The Billionaire’s Betrayal

by Mika Lane

  While I was tormenting poor Jones, I was able to keep an eye on everything else going on in the lobby. Not least of which was a hot-as-shit girl behind the reception desk. Sonya something or other. And damn if she wasn’t giving me the eye. Last time she’d done that, I’d gotten the blowie of a lifetime. Right next to the copy machine in the office behind the front desk.

  I didn’t care who knew.

  I’d tuned out whatever Jones was blathering on about. I gave her a nice pat on the back. “Thank you, Jones. I’ll be checking out those rooms later.” I headed for the front desk.

  “But sir,” Jones called after me, “there’s one more thing—”

  There was always one more thing with her. Such a time-suck.

  With my gaze glued to Sonya and her great tits, I waved over my shoulder. “Jones, we’ll finish this later.”

  I finally heard her heels clicking away on the marble floor.

  I waited until Sonya finished with the guest she was helping.

  “Hi, Sonya, how are you this morning?”

  The other person behind reception, a sprightly gay guy named Scott, minded his own business. Bless his heart.

  Her face lit up. She was even more gorgeous when she smiled.

  “Mr. Harcourt, hi.” She blushed.

  My dick twitched. Something about a bashful babe who could suck cock just killed me.

  I said nothing further. I didn’t need to. I walked to the end of the long reception desk and used my key card for the door to the back office. Just like last time, she met me there by the copy machine. We closed the door.

  My morning was beginning to improve.

  Chapter 3

  Nara

  Damn, I hated being late. And the irony was, I was always late. It was something in my DNA. I was just not made for being early. Or even on time, for that matter.

  “Ouch, dammit!” Oooh, did I just say that?

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Kincaid. I’ll be more careful.”

  A model-esque saleswoman entered the wedding shop dressing room where I was acting as a human pincushion. She was dressed in head-to-toe black. Even the bun secured at the nape of her neck was black.

  “Now, doesn’t that dress look lovely on you,” she purred. No doubt she said that to everyone getting fitted for a marginally attractive bridesmaid dress that they’d never wear again. She waited. Guess she was expecting a reply.

  “Yes, the dress is nice.” I sighed, looking down at the sweeping skirt. How was I going to walk in this? “It is better than the pink and purple confections I’ve worn in my other friends’ weddings. Who, by the way, are now all divorced.”

  She looked like I’d just thrown dog poop on her, and hightailed it out of there, leaving me with the smirking seamstress.

  She felt my pain. I could tell.

  Before they let me escape, I was informed I’d be charged for the balance of the bridesmaid dress, having previously only paid the deposit. I handed over my credit card, fingers crossed that it would go through.

  “Thank you Miss Kincaid,” she said, handing the card back. “You can pick up your dress next week—”

  But I didn’t hear the rest. My Uber ride was waiting out front.

  I ran out the door, slipping into the car without my usual security measures like making sure the make, model, and license plate matched what the Uber phone app said would be coming for me. But it was quickly obvious there was nothing to worry about. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’d just been picked up by Betty White’s younger sister. Betty White of Golden Girls fame.

  “Hi, sweetie. What were you doin’ in that bridal shop? You getting married?” She steered into traffic like a champ. Go, Grandma!

  “Oh, my best friend Joi is getting married in a few weeks. I’m in the wedding.”

  “Isn’t that nice. She pick an ugly dress for you?” She cackled.

  “Actually, it’s not too bad. It’s midnight blue, very simple.”

  “So you can wear it again, right? Just like they all say!” More cackling. She was awesome.

  She shook her white, permed head. It was a wonder she could see over the steering wheel. “I remember my first wedding, back in 1955. Damn if we didn’t wear ugly dresses back then. We looked like cake toppers. And shit, I was a virgin for my first husband…” She jabbered the whole way across town while I checked my phone in the back seat.

  We pulled up in front of the Hotel Vertigo. I wouldn’t have minded riding around with this ace driver longer, but duty called. I tipped her a ten and ran inside.

