by Fiona Murphy
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HIS SUGAR BABY
First edition. November 9, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Fiona Murphy.
ISBN: 978-1386488736
Written by Fiona Murphy.
***
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HIS SUGAR BABY
First edition. November 9, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Fiona Murphy.
ISBN: 978-1386488736
Written by Fiona Murphy.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Copyright Page
His Sugar Baby
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did please, please leave a review.
His on Demand
His Under Contract
His on the Rebound
His Healing Touch
His Hidden Agenda
His Hostile Takeover
Rafael’s Woman
His Marriage Demand
A Favor
His Next Chapter
The Gangster’s Girlfriend
His for More Than One Night
His Back Bay Princess
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Grant
I made my first million at sixteen and my first billion before I was thirty. I get what I want when I want it, how I want it, and I have no problem paying for it. Hell, I’ve already been doing it with the women I’ve been dating. They enjoy my credit cards during the day and I’m supposed to be enjoying them at night. It starts mutually beneficial but before long the woman get comfortable and start getting headaches and tired yet still spend my money. That’s it, I’m done with dating. It’s time for a woman who knows the deal and signs on the dotted line. I’m looking for a sugar baby, it's instant lust when I find Anne. Until I find out she hasn't been just a sugar baby before, she's sold herself by the hour in Las Vegas. It's one step too far for me, only I can't stop thinking about her. I find out she had her reasons for what she did, like I have mine. Her past is her past. I want her for what she is now. Besides, this is just sex, a simple exchange for time and money. Except, little by little, it becomes far from simple as I find out money doesn't buy everything.
Anne
I thought I was done with being a sugar baby, of selling myself for security and a better life than the one I grew up in. I tried to go white collar, after working my ass off to get a degree in accounting; only, things don’t always go as planned. The instant attraction to Grant is a cherry on top. He's gorgeous, thoughtful, and very generous. Is that why all my rules begin to blur, blend, and break to please him? I'm not ashamed of my past and all I’ve experienced, but it doesn't prepare me for Grant and all the things he wants and needs from me. I don't believe in forever, in happily ever after. What happens when he wants more than I give?
Chapter One
My phone is ringing, it shouldn’t be ringing. I ignore it as I continue punching out my code.
“Sir, it’s the credit card company. Again.” Alice is gone before I lift my eyes from my computer screen. She knows I hate interruptions, especially like the one I’m getting.
“This is Grant Dexter.”
“Mr. Dexter, sorry to disturb you, sir, but there is an attempt to charge past the limit you set last month. When I asked you for approval for the last charge.”
“How much and where?”
“Barney’s, one hundred twenty-two thousand four hundred seventy-seven dollars and forty-five cents. Do you approve the charge, sir?”
Fuck no. “No, see to it the card is cancelled. Close all accounts I have open under Ms. Sand’s name.”
“Yes, sir. They will all be closed immediately.”
This is the last thing I want to be dealing with, Caitlyn and her bullshit. I hit the button on my phone for the intercom, “Alice, pack up Caitlyn’s shit. Only what fits in her suitcases, the rest will go for donation.”
“I’m already doing so in her closet. Her jewelry collection, sir. It’s quite extensive. I’m not aware you bought her any pieces.” Her tone makes it clear she’s the one who isn’t an idiot in this conversation, that and all the sirs.
Alice has been with me forever, any other time it would be Grant. When she wants to make a point I’m trying her patience, it’s sir. She’d made her opinion of Caitlyn clear the first morning Caitlyn slept over. Alice told me in front of Caitlyn I should get a hobby to occupy myself. Caitlyn had no idea the phrase I should get a hobby was used when Alice thought I was wasting my time on something or in Caitlyn’s case, someone.
“I didn’t. Let her leave with a few. Put the rest into the safe for charity donations.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m just getting back into the rhythm of work when I hear the front door bang open against the wall, followed by the wail of my name. Then, she must have seen the lined up suitcases waiting for her and what they meant. This time she screams my name and her wailing crying is so loud it starts to give me a headache from three rooms away.
I turn up the music I run as background noise to work in. It doesn’t help when Caitlyn steps into my office. She’s all disheveled, her hair, real and fake is a mess.
“Grant, don’t do this to me, to us. Haven’t I done everything you wanted me to? I don’t bother you when you’re working all day long. When you come to bed, I lay back and take it even when I’m not in the mood.
“Okay, I spent some money. It takes money to keep me looking as good as you want me to. Please, please. Give me another chance, didn’t I give you what you wanted? I’ll suck your cock more, I promise.”
I type the last of the code and look up to see she’s still there. I’d stopped listening seconds after she started talking. She had nothing to say I want to hear. I dial down to the front desk.
“Sammy? I need a few men to help Ms. Sand downstairs with her luggage. Alice already called? I don’t know what I would do without her. There goes the doorbell. Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“You bastard!” Cailyn slams a hand on my desk to get my attention.
