Billionaire's Fake Fiancee

by Eva Luxe

  You working?

  I quickly reply.

  Yup! Coming to see me?

  His response comes almost instantly.

  Five minutes away!

  “Kristen!” I say, feeling a warm sense of relief wash over me, momentarily making me forget about the hot, sweaty room with thick recycled air, and the obnoxious house music blaring in my ears. “Roger is coming in!”

  “Oooooh, Roger! Is he bringing his partner?”

  “He didn’t say, let me ask.”

  Is your partner coming?

  I write.

  Sure is ;)

  “Affirmative,” I say with a smile. Kristen smiles back. We both know what that means: more money.

  Ten minutes later we’re in the champagne room with Roger and his partner Greg, who Kristen is keeping busy in the corner of the room. Roger is a sweet guy, a little overweight, with a face that looks like a cherub. Everything about him screams scented candles, interior decoration and his partner being his “partner,” if you get my drift. But he’s been a regular of mine for over six years.

  A few years back his mom died, and he inherited a ton of money. I don’t know how much, but whenever I mention anything in my life going on, Roger offers to pay for it. I’ve turned him down on most things though. I like to work for my money, and I don’t want a sugar daddy.

  A lot of the girls here do “extra” work outside the club, but that’s not my style. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. It’s just not me. I’ll dance if I’m forced, but mostly I keep my clothes on and talk to my regulars. I work with my brain, not with my body.

  “Everything going okay with you?” Roger asks me as he sips his champagne.

  “Eh,” I say with a shrug. “Things could always be better.”

  “Problems with Colin?”

  “Oh, there’s always problem with him,” I say with a sigh. “But nothing I can’t handle. A lot of bills coming in lately. My car needs some repairs.”

  “Let me take care of them for you,” he says, putting a hand on mine. “I said I’d replace that for you. Just ask.”

  “You’re too sweet, Roger. If I wasn’t such an honest girl I’d end up bleeding you completely dry!”

  Roger laughs and raises his glass to mine for a toast.

  “To honest strippers!” He grins.

  “The one and only,” I laugh.

  As I down my glass, I realize we’re out and need another bottle.

  “Refill?” I ask him. He looks down and sees the situation.

  “Refill.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, rubbing him on the shoulder. He smiles and turns his attention to Kristen, now in full on lap dance mode in the corner with his partner Greg.

  Chapter 2 – Tyler

  “What are we even doing here, Ty?” Barry says from behind me as he takes a swig of his cheap beer.

  “The more important question here is why do you insist on drinking that piss water?” I say. “I mean, they’ve got a full stocked bar here and you go for that shit.”

  “Oh, okay. What are you, some kind of wine expert or something?”

  I shrug and turn my attention back to the thick crowd of idiots packed into the main area of the club, watching some girl in purple stockings, purple heels and a purple thong spinning around the pole on the feature stage.

  “Ladies gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Violet!” The DJ shouts over the intercom.

  That explains it, I think, taking a deep swig of my rum and coke.

  It’s weak as shit. They obviously don’t care too much about their drinks here, but that’s okay. This is my fourth or fifth one tonight … or is it sixth? Either way, I’m not here for the quality of the drinks. I’m here to get blasted and watch some girls shake their titties. I mean, isn’t that what you come to a strip club for?

  To tell the truth, I’ve only ever been in one of these places one other time in my life, and that’s because a girl I was seeing dragged me in and told me she’d buy me a lap dance. The place was pretty dead, and all the girls were pretty rough looking. I ended up sitting there for about ten minutes then heading home. Never saw the girl again either. I guess she was pissed off that my idea of fun and her idea of fun weren’t exactly the same.

  But tonight, I just need some mindless, primal fun. With all the shit that’s been going on in my life lately, I just need to zone out and not think about anything but the boobs, butts and whatever the hell else girls have that I like.

  I run a tattoo parlor when I’m not fighting. My tour in Afghanistan was hell, and it took me a long time to get back into society after I came home. I got into MMA, but the money just wasn’t there, and traveling for fights got old really quick. Getting back into my art was what really helped.

