Dirty News
A Billionare Romance
Michelle Love
Contents
Copyright and Disclaimer
Free Gift
Dirty News
The In-laws: A Dirty News Extra
Masked Pleasures: A Masked Indulgence Extra
Filthy Commitments
The Billionaire Bad Boy Club
The Billionaire’s Brother
Dark Masquerade Preview
No Promises Sneak Peek
Copyright and Disclaimer
About the author
Copyright and Disclaimer
©Copyright 2018 by Michelle Love - All rights
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Went to the toy store for my kid, came home with a woman for me… Something inside of me began to smolder for her that hot afternoon. Once I had her within my walls, I couldn’t think about anything other than getting my hands on her, using her body to quench the fire that had grown inside me. Taking her in every way imaginable and making her beg for more, were my devious plans. She’d become my hot little muse, making nightly visits to her master’s bedroom to lend me some of her sexual magic. But would our little secret be the only thing that could separate us…
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Dirty News
A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
Shooting for an anchor position on the Evening News for the new Network WOLF, Lila Banks is fresh out of college. She’s a tall, lithe blonde with dreams of making it big in the news industry.
Shooting for the same anchor position is a newcomer to television, Duke Cofield, a former Wide Receiver for the New York Jets. He’s thirty-two, mature, and as sexy as they come.
The two are vying for the same spot, Duke’s used to fighting for what he wants, but Lila has to learn how to play the game she’s new to.
Will they find a compromise while finding love? Or will the strict new rules their boss lays down defeat them both?
Chapter One
Lila
New York, New York
WOLF, the newest television network that had everyone in the industry buzzing, had called me.
Me!
A woman named Mrs. Baker had called to ask me if I’d be interested in flying clear across the country from Los Angeles, California, to interview for one or more positions at a new network named WOLF. They only wanted new faces—new talent with promising futures ahead of them.
Being a recent graduate from UCLA with a degree in communications—with a 4.0 grade average, I might add—had put me on their radar. With financial help from dear old Mom and Dad, I’d trekked across the country—well, maybe not trekked, but it was a long trip, and I took it all alone.
WOLF put me up in a nice hotel—no, nice isn’t the right word. One would not call the Park Hyatt New York merely nice. Extravagant, luxurious, fantastic—all those words fit the fine accommodations much more accurately. I was overcome with awe as I strode into the lobby of the enormous hotel.
To be perfectly honest, I can’t recall much of anything after the moment I stepped off the plane at JFK. My head went light, and not from the two glasses of wine I’d had while in the air, either. It had much more to do with the fact that my dreams were finally becoming a reality—playing themselves out in real life.
It had been my dream ever since I was a kid to be the woman on the television telling the world the latest news. Bold, I know. I would engage my family—Mom, Dad, my twin sister, Lilly, and our older brother, Lonnie—with my charm and wit as I sat on a chair behind a TV tray in our modest living room. Fueled by my active imagination, I’d read them the news, written by my own hand. My kind of news.
Being only a kid, my news concerned all the things only a ten-year-old would care about—what the cafeteria served that day and how it had affected me and the other children in my class, or how doing algebra in later years of my education wouldn’t benefit students like me, artistic creatures with no mathematical goals. And of course, how being good all year long so Santa would bring children toys was a scam, since he only ever brought each of us in the Banks household one present. One toy for a year’s worth of being good didn’t make sense, mathematically. And I wasn’t even good at math and knew that much. You know, hard-hitting journalism.
After regaling my family for years with my newscasts, I headed out west, away from small-town New Mexico to seek the education I would need to fulfill my lifelong dream. UCLA welcomed me with open arms, and I flourished there, joining extracurriculars like the school newspaper while still excelling in my classes.
And now New York had called me into its bosom to drink from the nectar only it could give me: an anchor position at a brand spanking new network named WOLF. After getting the call, I decided my totem animal must be a wolf. Never one to delve much into the Native American beliefs of things like totem animals, I thought it just might be time to do so. I did have one-sixteenth Seminole running through my veins, thanks to an errant great-great-great-grandfather who had dabbled with a woman who later became my great-great-great illegitimate grandmother. Or, I became her illegitimate granddaughter; not real sure how all that works.
