The Billionaire’s Full Figured Desire

Frida’s eyes then fell upon something that shocked her to her core. A young woman, almost certainly younger than Frida, was sitting across from the man. She wore a tight black, sleeveless dress that hugged her hourglass figure and high-heeled shoes with thin straps. She couldn’t have been his sister, that wasn’t the vibe that they were giving off. Plus, they didn’t look anything alike. Frida doubted they were just friends because of the way that the young blonde woman was scowling, her arms crossed defiantly over her ample cleavage. It was very clear she was not impressed, the sour look on her face said it all and then some.

This was a date! And here he was, ogling another woman, and not just any woman but Frida no less, a part of her was very confused. Frida knew this girl’s type; she was pretty, and she knew it. She inherently thought that she was better than women such as Frida. Frida felt a certain surge of savage satisfaction at this, almost like she was getting her comeuppance for the way that girls like her had treated people like Frida for her entire life. It wasn’t as if Frida would walk over to their table to steal the man away but having him focus on her did boost her ego, an ego she never truly acknowledged, it wasn’t as if she was a sought out woman.

Suddenly, the man broke his eye contact. He turned back to his date, and, out of the corner of her eye, Frida saw him mouth one moment to the young woman before he stood up and started making a beeline for Frida’s table. Frida saw the young woman completely lose her patience. She too stood, grabbed her jacket off of the back of the chair, and stormed out, although the man paid her no mind. Suddenly, he was standing right in front of Frida, as large as life. He was about 5”11, maybe 6”1, so a good, healthy height. For Frida, there was nothing more off-putting than a man who was shorter than her. It’s not that she went out of her way to find taller men, but the extra height always made a man seem stronger, more powerful.

It seemed as though both of them were silent for several minutes, but then finally, the man spoke.

“Hi,” he said, his voice smooth like melted caramel.

“Hi,” Frida said back, somewhat out of breath already.

“May I join you?” the man asked politely. Good-looking and has manners, Frida noted, although she also privately wondered if the man’s date would agree with that assessment after all Frida doubted that his date had ever been left like that before.

“I think your date has escaped you.”

The man didn’t even turn his head to look. He chuckled raspily. “Don’t worry about her,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.

Frida chuckled internally at this but kept her expression more or less neutral. “Please,” she said politely, gesturing at the seat opposite her. There was no way she could give up the chance to have a somewhat interesting night now that she wasn’t alone.

The man pulled the seat out and lowered himself down into it with a surprising amount of grace. “So,” he said confidently. “Is your name as beautiful as you are?”

Frida couldn’t resist smiling at that. What could she say, she was a woman! And women love compliments. “Frida Carter,” she said, with no small amount of charm injected into her words.

“Nice to meet you, Frida,” the man said smoothly. “I’m Terrence. Terrence Harrison. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And you,” Frida nodded. “I couldn’t help but notice you staring at me from across the room there.”

Terrence smiled, somewhat sheepishly. “What can I say?” he shrugged. “You caught my eye.”

“And do you like what you see?” Frida asked brazenly before she could stop herself. The words came out as quickly as she had thought them.

Terrence looked her up and down before he continued. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t,” he said softly, almost purred.

Frida nodded at this and tried to stifle her smile, but to no avail. Whoever this Terrence Harrison was, he just oozed charm. He had the smug, self-satisfied demeanor of a man who was as smooth as créme brulée and knew it too.

Frida and Terrence’s tete-a-tete was momentarily put on pause as the waiter arrived with the Sauvignon Blanc aperitif that Frida had ordered.

“I’ll have one of those, garçon,” Terrence said at once. “And let your people know that I’ve got this lady’s bill, anything she wants. Do you hear me? Anything she wants.” His voice was stern and powerful. Of course, Frida had had men buy her drinks before and take her out on dates but she had never met someone so blatant as if he wanted everyone to know that he was possibly the richest man around.

Terrence produced a polished black credit card from his wallet and held it under the waiter’s nose. The waiter took the card, looking impressed, and disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he had a big smile on his face, probably having just checked out the card limit. This time he brought the entire bottle of wine and left it on the table, along with a pair of stemmed glasses.

“Someone’s got big money,” Frida remarked; it didn’t seem to be a sore topic considering his previous actions.

Terrence shrugged, smiling again. “What can I say? I’m a successful businessman.”

“That’s a black credit card,” Frida noticed. “Highest limit available at Washington Trust Bank.”

“I’m a very successful businessman, some could even call me a billionaire but each to their own,” Terrence amended.

“And what does this very successful businessman do at his place of business?” Frida asked, sampling the Sauvignon Blanc.

“I own restaurants, actually,” Terrence said. “Not very exciting, I’m afraid, but gotta keep the lights on.”

“That is such a coincidence!” Frida exclaimed. “You own restaurants? I’m the Head Chef at a restaurant in town, not too far away!”

Terrence looked surprised at this. “Really now? What a refreshing change of pace! Somewhere famous?”

Frida shrugged. “Have you ever heard of L’Ultima Cena?”

Terrence’s eyebrows went up. “I hadn’t even heard that name until last week, now I’m hearing it everywhere. By my reckoning, half of Washington want to dine there, and most of them can’t even get seats because it’s booked up! You’re telling me that you run that L’Ultima Cena?”

Frida couldn’t resist winking. “Guilty as charged.” The thought of not boasting soon left her mind, her pride took over instead, and she soaked it all up.

Terrence couldn’t hide the fact that he was impressed, even if he’d wanted to. “But you’re so young! You’ve gotta be…what, twenty-four?”

Frida giggled in the most girlish way possible. “I’m twenty-eight, actually.”

She knew that Terrence was teasing, but it was a nice gesture all the same.

She laughed when his eyes popped out with surprise. “Twenty-eight? You?!”

“Yep,” Frida said happily.

“And you’re a Head Chef?”

“That’s me.”

“Well I just know that that’s a mad story,” Terrence raised his eyebrows. “I’d love to hear it if you’d love to tell it?”

Frida shrugged. “Well…it is a mad story, but it’s also a long story if you’ve got the time.”

Terrence smiled at this. “Frida Carter…you have my undivided attention.”

Frida smirked. She liked the sound of that, possibly a little too much. “All right,” she said. “It started about three years ago.”