Table of Contents
Copyright and Disclaimer
Free Gift
1. The Forbidden Sitter
2. Masked Indulgence
3. Nightclub Surprise
4. A Billionaire’s Treasure
5. Focus
6. Shattered
About the author
Nightclub Sins
A Billionaire Romance Series
Michelle Love
Contents
Copyright and Disclaimer
Free Gift
1. The Forbidden Sitter
2. Masked Indulgence
3. Nightclub Surprise
4. A Billionaire’s Treasure
5. Focus
6. Shattered
Copyright and Disclaimer
About the author
Copyright and Disclaimer
©Copyright 2018 by Michelle Love - All rights Reserved
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
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Went to the toy store for my kid, came home with a woman for me… Something inside of me began to smolder for her that hot afternoon. Once I had her within my walls, I couldn’t think about anything other than getting my hands on her, using her body to quench the fire that had grown inside me. Taking her in every way imaginable and making her beg for more, were my devious plans. She’d become my hot little muse, making nightly visits to her master’s bedroom to lend me some of her sexual magic. But would our little secret be the only thing that could separate us…
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1. The Forbidden Sitter
Nightclub Sins Book One
A little boy needed me. A grown man needed me. And I needed to let go of my V-card …
Excitement and sadness are a rare combination, but that’s exactly how I felt when I went to work as my big brother’s best friend’s babysitter.
Tossed away by his horrible mother, the two-year-old needed me desperately.
I could be there for the poor boy.
But I fell in love.
With both the son and the father.
My overprotective family wouldn’t mind my love for the child.
But my love for the man who wasn’t supposed to be touching me at all?
Well, no one was going to be okay with that.
So I told the billionaire who was used to getting his way that we’d have to hide our relationship.
Keep the steamy encounters a secret.
I found out billionaires do not like to be kept hidden.
So how long would I get to feel his phenomenal touch before we had to end it all?
Part One
Chapter 1
Gannon
The first day of November and a chilly wind tore through our fair city of Los Angeles at ten in the morning. The first cold front of the fall season had arrived, bringing with it an enthusiasm for change.
I stood, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my fifteenth-floor office. In the distance the waves coming in off the Pacific Ocean took my attention as I waited for my personal assistant, Janine Lee, to let me know when my video conference was up and going.
My job was CEO of Forester Industries; a business passed down to me by my father. He’d inherited the company from his father and had turned it from a million-dollar company to a billion-dollar one.
Was I born with a silver spoon in my mouth?
That would be a yes. I had never known hardships, poverty, or the feeling of going to bed hungry. I had only known the world of the super-rich. A world where you asked for something and you got it. And it all happened very quickly.
Maybe all that instant gratification wasn’t healthy for me, because I was impatiently waiting for the first time in my life. At thirty, some might say I hadn’t even begun to live my life yet, but waiting for my dream to be built felt like an eternity to me.
At a prestigious nightclub in Vegas one night a few months ago, I met a couple of fellow billionaire’s at Hakkasan, a nightclub for the extremely wealthy. One could blow a hundred grand with ease at the place. And it was there that a plan was hatched to build a nightclub comparable to that one.
Hakkasan was number one on the top-ten chart of high-status nightclubs around the world. The men I met that night wanted to build something even better than that. And right here in L.A., the place we all called home, coincidentally.
It took us no time to find a place and get construction going on the club. Currently, we were bantering about the name of the place—hence the conference I was waiting for. We were at the stage where the name was necessary to order insignia and other things that would carry the nightclub’s name on them.
I turned away from the window as my office door opened. There stood Janine, all four-feet-five-inches of her. Her short hair hung in dark-black, silky strands around her round face. Thick-framed glasses housed her chocolate eyes. One hand on her hip, she jerked her head in gesture. “Mr. Forester, your Skype conference is up in the conference room. August Harlow and Nixon Slaughter are ready and waiting for you, sir.”
“Excellent.” I strode across my large office, following her to the room at the end of the hallway. “Do you think you could find me a coffee this morning? Something that says fall is here?”
“I’m on it, boss.” She flipped her hair and turned, heading off to find what I’d asked for. The woman was amazing. At nearly forty, she was adept at making things happen for those she worked for. I was lucky enough to have found her when her old boss had passed away a few years back.
She and I had something in common, we found out, as we accidentally met at the funeral home where her boss’ memorial was taking place and where my father’s body had just arrived.
It was in the hallway that we both went for the same box of tissues. And in that tragic moment, we found each other. She told me about her boss and her lack of a job as a personal assistant. I told her about how I was —now—with the loss of my —father—the CEO of a large business and could use a personal assistant. And in that sad moment, a partnership was made that would make us both feel better about life in general after suffering from our losses.