So, with the fearlessness and ferocity of a wolf, I got on an airplane, alone, trying not to be afraid, to come to New York City to find my dream. The dream of sitting behind a real anchor’s desk, with a real camera trained on me while I told everyone watching what was going on in the world.
I’d never wanted anything more. Well, there was that one pair of boots I’d found on sale that one time. Now that was a real want—no, need. I’d needed those boots, and being just ten bucks short was too damn cruel.
But I’d gotten over my heart-breaking loss of those fabulous boots, all while holding fast to my dream of broadcast stardom. That steadfast desire paid off and landed me where I was that fateful day—in a cab, heading through the busy, packed streets of downtown New York.
I’d lived on campus at UCLA for four years. I thought I knew what a crowd of people was. I’d just thought JFK airport was packed. The hotel seemed packed, too. But I’d had no idea what packed looked like until I saw the streets and sidewalks of downtown New York City.
When the cabbie pulled to the side of the road and looked back at me to bark, “$57.50,” I knew my day had come.
Pulling three crisp twenties out of my small purse, I found my hands shaking. “Here you go, sir. I hope the rest of your day is nice. Keep the change.” I got out of the backseat and took in a big sniff of stale air before taking that first step toward the beginning of my career.
My mouth felt dry. My hands, sweaty. My tummy, knotted. Two glass doors stopped me. A ‘WO’ on the left door, and a ‘LF’ on the right—WOLF.
There I was, at the doors that I prayed I’d soon get to walk through every workday. As I went inside, I noticed there was hardly a soul around. One lone young woman sat at a large reception desk.
Her dark brown eyes
moved up from the cell in her hand. “Hi.”
“Hi.” My feet somehow managed to take me to her without much instruction from me. My head wasn’t in it at all. No, my head was firmly in the clouds. “Um, I’m, uh …” My stomach rumbled, making me look down at it.
“Hungry?” the woman asked with a grin. “Or nervous?”
“That one.” Her little joke brought me closer to earth. “Whew, is it hot in here, or is it just me?” I pulled the neck of my blouse to fan myself a bit.
“It’s not hot in here at all.” She pulled out a notepad, looked it over, then looked back at me. “Let me guess. Lila Banks, here for an interview with Mr. Wolfe?”
A nod moved my head. Then I looked around for a ladies’ room. “I need …”
She pointed in the direction she already knew I needed to go. “There’s a bathroom right over there. I’ll inform the boss that you’re here, and someone will be down to get you shortly. And try not to be so nervous. Mr. Wolfe and Mrs. Baker are very nice people. Both are very down-to-earth. You’d hardly be able to tell Mr. Wolfe is a filthy rich billionaire—it hasn’t seemed to go to his head at all. You’ll see.”
“K,” came my simple reply before I hurried off in the direction she pointed.
I found the small private bathroom to be just as elegant as the reception area. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t quite believe it. There I was, in a fancy building, about to interview for the job of a lifetime.
“Is this real?” My reflection nodded back at me, telling me it was indeed real.
A thorough handwashing had my sweaty palms under control. A few deep breaths took away the knots in my stomach. “This is what you’ve always wanted. Now, time to stiffen that upper lip and let these people know that you can do the job they’ve brought you here to interview for.”
Smoothing out the white blouse I’d tucked neatly into an A-line black skirt that hit me just below my knees—which were thankfully no longer knocking after my stern pep-talk—I headed out.
My shiny black heels clicked and clacked over the black and gray marble floor, taking me out to meet the person who’d lead me to Mr. Wolfe and Mrs. Baker. Time to get this show on the road.
“Miss Banks?” a short young man asked me as soon as I came out of the bathroom.
“Yes?”
“Come with me, please.” He headed to the bank of elevators, and I followed.
The doors closed on us, confining us together in the vast space. “Man, this elevator is huge.”
“We anticipate this place being very busy and full of people soon.” He pulled his round-frame glasses off to clean them with a hanky he’d pulled out of the pocket of his suit. “I’m Brady, the receptionist for Mr. Wolfe’s office.”
“Nice to meet you, Brady.” I offered my hand to shake his.
But he only shook his head. “Germaphobe.”
“I see.” Putting my hand back by my side, I wondered if I’d find many more people in the big city who would be afraid of catching something from me.
At the very top of the tall building, we got off on the twenty-second floor, the last floor. I’d thought the reception area on the first floor was elegant but it was nothing compared to this one. This one had a chandelier hanging from the very tall ceiling.