  I always liked to draw, and was pretty damn good back in high school. Mr. Erving, my art teacher, told me I should go to college on an art scholarship, but my folks didn’t have the money. I enlisted at eighteen and after boot camp I was over there in the sand with the rest of the chumps dumb enough to sign over four years of their life to the Marines.

  Coming home was hard on everyone, not just me. My wife and daughter were happy to see me, but civilian life just felt strange. It was like coming home to a world I no longer recognized, and they could tell I felt out of place. I was used to the regimented life of the service, and waking up every day without orders, without someone screaming at me, without a gun and a pack, left me feeling like a leaf blowing aimlessly on the wind.

  I did the best I could. And I was managing fairly well, until that night that my life changed forever.…

  “Whoa, look at that!” Moore shouts behind me, pointing to the stage. Violet has managed to work her way up the pole to the ceiling and is now hanging upside down, arms spread, holding on with just her legs.

  “Yeah,” I shrug. “She’s hanging upside down. I did that kinda shit when I was a kid climbing trees.”

  “Yeah, well you didn’t look like that,” Barry laughs, slapping me heartily on the shoulder.

  But then, she does something that gets my attention. After a dramatic pause at the top of the pole, Violet lets go with her legs and slides headfirst towards the floor. You can hear the gasps from the men in the crowd as she plummets towards the stage. But just before she slams down, surely breaking her neck, she clenches down with her thighs and stops herself, her nose just inches from the stage.

  “Jesus Christ!” I exclaim, setting my drink down to join in with the applause.

  “Thought she was gonna break her fucking neck!” Moore cackles.

  As Violet does some equally impressive acrobatic movement to get back on her feet, a girl brushes by me, an enormous bottle of champagne in her hands. I smell her as she passes, and whatever she’s wearing, mixed with the slightest hint of her body, wafts over me and I inhale deeply.

  I get a slight glimpse of her face before she passes, and even though it’s pretty dark in here and all girls look good in low light, she looks absolutely slamming. What’s weird, is that unlike all the other girls here, she’s not wearing some kind of short skirt or lingerie or something.

  She has heels on, which I love. I mean, what kind of self respecting guy doesn’t love heels? But she’s got a t-shirt on! A fucking t-shirt? And a thong. Thank God. And look at that ass. I mean, what a booty. It’s not big, but it’s firm, and I feel my dick twitch as I watch her cheeks jiggle. I can just imagine what it would be like to slap that thing, grab it, or sink my teeth into it. There’s something about a woman’s body that just drives me crazier than most men.

  She has long, dark hair, but it looks like she’d dyed it and is going to need to again soon. Somehow, she doesn’t look as “put together” as the rest of the girls in this club. It’s like she’s got a bit of an attitude or something, and I like it. The fact that she’s got that t-shirt on is driving me wild. I came here to see some titties, and I can tell she’s got a great pair under there from the way the fabric on her shirt is stretched and the bounc
e I can see as she walks.

  “What the hell are you staring at, Romeo?” Barry says with a laugh.

  “Yeah, man. You looking for your future ex-wife or something?” Moore adds, cracking up a little too hard for such a lame joke.

  “Gimmie a break, guys.” I reply, my eyes on the almost unbearable jiggle of her ass as she walks.

  There’s a rule that all guys know—well all guys with brains that is: never date a stripper. Most of them are going to go batshit crazy on you and you’re going to end up sucking your thumb in an insane asylum. You go to the club to have a good time, maybe hook up and that’s about it.

  So why the hell am I looking at this chick like I want to go say something to her?

  Come on, Ty. Get your head out of your ass.

  I’m two seconds away from following her to wherever the hell she’s going with that huge bottle that’s about as big as she is, when some asshole bumps into me and knocks my drink out of my hand.

  “Hey!” I shout, tossing my hands aside as the big buffoon stumbles past me. He looks like some biker boy wannabe with a ratty leather jacket that looks like he bought it that way, and he’s obviously drunk off his ass and making a total fool out of himself.

