The Billionaire and the Best Friend Boxed Set

by Nikki Steele

  Copyright © 2015 Nikki Steele

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book uses the American spelling of most common words.

  Edition 1.0.3

  This is an Erotic Romance novella. It contains a three part story full of strong, explicit, smoking hot sex scenes. You’ve been warned!

  BOOK 1:

  BLIND DATE

  Tiff has just had a bad breakup and doesn’t want to meet guys. But her best friend thinks differently, and sets her up on a series of dates. On one of them she meets a handsome Billionaire with some very exotic tastes—he wants Tiffany, but he also wants to exercise control in all things.

  A sexy Billionaire sounds like just the thing to break Tiff’s drought. But what happens when the stereotype is different to the reality?

  PROLOGUE

  “Right. Tiffany Carpenter, this is an intervention.”

  “Go away.” I remained where I was, lying comatose on the couch.

  “No. I’m your best friend, I will not go away.”

  “You’re one of them. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t trust you.”

  “Just because you dated one for a while doesn’t mean that the rest of us are bastards too.”

  “It wasn’t ‘a while.’ It was four years.”

  “Four years, four weeks. What does it matter?”

  I sat up. “They were my prime Ryan. I wasted the best years of my life on that guy!”

  Ryan sat down beside me, pulling a Dorito tenderly from the tangled mess of my hair. “Tiff, it’s been six months.” He looked around my living room. “How long has it been since you’ve left the house?”

  “I’m a professional blogger,” I sniffed. “I don’t have to leave the house.”

  Ryan pulled my laptop off the floor. “And let’s just have a look at what you’ve been writing, shall we?” He surfed to my blog. “Yesterday you reviewed Kleenex tissues. The day before that you reviewed Cadbury, Hershey’s, Guylian and Lindt chocolates. And I see right now you’re working on a list of the top 50 breakup movies of all time.” His head cocked to the side. “Really? Kill Bill?”

  I snatched the laptop back off him. “It’s cathartic, okay? What’s your point?”

  Ryan’s arm reached over to wrap around me, pulling me to him. “My point is, Tiff, I’m worried about you. You’re not going out, you’re not happy...” He picked up a Dorito packet. “And you sure as hell ain’t eating properly. At least come to breakfast for my birthday tomorrow. Please?”

  Crap—Ryan’s birthday. I still hadn’t gotten him a present. “I’ll think about it—I’m awfully busy.”

  “Sure you are. Speaking of which, it’s time for you to start dating again.”

  “I don’t want to date—ever again.”

  Ryan took a deep breath. “Actually, about that…” He backed a little away from me on the couch.

  I looked at him suspiciously. “Ryan, what have you done?”

  He got up off the couch and edged toward the door. “Roger is really nice, I think you’ll like him. He’ll pick you up at eight.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Worst. Date. Ever.

  Posted by Miss Kitty [23:44]

  *Sigh* So I’m back in the dating game. My wonderful, horrible, annoying, self-righteous, smug, infuriating excuse for a best friend may have a point when he says that I’ve been moping around for long enough. He set me up with a date tonight, but it didn’t go at all how I expected:

  We talked about all kinds of things, but I'll fast-forward to when Roger asked to look at my palm. He said he was a palm reader.

  He grabbed my hand but then drew back suddenly. "You have the death line.”

  “That doesn't sound good."

  “It isn't. It means certain death for you and everyone you come into contact with.”

  “Okay…Um, so how long do I have to live, Doc?”

  “Days, if that," he said.

  “But I’ve had it my whole life. Why am I going to die just now?”

  “That's how the death line works. Oh God... and I just touched you...” He sprinted for the bathroom. I watched him go, open mouthed.

  He came back a long time later, calmer. “What did you do?” I asked.

  “Washed my hands. A lot.”

  “And that cleans the death off?”

  He nodded. “If done quickly and ritualistically.”

  Needless to say, I asked for the check soon after. And get this, I had to pay! I mean, I’m all for women’s rights, but to be told “I don't want to risk touching you again” as an excuse? I made sure to grip his hands real tight when I said goodnight.

  I suppose, if you looked at him in a squinty, sideways sort of way, Ryan was attractive. He had dark wavy hair that was just a little longer than was fashionable, gorgeous blue eyes and a permanent five o’clock shadow that made him look, when he bothered with a suit, like Bradley Cooper from The Hangover. Not that Ryan ever wore a suit, or that I would ever tell him he was attractive to his face.

  “Happy birthday loser.”

  “You came!”

  I slid into the seat opposite him. Ryan had coffee every morning in the same café, Maddigans, down the road from me. It hadn’t been hard to know where he’d be having breakfast. “Damn lucky I did too, after that stunt you pulled yesterday.”

  His hands ran through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. An error of judgement on my behalf.” He held up his hands to the waitress, motioning for two more coffees.

  “Error! Ryan, he told me I was going to die.”

  “We’ve all got to die sometime, right? Besides, I’ve seen your blog. That’s the highest number of shares you’ve had this month—you should be thanking me for a story like that!”

