Can't Buy My Love: Billionaire and Virgin Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  “I mean, you can’t be happy working in this dive. This could be a chance for you to earn some real money rather than being stuck in this dead-end job. And it could even open a door for better opportunities for you if that’s what you wanted.”

  Her pretty, round cheeks turned red and her face filled with rage.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice escalating “This isn’t some “dead-end job” for me. This is my family’s restaurant! If I’m lucky, I’ll be running this place once my parents think I’m ready.”

  I’m horror-struck and about to start apologizing. But before I can open my idiot mouth again, a grey-haired, balding man with the same plump cheeks as the waitress came flying out the kitchen. I could tell by the look on his face that he had overheard our interchange. I expected that he was rushing out to defend his daughter, but I was wrong.

  “Amelia, what is wrong with you?” he scolded her, narrowing his eyes, “That’s no way to talk to our guests.”

  Everyone had stopped eating and sat watching us.

  Turning to me, her father continued talking.

  “Sir, I sincerely apologize for this. I’m not sure what’s gotten into her, but rest assured that it will never happen again.”

  “Really, it was nothing…”I said.

  “Nonsense. I would hate for you to leave here having had a bad experience. We pride ourselves on making sure that our customers have an excellent experience and I hope that you come again and give us a chance to make it up to you.”

  The man gave his daughter a withering look. I wanted to sink into the floor for her. She just stood there staring at the floor with her lips pressed into a thin line. The way that she wordlessly stood there enduring her father’s tongue lashing made me think that this sort of thing was a common occurrence for her. It was embarrassing to watch, to say the least.

  “I insist that you let me comp your meal,” he said, staring back and forth between Elliot and I. The desperation in his face was palpable.

  I wanted to say no, but I also wanted this scene we were making to disperse. “That’s fine,” I said tightly, flashing a forced smile up at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, relief washing over him. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  He walked away from the booth with a self-satisfied grin on his face, but not before throwing another dirty look at Amelia.

  “Can you believe that?” asked Elliot incredulously. “We were already having a good day and now it’s made better by a free meal. A delicious one at that.”

  “Yeah,” I responded, my eyes fixed on Amelia as she went booth to booth making sure that the other patrons were happy. “It’s great.”

  The rest of our meal was tense, all of my excitement about this auction shoved to the back of my mind. I watched Amelia the rest of the time we were there, and despite the fake smile she plastered on at her other tables, there was something defeated that lingered in her eyes.

  When she delivered our meals with a tiny, quiet, “Enjoy,” I wanted to say something, but she backed away before I could speak.

  So I choked down my burger and piled it on top of the cold knot of guilt in my stomach.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Elliot when we were through, sliding out from the booth.

  I pulled out a crisp $100 and a business card and quickly scribbled a note on the back.

  In case you change your mind, beautiful.

  Chapter Four - Amelia

  “Damn it!” I shrieked, yelling at the inanimate necklace that I was still trying to put the clasp on. The delicate silver-toned chain was woven like lace and set with scattered, tiny emeralds. It was a stunning piece I was deeply proud of, and I couldn’t wait for the client to see it. That is, if I could ever get the clasp on.

  I closed one eye and pulled the necklace closer to my face, in hopes that that would help me to see better. Even with the loud rock music blaring in the background, I was struggling with this order. Part of it was just nerves, wanting the order to come out perfectly so that my clients will be happy with it.

  I didn’t want to feel like a failure, like I had earlier at the restaurant. My dad often scolded me for not being good enough, probably because I could never be the son that he wished that he’d had. But, he’d never done it in the middle of the restaurant in front of customers like he had done today, and I couldn’t shake the shame that still burned.

  I probably wouldn’t have cared as much if it hadn’t been in front of the guy who had hit on me. Even though he had kind of come off as a creep, I couldn’t stop thinking about the massive tip that he had left. I couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, I’d gotten a $100 tip.

  My heart almost leapt up in my chest as I calculated and realized that I had enough money, with the tip and what I had in savings, to put down the first month’s rent on the brick storefront that I’d been dreaming about. But I was incredibly nervous about taking such a huge risk, because if I failed, that would mean the end of my business before I even had a chance for it to begin. My heart sank at the thought of my dream slipping between my fingers.

  And I couldn’t stop thinking about the generous stranger’s face when my dad was reaming me a new one. I’d expected him to look smug about my dad coming to his defense, or pleased about the free meal.

  But, strangely enough, that wasn’t the case. As a matter of fact, he was different from most of the entitled assholes that I’d dealt with. Even after I had yelled at him in the dining room, he still tried to defend me to my father, and looked uncomfortable and guilty the whole time I was being reamed.

  I could have kicked myself for defending the restaurant at all, though. They never appreciated me, using and abusing me any chance they got. It’s almost like they’re trying to provide a karmic balance for nepotism.

