Romance: The Billionaire Alpha Collection

by Ward, Penny

  Romance:

  The Billionaire Alpha Collection

  Penny Ward

  Romance: The Billionaire Alpha Collection

  Penny Ward

  Copyright © 2015

  Published by Run Free Publishing

  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 without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For my fans – thank you for your love and support.

  The Billionaire Alpha Collection Includes:

  Owned

  Hired

  Stepbrother Lust

  The Billionaire’s Pleasure

  Her Fighter

  The Billionaire’s Contract

  Romance:

  Owned

  Penny Ward

  Chapter 1

  The weather outside the employment agency is bright, but so deceptive.

  Despite the sunshine warming my cheeks, my day is filled with gray, depressing tones. I try to dismiss the rage bubbling inside me at my failure to land another job.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Unfortunately, I sigh loud enough to stir the attentions of a middle-aged man stooping on a concrete staircase. He’s clutching his briefcase as if it were his only possession in the world.

  “Sorry, ignore me,” I say to him, blushing as I walk on.

  I wonder if, like me, he has to figure out a way to convince his landlord he will absolutely find the rent from somewhere, by tonight, as well as negotiate late repayments for a multitude of utility bills.

  At the bottom of the steps, I look to the blue sky again and pray, “If I so much as look at another guy and lick my lips, strike me down. Or at the very least, give me the good sense not to put everything in my name because he has a poor credit rating.”

  Love can be a bitch.

  I found out the hard way because in fairy tales, no one writes about the handsome prince being a liar and a cheat.

  My ex-boyfriend Greg compiled massive gambling debts and then left me as soon as I was laid off my job. I’m not sure which of those situations hurt most.

  The restaurant that I was waitressing for went bankrupt three months ago and I have been hunting hard for a job ever since. I must have completed one hundred job applications and visited twenty employment agencies in search for work. Day in, day out, I have hunted for another job. That is my life now.

  The night that I announced that the restaurant was closing down, Greg walked out the door. He said that if I didn’t have a job, then I was of no use to him. Bastard.

  Apparently, he had been sleeping with my hairdresser for months. At least that explained the bad haircuts I received on my last two trips there. Bitch.

  As I slowly make my way to my bus stop with my head hung low, a slick red Ferrari pulls up next to me and winds down a window.

  A deep smooth voice calls out, “Hello. May I request a moment of your time - I have a proposal for you.”

  I stop to glare at the car. “Oh, I bet you do.”

  Before I let loose the string of expletives queuing up on my tongue, I wonder if the director of the employment agency realized how unfair it is to deny me a job, and he came to find me...in a Ferrari?

  I scoff at my absurd knack for wishful thinking.

  “Get lost. I’m in no mood for bullshit.”

  I walk on, but the car purrs beside me.

  “Won’t you please stop? I promise you, you’re in no danger.” The voice is seductively smooth.

  How am I dressed?

  Do I really look like a street-hooker?

  Looking down at my clothes, I check my nice white shirt and tight black business skirt.

  Nope.

  I absolutely am not dressed like a street worker.

  I’m glad to see a few people watching this spectacle, so at least if I am grabbed off the street, someone will get this driver’s license plate for the police.

  Still, I pick up my walking pace.

  “No, I’m not stopping,” I shout over my shoulder. “So far, I’m having a lousy day and being kidnapped isn’t top of my to-do list for the rest of it. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  The sports car stops behind me but I carry on toward my bus stop, deciding he wants a hooker, not a broke waitress.

  Why he is looking for prostitute outside an employment agency in the middle of the day is anyone’s guess.

  I hear a car door slam shut behind me.

  Instinct spins me around, and I raise my heavy handbag in feeble defense. “I said no, you’re in the wrong part of town for this.”

  While I protest, I blink repeatedly to grasp the gorgeousness of the man marching towards me.

  Tall at over 6’6,” slim but broad shouldered, and dressed in exquisite tailoring made from Italian cashmere—at a guess—he peers down at me from his lofty height with the palest, most beautiful gaze.

  He holds out his arms at his sides. “You see? I’m not scary, am I?”

  The dark-haired man contorts his perfect sculptured face into a grin that would make most panties moist.

  “We’re out in public, so you can see I mean you no harm. Please spare me one moment of your time, yes?”

  My mouth becomes a hammock. A useless, wordless hammock, “Um...”

  “Thank you. Thing is, I watched you enter the employment agency with your head held high and your chest puffed out, all full of hope - strong. Then I watched you leave the agency so deflated. Of course, for most people employment agencies aren’t wonderful places, but you’re...forlorn.”

  What? I have a stalker now?

  “Bet you don’t have employment problems.” I snap back.

  “No, I don’t. But I’m talking about you. You...intrigue me.”

  “Sure I do,” I say. “Are you so rich you’ve got nothing better to do than bother ‘forlorn’ women with no job?”

  “Perhaps I need a distraction? Either way, I think I know how to make you smile again.”

  What am I supposed to say to that?

  I mean, he’s gorgeous and says sweet stuff to strange women like me. But although deflated and forlorn is right, but I’m not being stupid again.

  Not today!

  Let him play his games with some other sucker.

  But his figure catches my attention.

  Oh my, he is stunning… and I do feel lousy. Maybe I should listen to him for a moment? What am I rushing back home to?

  An angry landlord who wants to evict me and take everything I own in lieu of rent?

  It doesn’t even feel like my home anymore. Not since I broke up with Greg “I’m-going-to-rip-you-off-and-sleep-with-your-hairdresser-then-disappear” Johnson.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “What?” his honeyed tones burst through my thoughts. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  I look at his suit, his sports car, and his incredible face.

  This guy has serious wealth and a wicked sparkle in his eyes.

  “How do you propose to make me smile, and why would you bother? We don’t even know each other.”

