The Billionaire's Librarian Harem

Chapter 1: The Smoothie Incident

WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual content and BDSM, and strong language that may be not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

REBECCA

Books turn me on.

Maybe that's why I'm a librarian. I'd choose a good book over sex any day, and to be perfectly honest? I have. More than once.

Would I feel differently if I'd ever had an orgasm? Possibly.

But that hasn't happened yet, at least not with a partner. Even alone, I don't think I've fully achieved that wow factor everyone talks about. I've only read about those kinds of orgasms by living vicariously through the heroines of my favorite erotica.

Books make my motor purr. Between my ears and between my legs. But that's probably the last thing I should say during today's job interview.

"You can do this, Becks," I tell my reflection. Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and focus on the mission at hand. "William Montgomery is going to love you."

From my exhaustive research, I could barely find anything about William Montgomery online, which can only mean one thing: he's in his eighties, and none of his spoiled great-grandkids have showed him how to use social media. This is the person who holds my career in his hands.

The reclusive and elusive billionaire is the owner of the Montgomery Library, one of the largest private libraries in New York City. And as of recently, it boasts the largest collection of first-edition erotic texts in the world.

I'm so excited, I do a little shimmy in the mirror. Then I quickly smooth a few stray red curls back into the tight bun on my head.

All I need to do is impress William Montgomery and snag this job as an archivist.

Please, oh, please, spirit of Jane Austen, don't let this old guy be a perv.

Giving myself one last glance in the mirror, I slide my favorite navy-blue blazer over my white blouse, which is buttoned all the way to the top. It gives me an unflattering, boxy shape, but it wicks underarm sweat like a dream. Then I debate my shoes—do I go with professional but slightly sexy heels or sensible flats?

Sensible flats win as I remind myself that I'm dealing with an old-money octogenarian, and that I really need this job.

The last thing I want to do is send the wrong signal.

***

Before my interview, I stop at my favorite coffee shop, which also happens to be half a block away from the library. While waiting for my medium vanilla latte, I mentally rehearse my hypothetical interview answers.

My strengths? Well, I'm an expert on the written word—

A text pops up on my phone, bringing a smile to my face.

Mel: Good luck at the interview! You got this!

With a deep breath, I text my best friend back.

Me: I hope I do. I'm so nervous.

Seconds later, she replies.

Mel: Just do what I do before a big ballet performance. Picture everyone naked.

Me: You want me to picture my (fingers crossed) new boss naked? He's like 80!

Mel: Then picture him naked and young. Now stop overthinking! You're gonna do fine!

I send her back a smiley face and a thumbs up emoji, wondering what I'd do without her. As a spunky, fun-loving professional ballerina who relishes the spotlight, Mel just might be my polar opposite, yet we've been thick as thieves for years. Sometimes I wish I had her fearlessness.