Billionaire Romance: Club Billionaire (The Complete Series)

by Duval, Lexi

  I nod, and quickly spout out the two other occasions I've worked in a similar establishment. Naturally, I dress it up. Those last two bars were a far cry from this place.

  “That sounds excellent,” he says. He looks closely at my coat, and my brow, which by now has begun to shine with sweat. In here, it's even warmer than out in the bar.

  “Would you like to take your coat off?” he asks.

  I shake my head, knowing how I'm dressed underneath.

  “It wasn't an offer Miss Parker.”

  We catch eyes for a moment, his stare telling me there's no other option. I drop my coat, and put it on the back of the chair, before quickly sitting to cover as much of myself as possible.

  “If you could stand and walk around the room, that would be great.”

  Again, it's not an offer. It's an order. Part of what is becoming a quite unusual interview.

  I do as commanded, not having a choice. For any regular bar, particularly during summer, this sort of outfit would be ideal. Plenty of flesh, just what the guys want to see, without going overboard. In this place I feel utterly ridiculous.

  Yet still, I do a quick catwalk from one side of the room to the other, knowing his eyes are on me the entire time. When I return to my seat, his eyes have narrowed slightly, and he's nodding almost imperceptibly. But I notice.

  “You didn't know what sort of place this would be did you?”

  “I...assumed it would be a normal bar.”

  “This is a normal bar to the customers who come here.”

  “Oh, I didn't mean any offense. I just meant...a more common bar.”

  He smiles, and for the first time shows his pearly white teeth. “I know. I'm only joking with your Miss Parker.”

  “I obviously won't dress like this if I work here...”

  “You won't be working here.”

  My heart drops, and I internally search for the reason for my failure. Was it the outfit? Surely he knows I'll dress to his needs? Does he know I was bullshitting about my previous work? Not lying, really. Just elaborating. Is it just me? Doesn't he like me, for whatever reason?

  Rather than guess, I decide it's best to just ask, my voice crushed of any enthusiasm.

  “Can you tell me why?” I must sound so needy, so pathetic. Especially to a man like this, the world his oyster. Mine is nothing but a bag of shit.

  “Because I'm not hiring for here.”

  His words clock, and my crushed countenance stirs. “So...why am I here?”

  “You're here because I'm here. This is where I'm working today, but it's not where I'm hiring for.”

  “So...where are you hiring for?” I ask tentatively.

  “A club with a very specific clientele. The work will be the same. Making drinks, serving, and other such duties. I think you're just the sort of girl who'll enjoy working there. The tips, in particular, can be quite something.”

  “Is it your club, one you own? Like a nightclub?”

  He laughs. “Oh no, I don't own it. I'm just a member.”

  “Then why are you recruiting?” I ask the question before I can realize I'm getting ahead of myself, stepping a little too far over the line.

  The delectable Kyle Lawson calls me on it. “I thought I was the one asking the questions, Miss Parker.”

  I retreat, and zip up my mouth.

  “But to answer your question, I'm recruiting because I can. The members of this club are welcome to bring in any staff they think might suit it. It really is our club after all. I think you'll fit in nicely. You are a gorgeous young woman, Miss Parker.”

  The sudden compliment sends my face scorching. If it wasn't for the dim light, I'm sure he'd see me blushing a deep shade of pink. I try to keep my composure.

  “Thank you,” I say, but suddenly I'm unable to hold eye contact.

  “No need to thank me for stating the obvious.”

  He stands, moves around his desk, and approaches me. For a moment he looks at me, right in the face, only a foot or two away.

  “Your face is immaculate,” he says. “I was told you were attractive, but I never expected this.”

  This time, given his proximity, I'm sure he can see my cheeks grow red.

  “Don't be embarrassed by it Miss Parker. I'm just pointing out a fact.”

  I nod, and divert the subject. “Who told you I was attractive?”

  “Mr Gilbert. I understand you live with his two sons?”

  “Yes, but I've never met him...”

