The Billionaire Shifter’s Virgin Mate
Jess Murphy walked through the wide doors into the opulent lobby below the Platinum Club, surprised by the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. The building was more luxurious than she’d expected, every inch of glass, steel, and marble gleaming like freshly minted coins. Well-dressed men and women hurried around her over the shiny floors.
“Can I help you?” asked a man from behind a vast reception desk decorated with fruit and flowers. He wore a black suit, had gray hair, and sounded like a British butler in a classic film.
“I’m Jessica Murphy,” she said. “I’m, uh, it’s my first night working at the Platinum Club.”
The man tapped something on his screen. “You are expected on eleven,” he said. “You can take either the public or the service elevator.”
She glanced at the posh lobby, the posh people. “I’ll take the service one. Where is it?”
He gestured at a side door behind him.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a deep breath as she walked across the marble floors.
Jess had to remind herself that this was only a waitressing job. There was no reason to be nervous; this wasn’t an important career move for her, just a way to pay for medical school. Because the club’s clientele was so elite, the job paid insanely well, and incoming staff members, at all levels, were screened meticulously.
In fact, she’d been hired almost a month ago, yet this was the first time she was stepping foot in the place. Instead of working tables right away, as she’d expected, she’d had to visit a notary and sign a dozen nondisclosure agreements—and then submit to a background check, personality test, and three phone interviews.
Now, finally, she could actually begin working.
She walked through a doorway into a space that looked older than the lobby, found a vintage-elevator call button, and popped a mint into her mouth as she waited for the car to arrive.
She could imagine her sister Lilah feeling exactly how Jess was feeling now, fighting her nerves on her first day as she thought of all the famous, powerful people upstairs.
Lilah had worked at the Platinum Club until last month, when she’d shacked up with her billionaire love god, Gavin Stanton. In fact, they were already planning their wedding. No more money worries for her.
No more worries of any kind, apparently.
The changes that had come over Lilah in the past couple of months made Jess uncomfortable. She was glad Lilah was happy, but it had happened much too fast. At one point, her sister had been so sex-crazed she’d claimed her rich boyfriend had turned into an animal.
Jess sighed. Lilah had always been too lusty for her own good, too easily enchanted by a pretty face.
Gavin Stanton certainly had that. And the rest of him wasn’t bad either. Not Jess’s type, but… not bad.
Shaking her head, Jess walked into the car—a gorgeous old thing with wood paneling—and pressed the button for the eleventh floor as instructed. Time to focus on the job at hand. Love was the last thing on her agenda. And sex was second to last. If she was going to survive the long slog through med school and internships to become a doctor, she couldn’t get distracted with trivialities. She had to keep her eye on the prize. Work, school, work, school, work. And more work.
The elevator stopped, not on the eleventh floor, but the tenth. Jess looked down at herself, uneasy with the tight jeans and T-shirt she wore. They’d told her the club would provide a uniform when she arrived. Hopefully whoever joined her in the elevator was just another wage slave, not anyone important in management. She wanted to make a good impression on her first day. Her impressively curvy figure looked respectable in formal clothes, but in a T-shirt, her F-cup chest had a knack for distracting people.
Damn, I should’ve worn a jacket. But it had been so hot today. Autumn in Boston could still get steamy.
The doors slid open, revealing an extremely tall, thickly muscular man with long black hair and bright blue eyes that slid over her body so thoroughly she sucked in a breath.
Talk about steamy. Now this guy was her type. He was huge. Dark. Powerful.
She felt beads of sweat form at the small of her back, under her breasts, her arms. What had he bathed in that morning—testosterone? She could smell it. She could taste it. She couldn’t help sucking it in, breath after breath, eager for another hit.
A slow smile spread over his full, sensual lips. “Why, hello there,” he said. Was that a British accent?
Every alarm bell she had was clamoring so loudly in her head, she was amazed she’d been able to hear him speak.
“Hi,” she said, stepping aside instinctively. Getting too close to this man would be a mistake.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” Oh, crap. It was a British accent. He held out a hand. “McDermott Stanton. My intimates call me Derry.”
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