  “Where’s the auction?” I breathlessly asked the concierge.

  He pointed at the giant sign I’d just blown past, the one that said “Avenue A Fundraiser” in huge letters. I followed the arrow on it and headed down a corridor.

  I quietly crept into the packed ballroom to avoid attracting attention. The fundraising auction was well underway, and I could see my assistant, Mimi, up in the front row. I sent her a text to check in.

  u bidding for me?

  u bet, boss!

  who u bidding on?

  guy stage right. tall. expensive suit.

  ok. thnks.

  I fished out my glasses so I could see the guy from the back of the room. This was another of those trendy New York fundraisers where certain desirable men and women were “auctioned” for dates, with the proceeds all going to charity. The Avenue A homeless shelter was a great organization, and one I’d always supported. Bidding on a date wasn’t really my idea of fun, but to raise money for a good cause, I could be convinced. Apparently, I’d missed the part of the auction where they sold off the women. Something about that was skeevy in a way that it wasn’t with the guys. But I pushed the thought out of my head.

  There were six nice-enough looking men on stage, lined up in chairs like an old episode of The Dating Game. I mean, not to be rude, but you couldn’t auction someone with running sores, could you? This was a charity fundraiser, after all.

  And wouldn’t you know, the guy Mimi had pointed out to me via text looked like a douche. Figures. The guys in these auction-a-date fundraisers were always douches to one degree or another.

  The things I did for charity.

  “Nara! How lovely to see you!” If I’d just ridden over with Betty White’s younger sister, this was her cousin. Another 80-something cutie with a tight perm, veneers, and a pushup bra.

  “Mrs. Dolan, how nice to see you.” She ran several of Manhattan’s big, high-profile fundraisers, and had dragged me into this one. She was damn good at separating people from their money. Just look at me.

  “Thank you for coming, my dear. The shelter so appreciates your support. Tell me, what is it your company’s technology does again? I think you told me once before…” She must have been hard of hearing from how loudly she spoke; several people turned to give us the stink eye until they realized they were dissing an octogenarian.

  I steered her away from the crowd. “We make an app that notifies a mom—or dad—on their phone the moment their baby has a dirty diaper.”

  She looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. But her bright smile never wavered.

  “Oh, an app. I think I’ve heard of those.” She wandered away.

  Which was fine with me. I needed to text Mimi to make sure she wasn’t spending me into the poor house. I would pay for a douchebag in the name of charity and to help out the adorable Mrs. Dolan. But I wasn’t going to sacrifice my shoe habit. Such as it was.

  There was a shuffle at the front of the ballroom. The auctioneer on stage appeared very pleased with himself for having “sold” some guy named Bill or Bud—or was it Brodin?—for the highest amount in today’s action. And the lucky sucker who got him?

  Me.

  The room broke out in applause, and my phone blew up with texts from Mimi, quite pleased with herself.

  I thanked her. What else could I say? She’d done what I’d asked her to do. Now, all I had to do was pay for the date, suffer through some time with him, and call i
t a day. I’d done my duty for the Avenue A homeless shelter and Mrs. Dolan until their next fundraiser rolled around.

  There was a tug on my sleeve. Mrs. Dolan was beaming. “Nara, you got a good one, I tell ya. They saved the best for last! Now, let me take you up front to meet your new date.” She started moving toward the stage before she realized I wasn’t following. “Sweetie? C’mon.” She gestured with her head. The tight perm curls didn’t move.

  Ugh. I’d meet the guy on our date, and not a moment sooner.

  “I need to get back to work. I’ll follow up with my date later.” I glanced at my watch for effect. Where was Mimi? Hey, maybe she could go on the date for me…

  “Well, okay. If you insist. But I’ve known the young man since he was little. He’s a nice guy, I tell you.”

  Nah. I was good.

  Mimi finally appeared at my side, red curls bouncing. Like always, she was the picture of efficiency.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Dolan,” I said, bending to give her a quick hug. She smelled like powder. “I’ll let you know how the date goes. But I have to head out right now.”

