by Claire Adams
“I’m off to mingle!” Grace announced cheerfully as we walked through the door, immediately disappearing into the crowd. I looked at my brother and we both shook our heads. I had no idea what had gotten into my bestie, but she seemed to be very into the event.
“Do you see Owen?” I asked Jackson, surveying the attendees for the familiar face that still got my pulse racing every time I laid eyes on it.
“No, I don’t see him, but I do see food, and lots of it. Delicious, delicious food.”
I rolled my eyes. If there was one thing my brother could do, it was eat.
“Come on then, I know what you're after. Let’s get something to eat.”
I followed the path he made through the crowd over to the buffet. The spread was impressive. Definitely gourmet quality, but as suave and sophisticated as the hors de oeuvres were, I was pretty sure we would still be hitting up a fast food joint at the end of the night on the way home.
“This is a pretty sweet layout,” Jackson admitted as we stood around, nibbling on the appetizers. “Owen really pulled this off. I wasn't expecting him to go all out with the catering like this.”
“Leave it to you to judge an event based on the food,” I joked, my attention wavering as I scanned the crowd for Owen.
I spotted Talon in the distance, so I excused myself and walked over, tapping him on the shoulder. He spun around, moving with cat-like grace. As soon as he saw me, he grinned cheekily and allowed his eyes to rove up and down my figure for a few moments. I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw the gesture.
“Nalia, you look hot,” he drawled, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Have I told you how lucky a man my brother is?” he winked.
I gave him a once over in return. He looked rather dashing in his tux, the way it was molded to his lean frame. “You’re not looking so bad yourself,” I replied warmly. “Thank you so much for coming, Talon. It means a lot to us.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said, patting his pocket. “Hell, I already have my donation all written up. No way I'm not chipping my share in for such an awesome project. You guys really have done a great thing here. Respect.”
“Well, the orphanage will appreciate it, I can guarantee that. Hey, have you seen your brother around here?”
Talon laughed. “You mean the nervous wreck I passed earlier? The man is a billionaire — how the hell he can be so nervous about a charity event is beyond me. Sheesh. You'd think he'd never stood up in front of a crowd in his life before. Weird, huh?”
“I don’t know why he's be so nervous, but I better find him. Talk him down,” I sighed. “Enjoy yourself – and don't party too hard. Yet!”
“Yet!” he replied with a laugh. “That's the key word, my dear, yet!”
I walked on, wondering where Owen could be. Finally, I spotted him near the stage. “Hey, sweetheart, why are you hiding out over here?”
“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. He looked drop-dead sexy in his white tux, his hair carefully styled and held in place with so much gel that I was sure it wouldn’t move even in a hurricane. “You look good enough to eat. Way tastier than any of the swanky dishes I had the catering company whip up. Kinda making me hungry,” he said with a grin.
“Later,” I promised as he pulled me to his side, wrapping an arm around my waist. “And speaking of the catering company, wow! I think it’s safe to say that this event is a success already. You did an amazing job, my love. The orphanage is going to benefit greatly from this.”
“I’m just glad I could help with something that means so much to you,” he told me, his expression tender.
I melted against him, once again finding it hard to believe how lucky I was. And believe me, it had nothing to do with the money or who Owen was professionally. I loved Owen for Owen, and would have loved him for his heart and soul had he been penniless. I was absolutely sure I would love him for the rest of my life.
“Come on, let's get things moving. We've got a schedule to stick to and we don't want to waste anyone's time. A lot of big names have come out to support this and we don't want to let 'em down,” he reminded me, tugging on my waist.
I followed him up the steps and onto the stage where the pianist was just finishing up a number. Owen nodded to him and he stood, exiting the stage as Owen moved to the front of it. As soon as he was in front of the crowd, any trace of nervousness he’d had seemed to vanish. The stage really was a place where he felt truly at home, whether in a small dive bar in front of a dozen people, or on an arena stage in front of a crowd of hundreds of thousands of people.
“Good evening!” he shouted as if he were at a concert. “And thank you all for coming tonight. This is a very special night because we're all here to honor a cause that is very dear to someone who is very dear to me. My amazing girlfriend, Ms. Nalia Dean.
“I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge all the selfless work she's done for this orphanage. Your contributions tonight will continue the progress we have been fortunate enough to make from a humble beginning and hopefully, many other orphanages in the future. I promise you that your generous contributions will make this place a safe, wonderful home for these children for many years to come.
“You're not just building a place, ladies and gentlemen. You're not just stacking bricks and cement on top of one another. No, you're building lives. Beautiful, wonderful lives, full of hope and promise for the future.”
He then looked over at me, motioning for me to join him. I put on a smile as I nervously stepped up next to him, wondering what on earth he was about to do.
“As many of you might know, Nalia is a very talented pianist, and we have been working on her album in the studio for a few months now. Would you like to hear a song from her?”
