Single TV Dad: Billionaire Romance... Naughty Angel Style

by Alexis Angel

  I kinda feel sorry for her, you know? Despite leading a self-destructive life, there are a lot of people interested in stopping her from getting her shit together. From the paparazzi to the studio execs, everyone prefers an hurricane to a cookie-cutter woman.

  “He broke my heart!” She howls, her chin quivering as she tries to hold back the tears. “He cut it into a million pieces, stomped over it! He ruined me for other men!”

  “Okay, okay… We’ll figure it out, Misty. Who is he?”

  “Liam Donovan!” She whispers, lowering her voice as if, somehow, her saying his name would make him materialize inside my office.

  “The Liam Donovan?” I ask her, leaning back against my chair. Interesting - this job might be more complicated than I had anticipated.

  “Yes, that Liam!”

  Well, this was bound to happen, wasn’t it?

  Liam Donovan is the most notorious playboy in New York, a man that goes through women so fast that even the tabloids fail when trying to play catch-up with him. Oddly enough, Misty is the first woman to come in here and ask me to take care of Liam. You’d think that some disgruntled ex-girlfriend of his would have already knocked at my door by now, but nope - Misty is the first one.

  It was only a matter of time for this to happen, though, and I knew it. Lust Muscle and Liam Donovan embody opposite ideas, and these ideas have been on a collision course ever since the first Homo Assholius broke a woman’s heart.

  “You’ll do it, won’t you?” Misty whispers, grabbing my hands and looking at me with tears brimming in her big eyes. “You can break his heart, right? You’re the best at this, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” I tell her, feeling absolutely sure that this job is going to be a complete nightmare. Still, the bigger the nightmare, the bigger my payday is. “I’ll do it. I’ll bring Liam Donovan down.”

  “YES!” Misty squeals, jumping up to her feet. Her Yorkie whimpers as she moves, but she clutches him close her chest and he closes his eyes with a bored expression. “YES! FINALLY! He’s so done!” She continues, the sorrow in her face now replaced by exultant joy.

  “Misty, I’m going to need some information on him and --”

  “Oh, you’ll do fine, I’m sure of it,” she replies, waving me down as she picks up her purse from the chair and turns on her heels. “Oh, I can’t wait,” she whispers to herself, looking into my eyes with a wild grin, and then she starts walking out of the office. Her balance seems slightly off, and I realize that she probably didn’t go through half a bottle of champagne this morning - no, she went through the whole bottle.

  “I’ll keep in touch,” she tells me, putting on her sunglasses, and then she just leaves, slamming the door behind her.

  Oh, what have I gotten myself into?

  Cara

  “Crap,” I mutter to myself, taking off my reading glasses and rubbing my eyes. I’m sitting in my living room, trying to profile Liam, but it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been at this for God knows how many hours, and my eyes are killing me from staring at the laptop screen without taking a break.

  Sighing heavily, I close the laptop lid and throw it to the side. I throw my feet up on the coffee table and I lean back against the couch, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

  Doing recon on Liam is proving to be harder than what I had anticipated. The internet hasn’t been much of an help - all I seem to be able to find is the same recycled bullshit that the tabloids thrive on. There’s nothing substantial in there, absolutely nothing that I can use.

  Usually the women that hire my services give me something I can use as an in with the target, but Misty didn’t help with that. She just dumped her problem onto my lap, outsourcing her heartbreak to me. Not that I mind - I’m paid handsomely enough for my efforts. But, still, it’s frustrating as hell.

  As notorious as Liam is, he’s a complete mystery. He’s living the high life and breaking hearts all over the city, but I don’t even know exactly what he does for a living. There are a lot of articles talking about how savvy he is with his financial investments, but what the hell does that even mean?

  “Ah, screw this,” I sigh, getting up from the couch and picking up my phone from the coffee table. Unlocking the screen, I run my thumb over my contact list and then dial Renee’s number. If there’s someone that can help me with Liam, it’s got to be Renee.