  “You like to get right down to business, too.” He steps closer and his gaze darkens. “A girl after my own heart. First, won’t you tell me your name?”

  I swear, one of my knees actually weakens beneath me and makes me wobble.

  I never knew this kind of thing actually happens. It’s certainly never happened to me before.

  I have to shuffle my weight to the other side to remain stabl
e.

  “You are as vague as a politician. I’m Amelia. You?”

  “Sharp too.” One perfectly arched eyebrow shoots toward his solid hairline, and his full lips twitches. “I approve. I’m Bryce. Bryce Morgan.”

  Even his name is lush.

  “What do you want, Bryce Morgan?” I look at my watch, which is broken, but he doesn’t know that. “I have to catch my bus.”

  I signal behind me with my thumb, as though the bus stop isn’t in fact several blocks away.

  “You do? That’s a shame.”

  “Really?” I say, trying not to smile at his cheeky manner. “Why’s that then?”

  He leans his perfect mouth down to my ear and whispers, “Because I’d like to offer you $100,000 to spend one night with me.”

  His breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine, and my ego swells at an alarming rate.

  After the initial rush though, my chest constricts at the implication that I’m somehow for sale.

  “What about my husband?” I lie.

  He scoffs. He’s so close to me that his scent stirs my loins.

  “Husband?” he points to my left hand, “I don’t see a wedding ring.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets, enraged he should think the only reason I might say no to prostituting myself is if another man in my life told me I couldn’t.

  “Well… I might not be wearing it now.”

  He grins. “Do you have a boyfriend, Amelia? Do you have a lover at home you need to consider?”

  “What? That’s none of your business.”

  I’m mad at him, but also at myself for thinking I would love to spend the night with someone like him.

  If he’d asked to take me out, if we’d gotten on well, and if we’d dated a little while...I flex my fists in my pockets and grind my jaw, staring at my feet, hating how much I need to say yes.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “I’m offering you a job. For one night.”

  I stare at him in a state of confusion.

  He wants to pay for a no-strings screw and he thinks that’s all it’ll take to make me smile?

  Men.

  “I know what this is: You see a girl leave the employment agency looking upset and think, ‘We’ve got a desperado here. Bet she’ll do anything for a bit of cash.’ Well, I’m not that desperate.”

  Bryce bends down a bit and lowers his head to glance up at me from behind killer thick, black lashes. “You haven’t said no yet.”

  “Haven’t I?”

  He’s right. I haven’t said no.

  Why haven’t I said no?

  “$100,000,” he whispers in my ear again. “For one night.”

  Say no?

  How do I say no to a night with an Adonis?

  To a bank balance of $100,000?

  “Sorry, but this is...this is a substantial offer and a substantial insult at the same time. It’s freaking me out.” I grab my hair hanging on my shoulder. “You must see that?”

  Are my principles worth more than my home and everything in it?

  “You might feel insulted now.” He offers a delicious, brooding glare, and my knees almost give way again when he adds, “But if I’m reading you right, I doubt you’ll feel insulted while you’re with me.”

  My eyebrows show my shock. “Wait a minute. You’ve done this sort of thing before, haven’t you? You’re smoother than a duck’s back.”

  “Only once or twice.” His eyebrow shoots up again.

  “At the same price? Even high-class hookers are cheaper. You could hire your own harem for less. I’m not being funny, but they’d know loads more about pleasing you than I do.”

  “Price is relative. I offer what I think someone’s time with me is worth. Plus, I never use prostitutes; I prefer real women, like you.”

  “Why? To make us prostitutes? It’s the same thing. You pay for sex. Only they won’t stand in the street arguing the principles of it, like I am.”

  He drags his long-fingered hand back through his dark, wavy mane.

  “I want you, not a woman of the night.”

  I feel my will bending, curving in his direction. The sincerity in his pale, emotional glare touches me.

  “When you say ‘be mine,’ what exactly will that entail?”

  Why am I entertaining the idea of his offer? For all I know, he could be a serial killer looking for his next victim. I’ll probably end up of one of those real-life crime shows.

  His brows pinch and he shrugs.

  “Like I said, you’ll be mine. I’ll own you.” He crosses one arm over his chest and rubs his chin with the other hand. “So, what I want - you give, which may or may not include sex.”

  Or may not?

  “That leaves me open to all sorts of danger.” I laugh at the absurd nature of what is happening in my day.

  “This all sounds one-sided. What happened to making me feel good? You said you wanted to make me smile.”

  He offers a suave smile in return.

  This has to be a no-go. How can I trust he won’t sell me into sex slavery?

  “I can’t do this. Even I’m not stupid enough, sorry.”

  He reaches across and touches my hand with his cool fingertips, his expression almost pleading me.

  “There will be a contract to protect you and your...money. You have nothing to fear from me. And I will make you smile. I’m sure of it.”

  My gaze meets his and my heart beats so fast, I think I’ll pass out right here in front of this crazy, creepy, insanely gorgeous creature.

  “So will you let me make you smile, Amelia?”

  My body begs me to say yes, but my good upbringing scream loudest.

  “No.” I move to walk away, though doing so isn’t easy, I admit.

  Before I take a step, he rests his large hand on my forearm and applies a delicate grip. “At least take my info in case you change your mind once you have a chance to think things over.”

  He plants his business card into my hand, providing a sexy half smile.

  “Thanks,” I say, shoving his card in my pocket. “Good luck finding...whatever it is you want.”

  “Already did,” he mumbles. “And I don’t believe in luck, so I’ll give you time to reconsider. I’m certain you will.”

  Damn, he’s sure of himself.

  “I’m sure I won’t.” I bite back.

  “Bye for now, Amelia,” Bryce says to my back as I walk away. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  “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 forg
iving 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.”