DOM DIARIES : THE CHASE: A Billionaire searches for love.

by Jax Hart

  “The suit or her?”

  I flicked my ash. “She’s beautiful chaos. Charged. Ions swam in the air. She practically shimmered as she scowled up at me—not in the least bit sorry. If anything, I think she enjoyed watching me covered in her drink. I smelled like caramel drive-thru coffee for the remainder of the day. I was late as hell and couldn’t shower until late afternoon. She has some pipes on her, too. The girl is brash and full of fire.”

  “Does that make you hard?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked at me… she hates me. Loathes me. Now that—that turns me the fuck on.”

  “You and I both.”

  “Oh? Do you have a new girl?”

  “I do.”

  “She can take all eight inches and gags her way through it. She likes it rough. Just my type.”

  “Where did you find her? At the club?”

  “Why? I’m not planning on sharing.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “She sounds like trouble, Rafe. She doesn’t sound like a natural sub at all.”

  I shrugged. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m so fucking hot for her—even vanilla sex is gonna be good.”

  Johnny took a sip of his drink, “So, what’s the plan? Do you already know where she lives?”

  “I do. I had my driver follow her until I could get a PI to trail her.”

  My cool, gray eyes stared out the window of Johnny’s office. It was a humid summer day in the city, and I needed a break. His office is always dark. Rich, dark mahogany leather, dark wood and dark drapes.

  I liked the dark.

  A lot.

  Hopefully, she will too. Either way, it won’t matter. Every vanilla I’ve brought into my bed—has left anything but. My fingers still remembered how silky her hair felt as I brushed it back. I barely touched the girl, but somehow our chance meeting made one hell of an impression.

  “I need to check in on a few of my clubs. Do you want to come?”

  Fuck yeah, I wanted to come; all over Selina. Unlike Johnny, I wait. Plot. Think of a million ways to make my marks squirm.

  Usually, my marks are other CEO’s, business rivals of some sort, or heiresses desperate for a millionaire to cling onto. But when a certain sassy-mouthed Latina, with enormous, fake-diamond stud earrings glared at me like I had killed her kitten and fed it to the pigeons in Central Park—she piqued my interest. Punishing that sweet piece of ass was going to be the highlight of my year.

  But that would have to wait. I need to figure her out first before I attempt to place her in leather collars and iron chains.

  It’s part of the game I like to play. And I haven’t played in a while. Not since before my disastrous attempt at having a “normal” relationship with Tish. Meeting Selina today awakened the hunger I’ve been burying down deep.

  I like the chase.

  The total seduction.

  And then, I go in for the kill—which, for me, means having complete control of the woman who’s in my bed.

  “Why not?” I answered, snuffing out my cigar and picking up the whiskey he had poured. I had nothing better to do. And, if I didn’t keep myself occupied, I’d be tempted to hunt her…stalk her…just like a predator on the hunt.

  “Thatta boy. It’s been a while since we hit the town together.”

  “That’s because going anywhere with security detail makes me feel like a complete pussy.”

  “After the Don of the Gabrio’s got whacked on Staten Island—I’ve added more.”

  “Christ.”

  “A lot of people want to see me dead.”

  I lifted the glass tumbler to my curved lips, “Me too. Mostly women though, not gangsters.”

  “You’ve bagged more women than me—only because some are afraid, I’ll kill them after I come.” He uncrossed his feet and stood. “Do you want another?” He asked over his shoulder, as he poured more whiskey into his tumbler. Just then my phone vibrated on the table.

  “Christ. It’s my father. He must have just caught up with “Page Six.”

  “Send him to voicemail.”

  “He’ll keep calling until I answer.”

  Johnny shrugged as he leaned back against the small wall next to the bar cart. The end of his cigar glowed as he took another puff. He looked scary as fuck standing in the shadows next to the curtains. He’s even more ruthless than me...and that says a lot.

  “Yes?” My voice was cool. Clipped.

  His silence was loud.

  It goes by for half a minute.

