His For A Price - A Bought by the Billionaire Romance (Billionaires of Europe Book 4)

by Holly Rayner

  “I suppose our evening is coming to a close.”

  “I suppose so,” I said, pushing our empty glasses to the side of the table and grabbing my purse from the back of my chair.

  Rafael brought the card back and Julien and I stood to leave. It felt like a magic spell had been broken. For hours, we’d been trapped in our own little bubble, but now, reality awaited. I moved slowly, as though wading through quicksand. It had been so long since I’d moved that my legs tingled with pins and needles.

  Together, we walked through the front doors of the bar and into the hotel lobby. The ceilings were twenty-feet high with enormous chandeliers handing down threateningly over the marble floors. The room was white and gold and luxurious, and despite the late hour, a good amount of people were milling around the space.

  Julien held the door open for me, and I stepped out into the night. The air was chilly, and I folded my arms around myself.

  “If I had a jacket, I’d offer it to you,” he said.

  I waved him away. “It’s fine. I don’t know when I’d give it back to you, anyway.”

  His smile wavered, and his lips pulled to the side. My head felt fuzzy from the alcohol, but I knew I’d stepped in something just then, and I wanted to do my best to step out of it.

  “Well, thank you for a lovely evening, Julien,” I said, stepping backwards, hand raised in a wave. “Thank you for coming to three of my shows, but I beg you to find something else to do while you’re in Vegas. I’d hate to think you wasted your time here.”

  I was halfway turning around, prepared to bolt, when a hand wrapped around my own.

  “Wait.”

  My body stilled, but my heart pounded against my ribcage. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath, and the problem only became exasperated by Julien’s fingers tickling across the palm of my hand. He gently guided me back towards him, spinning me around until we were face to face, mere inches apart.

  “I know this may seem sudden,” he said, still holding my hand. “And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I feel in my heart that we were destined to meet.”

  He was going to kiss me. I knew it. And even though I knew I shouldn’t kiss a man I’d just met on the street, I found myself stretching up on my tip-toes, ready to meet his lips with my own.

  “I really want you to be the person to sing at the event next week,” he continued.

  I dropped back down onto my heels. Once again, Julien was talking business when I had very different things on my mind. My cheeks flushed warm with embarrassment, but I smiled, trying to play it off, hoping he hadn’t noticed me stretching towards him.

  “I’m flattered, Julien, but—”

  He dropped my hand, leaving my fingers cold, and held out both of his own to stop me.

  “Before you say what I know you’re going to say, let me reiterate that all your expenses will be covered, and will not impact on the $100,000 fee for your performance.”

  The blood drained from my face and pooled in my feet. It was a wonder I was still standing up at all. I stared at Julien, my brain barely able to process what I’d just heard, let alone what I was seeing. Everything was blurry around the edges.

  What had he just said? One hundred thousand? No. That would be insane.

  “Did I not mention how much you would be paid when I first made the offer?” he asked, his lip lifting up on one side in amusement.

  I shook my head, even that subtle movement making me feel dizzy.

  “Well, in case you misheard me, it will be $100,000,” he said slowly. “The FP100 is a big deal in my city, and we want only the best in terms of entertainment.”

  Buzzed and giddy at the thought of what a hundred thousand dollars could change in my life, I waved my hands between us, cutting him off.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 6

  Ashlynn

  The reality of what I’d done didn’t hit me until hours later. I woke up from a dead sleep, the beginnings of a hangover headache pulsing around my eye sockets, and video-called Brianna.

  “Okay,” she groaned, stumbling out of her bedroom and into the hallway, flipping the switch. The screen flooded with yellow light for a second before the camera balanced it out. “Now I’m a little annoyed with the late night and early morning calls. I was actually sleeping that time.”

  “I’m going to Monaco.”

  She froze, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes at me. “I thought you said you didn’t know how to get in touch with the guy?”

  “He came to my show again,” I said.

  “Again? The super handsome guy came to your show for a third night in a row?” She made a few kissy faces at the camera. “Are you going to Monaco for a gig or to elope with him?”

  “He’s going to pay me $100,000.”

  Her face fell, and I imagined Brianna looked almost exactly like I had when Julien had said the dollar amount.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Uh-huh,” I assured her. “How could I say no?”

  “You couldn’t. If you had, I would have called him up and accepted for you. That’s an insane amount of money. When do you leave?”

  “A week,” I said, biting my lip.

  “Have you booked your flight yet?” I could tell by the tone of her voice that Brianna was asking me a very different question.

  “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Ash,” she sighed, giving me the big sad eyes that had always made me feel like a wounded animal. “I know you’re scared, but you’ll be fine. You can sleep most of the way, and then you’ll be there. You won’t even have to step a foot in the water if you don’t want to. You’ll be surrounded by gorgeous French men, doing your thing, and making bank. This is a good thing for you. It will be amazing. You deserve this.”

  I knew she was right. On some level, I knew my fears of open water were irrational, but that didn’t ease the knot in my stomach that only grew as a week turned into five days and then three and then one.

