His Baby to Keep: A Forbidden Romance

by Katie Ford

  And my efforts paid off. Since I first set foot in the Donkey Club four years ago, I’ve seen my star rise. Okay, maybe I’m not a world famous model, but I am a world famous erotic actress and dancer. The Club uses my face in its advertisements so you can see my visage whiz by on the tops of taxi cabs, the sides of buses, and even a small billboard in Times Square, pointing the way to the Donkey Club.

  Plus, I’ve been able to build an on-line empire. Men log-on to watch me do all sorts of things, and wow, the subscription service turns a pretty penny. Guys pay fifty bucks a month to chat on the computer, to watch me dance on camera, to live out their fantasies with a girl they’ll never meet in person. There are t-shirts, dolls, branded sex toys, and even a rubber mold of my pussy, can you believe it? The business is called “CleoWorld,” and other strippers are asking to join now, to be profiled on my site. Why not? I might as well keep the smut bucks rolling in.

  And so I’ve become phenomenally wealthy from my business ventures, my empire sprawling and diverse, a stable of girls under the CleoWorld umbrella. It’s surreal. At age twenty-two, I’ve become a CEO. Sure, I started out as an exotic dancer and entertainer, but the peon climbed her way up the ladder to be the lady in charge, built on the back of a lot of hard work with a dash of luck. I’ve hired an assistant and a web guy to maintain my various websites, an accountant, a lawyer, a banker, a real team of professionals.

  By the way, speaking about lawyers and bankers. The other day word on the street was that the girlie mag Hustler was filing for bankruptcy. My attorney called me, pitching the deal.

  “Cleo,” said Stuart, “CleoWorld might be the right entity to pick up this asset. If it’s in Chapter Eleven, why not? It’s going to go at a fire-sale value, and you’re savvy enough, smart enough, with the deep pockets to turn it around.”

  I sighed.

  “Stuart, you know I can’t make decisions without any data or back-up. Get me some analyses and we’ll take a look at the deal. Hustler might be too far gone for any possibility of resuscitation. If their customer base has already scattered, we’d have to win them back and that would discount the purchase price.”

  I could tell Stewie was impressed by my analysis. Who says you have to go to college to have real smarts? I’d been scrappy and worked my ass off and it had made me into a millionaire many times over.

  “Alright, I’ll get Ben started on the valuation,” replied my attorney, referring to my investment banker. “But get ready for the auction to go hard and fast soon. This property isn’t going to stay on the block long.”

  I paused for a moment. I wished Drake was here to help me do this analysis. As the CEO of News Enterprises, he’d know exactly how to guide me, how to evaluate a potential acquisition. But those days were gone now, and I scolded myself mentally. I hadn’t seen Daddy in four years! It was no use, and I clamped down internally, willing myself to shoulder on.

  So it hasn’t all been rainbows and unicorns. I miss my Daddy … but I’ve become my own woman, with my own life.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Drake

  As the chairman of News Enterprises, it’s my business to be aware of all the goings-on in the publishing industry. The news of Hustler’s demise was surprising, but not altogether unexpected. A traditional glossy just can’t get the same advertising dollars as before, not when they’re competing with a range of on-line sites, advertising live feeds, and worst of all, ever more start-up publications, all hoping to get a slice of the adult content industry.

  And News Enterprises is a conglomerate overseeing a number of diverse publications ranging from business newspapers like World One, World Global and World Catch to smutty pubs like Yawker and Cumming. So we know what’s happening in all facets of the industry and had some space in our adult content line-up. Oh yeah, Yawker and Cumming outsell our other pubs three-to-one, porn and sex are real attention grabbers, the mark-up huge coupled with low production costs.

  And we’ve got our finger on the pulse of the trade. Take for example, my number two. Lewis was in my office last week discussing Hustler’s impending bankruptcy auction. That’s right, they were selling off the magazine like an animal at market, finding a bidder through good old fashioned cattle calling.

  “Drake, this could be a great opportunity to pick up a distressed asset,” he said. “Our finance guys have combed through the numbers and there’s hidden value there.”

  “How so?” I remarked.

  “Evidently, the magazine’s got a strong subscriber base of men in the 30-55 demographic, exactly who we want to hit. There’s some fat in staffing but that’s easy to cut after a potential acquisition.”

  It was true, the 30-55 male demographic was highly sought after by advertisers and perhaps we could do some cross-marketing, grabbing eyeballs for our other male-oriented publications. Even if we kept Hustler going for only a year or two, that might be enough to steer customers to other trade glossies, acting as tastemaker and big brother in one.

  I grunted.

  “Alright, get me some numbers and we’ll attend the auction,” I said. It was a strategic decision more than anything. Even if we had no intention of seriously bidding for Hustler, it was good to press the flesh, scope out the competition, show your face when all the other players in town were at the races.

  But admittedly, I had an ulterior motive. Would Cleo be there? It sounds crazy, but it was a real possibility. I’ve followed my little step all these years, watching her from afar, tracking her every move while reminding myself again and again that she was no longer interested, that she’d run off without any notice for a career on stage, leaving me with nothing.