“The men can either help you with your luggage or carry your ass downstairs with your luggage. Your decision.”
“Just wait, just wait until it happens to you. Some woman is going to bring you to your knees and make you fall in love. You’ll know what it feels like to have your heart in someone else’s hands, and how scary it is.”
“Goodbye, Caitlyn.” I murmur, as I look at Ben, from the front desk, as he wraps a hand around Caitlyn’s arm. She goes without another word.
With a chuckle, I turn back to my computer screen. The woman might have cried and wailed about losing love, but she did it all without messing up her makeup.
I make it to the club to find Marshall waiting on me, plucking his racket with glee. If we are both on time we settle who serves by flipping a coin but if one of us is late, the one on time gets to serve. “Fine, you serve. It doesn’t matter, you’ll win anyway. I’m fucking exhausted. I only got about four hours of sleep. You have no idea how hard it was to get out of bed this morning.”
“Come on man, don’t throw
in the towel before we even begin. I’m hardly going to go easy on you, when no doubt it was sexy Caitlyn’s fault.”
We go into the club to find we need to wait for a court. Despite this being a regular Monday morning squash game for us, we haven’t reserved a court.
“Caitlyn’s fault, yes, but not for the reason you’re thinking. She tried to hit me for over a hundred grand at Barney’s. After last month’s no on eighty thousand at Saks, I thought she’d catch on that no way am I letting her spend that much cash.
“When I put her out she made a scene. I had to have her removed, along with her shit. After all her wailing, it took a while to get back into my zone. I was up late finishing the latest project I’m working on.”
“Ouch, already? She didn’t last long, like, eight months or so. You let her move in too fast. It put you two on the fast track, in her mind.”
“Yeah, probably, but fast track shouldn’t have even been there for her. I told her I wasn’t interested in anything permanent. She said she understood. It was supposed to be convenient but instead it got old real quick. I’m telling you, man, the next one I’m putting that shit in writing. I do not need this hassle.” I wipe my face, trying to wake up, and find Marshall studying me. “What?”
“I get it in writing, have with the last few women. Rachel and Diana signed on the bottom line.”
“What are you talking about? A prenup on a girlfriend?”
“No, like a contract with a sugar baby. Don’t tell me you don’t know what a sugar baby is. Don’t give me that look, Grant. For guys like you and me, it’s the smartest thing we could do. Put it all out there, what we want, expect, and what we are willing to pay and put up with and not put up with in return. No muss, no fuss, I’ll never go back to the old way.”
“Rachel and Diana?” Thinking of the two women he’s been juggling, with both women knowing of the other, now I know why he’s been able to do it. They don’t look like what I would expect, hard, plastic women who would sign over their body and life for a price. Rachel is a sweet, tiny, Vietnamese woman with big black eyes and long black hair, who is nothing like the tall, thin, blondes Marshall usually goes for, like Diana. Flipping through every encounter with the women, there isn’t a single thing I can pinpoint to indicate the relationship between the women and Marshall was based on cash. It’s also hard to believe Marshall would pay for a woman, he’s the blond hair, blue eyed, package that had him turning down pussy left and right.
I shake my head, the idea just doesn’t appeal to me. “That’s crazy, I never would have figured it out. Rachel and Diana don’t seem like hookers to me. Naw, man, paying for it isn’t something I’m interested in.”
“Dude, fuck you. They aren’t hookers any more than Caitlyn was. You’re already paying for it and have been paying for it. How much money did you spend on Caitlyn a month over the last year? And Heather, before her? You told me you broke up with Heather because she spent too much money every month, and by the time you broke it off you she would only let you hit it once maybe twice a month. Caitlyn, you just broke up with Caitlyn because of money. But do the math and she got a shitload more out of you than she was worth. You were bitching you were lucky to get some more than twice a week for the last two months with Caitlyn, right when she started spending more money.
“With a sugar baby, it’s all clear from the beginning. How much money they get a month for all the stuff they say are necessities. How much time they spend at your place, whether they spend the night. These women, yeah, the last girl before Diana admitted when it was over she was hoping to meet a husband, but most of them have their reasons and don’t want marriage any more than we do.”
A court opens up and we move inside, toss our bags in a corner, and Marshall serves. For a long time we don’t talk. I’m digesting what Marshall told me. The longer the game goes on, the more the reasoning has cut my earlier objections. Marshall beats me soundly and grins knowingly.
“Changed your mind, didn’t you?”
“Definitely. In the first few months it’s always been the same thing with women. Anything I wanted whenever I wanted but by the third or fourth month they get comfortable and are too tired, they don’t want to mess up their hair and it’s excuse after excuse. Do you know, Caitlyn actually offered to suck my cock more often if I didn’t break it off with her last night?”