  When we were in the restaurant (and before I bit off his head), the guy had been talking about a money-making opportunity. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was talking about. But when he’d added the whole thing about “pretty girls like you,” immediately I’d been creeped out. But now, thinking back, it could have just been more flirting.

  Guilt started to creep in and I started to regret jumping down his throat the way that I did. Now, even if I was remotely interested in what he had been talking about, how could I possibly come crawling back after the way that I had treated him?

  I imagined calling the number on the back of the card and using my sweetest “come-hither” voice. I would apologize for my behavior and invite him back to the restaurant so that we could talk some more about the opportunity that he had mentioned. He would tell me that he was a very busy man and could only come after hours when the restaurant would be closed. Just him and I, alone in the restaurant. I would turn on the radio and put on some light jazz music. I put the necklace to the side and crossed my legs, feeling my pussy growing wetter as I imagined the scene.

  “I knew you wanted me,” he would say, looking at me with such dreamy bedroom eyes I could have melted into a puddle on the floor.

  I slipped my hand down my pants, feeling my way down until my fingers reached where my pussy lips parted.

  I imagined that gorgeous man pulling me to him and kissing me hard. Our tongues would dance wildly, waves of passion pulsing through our bodies. I’d get on my knees, unbuckle his belt, and pull out his hard cock. Then I’d take him in my mouth, listening to him moan with pleasure as he ran his fingers through my hair.

  I took my fingers out of my pussy and shucked off my pants and panties, climbing into bed.

  I imagined him not being able to contain himself anymore, pulling me up from my knees, spinning me around, and bending me over the counter. My hand went back to my pussy and I imagined his fingers in mine’s place, teasing and exploring my wet folds.

  I thought about him slowly entering me, easing into me and popping my cherry, pushing his dick in and out of me, my tight walls gripping his dick for dear li
fe. My other hand slid under my shirt, finding my nipple. I rubbed it back and forth between my forefinger and thumb, making me even more excited.

  I ground my pussy against my hand, my legs wide open. My finger circled my clit over and over, making me shudder and gasp. I plunged my first two fingers into my dripping pussy. I imagined my fingers were his hard cock going in and out of me, slowly at first, then building speed.

  “Ooooh, yes, I’m cumming,” I whimpered aloud as I felt my pussy walls contract and squeeze my finger. I imagined cumming just as hard all over his dick while he came with me, pouring every last drop into me.

  Panting and sated, I withdrew my fingers and stared at the ceiling.

  Maybe I should call him…

  Chapter Five - Amelia

  When my alarm went off the next morning even though it was my day off, I knew it was going to be a rough day.

  I went down to the kitchen, greeted by freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee, and naively, my hackles went down a little. My dad sat at the table reading the newspaper and sipping a piping hot cup of coffee. Everyone joked that the stuff probably flowed through his veins, he drank it so much.

  My mother sat next to him at the table, looking over a magazine with a placid smile on her face. My mother was always most happy when my father and her spent time doing simple things like that together, him silently perusing the news and her taking some quiz on how to keep things hot in the bedroom.

  “Good morning,” said my mother, sweetly, looking up from her magazine at me for a moment.

  “Good morning, indeed,” said my father gruffly. He looked like a storm cloud was brewing above his head as soon as his eyes landed on me. I could tell that he was still angry about what had happened in the restaurant the day before.

  “What’s the matter, honey? Something wrong?” asked my mother, confused.

  “No, I’m fine,” my father said, waving her away. “Did you ask your daughter about the scene she caused in the restaurant yesterday, probably costing us clients and a bad review?”

  My mother looked in horror from my father to me, waiting for me to answer. I didn’t. I just stared at the floor in front of me, trying to hide from her prying eyes while my cheeks burned.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, scratching her head.

  Throwing down the newspaper, my father rose up from the table and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen.

  “Well, your daughter decided that it would be a good idea to yell at a paying customer while he was in the middle of eating his meal. I heard the whole conversation that they were having and the reaction that she had was not warranted.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, putting my hands up in defense. “This guy started talking to me about a “money-making opportunity for ladies.” What was I supposed to think? Plus, he had been hitting on me and being gross from the moment that I stepped up to their booth to take their order. And I was hardly yelling, Dad.”

  I felt a little guilty, throwing the handsome stranger under the bus like this after my fantasy last night, but it’s not like he knew. And I was starting to shake, I was so furious. How dare my father make it seem like I just unleashed on some innocent bystander? Surely my mother had to understand that I didn’t just lash out, unprovoked.

  “You were yelling!” said my father, getting so close to my face that his nose nearly touched mine. “And not only that, you hadn’t even had the decency to let them finish their meal before you got in their faces! Do you even know what they were talking about making money doing?”

  I couldn’t believe that my father was still so passionately angry about what had happened, not to mention being so irrational. I thought fathers were supposed to protect their daughters from the men who hit on them.

  “Well, no...” I answered, sheepishly.

  “There you go,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him. “You were quick to jump to conclusions and assume the worst instead of giving the customer the benefit of the doubt. I could understand if he had grabbed your butt or something, but from what I heard, he was actually being nice about it and even trying to connect you with something that could help you out.”

