Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
That makes me sputter and if anything, I grow even more crimson.
“I have all my marbles in place, thank you very much. And I’ll have you know that I’m very good at listening and processing a lot of information at once. But what the heck is going on? What do you mean, you’re my billionaire? What the heck does that entail?”
Carver shrugs, flipping a lock of black hair over his brow. He looks gorgeous and adorable at once, if that’s possible. The huge man takes a seat on the mattress and it dips beneath his mighty weight, making me roll over towards him as he chuckles.
“Well, what it means is that I’m here to do as you wish, sweetheart. Meaning, I’m at your service. I’m here to serve you, and to treasure you for this three month stay so that you enjoy your time in Paradise.”
I squint at him.
“What? This doesn’t even make sense. I was hired to work here, and not to be pampered by a male gigolo. So what’s going on? And didn’t you say you were a billionaire? If you have so much money, then what’s with the Midnight Cowboy act?” I ask, referring to the movie where Jon Voight plays a male prostitute.
Carver grins, understanding my confusion.
“Maybe I should start from the beginning,” he says.
“Please do,” I say grumpily, squeezing the sheets against my breasts. “Because I am very lost, if you can’t tell.”
He merely laughs again, showing off that movie star smile.
“A sassy one, aren’t we?”
I’m about to say something, but he continues.
“Basically, the Billionaires Club is a private club for high net worth men. We cater to the needs of a select clientele who value exclusivity, discretion, and of course privacy. We’re headquartered in Vegas, but there are satellites everywhere: New York, London, Paris, you name it. But it’s not just the big cities that deserve some love. We also have facilities in far flung locations such as the tropics of Indonesia, the wilds of Mongolia, and even the ice floes of Antarctica, if you can believe it. Maruba here is just one of our outposts. We bought this island to fulfill our every whim in a tropical fantasy.”
I stare at him.
“Are you engaging in illegal activities here? Is this actually a drug operation? Is white powder being imported from Latin America somewhere?” I ask fearfully.
Carver throws his head back, flashing bright white teeth.
“No sweetheart, absolutely not. Maruba was created for the men in our club,” he says, gesturing expansively although we’re still in my small white cube of a room. “It’s a place where men can indulge in their dirtiest fantasies out in the open, without fear of being hounded to death by the press. When you’re a billionaire, it’s a real problem you know. Every move we make is covered like it’s international news sometimes. We buy an apartment in NYC; it makes the real estate blogs. We take our dog for a walk; it’s photographed by paparazzi. We go to Starbucks; people look at us and whisper. It’s fucking tiresome, if you ask me.”
I stare at him.
“Yeah, but you said that you were going to meet my needs here. What does that mean? If this is an idyll designed for billionaires, then why would you serve me?”
Carver shrugs.
“Everyone likes a little change,” he says. “You know, to shake things up a little. When I’m in New York, I have a staff of twenty at my townhouse. I also lead a company with forty thousand employees, so as you can imagine, there are plenty of people ready to jump at my beck and call. But who wants that all the time? Not me. This is a way for me to turn things around a little.”
I stare at him again.
“So you import curvy girls from the mainland so that you can treat them as princesses? That’s why I was brought here?”
“Precisely,” he grins. “Although, you’ll definitely see there’s some variation. I think your friend Amelia was requested by my buddy Evan, and those triplets. What were their names again?”
“Candy, Mandy and Tandy,” I say with a deadpan expression. “They were requested as well?”
He nods and then snaps his fingers.
“Oh yeah, I think Brett wanted them. He likes them vapid,” Carver states, “and the blonder the better.”
I squint.
“But how did this even happen? How did you get my info? We’ve never met before so how did you find out about me?”
He smiles knowingly.
“Through Charity of course. Weren’t you asked to submit a photo and a bio as part of the interview process? And didn’t Charity take some photos of you, as well as your measurements?”
I think back. The entire interview was such a whirlwind that some parts of it are blurry in my mind. But come to think of it, I was weighed and measured, although I thought it was for my uniform upon arrival. And Charity did take some polaroids of me, although again, I thought it was to make sure I had the right “look.”