I blushed as the crowd clapped and whistled. Owen was smiling down at me, nodding in encouragement. He leaned over to whisper some encouraging words in my ear. “Show off, babe.”
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over to the piano and sat down at the keys. I launched into a new song, surprised when Owen came to stand behind me, the mic in his hand. He began to sing the lyrics. We had practiced a few times before, but his voice still brought tears to my eyes. Maybe because he was singing a song we had created together, and he sang from his heart what we created from the heart.
The crowd fell silent as I poured myself into the song. And, with the intensity of the music and the performance, coupled with Owen’s sweet voice, my heart was overwhelmed with love for him. His voice trailed off as he finished the lyrics and waited as I finished the last few notes. I simply sat there for a moment, my heart pounding in my ears as silence fell over the entire space.
Then, abruptly, the place erupted with shouts and cheers louder than I could have ever imagined. Smiling bright, I stood and glanced back, intending to prompt Owen to take a bow with me.
But he wasn’t where I had expected to see him. Instead, my eyes fell toward the floor where Owen was behind me on bended knee. In his hand, he held a small, black box. The crowd’s applause died to silence, and Owen looked up at me, smiling with tears rimming his eyes.
“Nalia Dean, no one has ever made me feel the way I do when I am with you and I don’t ever want to find out what it feels like not to have you by my side. You are the most compassionate, loving person I have ever known, and I am so damn happy to have you in my life. I love you, more than any words could ever express. So, in front of all these witnesses, I’m asking if you will make me the happiest man on the planet. Will you marry me?” He opened the black box, revealing the most exquisite ring I’d ever laid eyes on.
“Owen,” I whispered as my hand covered my mouth in surprise, tears blurring my eyes. “Yes, yes, yes, I will. A million times, yes.”
He smiled and slipped the ring on my finger before rising to gather me in his arms, kissing me and holding me tightly against him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“For what?” I asked, pulling back to look at him
.
“For taking a chance on me. For believing in what we could be. We are going to make a beautiful future together.”
And we did.
That’s the end of the Rock Star Billionaire. Below I included 4 of my previous books to read as a free bonus.
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BILLIONAIRE RIDES
By Claire Adams and Alexa Davis
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 © 2016 Claire Adams
Chapter One: Ethan
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Colson?"
"Yes: blow me," I stated.
I leaned back in my chair as my beautiful assistant Angela got down on her knees beneath my desk and went to work. I ran my hands through her red hair as her head bobbed up and down and her mouth worked enthusiastically. Within a few moments, her expert tongue would be bring me to climax and I'd shoot my load down her eager throat, then watch as she picked up her files and went back to work.
This was the life, and I was living the dream every man wished for—only it hadn't come easily. I'd started working at the age of thirteen when my mother ran out on my father and me for another man. My father had been weak and couldn't take it. He turned to drinking and could never hold onto a job, so it was up to me if we were going to keep from starving out on the streets.
It was tough, but even though I was working full time, I still managed to keep top grades in school. One of my teachers noticed and recommended me for a special internship in the Business Leaders of Tomorrow program at his alma mater. My father had remarried by then, and I knew he'd be okay on his own, so I went ahead and applied, never thinking that I'd really get in—but I did.
They admitted me on full scholarship, and when the program was over, I was offered full-time employment at one of the nation's top manufacturers of engine parts: Krueger Auto Parts. Even without a fancy degree, I could do the job of running the shipping and manufacturing warehouses in every town I was sent to, and soon I was brought to work in their corporate headquarters in Los Angeles.
I worked my ass off, coming in early every morning and staying late every night. I took on all the shit assignments nobody wanted to do and volunteered to work weekends and even holidays. I climbed up the ranks faster than anyone had ever seen, and by the age of thirty, I was running the motorcycle parts division for Krueger.
The job was my passion, and I worked closely with scientists and engineers, wanting to learn everything I could about what made bikes run better, faster, and more efficiently. I talked with long-time riders and kids just starting to learn what they wanted in a bike. On my days off, I went for long rides in the California countryside to get a feel for the wind in my face, the tires on the road, and the motor between my legs. It was a powerful feeling, completely freeing, and I wanted more. Most importantly, I understood what drove our customers and how to give them the best riding experience possible.
I took my ideas to the CEO and founder of the company Martin Krueger, but he didn't give a shit.
"Do you have any idea how expensive it would be to start manufacturing this motorcycle? We would have to sell a hundred thousand to make a profit," Krueger had said, crossing his mushy arms over his fat belly. His balding head was always beaded perspiration, and his skin was a shade too pink, like an angry little piggy.
"So, we'll sell a hundred thousand. I'm willing to work with marketing to get our name out there, not just as a parts manufacturer, but as a creator of the country's best motorcycle. Once riders try this bike, they'll sell themselves. I just need our factories to build them," I had said passionately.