  “He said that my job was a dead-end job, he insulted the restaurant! I said, my voice starting to sound whiny as I struggled to defend myself.

  “Most waitress jobs are dead-end jobs,” said my mother, her tone harsher than when she had started. “Shame on you for making a scene like that. If your father heard you all the way from the kitchen, then that means that you were speaking to the customer with way too much attitude.”

  “You weren’t even there!” I exploded in exasperation, my voice going up an octave. “This is so typical of you guys. You guys treat me worse than all of the employees as it is, not to mention paying me the least. And now, I have to stand in line behind customers just because they’re paying.”

  I knew I was ranting, and I wanted to stop myself before I stepped too far, but I was just so tired of bottling things up. “Am I not allowed to have my own opinion and stand up for myself? Do I have to just smile and nod if I feel like I’m being disrespected? And while we’re on the topic, why is it that I’m not allowed to make my own life the way that I wanted, choosing things as I please?”

  As I continued to rail against them, my rage just built, and things I’d been angry about for years bubbled to the surface.

  “I wasn’t allowed to go to my prom or my graduation because you needed me at the restaurant. I couldn’t go away to college because you needed me at the restaurant. My online business, the one thing I have that’s mine, that I love, gets shoved aside every day. I always have to take a backseat to the restaurant. I’m always last. And now, instead of trying to find out why I reacted the way that I did, you two are taking this opportunity to jump down my throat. This is completely unfair! You guys and everyone else get to live out their dreams while I have to abandon my own.”

  My mother surprised me by laughing.

  “Dreams?” she asked, trying to catch her breath while laughing. “What dreams? You mean the tinkering around you do in your room with those little friendship bracelets or whatever you make? I thought that that was just a phase that would go away. Maybe if you spent more time focusing on an actual business you wouldn’t have to have your head filled with all of these daydreams that will only lead to disappointment.”

  Both of my parents laughed heartily at my expense. I stood there, numb with anger, not sure what to say or do. But, I could feel something brewing in the pit of my belly. And before I knew it, words were spouting out of my mouth that I couldn’t control.

  “You know what?” I asked, my voice scratchy and breathless. “I quit! I can’t take this anymore. You don’t appreciate me, you take advantage of me, and you don’t believe in me enough to support my dreams. That guy was right, your stupid, tacky little diner is a dead-end, and I’m better than this. You may not think so, but I am!”

  Both of my parents stared at me wordlessly, blinking several times. They looked at each other and then back at me.

  “Get out,” said my father, his words falling flat on my ears.

  “Wait. What?” I asked, not believing what I was hearing.

  “You heard me,” he said, nodding his head as he spoke. “If you don’t want to be a part of this family’s business, then you don’t want to be a part of anything related to this family.”

  “Richard...” began my mother, reaching out to touch his arm.

  “No, Sara,” he said, ripping his arm away from her. “I’ve had enough. If she thinks she can just come in here and insult us and quit on us and think that we’re going to continue to support her, then she’s got another thing coming.”

  “Support?” I asked, incredulously, taking my turn to laugh. “You guys have never supported me! Now you want to kick me out of the house, the last thing that connects us? Fine. I’ll leave. And when you’re out of employees because no one else can stand you either, don’t e
xpect me to come crawling back.”

  “Don’t worry,” said my dad, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “We won’t. You just remember not to come crawling back to us when you realize how much we have been supporting you, and that life in the real world isn’t as cushy as we have made it for you.”

  “Deal,” I spat back drily, my mind reeling and my blood still boiling. I went upstairs to my room, found the biggest suitcase that I could, and started to pack. My jewelry-making supplies were my first priority, as my only source of income right now. I figured that wherever I ended up, I could just finish working on the orders I had, and hopefully get more.

  With the space I had left, I threw in some clothes and other necessities.

  When I was satisfied that I’d packed all that I could manage that I thought I would need, I took one last look around the room. I had spent my whole life in this room, the closest thing I had to my own space. I had put my first poster of my teenage crush up on the wall and there were still pin marks to prove it. I had cried over my first heartbreak and had my first sleepover in this room. Leaving was bittersweet.

  My eyes landed on my dresser, to a family photo, and I tried to ignore the pang in my chest. My eyes flicked over to where the card that the stranger had given me lay. I hesitated at the door, wondering if I should take the card with me. I decided on a whim to just grab it, and think about whether or not I would reach out to him later.

  For now, I had to figure out exactly where I was going to end up. I thought about checking into a hotel, but with the little funds that I had, I would be right back to square one soon.

  I got in my car and just started driving.

  But, where could I go? I still wasn’t sure.

  All of a sudden, a thought occurred to me.

  Candace, my best friend, had always offered up her place if I needed somewhere to crash. I hadn’t thought much of it because I didn’t ever think that I would be in a position where I would need to take her up on her offer.