Free Giving The Billionaire Curves (BBW, billionaire breeding erotica) by Roxie Feurouge Page A

When I open them, I can finally read the cake, and as I do my heart sinks and the horrible feeling I've had all day comes back a million times worse. I stand back up and force myself to smile. I can't let them see me upset. I'm done with letting them win.
     
    “Thank you guys so much, the cake looks great!” I lie. Everyone looks puzzled or annoyed, but Maria just smiles and pats my shoulder. She starts to cut the cake while I try to ignore everyone else's angry stares and my own need to run out of the room and cry. She hands a few pieces to others before handing me my piece.
     
    She had cut the cake so that I would get the piece that specifically has the word “fat” on it. The entire phrase on the cake was “Happy Birthday, Fat Ass!”
     
    I can feel my ability to hold back my tears breaking, and I excuse myself back to my desk. They know they won, I can see it in the wicked smirk Maria gives me as I turn toward the door to leave. I manage to keep my cool until I reach the end of the hallway, but as soon as I see my desk I break down. Sobs wrack through my body, so painful that I hunch over a bit. I have to hold myself up with my arm on my desk.
     
    I set down the cake on the edge, sitting in my chair and lowering my head into my arms. This is usually our slowest time, so I figure I can take a few minutes out here to let myself sob it out, before I go clean myself up in the bathroom.
     
    Of course, I don't hear when the door does glide open. Nor do I hear the soft rubber soles of expensive leather shoes against the carpet as a man draws near. It's only when the man is near enough for me to hear the slight jingle of keys in his pocket that I realize I'm not alone, and look up at the intruder.
     
    When I see who it is, my back straightens and I wipe my tears off my face, standing up. “Mr. Calaway! I wasn't told you'd be here today, I'm so sorry for how I look. Can I take your jacket?”
     
    Mr. Calaway owns the company. He's 33 years old, very handsome, and filthy rich. Maria's been trying to get him to date her since she got hired, but luckily he's smart enough to have stayed away from that gold digging bitch. I see worry in his blue eyes as he runs a hand through his short, jet black hair. “Why were you crying?”
     
    I stiffen, and the words come out of my mouth as a stammer. “I-it's just been a rough day already. It's my birthday and... and I'm having a hard time coping with getting older...” He eyes me suspiciously, before looking down at the piece of cake. The bright red FAT glares back up at him, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “I'll be right back.” I watch as the clearly fuming man makes his way down the hall and to the break room, where everyone else is still eating cake and laughing.
     
    The room goes quiet, presumably from the shock of seeing our boss there without any warning. I look around the corner, trying to better hear the conversation.
     
    “Would someone like to explain to me why this cake says 'Happy Birthday Fatass'?”
     
    “Oh, it's just a joke, Mr. Calaway...” I hear Maria's whiny, high pitched voice say. There's not even a hint of worry in that sociopath's words.
     
    “This is not the kind of joking we do here. Whose idea was it?”
     
    There's silence for a moment. Then, one of the trainers speaks up. “Maria and Brett's, sir.”
     
    Silence again. Brett is my manager. “Maria, join me in Brett's office please.”
     
    As the man and woman walk down the hall to my manager's office, a few heads poke out, first watching them, then looking to me in fear. I just turn around and sit back at my desk. I pick up my pen and start to work on my papers again, but the smell of the cake is getting to me. It's right above my trash can, so I use my pen to flip the plate off of my desk and into the trash.
     
     
    A few hours later, I hear my manager's door slam shut, and cursing from Maria and Brett's voices. My handsome boss glides out of the hallway and towards me, his