I believed in the product I had worked so hard to develop. I'd created cost estimates, profit projection reports, and even had a sample of the bike created as an example, using my own savings. The bike had been test-driven by a dozen different riders, and they all loved it. I knew the bike would be a huge success—if only Krueger would give it a chance.
Unfortunately, Krueger was too stodgy and stuck in his ways. He handed me back my research without even taking the time to look at it.
"If we manufactured that many bikes and they didn't sell, it would ruin us. Just stick to your job of managing the parts warehouses and leave it to Harley Davidson to build the bikes. I didn't hire you for your creativity. Why do you think I plucked you out of the intern program instead of going for someone with a business degree? It's because I want someone who will just be a cog in the engine I designed and not try and one-up me with dumb ideas. Don't forget who signs the paychecks around here. Now quit wasting time and get back to work."
That's when I quit. Krueger gave me a nice severance package, after I put the portly piece of shit in a headlock and threatened to expose some of his muddy little secrets to the media.
I used the money, along with what I made selling off all my Krueger stock, to invest in my own motorcycle company. The bank didn't want to give me a business loan at first, but I had a good reference to co-sign with me—my old teacher was now a professor at the Ivy League university where the banker wanted to send his son and the professor promised to give him a letter of recommendation.
It was all I needed, and Speed Motorcycles was born.
I named my first bike The Rebel, and it sold a two hundred thousand units the first year and double that the next year. After that, I designed the Chrome Cruiser and then Highway Man. Each design was more successful than the last, and when Krueger came to me begging for the contract to distribute our patented specialty parts, I did one better and bought the son-of-bitch out. Now, all parts for Speed Motorcycles bikes were manufactured and sold by our own distributing subsidiary, Krueger Auto Parts, and fat, old Krueger gets his paychecks signed by me.
I could have fired him after that and destroyed his company by selling it off bit by bit, but that's not my style. People don't learn from cruelty. They learn from discipline, carefully measured and distributed with thoughtful intent.
That's how I lived my life from the days of my childhood, when I was just thirteen, and needed to balance work and studies and caring for my old man. It's how I made it through a grueling internship and years of shit jobs climbing up the corporate ladder, and how I managed social relationships and dating after being abandoned by the one woman who should have loved me. I lived my life by a strict code of adherence.
Of course, being disciplined didn't mean one didn't deserve a reward for work well done. That's where my assistant came in.
Angela Stratham was everything I could want in an assistant. She was twenty-six, bright, hardworking, and sexy as hell. She had emerald-green eyes and voluptuous curves she didn't mind showing off. We'd started screwing around in my office about six weeks ago when I came into my office late one night to find her naked, draped across my desk. It had been a rough day at work, and she provided me with just the pick me up I needed. We'd been fucking around ever since, but I wouldn't call her my girlfriend—more like a really attentive assistant who gives great head.
At the age of forty-two, I'd given up dating years ago. Women were always throwing themselves at me, but it wasn't real. I worked hard to stay in shape with regular workouts in the gym, and I knew I had the kind of looks they found attractive. I kept my black hair cropped short, and I'd been told more than once that my gray eyes flecked with blue and gold looked like swirling clouds in the middle of a thunder storm. It was all bullshit, though.
These women who were always flinging themselves weren't interested in me. They didn't want to know the real Ethan Colson; where I was born, what I liked, what my favorite foods, movies, and books were. They didn't want to know about my hop
es, fears, dreams, and ambitions. They just knew I was the owner and CEO of the country's top motorcycle company. They only saw the luxurious suites of our corporate offices, the fancy cars I rode around in when I wasn’t on a bike, and the sprawling estate of my Beverly Hills mansion. When they looked at me, they were only seeing dollar signs.
Seeing the way my mother had destroyed my father when she left him had taught me one valuable thing: never open your heart to a woman. There was always a part of my father that was visibly scared. He catered to her every whim, he was vulnerable and cowardly. He had been broken and the wounds never fully healed.
I tried having a girlfriend once in college, but when she broke my heart, I saw just how vulnerable an organ it was, and I knew I was in danger of suffering the same way my father had. So, after that, I vowed never to put my heart in jeopardy again. Sure, there was always a beautiful date on my arm for parties and special events—and don't get me wrong, I got plenty of sex—but I never had a relationship with a woman. It was too messy and put too much at risk, so I always cut them off after a date or two. This office fling with Angela had already gone on too long and it was time to end it.
It's just that I was getting tired of being alone, of waking up each morning to an empty pillow beside me and not have anyone I could talk about my day with at night. I realized I was getting sentimental; I turned my attention back to the incredible feeling of Angela's hot wet mouth on my throbbing cock.
"Suck it, baby. I want you to drink my come." I ran my hands through her hair, encouraging her to work even more enthusiastically.