His For A Price - A Bought by the Billionaire Romance (Billionaires of Europe Book 4)

by Holly Rayner

  “I have a contract with the hotel here in Vegas,” I argued. “I can’t just cancel on them.”

  “Of course you can! You think they don’t have a thousand back-up performers? I know the Vegas gig was your first break in a while, but you can do better,” she said.

  “I thought you said you imagined me in a ball gown drinking cocktails all day?” I asked.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but my feelings were a bit hurt. Brianna had been going on and on for weeks about how cool my new job was, but now, suddenly, it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t think it was good enough, either, but it was worse knowing that someone else agreed.

  “I do,” she said, her shoulders drooping. “I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve overcome this last year, but you deserve to have fun. And aside from the contract with the hotel, nothing is holding you back. You don’t have anyone or anything tying you down. I think you should go for it.”

  I knew Brianna was trying to be encouraging, but the longer the conversation went on, the more I was simply being reminded of the ways in which my life didn’t match up with hers. She’d married Jake right out of college and they’d done the newlywed thing for a few years before having Elliott and then Charlie. They had a gorgeous house in a quiet cul-de-sac with a backyard. If that was being tied down, then it didn’t sound so bad.

  “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. He didn’t give me his contact information and I only know his first name. It’s pointless.”

  I decided not to point out that I’d basically sprinted out of the bar, running away from the man before he could say anything else or pin those blue eyes on me and convince me to accept his offer.

  Brianna looked disappointed, and I wished I’d never told her about Julien. I’d wanted my life in Vegas to seem less pathetic, but telling her I’d turned down the opportunity to go to Monaco had only made things worse.

  We chatted for a few more minutes, talking briefly about the kids and how they were doing in daycare before Charlie started rubbing his eyes and Elliott yawned.

  “I think they might actually be ready to go back to bed,” Brianna said, standing up and flipping off the living room lights. “Thanks for calling, Ash. It’s always so good to see your face. I can’t wait until you’re back home for a visit.”

  “I’ll come back after the Vegas shows are over,” I promised.

  We hung up and I flopped back on the bed, feeling worse than I had when I’d called.

  Chapter 5

  Ashlynn

  The next night, everything seemed to be going well until something went wrong with my microphone halfway through the performance. I kept singing, but I could see the audience shifting in their seats; they could barely hear me over the sound of the music. I turned to where Mike stood backstage, and he shrugged his shoulders while his hands flew across the sound board, trying to figure out what was happening.

  There was a point in my career when I would have been mortified and stopped the performance, apologizing to everyone for the technical glitches. But after twelve years, I knew technical glitches were just par for the course. You had to know how to handle them.

  I dropped the mic back into the stand and kept singing, rolling my eyes as if to say, “What are you gonna do?”

  The audience relaxed, then. Taking a moment to be human with the crowd, rather than an untouchable performer on the stage, always helped ease the tension in a room. Then, I walked across the stage, down the side set of stairs, and moved toward a middle-aged couple at a table in the front.

  The woman stood and began clapping as I neared and she grabbed my hand eagerly when I held it out to her. Still singing, I spun the woman in a tight circle before dropping her back into her seat. Her face was red from the attention, but she looked happily at her husband with wide eyes and he winked at her.

  I moved around the cramped space of the bar, weaving between the tables and passing by every customer, giving them all a private performance for a few seconds. By the time I made it to the back of the room, everyone was clapping and laughing, having the best time out of any of my audiences so far.

  I turned to move back towards the stage, and that was when I saw him.

  Julien was standing against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a white button-down shirt, a pair of navy trousers, and a confident smirk that made my head dizzy. Even in the dim bar, I could tell his eyes were laser-focused on me. His gaze made me more nervous than the broken microphone.

  I looked away from him quickly so I wouldn’t lose my focus and draped my arm over an elderly man’s shoulders, swaying back and forth with him through a chorus. But as soon as I let go of him, I turned back to Julien.

  No matter how many times I tore my eyes away from him, they always found their way back. He was magnetic. Even when I wasn’t watching him, my body knew where his was, like some kind of hot-guy sonar.

  Mike stepped out onto the stage and waved the microphone at me, letting me know he’d fixed whatever the problem had been. I wasted no time crossing the bar and climbing back onto the stage. The stage lights were blinding, and I honestly didn’t mind. It meant I couldn’t see Julien, which also meant I could take a deep breath and clear my head.

  What was he doing back here? Had he come to offer me the gig in Monaco again? And if he did, what would I say?

  So much for clearing my head.

  The rest of the set went by in a blur. I was performing purely on autopilot, but when I finished, the audience rose to their feet, clapping and shouting. Their cheers seemed even louder than the night before. I took a few bows and reluctantly stepped off stage.

  On stage, I was safe. I had all the control. No one could walk up and woo me with a perfect smile and tan skin. Off stage, I was vulnerable.

  There were three exits out of the bar. A series of columns ran along the front and opened out to the hotel lobby. The backstage area had two fire exits, one on either side. Using the front entrance meant that an encounter with Julien was nearly unavoidable. Using the back exits would mean setting off the fire alarm—and, perhaps, the sprinklers that were set into the ceiling every few feet, no doubt ruining thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment.