  Mimi sensed something in my urgency. That’s why she was my assistant. I’d be lost without her and her sixth sense.

  “Nara! Our Uber is here! Gotta go!” She took me by the elbow, thank god.

  “I’ll be in touch soon,” I called over my shoulder as we ran.

  As we flew out the door, I saw my future date walking around like a puffed up peacock.

  It was gonna be one fun date.

  Chapter 4

  Brodie

  How did I get roped into these bachelor auctions? New York was full of rich, single men. Why did I always get sucked in? I was in another shitty mood, the joy of Sonya’s earlier blowie having quickly worn off. And a redhead in the front row had bid on me like some sort of psycho, driving up the price to outbid all the other women there.

  The crowd disbursed as the auctioneer gathered up his papers from behind the podium. He looked like Colonel Sanders with his white hair and goatee.

  “Well, Mr. Harcourt. Another successful auction.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vale. Good job.” I shook his hand. He seemed to do all the date auctions in the city. He clearly loved it.

  The ballroom cleared, the supporters of the Avenue A homeless shelter having headed back to work, out to lunch, or to the gym.

  The smell of roses and a light tap grabbed my attention.

  “Brodie, dear, I had hoped to introduce you to the lovely young lady who bought you,” Mrs. Dolan, the tiny, silver-haired fundraising chair said with a giggle.

  She apparently relished the idea of selling people. Little perv. The tiny but top-notch New York money hound led the fundraising efforts of some of the city’s biggest charities. But now it seemed she was also a matchmaker of sorts. No wonder she loved these date auctions. Had she ever hooked up with Mr. Vale? I’d put them together in a New York minute.

  “Sadly, honey, she had to get back to work.” She patted my shoulder to comfort me. The irony.

  I just didn’t need another date with a lonely nutjob who had too many cats. The last auction winner had told me within the first five minutes she wanted to have three kids. She had also kept looking at my crotch.

  No thanks.

  My mode of operation with these dates, which I seemed to have to deal with a couple times a year, was to have good old Trudy, my admin, call me forty-five minutes into the date with an “emergency.” I’d throw some money on the table and get the hell out. Worked like a charm.

  The things I did for charity.

  And now I had another to deal with. But it was okay. I had my system. Trudy had my back, just like she’d always had my dad’s when he was running the hotel.

  But poor Mrs. Dolan was disappointed that my auction “winner” had bolted. I could give a crap, but I felt sad for the woman I’d known nearly all my life, who’d stood by my dad’s side during the good times and bad. I’d do anything for her. Thus, my hotel not only hosted most of the fundraisers she ran, but I was also pimped out for her bachelor auctions. It was a pain in the ass, but I liked the idea of helping her and a homeless shelter. Kill two birds with one stone.

  “I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon,” I told her.

  “I hope so, sweetheart. She paid a lot of money for you.” She cackled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever said, and scanned the crowd. “You know, I have another young lady for you to meet.”

  Oh, shit.

  “And there she is.” She waved frantically, but to little avail. She was so short no one would ever see her. So she hollered.

  Who knew that little thing’s vocals packed such a punch?

  “Janine! Janine, over here!” She kept waving and probably would have jumped if she hadn’t been so damn ancient.

  Great. She found her Janine, who came rushing toward her with a smile.

  But when Janine set her eyes on me, her smile fell. Mrs. Dolan was oblivious.

  “Brodie, I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Janine.” She looked back and forth between us, beaming, looking for the spark that might bring her great-grandchildren.

  But there would be no spark. At least, not a romantic one.

  Janine was a woman I had fucked two weeks ago. And had never called.

  Oops.

  That’s the price to be paid when you’re a guy like me. I extended my hand anyway.

  “Brodie. Hello. Nice to see you again.” Her eyes were anything but nice. And she ignored my hand.