  On the morning of my flight, I busied myself checking and re-checking my purse for my passport and wallet. Brianna sent me an encouraging text every thirty minutes along with silly photos of her and the kids flexing and making fish faces.

  We believe in Auntie Ash!

  Take deep breaths.

  $100,000! Keep your eye on the prize!

  Take a sleeping pill. But not too many! You don’t want to snore.

  Sorry if I made you more nervous now. You won’t snore. Don’t worry.

  Auntie you’re our hero! We love you!

  Even if the texts didn’t actually make me feel better, they distracted me long enough to get through security and to the gate for my flight.

  Even still, I almost called Julien to cancel too many times to count. He had given me his phone number and email address while we’d ironed out the details of the deal. He was already back in Monaco, but the day before, we’d both electronically signed a contract that said I would be paid $100,000 for performing prior to the start of the races. I wondered how the organizers of the race could afford to pay me so much, but I also didn’t care. As long as I got paid, all my nerves and suffering would be worth it.

  Like Brianna had texted, I had to keep my eyes on the prize.

  I took my sister’s advice and popped a sleeping pill, which helped me sleep for the flight to New York, but for the remainder of the fifteen-hour journey, I was groggy and scared. The flight attendants on my New York to Nice flight checked on me twice as much as anyone else, and I knew it was because they thought I was moments away from a mental breakdown.

  When the pilot came over the speakers and announced we would be making our descent, I actually whooped, drawing the ire of my neighbors, who would certainly be telling their friends and families about the woman sitting next to them on the flight who cried ten times and kept muttering under her breath.

  Customs was like waiting in line at the DMV, except ten times worse. Everyone was speaking rapid French, which, having never been outside o
f the United States, left me feeling like a little kid lost in a department store. Security riffled through my luggage, destroying the immaculate packing job I’d done, and questioned me several times about my bottle of shampoo. I didn’t know what the man thought it could be, but I just kept repeating that it was for my hair, and eventually he dropped it in my suitcase and sent me on my way.

  I walked through the front door of the airport, trailing behind a few American tourists who had been on my flight.

  “Was there someone famous on our flight?” a man asked.

  I followed his finger and saw a black limousine pulled up along the curb. Julien had told me there would be a car waiting to drive me to the hotel, and I’d imagined a taxi cab or a black sedan at most. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I realized that the short, suit-wearing man with the thin black mustache who was standing next to the limo had a sign with my name on it.

  “Are you Ashlynn Reed?” the driver asked in a thick accent.

  I nodded and pointed to the limo. “This is for me?”

  “Yes, I’m Monsieur Garnier’s personal driver.” He opened the back door for me, revealing plush black leather and LED lights around the ceiling.

  “Personal driver?” I asked, trying to determine how much English the man knew. I didn’t know how to ask without sounding rude.

  He grabbed my luggage and carried it around to the trunk. “Yes, I’ll be driving you to his home.”

  “Oh,” I said, eyebrows pushed together. “I was told I would have my own hotel room.”

  The man nodded and sighed. I could see he was getting a bit exasperated with me. “Yes, you have a room in Monsieur Garnier’s hotel.”

  “Right…” I couldn’t tell if he’d changed his story or if the truth was simply getting lost in translation. Either way, more confused than ever, I decided to let the subject lie, for now. “Thank you,” I said, hoping I sounded cheerier than I felt as I slid into the backseat of the limo.

  The drive from Nice took forty minutes, and I drank two mimosas in an attempt to calm my nerves. It was only seven in the morning back in the States, but it was two in the afternoon in Monaco, and there was no one in the limo to judge me for day drinking.

  The driver, whose name I never managed to catch, pulled into a wide, circular driveway and followed it until he parked directly in front of what looked like a white stone castle. Palm and cypress trees ran along the two wings of the building. It stretched up at least eight stories, small balconies overlooking an ornate fountain and a long patch of manicured lawn.

  Men in tailored suits walked through the revolving doors together, serious faces on, like they were talking business. Every woman I saw looked perfectly polished, like I’d stumbled into the middle of a magazine photoshoot. After nearly a full day’s journey, I was sure my greasy hair and wrinkled T-shirt would make me stick out like a sore thumb.

  The driver jogged around the car to open my door, and when I stepped out, I noticed Julien walking towards us. He had on a navy blue suit with a white shirt beneath it, the top few buttons open to reveal a patch of perfectly tanned skin. His brown leather boots looked more expensive than anything I’d ever owned, and unlike the messy hairstyle I’d seen in Vegas, he had his hair arranged neatly to the side. It still looked good enough that I was tempted to run my fingers through it, but it looked formal enough that I wouldn’t have dared.

  “Did you have a good flight?” he asked, beaming his shiny white smile at me.

  “I did,” I lied. He didn’t want to hear about how I’d kept running to the bathroom, thinking I would be sick. It hadn’t come to it in the end, thank God, but there had been a few close calls.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.