  Decisions, decisions.

  “Once again, I am wowed by your talent.”

  His accent sent warmth flowing down my neck that turned into a shiver, and even though I’d just been contemplating how to avoid seeing him, something remarkably like giddiness fluttered in my stomach. I turned to see Julien standing behind me, a single rose pinched between his fingers. He held it out to me.

  “Is this for me?” I asked, taking the flower from him.

  “I know it’s a poor offering, but by the time I realized I wanted to bring you flowers, all of the shops had closed. I stole this from the centerpiece of an Italian restaurant down the block,” he said in a loud whisper.

  “I appreciate the thought,” I said, biting back a smile.

  “Really, this is almost nicer than buying flowers. I decided you were worth being banned from that Italian restaurant for life, and I love lasagna.”

  This time, I couldn’t hide my amusement. I laughed, pressing the hand holding the rose against my lips, and shook my head. I tried to cast my gaze over his shoulder, because looking directly at him felt dangerous.

  His eyes were like sapphires in sunlight and his rich tan spoke of days spent shirtless in the sun, which was an especially dangerous thought. His body was long and lean—he towered over me even in my four-inch heels—but there was a strength there, too. He seemed sturdy, and I found myself wanting to press my palms against his chest to be sure he was real.

  “I think you get better each time I hear you,” he said, pulling me from my thoughts. “This is the third time, and it was by far your best.”

  “Even with the glitch in the middle?” I asked.

  “You made it work. The crowd interaction was a great save.”

  “It’s nice to get off the stage and get a feel for the crowd.”


  He tilted his head to the side. “How about right now?”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  “How would you like to get a feel for an especially devoted fan of yours?” he asked. When he saw my face, he laughed. “I’m trying to ask if you’d like to have a drink with me, but I think it came out a little creepier than I intended.”

  I swallowed down a lump in my throat and tried to breathe.

  “So, will you let me buy you a drink?” he asked, tipping his chin down and looking up at me from jealousy-inducing long lashes.

  “Will you stop asking if I say no?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

  “I don’t know which answer will make you agree,” he said, his smile spreading wider. “If I say yes, it will seem as though I’m not truly interested. If I say no, I sound like a creep. So, let me just say that I will continue seeking out your company until it is made abundantly clear to me that you want nothing to do with me.”

  I had never met anyone so effortlessly charming. I couldn’t imagine any woman ever telling Julien that they wanted nothing to do with him, least of all me. He ran a hand through his dark hair. It was longer on top, with close-shaved sides. There was also a fine layer of dark stubble across his chin which I hadn’t noticed the day before.

  “You can buy me a drink,” I said, narrowing my eyes as though I were still contemplating it, though there had never been any chance of me turning him down. “It has to be here, though. The bartender already knows my order.”

  Julien beamed and then placed his hand on my lower back as we moved out into the main space of the bar and towards a small table in the back corner. I waved at the bartender as we passed, and he threw a thumb high into the air to let me know he’d seen me. A few minutes later, Rafael brought out a warm honey and lemon water and a glass of red wine for me, and two fingers of scotch for Julien.

  “Is that for your vocal chords?” Julien asked, gesturing to my tall glass of water.

  “It helps relax the muscles after a performance,” I said, taking a sip. “But most people don’t know that.”

  “I grew up attending the opera regularly with my parents. I know a thing or two, but I’m no expert,” he said. “Though I will say, without a doubt, that you are one of the greatest singers I’ve ever heard.”

  I laughed nervously, waving him off. “You’re sweet, but I already agreed to the drink. You don’t have to keep flattering me.”

  “I’m serious, Ashlynn.” His smile was gone, but his eyes were bright and honest. In his accent, my name sounded short and crisp, and I blushed at the sound of it. For some reason, hearing him say my name felt intimate.

  “Last night, you said you were in town for a bachelor party, right?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then, where are your friends?” I didn’t want to sound like I was interrogating him, but I was curious.

  He shrugged. “Last I heard, they were headed out with a group of dancers from a strip club.”

  “And you didn’t want to go?” I asked, doing a poor job of hiding my surprise.

  “You wouldn’t be there,” he said with a wink.

  I’d always thought winking was kind of cheesy. But when Julien did it, my heart squeezed, and I had to look away to hide my blush.

  “I just can’t understand why you would come all this way to spend three nights in a row at the same bar, listening to the same performance,” I said. Honestly, there were nights when even I didn’t want to hear myself sing the same songs for the hundredth time.

  Julien twisted his lips, his brow furrowed in thought, and then he folded his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward. Just those few inches made it feel like we were so much closer. The stale beer smell of the bar was replaced with his scent—sandalwood and citrus. I could feel the warmth flowing off of him.

  “So many shows around here are all lights and glitz and smoke machines. It feels like a performance,” he said, waving his hands dramatically between us like a magician. “But when you’re on stage, it’s just you and your voice. You don’t need anything else to draw people in. All you need is your talent. I come from a world where people are concerned with the show and the surface, so it’s refreshing to be around someone who thinks differently.”

