Billionaire Bash: The Complete Steele Series

by Natalia Banks

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  NOTE: This is a work of fiction, names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real life is coincidental. All characters in the story are 18 years of age or older. Intended reading audience 18+

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  Copyright ©️2017, Natalia Banks Publishing, All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1

  Kieran

  “The tenants refuse to leave, Mr. Knight.”

  I say nothing for a moment, sizing up the new guy. He’s nervous. There’s sweat beading across his hairline. He turns his head to the side as if he can loosen the stranglehold of his tie and I know he’s struggling not to slide a finger under the collar.

  Placing my elbows on my desk, I tent my fingers and study him. His eyes trace my motions and his Adam’s apple bobs.

  I imagine he fools the rest of the office, but I know he’s not as tough as he plays.

  He’s a tool.

  And I’m about to bring the water to boil.

  “Start eviction proceedings.” My voice sounds cold to my own ears. But that’s how I got where I am today. The world is a cold, evil, heartless place. Either you keep up or you get put down.

  I’m sure as fuck not going to let compassion wring my neck.

  Your move, pretty boy.

  His eyes widen and he shifts his weight back as if he’s trying to put even millimeters of distance between us. “But they’re-”

  “Now.”

  He swallows back his argument.

  Checkmate, new blood.

  He turns and leaves, carefully closing my office door behind him. Swiveling my chair, I stare out the window of this high rise office.

  Like he’s right behind me, I hear my old man’s voice. “You’re nothing.”

  A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Damn if I didn’t prove the old bastard wrong. Too bad the asshole isn’t here to let me rub his nose in my success. But no, he made his choice. A knock at the door brings me full circle in my chair.

  On the other side of the glass, I see the bright blue eyes of the only person in this world that means anything to me. She slides open the door and runs over to throw an arm around my neck.

  “Daddy!” She says, pressing her forehead to mine.

  “How’s my warrior?” I ask, kissing her chin.

  She giggles and presses her hands to my cheeks. But instead of answering with words, she closes her right hand in a fist and presses it to her little chest. I follow suit. Balling up my fist, I bring my fingers to my chest.

  She taps her chest; a quick double tap that mimics her heartbeat.

  I do the same.

  “Still beating,” she whispers, before kissing my cheek.

  The ache in my soul grows into a dark, hungry monster, but I keep upbeat for her. “How was school?”

  “Mrs. Linda is mean.” Her little face scrunches up like she’s eating something sour and I want to march down to the school and put in harsh words for Mrs. Linda. Instead, I try to get Olivia to open up.

  “What did she do that’s mean?” I ask.

  Before she can answer, my secretary Nikki peeks in, a lollypop in hand. “Olivia!” She says, careful not to look me in the eyes. My daughter looks over at her and I see a chill take her little frame over.

  “Yes?” she says, her icy tone deadpan.

  But I’m not proud. I don’t want this. I don’t want her to be cold. I want her to be warm, loving, sweet, and innocent. I don’t want her to be like me. I don’t want her to be dead inside.

  “Manners,” I say under my breath. Olivia’s wide blue eyes meet mine a moment, and I see a flash of understanding that’s decades too old flash behind her eyes. She glances back at Nikki, who’s stunned silent.

  “Hi Nikki!” Olivia’s tone is decidedly warmer, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. She sounds like a normal nine year old now. Warm and sunny, happy, even excited.

  Nikki just kind of reacts, still clearly put off by the initial reception. “I found this in my desk. I can’t eat it, so I thought you might be able to help.” Her glance suddenly meets mine and she blushes red and stammers. “I mean, if your dad-”

  “It’s fine.” My tone is dead. It’s not like I don’t know where Olivia is learning it from. She’s my daughter, all right. And she’s a blessing, yet I’m a bastard for taking something so pure and perfect and destroying it.

  “Oh, you’re so sweet,” Olivia says, her tone honey as she leaves my side to skip over to Nikki. She takes the treat and tucks it in her pocket before telling me she’s off to the loo.

  Nikki looks after her and I look at Nikki.

  My eyes glide over her pleasant curves. Her skirt is proper, carefully measured to just above her knees. But the brilliant crimson of them screams Look at me! and I doubt any red-blooded man could resist. Her legs are long, slim, and would look amazing wrapped around my hips.

  Her cream-colored blouse is tucked in at the waist, showcasing her flat belly. But the thrust of her breasts leaves me no doubt she’s either god’s gift to men or she’s had work done. Her neck is long and slender, and her lips match her skirt.

  I wonder how often she reapplies that lipstick? It would have to be often to keep it so perfect. And that color, like ripe red tomatoes, would look incredible circling the base of my cock.

  As if she can hear my thoughts, Nikki looks over at me, her cheeks suddenly reddening.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight, I should have asked first-”

  “It’s fine,” I say, still looking at her. Her wide eyes are warm and chocolaty, and I see fear there. Good. It’s better if they fear me. It stops them from asking stupid questions or wasting my time with things that I really don’t want to deal with.

  Her chocolate hair is twisted up in a bun that’s loose. Tendrils have escaped to frame her pale face and cling to her neck. There’s heat on her skin, and the slight sheen of moisture. It’s not hot in my office, I guess I just make everyone sweat.

