Commissioning His Virgin by Jamie Knight (read the beginning after the end novel TXT) 📗

the ocean as the sunset covered everything in a gentle light. Beside me was my dog, Bolt, my loyal friend, bodyguard, and confidant. We had been together for almost four years now; we had formed a formidable bond. He was the only true friend I had in the whole world.

We silently watched the sun crawl over the clear blue waters, absorbing all in its beauty as the rays cut through the clouds. I loved watching the sunset. Besides surfing, watching the sunrise and set was probably the only thing that drew me back to the world of reality. I ran a crypto investment firm in the city that translated to many meetings and busy schedules. So, I enjoyed every spare minute I could afford while standing on the balcony of my mansion, taking in the beautiful scenery.

That evening as the sun descended, it lit upon a small convoy heading for my property. It was difficult to make out what the convoy was made of in the dim light, but as the cars drew closer, I counted one white Ferrari sandwiched between four black SUVs. The group came to a halt when it got to the edge of my property, waiting for the gate to be opened so it could make its way in. A man in a black suit exited from one of the SUVs, headed for the gate, and pressed a buzzer to let me know they wanted access. Whoever these people were, I could not tell. The mere fact that I wasn’t expecting any guests led my mind in a spiral of thoughts.

“Mr. Fillmore?” called out Jacob, my housekeeper.

“Let them in,” I answered in anticipation.

Bolt was growling as was his habit every time he sensed strangers in our midst. He’d grown so protective of me over the years that he’d not allow anyone near five feet of me.

“Easy now, Bolt, easy,” I petted him on his head, under his chin.

The gate opened wide, the cars rushed in just like in Hollywood movies when cops bust a drug deal, surprising the culprits. I made my way down the main hall towards the main entrance to welcome my guests. Bolt was within close distance in case our guests were unwelcomed. His ears were raised sky-high, his mouth wide open, only paying attention to the instructions I’d utter, just in case.

Within minutes of the SUVs storming inside my property, about eight men in black suits quickly disembarked from the vehicles then gathered around the Ferrari. One of the men opened the Ferrari’s passenger door, offered his hand to whoever was inside.

All this time, Bolt was growling, barking, swinging his tail in anticipation of something. Apparently, he was more curious than I was. I stood at the main entrance with Bolt seated beside me, hoping the leash tightly gripped in my hand would break so he could have a go at the unwelcomed guests.

Out of the Ferrari stepped a beautiful redheaded woman in black stiletto heels, donning a white Gucci jumpsuit. She had a white Hermes Birkin bag to match her already expensive outfit. I immediately recognized her. She was Alessandro Maximo’s daughter, Emilia Maximo.

Alessandro and I crossed paths about seven years ago when he offered to buy me out of my crypto investment firm, offering me a lucrative deal. But I ended up declining his offer. Since then, there has existed some bad blood between us. Seeing his daughter in my front yard took me by surprise.

“Mr. Fillmore,” Emilia finally called out my name in a deep Italian accent, extending her hand in greeting.

“Emilia,” I responded candidly, offered my hand in greeting as well.

I called out to Jacob, handing over Bolt to his care as I led Emilia into the mansion. We walked past the foyer into the interior of the mansion in silence. I couldn’t help but wonder what Alessandro’s daughter was doing in my house.

“Quite a home you have here, Mr. Fillmore,” she said as she shook her head in agreement.

“Quite an entrance you made, Miss Emilia,” I responded as I offered her a seat.

“Are you an art collector, Mr. Fillmore?” she asked as she put down her Hermes Birkin bag on the couch and sat with her knees crossed. I noticed her attention was drawn towards my mother’s larger-than-life portrait that hung on the wall right in front of her.

“No, I’m not an art collector, but I recently grew an interest in art,” I answered her curiosity.

“Well, that explains all this,” she said as she motioned her left hand around the walls heavily covered in paintings and drawings of different sizes.

“So, what is Alessandro’s daughter doing in my humble home?” I cut short her small talk.

All my life, I have always been a candid man. I got that from my father. Most people confused it for arrogance. Sometimes I thought that was the reason I was still unmarried. I thought most women confused my candidness for arrogance. But I wouldn’t be where I was now if not for my candidness. At least that’s the excuse I gave myself for practically not having a social life.

I was a 41-year-old self-made billionaire with no social life. Quite sad even for me.

“I’m here to talk business on behalf of my father,” she answered unwavered, unbothered by my direct nature.

“You don’t strike me as a woman who’d do anyone’s bidding,” I said to her as I walked towards the minibar to fix myself a drink.

I loved putting people off their game. It made them vulnerable, which suited my understanding of their intentions. It’s a trait I picked up over the years. I loved to apply it whenever I did business deals.

“You come as advertised, Mr. Fillmore, full of mind games, riddles,” she said as she joined me at the minibar.

“Whisky?”

“Gin, please.”

“Emilia,” I smirked and handed her a glass of gin.

She was a good-looking woman. She had physical attributes that most men would crave and an attitude to match. But Elijah Fillmore was no ordinary man. I wasn’t really attracted to just physical