A Bona Fide Gold Digger (26 page)

S
ome would call it a coincidence, others would say it was just a stroke of good luck, but Milan knew it was true kismet that brought Maxwell Torrance into her life.

From the haughty air he exuded and the boisterous manner in which he barked orders to his hired lackeys, no one would have ever guessed that a powerful man such as Maxwell Torrance would have responded to the ad Milan posted on the internet: STERN MISTRESS SEEKING WEALTHY PLEASURE TOY.

Her involvement with Gerard had provided an outlet to explore her sexuality and embrace her submissive nature. Transitioning from submissive to dominant had not been a simple undertaking; her finances, however, had demanded that she do so. She’d treated herself to every imaginable luxury, including forking over a hefty monthly mortgage on a two-million-dollar mini mansion, a personal chef, a gardener, a housekeeper, and she’d bravely gone under the knife for breast implants, which were a magnificent work of art.

Milan purchased new homes and cars for her mother and sister. Her mother cautiously accepted Milan’s gifts with the dire warning that Milan’s new-found wealth just wasn’t right—she was headed for trouble and needed to get married, settle down, and have kids.

She’d bought Sweetie’s family a roomy home and new SUV and also financed a take-out restaurant for Sweetie’s husband, Quantez. And recently Sweetie, who suddenly had no problem accepting money that she wasn’t sure Milan had killed Noah to acquire, was trying to hit her up for even more money to open a day care center. Thinking of her sister’s selective moral values made Milan smile and shake her head.

Milan possessed a powerful fear of poverty and in light of her spending habits, which were admittedly out of hand, taking on a wealthy submissive was a wise financial move.

Having no idea how much longer the remaining money she’d swindled from Noah’s boyfriend would last, it made good financial sense to step up to the plate and sexually dominate a wealthy man who could easily afford to maintain the lavish lifestyle she’d become accustomed to. And billionaire Maxwell Torrance was a serious upgrade from the impoverished imposter, Noah Brockington.

The chauffeur, a tall broad-shouldered, black man, parked Maxwell Torrance’s Rolls-Royce at the curb near the Broad Street and Lehigh Avenue subway stop. The declined inner-city neighborhood bustled with commuters and other pedestrians of meager means who ogled the nineteen-foot-long luxury automobile.

Milan, relaxed in the rear seat, read the financial report she’d recently received from her acquisitions attorney. Cool as a cucumber, she didn’t lift her gaze when the chauffeur reported, “There he is!”

“Hmm,” she uttered. Disinterested, she continued reading.

Accustomed to taking orders from the man who had just emerged from the bowels of the subway station, the driver was ill at ease. “Should I open the door for Mr. Torrance?” he asked. Creases of concern marked his forehead but did not distort his rugged good looks.

“There’s no hurry; let him wait,” she said casually.

“You think it’s safe out there for Mr. Torrance?”

“Maxwell Torrance needs a reality check; let him wait!” she said firmly.

Milan enjoyed the performance as she watched the smartly dressed business mogul hurry to the driver’s window. To no avail, he urgently rapped on the tinted window. Amidst the scoffing laughter of the onlookers who were amused by his humiliating predicament, Maxwell Torrance made even more of a spectacle of himself as he rushed from one side of his Rolls to the other, desperately jiggling the handles of the locked front and rear passenger doors.

It was an unsafe neighborhood. It was risky business for Milan to force her rich benefactor into such a potentially dangerous situation, but throughout her life, she’d been a risk taker. Pushing the limits and leaving the powerful deal-maker exposed and vulnerable would remind him who called the shots in their relationship. This exercise in degradation would motivate him to promptly obey her future orders without question. From now on, Maxwell Torrance would respectfully affix his signature to any document she ordered him to sign. And he’d do it without the benefit of reviewing the material. If he knew what was good for him, he’d sign whatever she commanded him to sign, without hesitation.

Five minutes later, she instructed the driver to open the door. The chauffeur was a big man, but he moved with the grace and agility of an NFL player, which was his occupation before a knee injury cut his career short.

Milan paid no attention to the beleaguered older caucasian man who fell into the back of the car and dropped his briefcase heavily to the floor. Gasping and panting, the harried man mopped his brow as if he’d narrowly escaped the bullet of a paid assassin.