  His words felt precious, and I wished I could write them down. I wanted to remember them. I swallowed, trying to dispel the tightness in my throat, and leaned back in my chair.

  “You only know the onstage me,” I said. “I could be a total diva in real life. What if the simplicity of my performance is an act?”

  “I’ve known a lot of performers, and not one of them toned it down for the stage. I’d have a hard time believing you could serenade each member of your audience without a microphone and still be an insufferable diva off stage,” he said, lifting his shoulder. “But I could be entirely wrong. Either way, I’d love to spend more time with you and find out.”

  “So, what?” I asked, turning sideways in my chair, my elbow resting over the wooden back. It gave me the appearance of confidence, but was really just a way to try to regain control of my body and emotions. “Are you going to keep coming to my shows until you leave town? Hanging around in this bar every night, trying to figure me out?”

  He bobbed his head back and forth contemplatively. “I certainly will do that if I have to, but it would be much easier if you would just agree to come to Monaco with me.”

  Nervous laughter bubbled out of me. “You really are persistent.”

  “And you are a mystery,” he said, leaning even further across the table. “I feel like I’m making a very appealing offer, yet you seem remarkably uninterested. When I asked you last night, you barely entertained the idea.”

  “I already have a job,” I said.

  He raised one eyebrow at me, as though he knew even I didn’t believe my own words. “The FP100 is one of the biggest racing events in Europe. Even besides the paycheck and the gorgeous scenery, it is something everyone should experience at least once.”

  “How long have you lived in Monaco, Julien?” I asked.

  I’d hoped my attempt to change the subject would be subtler, but I could tell by his small smirk that I wasn’t fooling him. Still, he indulged me.

  He told me about growing up in the small city-state as a boy, spending warm days on the beach along the Mediterranean and evenings in a velvet seat at the opera.

  “I don’t know many teenage boys who enjoyed being at the opera,” I said.

  “It was something I enjoyed doing with my parents. My mother loved the opera, and my father and I loved my mother. Eventually, though, it became a treasured family outing. I continued going even when my mother passed away.” He wore a smile, but there was a hint of sadness in the turned-down corners of his mouth, the glint in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, barely resisting the urge to reach across the table and grab his hand.

  He dismissed me with a smile and a quick head shake and then turned the conversation back to cheerier topics.

  “My favorite has always been Mefistofele,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. I’d expected him to enjoy something a bit more contemporary. “I saw that at the Met as a teenager. It terrified me.”

  “Terrified you? How?”

  “The main character was being corrupted by the devil. In the end, he realizes all of his life experiences were meaningless.”

  Julien shook his head. “But Faust won. The devil could not corrupt him. Faust redeemed himself.”

  “Just in time to die,” I said, eyes wide. “Faust was an old man when he finally cast the devil away. That hardly seems like a victory to me.”

  “Not everyone is lucky enough to discover their life is empty,” Julien said, growing suddenly introspective. “So, I suppose, our disagreement lies in the question of whether it is better to discover the truth and be able to do nothing, or to die ignorant.”

  “Ignorance is bliss,” I said.

  “Perhaps it can be. Sometimes
,” he said with a nod. “But for me, I’d rather be like Faust. A harsh truth is better than a beautiful lie.”

  Outside of my industry, I had never met a man who knew nearly as much about opera as I did. Jonathan had gone to my shows when he could, but I’d known he didn’t enjoy it. And that had been okay. I hadn’t expected him to love all the same things I did. It wasn’t until I was sitting across from Julien, listening to him talk about all the best shows he’d seen in opera houses around the world, that I realized how much I desired that kind of connection with someone.

  As he spoke, I drew nearer to him. Not consciously, but almost as if compelled. I wanted to be closer to him. As the evening drew on and our empty glasses were replaced with fresh ones time and time again, we closed the gap between us. Julien was resting on his elbows, fingers steepled beneath his stubbled chin, and I was curled over the table as though I was trying to use the tea candle in the center for warmth.

  Julien spoke at least three languages and had stories from his travels on almost every continent. Sitting across from him felt like a privilege. The more he spoke, the more I wondered why he cared about me at all. He could have any woman in the world. He could do much better than a divorced, down-on-her-luck opera singer.

  On some level, I was afraid Julien would reach the same conclusion, which was why I avoided the topic of my past. I discussed my career and life in vague terms. I told him about my sister, my parents, and my nephews, but managed to skip around the mention of my ex-husband and the financial burdens that had brought me to the hotel bar in the first place.

  “Last call.”

  I startled and looked up to see the bartender, Rafael, standing next to our table. His eyes moved from me to Julien, and I could see amusement in his eyes. I sat up, putting space between myself and the man across the table, trying to regain some dignity. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten or how close Julien and I had been to touching.

  Julien handed over a credit card and then turned back to me. Tiredness was obvious in the heaviness of his eyelids. I felt it, too. My muscles ached from the long day and my skin felt sticky beneath my hours-old stage makeup. But still, Julien smiled at me, tilting his head to the side.