  And somehow my little step has morphed from run-of-the-mill stripper into adult entertainment magnate. I’d been stunned watching the transformation. First up had been the branded sex toys. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, after all she was an erotic dancer and guys would buy that shit up. So when she made her first million selling CleoWorld latex pussies, I’d had a good chuckle, throwing the catalogue onto my desk with a snort. Okay, I admit, I ordered one as well, using it in my shower in the mornings, dreaming of my luscious girl.

  But the empire-building continued. She started a magazine, and then a website, doing live cam work, and judging from the number of subscribers, was making quite the pretty penny. One million subscribers paying fifty bucks a month … that’s fifty million per month. Can you believe it? Fifty million per month. My little girl hit the big time, albeit in an x-rated industry, but success is success, don’t let people talk you down.

  So yeah, Cleo is a big-time player in this field now and Hustler is right up her alley. She’d know how to turn it around, how to find new advertisers, how to beef up the content to appeal to new subscribers. She’d be at the auction for sure … and I’d be waiting.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Cleo

  The bankruptcy auction was packed. I strode into the conference room, accompanied by my lawyer and my banker. All eyes were on me because most of the people in the room were old white guys and I was the only young, appetizing female in the bunch.

  Not to mention I’d done myself up to look like a porn star that day. Sure I could have gone in wearing a boring business suit but might as well let these guys see what they’d come to see. I wore a long red dress, clingy with a deep vee, with sparkly red heels, my hair swept into an updo. Totally inappropriate for a business meeting, but competition beware … I was dead serious about getting Hustler.

  As we took our place at the conference table, Ben leaned over solicitously to pour me some water.

  “Thanks hon,” I purred, trailing a long red nail up his sleeve. Both Stuart and Ben were so silly. They were professionals, a lawyer and a banker, both married with small children, and yet whenever I saw them they leered at me despite the fact that I was paying their salaries.

  I used it to create an image though. I wanted the men in this room to know that I had two admirers, two dudes with stiffies who were willing to t
hrow their wedding bands into the Hudson River at the crook of a finger. With a sly smile, I let a hand trail up each of their thighs, skimming their bulges, much to the shocked gasps of the men around us. Hmm, just like being in the Donkey Club again.

  “Thanks boys,” I purred again. “I’m ready to get started, is everyone else?”

  There was a hushed silence before a deep voice rang out across the conference table.

  “Ms. Jones,” the voice rang out. “I believe we know each other.”

  I gasped, whipping my head around to pinpoint the source of the voice. Holy shit, it was Daddy! Drake had never looked so good before. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, sharply intelligent and commanding even among this group of sharks.

  “Daddy?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  The hubbub started with my use of the word “Daddy.”

  “What’s going on? You guys know each other?”

  “You’re related? Hey, is there going to be collusive bidding? That’s not fair.”

  I got up slowly from my seat and walked over to where Drake sat. He was like a king overseeing an empire. On his side of the room were loads of boxes, paralegals scurrying to and fro, junior bankers and lawyers ready to do his bidding. I felt downright unprepared with my team of three.

  “Daddy,” I said slowly. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  Drake stood up, unwilling to put on a show in front of these white-collar douches. “Let’s grab a conference room,” he rumbled, guiding me to a nearby break-out area.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, he spun around to look at me. And I mean, really look. His eyes swept up and down my figure, taking in the sinuous curves, the clingy fabric, the way my breasts pushed out against the deep décolletage. I saw a gleam in his eye as his gaze lingered on my nipples, taking in the way they pushed out like pebbles, hardening beneath his gaze.

  “Daddy,” I breathed. “Why are you here?” I asked again.

  “Cleo,” he drawled lazily. “You know that I’m the head of a news conglomerate, that we purchase assets all the time. The better question to ask is why you’re here?”

  I was about to blabber some nonsensical response, throw myself into his arms, but stopped myself just in time. After all, I wasn’t a naïve eighteen year-old anymore. I was a career girl, someone who made her own money, charted her own path. Nothing I did was illegal, so might as well own it.

  “I’m a businesswoman now,” I said slowly, looking up at him. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  And the man just chuckled low in his chest. God, he was so masculine, so tempting, so alpha, that I wanted to jump him right then and there, our past be damned.

  But right, our past. A shaft of pain lanced through my heart again. We’d been together for two sweet weeks, sampling each other’s bodies, him taking my virginity. And he’d been seeing someone else on the side the whole time and gotten her pregnant, no less. God, the baby was probably three or four already, walking and talking and ready for pre-school. My heart crumpled at the thought.

  So I shook my head hard, willing myself to clear my mind. Get it together Cleo! I scolded myself. Don’t turn into a bowl of mush just because you’re in front of Drake again. He’s a man, remember that, just a man.

  I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders and said coolly, “I’m here for Hustler, what else? What are you here for?”

  The big man looked at me speculatively.

