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

by Nikki Chase

  So, without knowing anything about how not to get caught, I went to the convenience store near where we lived, wearing an oversized hoodie.

  I went down the quietest aisle, then stuffed the hoodie full of nuts and confectionery. We’d been subsisting on instant noodles and I thought we needed something with lots of fats and sugar because we hadn’t been getting enough calories.

  Long story short, it turned out there were cameras all over the store, and the guy at the register saw me stealing the whole time. He just waited until I was done to bust me.

  The guy was a young man himself, probably in his early twenties. Whenever I saw him at the store before that day, I’d always thought he had kind eyes, although we’d never talked much.

  I nervously walked up to the counter and put a single ninety-nine-cent bag of baby carrots on top.

  I was shaking as I waited for him to ring me up. But instead of scanning the bag of carrots, he said, “I know what you’ve done. I saw the whole thing.”

  My whole body turned cold as I looked up and saw him staring sternly back at me. His gaze traveled to the irregularly-shaped bulge in my hoodie, then back to my face. He points to a monitor that displays footage from the security cameras.

  “Please don’t call the cops,” I pleaded. I was on the brink of tears, and my voice was shaking. “I’ll put everything back. I’m so sorry.”

  “Was this a dare?” He asked.

  “Huh?”

  “I know sometimes kids dare one another to do dumb shit.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t call the cops on me.”

  “You don’t look like the kind of kid who’d pull something like this. Why did you do it?”

  “My sister and I are hungry. I don’t know where our mom is, and I don’t have a job right now.” Even as I said the words, they sounded fake. I knew I was telling the truth, but he didn’t.

  “Show me everything you took,” he said after a long pause.

  He scanned every single item, then pulled out his own wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill. My mouth hung open as I watched his every move. Could he really be doing this? Could a stranger be so kind he’d repay my shoplifting with kindness?

  “Here you go,” he said as he held out the plastic bag of goodies.

  “Thank you,” I said softly, afraid to break the magic of whatever was happening.

  “That’s not a gift,” he said as he handed me the change from his twenty dollars. “That’s a loan. You owe me twenty dollars now. Pay it back when you get a pay check. You can start working here next week.”

  I was so touched I started bawling right there and then. It felt so good to finally be able to share my burden with someone, even if he was a stranger.

  I ended up working at the convenience store for a couple of years, and Mark is still a friend to this day, although I haven’t seen him in a while.

  That whole experience was the reason why I signed up to volunteer for the prison program. I knew how easily I could’ve ended up behind bars myself, if it wasn’t for the kindness of a stranger.

  Maybe that experience made me vulnerable to job offers from strange men, I don’t know.

  I feel dumb for having taken this particular job offer, although, to be fair, it seemed like a no-brainer to accept at the time.

  I feel even dumber for having kissed Seth.

  The kiss felt so right to me, but it wasn’t real. He was just trying to distract me so he could put the tracker on me.

  Nothing about Seth is real.

  Basically, all I know about him is, he owns this big-ass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and he knows how to appreciate good food. And yet, based on that knowledge alone, I was eager to kiss him.

  I feel like such a chump. Am I really that starved for affection?

  I take a deep breath as I walk down the opulent hallway, steeling myself to see Seth in his office.

  He's given me space these last few days, which is good. I don't think it's a good idea to see him because, despite everything he's done to me, my heart still flutters whenever I think about him. He makes me want to make bad decisions.

  Still, there's no other choice. This sedentary life is driving me crazy and I need to put an end to it.

  I asked Alejandra if I could get a few things from the store so I could cook, but she just told me to ask Seth and disappeared, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of her floral perfume.

  I raise my hand up to the door of Seth’s office and pause for a couple of seconds. I know he's in there because I hear the faint typing on a keyboard and the rustling of papers from inside. I hold my breath and knock on the white wooden door.

  “Come in,” says a deep voice from inside the office.

  I slowly push the door open, hoping it will help slow my heartbeat down, too. But nothing could prepare me for those steel-blue eyes, hard and unyielding, staring straight at me. My breath catches in my throat.

  “Alice, what a surprise.” Seth turns from his computer and clasps his hands together on the desk in front of him.

  “Hi.” I pull the corners of my lips up to form something resembling a smile, hopefully. The walk across the room to the desk feels like it takes forever, with Seth's watchful eyes on me.

  I pull out the chair and sit down in the same spot I did when Seth interviewed me on my first day here. I can't believe that was only two weeks ago. It feels like I’ve been here forever.

  “I want to get a few ingredients for cooking,” I say. “I think you owe me at least that.”

  “I thought you didn't want to cook anymore,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.

  “Wrong,” I counter. “I said I don't want to cook for you, seeing as I’m not your personal chef anymore. I’m talking as a hostage now. I’m negotiating something that will make my life here a little more bearable.”

  I’ve thought long and hard about what to say, and I hope my words sound as bad-ass as they do in my head. I don't want to get all flustered and start talking about some nonsensical thing again, like how poor Chinese sharks are being hunted for their fins and then released back into the ocean to slowly die.