  “And have you ever met George Clooney?”

  “Um....no.”

  “But you know he's a handsome man, right?”

  “Yeah, but he's on TV all the time.”

  “Miss Parker, it's not hard to find images of someone these days, whoever they are. Both Mr Gilbert and his two sons appear to have testified to your looks. But, in my opinion, they were a long way short.”

  “Thank you,” I say again.

  He moves back to his chair behind the desk, speaking as he goes. “You're going to have to stop doing that, saying thank you every time someone gives you a compliment. Yes, I know it's courteous, but there's no need. At the Club, you'll find that everyone is very complimentary.”

  “And this club...what's it called?”

  He twists in his chair, and turns to me. “It's called Club Billionaire.”

  Chapter Four

  It's two days later, and I'm facing a baptism of fire. A large part of me is happy for the speed at which I've secured this new job. For a start, it will bring me some money in fast. In addition, if I had any time to dwell on it, I'd become even more antsy and nervous than I am right now. Sometimes, it's better to just dive straight into the deep end. Sink or swim.

  Club Billionaire. Mr Lawson, who began to insist I call him Kyle, had enlightened me as to the basics of what the club was, but hadn't really elaborated too deeply.

  As you'd expect, the club caters only to the super rich. No millionaires are allowed. No one with a hundred million would be granted access. Half a billion? Sorry, there's the door. How about nine hundred and ninety nine million? Nope...make another million and we'll talk.

  Exclusivity doesn't do the place justice. There are only about 1,500 billionaires in the entire world, mainly spread out over the US, China, and the more wealthy nations of Europe. New York, being New York, has the highest concentration of any city, with nearly 100 in the city alone.

  The club, therefore, is the only one of its kind in the world. A place where only those with superyatchs, giant conglomerates, thousand acre estates, colossal mansions, and more supercars than you could count on two hands are welcome.

  In that club, on any given night, there could be tens of billions, even hundreds of billions in accumulated wealth present. The sheer enormity of the numbers began to send my head spinning the more I thought about it.

  Of course, there are a couple of catches. First of all, the offspring of billionaires are also allowed access, but only if they're working within the family business. So, if a billionaire's son decided to turn away from the weapons manufacturing business that built the family fortune and become an artist, they wouldn't be allowed in.

  Then again, someone like that probably wouldn't want to anyway.

  Another catch: no women allowed. Billionairesses, self made or otherwise, cannot enter. It is a male club only, a true gentleman's club in the traditional sense, and every single member is a man.

  And that's where I come in, because for the staff, it's quite the opposite. The club is exclusive in another way: it's only staffed by women. And beautiful woman at that. The sort of women who make men drop to their knees. Who cause the older gentlemen to have heart attacks with a flick of their hair, and the younger ones to gush in their pants through lack of experience.

  The staff there, these gorgeous woman, are seemingly the most expensive eye candy in the world. Serving the needs of some of the richest and most powerful men on the planet.

  And tonight, I'm going to take my bow in this most
private of worlds. As Kyle told me, the tips can be quite something...

  I follow his instructions to the T when making my way to the venue of the club. Apparently, it has fixed premises in Central Manhattan, as well as providing other separate events at other venues. These, from what Kyle told me, are often out of the city and, sometimes, the country.

  Tonight, however, it's Wednesday, one of the quieter nights at the club. So, as per my instructions, I make my way towards the address listed. I take the subway, despite Kyle suggestion to take a cab, owing to my current financial difficulties.

  The listed address takes me to the east side of Central Park along 5th Avenue, not too far from Kyle's bar where I met him two days before. Among the tall residential buildings and hotels, I spot a building which looks out of place; a beautiful, Victorian mansion stretching several floors up and decorated in the most ornate external furnishings I've ever seen. Like a beautiful diamond among a pile of coal, it sparkles and stands out, drawing the eye of everyone who passes by.