  “What’s up, Cara?” She says excitedly, picking up my call after just one tone.

  “All good, girl,” I laugh, Renee’s good mood infecting me immediately. She’s the kind of girl that has one these contagious good vibes around her, and that’s probably one of the reasons we became such good friends back in college.

  Daughter of a famous hedge fund manager, Renee was part of one of these ridiculous cliques of rich snobbish kids. They drove around campus as if they owned the whole thing, polo shirts draped over their shoulders as they showed off the sports car they bought with their parent’s money.

  I’m not saying that all kids that come from wealthy families are assholes, but some of them are. And that was the kind of crowd that Renee was part of; despite that, she never really felt at home with them.

  I think that I was actually the first person Renee met that wasn’t from a wealthy family, and I think that was also part of the reason we hit it off so quickly. Renee was hungry to know more about life, and she relished the opportunity of being friends with someone that only had one thing going for her: hard work.

  “Listen, Renee, I need some help,” I tell her right away, getting down to business.

  “Shoot! Who do you need dirt on, girl?” She laughs, her California accent coming through her words.

  “Liam Donovan.”

  “Liam Donovan? Is he your next target? Woah, that’s impressive,” she tells me, and I just wait for her to give me whatever information she has on him. You see, despite being friends with me, Renee is still part of the socialite - which means she, more often than not, has information on some of my wealthier targets. And when she doesn’t have that information, she digs it up for me. How she does it, I don’t even want to know. But the fact remains - Renee has been central to the way Lust Muscle has been able to operate successfully ever since I set up shop.

  “Yeah, he’s going to be trouble, isn’t he?” I ask her, already anticipating her obvious answer.

  “Oh, you betcha. He’s a handful, that’s for sure. Pretty good looking too, and rumours has it that he has a pretty big --”

  “Okay, okay, I get it!” I laugh again, biting on my lip to stop my mind from diving straight into the gutter. “I’m going to need an in with him.”

  “Yeah…” She replies, sighing into the phone, and I can tell that she’s thinking hard. “I don’t have a lot to give you on him right now, Cara. He’s a well known face, sure, but no one really knows much about Liam. He keeps to himself, you know?”

  “That’s not what the tabloids say.”

  “Yeah, he’s a bit of a wild card when it comes to women. But, really, what does anyone know about him besides the fact that he has a pretty active sex life?” She exhales sharply and I smile to myself, the tone in her voice telling me that she’s imagining how it’d feel to be a part of Liam Donovan’s ‘pretty active sex life’. “Who hired you, though? Or is this some class action lawsuit type of thing?”

  “No,” I chuckle, “just one client. Misty Lane.”

  “Misty Lane? Jesus, she’s batshit crazy, Cara.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. She seemed pretty heartbroken over Liam, though.”

  “Figures. I mean, from what I’ve heard, Liam is a born heartbreaker. Once a woman has a taste of his delicious -- ahem, of his delicious charm, she can’t get enough. He’s not the kind of guy to go for a relationship, though, and most girls just can’t deal with that.”

  “So he’s the kind of guy that runs from love, huh?” I ask her, already feeling the fire of a challenge welling up inside me. I love to take these jaded assholes and make them see how much it sucks to have s
omeone trampling over your heart.

  “That’s right. He won’t make it easy for you. Alright, look… I’ll see what I can find, okay?”

  “Thanks, Renee, I owe you.”

  “Of course you do,” she laughs brightly. “Next dinner is on you.”

  “You got yourself a deal,” I tell her, ending the call. Throwing my cell phone onto the couch, I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling window of my living room, looking at New York’s skyline as the sun sets, now hiding between two skyscrapers as it spills its orange glow all over the city.

  Somewhere out there, Liam Donovan is enjoying himself, completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a target on his back. I know that this is going to be a hard job to pull off, but the more (or should I say less?) I know about him, the more intrigued I become.

  Oh, this is going to be fun.

  Cara

  It only took Renee a day.