  His eyes gave me a once-over, and I felt incredibly self-conscious standing next to him. I didn’t have any makeup on and my hair was pulled into the world’s largest messy bun. I’d expected to see Julien after I’d had a chance to shower and freshen up. Instead, I looked like a stationary bike instructor after a day’s worth of classes.

  “Neither can I,” I agreed.

  I looked around at the hotel—the gargoyles on the corners of the building, the bougainvillea blooms wrapped around the terrace off to the side. It was easily one of the nicest hotels I’d ever seen.

  The driver offered to take my luggage upstairs for me, but I insisted I could do it myself.

  “Nonsense,” Julien said, waving me away. He said something to the driver in French, which prompted both men to laugh, and then Julien took my luggage and gestured for me to follow him. “I can show you to your room.”

  “About that,” I said, doing my best to keep up with Julien. His legs were twice as long as mine, so I practically had to jog to walk next to him. “The driver mentioned something about taking me to your place, I think? I was under the impression I would have my own hotel room.”

  Julien stopped walking and turned to me, brows furrowed. “That’s absurd. Gérard knows I own the hotel. Why would he let you think you’d be staying with me?”

  He began to move again, but it was my turn to stop walking.

  “What?” I asked.

  Julien turned around, confused.

  “Did you just say you own the hotel?”

  He nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I shook my head more fiercely. “No, you didn’t. I’d remember something like that.”

  “Oh, well,” he said, smiling. “Welcome to my hotel. For future reference, Gérard would have said he was taking you to the penthouse if he was talking about my place—I live on the top floor.”

  We stepped into the lobby and my jaw nearly hit the white marble floor. The large space was arranged like a cross, with four spaces jutting out from the domed center. The dome was painted gold with recessed lighting shining up into it so that looking up felt like looking at the sun. The lobby looked like cathedrals I’d only ever seen photos of. There was a reverence to the space that I’d never felt before—certainly not in any of the hotels in Las Vegas.

  I couldn’t imagine having enough money to sit in the lobby for an afternoon, let alone live in the penthouse.

  I took a deep breath, the air rushing out from between my lips. “So, you’re really rich, then?”

  Julien laughed and looked down at me, one eyebrow raised. “Please don’t make me answer that question. It’s embarrassing.”

  “You live here all the time?” I asked, head still swiveling from side to side, trying to take in everything there was to see.

  A beautiful brunette sat behind the receptionist desk, a smile painted on her perfectly symmetrical face. Though, I noticed the corner of her smile falter when she caught sight of me walking next to Julien. The women who worked in the hotel must all have fawned over him.

  He nodded. “It’s as good a house as any. Plus, whenever anything goes wrong, I’m already on the premises. It has saved me a lot of late-night and early morning drives across the city.”

  “And room service,” I said, thinking about the granola bars and wilted salads I ate after my shows in Las Vegas. But then, I thought about how fat I’d be if I had unlimited access to midnight steaks and crêpes.

  “Yes, that is a definite bonus.”

  My room was on the third floor, and Julien wheeled my luggage down a long hallway, around a corner, and to the end of a second hallway before he parked it in front of a large white door with a golden doorknob.

  “This is you,” he said, stepping back and folding his hands behind his back. “I’ll let you relax after your flight, but would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  I stared at him for a few seconds, and I knew he probably thought I was totally out of it based on how long it took me to answer, but a tornado of questions were swirling my thoughts and making it hard to form words.

  Was this dinner business-related or relationship-related? Did Julien and I even have a relati
onship that the dinner could be related to? Was it unprofessional to ask him his intentions? Asking would imply that I’d been thinking about him romantically, and even the idea of letting him know I found him incredibly attractive—especially if he didn’t feel the same way about me—would be mortifying.

  I’d seen the woman working the reception desk. She was ten times prettier than I was, so I knew Julien had plenty of beautiful woman just outside his front door. Literally, considering he lived in the hotel. What should I do?

  “Sure?” I said, the word coming out more like a question than an answer.

  “Are you?” he asked. “Sure, I mean. You don’t sound sure.”

  I smiled. “I’d love to have dinner with you. I’ll be ready at seven.”

  Then, without another word or sidelong glance, I grabbed my suitcase and disappeared into my room. The only thing that stopped me from banging my dumb head against the incredibly fancy door was the knowledge that Julien was standing just outside of it.

  Chapter 7

  Julien

  The first hour after I left Ashlynn at her room was torture. I paced around my penthouse like a caged animal, staring out the window overlooking the sapphire blue pools and the guests lounging on the wooden deck chairs.

  Knowing she was only a few floors below me made it even harder to stop thinking about her. For some reason, I thought having her in Monaco would finally break whatever spell she had over me. Apparently, I was wrong.

  When Ashlynn had stepped out of the limo, it had been all I could do not to whistle. How could someone look that good after an international flight? She wore tight blue jeans with a white V-neck shirt and looked like the classic American girl next door. Her hair was twisted artfully on top of her head, her cheeks rosy. In that moment, I realized I’d never seen her without her makeup done, and somehow, she looked even better. She looked real.