Billionaires and Bad Boys: The Complete 7-Book Box Set

by Nikki Chase

  Epilogue

  Jessica

  What does the average stripper, or ex-stripper, look like?

  If you think you’d be able to tell by the way a woman looks when she’s out buying groceries or working out at the gym, think again.

  Right now, I'm wearing a beautiful white dress with an A-line cut, sweetheart neckline, and cute little cap sleeves. I'm willing to bet none of my guests would guess the bride used to dance for men in nothing but a tiny thong.

  You may not realize it, but there’s probably a stripper or two in your life. If you know a dancer, chances are she has done exotic dancing at some point in her life.

  It makes sense. It’s a lot easier to make it as a stripper than it is to become the next star in the American Ballet Theatre. The job pays really well, too, compared to other dance gigs—which, by the way, are pretty much non-existent.

  The truth is, in the years I worked as a stripper, I had co-workers from all walks of life.

  One, for example, was a married mother of a baby who liked that the nighttime work hours allowed her and her husband to take care of their child at home in shifts.

  Of course, most of them were students who used the money from stripping to pay for their education. I know ex-strippers who are now lawyers, academics, and psychologists.

  People seem to think that having worked as a stripper says something about your character, or your moral fiber.

  Honestly, the truth is much more mundane: it’s a job. And, just like any job, some parts of it rock and other parts of it suck.

  I don’t have any emotional hangups about having been a stripper. I don’t think it’s dirty or degrading.

  Maybe I’d feel differently if I had also prostituted myself on the side. But I’ve never had sex for money—not that I judge the girls who do.

  And that’s the real problem, at least for me personally: the judgment.

  I don't even blame the people who judge me. They can't help it.

  The human brain is meant for recognizing patterns. If you’ve had a bad experience with a stripper, or if your only experience is what you see on the media, then you’d paint all strippers with the same broad brush. It's only human.

  I'm glad Jacob managed to hide my past. By doing that, he has given me the freedom to be myself. I used to squash certain parts of myself so I don't attract the attention of curious people, who’d inevitably find out who I used to be.

  Now, knowing my past is safely hidden, I can be myself. I even changed my hair color back to my natural red. Everyone complimented me on it.

  But the only person who sees and loves all versions of me is Jacob. When he gave me that ruby ring, I felt like he reached into my chest and touched my heart with his fingers. I felt like he saw the real me, like he knew me better than anyone else, like he really cared about me.

  I peek out of the white tent to see the townspeople wandering the clearing by the lake, where Jacob proposed to me only a few months ago.

  We decided on a quick engagement and a summer wedding. We invited everyone we know: Bertha, Tony and his whole family, Jacob's friend Matt, my students, my colleagues, and our neighbors—except for Christine, who’s still in jail. Jacob’s parents also flew in from Costa Rica and, to my relief, they like me.

  I wonder how many Ashbourne residents have never been here before, and if we're going to see more visitors here. It would be annoying, having to share this special place with everybody else. I mean, where else are we supposed to go next time we forget to make restaurant reservations?

  At the same time, I feel like this is another way for me to give back to the town that has given me so much, like sharing this place is my way of showing gratitude.

  Both Jacob and I have so much gratitude for Ashbourne. Gratitude for taking us in, for being our home. We're lost, homeless people, Jacob and I, and we’ve finally found our place in the world.

  “It's time,” Bertha says with a smile. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Outside, music starts to play. Some of my students who play instruments have eagerly agreed to being our band. I don't know much about music, but I think they sound just as good as professionals.

  Bertha and I emerge from the tent with our arms linked together. She's the closest thing to a parent I have, and I didn't even think of having anyone else walk me down the aisle.

  She's such a sweet woman. When she found out about what happened with Christine, she tearfully apologized for having shared the information.

  I don't blame her at all; she was reeling from her daughter’s death and shocked from the knowledge that Nancy used to work as a stripper, so it was understandable that she felt the need to talk to someone about it. She just happened to have chosen the wrong person.

  The wedding guests have risen from their chairs and turned around to look at us. At me. I meet their eyes, nod, and smile at them.

  It's a little trick I learned to earn more tips when I was a stripper. It makes members of the audience feel like they're being noticed individually, instead of them just being random faces in the crowd.

  As Bertha and I reach the aisle, string instruments playing in the background, I finally see Jacob. We both grin at each other, sharing a little private joke with only our eyes.

  Jacob cleans up well. I’d never seen him in a suit before today, so I’m as excited to see him as he is to see me.

  I'm glad Tony and Greg insisted on being in charge of “the makeover,” as they call it. They picked out a good suit and dragged Jacob, kicking and screaming, to their favorite tailor for alterations. They did a good job.

  The slim, dark grey suit fits Jacob perfectly. I don't know if I can give Tony and Greg all the credit, because Jacob’s magnificent body would look good in rags.

  He looks just as handsome as the day we met at the strip club, except there's a big smile on his face now instead of the perma-scowl he used to have all the time.

  I think I make him a happier person, and that's a great feeling to have. He makes me happier too, and I can't be more sure that I want to freeze this moment in our relationship and stay this way forever.