  She called me early in the morning, still excited from whatever party she had been at all night, and told me that Liam was a regular at a private swim club in the Upper West Side. And, best part of it, she had already made sure I was part of the guest list for the whole week.

  And now I have my in.

  I rolled out of bed fast, took out my Bendita bikini from the end of one drawer, packed it in, and went to work feeling more excited than I probably should. Still, Liam is probably my most challenging target ever, and I think that a little excitement is in order.

  The morning went quickly as I went through some paperwork, and I spent lunch doing some more recon on Liam - of course, I still didn’t find anything of interest. By the time the clock marked three pm, I was already halfway through the door of the building where Lust Muscle has its offices.

  I spent the whole day waiting for Renee’s call, and she has just told me that Liam arrived at the pool twenty minutes ago. So, without a minute to waste, I’ve called a Uber and now I’m waiting anxiously for the driver to come pick me up.

  Luckily, it’s only a ten minute drive to the swimming pool club. I spent the whole drive rehearsing the many possibles ways I can approach Liam but, in the end, I decide to go with the flow of the moment.

  The moment the car pulls up in front of a nondescript high rise building, I pay my driver and then stroll inside. There’s a clerk standing in front of a receptionist’s counter, and he looks at me with suspicious eyes. He probably knows all the regulars that frequent the place, and I’m not one of them. Thank to Renee, though, I just have to give him my name and he directs me to a private changing room on the last floor.

  Ten minutes later, I step into the pool area.

  Located at the rooftop of the building, the whole area seems luxurious enough to justify its private elite status. There are three large swimming pools, chaises lining their surroundings; in the largest pool, the one in the middle, there’s a bar set up in the corner, the stools facing the counter emerging from the bottom of the pool and allowing anyone to get a buzz going while never leaving the water.

  The sound of laughs and splashes hits me right away, and I can’t help but to think that, despite everyone in this place being part of the so-called elite, everyone behaves like a little kid whenever they’re around a pool. Surprisingly (or maybe not), the place seems to be packed even though it’s Tuesday. What do these people do for a living?

  Rocking my most expensive bikini, I waltz through the pool area and head straight to one of the empty lounge chairs. I notice a few heads turning toward me as I go, and I smile internally - no man can resist me when I’m wearing a bikini, and I’m pretty sure that Liam won’t be an exception to that rule.

  Even though I still haven’t seen him, I try and walk as confidently as I can. He might be looking at me right now, and I want to make an impression as soon as possible.

  Laying down on the chaise lounge, sunglasses covering my eyes, I start scanning the whole area. I don’t see him; instead, I hear him. He’s standing close to the bar, three girls crowding around him and giggling as he speaks. It seems like that the rumours are real - Liam is always in ‘go’ mode when it comes to women.

  I remain lying for around fifteen minutes, just taking in the scene as Liam makes these girls laugh hysterically. Either he’s being extremely funny or they’re fighting to see who gets between the sheets with him. I’m betting on the latter.

  Unfortunately for them, I’m about to end their little party. The moment I close in on Liam, they won’t stand a chance. I’ve been honing my seduction skills day in and day out, working at it as if it were a craft, and I feel pretty comfortable when saying that I can seduce almost any man.

  Between you and me, though, there’s one thing I have to admit - Liam Donovan looks good. And when I say good, I mean really good. I had already seen photographs of him (I mean, who hasn’t), but seeing him live is a completely different experience. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of swimming shorts and, God, his body is perfect. He has the looks of a model, and he’d be at home in a Hollywood set; his muscles seem like they’ve been carved out of marble and, more than that, they have a certain rawness to them. You know how some men look jacked up, as if they spend every waking hour in the gym to look good? That’s not the case with Liam - he’s cut and ripped, yeah, but he looks functional and powerful. More than looking like a model, he looks like an elite athlete - or, even better, like a goddamn warrior.

  Add to that the way he’s smooth talking these girls and his striking features, and you get a guy that looks like he was born to break hearts. Well, I think it’s high time he experiences a bit of heartbreak first-hand, don’t you think?

