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How (Not) To Be Seduced By Billionaires (Books 1-3)

By:Marian Tee

How (Not) To Be Seduced By Billionaires (Books 1-3)
Marian Tee

 BOOK 1: CHASED



Lesson #1



;Holy shit' are not the best words to say

when you see how gorgeous your billionaire is for the first time.

He will want to fuck you after that.



"Oh God, I'm going to be, like, super late."



I threw Alyx a look of horror before returning my gaze to the digital  display of the elevator, wishing there was a way I could have it speed  up. If I ever survived today's job interview alive, I must remember to  write to the CEO of Ferrari. He should know that people who were  pathologically late like me needed his help. He just had to create a  sports car version for elevators.

"Stop panicking." Alyx rolled her eyes as she spoke. She sort of did it  all the time, actually, making you unable to figure out when she was  being sincere or sarcastic.

Alyx continued, "Any company would love to have you, Yanna."

Like now.

"Shut up. I know you're lying."

"I'm not." Her voice still had that eye-roll-tone so I couldn't quite  make up my mind if she really did mean it. We had been friends since our  kindergarten days, but this one just plain eluded me all these years. I  had long decided that this quirk of Alyx was truly something only her  own Mr. Right could figure out. I told her as much but Alyx had just  laughed and called me a "romantic". Personally, I thought what she  really wanted to say went along the lines of naïve, foolish, and  hopeless.

"You just have to show them what you've got."

Now that one sounded semi-sincere so I unhesitatingly asked, "What do I  have?" I sniffed for effect, just so Alyx would take pity on me and  dwell more on my good points than bad.

Alyx pursed her lips, and when she did that she looked more like a  schoolteacher, thanks to her nerdy glasses and buttoned-up blouse  –   okay, make that a schoolteacher in mini.

We loved our minis, Alyx and I.

She eyed me head to toe, lingering on how I twisted my hair into a  prim-preppy chignon, the modest neckline of my blouse, and my skirt,  which ended two inches over the knee.

I was sort of thinking she'd say something nice after that, but what she  came up with was, "Well, you may be older than most entry-level  applicants---"

I winced. "Twenty-four is NOT old."

"But if you tell them it's because you had to take care of your ailing parents first, I'm sure they'll understand."

Seeing the serious expression on her face, I protested, "I can't say  those things! That's, like, lying." And yes, I was indeed 24 years old  with a tendency to abuse the word ;like'. It was my own version of  nail-biting  –  verbally regressing to a teenager from the 1990's whenever  I was anxious or terrified. The word ;panicky' described me perfectly  to a T, which was why Alyx felt the need to accompany me all the way up  to 34/F, where my future would later hang in the balance.

Alyx didn't seem to hear me. "Also, you just need to let them know that  you speak scores of languages and an honor's certificate from your  college."

"Three languages are not scores."

Alyx didn't seem to hear that either. As the elevator's doors silently  slid open at my floor, she simply gave me a thumbs-up and said, "Trust  me. Anyone with half a brain is going to want to hire you."

Not if you're late by twenty and you're absolutely unprepared for your  first ever job interview, I thought a few minutes later as I pushed the  heavily tinted glass doors open and found more than a dozen pair of eyes  gazing at me.

"Sorry, sorry," I mumbled red-faced as I force-squeezed my way behind  the row of seats on the left side of the table. It was the only way to  get to the other side of the room. The entire left row of seats was  fully occupied, and their wheels squeaked as the other applicants pushed  their chairs further in so I could pass.

"Ditz," the bottle blonde in a severe black suit not-so-softly sneered  as I walked past her. Since I was wearing my favorite pink suit and  everyone here seemed dress for mourning (why did I not get the memo that  black was back as the new black?), I told myself I'd let just that one  go.

Only one chair from the opposite row of tables was taken, occupied by a  man wearing a pinstriped suit and studying a sheaf of papers he held in  one hand. Even seated as he was, he exuded an authoritative aura that  made me gulp. If this man was going after the same job I was applying  for, I might as well give up now.