  But the blush creeping down her chest is clearly not embarrassment. And when her eyes stray to my lips, I see her heart begin to pound the delicate skin covering the hollow at the base of her throat.

  She seems trapped, caught like a fly in a spider’s web as we study each other.

  “Daddy!” Olivia says, walking back in.

  “Vi,” I say, not taking my eyes off Nikki. “Is Sandy not waiting?” Her nanny is forever pushing limits. As it is, I’m certain the woman is sitting in the car on the curb right now, waiting for Olivia to come back rather than staying with her.

  How many times do I have to tell the woman that I don’t care if she thinks my nine year old needs freedoms, I want her escorted everywhere? You don’t get where I am without making a few enemies. And though I’ve got a bodyguard who’s starting tomorrow, I would still like the nanny to be by Olivia’s side.

  Not that she couldn’t take care of herself. I had her take her first self-defense class at three. And now, when we spar, she’s quick and ready when I try to surprise her. Still, as tough as she is, she’s still a small child. Even if she fought her heart out, it would be possible for someone large to grab her and toss her in the back of a car and drive off.

  I know she’d fight like hell to get free, and we’ve got a plan in place if that happens, but I still don’t want that plan to become a reality.

  She doesn’t need that trauma on top of everything else life has dealt her.

  Olivia’s face falls, and I know I caught her. I fix the full force of my fatherly anger on her and she has the grace to look somewhat contrite. “Yes. I’ll go. I love you daddy,” she says, pulling me into another hug.

  “I love you too,” I say softly for her ears only.

  I’m not my father. She’ll always know how much I love her. She’ll know I value her, that she’s everything to me, that life wouldn’t be worth living without her.

  “Now go,” I tell her and she walks off like a proper lady, her chin held high.

  “She�
��s so cute,” Nikki says, and I realize this is the most conversation we’ve had since she started two years ago. She’d been eighteen then. I’d noticed her, but only vaguely. As much as I notice anyone in the office.

  Sure, she’s got a nice body, but I don’t mix business and pleasure. That’s a recipe for disaster. And it’s not like I don’t have plenty of women on hold, waiting for me to call or text them.

  “Is Sandy her mom?” Nikki asks, and I fix the full force of my glare on her.

  She winces and backs toward the door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight.”

  “Get out.”

  She nods and escapes my office, closing the sliding glass door with a thump. I stare after her, thinking about those red lips. I can think of a punishment for her.

  Fuck. I need to blow off some steam.

  First the stupid tenants in the new house I bought are refusing to get the fuck out, and now I’m seriously thinking about fucking a woman I work with. I must be losing it.

  Planting my elbows on my desk, I put my face in my hands and let out a sigh. Nothing comes easy.

  Is Sandy her mom? Damn it. That last thing I want is more drama, more bullshit. Why are people so shocked at the thought of a single dad? What, women can’t be shitty parents too? Only men cut ties and run? Only men can be deadbeats? Jesus Christ, what is wrong with the world that we think only women are there for their kids, that men are the ones who leave, that it’s anyone’s business who Olivia’s mom is?

  I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. And I certainly don’t owe my co-workers explanations on the dysfunction of my personal life.

  The best thing that bitch ever did was walk away.

  We don’t need her. Olivia and I, we’re just perfect on our own. I’ve got her, she’s got me, and we’re getting along just fine.

  Still furious, I stare at the paperwork on my desk and try to divert my energy to work. The tenants have to leave for me to renovate the house. I work on one project at a time, so the roadblocks are more infuriating. My hands are tied, and I don’t like being in a situation I don’t have full control over. My old man taught me to make sure I’m always on top.

  “Even a hooker is waiting to cut your throat and take your wallet,” he’d told me on my twelfth birthday. Great words for a young boy to hear. But he’s right. Everyone is waiting to see a weak spot to exploit.

  “You’ve got to strike before they have the chance.”

  Yeah, he gave me more gold than I give him credit for. But I would have traded it all. But it is what it is. I made myself. I took the information he gave me and used it to crawl out of the hole he’d dug for me.

  An eviction will take months. Maybe it’s time to take on a second project. I have to learn to live with this streak of perfectionism within me. It’s a dog that’s got me by the throat, and maybe it’s time to break out. It’s not like there aren’t other properties I’ve been looking at. I won’t stop until I own every worthwhile patch of dirt in this damn city.

  My phone rings, and I see the name and ignore it. I don’t want to talk to Connor right now. I don’t want to talk to either of my brothers right now.

  Chapter 2

  Emma

  Jet nudges my back, and I give his nose a stroke. Leading the horses into the barn at the end of the night has been a chore I’ve had since I was five. I remember that first time like it was yesterday. Dad hadn’t known I was following him as he led an old mare into the barn. He had an endearing habit of talking to the horses. He’d divulge secrets to them he wouldn’t share with anyone else; not even me.

  And he was telling her that he needed a boy, some strong young son to take his place.

  A daughter, he’d confided as the mare shook her head and swished her tail, was trouble. He was certain I’d be like my mom, knocked up at sixteen and married off to the stupid boy she’d fallen in love with.