  As I take Jacob's hands in mine, I realize we won't always be happy. Life has its ups and downs after all. But I know having him beside me would only make things better, in good times and bad, in sickness and health.

  We repeat the words the minister says, keeping our eyes glued together the whole time. There’s a big crowd watching us, but everything fades away in this moment. I'm not performing for an audience; I’m giving my favorite people a glimpse into my life, so they can see how happy Jacob makes me.

  “I do,” Jacob says when the minister asks.

  “I do,” I say when it's my turn.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the minister says.

  And right there, surrounded by the lake, the woods, and our closest friends, we share the most important kiss of our lives. This is the man I will kiss until death separates us. The only man. Jacob. My husband.

  His Virgin

  A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Caine

  “Hey! There’s a line here!” shouts a man somewhere behind me.

  He sounds angry, but I don’t give a fuck. The Chief of Medicine himself said we’d always get the priority here, so that guy can go to another hospital if he wants.

  I guarantee, though, that there’s no place in the world where everyone is treated equally. That’s just a hippie pipe dream.

  Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just happen to be good at this game called life, and I’ll admit there were also quite a few lucky rolls of the dice.

  So there are benefits to being a Foster. You can hardly blame a man for taking advantage of all the privileges he’s been given, especially at a time like this.

  A young nurse behind the laminate counter fixes her green eyes on me like she’s ready to chew me out. “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to go back to the end of the—”

  “Listen,” I say calmly, cutting her off. “Maybe you�
��re new and you have no idea how things work around here, so I’m going to let that attitude slide. You’re going to do exactly as I say or you’re going to lose your job. Understand?”

  She looks bewildered, her pretty green eyes big as saucers. No doubt her training hasn’t prepared her for this. To her credit, she shuts up and gives me a small nod.

  There’s a hint of defiance in the way she clenches her jaw. She’s indignant, but she doesn’t want to get fired. Smart girl.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d crush every little sign of impudence in her. She looks exactly like the kind of girl I’d enjoy doing that to. But this is not the time.

  “Daisy,” I say as I glance at the name tag on her chest. “Get someone who’s in charge and tell them Robert Foster needs immediate attention. Repeat the name for me so I know you understand me.”

  “Robert Foster,” she says with a pair of furrowed brows over her angry eyes. She’s not happy about being treated like an imbecile, but I need to know she’s going to relay the correct message. My father needs immediate medical attention; who cares if her feelings get hurt?

  “Good girl. Now go,” I say.

  I’d love to watch her walk away. The baby-blue scrubs she’s wearing don’t cling to her body, but I can just make out some little indications of the tantalizing curves underneath. I’m sure I could get a better idea if I took a better look.

  I have more important things to do, though. I turn around to see the automatic glass doors of the main entrance part to let Pop into the lobby of St. Peter’s Hospital. Some guy from the office has managed to find a wheelchair for him.

  Pop is clutching his chest. He looks like he’s in pain. His breaths are labored, his whole body covered in a layer of cold sweat.

  Seeing him in that condition makes me want to shout at somebody to fix him right away, or at least give him something to get rid of the pain. The man seems weak; it just looks wrong.

  “Mr. Foster?” A voice from behind the counter calls me. A man’s voice this time, alert and ready to jump into action. When I turn around, I see him already taking big strides around the counter to approach me.

  Good. This is the kind of urgency I expect from one of the biggest recipients of our corporate charity program.

  “My father needs help.” I put one hand on the back of the man in scrubs and lead him toward the wheelchair. I have no idea who he is, but he knows who we are and that’s all that matters.

  He rushes toward Pop, a couple of younger men in scrubs following behind him.

  I watch from the sidelines as the men do what they do best. This is the best damn hospital in San Francisco, and this is exactly why we’re so generous toward them—for times like this.

  I take deep breaths and follow the men down the hallway. Depressing fluorescent lighting and the smell of disinfectants fill my senses. My muscles slacken a little, knowing Pop is in good hands, even as my heart continues beating faster than usual.

  I ball my hands into fists. If it weren’t for them, my father wouldn’t be in this condition.

  Fucking cops.

  Daisy

  “Are you okay?” Katie touches my arm softly, but it’s enough to make me jump in surprise. She gives me a mischievous grin when I turn to look at her. “I love when I accidentally manage to prank you. I wasn’t even trying.”

  I shoot her a dirty look. I’m not in the mood for any of her shenanigans today.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love how fun Katie is. That’s why we hang out a lot since we were in nursing school together, and also why we decided to get an apartment together.

  Turns out she sucks as a roommate; she’s messy, loud, and makes a habit of bringing home a carousel of men into her room—a different one every weekend.

  But she’s my best friend, and my surrogate family. The only family I have, other than Jack.

  “What happened? You look like you want to stab those potatoes to death.” Katie drops her plastic tray on the table and pulls out the chair across from me, the metal legs dragging noisily against the linoleum floor. She ignores the annoyed stares of other hospital workers around us in the cafeteria.