My mother had passed on several years prior to my father. Breast cancer took her from us. Being an only child, my father’s death left me utterly alone in the world—something I wasn’t real crazy about being.
But with Janine’s appearance right at the time I felt the most alone I’d ever felt, came hope. Perhaps things wouldn’t always feel the way they did at that time. One day, things would get better. One day I wouldn’t be the only member of the Forester family. Or so I hoped anyway.
Not that I was looking for a wife or anything. I was a bit on the busy side to be doing that. But once I had things the way I wanted them, the nightclub included, then I would slow down and find time to date more and find Miss Right. Instead of what I had been doing—settling for Miss Right Now.
Currently, I wasn’t even messing with Miss Right Now. I was in
volved in my work as the CEO and my work with the club. There just wasn’t time for anything else.
Stepping into the conference room, I found my partners faces on two of the large screens that ran in a circle around the room. Some conferences for the business took up all seven screens at once. We were global, after all.
August and Nixon greeted me with wide smiles as I came in and took a seat. “Morning, gentlemen. And I do use that term lightly,” I joked.
August smirked. “So the time has come for us to put our bickering behind us and agree on a name for this nightclub.”.
Nixon picked up, “Let the record show, I like the name, Club X.”
I threw down, “And I’ve told you before, that name is much too common.”
“Yes,” August agreed. “But, Gannon, you have yet to come up with a name. You’ve shot down all the ones we’ve come up with, though. So I am throwing you into the middle of this debate and challenging you to come up with a name on the fly so to speak. You have one minute.”
“What?” I looked back and forth at the screens, finding two earnest faces. “I’m not that creative. You guys are …”
“You’re wasting time, Gannon,” Nixon reminded me.
August’s arched brow told me he was completely serious as he looked at his watch. “The time is ticking away. Thirty seconds, Gannon, or we’re sticking with Club X.”
“No! Wait—give me one more minute—I’m terrible under pressure.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to inject some creativity into my business brain.
August wasn’t giving in and was not about to give me any more time. “Nope, no extra time, and we’re coming in on ten, nine …”
One word popped into my head, and I blurted it out, “Swank!”
I looked back and forth at my partners and was shocked to see smiles curling their lips. August nodded. “I like it.”
Nixon chuckled. “Me too. Swank, it is, then.” He looked at August through the other screen. “Seems we’ve had a productive meeting, August. Time to get back to our real jobs. Catch you guys later in the week. Nixon, out.” The screen with his face on it went black.
August gave me a nod. “Back to work, buddy. Let’s get together on Friday evening for dinner and drinks.”
“You got it.” I had to laugh as he ended the call. My friends knew I worked best under pressure, and they were, as always, expert manipulators
Walking out of the conference room, I heard Janine arguing with another woman, “No, you may not go looking for Mr. Forester, Miss!”
“Out of my way, you midget!”
I headed in the direction I heard the voices coming from and found my assistant trying her best to stop a tall, skinny redhead with a small boy at her side. He huddled against her leg, eyes wide with dismay at the shouting.
The irate woman’s dark-brown eyes caught mine. “Gannon Forester, there you are.”
“And you are?” I inquired, giving the boy what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Not that I knew the first thing about kids. Surprisingly, he ducked his head shyly and then looked back up, offering a sweet gap-toothed grin.
The woman cleared her throat impatiently. “Cassandra Harrington. Surely you remember me.” Her thin lips pulled into a smile. “Club Acapulco on the strip?”
Not a clue …
I had the feeling I didn’t want to talk to the woman in the hallway with so many people’s ears leaning our way. “Would you mind stepping into my office, Mrs. Harrington?”
“Miss. And that’s where I wanted to talk to you at in the first place, but this little troll …”
I took her by the arm and ushered her and the little boy into my office. The way she shoved the kid forward, like he was a sack of flour, irked me for some reason. As I closed the door behind us, I rolled my eyes apologetically at Janine and she winked, ever-unperturbed. Her husband was a lucky man, and he knew it.
I turned back to Miss Harris and watched as her face twisted in what looked like disgust as she let the boy go and gave him a nudge—really more like a shove—away. “Stop clinging. Gannon, this is Braiden Michael Forester. Your son.”
My brain froze. My eyes shot straight to the little boy. He hovered uncertainly between the woman—his mother, presumably, poor kid—and my desk, before picking up courage. Walking around my desk and briefly disappearing, his tiny body dwarfed by its huge breadth and height, he reappeared moments later climbed up in my office chair. Leaning back in it, he kicked his feet and spun in a circle. Something tugged at my heartstrings—and let me tell you, up until then, I didn’t know I had heartstrings.