  The problem was, my mother wouldn’t be able to give him any more children. He would never have that son he so desperately needed to fill his boot prints when he was gone. No, my mother had bled out seconds after I’d been delivered.

  And something in dad burned out when she died. Something intangible, but I’d seen it in pictures of him before she was gone, pictures of him as a child, pictures of him as a handsome young man that dotted the walls of the old family farm house. Some spark that loved life just… fizzled out.

  Dad never blamed me, or if he did, he never made me aware of it.

  I think he blamed himself. I think that pain destroyed him, ate him alive inside, yet still, he somehow managed to give me a good life, a solid foundation, and the tools I needed to become someone stronger than he’d ever hoped a daughter could be.

  As he talked to that old mare that night when I was five years old, I’d walked right up and took the mare’s lead rope from him. In my best grown up voice, I’d told him I’d take her from here. He’d just stared after me, as if unsure what had happened or if he should argue with me.

  But he hadn’t. And from then on, he expected me to bring them in every night.

  A breeze kicks up and I lift my face toward the heavens. It had been a brilliant early summer day and the world still smells like warm apples and horses, hay and willow trees.

  I miss him.

  It’s different to lose a parent you’ve never really met. I didn’t know mom beyond the stories dad had told me. She’d been sweet, quick to love, and very unassuming. Dad told me I was like her, and I rebelled against that thought.

  I don’t want to be sweet or unassuming. There’s no place for either of those traits on a ranch. I need to be tough, rough, and able to roll with the punches life throws at me. And there’ve been a lot of punches.

  I stand still and look up at the stars that are beginning to blink overhead. The edge of the horizon is still fading orange and the chill is quickly destroying the warmth of the day. Jet lowers his head to nibble on the grass at our feet and I give his neck a quick rub. The old dirt road leading to the barn is lined with grass that’s short here and there where the horses have kept it in check.

  The barn stands out against the green mountains behind. The aspen trees back there line the creek. Beyond the far side of the creek bank, the mountain climbs steeply and the trees turn to maple, pine, cedar, and oak. Dad loved the peace out here, the sound of the water running over rocks, the sound of the wind in the trees.

  He’d told the mares that this place was his heaven on earth.

  It’s only been six months since he passed away.

  Only seven months since I’d finally gotten him to go to the hospital.

  Seven months ago they’d told us he had stage four prostate cancer.

  Seven months ago, they’d said he had four weeks left to live.

  That I had four weeks to make peace with the fact that I’d be alone in the world.

  He’d gripped my hand, then, he’d held it tight. I felt his apology in his grip, and it killed me. Even now, my eyes tear up at the memory. Even after being given the news that he would die, he was apologizing to me like it was his fault.

  It’s been six months since I stood before his fresh grave beside the mother I can’t remember.

  “I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself,” I say softly to Jet, who lifts his head, perks his ears, and stops chewing on the grass he’d ripped free as he listens to my wobbly words.

  Sure, dad wanted a boy. But I’m still here.

  I’m still taking care of his ranch. My ranch. My namesake. The place that my grandparents had passed on to my father. A place filled with ghosts that roam freely during the wee hours of the night.

  But those ghosts don’t bring me peace. No, I feel more alone than I ever have before. Every night after I lock the horses up, I make my way to the house with a sense of dread. Because I remember coming in to dinner and light, warmth from the fire and dad’s smile.

  But that was before.

  Now I come home to the single bulb I leave on over the porch that casts light into the kitchen. I never leave
the fire going for fear of burning the place down. Dinner consists of whatever I have the energy to throw together; usually ramen or pizza because they’re easy and fast.

  Dad would scold me for that, but I’m just too damn tired to take care of myself.

  But all of that means nothing. Coming home to an empty house without dad’s love and joy is like coming home to a tomb. I just haven’t died yet.

  With a sigh, I vault up onto Jet’s back. With the lead over his shoulders, I hold tight with my legs and tilt my hips forward to encourage him to get moving.

  He does, and I realize how exhausted I really am.

  This place is too much work for one person. I spend seventeen hours a day working. I could hire some help, but my experience with that has never been good. Men don’t listen to me. They pretend to work and fool around when I turn my back. Dad was good at keeping people in line with barked orders and threats, but I just sound silly when I try to be like him.

  It’s easier to go it alone.

  But it leaves me lonely. There’s no chance at a social life here with as much as I work. Even hired help offers some passing topical conversation. Now I just talk to the horses. Guess I’m more like dad than I give myself credit for.

  Jet stops before the barn and I slide from his back to open the door. He follows me in, lifting his head as the other horses look at us over their stall doors. The warm, horsey smells of the barn close in like a hug that feels like coming home and I feel a tiny sense of peace. All too soon, I close Jet in his stall and lock the double locks.

  On my way out, I peek in on Genuine Honor – Jenny for short – and see she’s still standing. Her huge gravid belly is growing day by day, and I make a note that I’ll have to call Kyle out to look at her tomorrow. She’s due soon, and while dad swore no mare needs a vet around to throw a colt, I feel better with help on hand.