Admit You Want Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3) Read online

  Admit You Want Me

  An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3)

  Ajme Williams

  Copyright © 2020 by Ajme Williams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers only.

  All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.

  Contents

  Also by Ajme Williams

  Description

  Prologue: Artemis

  1. Easton

  2. Artemis

  3. Easton

  4. Artemis

  5. Easton

  6. Artemis

  7. Easton

  8. Artemis

  9. Easton

  10. Artemis

  11. Easton

  12. Artemis

  13. Easton

  14. Artemis

  15. Easton

  16. Artemis

  17. Easton

  18. Artemis

  19. Easton

  20. Artemis

  21. Easton

  22. Artemis

  23. Easton

  24. Artemis

  25. Easton

  26. Artemis

  27. Easton

  28. Artemis

  29. Easton

  30. Artemis

  31. Easton

  32. Artemis

  33. Easton

  Epilogue: Artemis

  Excerpt: Admit You Need Me

  The Irresistible Billionaires Series

  Want more Ajme Williams?

  Also by Ajme Williams

  All books are FREE in Kindle Unlimited and can be read as standalone romances.

  Heart of Hope Series (this series)

  Our Last Chance | An Irish Affair | So Wrong | Imperfect Love | Eight Long Years | Friends to Lovers

  Fake Marriage Series

  Accidental Love | Accidental Baby | Accidental Affair | Accidental Meeting

  Irresistible Billionaires

  Admit You Miss Me | Admit You Love Me | Admit You Want Me | Admit You Need Me

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  Description

  A billion-dollar nightmare? Check.

  An arrogant former Army man? Check.

  My worst client ever? Double check.

  What bad deeds did I do to deserve this billionaire as a client?

  Sure, the money is good.

  But that’s not the only reason I’m here.

  That’s not the only reason I’m giving Easton a makeover that he desperately needs.

  His wild beard needs taming if he’s going to be a hot shot businessman.

  But he has a real wild side to him that I don’t know what to do about.

  His filthy mouth spoils my day.

  His piercing eyes make me lose my mind.

  Easton may be bad news, but he adores my curves.

  He adores me.

  I could only keep my distance from him for so long.

  Falling in love with my billionaire enemy was not a part of my plan when I moved to a new city as a celebrity stylist.

  Neither was breaking the rules and ruining my career.

  But maybe, just maybe, Easton might be worth losing everything over.

  Prologue: Artemis

  “Are you done in there?”

  “What?”

  Easy’s voice came muffled through the door, barely audible over the sound of the shower.

  “I said,” I opened the door to the bathroom up a crack, “are you done yet?”

  “Yup. That’s why I’m still in here, Missy. Because I’m done.” I rolled my eyes and leaned back away from the steam emanating from the hot room.

  “It’s a simple yes or no question, Easton. Please.”

  “If you’re getting impatient, why don’t you come in here and lather me up yourself?” he called. I closed the door because I had asked for it. Walked right into that one. I checked the time on my phone. He had been in there for almost ten minutes. For someone who didn’t want to go out tonight, he seemed to be putting in the effort. Alternatively, he was just making sure this took as long as possible because he knew how much it annoyed me when he was late. I was sure he could do a good enough job in the shower himself but any longer in there and we were going to be late.

  At least he was taking a shower?

  Christ, the bar for this man was on the floor. It was in hell. All things considered, I wasn’t sure the man that I had met several weeks ago would have bothered with a shower before a charity auction at which several of his past and prospective clients would be in attendance. Yes, we had come a long way. I was a war-weary soldier at this point ravaged by battle.

  I sighed, walking away from the bathroom door through his master bedroom. His clothes were hanging on a rack near the bed. On the bed were his cologne, hair wax and a brush, because God forbid, he tried to get away with not tending to that before we left. Knowing him, he would try. He was reformed, but only so far. With all the progress we had made, he would still try to walk the red carpet in joggers and a Van Halen t-shirt from the seventies if he thought he could get away with it. I shuddered. I thought I had seen fashion terrorism, but then I met Easy.

  Finally, the water turned off. It was about time. Moments later, Easton Schultz emerged in a waft of steam and heat from the bathroom. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t his broad, defined shoulders, his perfectly formed pectoral muscles or distinct abdominals, no, it was his soaking wet hair.

  “I thought I told you not to get your hair wet.”

  He looked up, amused, noticing me like he didn’t know I had been out here all along. He had one towel wrapped around his waist, low enough that I could see V-shaped taper from his obliques, but not low enough that I could see where his pubic hair began. He was holding a second, smaller towel in his hand, roughly drying the hair that I had told him not to get wet.

