Office Obligations

Cassandra knows how she likes her men. Powerful, rich, and dominating. She isn't the highest-paid dancer in the club for nothing.

So when she is hired to accompany a billionaire playboy for a five-hour trip down to Vegas, she thinks she knows what to expect. That is, until the playboy's friends show up in the limo with more toys than she knows what to do with…

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“You may begin,” he inclined his head for me to start dancing and I took a mere moment to decide that I did not want to be so far from my potential source of income.

I put on a bright smile for the sole audience in the midst of empty chairs and started walking towards him immediately. There was no need for subtlety.

The closer I was to him, the more I could see of the hard exterior and the grim lines on his face. Here was a man that did not shit around. He looked as if he was forced to be here. His full lips formed a thin line as his brown eyes drank me in. He was wearing a suit that looked tailored to his every curve.

His eyebrow cocked in amusement, but he did not stop me from approaching him. I took his silence as agreement and closed the distance between us completely.

“You seem stressed,” I smiled, body barely touching him as I danced around him. It was a challenge to remain graceful with the little space between seats, but I was no stranger to dancing for a lone customer. Tease, but never touch.

“Perhaps I could make you relax?” I offered, lithe fingers ghosting over his arms but not touching. His dark eyes sparkled at me in unwilling admiration and he leaned back to enjoy my sensual dance.

I arched and curved my body to his, so close to him that I could smell his cologne, a rich scent of pine and whisky that lingered on my nose even as I drew back. One black eyebrow shot up as my fingers deliberately ghosted over his crotch and I smirked.

His hand shot up and he grasped my wrist.

“Tell the rest of the girls to leave,” he said decisively, addressing James without looking at him. “Cassandra will accompany my friends on the drive to Vegas.”

Light eyes flinted mockingly at him, “You don't even know my rate yet,” I said.

“I hope ten thousand dollars per hour would suffice,” he responded sardonically, his fingers on my wrists like a handcuff that refused to budge. I was not inclined to have my hand back if he was offering so much money.

My bit my lip, fast losing my poise. That was twenty times my going rate.

“Another fifty thousand dollar bonus after the trip if you do a good enough job of satisfying my friends,” he said.

His voice carried a hint of an accent and I was reminded of some oil tycoon in the Middle East despite his fair skin and brown eyes.

“You realize that I am merely a dancer?” I felt faintly shocked by the price he was offering. Surely this was too good to be true. I did certain favors for high paying customers, but the money he was offering was a little much.

“That is easily remedied,” he said.