  Mrs. Dolan clapped her hands. I wonder if she knew her granddaughter fucked on the first date. “You two know each other! What a small world. Isn’t this fantastic!”

  “I hope you’ve been well,” I told her. I did hope she’d been well. I had no problem with her. It was just that there were so many beautiful women in Manhattan. No reason to settle down with just one.

  “You didn’t call me.”

  Oh, shit. She was going there, right in front of her nana.

  Mrs. Dolan’s wrinkly little brow was all furrowed.

  Time for my exit. I glanced at my watch. “Oh cripes, I have a meeting that started five minutes ago. Good to see you, Janine. Mrs. Dolan.” I bent to give the old lady a peck on the cheek.

  I got the hell out of there, hoping Janine wouldn’t tell her grandmother what a prick I could be. But honestly, Mrs. Dolan could probably give a shit as long as I continued to let her pimp me out.

  * * *

  Back in my office, I called my stepbrother, Dalt, in Sausalito, an awesome artsy little town just outside San Francisco.

  “Yo, Bro,” he hollered.

  Dalt was the only one who could call me that.

  “Dude. How’s Sausalito and the art world?” I pushed my office door closed and looked around. God, Trudy kept this place nice. I would annihilate it by leaving papers and other crap all over the place, and she’d have it straightened out in the time it took me to take a piss.

  Seagulls screeched on the other end of the line. Was that bastard at the beach?

  “Yeah, had an art show last week and sold all but one of my paintings. I’m at Stinson Beach right now, about to go over to Noelle’s tavern.”

  “Damn! Where’s my painting, man?”

  Dalt laughed. “I’m working on it.”

  “I just got out of another one of those bachelor auction things.”

  “What? You always get sucked into those. Some group here, I think it was called the Guardsmen, tried to recruit me. I told them hell no. But I did write a check to their charity.”

  “Well, I didn’t get off quite that easy. You know Mrs. Dolan.”

  “She’s the one who helped your dad out, right?”

  “Yeah, good memory. Hey, how’s Noelle?”

  “Gorgeous as ever.” He laughed again. “Really working her ass off in both the tavern and doing massage at Devi’s Bliss. I don’t know how she does it, dude. I just get tired watching her. So what’s up with things in the Big Apple?”

&nb
sp; “My business partners are still shitting on my idea of expanding to San Francisco. They say the market is saturated,” I explained.

  “They’re dead wrong. Let me see if I can introduce you to some investors here. The Tenderloin is being developed like crazy, and it’s adjacent to downtown. Perfect location.”

  “Dalt, that would be awesome. Thanks.”

  “All right. I gotta run.”

  “See ya,” I said. I loved that guy.

  Chapter 5

  Nara

  “Mimi, can’t you get me out of this?” I whined. “I don’t want to go on a date with a guy from a bachelor auction.” I could whine to Mimi. That’s how close we were.

  The Uber ride back to the office was taking forever. Where was my Betty White look-alike when I needed her?

  “No, I cannot. You agreed to this, and now you have to follow through.” She might have been my assistant, but half the time, I felt like she was the boss. In a good way.

  “You go for me,” I insisted. “The guy will never know. Just pretend to be me. He saw you bidding on him. He’ll be expecting a redhead.”

  Mimi raised an eyebrow at me. “Page Six from the New York Post wants to interview you about bachelor/bachelorette auctions. In fact, they want to see if they can come on your first date.”

  “What? Oh my god. Page Six, the gossip column? First, they cannot. And second, by saying first date, they are implying there will be subsequent dates. Which is not going to happen.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. I’ll let them know.” She got quiet and looked out the window.

  “What?” I asked. “Do you think I should let the most infamous gossip column in all of New York in on my private life?”

  “It could be good publicity for Mommy Knows. And, you’re raising money for a homeless shelter.”

  My company. My baby.

  I hadn’t thought of that. Damn, she was good.

  “Oh, right. Good thinking. Yeah, maybe we should set that up. I mean, I don’t know about them coming on the date, but I can talk to them afterward.”