Romance: The Billionaire Alpha Collection (2 page)

“Yeah, yeah.” I smile to myself, adding a sway to my hips. “Have a nice day, Bryce.”

I feel his eyes on my back for the longest time, right up until I turn down a street and out of his sight.

When I do leave his gaze, I miss the buzz of his stare running through my spine, and realize my fingers are caressing the embossed business card in my pocket.

What the hell just happened?

Chapter 2

The journey home is long.

On the bus I stare out the window, toying with the elegant off-white, embossed business card. Running my fingertips over the surface, I breathe in the musky, spicy aftershave oozing from its smooth surface.

According to the card his name is indeed Bryce Morgan, as he said, and he’s a business executive and owner of Morgan & Morgan Law Firm. So at no more than his mid-thirties, I imagine $100,000 to mean a great night out to a man of his wealth.

To me, it would be life changing.

How can I even walk down the same street as someone who lives such a different life, let alone share his bed?

As I get off the bus and glare up at the rundown apartment building I moved into several years ago with Greg—the one-time guy of my dreams, turned scumbag—bitterness makes it hard for me to breathe. I loved him like a girl loves their first cuddly toy, and he left me with a pile of debt for a floozy stylist-cum-actress named Josephine.

I thought she was my friend once, too. I never have learnt how to figure people out.

My Mom always said that I was to forgiving of people.

She wasn’t far wrong as it goes.

“Miss you, Mom,” I sigh, and put Bryce’s card back in my pocket.

I decide to avoid my apartment—and my landlord—a while longer by stopping in on Stacey, to tell my friend and neighbor all about my weird day and the stranger I can’t get out of my head.

“Hey, girl.” Stacey beams and waves her arm to invite me in. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee ready to go.”

Stacey always has fresh coffee ready because she is addicted to caffeine. Better than being a real drug addict perhaps, but it still means she doesn’t sleep much, and chatters nonstop. “Come in, come in.” She jerks her head toward the coffee machine. “Go, sit down, tell me how the job interview went while I make the drinks. Did you get it?”

Glaring at her, unsure where to begin, I inhale and dump my handbag on her countertop.

“Well?” Stacey prompts. “What happened?”

Too agitated to sit down, I move Stacey away from the coffee machine and push her to sit on her couch so I can tell her my strange news in one swift sentence.

“You sit, and please try to listen. I have an incredible story to tell you, and I want to hear your thoughts on it. But it’s a weird one, so don’t interrupt.”

Stacey’s mouth twitches, as if she’s unsure whether to smile. “Okay, okay. You’re worrying me. What’s up?”

How do I explain something like this?

I pace around the room, one hand holding Bryce’s business card in my pocket.

“First, I still don’t have a job.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Those bastards.” She reaches out to hold my hand and touches my fingers. “Wish I had enough cash to share with you, but you know how I’m fixed. I can cook us dinner?”

Stacy has her own financial issues, and as we were both waitresses, neither of us earns enough to share.

Raising my hand, I say, “Wouldn’t take it if you offered. No point us both being in debt.” Then I remove the card from my pocket and offer it to her. “That’s why I need to give serious consideration to something, and need your advice.”

“Things must be bad if you need my advice, girl.” She swipes the card from my hand, and I almost want to fight her for it. If it disappears, so does the chance of financial freedom and the one chance I have of seeing Bryce again.

Each time I think about the peculiar opportunity offered to me, and about the man who made the offer, I’m almost convinced to go ahead with it.

Do I want advice, or am I really hoping Stacey will agree with the side of me screaming to be Bryce’s property for an evening?

“It’s a posh business card.” Stacy scrutinizes either side of it, and shrugs. “So what?”

“A little under an hour ago, the owner of the posh business card offered me $100,000 for one night of...my company. He says during that time, I’m his. That he owns me.” I blush at the memory, but rebuke myself as the weight of my feminism comes crashing down about my shoulders. “I know it makes me a whore if I accept. Can’t believe I’m even thinking about it.” My eyes widen to take in my friend’s reaction, waiting for the news to filter around her caffeine-addled mind. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

Stacy gapes for a moment, then says, “Hang on, you mean like Robert Redford and Demi Moore in...” She clicks her fingers. “You know...the movie, what’s it called?”

“Indecent Proposal!”

“Yep. Loved that movie.”

I slump down next to her, relieved, and check the time. Just two hours before her next shift begins. Reality sucks.

“Madness, right? Although he didn’t offer me a million, sure feels like it to me.”

“Yeah, this guy’s cheap.” Stacey says sarcastically.

We both laugh, ignoring the severity of the subject for a moment.

“Why me, Stacey? Of all the women out there and he stops me? Of all the high-class escorts who’d do if for far less, who’d be more knowledgeable and entertaining.”

Stacey’s eyes widen. “Maybe he doesn’t find sex workers attractive? Maybe an unassuming girl-next-door type is exactly what feeds his fantasies. He sounds like a ‘Dom’ if he used that phrase, so I doubt he wants a pro.”

“What phrase?” I ask, but remember Bryce saying I own you, and wiggle on the seat. “Oh, the bit about ownership? Yeah, I thought that sounded scary. But shouldn’t he want, I dunno, a submissive woman to fit a Dom fantasy? A woman who knows how to be submissive? One who knows about all that bondage stuff?” A chuckle sticks in my chest, ambushed by conflicting emotions, and burns like trapped wind. I lay a hand on my chest. “Closest I get to all that is on my Kindle, thankfully.”

Stacey winks. “You, me, and half the women in the Western world.”

We both snigger.

“I can dream about that fantasy all night, but if a fella comes near me with a whip, I’ll break his fingers.” Stacy screams with laughter this time, but I can’t.