  But it could be something else that draws their eye too. Outside, standing in a dark navy suit and looking, appropriately, like a billion dollars, is Kyle. He surveys all before him as if he owns it, standing as motionless as the Queen's Guard outside Buckingham Palace, keen eyes piercing the world.

  When he sees me approach, he casually wanders down the steps of the high doorway towards me. I swallow hard, feeling more nervous than ever at the sight before me.

  “Didn't I tell you to get a cab?”

  “I was happy to walk from the subway. Cab's are expensive.” I drop my eyes, realizing who I'm talking to. He could probably buy every cab company in New York with his spare change.

  “I understand. After tonight, that may not be a problem anymore.”

  He smiles and kisses both my cheeks. I can't help but catch a waft of his cologne, surging up my nose. It's subtle, yet delicious, and nothing like anything I've ever smelled on a guy before.

  “Follow me Belle. I'll show you around.”

  He steps forward, and I trail in behind him, getting interested looks from those nearby. Wondering who he is, and who I am. Wondering what this place is, so opulent compared to the buildings around it, yet mysterious at the same time. I know from the hours I spent on the Internet trying to find information about the place, and the club, that these guys like to stay behind closed doors.

  I follow Kyle through the main doorway, and my eyes are immediately drawn to two guards standing either side of it on the inside. Both wear black suits and white shirts, their faces stern and unblinking, like modern versions of the Queen's Guard. They don't move as we pass. They just stand, holding automatic weapons in their hands, and stare at the door.

  “Don't let them intimidate you Belle. I'm sure underneath that rough exterior they're nothing but puppy dogs.” He says it loud enough to get a rise from them, but they don't bite. Although I'm sure the corner of one's mouth curls in the faintest of smiles.

  “I hope you don't mind, but we took the liberty of running security checks on you. As you can see, this place is highly exclusive and well guarded, even on a quiet night like this. The entire building is fitted with the most state-of-the-act security measures known to man, and we have highly trained security teams stationed nearby in case of emergency.

  “Wow,” is all I can manage.

  “Don't worry though. The place has never been attacked. There wouldn't be any point really. All of our wealth is tied up in real estate, banks, stocks and the like.”

  I nod, and Kyle continues inside. The main lobby is quite spectacular, decorated with golden statues of gargoyles and angels that bleed out of the wall like branches from a tree. The floor is feathered with heavy crimson rugs, the walls made from beautiful wood paneling that looks like it was carved by Michaelangelo himself.

  Jaw gaping, I trot on, ogling the place with wonder. When we reach the back wall, we're greeted by an elevator. As we walk in, I notice the lightest flash of green rush across me as I pass the doorway.

  “What was that?”

  “Scanner,” says Kyle. “Like I said, we have a lot of security features. There was another one when you walked through the main door, didn't you notice?”

  I shake my head.

  “It's essentially a high tech x-ray system designed to pick up any weapons, and not just beep for metal. Later on, you'll be assigned your access information which you'll have to present on entry. The guards didn't ask today because you were with me, but next time you will.”

  I suck in another breath of air, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the place.

  Inside the elevator, Kyle hits a button entitled B. I assume it means basement. I feel the elevator dropping, before coming to a quick stop. I already know that we're underneath the New York streets, giving me a pang of claustrophobia. The idea of being underground has never been particularly welcoming to me.

  We step out, and move down a short corridor, dimly lit either side with lamps fastened to the wall. There's something gothic, almost macabre, about the setting. Like I've stepped into a medieval world below the bright lights of modern New York.

  When Kyle walks through the next door, however, my jaw drops further. We've entered into what looks like a banquet hall, or the most lush and opulent social chamber you could imagine. Fountains tinkle here and there, incredibly ornate chairs sit in small groupings around fabulous glass and wooden tables. The walls are dotted with famous works of art, the ceiling covered in lighting fixtures that shine out a celestial light.

