Mr. Indigo (A Mr. Billionaire Short Story) by Alexis Adaire & Flirt Club

Author:Alexis Adaire & Flirt Club [Adaire, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

Selby

I run from the elevator to my room and throw myself on the bed, then cry for the next half hour.

I thought Carter was the one. No, I knew he was the one.

Not the one, like forever, but the one to take my virginity.

I like him so much. We’ve had such fun every time we’ve been together, and on the phone on those nights when we weren’t actually in the same room. Carter and I have spent at least an hour talking every night since that first date.

There’s nothing about the guy that makes me think twice. Except for the fact that he turned down the chance to deflower me.

But why? He’s given me every sign that he likes me as much as I like him, and that he wanted me as much as I want him.

He was definitely, absolutely, beyond a doubt the right guy.

Wait a minute…

That’s what I said to him. I told him I was waiting for the right guy.

This man is a mega-billionaire, and here’s this chick who has only known him a couple of weeks telling him he’s the right guy and offering up her virginity. For all he knows, I’m a gold digger trying to get at his money. Or using him to land my company the Digital Jukebox account.

I am such a dumbass.

No wonder he ran in the other direction.

Carter thinks I’m looking for Mr. Right! Or in this case, Mr. Indigo.

But how do I fix this? I could call him, but what would I say? And what if I’ve completely scared him off at this point?

No, I need to do this face-to-face.

I need to go to Carter.

Now.

I hurry and clean my make-up and check to make sure my little black dress isn’t tear-soaked.

I already have his home address. I found it online a few days ago, when I thought I would be losing my virginity there. The house is gigantic and sits on a massive lot surrounded by fences and hedges, with a guard house in the front. And a couple of full-time security guards. I guess you can’t be too careful when you have that kind of money.

Minutes later, I’m driving through a drizzle to get there, rehearsing the little speech that I’ll no doubt forget if I’m even able to see Carter. And there’s no guarantee I will.

By the time I arrive, the drizzle has become a steady rain. The security guy in the gate house stops me and asks for my name and why I’m here.

“Selby Evanson, and I’m here to see Carter. He’s not expecting me, but he knows me. He took me to the museum earlier tonight.” He nods and picks up the phone. “And I beg you, sir, please don’t take no for an answer.”

He eyes me warily, then I see him talking. A second later he says, “Straight ahead, then take a sharp right to the front door.”

The gate opens, and I drive through. As I pull up to the house, I see Carter’s silhouette in the door frame.

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