clear. Apparently he favored the invite, because he pulled her across the desk so she sat directly in front of him. Portia took in deep hard breaths; she swallowed her nerves, and put on her best smile for him to proceed. He didn’t. He studied her for a torturous moment. If he rejected her now, her plan had failed. She considered forcing things along, her mouth on his cock would be a good start. But Todd Ellison belonged to an elite circle of photographers. These men would not reward a model from a single blowjob. She had heard tales from others who came up with lockjaw and nothing to show for it. The bait would need to be much more satisfying to achieve her ultimate goal. She had plans to turn him out before the day ended. A spread, shot by Todd Ellison’s lens would secure her a place with Ford Agency and a gig in this year’s Fashion Week.

  Todd slid his hand between her knees, parting her long legs wider. His touch seared and burned. The seat of her panty moistened and heat spread through her channel making her ache for him. Todd grabbed her hips, pulling her to the edge of the desk. Portia parted her legs. She rested her heels on either side of the armrests of his chair. He looked up at her, flashed a wicked smile. She reclined against the cool glass surface of his desk, her inner thighs trembled and her chest felt as if a swarm of butterflies were trapped behind her ribcage. Once he buried his head between her legs, tongue first, all tension eased.

  The idea to slip off her panty came to her in the elevator. After the soft groan rumbling in his throat rose she knew her naughty act was a good one. At some point during the interview it would be inevitable for them to end up here. And the pleasure was as swift and sweet as she hoped. The man knew how to use his tongue. It glided over her slit, and then circled her clitoris. Portia’s lids drifted shut. She threw her legs over his shoulders.

  A soft, submissive moan escaped her as his mouth covered her vagina, and his tongue delved into depths that sent shards of pleasure ripping through her pelvis. Portia slammed her thighs shut on his face and Todd’s tongue plunged deeper.

  The drawer opened. Portia heard it over her passionate moans of submission. Behind closed lids she sensed his actions. He would reach inside his desk for a possible condom; pull his wonderful mouth from below to rip into the package. Eventually he’d roll the rubber down his dick and the games would begin.

  Panting and squirming on the table with her dress pulled up and part of her breasts exposed, Portia opened her eyes and cried out through a warm wave of orgasmic pleasure from sheer anticipation. Todd loomed over her, unbuckling his belt and then slipping on the condom. She thought over what Sydney had said about her methods of securing a gig, and her shame warmed her already feverish face. This time it would be different.

  She could see it on his flushed face. He wanted her, and that type of hunger she knew how to stoke to get what she needed.

  Todd, with his slacks at his knees and the condom on, hooked her long legs over the bends of his arm and eased his hands under her butt cheeks to cup them firmly. Swift, penetration went deep, she lifted her hips to receive more and he complied. Thrusting
harder and harder, he dropped on her and forced her legs up to a V.

  Todd forced her breasts free of the front of her dress and sucked a nipple through the lace overlay of her bra.

  Portia moaned and tried to withstand the pump action of his jerking cock and rolling hips.

  Sydney and Trish were wrong. She knew what she was doing. She’d show them both.

  Nolen arrived at the diner. It had been a week and three days since his butterfly escaped his net. He’d been distracted by issues with Hollister, things should have progressed further by now. However, he was pleased that Annemarie had scheduled Ms. Allen’s next audition into his itinerary. The thought of her today had peaked his curiosity once more. From what he was told on their way to the diner, she would be leaving work soon to go to her audition.

  “Sir, Mr. Ellison sent this over by courier this morning,” Annemarie said, passing Nolen the folder. “You should look at them.”

  Opening the folder, he scanned the candid shots of the Chief Operating Officer of Hollister. The pictures would be just the ammunition he needed to bring that asshole to his knees. Hollister Textiles needed to go public, before the end of the fiscal year. He just needed to convince the board to turn over their investment portfolio to his company—Adams Global Solutions. He was real close. “Schedule a meeting for this evening.” Annemarie nodded. “We have to meet with the board members of Delstar Textiles. They are calling an emergency meeting since we’ve decided to withdraw our services.”

  “Cancel it,” he said.

  Annemarie cleared her throat in obvious surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Something wrong?”

  “We need to be careful now with Delstar, we don’t want to attract the attention of the SEC. And frankly sir, in the five years I’ve worked for you, you’ve never cancelled anything on the itinerary. This meeting—”

  “Am I to explain myself to you now?”

  “Ah, no, sir. I’ll cancel it.”

  He nodded. “Fine. I’m going to get Ms. Allen. She’s riding with us to the studio.”

  “How many?” the hostess asked Nolen.

  “One.” He pointed at Sydney. “I want to sit in her station.”

  The girl looked back at Sydney who headed toward the drink dispensers. “Oh, she’ll be leaving soon.

  How about—”

  “No, put me in her station, and send her to me,” he said, fixing his eyes on the hostess.

  The young woman frowned. “Whateva,” she snapped. She took a menu and stepped out from behind her podium. Nolen followed her through the diner to a booth. He removed his trench coat then slid in. The girl, with big gold hoop earrings with her name written in cursive through the middle, plopped down the menu and shot him an irritated look. “She’ll be ova in a minute.” she huffed, and then headed toward Sydney in the back.

  The place was a cramped eating spot. Sydney barely made it around tables or to booths without having the hands of a patron reaching for her. He watched her with a handful of drinks and a flustered look on her face.

  She turned and almost ran into the curly-haired hostess. “Watch it, Maria!” she said.

  The short Latina rolled her eyes. “Some jerk is insisting that you wait on him.”

  “Where’s Patrice?” Sydney asked.

