Anything For Chocolate - A Billionaire’s Deception Read online

  ANYTHING FOR CHOCOLATE

  A Billionaire’s Deception

  By

  GRETCHEN LANE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AUTHOR

  Published by GRETCHEN LANE & DIVALICIOUS EROTICA

  Copyright © 2013 by GRETCHEN LANE

  Visit GRETCHEN @ http://www.divaliciouserotica.com/

  Edited by Lara Simon

  This is a work of Fiction

  All characters appearing in this eBook are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is not intended and purely coincidental.

  This eBook contains sexually explicit material and is intended for a mature audience.

  All characters are 18 years or older. All sex within this story is consensual.

  ~ ~ ~

  ~ ~ ~

  Chocolate - a raw and/or processed food produced from the seed of the tropical Theobroma cacao tree. Cacao has been cultivated for at least three millennia in Mexico, Central and South America— its earliest documented use is around 1100 BC.

  Invented by the Mayans, and perfected by the Aztecs; it is believed to hold magical properties.

  INTRODUCTION

  A popping sound fills the small laboratory as the cork is pulled from the expensive bottle of champagne. Two men stand alone, preparing to celebrate. One is a younger man dressed in a finely tailored black, double-breasted suit— twenty-eight year-old, self-made billionaire, Evan Daniels.

  The other, an older, meek-looking gentleman, wearing round glasses and a white lab coat— head scientist for Yucatan Industries, Stanley Rickmore.

  Yucatan is the American-based company owned by Evan, operating on the Yucatan peninsula in the country of Belize.

  Evan flew in on his personal jet two hours earlier, after receiving an urgent phone call from his head scientist in charge of research and development – ‘A significant breakthrough has been made.’

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “You did it, Stanley,” Evan announces, patting the older man’s back – a plastic cup is handed to him. It fizzles loudly and he accepts like an eager mouse taking his cheese reward.

  “Sorry I don’t have anything nicer, Boss,” Stanley comments, slightly embarrassed.

  Evan laughs knowingly. “What you did here today is going to make you a very, very wealthy man. You’ll be drinking out of Baccarat crystal before you know it,” he assures, making the older man smile with the knowledge he has accomplished the mission.

  Stanley likes pleasing the younger man. He admires his confidence and tenacity-- something he wishes he had. And Evan’s idea of finding a way to make a healthy chocolate was right up the old scientist’s alley. How many times had he approached the higher-ups at Hershey with the same thought? ‘It’s been said, if you remove the sugar from chocolate, you’d have a health food.’ But, did they listen? No. That’s why when he was approached by Evan with such a phenomenal idea he was all in.

  The mission had been given to Stanley six months earlier by Evan, who told him: ‘find a way to enhance the phenethylamine levels in a cocoa bean, and we can produce a chocolate with the same fat burning capabilities as a high grade pharmaceutical amphetamine.’

  Evan circles the large steel table, covered in test tubes and Bunsen burners. A pile of white powder sits on a metal tray, and next to it, a crumbling mound of dark chocolate. “So, basically what we have here is a chocolate with the weight loss capabilities of the best products on the market.” He smiles, pushing his fingers through the white powder.

  “And as addictive as a high-level Columbian cocaine. It should fly off of the shelves,” Stanley adds, with a smile.

  “Providing an FDA approval,” Evan whispers. Something he has already taken the proper measures to ensure will happen. “I’m still in awe,” he adds, shaking his head.

  Evan isn’t really in awe. Sure he’s happy. But he knew it could be done all along. He just needed to find the right person, with the right knowledge to make it happen.

  The idea came to him years ago when he first started working out. He had received, Phenylethylamine or phenethylamine from his doctor as a supplement to aid him in his weight loss program. After reading about the chemical being present in the cocoa seed, Evan came up with the idea of a chocolate that could be used as a dietary supplement.

  ‘All of the people I can help lose weight—while making millions of dollars.’ - This was a thought Evan liked… Unlike the one beginning to fill his head as he circled the table.

  * * * *

  “Leave me alone!” cried the pudgy young boy, being pushed throughout the center of the mobbing youths.

  He knew he was in trouble when they spotted him behind the local ice-cream shop. He remembered the last time they caught him, and the humiliating scene that followed. It ended with his double dipped chocolate swirly cone being viciously smashed upon his head and him being kicked repeatedly in the seat of his trousers as they warned him not to return.

  He should have run, but he didn’t. This time he was determined to enjoy the fruits of his labor. A reward he had earned for spending the day in the hot sun doing chores for his elderly Grandmother. He had almost choked on the delicious treat in an attempt to finish it before they were upon him.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t little fatty, himself,” the first boy mocked, pushing him harshly.

  “Leave me alone! I’m not bothering anybody,” he had cried, trying to exit the circle that closed tightly around him.

  “You’re bothering me, fatty!”

  Fatty— he hated that nickname. But, it was one of several monikers he had received since moving to the small town-- one that followed him well into his teens.

  “Yeah, me too!” yelled another.