  “Whatever,” I grouched. “Just open the damn card. Your present’s inside.”

  Ryan paused. “Tiff, you know you don’t have to get me anything.”

  Ryan and I came from two very different worlds. For his 18th birthday his family had given him a holiday house in Malibu. For my 18th, my father had given me a beating.

  But today I was excited. Because this morning I had woken up and thought of the best present ever. What did you get the man that had everything already? Not something you could buy with money.

  “It’s an IOU card,” I explained when Ryan pulled the golden ticket out of its envelope. “Three hours where I’ll do whatever you want—cooking, cleaning…” I rolled my eyes, “Star Trek convention.” Ryan was a slob—I rather suspected I’d be doing his dishes—but whatever it was, I didn’t care.

  Ryan leaned over the table to give me a hug. But then he sat back. “So wait, this will give me anything?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  I laughed. “Sure buddy. Just you try it.” We’d decided a long time ago to keep our friendship plutonic. Ryan went through women too easily, and I was too easily hurt—case in point, the six months it had been since my last relationship. I knew he was only teasing.

  He tucked the golden ticket into his pocket, mildly disappointed he hadn’t gotten a rise out of me. “Hmm, I’ll have to think about that. Thank you—that’s actually very thoughtful.”

  My mental pat on the back was interrupted by his next words. “Speaking of thoughtful, I’ve set you up on another date.”

  “What!?”

  Ryan held up his hands. “You can’t hit me, it’s my birthday. Besides, you’re on a roll. I figure we need to keep this going.”

  “Yes, because last night worked out soooo grea
t for me.”

  “Tonight’s will be different.”

  “Tonight!?” I almost spilled my coffee all over the café table.

  “Is that a problem? Do you have something better to do?” Ryan slurped his coffee noisily, then raised an eyebrow.

  “Your gorgeous blue eyes might work on other girls, but they don’t on me, remember?”

  “Admit it—you had fun last night.”

  If I was honest with myself, I actually had been having fun until the whole ‘death palm’ thing. It had been good to get out of the house, good to eat normal food, and—I hated it when Ryan was right—good material for my blog, too.

  He saw my shoulders slump, and broke into a grin. He reached for my laptop. “Let me introduce you to Edward.” He pulled up a website and then swiveled the laptop around to face me.

  I looked at the screen sullenly, but then my eyes widened. Oh... Hello. A slightly older man with steel grey eyes stared back at me. He had just a hint of salt and pepper at the sides of his black wavy hair, a George Clooney haircut and a smile that was all I could look at. “Who’s this?”

  “Your date for the night.”

  I looked at him sharply. “How are you finding these guys?”

  Ryan tapped his nose. “That’s my little secret.”

  I crossed my arms. “Not any more—out with it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t let me be mysterious then. He’s a friend of a friend of a friend. I’ve never met him, but we move in the same circles.”

  “So if you’ve never met him, how’d you get his photo?” I asked suspiciously. It would be just like Ryan to lull my concerns with a fake backstory when he’d actually found the guy on Tinder.

  Ryan’s face brightened. “Oh, that’s easy, and also the cool part. I had his first name and phone number, so I wrote a quick algorithm that uses binary partitioning to scrape name and number data and cross reference it until I found a match.”

  “Umm, in English please?”

  “Oh. I did like a super Google on him.” He sat back. “It was quite tricky, really, but I wasn’t about to let just anyone date my Tiffany.”

  Ryan was an IT nerd—of course he’d do something like that. When he wasn’t being an ass and setting me up on random dates, he could actually be kind of sweet.

  “Ok, so what’s this guy like? I still haven’t decided if I’ll see him or not yet.”

  He grinned. “Oh you will. My research turned up some very interesting things.”

  “He owns a cat?”

  Ryan leaned forward. “He owns an empire.”

  “A what?”

  “Tiff, the man has more money even than my family. Which is good—he’ll have the funds to treat you like you deserve. And he’s nice. One million in charitable donations this year alone, and he gives out free hams to the homeless every Christmas. You’ve got to give him a chance!”

  “Are you sure he’s not paying you to say all this?”

  Ryan laughed. “Just wear something nice. He’ll pick you up at seven.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wish me luck!

  Posted by Miss Kitty [18:59]

  So I’m ready 15 minutes early (yes guys, we girls are capable of that sometimes) and I thought I’d use the time to post another quick update. I’m going on a date tonight, and despite what I’ve told my matchmaking friend, I’m a little bit excited. The guy seems nice; we’ve been texting back and forth over the course of the day.

  It’s amazing what you can tell from a text message—he can spell, he’s thoughtful (he told me to what to wear), he’s smart and considerate. Of course appearances can be deceiving, as I found out last night, but I’ve already asked and I’m happy to report that he isn’t into palm reading and he thinks psychics are a load of crap (I do too, after last night).

  That’s all for meow.

  Miss Kitty.