  “Why are you all over the gossip pages…again? My son. A fool. Again.”

  I shut my eyes and made a fist. The phone was tucked to my ear as I rose and walked to the window. The city lay at my feet. The concrete buildings were bathed in light pink as the hot, summer sun began to set to the right of them.

  “Are. You. Done?”

  “If I knew you’d fuck up my legacy… I wouldn’t have left.”

  “The only thing that’s fucked-up is you—Daddy Dearest.”

  My father has hated me since birth. Ever since my mother refused his check. A check that would’ve paid to get rid of me. Instead, he ended up putting a ring on her finger and swearing to God he’d love and cherish her. The only thing he loved and cherished was his name. And having his half-breed son carry it is a stain on his blue-blooded legacy. But my grandmother, thank fuck—wouldn’t give him his inheritance unless he made me legal. A bastard grandson was something she was not going to tolerate. So, my father fell in line, married my Hispanic mother and got his bank full of money.

  Despite her impeccable upbringing and going through life with her nose in the air—Liliane Edwards had a heart—a soul. She always told me I grabbed them in my tiny, little fist when she first held me at the hospital and I never let them go.

  Swallowing hard, while thinking of her, I listened to my father go on. “Stay out of the press. The Board doesn’t like it. Bad press creates chaos and drives our company stock down.”

  “Last time I checked; it was up. Way up. Like it or not—it’s free publicity and my face… tends to get a lot of attention. We’ve never been more profitable.”

  “Make sure it stays that way. I might have handed the reins over to you, but the Board remains loyal to me. I wanted my son to sit in the CEO chair. But if you keep embarrassing me—I’ll find someone else to fill it.”

  He ended the call before I could.

  Johnny crossed the floor; one hand was in the front pocket of his pants and the other held his drink. “Say. The. Word. And I’ll have your father ‘taken care of’.”

  The tips of my fingers rested against the glass as I stared below, pensively, wishing things between us could be different. But they aren’t. And the days of the little boy yearning for any crumb from his father are long over.

  “No. I fight my own battles. As tempting as your offer may be, the war with my father is mine alone.”

  He raised an eyebrow as he took a sip, “If that changes at any time…”

  “It won’t. You’re my best friend… the brother I never had and all that sappy shit. But we grew up differently. I’m not a murderer.”

  “I’m not one anymore either. I have other people do it.” He snapped his fingers, “One phone call is all it takes.”

  I turned my face from the streets below, “Careful. Don’t get so goddamn cocky on me that you lose your head. That’s how mistakes get made—and Don’s get killed.”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “But no one talks to me the way he does to you. Anyone that disrespects me ends up at the bottom of the Hudson—in pieces.”

  I turned back to the scene below. The sun had officially disappeared, leaving only faint marks on the horizon where its rays painted the sky in pastels. It was sweet. Romantic even. With a smirk, I watched the moon chase it away.

  It’ll be dark soon.

  And nighttime is when I do my best work.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The city isn't glamorous. Especially
in the summer. Heaping piles of black plastic garbage bags cook on the sidewalks until the garbage trucks haul them away before dawn the next day. If you can survive walking past the putrid smell of cooking garbage, the subway cars should be a cakewalk. But, if the above ground smells, then the underground is even worse. It’s no wonder the wealthy escape to the breezy shores of the Atlantic. There was nothing sexy about summertime in the city, at all— not even him.

  I had my wireless earbuds in, so at least the screeching brakes and honking horns of the city were on mute for the moment. I jogged down worn concrete steps to catch the six train back to Queens from where I was near Battery Park. My nose wrinkled as I sidestepped vents cut into the concrete floor where putrid steam from the underbelly of New York rose.