  “I thought we told you not to come down here anymore. Your fat body makes people sick,” remarked the oldest of the group, slapping the young boy. “Gross! What’s on your face? Is that dog shit?” The crowd erupted into a succession of laughter and comments of distain, as the older boy wiped his hand through the younger boy’s hair.

  “Stop it! It’s just ice cream!”

  “No it’s not, Mark! The gross little bastard was eating dog shit!”

  “No, I wasn’t! Leave me alone!”

  “You like to eat dog shit, fatty?” the bully yelled, grabbing the youngster by the arm and twisting it behind his back. “Somebody find me some dog shit!”

  “Owww, stop it! You’re hurting me!”

  The group thinned as the boys looked around the alley. The young victim’s stomach turned as he heard the screams of joy erupting from the crowd.

  “Here’s some, here’s some! Bring him over here!”

  The younger boy was dragged down the alley and pushed onto his knees.

  A smaller crowd, mostly girls, watched from the entrance to the alley. The young boy recognized one of the girls— it was his next door neighbor, Daphne-- the girl he had a crush on. Surely, she’d help him, he thought, she was his friend. But she didn’t. And to his horror, she was laughing right along with everyone else…

  * * * *

  “Now, all we need is the right person to test it on,” Evan said with a devious smile.

  “Any ideas who, Boss?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Who?”

  “Daphne D’Angelo.”

  “The fitness lady?” Stanley questions.

  “That’s right. America’s little fitness sweetheart.”

  “Not anymore. Have you seen her lately? She’s like 250 pounds.”

  “Exactly!” exclaims Evan, as he holds up a large chunk of the dark brown chocolate. “Overweight
and fallen from grace, and all of her beautiful little fitness clubs heading into foreclosure.” He closes his fist tightly, crushing the contents, sending small pieces of his million dollar miracle food crumbling through his fingers. “And, I’ll bet she’ll do…Anything for Chocolate.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  DAPHNE D’ANGELO

  The curvy blonde sits alone at the end of the bar, drinking a dirty Martini-- her fifth of the evening. Her bright blue eyes are sleepy; the twinkle that once resided in them long gone, replaced by red streaks and a hazy look of despair. She’s a mere shadow of the woman she was three years ago, and she knows it.

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she musters a smile and fluffs through her blonde curls as she remembers the happier days gone by. A time when she was the toast of the town-- the hottest thing to hit the fitness world since God knows when. She had it all. A house in the Hollywood Hills, several fitness clubs across the United States, appearances on Good Morning America, trips to the White house, and to top it all off, she was in the works of having her own television show. A shooting star streaking across the sky… And she burned out just as quick.

  But, you wouldn’t call it a falling star— more like a fall from grace. And her fall wasn’t an easy one-- not like the preacher with a boner, who can repent his sins and all is forgiven. Hers happened in the world of fitness – a vicious, unforgiving world of big egos and relentless scrutiny. Where your worth is judged in inches and pounds and it’s all about the beauty. Don’t get me wrong-- she’s still beautiful, very beautiful. However, it wasn’t just her beauty that took her so far. It was also her amazing level of self-confidence and the ability to pass that along to everyone she came in contact with. That all ended soon after she met him. Steven Rampart.

  Steven was a bodybuilder and a local celebrity in his own right. The two made a hot couple and Daphne was in love. But, at ten years her senior, his light was fading by the time they had met. Unfortunately, shortly after meeting, a devastating shoulder injury had taken him away from the sport and a following succession of surgeries left him sucked up and depressed. After months of being laid up, Steven had succumbed to the depression, aided by an addiction to alcohol and prescription drugs.

  Daphne was entering the height of her career, and she couldn’t stand to see the man she loved laying around, hurting like he did. She used all of her skills to motivate him and get him back on track - and it worked.

  Steven bounced back, and soon became the president and COO of her fitness empire, launching her into a new realm of fitness glory. It seemed like they opened a new club every week and Daphne’s popularity grew like never before. But it came at a terrible price. Steven worked himself to the bone. Day and night he went on, with a never ending schedule of meetings and engagements; he was like a machine— he never slept.

  It wasn’t long before Daphne found out how he kept going. She found it wasn’t her that had given him his miraculous recovery— it was cocaine. Knowing he was on the verge of losing her, he had traded one addiction for another. When confronted, he did nothing to hide it, and he refused to stop. “Look what it’s done for you!” he argued. And, when she protested, that’s when the abuse began.

  The beatings became a daily occurrence, and within weeks Daphne found herself cancelling appearances due to black eyes and a bruised body. Her self-esteem plummeted along with the equity in her companies, fueled by Steven’s cocaine abuse.

  By the time it was all over, Steven had died from an apparent over dose. Some suspected murder, due to his links with businessmen with ties to a Mexican cartel. All that and a trail of shady business deals left Daphne holding the bag to a multi-million dollar law-suit, and her fitness clubs heading into foreclosure.

  The once unstoppable young beauty found her only solaces were either binge eating or floating deep inside of a bottle of Vodka. And, here she sits, a hundred pounds overweight, broke and desperate to survive.

  “Would you like another, Miss?” the bartender asks.