  “I’m here for a lot of reasons,” he rumbled, his eyes never leaving my face, the ruby lips I’d outlined a particularly sultry shade of red. “The first is to figure out what this Hustler business is about …”

  At that I interrupted.

  “If you haven’t done your homework on the magazine, then it’s too late,” I said sharply. “We’re here to play, big boy. If you don’t know what the asset’s worth by now, you’re going down in flames.”

  But the big man didn’t seem fazed. Instead he looked at me with amusement.

  “Oh I know what it’s worth,” he said, his tone smooth, “I’m just wondering if the competition knows.”

  And that made me pause because in my years running a business I’ve learned something, and that’s to trust your instincts. If someone like Drake intimates that he knows something that you don’t, then it’s best to listen closely.

  “Why, what is it?” I asked, curious, my eyes piercing, intent on his words. Don’t look so interested! I scolded myself. He’s playing you! But I couldn’t help it. My breath was coming hard and fast, my chest heaving, my pulse beating at a million miles an hour … from more than just the negotiation.

  And it was like Daddy knew, he could tell. He laughed lazily, chucking me under the chin.

  “Baby girl, I’m only too happy to share business secrets with you,” he rumbled, “but not here. Let’s step outside for a moment.”

  How dare he treat me like a child again, chucking me under the chin and acting condescending. I was so angry that I spit out my retort.

  “No, tell me now!” I demanded, hands on my hips.

  But that only made me seem more childish and I was immediately embarrassed. Not exactly the way to build an image of a smooth, polished businesswoman.

  But Drake wasn’t turned off at all. Instead, he merely put a big hand around my waist and guided me to the exit, opening the door to a dozen curious expressions, the guys trying not to look but unable to hide their interest.

  “Cleo, everything okay?” asked Stewie, my ever-loyal lawyer. “Everything okay in there?”

  I smiled reassuringly at him, taking a big breath.

  “Thanks Stu, yeah everything’s fine,” I said with what I hoped was a boss-like manner. “I’m going to step outside with Mr. Markham here for a cup of coffee, we’ll be back in half an hour.”

  “So … what should we do without you?” asked Stewie. “You want us to put in a bid? You know they’re not going to stop the clock for us.”

  But before I could answer, Drake interrupted.

  “I’ve asked to postpone the auction for an hour,” he interjected smoothly, his face impassive. “The judge okayed it already.”

  I gasped, turning to him. Daddy had so much power that he’d already put in a call to the judge, pulling strings just like that?

  But Drake winked at me, his hand on the small of my back, so hot that it scorched my skin, guiding me towards the exit once more.

  “The judge is a classmate of mine from law school,” he said under his breath. “Now let’s go, Cleo, now.”

  And with that, we exited the room to the stunned looks of the audience behind us.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Drake

  She was even more beautiful than I remembered. That red dress … it was so wrong, yet so right at the same time. Completely inappropriate for a business meeting, but totally appropriate if you remembered who was wearing it. Because Cleo was the queen of smut remember? A millionaire many times over, laughing all the way to the bank as we downloaded her products, watched her perform on-line.

  But I wasn’t about to go to Starbucks just to be ogled by passing riffraff.

  Instead, I pushed her into my waiting car at the sidewalk, scooping that curvy figure into the backseat of the limo.

  “Wait!” she gasped. “There’s a Peet’s around the corner, we don’t need to drive, I can walk.”

  But it was too late because I was already in the backseat with her, directing the driver to head to my condo. “Home,” I growled before raising the partition between us.

  And it was then that I turned to look at the redhead. She was gorgeous, even curvier than I remembered. The years apart had allowed her to fill out into a woman and what had previously been Double Ds were even bigger now, those creamy, luscious curves practically falling out of her the vee of her dress. And her legs … oh god, those legs. They were revealed through a high slit in her dress, smooth, long, with the meaty thighs that I liked, the kind that you can bite into. In fact, the slit went so far up
that her snatch was practically bared, which only made my cock punch out harder.

  “Baby, we’ve got a lot to discuss,” I said smoothly, my expression giving nothing away despite my body’s heated reaction to her.

  “But why are we here?” she gasped, trying to arrange her dress to cover her legs, the miles of smooth flesh. I found it funny, kind of. After all, you could find her in her birthday suit on her website, in countless vids and pics, all available at the click of a mouse. But I guess real-life is different for everyone, even strippers. They don’t want to be on display if they don’t have to be.

  So it was endearing to watch her scramble, pulling the glittery fabric over her knees. Except that there wasn’t enough material, so she just held what she could in place, crossing her legs to cover as much as possible.

  “Honey, don’t you think it’s too late for that?” my eyebrows arched. I didn’t mean to be cruel, just realistic.

  And that really set her off.

  “You have no idea,” she spat, a beautiful flush crawling over her chest. “You have no idea!”

  What was the redhead talking about? She’d left a life with me, a life in the lap of luxury, to dance at a seedy joint. Suddenly, I was pissed too. What the fuck?