“Gannon?” the harpy snapped. “Did you hear me?”
I refocused my attention from the boy onto Cassandra, even as he began to play with my stapler. My automatic instinct was to take it from him, so he didn’t staple his little fingers. Which was bizarre, because … since when did I have automatic instincts when it came to anything except women and business?
Still buying time, I offered Braiden a box of paper clips in exchange for the high-powered electric stapler and liked when he didn’t fuss at all, switching gears seamlessly to playing with the colorful, little metal clips.
“Gannon!” Cassandra finally exploded.
Yes, he was a really nice kid.
But he wasn’t mine. That, I knew for sure. I didn’t know this crazy bitch. “Look, lady,” I informed her coolly and calmly. “I don’t know you.”
“Oh, but you do.” Her snarl transformed into an equally unpleasant smirk, stretching her thin lips into a wide rictus. “You and I went back to my place after drinking too much at that club that night, a little under three years ago. I ended up pregnant, something I didn’t bother you with for nearly three years. Your son is two, just so you know. And I’ve done all of the mothering I care to. I want out. I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
As she spat the words at me, I couldn’t help but marvel at how utterly unattractive she was in every way, way beyond just her witch-like exterior. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. I’d heard the expression, but had never actually seen it come to life until just now.
For some reason, the bombshell she’d dropped kept getting replaced with other thoughts. Maybe I was avoiding it. Or maybe I just couldn’t believe I would’ve had anything to do with a shrew. I had a type when I looked for female company—a very, very specific type that was more personality-based than physically-based, honestly. Gorgeous was hot, but fun to spend a long evening with was even better—and she didn’t fit it in the slightest.
“I don’t know you,” I repeated. “And he’s not mine.”
Cassandra didn’t even notice that the kid was reaching for scissors, or if she did, she didn’t care. I cut him off at the pass and handed him a stack of Post-Its instead.
Aggravated, she snarled, “I don’t care if you believe me. I just wanted to let you know you have a kid, and I can’t do this anymore. He’s yours or social services. Choose. Now.”
“Wait. What?” For the second time that day, I was being forced into an instant decision, but this time the stakes were infinitely higher. “Social services?” I echoed in disbelief, grateful that the boy was clueless about what he was hearing as he giggled and decorated himself with sticky papers. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s your child!”
“And yours,” she retorted. “I’m not mother material. Are you listening to me at all, Gannon Forester? I’m tired of talking. I’ll just take the kid and dump him on social services’ doorstep. I can see you’re not going to be a father to him.” She started toward the boy, who dropped his newfound papers toys and shrank back into his seat. I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me.
“Hey, wait a minute.” I stepped in front of her and the desk. The words that came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like mine. “Listen, give me time to get a DNA test done. If he’s mine, then I want him.”
Wait—what did I just say?
“One week. You have one week, and that is it, Gannon Forester.” She stal
ked around me, picked up the boy, whose big eyes were suddenly filled with tears, and left my office in such haste that I had to run to catch up to her.
“I need your phone number and address.” I grabbed a notepad off Janine’s desk and a pen as I hurried after her.
She stopped then and dumped Braiden—that was his name, right?—on top of the desk while she scribbled those things down on the paper. As she scrawled, pressing hard enough to undoubtedly indent the whole notepad, I hesitantly leaned in to check on the toddler. His dark hair did look a lot like mine, but plenty of kids had dark hair. And his wide blue eyes, gleaming with unshed tears, well, they kind of looked like what I saw in the mirror first thing every day, but still … just … not a possibility.
“Hey, buddy.” I smiled at him and handed him a fresh pad of Post-Its, these far more colorful than the ones from my own office. “How are you doing?”
Braiden sniffed and smiled back shyly, his pudgy little hand scrubbing across his eyes in a way that made those newly-discovered heartstrings twang once again.
Shoving the paper and pen back in my hands, Cassandra picked Braiden up like a sack of potatoes. “He can’t talk, you idiot. He’s only two.”
Stifling my anger, I straightened. “I think toddlers can usually talk. Mom just used to say that by the end of the evening, she’d have no ears left from my chatter.”
“Well. He’s stupid,” Cassandra informed me, and it was all I could do to keep from reaching out and wringing her scrawny neck. “I better hear from you by the end of the week, or it’s off to foster car for your son.”
And with that, she left my office with my potential son looking forlornly over her shoulder, one small hand stretched out to me.
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