Damage Control

by M. S. Parker

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Note from M. S. Parker

  Paige

  Reb

  Free Book: Married A Stripper

  Also by M. S. Parker

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Damage Control

  The Billionaire’s Muse Book 4

  M. S. Parker

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Note from M. S. Parker

  1. Paige

  2. Reb

  3. Paige

  4. Reb

  5. Paige

  6. Reb

  7. Paige

  8. Paige

  9. Reb

  10. Paige

  11. Reb

  12. Paige

  13. Reb

  14. Paige

  15. Reb

  16. Paige

  17. Reb

  18. Paige

  19. Reb

  20. Paige

  21. Reb

  22. Paige

  23. Reb

  24. Paige

  25. Reb

  26. Paige

  27. Reb

  28. Paige

  29. Reb

  30. Paige

  Free Book: Married A Stripper

  Also by M. S. Parker

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Note from M. S. Parker

  Thank you so much for purchasing Damage Control, the final book in the Billionaire’s Muse series about four different Doms from Gilded Cage. All four books can be read stand-alone, but if you’d like to read all the books in the series, I recommend reading them in the following order:

  The Billionaire’s Muse

  Bound

  One Night Only

  Damage Control

  Enjoy!

  M. S. Parker

  One

  Paige

  I loved my mom. Really, I did, but I was never letting her choose a restaurant again. Not for a Sunday brunch, or a Saturday dinner.

  Nothing.

  Ever.

  Again.

  In every aspect of her life since my birth, she chose the boring, predictable route…except when it came to selecting restaurants. Instead of picking a nice Italian place or maybe Thai, Cuban, Japanese, she always went for the odd ones out. The restaurants with gimmicks or strange menus.

  Like the place in the Bronx last year that tried to do pizza stir-fry with BBQ sauce. Or the one that used stationary bikes instead of tables and chairs so that people could burn off calories while they ate.

  This one, however, was the last straw, and I made sure she knew it.

  “Never again, Mom.” I glared at her across the table. “I mean it.”

  She smiled at me, and not for the first time, I wondered if people thought we were sisters rather than mother and daughter. She’d been twenty-two when I was born, but even now, she barely looked ten years older than me. We had the same raven-black hair, though I wore my long and she kept hers at chin-length. My blue eyes had some green in them, while hers were pure, pale blue. Other than those small details, the two of us looked so much alike that it was occasionally creepy.

  “You work too hard,” she said. “You need to have some fun.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s your excuse for bringing me here? I’m going to have nightmares for months.”

  Mom laughed, but the sound was drowned out as the next act took the stage. Karaoke was bad enough, but a restaurant that awarded prizes for the worst karaoke possible? That was just evil.

  I dipped a French fry into some ranch dressing and popped it into my mouth. At least the food was good. One place we’d gone a few weeks back had only served things that tasted like cardboard. At least what I assumed cardboard would taste like. I’d had to pick up a pizza on the way home.

  I winced as someone attempted to hit a high note. I didn’t know how Mom could listen to this, especially when I knew how she felt about pop and ‘adult contemporary’ music. Unlike some of my school friends’ parents, my mom hadn’t forbidden me to listen to rock music. In fact, she’d encouraged it, sharing her favorites before I could speak.

  She’d never hidden her past from me. I couldn’t even remember the first time she told me about how she’d followed bands around the country from age fifteen until she’d gotten pregnant with me, but it was young enough that, no matter how much I loved her, I’d always known that I didn’t want to repeat her life.

  Which was why, even though she’d never been overly permissive or overly strict, I’d always been a good kid. No partying, no drugs or drinking, no sex, no late nights. I worked. First at school, then college, and now my job.

  Except this horrific rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” was making me feel more than a little rebellious.

  “I can’t take another song,” I said as soon as the song ended. “Please.”

  Mom sighed good-naturedly and nodded. I didn’t give her a chance to change her mind and waved over the waiter, a tanned, blond athlete who looked like he’d be more at home on a California beach than a restaurant in New York City. He came over almost immediately, which wasn’t surprising since he’d been staring at me almost from the moment we’d walked in.

  “Check, please,” I practically shouted to be heard.

  When he came back five minutes later, his cheeks were flushed, and from the way his eyes kept darting to the bill, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d either left a note asking for my phone number…or left me his. I wasn’t about to encourage him, so I slipped a couple bills into the fold without looking inside. I’d done enough of the math in my head to know I’d covered the cost of the meal and given him a nice tip.

  “Keep the change,” I said with a polite smile. I turned to my mom before I could see any disappointment on the young man’s face.