  “It’s going to take like twenty minutes to dry, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.” I stomped back into the bathroom and unearthed the hairdryer that he kept below the sink, which he hadn’t owned before meeting me. He hadn’t owned much before meeting me. No, that was inaccurate. He had owned plenty but all of it was junk.

  “Sit down,” I told him, walking back into the bedroom.

  He tossed the wet towel onto his bed and sat down, uncharacteristically obedient. I threw the wet towel onto the floor before the water soaked into his duvet. I was just a stylist but I had practically run a humanitarian mission on this man’s life.

  I had completely overhauled his look, groomed him into an acceptable member of society but some things, it seemed would take longer to change. After all my hard work, his slob gene was still making itself known. I plugged the hairdryer in and blasted his ginger-brown hair with hot air. It was shorter now, so it was going to dry quickly, he was right about that, but I didn’t like it when he didn’t listen to me. That was pretty often, come to think of it. He was a mule.
No, he was a dog, an old, grumpy hound who was set in his ways and didn’t want to learn any new tricks. He sat quietly until I was done with his hair.

  “Thank you,” he called as I walked back to the bathroom. I rolled my eyes again. One of these days, I would roll my eyes so hard they fell out of my head.

  “Get dressed.” I put the hairdryer away, catching my reflection through the fogged-up mirror. Was this what it was like having kids? I asked myself that question often these days. Both of my closest girlfriends were mothers and I loved their kids, but they were nowhere as aggravating, argumentative, or temperamental as Easton Schultz. I wiped the mirror to check my makeup and hair. I wasn’t going to be in attendance at the event, but that didn’t mean I spent all my spare time in tracksuit bottoms and oversized t-shirts. As a stylist, I had no choice but to lead by example. When I walked back out into the bedroom, Easton was thankfully dressed. His trousers were on and he was buttoning up his crisp, white, shirt.

  “Make sure you tuck it in.”

  “I know that. I’m not a toddler.”

  Wonderful, he was in a mood. Anything to make this night more turbulent than it needed to be. He was on his way to a charity auction. He had to walk the carpet, take pictures, and interview, the whole thing. It was a big night for him, and predictably, he was snippy about it. I came up and picked his tie up off the bed.

  “Sit down,” I told him. He flopped down onto the bed. “Chin up.” He raised his chin. I fit the tie under his collar and started working it into a knot. Time to step into my other role of life-coach. Easy needed it all; a life-coach, stylist, acupuncturist, sleep doctor, a full personality transplant. He was impossible. I had needed the help of all those specialists and more dealing with him in the short weeks that we had known each other. “Why are you upset?”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “You’re sulking, Easy.”

  “I don’t sulk. I’m not a kid.”

  He said that but he could have fooled me. He was an easy enough person to talk to when he wasn’t like this, but this seemed to be his baseline mood whenever we were together. Saying Easton was my most difficult client would be an understatement. He was the most unlikely character. He was former military and had been thrust into the limelight after one of his tech company’s innovations made him a favorite among millionaire and billionaire industry gods.

  He was… scruffy was not the word. He was as messy and unfashionable as you could imagine the worst stereotype of a straight man in his twenties to be. He didn’t have a single fashionable bone in his body, no distinct fashion sense, no respect for fine garments, he didn’t even own a shirt with a collar and sleeves before he met me. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to his new world, well, there was that, but he was actively against its culture and values at the same time.

  “You’re getting free therapy, you might as well tell me.”

  He scoffed. “Free? Last I checked, I was paying you an arm and a leg to dress me.”

  “Keep complaining and I’m going to double my rate. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Why do I have to go to this thing?”

  “Because it’s your job.”

  “No, my job is design and development.”

  “Yes, behind the scenes. Otherwise, you’re the face of a company. You need to network. Make friends.”

  “Those people are not my friends.”

  “You’re right, they’re not your friends, but they are incredibly useful contacts for you and your company, and you need to get them on your side.”

  “I have enough money. The company is valued in the billions. I don’t need to make more.”

  “Huge companies go bankrupt all the time. Despite what you might think, you are not yet too big to fail. If you don’t rub elbows with the right people, your contacts will dry up and all your hard work thus far would be for nothing. Many people have business ideas, sometimes they’re quite good but they lack longevity. Don’t you want your company to have a future?”