  Here and there men mingle, dressed exclusively in suits that could cut steel. Various races present themselves: Chinese, Middle Eastern, Spanish, African, Caucasian. Some are old, but many are younger, the rich sons of men who have conquered the world. Kyle, to my side, looks proudly at his peers. I merely quiver like a mortal looking at the Gods of Olympus.

  “There are many doors leading out of the room, but this is main social chamber,” says Kyle. He guides my eyes to the bottom right hand corner. Through there is the bar. That's where you'll make the drinks and bring them through here.”

  He points now at a girl, walking through the swing door carrying a tray laden with what looks like whiskey. She's stunning. Blonde, beautifully shaped, sparkling blue eyes. It's the same look that I offer, yet to my eyes she's a cut above me.

  She serves a group of men before gliding around the room with a gorgeous smile, probing for any further orders.

  “That's Alice, she's been here a while now. She'll help you get settled in, OK.”

  His eyes linger on me a while, and then he does something completely unexpected. He leans in, and gives me the lightest of kisses to the lips. I'm left stunned as he turns and walks off, joining a group of young, jock-like men sitting around a table with several bottles of Dom Perignon for company.

  I stand, hands half shaking, at the edge of the gallery surrounding the hall at the top of the stairs, feeling like I've stepped into another world. Then I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and set my sights on the door to the bar that Alice has just wandered through.

  Chapter Five

  “So you're the new girl?” says Alice, looking me up and down. Her eyes cover every inch my me, stopping here and there, as if sizing me up. “Yeah, you'll do fine here.”

  She's older than me, maybe in her late 20's, but stunningly gorgeous. Like me, she's blonde with blue eyes, but hers are a little brighter, a little more sparkling. She stands an inch or two taller as well, and her features aren't quite so soft as mine, marginally more angular. In a word, I'd call her beautiful to my being cute.

  I'm standing in the room beyond the main social chamber, which is also incredibly lavish, but slightly more functional. There's a long bar running along the top wall, containing just about every type of alcohol I could imagine. Beyond, Alice tells me, are more stock rooms leading out of here, and a kitchen where delicious foods are prepared.

  “Do they ever come in here?” I ask.

  Alice nods. “Sometimes they do. It re
ally depends on the man. Some like to come and fetch their own drinks, which, of course, is their prerogative. Others prefer to only be served. Some only like to be served by a specific girl.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “When a billionaire takes a fancy to you, you don't question it. If one of them wishes you to serve them, make sure you give them extra attention, OK.”

  I nod, jotting things down in my head as I go. Luckily, my good memory serves me well in that respect.

  “So, you're just here to be a waitress?” Alice asks.

  I nod. “What else is there?”

  “Never you mind Belle.”

  She begins leading me around the room, and through into the rooms leading away; stock rooms, a large, sprawling kitchen, various others that don't seem to have much use.

  “This side of the floor is for us, for the servers. This is where you'll prepare all of the drinks and deliver any orders to the kitchen. Remember, here it's all about personal service. Always be smiling, always be charming. Never, ever bite or get angry no matter what one of them says to you. Can you take that?”

  “Well, I've worked in bars before. I've been called all sorts of names...”

  “And did you retaliate?”

  I think a couple of years back, to when I was first of drinking age and legally allowed to work in a bar. One night my temper got the better of me and I engaged in a slanging match with one of the bar's regulars. That was my last shift at that place.

  “No,” I say, “of course not.”

  Her lingering looks suggests she can tell that I'm lying.

  “Well, if you do that here you won't last the night. These men are incredibly powerful, and many of them don't respect serving staff like us. You may get some offensive remarks thrown at you, especially when they've had a few drinks and, in particular, watch out for the younger ones. You'll get plenty of compliments too, of course, so just learn to filter everything through and ignore it. Just smile, be polite, and you'll do fine.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Sure. Memorize every damn drink in the book. It will help. Mostly they just want whiskey and brandy and champagne, but some of them are a bit more, how should I say, fruity. Expect some strange cocktails. There's a book behind the bar that lists them all.”