BetweenTwoBillionairesCompleteStripped

Between Two Billionaires

The Complete Series

SKY CORGAN

Text copyright 2014
by Sky Corgan

All rights reserved.

No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of
the author.

Between Two Billionaires

Part One

Table of Contents

Chapter
1

Chapter
2

Chapter
3

Chapter
4

Chapter
5

CHAPTER ONE

“
Eureka! I
found it!” Ethel bursts through my bedroom door. A broad smile
stretches across her face as if she has the best news in the world.

I groan, turning my
computer chair towards her. “Don't you know how to knock?”

Apparently, she
doesn't. She's prone to walking into my room whenever she wants, no
matter how many times I chastise her about it. You'd think she owned
the place. She doesn't own the place. Our parents do. But, if I'm
being honest, she was here first. My mom and I moved in a few years
ago when our parents finally got married.

“
So.”
Ethel sets herself down on my bed, making herself comfortable.
“There's this rich guy who is throwing a party this weekend.”
She looks at me expectantly, as if she thinks I can read her mind.

“
And?” I
can't hide the annoyance from my voice. It's not like I was doing
anything important. Just chatting online with friends. It's the
principal of the matter though. I could have been naked, and she just
walked right in like it was nothing.

“
That's where
I'm going to meet my rich husband.” She does a strange head
roll, as if the answer should have been obvious.

I can't help but
laugh. “You do that.”

“
I am, and
you're coming with me.”

“
Oh?”
This is news to me. I'm not at all interested, but I know I have no
choice but to hear her out. That's what she came here for, to dish
out her devious plan.

“
Yup. You and
Lisa. Maybe we'll all get rich husbands,” she squeals as if
she's imagining us all with Prince Charmings on our arms. Sometimes I
wonder how she survives, living in such inflated fantasies. Her life
is a roller coaster of irrational hope and disappointment. Maybe if
she'd just get a job, she wouldn't have to worry about finding a rich
husband to support her.

“
The rich
husband thing is all you.” I smirk, turning my chair to face
her. She's not going anywhere any time soon; I can tell.

“
Every girl
wants a rich husband,” she sighs dreamily.

“
If you say
so.” There's no point in arguing with her. Then I'd have to sit
through a lecture detailing out why marrying rich is the best way to
go. The answers are obvious, but that's not what I want for myself. I
want to get by on hard work, supporting myself, never having to rely
on a man.

“
So anyway,
you're in, right?” She readjusts herself on the bed, staring at
me intently. Her dark eyes are so big, it's hard not to get caught up
in her enthusiasm.

“
I'm not
really interested,” I say hesitantly.

“
Girl, you
haven't even heard my plan yet.” She flips her hand out at me,
throwing her head back in an exaggerated gesture. Such a diva.

“
Enlighten me,
then.” I cross my arms over my chest, completely expecting
something outlandish.

“
Apparently,
this guy throws parties every few months. Security is really lax.”

“
That doesn't
sound like how a rich guy would run things at all. Are you sure
you're not talking about a party in the ghetto?” I tease her.

“
Would you
just shut up and listen to me for half a second.” Her temper
flairs.

I know better than
to say anything more, so I simply make a gesture like I'm zipping my
lips, smiling all the while. There's a thin line between playing with
Ethel and fighting with her. I learned that a long time ago when we
first moved in together. Those days were horrible. I can handle her
now though.

“
Anyway.”
She rolls her eyes, sighing out her discontent. It disappears just as
quickly as it came on. “I figured that if we pretended to be
strippers, we could get in easy-peasy.”

I arch an eyebrow,
knowing I'm treading that line with my skepticism. “Me. Pretend
to be a stripper.” That's a laugh. I'm the epitome of
wholesome. Like, Catholic school girl wholesome, in a very literal
sense. Before our parents met, I actually went to an all-female
Catholic school. It wasn't until Ethel's father convinced my mom that
I needed to learn how to survive the general populous that my mom
finally switched me over to a normal public school. I was like such a
fish out of water back then, and I honestly don't think I ever really
socially adjusted. Maybe that's why I feel so awkward all the time.
Oh well. It can't be changed now. All I know is that I took a lot of
the values from Catholic school with me. I've only kissed one boy in
my entire life, and I wouldn't even dream of having sex outside of
wedlock. The idea of dressing up like a stripper just to get into
some stupid party is preposterous to me.

“
Come on,
Sarah, it will be fun.” Ethel scoots closer to me on the bed.
“Haven't you ever wanted to look sexy?”

“
Nope. Never.”
I shake my head. Sexy gives men the wrong impression. Sexy can get
you into trouble.

“
Ugh. You're
so lame.” Frustration takes over the anger she was once
displaying. She knows this is a losing battle. I won't budge.

