Billionaire's Princess: A Standalone Novel (A Royal Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires Book 2)

by Claire Adams

  He texted me back right away, saying, “Me 2, Can't wait 2 C U. Meet me 4 dinner at my place tonight.”

  It made my heart flutter with happiness. Tonight, when we saw each other, I would ask him what had been bothering him lately. I didn't know what to expect, but whatever it was, I wanted him to know I was there for him. Then I could share with him my happy news about the job and we could celebrate by making love.

  It seemed like up until now, sex was the only thing we shared. I was ready to go deeper now and take our intimacy to a new level, one where we trusted each other with our hopes and fears, joys and miseries—a level that transcended sex into love.

  When I got to my crappy apartment, it looked even smaller and dingier after having spent so much time in lavish hotels and Ethan's glorious mansion. I had been getting spoiled by so much luxury and it was time I reminded myself what the real world was like. Just because I was the girlfriend of a billionaire didn't mean I could shirk my life.

  It was good to be reminded where I stood in the grand scheme of things. It would keep me from losing my motivation to keep climbing until I was a success in my own right. I wanted to make everyone proud of me: my parents, Ethan, and most of all, myself.

  I put a load of laundry in the washing machine in the complex’s utility room, went to the market for a few groceries, and picked up the mail from my overstuffed P.O. box. There was nothing there but bills, only this time I actually had the money to pay them. It felt wonderful not to have to struggle over which bills I could pay and which ones to have to risk becoming delinquent. I'd have even more money once I did the R.E.B. job. I vacuumed the scraggly living room carpet and then I returned to the laundry room to fetch my clean clothes.

  I carried the basket back to my apartment, sat on the couch, and flipped on the television so I had something to watch while I folded.

  A local news reporter was standing out front the corporate headquarters for Speed Motorcycles with a man I thought I recognized from the launch party. He had a creepy quality that was hard to forget. He was standing beside a heavy-set man in an expensive suit with an orange mustache, and the reporter was speaking to them. Curious, I turned up the volume and watched intently.

  "So, Mr. Miles Schultz, you are the attorney representing Mr. Charles Dorsey in this case?"

  "Yes, Becky, I am," the mustached man agreed while his creepy sidekick nodded mutely beside him. "Big corporation owners like Ethan Colson think they can get away with taking advantage of average men, like my client. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen and regain justice for Mr. Dorsey. Get results with Miles Schultz."

  "On what grounds are you suing Ethan Colson?" the reporter asked the creepy man, but his portly attorney grabbed the microphone and answered on his behalf.

  "Mr. Colson went to college with my client, during which time they developed the idea for Speed Motorcycles together. Have you ever noticed how Mr. Colson refuses to say how he came up with the name of his company and the motorcycle designs? That's because he wasn't the one who did it: my client was.

  “In the years since, Mr. Colson had denied my client his rightful share of proceeds from the company he named, so Mr. Dorsey has finally been forced to taking him to court."

  I couldn't believe it. No wonder Ethan refused to talk about naming the company.

  Why hadn't he at least told me he'd developed the idea with a friend from college? This dispute and impending lawsuit must have been what was weighing so heavily on his mind. I felt hurt that he hadn't confided in me about it. This was big deal, and could cost him half his company and a lot of money. No wonder he'd seemed stressed and distracted. I was just glad I'd been there to help him let off some tension.

  His former college buddy looked like a pathetic junkie, and it made me wonder if Ethan had ever done drugs in college. From the looks of this guy, he was hooked on speed. Is that the addiction Gwyneth had tried to warn me about? Was Ethan on speed?

  Oh my God, Speed Motorcycles—using speed. It all made sense to me now, but I had to know if my hunches were right.

  It was time for Ethan to start revealing to me the secrets of his past. If I was truly his girlfriend, I deserved to know; I just needed to ask him for the whole truth, and I was going to that night. I just hoped I was prepared for what he had to say.

