Exodus Kate Stewart

I'm Kate Bamford, and I'm an EA (Executive Assistant), and I've just started a new job with - quite honestly the most gorgeous man I've ever set eyes on. This is a shame because men - gorgeous, sexy, or otherwise are completely off my radar! I can blame my ex for that, he's a controlling, miserable PoS! Weeks of being told what I can and cannot do would drive anyone to murder. Oops! The less said about that the better. No, I didn't stick a knife in his black petrified heart, but I did cause him major humiliation, which, thinking about it might have been even worse. My big worry is I have a secret, and the last thing I need is for my ex or anyone else to find out. Nobody will rescue me if my secret gets out. I'm Darius Graves, CEO of Graves and Son. I have a big problem, it concerns my mother - a matriarchal socialite who lives 3,461 miles away from me in New York. It's not far enough! My 'dearest' mother thinks nothing of getting into her private jet and popping over to see me in London as if she's going to the corner shop for a pint of milk. The thing is, she wants me to get married, but only to a girl she chooses. There is not a snowball's chance in hell of this ever happening. No way. No how. My two best friends are always coming up with various solutions to this problem. i.e. Sell the bank, or keep the bank and work from home in Katmandu. However, their latest idea is a fake marriage. But to whom? I can only think of one person, and that is my new assistant. She's beautiful and thinking about her keeps me awake at night.

“You think you can tame an old daddy like me?” Mr. Domenico Lombardi’s stone-like voice makes me nervous, but I’m not backing down; I know what I want. “Yes,” I added a nod to confirm it but cursed internally at my luck. I’ve never had a boyfriend, and here I am trying to tame a man old enough to be my father. It is said that the apple does not fall far from the tree. I guess I am truly Kate’s daughter. I had an internal laugh at my stupidity. He scoffed, and I responded by nodding once more while watching the darkening of the silvery gray pupils in his eyes. How come? I brush it off as his cold eyes wash over me. Domenico Lombardi’s presence makes me squirm. When I’m around him, I get the impression that I’m being judged and ignored at every turn. “How old are you?” “18” “How old is your father?” “38,” I replied truthfully. “Well, I’m 37 years old.” He stared at me; his eyes darkened again, and I became terrified. I fiddle with my nails, clipping them together as I lean back on my heels to help relieve some of the anxiety he’s causing me. “You see, I’m like a father to you, or maybe a grandfather or a great-great-grandfather. How many boyfriends have you had in your life?” “None.” He chuckled as I responded. “You see, I’ve lost count of how many ladies I’ve fucked, thousands or millions, over the centuries. You are just a little girl to me with nothing to offer; now, get lost!” “My panties made you hard!” “You think so?” “Yes,” I responded confidently. “Well, I wasn’t hard; I just have a donkey-like cock.”