  Ps. If you’re reading this Mr Death Palm, I’m still alive…

  I had to admit it, I was impressed. First, he’d knocked on my door with flowers—that was always a good start. Then there was the fact that he was just as sexy in real life as he had been in the photos. Tailored suit tapering up to a smooth, clean shaven face, with those steel grey eyes I’d noticed from his picture. Just a hint of cologne as he introduced himself, kissing me on the cheek.

  Then, to cap it all off, he’d taken my elbow, walked me down the path, and opened the door for me… to his limousine.

  It was a long affair, one of those sleek black things with way too much plush red leather seating, and a driver that talks to you through a screen at the front.

  “This is already the most impressive first date I’ve ever been on,” I said, looking around in wonder as we drove.

  He chuckled. “From what you texted about your last date, I that doesn’t sound too hard.” Edward had a smooth, rich voice. He picked up a chilled bottle beside the door. “Champagne?”

  I nodded, accepting the glass gratefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but being in a limousine has always reminded me of going to the Prom.”

  He frowned. “I’ll admit, I never thought of that. Hopefully your prom was a good thing?”

  I laughed. “Randy Whitehall had a bad case of wandering hands. But it was nothing a good heel to the groin couldn’t fix quick smart.”

  He laughed too, reaching out to clink glasses with me. “I like it—sexy and sassy!” Then he smiled, fixing me with those steel grey eyes of his. “I’m going to have to be careful of my wandering hands.”

  * * *

  The limousine dropped us off outside McDonalds.

  I looked at my date. “Seriously?” Not that I had a problem with McDonalds, but I hadn’t just spent two hours doing my hair for a cheeseburger and soft-serve.

  “Relax,” he laughed. “This was just the easiest drop-off point.”

  “Lucky for you,” I joked. “I like to live dangerously, and I can eat a lot of cheeseburgers.”

  His steel eyes pierced me. “Do you really like to live dangerously? Or are you just saying that.”

  Suddenly I didn’t think we were talking about cheeseburgers any more. I hesitated. “I guess I’m up for anything.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

  I grinned. “Why don’t you try me and find out?”

  Edward laughed, then took my elbow. “Well said. Come on, we’re going across the road—and no, that’s not the dangerous bit.”

  Across the street was a non-descript arcade—the type that most people walk straight past without a second glance, until you need a rare comic, or Chinese herbal medicine, or one of any number of other random things that are sold out of the shoebox shops that line both sides. We didn’t enter any of these though. Instead, we walked down the arcade’s length to gleaming silver doors set into a wall. They were inscribed with a series of strange words—Quasi festum celebrantes diem potestate pecuniam.

  “It’s Latin,” Edward said, smiling at my frown. “It means, roughly, Money is Power.”

  His explanation just caused me to frown further. This arcade was… strange. On first glance the eye wandered past it, but on second—the floor was polished white marble, inset with slabs of green. The fittings were all just a little too expensive. And the roof was a beautiful arched affair with carved frescos that ran the length of it.

  A man dressed in suit and tail appeared as the doors opened. He looked to Edward’s suit, and I noticed for the first time a small pin on his lapel. He stepped aside with a nod.

  Edward motioned for me to enter. “Welcome to The Empire Regent.” He winked at me. “I thought this might make something fun for you to blog.”

  I stepped inside. We were in the foyer of something that looked a little like a fancy hotel—dark carpet, old mahogany furniture and a desk with a concierge in the far corner. “What is this place?”

  “It’s a club. Very exclusive—access is by invitation only.”

  There was only one other person in the room—a suited gentleman sitting
in a far corner, reading a newspaper with a tumbler of whiskey by his side. He nodded to Edward, who nodded back.

  “How do you get invited?”

  Edward shrugged. “Like the motto says—money will buy you anything, if you have enough of it.”

  * * *

  It was weird, and fun, and decadent being the only two people in a bar. We laughed, and were loud, and spoke about all sorts of things as we got to know each other; the bartender a discrete distance away polishing glasses. It turned out that this was a millionaire’s club, of sorts. You paid a lot of money to join, and then had access to a network of discrete bars and restaurants available only to the super rich in most major cities across the country. Edward was old school money—he owned a chalet in France, a condo in New York, a mansion in New Hampshire and a series of businesses across the breadth of the United States—he definitely fell into the right category.

  But despite all of this, he was more interested in what I did than talking about himself. He asked me about blogging, and about my audience and about what I did in my spare time.

  “Have you ever had any stalkers?”

  I laughed. “Actually, there is one person who is kind of creepy. Calls himself User69 and keeps asking me to marry him. It’s why I keep things anonymous.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry you feel that way about my posts. But I’m glad that we’re going to be together forever now that we’ve finally met in person.”

  Time stood still as I processed what he had just said, and for the briefest of moments my heart stopped beating. Then I saw the twinkle in his eyes. I slapped him across the arm. “You ass! You really had me going there for a moment.”

  He chuckled, rubbing his arm appreciatively. “That’s one mean swing you have there. I like it! Be careful or I might have to start stalking you too!” Then he turned somber. “Tiffany-”