  It wasn’t anything personal. He was handsome and seemed nice enough. The sort of guy that most women would love to have hitting on them, but I wasn’t most women. Finding a man wasn’t high on my priority list. It wasn’t on it at all, actually. Not for dating, marrying, or fucking.

  I didn’t hate men. I just didn’t need one. Not at this point in my life, and maybe not ever. I had enough on my plate without adding the complication of a relationship. Hell, I’d never met anyone worth the hassle of a one-night stand.

  I blew out a breath and twisted my hair up behind my head in preparation for stepping out into the late August heat. As a native New Yorker, I was accustomed to the city summers, but I always preferred the city in the winter. Sure, the sidewalks could be downright dangerous at times, but I’d take cold over hot any day.

  “Next time, we’re going to Maialino,” I said as we made our way to the subway.

  Although I wasn’t rich, I made enough money that I could have rented us a car, but this was part of our tradition too. Sometimes, we missed a Sunday or two because life got in the way, but when we did go, we had a certain way of doing things. Taking the subway back to the apartment where I’d grown up so we could have dessert was part of it.

  “That’s not very special,” Mom said.

  I gave her a sideways look. “Your idea of a special place to eat and mine are definitely not the same.”

  As we turned the corner, she changed the subject, but not to something new. “You’ve been working a lot of overtime lately.”
<
br />   I nodded. “Ms. Feldt has been giving me more responsibility now that I’m done with school.”

  She pushed a few strands of hair from her face as she looked at me with concern. “You’ve only been out of school since May. Shouldn’t she be easing you into things?”

  “I don’t want to be eased into things,” I said, fighting to keep the irritation out of my voice. We’d had this discussion a dozen times since I graduated. “I like my job. I like working.”

  I didn’t have to look at her to know she was giving me the same skeptical look she’d given me every other time we’d had similar discussions over the years. Mom had worked hard to raise me on her own, but she only saw work as something she needed to do, never something she wanted to do. She didn’t understand that I did what I did because I wanted to. No matter how similar we were in many ways, I wasn’t like her.

  “Speaking of work,” I continued, “how are things going for you in that department?”

  “Same as always.” She shrugged, her mouth growing tight at the corners. “It’s a job.”

  “You know, you could go to college, pursue a career of your choosing.” We picked a place on the platform and waited. “Now that I’m done, it could be your turn.”

  Her smile was soft, but she looked past me, not at me. “There’s really no point. I’ve never had anything that I’ve really wanted to do. Nothing I wanted to be. Other than a mom, of course.”

  Sometimes, I thought she actually believed it when she said that, but I’d spent too many years hearing the happiness in her voice when she talked about being on the road with all those bands. If I hadn’t come along, she probably would’ve ended up being a manager and never settled down. I knew she didn’t resent me for it, but there were times I wondered if she found herself missing the life she’d missed.

  “You know that I just want you to be happy,” Mom said as we moved onto the subway car.

  I forced a bright smile. “I am happy.”

  She gave me a skeptical look but didn’t argue with me. She didn’t need to. We’d had this discussion before. She meant well, I knew, but like a lot of parents, she just didn’t get how different the two of us really were from each other. She loved me, I never doubted that, but she didn’t get me.

  Even as I thought it, she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “Why don’t you tell me about your latest project?”

  Two

  Reb

  I groaned as I came back to consciousness after several blissful hours of nothing. I did this because I wanted to forget, but nothing came without a cost, and I was feeling that right now.

  My head felt like I had an iron spike going through one temple and out the other, a sharp, pulsing pain that I knew would only get worse when I opened my eyes. My mouth was dry and tasted like some wild animal had taken a shit in it. I could smell the alcohol leaking from my pores, and with it, I registered sweat and sex.

  No surprises there.

  I’d started drinking pretty much the moment I’d caught my ex cheating on me nearly three months ago, and I’d been hooking up with random women two or three times a week for almost that same period of time. I didn’t remember much about last night, but I knew it hadn’t been much different than the previous ones.

  Finally, I forced my eyes open, wincing reflexively even though the curtains were all closed. The room was dark, but I didn’t need to see to know that I was in a hotel, probably the one I’d been practically living in since the cheating girlfriend incident. I’d kicked her out of my apartment, and I still paid my rent every month, but I hadn’t been able to stop seeing her fucking other men in my bed every time I walked into the bedroom. I’d replaced the bed, but that hadn’t helped.

  Nothing helped except drowning myself in women and alcohol. And even that didn’t help for long.

  I rolled toward the edge of the bed, prepared to stagger my way into the bathroom and take a shower, half to avoid having an awkward morning-after conversation, and half because I stunk. It was part of the new routine that had become my shitty life.