  Chapter Twenty-six: Ethan

  It had been one hell of a long day at work and I was looking forward to some playtime with Kayla to relieve the stress. It had begun with my pre-work meeting with Charles Dorsey and quickly gone downhill after that with one disaster after another.

  After I had security throw his ass out, his attorney was waiting for him on the front steps of the building. Apparently, they had prepared a contingency plan in case I wouldn't pay the blackmail bribe and already court papers drawn up. They must have gone straight from my office to the courthouse and filed because I was handed papers by a process server before lunch. Fuck.

  The shit-storm just got worse after that, with an apparent press conference being held outside my office with the sign Speed Motorcycles clearly visible in the background. Dorsey and his lawyer told all of California and half the nation that we had developed the idea for Speed Motorcycles and that I cut him out of his half of my company.

  After that, reporters and paparazzi were calling off the hook. Security kept them at bay in the lobby, so at least I wasn't mobbed by them upstairs, but when I was ready to leave the office, I had to sneak out through a service elevator disguised as one of the janitorial staff.

  I didn't get an ounce of business done all day and spent almost all my time on the phone with my top investors, trying to convince them not to pull out. Marketing was in a free fall with half the advertisers questioning whether they wanted to post ads in next month's issue of Speed Magazine. When the stock markets closed in New York City, Speed Motorcycles was at an all-time low.

  I felt utterly beat to shit when I climbed into my car and drove home, using back roads that no one knew about. It took me an extra forty-five minutes to get home that way, but at least I made it, and it felt so good to know that Kayla would be waiting for me when I got there.

  "There you are. I was getting worried." Her smile lit up the room when I walked in the door to find her standing there. She looked absolutely stunning with her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in rich curls.

  She was wearing a slinky, black evening gown that left very little to the imagination. All I wanted to do was take her upstairs and fuck her until I forgot all about today.

  "Sorry I was late. There were some problems at the office," I said after kissing her thoroughly.

  "I know. I saw the story on the news. Who was that creepy guy? I recognized him from the party and the reporter said his name, but I want to know how you knew him."

  "Forget about him. He's in my past and I only want to think about tonight." I reached for her, eager to bury my face in her magnificent cleavage, but she avoided my grasp with an artful turn.

  "Well, he's come back from your past and is fully in your future now. He looks sick, like maybe he's hooked on speed."

  "I'm sure he is, but why talk about him. Let's talk about you, and me, and fucking." I leered at her playfully, hoping to make her laugh, but she just looked at me with a serious frown.

  "Okay. Have you ever gotten fucked up on speed?"

  "What? Jesus Christ; what would make you ask a thing like that out of fucking nowhere?" She'd hit me where it hurts, and I lashed out in anger.

  "Is that a yes or a no?" she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  "Listen, I don't see where my past is anyone's business. I don't do speed now and that's all you need to concern yourself with. These questions are all bullshit. Are you here to interrogate me or fuck me?"

  "Neither. I'm here so we can spend some time together, talking and getting to know one another."

  "Bullshit. You'd never be asking me any of this shit if it hadn't been for that interview with Dorsey on television today; you'd be upstai
rs banging the shit out of me right now."

  "Actually, I've been curious about your past ever since a mutual acquaintance told me you used to have an addiction. They didn't say what you were addicted to, but seeing Charles Dorsey on the television and hearing him say that you were friends twenty years ago makes it easy to connect the dots. I never intended to interrogate you on the subject, but I had hoped that we could have a civilized conversation as two adults and talk about it."

  "Oh, is that what adults do? They sit around grilling each other, asking if they were ever addicted to speed? I thought adults trusted each other."

  "I want to trust you. Just talk to me. Tell me what's really going on. Tell me the truth about your past."

  "No. Either you trust me, or you don't. Our pasts don't matter. The only thing that counts is what we have together right now," I said softly. I gazed into her eyes lovingly and gently placed my hand on her cheek, drawing her lips to mine for an intimate kiss. Once we embraced, I knew she would melt into my arms and I'd be able to carry her upstairs to my bedroom suite where we would spend the night fucking until we orgasmed again and again and again.