  I smelled like dog and kibbles myself, but, all in all, it was a good day. I traveled from the private townhomes on the Upper East Side, to trendy lofts in Tribeca and ended up in Southern Manhattan near Wall Street. I walked and played with dogs all day, picked up their piles of steaming poop off the sidewalk, all while still dreaming of hitting it big as a singer. I got lost inside my head, dreaming impossible things and wishing I could slam the door to my future wide open. But, a certain pair of steely gray eyes kept popping into my head. Christine is going to flip when I tell her that not only did, I come face to face with the infamous Mr. Hashtag, but that I drenched him in my latte and basically told him to kiss my ass as I sashayed away.

  But all that sass was gone as I struggled to get a spot inside the packed subway car. Finally, I bumped and apologized my way to the back corner. The train pulled away, into the dark abyss and then, finally, sped under dim cave-like lights.

  I tried not to stare at the tired, defeated faces in the car with me. But they were like a mirror, reflecting what I had felt for so long. I came to this city with big dreams and a hopeful heart. The stupid eighteen-year-old girl in me thought I would be the one to beat the odds and make it big. I’m twenty-five and still waiting for that to happen. My mama begged me to come home to Albuquerque. She missed me. And I missed her. But the smelly, noisy, concrete jungle somehow snuck into my heart and became home.

  I needed to go to confession for all the lies I’ve told Mama. She thinks I’m working as a Marketing Assistant and living in a nice lofted apartment in SOHO, instead of the walk-up in Queens that barely heats in winter and is hot AF in summer. I don’t want her to worry and she’ll never find out the truth anyway since she refuses to get on an airplane.

  I closed my eyes as the subway car shook and rattled its way to the next stop and turned the music up. The car rattled as it picked up speed. I tried to block it out, but his face was still in my head. The way his cool, gray eyes looked down at me as if I was a missing piece in his puzzle. It was weird. To be honest, his intensity freaked me out.

  I hate men like him.

  Ever since I moved to New York, I’ve had to fight off wandering hands and learned to ignore lewd remarks. Just because I’m curvy with long hair and I like to paint my full lips a shade of deep red— that doesn’t mean I’m easy or that I want to get on my knees and suck your cock. For some reason, the most offensive ones are the men wearing a suit worth more than the house I grew up in. They think money entitles them to a piece of my ass. Newsflash—it doesn’t.

  I saw it in Rafael’s eyes. I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t even try to hide it. He was communicating all sorts of things… none of them good. The man is wicked, and he knows it. But I’m nothing like the women who have fallen for him. I stared down at the piece of smudged poop under the tip of my blue Converse sneaker.

  Nope.

  I’m definitely nothing like the socialites whom he seems to prefer.

  So why do I keep remembering his smirk?

  The cold water felt heavenly as I stood under the shower head. I rinsed away the smell of the city, watching as it swirled down the drain.

  I had a few hours off before I’d have to start walking dogs again. My job was 24/7. But it paid well and all in cash. I enjoyed working for myself, even if the hours are crazy, but I know I’m meant for more than walking overpriced, designer dogs and cleaning up their shit. I just wish I could find my purpose, and have it match my dreams.

  The toilet flushed, spraying me with hot water.

  “Shit! Christine, is that you?”

  “Yep. I really had to go. Sorry.”

  I shut the water off and grabbed my towel on the other side of the curtain. I wrapped it around myself but as soon as I stepped over the side of the tub, I felt sticky all over again. “That was pointless…well, except for washing the smell of dog and dump out of my hair.”

  “We can always try taking a bus to Costco and getting another window a/c unit.”

  I sighed and looked out the open bathroom window to the streets below. “Nah. Do you remember the last time we tried that? We almost burned the building down.”

  She shrugged. “So? We’d be doing everyone a favor.”

  I shook my head, remembering how the new a/c unit we bought taxed the old electrical wiring and caused a few wires to overheat and burn from within the walls. Luckily, we had a fire extinguisher and a hot fireman that lived two floors up. I hated the sweltering, muggy, summer city air, but I’d rather sweat and suffer than lose all my belongings to fire again. It happened once before when I was a child and watching your home burn is a nightmare that you never forget.

  “Let’s go out tonight. I bought a hot dress.”

  “I can’t. I’m fully booked.”