  “Sorry, buddy,” he manages to mumble as he steps up to the bar. “Lemmie get a—”

  But the bartender doesn’t even let him finish. “Sorry, pal. Can’t do it.”

  “What the fuck you talking about?” the man replies, slurring like he’s coming out of heavy anesthetic. “This is the bar … you’re a bartender … gimmie some bar! I mean … gimmie some drink! Gimmie a drink!”

  The bartender just shakes his head and polishes a glass. “No can do, buddy. You’re at your limit.”

  “Bullshit!” the man shouts, slamming his hand down on the bar.

  “Easy, pal,” I say. He turns to me and practically spits all over me.

  “No one’s talking to you, dick!”

  I frown. This guy obviously doesn’t know who he’s fucking with. A lot of guys underestimate me, and that’s the way I like it. I don’t dress to impress when I’m out in public, or shoot my mouth off at every occasion. It’s always the loudest guy in the room that’s the weakest. But something about this guy is really getting to me, and the way he’s looking at me like he thinks he can take me is pissing me off. But just as I’m starting to get fired up, the bartender intervenes.

  “Hey, listen. You either cool down, or I’m gonna have security escort you out. You got me?”

  The man looks like he wants to say something. His face is red, and he’s obviously fuming inside, but he keeps his trap shut. After a few seconds he turns away, giving me a glare like he wants to go, and slips off into the crowd.

  “Dipshit,” Barry growls behind me.

  “Dude doesn’t know how close he came to getting his face beat in,” Moore adds.

  “Whatever,” I say, turning to the bartender. “Can I get another? I don’t suppose he has a tab open.”

  Chapter 3 – Jenny

  I head downstairs, back into the thick of things. “Violet” is on stage, hanging upside down on the pole doing the splits. As much of a bitch as she can sometimes be, I have to give it to her. I’d break my neck if I tried something like that.

  The smells of cheap beer and sweat invade my nostrils as I push through what looks like a crowd of frat boys on my way to the back room. It’s hot, and I’m praying I don’t turn into a hot sweaty mess by the end of the night. My hair has been dyed one too many times, and if it gets wet it’s going to be a tangled mess that no comb on Earth can straighten out. Sometimes I want to just say screw it and buzz it all off, but I’m not the kind of girl that can pull that look off.

  Just as I pass the bar, someone steps in front of me.

  “Hey, how you doing?” the man says, sounding like Joey from Friends.

  I look up to see one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life. Much more handsome than our normal clientele. In fact, to be blunt, he looks way too good looking to even be in this club. He’s easily over six feet tall, has very short dark hair and is wearing a sleeveless t-shirt that shows off the bulging muscles in his arms that have been decorated with several tattoos.

  My heart flutters, and I feel myself tense up. I’m actually shocked. After all the years I’ve worked at Max’s, and all the crazy things I’ve gone through here, I thought the days of me being surprised by anything or anyone were over. But there’s just something about this guy that has me frozen in my tracks.

  He’s giving me the cockiest smile the Earth has ever seen, and I honestly feel myself getting wet in the panties. This is absurd. My job at work can be pretty sexual sometimes in the way I present myself, but it’s just that—a job. And I manage to switch it on and off pretty well. I have never been turned on by a client. In fact, I’m usually pretty turned off by most of them.

  But this guy is something different. There’s something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. But it’s there. But before my body can get too carried away with itself, my brain kicks in.

  Focus, Jenny. He’s hot. The hot ones are always trouble.

  It’s a fact here around us girls. The hot guys never come here for a nice chat or a little time away. They don’t want to talk over drinks or spend a few bucks on a five-minute lap dance. They want more, and as soon as this guy opens his mouth, I know he’s the same.

  “What are you doing with a t-shirt on?” he scoffs. “Isn’t this a strip club? Where’s your lingerie or bikini or whatever.”