  Kayla opened her mouth to mine and sighed with pleasure, but her hands didn't curl around my neck like they usually did. Instead, she placed them on my chest and pushed me away, gently but firmly.

  With a stern voice and sad eyes, she looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, Ethan, but I'm not just some dumb model who only wants to fuck. If you're going to be my boyfriend, that means lowering this brick wall you've put around yourself and letting me in.

  “I want to know the real you. All your worries, fears, faults, and secrets. All your joys, triumphs, hopes, and ambitions. If you had a drug problem, or a bad day at work, or are getting sued, I want to know. And I want to be able to share my day, too, in the exact same way.

  “I got offered a job today. A fantastic job, and you know what the first thing was I wanted to do when I left my agents office? I wanted to tell you. I want intimacy between us. Real intimacy, and until I get that, there will be no fucking. Goodbye, Ethan."

  I was dumbfounded. It was all too much to take in. I knew I should say something to defend myself, but my actions were indefensible. So I just stood silently and watched as she turned and walked away.

  I poured myself a double whiskey form the bar and pounded it down. Shit. This really had been the worst day of my life. I no longer cared about the lawsuit or any of the other bullshit at work. Because of my own stupidity, I had just lost the one thing that mattered most to me. So much for not fucking things up.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Kayla

  "Are you paying attention, darling? We need you to focus!" Jay Wendt shouted out angrily.

  "Sorry, my cell phone was ringing. I'll turn it off," I apologized. My purse was hanging on the back of my chair in the corner, blaring the ringtone I had set for Ethan. Irritated, I turned the device off completely.

  He'd been calling and texting me for the past two weeks, but I'd been ignoring every one, letting all the calls go straight to voicemail and refusing to respond to any of his texts. I didn't give a shit if he was sorry, or if he missed me, or if he thought I was sexy and longed to make love to me. I only wanted to hear one thing from him: that he was ready to open up to me with the truth.

  I didn't care if it was ugly or hard to hear; I needed to hear it. I needed real intimacy and trust between us if he wanted me to trust him in the bedroom. The BDSM games he'd taught me to play were the most incredibly gratifying things I'd ever experienced, and of course I yearned for more, but they were also based on trust, and if he wouldn't be honest with me about his life, then I had to close the door on that part of our relationship, as well.

  "Are you ready, darling?" Jay sighed loudly to make his annoyance clear. "I was told you were a real professional, or was that spread for Speed Magazine just because you were fucking the owner?"

  "No, I'm a professional. I can do this job. I just forgot to turn off my phone. Let's get to work." I stated with my head held high, exuding a confidence I didn't really feel. The trick worked and the director didn't give me any more flack.

  "All right—music on, wind, lights, let's do this."

  It didn't take me long to get into the zone, positioning myself on the bikes they brought out for me to advertise, smiling into camera's while the lights blinded me, letting my hair blow back in the breeze of the fans. By the time he photoshoot was over, I could tell the director was more that satisfied.

  "Great work. We got a lot of terrific shots I know we can work with. This one looks like our billboard shot."

  He showed me the photo of me posing on R.E.B.'s newest motorcycle design, leaning forward on the handlebars with my cleavage prominently displayed, looking sexy and happy. It reminded me of how I'd felt when I went riding with Ethan, and I had to look away.

  I knew this was a total betrayal of me to pose for his competitor without even warning him I was doing it, but what choice did I have? This was my career, and I had been planning to tell him all about it the night we ended up breaking up. I no loyalty to Ethan Colson; he'd hired me for a one time gig and he wasn't my boyfriend anymore. He wasn't anything to me anymore, so why did I keep thinking of him?

  "Want to get a drink to celebrate? I know a place just down the street with the best live band." Jay was waiting for me when I came out of the dressing room, freshly washed and changed back into my regular clothes.

  "No, thanks. I'm too tired to go drinking. I just want to put on my pajamas, eat some cold pizza, and go to bed," I said, trying not to hurt his feelings.