  Christine rolled her eyes and hopped up onto the small bathroom counter, blocking the mirror where I was trying to drag a brush through my tangled, wet hair. “You need to hire help. Get someone else to walk those….things.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Christine hates animals. And I keep reminding her she is one. We’ve been roommates for a year and a half through. I met her through a roommate finding app.

  “I can’t afford to pay someone to do the walks. I need every dollar I can get. I’m saving up to get out of this place. Maybe we could afford an apartment with working heat and central air one day.”

  “Yeah, that will be the day you marry Mr. Hashtag.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Shit. You know?”

  “It’s trending on Twitter and Instagram. Most of the pics are of him, but I recognized your hair and those awful ripped shorts. They’re so eighties.”

  “So what? I like the eighties.”

  “I know. I only know who The Bangles are because you sing them every damn day.”

  I smacked her arm and walked out of the bathroom, “Shut up. Keep that up and I’ll start singing Paula Abdul.”

  “No. Please, don’t.” She started to cover her ears.

  I spun on my bare feet and opened my mouth wide… “Lost in a dream…” I swiped my phone off the counter and pulled up my YouTube app; playing the song as I sang along with the video. We dissolved into a fit of laughter as she grabbed my hairbrush and attempted to sing the chorus.

  “That was fun, but you’re not getting out of this…”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I was running late, and Mr. Pickles has a small bladder. I wasn’t paying attention—”

  “Nothing new there,” she smirked.

  “Anyway…. I had just turned a corner and was worrying over Mr. Pickles when…”

  “Boom. There. He. Was. Mr. Hashtag.”

  “Pretty much.” I agreed.

  She sighed and placed a hand over her heart. “What’s he like in person?”

  “Nothing impressive.” I lied. But I wasn’t sure to who: Her or myself.

  She smirked. “Only you would say that. I envy you. No one has been able to place even one nick in that ironclad heart of yours.”

  I shrugged as I danced my way down the hall and into my cramped room that was actually the size of a walk-in closet. “After seeing what my mother has gone through in her life, I decided early on that getting good dick just isn’t worth it.”

  �
�Are you—”

  “No. I’m straight, but I just don’t…”

  “Need dick?”

  I pulled open my plastic storage drawers and grabbed a bra and a thong. “I have this,” I reached under my neatly folded clothes and grabbed the neon pink vibrator that resembled a dick. Even the head was life-like.

  “Jesus, Selina! TMI! Put that away!” Her face turned red.

  “Come on. Like you don’t have one?”

  “Not that big.”

  “You’re missing out.”

  “Whatever. I’m going out. Kimmy is bartending at The Den. She put us both on the VIP list.” Kimmy is Christine’s former roommate. She moved to the city from Utah with dreams of being a runway model. She is tall and willowy but somehow her dreams aren’t quite working out for her either.

  “Are you okay going alone?”

  “Yeah. I’ll sit at the bar and go home with her.”

  “Okay. Just be safe.”

  “Always.”

  “I heard that club is owned by some Mafia guy.”

  “It is. He is super-hot.”

  “...um…and dangerous! Wasn’t there a hit on Staten Island a few months ago?”

  “There was. It was a feud.”

  I shivered despite the eighty plus degree air in my room. “That’s crazy. Stay away from that guy, if he ever shows up.”

  “Stay away? I’d be the first to crawl up in his lap and gyrate.”

  I shook my head. “You and your bad boys, Christine. I just don’t get it.”

  “It’s a rush. Knowing that they’re so bad… knowing that they can do anything to you—”

  “Yeah, like break your heart. Or, in your case, worse if you hook-up with some mafia boss. Can you imagine if you accidentally nip him with your teeth while giving head? You could wind up at the bottom of the Hudson.”

  “You’re so dramatic. I’m just talking about breaking beds.” She smacked my ass and walked out.

  “Bitch! You’re going to pay for that!” I quickly pulled on my underwear and then a pair of shorts and a T-Shirt. “I’ll get you later,” I muttered under my breath.