  “I don’t know!” Maria shot back, she marched off.

  Sydney set the drinks on the table. Plucking straws from her apron, along with hot sauce and pepper, she asked if the couple needed anything else. The patrons thanked her, saying they were fine. Sighing, she pulled out her notepad and went to the next booth. “Can I—”

  He smiled up at her cleverly. “Hello, Sydney.”

  Caught off guard, she dropped her pad back into her apron pocket. “What are you doing here?” she asked, a quick glance behind her proved he arrived alone.

  “I figured since you wouldn’t eat with me, I’d come eat with you.”

  “You left your swanky, comfy little office on Wall Street to eat here? You must have a death wish or something.”

  “Definitely.” He sat back, throwing his arm around the top of the booth, allowing his eyes to soak her in.

  “Will you dance at my funeral?”

  She shook her head emphatically no, then folded her arms. “How did you know where I work, or should I ask?”

  “I told you I had talents.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet that information came via your wallet.”

  “Actually, there’s this little thing called the Internet. Have you heard of it?” Sydney laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. But my money says those manicured nails of yours have never even touched a keyboard to search for a lowly waitress.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  Sydney nodded with apparent satisfaction just as another waitress walked in, looking flustered. She headed straight to Nolen’s table.

  “I’m so sorry, Sydney. My babysitter flaked out on me, and I had to take Cammie to my mom’s.”

  “It’s ok,” she said, pulling off her apron and looking at her watch. “Things happen. I understand.” Nolen observed, Sydney noticed the amused smirk on his face before he spoke. “Need a ride?”

  “No,” she said with finality. Patrice frowned down at Nolen.

  “You don’t want to be late,” Nolen said, tapping his watch.

  Patrice hurried off to put up her things and hit the floor. Sydney checked the time on her watch again.

  “What’s it going to cost me?” she asked, clearly irritated.

  “Conversation.” He leaned forward in the booth and maintained her stare. “I’m harmless, and it’s on my way. C’mon, let me give you a ride.”

  Sydney chewed on the inside of her lip. Patrice returned with her notepad and pen. “I can take care of him for you,” she said, flashing Nolen a smile.

  “That won’t be necessary. Sydney and I have plans. Don’t we?” Running her hand back over her forehead, she sighed. “Ok, I need to get my things,” she mumbled, before she left. Pleased, Nolen only nodded in agreement. Yesterday he signed the papers with Xenia and their respective attorneys. He basically owned the ballet. He couldn’t wait to share the news with his butterfly.

  Sydney reappeared in jeans and a puffy blue jacket. She put on her gloves and her backpack. “Let’s go, Mr. Stalker,” she said as she walked past him.

  Nolen laughed softly. He exited the booth, slipped on his coat, and then followed her.

  The car door swung open. The driver's gaze was steady and very intense. She avoided it as she slipped inside. Sydney was surprised to find another woman waiting in the limo. “Hello,” Sydney said.

  The woman nodded.

  Nolen got inside and the driver closed the door, cutting off the wintry breeze. “Sydney, this is Annemarie. She works for me.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sydney said.

  The woman smiled politely but didn’t speak.

  Nolen sat back. “So, are you nervous?”

  Sydney looked over at him and nodded. “Yeah, I always get nervous before auditions.”

  “You were great the first time I saw you. I’m sure you’ll be great today.”

  “Despite my foot?” she asked with an arched brow.

  “How is it by the way?”

  She looked down at her feet. “Fine. But if you noticed, then I’m really worried about––”

  “Trust me, there is nothing for you to worry about.”

  Sydney frowned at the comment, but held her tongue. Even if she was to address it, she might not like his response, so she stared out the window and did a silent prayer his attentions would end there. Maybe today another dancer would catch his eye and he’d find a way to scratch that itch of his.

  “Did I say something to offend you?” he asked.

  She looked from the passenger window to the woman staring at her. The slight smirk on the woman’s face gave her the impression that his politeness wasn’t to be trusted. “Are you one of the show’s investors?” Sydney asked.

  “It’s
my show,” he replied in a dry matter-of-fact tone.

  “I thought it was Xenia Minetti’s production?”

  “It is, but I own it.”

  Annemarie’s cell phone buzzed and she discreetly took the call.

  Sydney’s eyes returned to her window, wishing the driver would hurry up. She became increasingly uncomfortable with her inability to remain firm with him. Once again she found herself in his company at his request. She wanted this part, but she wanted to earn it through her talents alone, not through yielding to his apparent lust for her.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I want you to know that I wasn’t trying to be rude the other night,” she said. “I did appreciate your generosity.”

  Nolen looked faintly amused. “I think I’m the one that should apologize. I tried to, the other night, but you weren’t willing to listen.”

  She waited to hear more.

  “I shouldn’t have given you gifts without formally introducing myself and making my intentions clear. I offended you, and I’m sorry.”

  Annemarie, spoke softly into the cell phone, however Sydney noticed her pensive stare above the rim of her glasses.

  “Thank you,” Sydney said, relaxing a little.

  “The COO of Hollister can’t see you today, sir,” Annemarie said, setting her phone aside.

  Nolen frowned. “Did you tell his office that this was mandatory? The board convenes in a week,” he snapped.

  “Yes, sir, but he has a speaking engagement at NYU today. He’s booked. The earliest opening would be first thing in the morning.”

  Nolen clenched his gloved hand into a fist and turned to look out the window. After a moment, he cut his eyes back to Annemarie. “That’s fine. Work it in.”

  Annemarie looked as if she thought he’d completely lost his mind, but she nodded, checked his schedule, and picked up the phone.