  He sighed, reaching for his socks and shoes. Getting up, I handed him his belt. He looked almost mournful. You would have thought I told him that he couldn’t have ice cream after dinner tonight. As long as he wasn’t angry. He had a hair-trigger temper which years in the military hadn’t ironed out of him and there were going to be cameras at the event. Any faux pas would be immortalized for everyone to refer back to in the future and use against him. He was dressed and I had mostly managed to convince him that his presence was required at the auction so finally, my work tonight was done. I swear, he wasn’t paying me enough. When I looked at him, he was fighting with his belt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Something’s wrong with the belt.” It was a python skin Ferragamo; there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. He fiddled with it, yanking a little too hard for my liking.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the whole thing, the pants too. They don’t feel good right here,” he said, motioning to his crotch.

  “Let me see,” I said, taking over with the belt. I peered up at his face. His jaw was tense and his head was tipped back. Oh no, his mood was worsening by the second. It didn’t matter that he didn’t like this part of his work, it was essential. If he didn’t do this, his company wouldn’t be one that people talked about in the present tense anymore.

  This was his coming out, so to speak. His debut and he had to make an impression. A Giorgio Armani suit would do that, but it wouldn’t matter if he was sulking and sullen the whole time. I pictured him flying off the handle, speaking out of turn to one of the people who had the potential to elevate his company. I needed to do something. I dropped down into a squat and unbuckled the belt, unlatching his trousers and pulling down his fly.

  He looked down at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I pulled his underwear down low enough to reveal his cock. Like the rest of him, it was perfect. I knew that American guys tended to be circumcised but it had still surprised me when I saw it the first time. Granted, I got over the shock quickly because there were other things, I liked to do with men’s members besides look at them.

  I pumped him at the root and fed the head into my mouth. Unprofessional? Yes. Scandalous? Completely. If anyone asked, I would deny until my dying breath that I had ever had sex with a client, much less during what were technically my working hours. If anyone found out, it would be a scandal, but the man was spiraling fast. His nerves were going to be his ruin unless I did something about it. It was my job to make sure he always presented his best self. Well, this was the best way to make sure that he wasn’t tightly wound when he walked the carpet. His cock filled with blood and hardened in my mouth. It was like his ‘off’ switch. One little orgasm and he’d be ready for public consumption. His hand came to my hair and I swatted it away.

  “Unlike you, I had to pay someone to do this for me,” I said, patting my locks.

  “I do pay you, you know,” he said, laughing. It was working.

  “Not for this part. I don’t want people thinking I’m a slag.”

  “No, never,” he sighed. I sucked his balls one by one and ran my tongue up his shaft. Was this for his benefit or mine? Ostensibly it was for his, but I wasn’t complaining either.

  “Better?” I asked, pausing, and looking up.

  “Huh? What?” he asked. I laughed. He sounded almost groggy. That was what I wanted. I needed him nice and pleasant so that all the rich people would like him.

  “You should just go down the carpet naked. That would make a splash.” I used my mouth on him again, taking him as deep into my throat as I could without gagging. Thank God we were at his loft alone and there was no risk of anybody finding us. Exhibitionism was exciting, but not when there were actual stakes.

  “Did you…” he struggled to get his words out.

  “Hm?” I asked with his cock in my mouth. He looked down at me, his face suddenly hardening.

  “Fuck it.” H
e hauled me up roughly and pushed me onto the bed. I tumbled down gracelessly. He came up to me, making quick work of his shirt, stripping it off.

  “Don’t you dare throw that on the floor,” I said. He tossed it onto the bed and pulled me towards him by the ankles, doing his trousers next. In one fell swoop, he was on top of me, and then he was inside me. It was like sticking a fork into a socket. A current rushed through me, my muscles quickly relaxed around the new, hard, throbbing presence. I practically melted into the bed. The auction. His suit. He had tossed his shirt on the bed instead of putting it back on the hanger, what if it was wrinkled? What if I had to steam it before the event and he got late?

  “Easy,” I said.

  “Hm?” he asked, face buried in my neck, one of his hands cupping my breast under my bra. This was so wrong. We were going to be late. He felt so good.

  Ah… fuck it.

  Easton

  One Month Earlier

  You would have thought that after a few years doing this, I would be better at it. I think it was just me. I wasn’t really built for this part of running a business.

  We were trying to negotiate a contract. I was standing at the head of a long conference table. My audience was Toby on one side and the men offering us a contract on the other. There were four men in total, all sitting there in their suits looking at me blankly. So far, they didn’t seem to be moved by my presentation. Their company owned one of the airports in the city and they were interested in our drones for runway monitoring. Only one of them seemed to be doing the talking while the others just seemed to be there to keep him company. He was staring at me, leaning back in his chair a little too comfortably for me. This part of the process wasn’t really my thing, but they had asked specifically for the head of design to be present for the meeting and that was me.