  “An asshole happened,” I say curtly as I impale another piece of potato with my fork and put it in my mouth.

  “Oh, that’s right. I heard you met Caine Foster.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m not surprised Katie knows his name. Apparently, I’m the only person in the entire hospital who hadn’t heard about that guy. Caine Foster, everybody says, his name always mentioned in full and in a voice full of admiration.

  “Tell me all about it.” Katie picks up her ham and cheese sandwich and looks at me with anticipation.

  “There’s nothing to tell. An asshole came. He was rude. That’s all.”

  “Damn. Everybody else is raving about how hot he is and how lucky you are to have talked to him. And here you are, acting like it was nothing.”

  “It was nothing.” I shrug.

  “Yeah, sure. That’s why you’re fuming. Because it was nothing.” Katie takes a big bite of her sandwich and raises her eyebrows.

  “Okay, fine. It wasn’t nothing. He was condescending and entitled. He acted like he’s superior. He treated me like an idiot.” The red-hot anger in my chest flares up again, the fire kindled by Katie’s comment. Now I remember all the infuriating things he said, the words I’ve been trying to forget all day.

  Good girl. Like I’m his damn dog.

  “Well, he is superior, if you think about it. Let's see. Caine Foster is rich, hot, and he practically holds Dr. Pratt’s balls in his hands. In what way is he not superior?”

  “Why would he have Dr. Pratt’s… Why would he have anything to do with Dr. Pratt?”

  “Oh, Daisy. You sweet summer child. You can't even say balls.” Katie grins. “It's not even technically a bad word. Even kids say balls all the time. Hell, they play with balls.”

  I grimace. “That's...disturbing.”

  “What? That kids play with balls?” The grin on Katie’s face widens.

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Oh, Daisy!” Katie gasps and places a hand over her mouth. “Honestly, that is nasty. Get your mind out of the gutter, young lady.”

  I give Katie a flat stare. With impatience, I ask, “What's the connection between the Chief of Medicine and the asshole?”

  “You're no fun today.” Katie sighs. In a low, gossipy tone, she says, “The hospital got into big debt when we built the new wing, which was Dr. Pratt's idea. We almost had to abandon the project halfway through because the construction ended up costing way more than expected. The Foster family bailed us out.”

  “That's crazy, that a family can be that rich.”

  “Right?”

  I nod. “I feel bad for Dr. Pratt now.” I know how it feels to be chained down by debt and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

  “Why? It's not like he has to pay them back. They saved his ass.”

  “Yeah. And now they own his ass.” I know how debts work. They're never free.

  “I guess,” Katie admits. “But all he has to do is give them preferential treatment occasionally, when they need medical attention. It's a small price to pay for a new hospital wing, don't you think?”

  “No, he just sold the dignity of the entire hospital. Now we have to do what they say, no matter how crazy the request, or how rude they are.”

  Katie narrows her eyes at me. “What exactly did Caine Foster ask you to do?”

  I pause, hesitant. I know Katie’s not going to get it. She had to be there to see it for herself to get it.

  “He skipped the line, and he wanted me to call someone who's in charge,” I say.

  “That's it? Jesus, the way you act, I thought he wanted your firstborn.” Katie breaks into another grin and adds, “Or your virginity.”

  “Hey! Not so loud.” I look around to check that nobody's heard what Katie has just said.

  I'm already twenty-one, and it's embarrassing that I’
m still a virgin. I feel like people would treat me differently if they knew.

  “Word on the street is, Caine Foster is an absolute beast in bed. He knows what he’s doing, if you know what I mean.” Katie moves her eyebrows up and down to emphasize her point. She takes a deep breath, stares into the distance, and lets out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, what I wouldn't give to have my first time be with a guy like Caine Foster.”

  I roll my eyes. “That ship has sailed, a long time ago.”

  “Ouch!” Katie winces and looks me in the eyes. “Words hurt, Daisy.”

  It's my turn to grin. I don't know when it happened, but talking to Katie has cheered me up after all. I still hate Caine Foster's guts, but now I'm mostly wondering how nice it would be to have that kind of money.

  “God, the number of problems I could solve if I just had enough money…”

  “Hey, Daisy, you still need money?” Katie pops her head into my room as she leans on the door frame.

  “Err... Hello, have we met?” I look up from Jack’s homework, lean back on the headboard, and squint at Katie. “I always need money.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” I frown.

  “Yeah. I mean, I have good news for you… But only if you still need money. And since you do, well, I have good news for you.” Katie grins and beckons with her hand. “Come outside.”

  I glance at Jack, my twelve-year-old brother, who’s playing a game on my old phone while sitting in front of the cheap particleboard desk by the small window, the only window in the room. “Hey, you have five more minutes to play and then you need to finish this homework, okay?”

  He grunts in reply, not even bothering to look up.

  I roll my eyes. Teenagers.

  It wasn’t too long ago that I was a teenager myself, but I had to grow up quickly, considering my childhood.

  I started working really hard as soon as it was legal for me to get a job, so I could move out of Mom’s as soon as I turned eighteen. Then, I continued to bust my ass so Jack could move in with me.