  Getting up from the lounge chair, I saunter toward the bar lazily, carefully making sure that Liam doesn’t see me coming. I lean against the counter, positioning myself right behind him, and ask the bartender for a mojito. As the guy gets my order, I remain there in silence, just listening to what Liam’s saying.

  “...and then he wanted to jump out of the balcony. He has his arms open, screaming at the top of his lungs that he’s Superman, and if I hadn’t caught him… Well, he’d be a dead Superman,” he finishes, and the girls start laughing hysterically again. Jesus.

  “There ya go,” the bartender tells me, pushing my mojito across the counter, and I thank him with a nod and a smile. Watching Liam gesture through the corner of my eye, I act as casually as I can and turn on my heels, closing in on him just as he’s turning around to talk to the bartender. As a result, he bumps me with his shoulder and I stumble forward, my mojito glass tilting and its content spilling across his chest.

  “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, taking a step back as the glass falls from my hands and shatters on the floor at his feet. I act surprised, looking at him as if I’m only seeing him for the first time. “You okay?” He asks me, sidestepping the pieces of glass on the floor and pushing me back to safety. “Watch out, don’t get cut.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t see you and --”

  “Nah, don’t worry,” he cuts me short, waving at the bartender. “Another drink for the lady. Put it on my tab,” he tells him, and then runs the palm of his hand over his abs as he realizes that he’s covered in alcohol.

  I look at him do it and I feel my heart tightening up as I watch his abs glisten from my ruined mojito, beads of it dripping down between his perfect squares of muscle. Now that I’m this close to him, I realize that he doesn’t have a six-pack - nope, he has an eight pack. Forget about him being a heartbreaker - with looks like this, he’s probably ruining more than just women’s hearts.

  “You’re making it worse,” I laugh as I watch him try to swat the alcohol away from his abs. Stealing a cloth from the other side of the counter, I reach toward him and brush the fabric over his stomach, feeling the bumps and grooves of his abs. He lets me do it, and I clean him as slowly as I can. If you’re wondering, yeah - I’m probably enjoying this more than I should. But it’s all part of the way I’ll ensnare him, so don’t worry about it.

  “Thank you,” he says as I throw the now soaked
cloth back over the counter. “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here.”

  “Caralyn. But you can call me Cara,” I reply, offering him my hand. He takes it in his, his fingertips brushing against the inside of my wrist. God, his hands are big.

  “Liam,” he tells me with a smile, and I have to force myself to take my eyes off his. There’s a certain energy around him, and I can see how most women would feel drawn to him.

  “Alright, Liam, it was nice to meet you,” I say, and then look down at my wrist watch. “But I gotta run. Have fun,” I lie with a smile and a nod, and then turn on my heels to leave.

  Most men with a reputation such as Liam can’t stand being ignored like this, and I bet it won’t take him more than five seconds to chase after me.

  “Hey, Cara!”

  See? Easy and predictable. I turn on my heels to face him, acting surprised, and he closes the distance between the two of us. The three girls that were talking to him throw me malevolent stares, but I just pretend I can’t see them.

  “I’d like to have your number,” he tells me, and I just look at him slightly surprised. And, no, this time I’m not faking my reaction. You see, most men ask for my number; a few cocky ones demand it. Liam did none of these things - instead, he just told me he’d like my number. He didn’t ask and he didn’t beg. He just told me what he wants and left the rest in my hands.

  I like that.

  “If you promise not to be a nuisance,” I tease him, watching as he grabs his cellphone from the pocket of his swimming trunks and hands it to me. I type my number into it and, instead of writing my name in the contact info, I simply write Pool Girl. Why? Well, whenever he decides to call or text me, he’ll try and find Cara in the contact list and won’t find it. He’ll probably think that I blew him off and didn’t give him my number, but he’ll inevitably find the Pool Girl contact a few minutes later. And when he does, relief will wash over him. That’s how you seduce a man - you make him go through the whole range of emotions, even in the most simple things. Seduction is an art where the smallest details matter.