  “Why didn't you just ask Alejandra?” Seth asks.

  “I already did. She told me to ask you.”

  “I see,” he says, nodding.

  I feel like a child, being passed from one parent to another, when neither one wants to make a decision.

  I guess that's what being held against my will means. I no longer have the authority to make my own decisions anymore.

  Anger flares within me. I hate being told what to do, when my whole life I’ve only had myself to rely on. Other than at work, I’ve never had anyone try to tell me what to do and I bristle under Seth's strict control.

  “So?” I ask, restraining myself so I don't say too much and hurt my chances of getting Seth's damn permission to do something I’ve always done my whole life.

  “Sure, you can cook,” he says. “As long as you share the food with me, and eat it with me.”

  “I told you I’m not cooking for you.”

  “Well, those are my terms.” Seth shrugs. He knows he has all the power. I’m more invested in this than he is. I can take it or leave it.

  “Why would you even want to eat with me? Is it not enough that I’m literally in your house twenty-four/seven?”

  “You might decide it's a good idea to kiss me again,” he says with a cocky smirk.

  “That's not going to happen.”

  “So what's it going to be, Alice?”

  “Fine. I’ll cook for you. I don't guarantee my food will be dairy-free, gluten-free, or poison-free.”

  Seth laughs, making my heart jump, reminding me of that nice conversation we had over our first breakfast.

  “I guess I'll just have to hire someone to taste my food and check for poison, like the kings in the movies,” he says.

  I suppress a smile. Seth is as entitled as a king. Of course he thinks someone else should die to save
him.

  “So we have a deal,” I say as I hold out my hand for a handshake.

  “Deal,” he says.

  When Seth's hand touches my skin, my heart starts pounding in my chest. His hand looks so big over mine, making me feel small and vulnerable… Which, curiously, makes me want to pull him by the necktie and ask him to kiss me again.

  Seriously, what is wrong with me?

  I pull my hand away, a little too abruptly. Heat spreads across my cheeks when I realize he has noticed me losing my composure. I can tell by the wicked glint in his eyes.

  “By the way, the tracker is a little overkill, don't you think? You already have all that security.” I point at a couple of guards who happen to be passing by the window behind Seth's chrome-and-leather swivel chair.

  He looks over his shoulder, which means my attempt at distracting him has succeeded. He says, “Call it risk minimization.”

  “Oh, I get it. Because I’m an escape risk.”

  “No,” he says, turning back to look at me. “No, it's because of the risk to you, if you go out there.”

  “Right. And you can't talk about what kind of a risk it is. Just admit that you're just a sick, sick person who likes to keep people captive for your own sick pleasure.”

  To my surprise, fury flashes in Seth's eyes. He clenches his jaw. Through gritted teeth, he says, “You don't know what you're talking about.”

  I flinch from the wave of anger emanating from him. Quietly, I ask the question that's been plaguing me, “Are you ever going to let me go?”

  “Of course.”

  “When?”

  “When it's safe.”

  “And who decides when it's safe?”

  He pauses and sighs before finally saying, “I do.”

  “I thought so.”

  With that, I get up and walk toward the door as fast as I can without looking like I'm running away.

  As soon as I close the door behind me, I start hyperventilating.

  I remember now why Seth looks so familiar.

  I didn't recognize him in his designer suit, with his sleek appearance.

  It's been a long time, but I would've recognized him in an orange jumpsuit.

  He was my best student in the cooking classes I conducted in prison.

  Shit.

  He’s an ex-con.

  What kind of messed-up situation have I gotten myself into?

  Seth

  As the door clicks softly into place, Alice’s words ring in my ears.

  She said what I’m doing to her is a crime. She said I’m a sick person for keeping her here, even though I’ve told her again and again that I’m only doing this to protect her. Why can’t she get that through her stubborn skull?

  Sure, technically, I was a convicted criminal, and some people say ‘once a criminal, always a criminal.’

  I know I haven’t told her too many details, but...

  The way she looked at me toward the end, it was like the way I look at them.

  She thinks I’m no different from those dregs of humanity.

  And that hurts.

  Damn, why do I have to care what she thinks of me? I’m not even being paid to do any of this. I’m spending a lot of time and resources of saving her sexy ass, and all it does it make her hate me. None of this makes any sense.

  In the movies, the guy who saves the damsel in distress would at least get to fuck her. In my case, I’m pretty sure the reason the girl is not already in my bed is because I’m trying to protect her.

  I could still see the yearning in her eyes. She kept biting her lip sensuously, playing with her hair, rubbing her thighs together. I was never more glad to have chosen a glass desk, because I wouldn’t want to miss seeing those legs wiggling deliciously on the chair. It made me want to spread her like butter and have my way with her.

  I have to thank Alejandra. If it wasn’t for her, Alice wouldn’t have come to see me. I told her to give Alice anything she needs, so she must’ve known some groceries wouldn’t have been a problem. But I guess she decided that we needed to talk, and she was right, like she often is.

  I was getting sick of Ana’s cooking. Don’t get me wrong, she’s decent, but she’s no Alice.

