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Billionaire Seeking Bride #1

Vicki Loom works as a janitor in a large office building. It’s a lonely job made bearable by the company of her cantankerous old coworker, Tom. She dreams of a better life in the arms of a sensual lover, but has little hope with her line of work and hefty appearance. All that changes when a flier floats her way about an open secretary job in the upper echelons of the office building. She is interviewed for the job by the CEO of the company and finds herself the object of his lust-fueled needs. Her mind tells her it can’t be true, but her body aches for her lustful dream to become reality.

Publisher: Crescent Moon Studios, Inc.

There we were, dancing to the beat of our bodies against each other. Overhead was the brightest moon I’d ever dreamed I would see, and in front of me was the handsomest man I could imagine. His dark, rugged looks warmed my body, and my thick hips rubbed against his as we waltzed into each others’ hearts. I was his and he was mine, and I wanted him to take me with all the ferocity and gentleness of a lover.
We danced along the grass, and the hem of my dress swooped over the blades and just barely touched their tops. My dress hugged my curvaceous body and accentuated my full breasts. My partner looked down at me and flashed a smile that heightened my desire for him. He opened his mouth, and I leaned towards him to listen to the beautiful words flow from those tempting lips.
“What the hell are ya doing with that broom?”
I yelped and juggled the broom in my hand. I managed to get a hold of it and clutch the cleaning supply to my ample chest.