  “Sure. Make it a double, Sweetie.” She smiles, invitingly. The young man walks away and Daphne’s eyes follow his every step.

  “Don’t waste your time. There’s better out there than him,” an attractive twenty-something red-head states as she takes the seat next to Daphne. She’s dressed in a white form fitting cocktail dress contrasting her lovely red hair and accenting her beautifully thin body.

  Daphne looks her over slowly, starting at her Louboutin high-heels and ending in her large green eyes and a becoming smile as the woman extends a petite hand. “I’m, Lacy.”

  The girl is at least ten years younger than Daphne, and very fit and attractive. She has the bubbly personality of a high-school cheerleader with a little bit of the streets mixed in. Something tells Daphne there’s a large bank account somewhere in the equation. ‘A trust fund baby,’ she thinks, and having met enough of them growing up in Los Angeles, she hated them. They were always the mean girls. The ones who treated her like shit when she was younger, for being from a poor family. She swore she would never be like them, and she never really was; excluding the two summers she spent living with her father in the mid-west— a time she would like to forget. Her mother was having a rough go at it, and shipped her off to live with the abusive alcoholic. She spent her time telling everyone she was only there while her mother vacationed in France. She kept her nose high in the air the whole time, trying to distance herself from the fear and pain she encountered daily.

  Still wanting to be alone, Daphne remains aloof. However, trust fund baby or not, something about the pretty red-head draws her in, reminding her of her former self and she takes her hand. “I’m Daphne.”

  “Oh my God, you’re Daphne D’Angelo! You’re… You’re.” Lacy pauses, searching for the words.

  “Fat,” Daphne answers self-consciously. She’s looking around the room hoping no one else has recognized her as she blushes from embarrassment.

  “God, no! You’re my idol! My roommates are never going to believe this!” she continues, grabbing her cell phone from her purse.

  “Please, don’t call anyone,” Daphne pleads. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so acting like a total freak.” Lacy fumbles, returning the phone to the expensive Coach bag. “It’s just so crazy. We have all of your DVD’s—every single one! We do one everyday… Except for Saturday and Sunday. ‘You have to give the body rest, people.’ Just like you say!” she remarks happily, hoping to impress the Queen of Fitness.

  “Well, as you can see, I’ve had a lot of rest,” Daphne states, referring to her overweight body and disheveled looks. She holds her hands out to her sides palms up and cocks her head to the side; as if to say, this is what you get, her embarrassment quickly turning into a state of who gives a fuck. She’s been through enough in the last few years, that the least of her worries is having been recognized by some adoring fan. Though she still likes being remembered. And the girl is remarkably beautiful, stirring something deep inside. Down in her crotch and it tingles as she feels herself becoming moist at the thought of making love to her.

  She’s no stranger to having sexual relations with women; Steven had introduced her to it years before. They had entered into a Ménage à trois on several occasions. Usually with some young beauty Steven was training. At first, she was apprehensive. But she soon found she enjoyed it-- maybe actually even preferring it to her and Steven’s plain old vanilla sex life. Women just seemed to be more in tune to what makes the female body respond. They were soft, and gentle taking their time to make sure you reached orgasm.

  “You’re still hot!” Lacy assures. “You just have more curves now. I wish I had boobs like that,” she exclaims, staring at the large mounds with the prominent nipples pushing against the silken fabric.

  “Yeah, they seemed to have grown,” Daphne acknowledges, “along with the rest of me,” she finishes with a giggle, and a shake of the fleshy orbs. “But you look awesome, Sweetie
. Your body is hot, and your outfit is to die for. Great taste. Expensive taste.” She gives the young woman another once over, thinking ‘She has the body of a fitness model’ but her young age still screams, Trust fund baby. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a call girl,” Lacy answers with the same confidence as if telling someone she was the CEO of a large corporation.

  “You’re a--!” Daphne shouts suddenly before catching herself and ending with a whisper, “prostitute?”

  The women are interrupted by the bartender as he sets two drinks down in front of them. “Here you go. One Dirty Martini for the pretty blonde, and one Cosmopolitan for my favorite regular, Miss Lacy.” He smiles knowingly at Lacy as he walks away, and Daphne wonders if he’s ever been a customer.

  “No, I’m not a prostitute. I’m a call girl-- there’s a difference.”

  “Really? What?” states Daphne, trying her best not to sound judgmental.

  “Well for one, I don’t stand on a street corner waiting for the first car to pull up. And I’m pretty sure those girls not making twenty thousand dollars a month.”

  “Holy shit, are you serious? You’re making a quarter of a million dollars a year, sleeping with men?” Daphne has considered a lot of different things to help pull her out of the financial quagmire she’s in; but selling her ass had never been one of them… Not until now.

  “You got it. And I don’t always have to sleep with them. Sometimes, they just want me to hang out with them or be arm candy for them at some function. It’s not always sex.”

  “Wow, this is crazy.” Daphne’s mind is racing as she gulps her drink.

  Lacy giggles, knowing Daphne is stunned by her revelation and following suit with lips perched, she finishes her drink in one pull. “Two more, Joey.” The ice jiggles summoning the man as her glass returns to the bar.