Taking the seat next to him, I quickly sat my bag on the chair on my  other side as I hurriedly hand-combed my shoulder-length brown hair,  which was still half wet from my shower.         

     



 

People from the opposite row were staring at me oddly. I could feel  their gazes on me, and most of them weren't friendly either. My heart  sank even as I tossed a grateful glance at the unoccupied seat at the  head of the table. Obviously, whoever it was Kastein Inc. had assigned  to interview us was also late  –  but what if the other applicants were  planning to tell on me once the interviewer arrived?

Sensing the man next to me turning to my direction and not getting any  unfriendly and competitive vibes from him, I silently breathed a sigh of  relief at the thought of having at least one person in the room not  antagonistic toward me.

Friendly smile in place, I said, "Hel-oly shit."

Bottle Blonde gasped.

I cringed at the sound. That was what I should have done. Gasped. But  then  –  who could blame me, really? Anyone would have been completely  shocked at seeing someone so incredibly beautiful in person. Men were  not supposed to be beautiful, dammit. But this one was.

His sun-kissed hair seemed to have all the shades between dark gold to  copper  –  his natural hair color, in other words. It was impossible for  any artificial hair dye to create his kind of hair, which was also  naturally curly. Those adorable curls would have made him look gay if  not for his strong jaw. His eyes were the lightest shade of gray, almost  silver  –  and they were laughing at me, with his sexy-looking lips  curved in a slight, amused grin.

My heart sank the second time in minutes at the sight of it. Great. Way  to make an impression on a potential rival in the workforce: let him  know he's turned your head around completely.

Desperate to make him forget my embarrassing gaffe, I asked quickly,  "Are you applying for the marketing research position, too?"

He raised a brow, making me wonder what I had said wrong. His sexy  secretive grin still playing on his lips, he said simply, "No."

We stared at each other after that. I didn't want to  –  I swear I didn't  –   but somehow his gaze was commanding and magnetic, and I felt like I  wouldn't be able to pull my gaze away unless he let me. And really, I  knew how ridiculous that sounded  –  especially where I was concerned.

My parents had even nicknamed me "Little Miss Granite" because I was  stubborn as a rock. Even as a kid, I had a tendency to be headstrong  when there was something I wanted.

I had never been a pushover, and yet here I was - a slave to a  stranger's gaze. I was scared that if this man told me to bend over, I'd  ask if he wanted me to take off my undies first or let him do the  honors.

It was a freak-out-worthy thought, considering that I had never thought  of sex in such graphic terms. In fact, the only sex scene I had ever  watched in my life was the one in Breaking Dawn and the only hardcore  part in it was when Edward broke his bed's headboard into pieces. And  all the time, I had kept thinking, if his hands could do that, what  about his … well … you know? Was that even a good thing?

"You're late, you know." The European accent of his voice made my toes  curl. Even so, one part of me was dismayed at his words  –  did he really  have to say that out loud? But the other part of me was just plain  relieved he spoke. It somehow gave me the strength to look away, and I  did so quickly, training my eyes on his necktie, which was a lovely  silky shade of red. Again, it was the kind that should have made him  look extremely gay. But no, it did not. It just made him more  mouthwateringly sexy.

Still not looking at him, I mumbled, "I miscalculated the traffic on the way here."

"Ah," he said.

I mentally groaned at the sound. It was very, very sexy, too. Everything  about this man was just plain sexy, and it was extremely terrifying.  You see, I was what you'd call a sexual prude. My parents had the most  amazing love story ever, and because of it they sort of drummed into me  since I was old enough to enjoy bedtime stories that I was destined for  an amazingly romantic adventure of my own. Of course, by the time I got  to high school, those bedtime stories had turned into the most horrible  of warnings.

Walter and Carole would constantly warn me of how a man's, umm, member  could end up literally tearing your hymen apart and send you to E.R. if  you weren't made ;ready' by true love. Since Walter was a top-rated  surgeon and Carole his nurse for twenty years, you could just imagine  how believable their horror stories had sounded during my younger years.  Of course, I knew better now, but old fears were pretty hard to kill,  especially if you'd been listening to them since you had your first  period.

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