“Are you ready, Mr. Torr—” The driver caught his error and respectfully corrected himself. “Excuse me, are you ready, Miss Walden?”

“Yes, I’m ready, driver,” Milan said, shifting her gaze to the tinted passenger window. The Rolls always attracted a lot of attention, but parked in this low-income district, the car was as out of place as a spacecraft. Milan could see curiosity in the eyes of the swarm of North Philadelphians who gawked at the time-honored symbol of success. She knew they wondered which celebrity or which wealthy socialite on the other side of the tinted glass had taunted the obviously affluent businessman.

“How was your commute?” she asked in a ridiculing tone as the Rolls glided into Broad Street traffic.

For a few seconds, Maxwell Torrance was silent. To blurt out the truth—that utilizing public transportation from his posh corporate headquarters to this frightening urban neighborhood was a stiff and humiliating experience—would result in even harsher consequences. Milan swelled with pride as the powerful and obscenely wealthy tycoon mentally scrambled to come up with just the right words.

“Riding the subway was interesting. If it pleases my mistress,” he said sincerely, “I’ll repeat the humbling travel arrangement tomorrow.”

Milan snorted. “Whether or not you travel on public transportation depends on you. I gather you’ve reviewed your behavior and have learned a valuable lesson.”

“I have, mistress. I will never again hesitate when you command me to do something. Unquestioningly, I will obey you.” His worshipful eyes were damp with earnest tears.

Disrespectfully, Milan smacked his face with the pile of legal papers. The sound echoed. “Your words don’t impress me,” she snarled.

The billionaire flinched, and then cowered awkwardly when she threateningly raised the papers again. “Do you fear me?” she hissed.

“Yes,” he told her, his voice an annoying whine.

“Good, now sign the last page of this legal document.”

Groping inside a concealed pocket of his Armani jacket, he searched for a pen.

Seconds later, Milan gazed happily at his scrawled signature. “Now, sign this!” She presented another form to him. “Do you agree that you’re unworthy of having a chauffeured automobile?”

“I agree wholeheartedly, mistress,” he said, exuberantly pressing the tip of the pen against the paper.

“Do you regret relinquishing your car and your driver to me?” Milan directed a triumphant glance at the rearview mirror where she locked eyes with the chauffeur.

“No. I have no regrets, mistress. I’m honored to bestow you with this car and my driver. It’s my duty as your slave to make your life one of leisure, to indulge your every whim.”

Using both hands, she gave her lap several audible pats, queuing Maxwell to kneel before her in the spacious accommodations in the rear of the car. She hitched up her dress and parted her legs. “You’ve pleased me, slave. You may eat.”

With his head bowed reverently, he whispered, “Thank you, mistress.” With long and fervent strokes, he licked her labia exactly the way she’d taught him. When her brown thighs clamped firmly against his pale cheeks, he was trained to extend his tongue and enter her. Milan moaned softly as his tongue slid in and out of her vagina. Her eyelids fluttered open and she found herself looking into the hungry dark eyes of the handsome driver.

Milan winked at the driver, sending him a silent message that the services of his stiffened dick would be required immediately after they dropped Maxwell off at the gate of his palatial mansion—a sprawling stone structure that Milan also intended to acquire in due time.

A week later, swathed in black silk, her face concealed by tinted sunglasses, Milan was escorted to the board room by a gaggle of attorneys as well as Maxwell Torrance, whose reputation as a ferocious businessman preceded him.

It had been a hostile takeover. Shareholders had been duped into selling their shares and the board was now comprised mainly of members that the attorneys had put in place, with only three of the former board members remaining.

Assuming Maxwell Torrance to be the new owner of Pure Paradise, the members of the board all directed head nods and glowing smiles in his direction. The chairperson, Dr. Kayla Pauley, stood respectfully and wore a warm, extra wide smile. However, when Milan Walden removed her shades, Dr. Pauley’s smile converted to a jittery contortion and then a full-scale grimace.

Milan took the empty seat at the head of the conference table. Maxwell Torrance took a seat facing her at the far end of the table.