  Alice has a keen sense of taste and some kind of obsession with perfection. It’s like an addiction to her, the need to control every single aspect of her creation. We’re kind of alike in that way.

  Every time I visited The Local, I could tell she had tweaked her cooking according to my weekly feedback. Even if she acted unaffected or insulted or angry, I knew soon she’d be chasing after that perfection again, and she’d come up with something better next time.

  Honestly, that dogged pursuit of perfection was the first thing that jumped out at me when I first laid my eyes on her.

  In my mind, I thought, this was a woman who’d be going places; she’d spend all her energy on her craft and come up with something amazing. And it was that same obsessive quality in her that drew me to food, as well. I learned to love what she loves.

  I was obsessed with her. Raphael was sick of hearing me talk about her, but there was no escape for him because we were cell mates for years.

  Raphael thought I was crazy for tracking Alice down as soon as I got released, but my obsession left me with no other choice. Let me put it this way: I couldn’t not search for her.

  The way I found her wasn’t exactly legal either, which could’ve gotten me into hot water if my probation officer ever found out.

  I don’t know, maybe Alice had a point. Maybe once I’ve committed a crime, I’m bound to do it again. Maybe once I’ve crossed a line, it blurs everything together and makes it harder to determine where to stop next time.

  I definitely have a problem knowing when to stop. Alice could be right, the tracker may be overkill.

  I swivel in my office chair to look out the window at my highly trained, heavily armed bodyguards. I spare no expense when it comes to security.

  When Alice is involved, I’m even more cautious. She can’t defend herself, after all. And I was the one who got her into this mess in the first place, so I’m the one responsible for her safety. I take that responsibility seriously.

  We’re not dealing with common robbers here. We’re dealing with torturers, murderers, people who treat their fellow humans worse than animals.

  Again, it’s ironic.

  If the police and the justice system hadn’t gotten involved in my life, I never would’ve had any contact with violence ever, except for a stupid backyard fight when I was a stupid teenager.

  But I found myself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and they caught me. I don’t think I even did anything particularly bad.

  It all started when I became friends with Brian, who was a junkie. I wasn’t innocent either—I tried the stuff once or twice, but a big aspect of enjoying drugs is losing control over your own body and that’s just not something I’d ever really enjoy.

  Anyway, one day Brian took me to see his dealer to buy more “supplies,” but we got there just in time to get caught in a shoot-out between the cops and the dealers’ guys. It was a drug bust gone bad.

  I got lucky and only got sent to prison.

  Brian died.

  I watched him die right in front of me, his eyes confused and panicked, like he couldn’t fathom why his body was falling to the ground. I was frozen in place, just staring at him, and I couldn’t flee the scene in time.

  I learned, a long time ago, that one wrong move could risk everything, so I don’t take chances when it comes to safety and security.

  Of course, considering my line of work now, that’s kind of a ridiculous thing to say. I face danger all the time, after all. I just surround myself with as much security as it takes to minimize my risk. There’s no other choice now.

  Like I said, if it wasn’t for prison, I would’ve become an upstanding member of society, who has absolutely nothing to do with the criminal elements. Now it seems like contact with those criminal elements makes
up the biggest part of my life.

  My stomach grumbles. I can’t wait to have a meal with Alice again.

  Besides the food, I also look forward to watching her try to convince herself that she doesn’t want me. I can see the truth in her eyes, her lips, her thighs, her long legs—every single part of her body betrays her true desires.

  She can fight this all she wants, but I know she’s going to end up spread-eagled on my bed anyway. That body was made to be fucked by me.

  Alice

  This damn thing! If it weren’t expensive, I would’ve bashed it against the hard stone counter until its metal guts fly out and get scattered all over the floor.

  “So, you understand, right?” Alejandra asks, her pretty brown eyes flicking between my face and the screen.

  She looks concerned. Maybe she knows I want to destroy this tablet. Or maybe she feels bad for me, now that she discovers that I’m a moron who can’t even use a device that toddlers play with these days.

  “Yeah.” My answer sounds unconvincing even to myself. “I enter the item I want to order by clicking here, and then the quantity here, and…” My voice trails off as I watch the screen freeze. I sigh. “Is it freezing on me now?”

  “No,” Alejandra says in frustration. “You just never hit the ‘Submit Order’ button.”

  I search all over the screen until I finally find the little red rectangular button at the bottom right corner of the tablet screen. “Oh, right. That button,” I say.

  “Yes. God, you’re hopeless.” Alejandra throws her hands in the air. She gestures at Ana and says, “You’re just like this one when she first got here. Completely clueless.”

  Ana grins as she watches Alejandra losing her cool.

  “Well, I’m glad it’s not just me,” I say, meeting Ana’s gaze and grinning back at her.

  I don’t often meet my fellow Luddites. People look down on us, but really, it’s not that we can’t use new technology. We just don’t see the point. Why do I have to learn a new software when I can just scribble the shopping list onto a piece of paper?

  “Don’t look so smug,” Alejandra says. “She doesn’t speak much English, which is the only language the software supports. It should be a lot easier for you.”