  I frown back, but for some reason I’m at a loss for words. “I mean, I can see you’ve got some honkin’ hooters under there. What are you doing covering them up?”

  His two friends behind him crack up. One of them is an enormous guy that has to weigh three hundred pounds, but you can tell he’s built on a foundation of solid muscle. The other is the complete opposite. He looks like he’s standing on two milky white chop sticks, is freckled all over, and has a fiery bush of red hair on top of his very round head. They’re all clearly a few drinks in.

  “Well what can I say,” I finally spit out. “I like to leave some things up to the imagination.”

  “Imagination?” he laughs. “What are you talking about? You’re a stripper aren’t you? Why don’t you give me a dance so we can get to the bottom of this mystery?”

  “Why don’t I not?” I reply, feeling like I could sock him right across his high cheekbones.

  “Aw, what are you some kind of princess?”

  “Well, even if I was, you’re no prince.”

  I move to go by him, but he steps in my way, a huge smile on his face.

  “Maybe I am, and you just don’t know it yet.”

  “I doubt it,” I say with my best smile that says fuck off. “Now, if you don’t mind getting out of my way?”

  Why is it the hot ones are always the assholes, I think.

  I put a hand on his shoulder and push him out of the way.

  Jesus Christ, he’s hard! I think. He obviously spends some time in the gym. What a contrast between his body and Roger’s.

  Okay, okay. Don’t think about it, Jenny! You’re here to do your job, not fall in love with another dick head.

  I’ve already done that once before. Colin was absolutely gorgeous. He still is, but I can’t see it in him after all the things he did to me. I swore off men after him, and would have gone lesbian if I didn’t have such a thing for abs and … other things.

  The crowd is thick, but I can see the door to the back room. Violet is shaking her butt on stage, alternating between each cheek. The guys are loving it, and some business men who fancy themselves players are raining money down on her booty, hooting and hollering like a bunch of high schoolers. And she’s loving it. I have to admire that control. I’ve never mastered any kind of booty acrobatics. Never had to.

  Just as I’m about to slide into the back room, I feel a hand grip tightly around my arm.

  “Rose isn’t it?” I hear a voice sa
y. I whip around to see a shitfaced man in a grungy leather jacket looking down at me through glassy eyes. I yank my arm away and take a step back.

  “Have I met you?” I ask.

  “Nah, baby,” he says, slurring his words. “But I have had my eye on you for a long time. What do you say to a dance?”

  “Sorry, I’m busy,” I say, turning away, eager to be away from this scum bag.

  “Not so fast,” he says, and I feel both of his hands on my waist. He pulls me hard and presses his body against my back. I can feel his hard-on as he grinds it against my ass. My heart starts to race. “I got a fat stack burning a hole in my pocket with your name on it. What do you say we go somewhere a little more private?”

  “Get off!” I shout, my voice barely audible through the noise of the club. I try to wriggle away, but he’s stronger than he looks, and I can barely move.

  “Aw, don’t be like that, baby. I just want to have a good time. Don’t you want to have a good time with me?”

  “Let go of me,” I shout, feeling the panic rising inside me. I look around, but there’s no one paying attention to us. All the eyes are on Violet’s act on the main stage. He’s sweaty, and he stinks. I feel his arms tighten and the breath escapes my lungs. I’m at his mercy. I try to cry out again, but my voice catches in my throat. He leans in, and I feel the scruff of his beard scratch my neck.

  “Just relax,” he says. “I’m a nice guy.”

  And he opens his mouth and I feel his lips wrap around my earlobe and suck.

  I lose it. My entire body spazzes, and I kick my leg back and hit him solidly in the balls. He groans and topples over, and I hear his heavy body hit the floor, but I’m already running for the locker room.

  “Axel!” I shout to the bouncer who stands by the door. “That guy back there! Get rid of him!”

  “You okay?” he asks, very concerned, but already striding towards the scum bag.

  I don’t even have the ability to answer as I stumble into the locker room and brace myself against the sink. I crank the faucet on full blast and splash cold water on my face, not even worrying about my make up.