Wicked Billionaire - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,18

the rest of my afternoon so you and I can discuss the project’s next steps.”

“Next steps, sir?”

Fuck… what it does when she calls me “sir.”

“Even though you’ve attended meetings, you haven’t inquired about why I need investors.”

“I didn’t feel it was my place,” she murmurs. “I thought if you wanted me to know—”

“I intend to open a unique type of resort,” I interrupt. “One which will be separate from the Blackwood empire.”

“Why wouldn’t you want it to be part of the Blackwood empire? The brand itself seems like it offers guaranteed success.”

That makes me chuckle. Nothing about building a new resort—Blackwood name or not—is ever guaranteed to be successful. But she’s not wrong… the Blackwood money would grease the wheels.

I tap my fingers on the desk, studying her. Should I reveal my true intentions for the result? Fuck it. I brace for her reaction. “I’m going to create a boutique luxury resort, which will contain a sex club as its main focus.”

At first, her expression blanks, but then her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. I’m stunned when she merely says, “Interesting… I assume you think there’s a market for it?”

Once again, I chuckle. “Oh, there’s a huge market for it. The wealthy will pay a premium chunk of change for the privilege.”

“And you want outside investors because you cannot associate the Blackwood name with such an endeavor?” she concludes.

“My family would not be happy about it,” I concede. “In fact, I would be the silent partner in the project while my investor would be the public face.”

When she frowns, I figure this is where she’ll reveal just how progressive—or not—she’ll be in this matter. “I still don’t understand why you want to do this. I mean… as the Blackwood heir, you don’t need extra income. And if you will only be a silent partner in this project, you won’t get any recognition from it, so why even bother?”

My body relaxes. She’s focused on financial and business recognition merits, not on morality. “Let’s just say I have a personal interest.”

“A personal interest?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

“Yes, as in I personally enjoy going to sex clubs,” I say, tone challenging.

Once again, her response surprises me. It looks as if a bright light has flipped on above her head as something dawns on her. “So that’s why you don’t date and are rarely seen with women.”

I’m the shocked one now. I didn’t realize she paid that type of attention to my personal life. For some odd reason, it pleases me.

“I like no-strings-attached sexual encounters,” I reply in a crisply professional voice. I want her to believe we’re still talking about business, but, truthfully, I’d like insight into her thoughts, too. “I find it easier with how busy I am, and sex clubs offer that.”

“Makes sense,” she muses, her eyes going slightly hazy in contemplation. I’d bet a million dollars she has no idea she’s doing it, but her teeth sink into her bottom lip, nibbling at it. It’s sexy as fuck.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I murmur.

Her gaze focuses, snapping to me. Shaking her head, she smiles sheepishly, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry… just thinking. I recently had a friend suggest a sex club to me.”

Now I wasn’t fucking prepared to hear that. It’s not that I think Bailey’s a prude. I genuinely thought there was only a slim chance she’d be offended by my project. But I never thought she’d actually entertain the merits of that type of hedonism.

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” I say before I can stop myself. “After I decide which investor to partner with, we’ll be moving to the design stage. I could use your help.”

“But I don’t know anything about sex clubs,” she exclaims, her eyes bright with interest despite her words.

“That’s what research is for,” I say, leaning forward to cross my arms on my desk. “We’ll visit a few local clubs to compare the elements, which will help in deciding on the attractions for my new resort.”

“You want me to go to a sex club… with you?” I don’t miss the slightly hysterical edge in her tone, but she remains composed in all other respects.

“For research,” I remind her almost primly, to mask the underlying lust. “We’ll simply observe. Nothing more.”

“Um… well, okay,” she replies uncertainly.

“This is strictly business, Miss Robbins,” I say pointedly. “Nothing more.”

“Of course,” she hastens to assure me. “I understand that. And you need me to…”

Her voice trails off. It’s obvious she’s a tad overwhelmed at the idea of researching sex clubs. In