“You won’t get that with these women. I’ve been with Rachel going on nine months now, and it’s still as good and often as the first night. Diana is more for going out and looking good when I have to do the red carpet thing. I’ll send you the contract I use so you can take a look at it, and also the link for the site I use. There are dozens of them out there, it’s the best one by far. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth every penny.”
Marshall’s phone goes off. We are close enough I know the ringtone is his work. Since his longtime secretary knows of our weekly game, she wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t important. It is. “Sorry, I have to go in. My dad is going to blow this Glasgow deal if I don’t.”
“No problem. I thought you sent him off to France on a useless errand last week?” Harrison Channing, Marshall’s father had built a staffing company from secretaries and day labor to one of the largest multibillion dollar firms in the United States. Marshall hadn’t wanted to take over for his father. He liked running his own smaller, exclusive firm of headhunters for the million dollar salary bracket.
Then Harrison had a stroke. While it was a small stroke, he had lost the fine motor skills on his left side. Harrison’s request for Marshall to take over before the board unseated him was something Marshall felt he couldn’t turn down. Only the last seven years hadn’t been easy, since the old man still had a kick to him. Harrison had his own ideas about where he wanted the company to go. Marshall’s expansions into other countries were always a point of contention between them.
“So did I. It was supposed to keep him there until next week. I have no idea when he got back into town.”
“Now that’s he’s figured out you tried to keep him out of the way, he’s going to be more of a jackass. Good luck dealing with him.”
“I’m going to need it. Hey, don’t you dare go home. Take your lazy ass upstairs and go for a run or walk or something on a machine. You aren’t missing out on your only exercise this week because of my dad. I’ll send you the link once you send me picture of your proof of a workout.”
“Fucker.”
“That I am. If I’m going to be old because I’m rich and take care of myself, I’m not doing it alone—you have to keep me company.” With a peace sign Marshall walks out of the gym.
Asshole. Marshall and his stupid juicing, vegetarian diet, and five days a week workouts. It was exhausting listening to him go on about his healthy living crap. Stomping up the stairs, I’m on the second floor, a place I do my best to avoid.
I hate exercising, loathe it. I weight train because I have since I was a teenager, to attract girls and not be the stereotypical computer geek. The few times I’ve gone longer than a week without it I felt like shit. One of my rooms in my condo is dedicated to weights, free and two machines to break up the monotony, and a heavy bag for stress relief. But this whole running, sweating, rowing, shit isn’t for me. The weekly squash game with Marshall was something I only gave into after listening to hours of harassment.
Finding an empty treadmill, I plug in my ear phones, and bring up my workout mix. I hit play and start. Normally, I would be thinking of the project I just finished. Running through possible flaws, how to find them, and then how soon before the project would go live.
Right now, all I can think about is the new project that will be finding my own sugar baby. I shake my head to clear it, those aren't words I ever would have thought I would be thinking, let alone doing. Yet, as Marshall said, the arrangement was perfect for me.
Marriage is not for me, not now, not five or ten years from now. I’ll be forty next year, and making my first million at sixteen then hitting a billion
before I was thirty has spoiled me by enabling me to live my life on my terms for too long to change. My work is more important to me and has given me more satisfaction than the hour or two of pleasure I’ve found in a woman’s body. Determined not to repeat the shitty history of my parents I make sure all the women I’ve dated know my stance on marriage and that they would come second to my work. If they weren’t okay with that then they needed to exit the relationship immediately.
My father had been the same way about his work. Except he’d been an asshole and married my mother and gave into her wish for a baby. I was barely a blip on his radar, he’d look at me as if he could barely remember my name. He treated my mother as an afterthought, if he thought about her at all. Watching my mom become a bitter, twisted woman while she tried desperately to get his attention in any way she could made me resent him.
When she committed suicide only a week after I left for MIT. I hated him. She felt like she had nothing once I was gone. He blamed her suicide on the weakness of her heritage, with her father a member of the Yakama tribe of Native Americans and her mother a French Canadian. He said the best thing she had done for me was to only give me her blue eyes. I hated the fact I looked nothing like her and everything like my father, only the light olive tone of my skin hinted I was her son. Then, when he acted as if her funeral was as an inconvenience I knew I’d never have anything to do with the man for the rest of his life and I didn’t. At the time of his death three years later, from a heart attack, I hadn’t spoken to him since my mother’s funeral.
Then there were the lessons learned once I hit billionaire status. I started making lists and getting press I didn’t want or respond to. The lessons about women and what they were willing to do for money. For my money, not me, my money. Hell, as Marshall had pointed out, I was already paying for sex.
Caitlyn had cost me almost a half million in dresses, shoes, and jewelry, and it hadn’t even been a year. Sure it was my own fault for giving her a credit card for her use without giving her any conditions. The few relationships with women who had their own day job was just as costly in aggravation from their arguments of what they were giving up for me.