Dr. Pauley, seated next to Milan, gawked at the young black woman and then swung her neck in the opposite direction and stared questioningly at Maxwell Torrance. Her confused eyes, mixed with a hint of hostility, implored Milan to state her business. “What are you doing here, Milan? Uh, I believe you’re sitting in Mr. Torrance’s chair,” Dr. Pauley said nervously. “Are you Mr. Torrance’s assistant?”

“Ms. Walden is the new owner of Pure Paradise,” one of the attorneys chimed in. “Mr. Torrance, a friend and a business associate of Ms. Walden, has invested in the company. I guess you could say he’s here to meet the people responsible for making sure his investment turns a very lucrative profit,” the attorney said with a confident chuckle. “He’s also here to support Ms. Walden.” The attorney threw Milan a broad smile. “Not that she needs any assistance…A few of you already know Ms. Walden and are familiar with her business savvy. She’s a shrewd businesswoman with sound judgment. So let’s give your new leader a welcoming round of applause.”

Dr. Pauley, wearing a strained smile, clapped her hands together listlessly. Apparently, the news had hit like a bombshell. She tried to make eye contact with Walter Billings, one of the remaining original members who had played a part in Milan’s untimely dismissal, but Billings disassociated himself, clapping soundly and looking straight ahead.

Near hysteria, Dr. Pauley sucked in air, touched her chest, and rubbed it in circular motions as she struggled to wipe the horrified look off her face. “Milan, uh, Ms. Walden—welcome back to Pure Paradise,” she said, stuttering. “We had no idea you were the new owner.” Dr. Pauley drew a deep, calming breath. “We’re all looking forward to a healthy fiscal year,” she announced, sounding fully composed now. “We know that under your new leadership, Pure Paradise will blend contemporary amenities and technologies with old-fashioned courtesy to cater to the well-being of our guests—”

“Oh, cut the crap, Kayla. Oops!” Milan covered her mouth with her hand. “Forgive me for calling you by your first name; how presumptuous of me.” Milan feigned an apologetic expression.

“Oh no, I’m not offended at all. Call me Kayla. Please.”

“Okay, that’s fine. However, I expect to be addressed as Ms. Walden. Is that clear, Kayla?”

“Certainly, uh…Ms. Walden. Absolutely,” Dr. Pauley gushed, wearing a solicitous smile.

Milan fluttered her hands impatiently, indicating that the members seated closest should move down to allow her attorneys to flank her. The board members, including Dr. Pauley, quickly scooted down several chairs.

“Kayla, the words you’re mouthing off sound familiar. If I’m not mistaken, didn’t I express those exact sentiments in a brochure I created for Pure Paradise last year? Yes, I believe I did,” Milan answered herself, nodding. “I’m sure you recall the gleaming brochure I produced right before I got canned…”

Dr. Pauley, now five chairs down from Milan, winced and then looked around at the lawyers and other board members, her face red with mortification.

“Refresh my memory,” Milan demanded. “Why did you give me the boot?”

“I didn’t personally have you terminated. It was decided by the entire board…” Dr. Pauley’s head swiveled toward Walter Billings. Leaving Dr. Pauley hanging, Billings kept his eyes focused on the new owner.

“Whatever!” Milan said, holding up her hand to silence the woman.

For several uncomfortable moments, Dr. Pauley’s mouth hung open. Every eye in the room was on her when she finally embarrassedly closed it.

“I have innovative plans for Pure Paradise,” Milan revealed in a hushed tone that persuaded everyone in the room to lean forward expectantly. “Pure Paradise will no longer limit its services to women only. We will not discriminate based on gender identity. We’re also going to expand our scope of services to meet the sexual urges and desires of our clientele.” Milan paused. “Why? I’ll tell you why.” Her audience waited with bated breath to be informed. “Why do we strive for beauty and health?” she asked. “Because we want to look attractive and feel good in order to attract sexual partners. Humans are sexual beings who possess an innate desire to express their sexuality. Here at Pure Paradise, clients will enjoy a safe and judgment-free environment that allows them the freedom to explore all aspects of their sexuality. Pure Paradise will be a cutting-edge sex center for consenting adults. Don’t let the boldness of my claim concern you. What goes on behind the closed doors of this facility will be kept confidential and is completely legal.”