  But I couldn’t climb out of bed the way I usually did because someone was in the way.

  I frowned and turned the other way, but there was a body on that side too. A flash of memory from last night went through my mind.

  A blonde and a redhead knelt on either side of me, both wearing black silk thongs and nothing else. The blonde was nibbling my ear, her breasts pressing against my arm, and her friend was leaning over my lap, her tongue moving over my cock like it was some sort of fucking lollipop.

  Another immediately followed.

  The red-head smiled up at me, her eyes half-lidded, pupils so dilated that I knew she was on something other than the tequila shots we’d done together. That was her business though. My business was fucking the blonde who was stretched on the bed between the redhead's legs, eating out the pussy I’d be fucking next.

  I scratched my head, then resigned myself to crawling to the foot of the bed so I could get up without waking either of the women hidden under the covers. I’d apparently enjoyed their company last night, but I wasn’t interested in things carrying over to this morning.

  When I reached the bathroom, I braced myself for the light, but it didn’t prevent me from grimacing at the reflection in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, but I could take care of that with a pair of sunglasses. Being a rock star came with the sort of perks that included being able to wear sunglasses anywhere, anytime, without being called a douche.

  I took a piss while I let the shower heat up, then let out a stream of curses when I stepped under the spray. One of those women had scratched the hell out of my back.

  By the time I was done, I felt cleaner, but not really any better. I tossed back a couple aspirin and swallowed them with a full glass of water. Hydration would help me feel at least a bit more human, and hair of the dog was always good for a hangover. One of the best parts about having access to an obscene amount of money was that I didn’t have to think twice about cleaning out the mini bar. I could afford it.

  As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom, I was doubly glad for the fact that I had money. The women were gone, and as far as I could tell, they hadn’t stolen anything. Unfortunately, as the now-blazing lights revealed, it was most likely because they couldn’t find anything in the mess.

  Shit.

  I remembered drinking, and I remembered pieces of fucking both women, but I didn’t remember trashing the room. I didn’t doubt that I’d done it though. I’d apparently cleared out the mini-bar already because at least a dozen tiny bottles were all over the place. Two ceramic lamps and what looked like every vase and bowl in the place had been shattered into hundreds of pieces. It was a fucking miracle that we hadn’t cut our feet walking through here.

  This was going to be pricey.

  And then I saw that we’d somehow managed to destroy both the television and a chair. I didn’t bother keeping the curses inside my head this time.

  My manager was going to have my ass if this ended up being as bad as it looked, and something nagging in the back of my mind told me it was actually worse.

  I picked my way back into the bedroom to find clothes and my phone. Whatever was nagging at the back of my brain, it’d be on my phone. Once I figured that out, I’d call the front desk and see about getting someone up here to clean things up. I’d make a healthy donation above and beyond what I’d be charged for damage done.

  And then I’d find myself something to take the edge off.

  As soon as I found my phone, I saw half a dozen voicemails from Chester waiting. And a calendar reminder about an important recording appointment that I’d missed by more than ninety minutes.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered. I was going to need more than just a small drink.

  I put the phone on speaker and let the voicemails play through while I grabbed some clothes.

  “Reb, you’re late. You better have a damn good excuse, or you’ll have a shitload of explaining to do.”

 
“Where the hell are you, kid? He ain’t going to wait around forever.”

  “Fuck it, Reb! You better be dead because anything short of that won’t be excuse enough.”

  They went on like that, each one a little louder and with considerably more expletives. If Chester was already this pissed off, he was going to be livid when he found out about the hotel room.

  Then came the last voicemail, the one I hadn’t noticed but wished I would have seen first.

  “Reb, this is your mother, in case you’re currently too drunk to recognize my voice. I don’t know what’s gotten into you as of late, but I expect you to be at the Union Square Ballroom this evening or we will be having a serious discussion about your priorities.”

  A rush of guilt washed over me.

  Everyone had told my mom not to let me go into music, and definitely not rock. I’d get into the whole sex and drugs lifestyle. I’d fuck my way through groupies and be lucky if my dick didn’t fall off from some raging STD or get someone pregnant. I’d be drunk and high most of the time and have at least one overdose by the time I was twenty-five. I’d blow through everything I earned and then start on my inheritance, ending up broke and possibly homeless before forty. And that was being generous.

  She’d silently told them all to go to hell by encouraging me. After my dad had died, music had become my escape, and she’d seen that. She’d told me that I had to apply to college and work on a degree, but if I landed a contract, I could quit school. I’d gotten into Columbia and majored in music education for two years, and then Chester Lhaw had found me. Mom had been true to her word and hadn’t said a single word against it when I dropped out.