Instead, I imagine Bryce brandishing a whip and wearing nothing but a leather thong, and a blanket of sweat covers my back.

“Of course,” my voice shakes as I speak, “he may well be a psychopath who wants to cut me into a thousand pieces and feed me to his cannibalistic Dom chums.”

We go silent, and the atmosphere is tense when we look at each other.

“No way. Why bother with the conversation, the contract offer, or the card. He could have just chatted you up, took you on a date, pretended to like you, then cut you up into a thousand pieces.”

This shouldn’t reassure me, but it does. “Good point.”

“So, what’s he look like?” She grins, rubbing her hands together. “This wealthy Dom of yours? Is he worth the money?”

“Oh yes,” I gush, “You have never saw anyone like him. I mean, models have nothing on this guy.”

“Details please.”

“Okay, well. He has the palest, deepest set eyes; green, I think. Maybe pale blue-green? Piercing, brooding. We weren’t close enough for long for me to get a good look. Plus, I was too nervous to stare.”

“Sounds dreamy, but screw his eyes.” Stacey’s brows pinch. “What about the size of the bulge in his crotch?” She grabs my hand. “What about his body?”

“Never noticed his crotch, thanks. But he’s super tall and lean. I imagine he’s all muscles under the Italian suit he wore.”

“And his mouth? Is he kissable?”

“Hell yeah. His lips are the softest part of him, like two pink cushions in a diamond sculpture.”

“What? So his face is supposed to be the diamond sculpture? You’re no poet, Amelia. Sounds like the annoying Twilight guy who everyone got the hots over. I’m still in the wolfs’ corner.”

“I wanted both,” I snort, recalling my ménage à trois fantasies of nights with a vampire and a werewolf—both demonstrating a delicious blend of dominant consideration. Arousal builds inside me, remembering Bryce’s high cheekbones, strong jawline, and lofty height. In my mind, he’s already naked, beckoning me into his bed.

“Oh stop. I just mean he has a striking, angular face which encases achingly feminine eyes, and a voluptuous, oh-so-kissable mouth.” I try to explain.

“You got me, he sounds hot. Scorching hot. So what’s the problem?”

I imagine him beneath me as I ride him to orgasm...

“He wants to pay a life-changing sum of money to spend time with you. Sounds to me like you’d go there for free. Hell, so would I. Actually, I could join you. We could go halves in the money.”

I stop imagining him for a minute and consider Stacey’s justification. “You think I should do it then? Whore myself out like that?”

“Don’t get bogged down by labels like whore. He’s a gorgeous guy who wants to spend a night with you but without strings presumably, and is not only prepared to pay for dinner, like a normal date, but a whole lot more. It’s not like you’d have to screw a man you don’t fancy. Look at you. You’re already doing it in your head, aren’t you?”

It’s like she can read my mind, I swear. “How do you do that?”

“You’re an open book, sweetie. That’s why I love you, but why guys leave footprints on your forehead. And it’s exactly why this offer is a potential lifesaver. Bryce can wipe away your troubles, give you a little loving, and feed your fantasies for a lifetime. Don’t think about it as being a whore just because he’s offering to pay. He is fate’s gift to you, and you deserve it. If you go about this with your eyes open, you can make this work for you. You’re in control here, not him.”

She actually thinks it’s okay?

Am I making a big deal out of nothing?

“I appreciate what you’re saying, but this still feels strange, Stacey. Even dangerous.”

She holds the card up in front of my face, ready to rip it in two.

“Best get rid of this then. Don’t want you taking a chance on something incredible if it feels ‘strange’ now, do we? Anyway, I have a shift to get ready for.”

I’d have to wait tables for a lifetime to earn $100,000.

“Stop!” I yelp.

“Oh yes?” Stacey questions with a smile.

“Don’t rip it, I’ve not made a decision either way yet. But what if he’s a psycho? Seriously, what then?”

“I say meet him in a neutral location and set something down in writing. I’ll come too if you like. I’ll hide nearby, with a big stick.” We share a smile. “Once a legal contract is drawn, and he knows you have someone waiting for you who expects you to return, he can’t do anything bad to you or else the police get involved...”

“He said he has a contract for me to sign; ‘To protect my investment,’ he said.”

“There you go then. He wants you to feel reassured. He knows how women might struggle over this kind of thing. Get his contract; get him to sign it too, and I’ll keep it safe for you. If you don’t get home the next day I’ll call the police and he’s one busted rich guy.” She shrugs as if it’s all so simple, then glares over at her coffee pot.

“The police will come but I’ll be melting in a tub of acid by then. Okay, get your damn coffee. Get one for me too while I think this over.”

“Don’t think so much,” Stacey says, standing. “Google Bryce Morgan and see if he really is the guy on this card before we waste any more time on this. He could be some weasel who rented a nice suit; you need to know he can cover the $100,000. It’s a serious paycheck.”

“Superb idea.” I open up Stacey’s laptop, close the erotica literature site she’d been browsing before I arrived, and type Bryce Morgan in the browser.

And… there he is.

“Oh my, he’s here. Come see him, I wanna see you drool.” The picture of him, where he’s wearing a suit and shades and talking to someone on his phone, made me sigh. The headline reads, “Bryce Morgan: Youngest Independently Wealthy Executive to Make Over One Billion Dollars.”

Stacey runs to my side, sugar bowl in hand, and leers over my shoulder.

“Wow woman! What are you waiting for? He’s offering you a lottery win and super abs, and you’re wondering if it makes you rich or a whore, or maybe a rich whore? Who the hell cares? Call him already.”

She points at Bryce’s card, which she’d left next to me on the couch when she left to make coffee.

My insides move around so fast, they leave skid marks. “I’m doing this, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are, lady. But we’re doing this right.”