“
You have
Lisa. You girls go have fun. You can tell me all about it afterward.”
I try to calm her with a smile.

She stands, her body
ridged. “You know what, you're never going to experience
anything that life has to offer if you keep staying inside this
little shell you've created for yourself.” She presses her
fingertips together and draws them out and around, creating an
invisible shell with her hands.

I'm perfectly fine
with my shell, I want to say, but instead, I simply reply, “I
know.” There's no point in arguing.

A vein in her neck
bulges. Cruel words are sitting on her tongue. I wait for her to spit
them at me, but thankfully, she just shakes her head and leaves,
taking the tension in the room with her. I sigh, grateful that it's
over. What a stupid thing to argue about. She should know by now that
her and I are as different as night and day. The things she's
interested in, I'm not, and that includes finding some man to shack
up with.

I sit in silence for
a moment, trying not to let the conversation get to me. It's
difficult. She may only be my step-sister, but I still want her to
like me. Maybe I should try harder. There has to be better ways than
this though.

***

It's
Saturday night, and I'm exhausted from a long day working at the
coffee shop.
Saving up to pay for college is hard. If I had
known it was going to be this difficult, to take so long, I would
have applied for more scholarships. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. It does
no good to think of the past. I've made my own bed, slacked off too
much in an attempt to be liked by the kids at school, to try to fit
in. Wanting to fit in was a mistake. Now I'm struggling like the rest
of them. Lessons learned in youth continue to haunt me as an adult.
Now I have to rectify my mistakes. I try not to be unhappy about it,
but it's hard sometimes.

I can hear heavy
footsteps treading down the hall towards my room. It's Ethel. I don't
even need to wonder what's coming next. No one walks that heavily in
this house when they're angry but her. I turn my computer chair
towards the door before she even has a chance to barge in on me
unannounced.

“
You're not
going to believe this,” she growls, slamming my door behind
herself. I can't help but wince. This is a ragefit that I have
absolutely nothing to do with, but I'm about to feel the brunt of it.

“
Tell me all
about it.” I reach over and pat my bed, trying to be
supportive.

From what I can
tell, Lisa and her must have gotten into a fight right before they
were supposed to leave for the party. Ethel looks stunning in a short
red dress that compliments her mocha skin. I love her skin. It's so
dark and smooth and flawless. She's a gorgeous girl, and men
generally flock after her, but she doesn't want anyone who doesn't
have money, no matter how nice he is. I'm still not completely sure
why she's like this. It's not like she grew up in the ghetto. It's
not like her father never had money. He's a dentist, and he's always
spoiled her. Maybe she's just used to it. Maybe she thinks that's the
way all men should treat her.

“
That bitch
bailed on me at the last fucking minute,” she seethes, dropping
herself heavily onto my bed and crossing her arms over her chest. I
admire her nail polish. It matches the dress perfectly, as does her
lipstick, heels, and ear rings. I've never seen a stripper look so
high class.

“
I'm sorry,
Ethel.”

Her voice softens
into sympathy, and she averts her eyes. “She's sick. She really
wanted to make it. Got ready and everything. But then she started
throwing up.”

“
That's
horrible.” I know where this is about to lead. She's trying to
hide her anger and getting ready to start pouting in hopes that I'll
join her. It's not happening. “You said the guy throws a party
every few months. There's always next time.”

“
Next time,”
she huffs. “I don't think I can wait a few more months to get
out of this hell hole.” She looks around my room as if it's a
dump. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes how easy we actually have
it. Probably not, if she's acting so childish.

“
You've waited
this long,” I sigh, trying not to show my disapproval at her
attitude. It's hard though. Unlike her, my mother and I struggled for
several years while her and my biological father were divorced. If it
wasn't for my grandmother paying for my admission into Catholic
school, that wouldn't have even happened.

“
Sarah, you
don't understand,” Ethel insists. “I went all out for
this party. I bought this dress, and I even had business cards made
for us.”

“
Business
cards?” I quirk an eyebrow.

“
Yeah.”
She digs in her purse and pulls out a billfold, opening it and
extracting several business cards. She hands them over to me, and I
look at the embossed front. It shows a picture of a girl hanging off
of a pole with the words At Your Service Strippers.

I scowl as I read
the fake name of the company. “Could you have picked anything
filthier for a name?”

“
Yeah, I could
have,” the heat in her voice returns. “I could have
picked Tits in Your Face or Naked Bitches.”

I roll my eyes,
handing the cards back to her. “Well, I'm sorry this isn't
going to happen for you.”

She takes the cards
and puts them back in her billfold, trying desperately to temper her
frustration at me. “It can still happen if you come with me.”

“
I think you'd
do better as a lone stripper.” It's both a suggestion and a
mockery at the same time.