  "I get it. Forget cold pizza, though. It's got to be hot with the cheese melting off the slice. That's the best. Have you ever eaten at Gino's? He makes his own Italian sausage, and it is heaven in your mouth."

  "It sound's delicious, but you forgot the most important of my plan: eating it in my pajamas."

  "I didn't forget. I've got a tee-shirt at my place you can sleep in if you want."

  His intentions were clear, but I'd already made the mistake of going to bed with a man I had worked for in photoshoot, and I wasn't about to do it again.

  "I'm sorry, but I really have to go home," I started to walk out the door, but he blocked my exit.

  "I'll drive you."

  "No, thanks."

  "I insist." He was blocking the door fully and there was no way I could get past him. My heart was pounding in my chest as I fumbled in purse for my pepper spray. Shit, I hadn't brought it.

  "I have a boyfriend," I lied, hoping he couldn't hear the fear in my voice as I struggled to keep my legs from trembling.

  "Yeah, I know. The last guy you shot photos for: Ethan Colson. I hear you two spent the whole weekend after the launch party holed up in the hotel. Come on, darling; give me a little a taste. The job I've given you is even bigger than that dumb magazine cover. It's the least you can do."

  He grabbed my arm, but I wrenched myself free and started fumbling in my purse. My hand closed over an object in my purse and I yanked it out, hoping it was something I could use for a weapon. My heart sank to discover is was only my cell phone.

  "I don't trade favors for jobs," I said, struggling to keep the tremor out of my voice as he closed in on me and put his hands on me, groping me.

  I knew I didn't have the strength to fight him off, and the only weapon I had was the cell phone in my hand. Then inspiration struck. I pressed last call button, connecting me to whoever had called me last and thrust the phone in his face so he could see I was on the line with someone. I didn't care who it was—it could be bill collector or a kid selling cruise packages—I just needed Jay to think it was someone important.

  Jay put his face close to mine as his hand slid up my shirt, grabbing my left breast. With his foul breath in my face, he said, "We can do it the easy way at my place, or the hard way here. Either way, you're taking my dick. The choice is yours."

  "Actually, the choice is yours," I said, thrusting the palm of my hand upward in an effort to pu
nch him in the nose, and then shoving my phone in front of his eyes so he could see I was on a call. "My boyfriend, Ethan, has been recording this entire conversation. He knows I'm here at the R.E.B. Corporate Studio on Ninth Street, and that I'm here alone with you."

  "So what? He ain't here to save you, and by the time he gets here, I'll be done."

  "No, but he's still recording every word, and you can't reach him before he gives it to the media. Do you want tomorrow’s headlines to be that you paid me double because the shoot went so well? Or should I have Ethan release this recording to the media, letting all the world know that Jay Wendt, director of marketing for R.E.B., was trying to pressure a model into giving him sexual favors and then threatening to rape her if she didn't cooperate? I get press exposure either way, so I'm good with whatever choice you make."

  "You fucking bitch," he reached for the phone, but I was light and quick and dodged him easily.

  Holding the phone up to my ear, I continued the bluff and said, "Go ahead, Ethan. Sell the recording to the news."

  "No, stop. I believe this was all just a misunderstanding. I was kidding before. It was a joke in poor taste, and I apologize. I'm tired, too. I'm just going home. I'll have a cab take you home. You can expect to find a bonus check waiting for you at my office first thing Monday morning."

  "That's very generous of you, but I don't want anything I haven't earned with hard work. Keep your bonus." I smiled. He held open the door for me, and I walked through it.

  To my surprise, Ethan pulled up in front of me just a few moments later on his bike.

  "Is everything all right?" he asked, looking hard at Jay.

  "Yeah, everything is fine," I said, locking gazes with Jay, who quickly cast his eyes to the ground.

  "The shoot went great; better than expected. I'll tell everyone you're a truly professional model," Jay mumbled. "Now excuse me, I have to go."