A blush rose to my cheeks and I glanced over my shoulder to see Tom the janitor standing in the doorway staring at me with a raised eyebrow. His grizzled old eyes glanced between the broom in my hand and my blushing face. There I was, Miss Vicki Loom standing there with a broom clasped to my breasts like it was the lover I’d imagined. Oh, and did I forget to mention I was also a janitor?
“Um, nothing, Tom. I was just-um-”
“It looked like ya were getting ready to twirl that thing out the window,” he quipped as he nodded at the large windows in front of me.
We stood in one of the smaller offices in a tall office building in a no-name city. Outside the tall, broad windows was a night sky lit up with thousands of streetlights, passing cars, and other office buildings. Our duty as janitors in this building was to make sure everything on our designated floors was spick, and to not forget the span. I set the broom on my supply cart and shrugged.
“I was just, um, just making dust circles. You know, to attract the aliens,” I teased.
“Uh-huh. There better not be that much dust in this place or you won’t be making ‘em for long,” he warned me.
I sighed and my shoulders slumped forward. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“It would for the rent. In all yer fooling around did ya get this place clean?” he asked me.
“Yes, Tom,” I replied.
“Good. Now let’s get to waxing them floors. You know I can’t handle that bucking bronco. Not in my old age.” He leaned forward and rubbed his back. Tom was approaching seventy and was as skinny as a rail, but I didn’t let his frail appearance fool me. That guy could lift two of me, and that was saying something.
“You just don’t want the wax machine to tempt you into taking it for a ride,” I teased.
He grinned and shrugged. “Mayhaps that’s true, but yer better at the danged thing than I am.”
I raised one of my pudgy arms and flexed the non-existent muscles. “It helps being a big girl.”
Tom frowned. “It ain’t just a matter of what ya look like. You’ve got a lot of discipline in those arms, more than most girls. Now ya just need to be disciplined in not sweeping the brooms off their feet with yer fancy dancing.”
“It was just a waltz,” I argued as I wheeled my cart out into the hall. Tom stepped aside so I could pass. “Besides, a girl can dream, can’t she?”
“Yeah, but I recommend ya not do it on the clock. Wait until yer break to woo the cleaning supplies,” he quipped.
I snorted. “You’re such a romantic, Tom. You should try your hand at writing romances.”
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Not my kind of reading. Give me a western any day.”
I laughed and wheeled my cart down the hall with Tom at my side. “So what floor do we need to wax today?”
“Our own. It’s getting pretty grimy down there,” he told me.
I shuddered. Our ‘floor’ was the basement of the forty-story building. “It is pretty nasty, isn’t it?” We sacrificed our floor to clean the others, we and the janitors who worked the day shift.
“A cockroach scurried by me and gave me the finger for yelling at him. You know it’s gotten bad when those damned things start getting insolent,” Tom replied.
I smiled. “Maybe you squished his father.”
Tom shook his head as we took an elevator down to the basement. “Nope. Don’t squish ‘em. I kill ‘em with spray. Less mess that way.”
“Like I said before, you’re such a romantic, Tom.”
“I’d rather be a rich man than that.”
“Well, if you find a nice girl who falls in love with you maybe you can have your Cinderella story come true,” I teased.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a long, windowless hallway. It stretched the full length of the building and ended in an exterior door that led to an alley. On either side of the hall were doors that led to our own little closets where we could set our carts and put our feet up on tiny desks. Not bad if you weren’t claustrophobic and afraid of the dark. “This place is just so cheerful,” I quipped.
We walked forward towards my little hole-in-the-wall on the left. “A job’s worth a sight more than the glamorous life of being poor,” Tom scolded me.
“Yeah, but don’t you ever want something more than-” I paused as we reached my little abode, and a frown slid onto my lips.
Tom’s eyes flickered between me and the door. “What? Ya see that damned little roach?” he asked me.
I shook my head and pointed a finger at my door. “My door’s open.”
Tom’s face drooped and his eyes narrowed. “Is that what has you worked up.”
I whipped my head to him and glared at his wizened old face. “I never leave the door open. Ever. You know that.”
Tom frowned and squinted his eyes at my door. He rubbed his chin in one of his grizzled hands. “Hmm, maybe the latch is broken,” he suggested. I grabbed the knob and pulled the door towards us. It latched. Tom frowned. “Guess not.”
I opened the door and reached around to flick on the light switch. The small, concrete cubicle was illuminated by a single bulb. It showed my worn swivel chair and the small, broken desk in one corner, and the bare walls in the other corners. I peeked in and inspected the place. My curious eyes fell on a slip of paper on the desk. Satisfied I wasn’t going to be jumped by a rapist with a fetish for large women, I slipped inside and over to the desk. I picked up the paper and frowned.
“What ya got there?” Tom asked me as he followed me into the room.
“It’s an application for a secretary’s position,” I told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Here?” I nodded. “Maybe it fell out of yer cart trash?”
I tilted my head towards him. “Nothing falls out of my trash,” I countered.
He shrugged. “Then I’m stumped.”
“So am I. . .” I muttered. My eyes browsed over the application and the attached list of qualifications. “This is weird. The secretary’s supposed to be one of the ones helping the CEO, but they’re not even asking for secretarial experience.”
“Lemme see that,” Tom demanded. I handed over the paper and he read the contents. “Well, I’ll be. You’re right.”
I snorted and snatched the paper from him. “Of course I’m right. Don’t you know my last name is Miss Right?”
He shook his head. “Nope, but what are ya gonna do about the application?”
I looked down at the paper and shrugged. “I don’t know, shred it?”
Tom leaned towards me and looked me in the eyes. “Why don’t you try applying for it?”
I rolled my eyes to his grizzly, expectant face. “Because the qualifications aren’t that low that a janitor should be applying.”
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you’ve got one of them fancy college degrees. What was it in again?” he wondered.
“And that’s helped you some. You can bullshit with the best of them,” he insisted.
I snorted. “Have you been reading the boss’ trash again?” I scolded him.
He grinned and shrugged. “Just in a few of the offices. It’s good bullshit in those bins. Makes me laugh.”
I looked back at the page and sighed. “I suppose it won’t hurt to try.”
“That’s the spirit! When’s the resume-thingy due?” he asked me.
“Says it’s due tomorrow by five at the top office. I need to leave my resume with the secretary up there,” I told him.
“That’ll work for ya. You drop off yer stuff and get to work a little early,” he suggested.
That was easier said than done, as I was to find out the next day.


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Mac Flynn
Mac Flynn