Brady stepped off first, leading the way, his arm flowing out to gesture at the grandeur. “This is the penthouse. Mr. Wolfe’s office is located here. His personal assistant, Mrs. Baker, has an office right across the hallway from his. There are two meeting rooms on both sides of the hall after them. We have eight more offices up here too. Those will go to the anchors on the news shows.”
“Do you mean that if I get one of the anchor positions, then I’ll have an office up here?” My eyes scanned every inch of the magnificent area, as far down the hall as I could see.
“You would.” He tapped lightly on a door that had a gold-plated nameplate with the name Artimus Wolfe engraved on it. “They’re waiting for you in here.” Brady opened the door then stepped inside. “I have Lila Banks here, Mr. Wolfe.”
An older woman with dark hair and eyes to match got up from her seat on the side of a large cherrywood desk. The man who sat behind it in a high-backed rich brown leather chair had his back to me.
“Miss Banks, it’s lovely to meet you,” she greeted me. “I’m Mrs. Baker.” She shook my hand before gesturing for me to take a seat in one of the large, matching dark brown leather chairs in the gigantic office.
Taking my seat, I said, “Thank you for asking me to come interview. This is a dream opportunity for me.”
The chair turned around, and a very handsome man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes smiled at me. “Artimus Wolfe. Damn glad to hear this is a dream of yours, Lila Banks.”
“A dream?” I shook my head. “The dream. The only dream.”
His dark brows rose as Mrs. Baker smiled. “I told you, Arti. She’s very driven.”
They had no idea how driven I truly was.
Chapter Two
Duke
When my agent, Larry Finkelstein’s, name lit up my cell, I was skeptical. Since hiring him a few months back, he’d only come up with shit offers. I needed more than he’d given me. But we had a contract for one year, so I answered the call, ready to shoot down his idea. “You’ve got Duke.”
His nasally tone filled my ear. “Duke. Hey, man, how’s it goin’ on this fine Monday morning?”
My shoulder ached, my knee throbbed, and I hadn’t had my coffee or the Aleve that wasn’t as all-day-strong as it promised—but at least it was half-a-day-strong, so I took a couple each day to combat the pain.
“It’s going, Larry. What ya got for me?” Rubbing my forehead, I got ready to hear some lame shit.
So far, he’d come up with a role as a singer in a Broadway play about washed up athletes who couldn’t find shit to do after retiring. That one hit a little too close to home for me.
Larry also had some goofy auto sales commercials he thought I’d be the bomb at. I’d refused. He’d asked me if I thought it was beneath me, and I’d told him, hell, yeah, it was! I didn’t want to just rely on my past—I wanted things that would challenge me.
“You said you took journalism in college, right?” I could hear him tapping a pencil on his little desk.
“Yeah.” Steam came off the cup of coffee I’d poured myself to help me handle a Monday morning call with Larry.
“With your background as a linebacker with the New York Jets, I think I can score you an interview with this network that’s hiring fresh faces right now. It’s called WOLF, and it’s owned by some rich guy named Artimus Wolfe. Have ya heard of this?”
“Now, how would I hear about this, Larry?” Shit, the man had noodles in his head where brains should be. “And an interview to do what, exactly?”
“They need anchors and other things for their newscasts, which are going to be done locally.” He coughed and sneezed in his usual way. His allergies always seemed to be kicking up. “Oh, these damn allergies are bothering me again.” The sound of him blowing his nose filled my ear.
So rude!
“Anchors, huh?” I liked the sound of that.
Duke Cofield, anchor for WOLF news. Yeah, that’ll work.
I’d been struggling since ending my football career. Drafted right out of college at LSU in my home state of Louisiana, the Jets had taken me and made me a star athlete. At twenty-two, I’d been making the big bucks, raking in dough as a linebacker for a major football club.
Everything was roses the first few years. Injuries weren’t a worry back then. When I turned twenty-five, I sustained my first injury. One rough tackle—a brutal blow to my left shoulder—that broke more things in it than I knew were there, had me on my way to my very first surgical procedure.
The next year saw my knee blowing out. One more surgery had me out for the remainder of that season. At twenty-eight, a rougher than necessary tackle not only broke three of my ribs, but punctured my right lung with one of those of tho
se broken ribs. Another surgery to repair that meant more time not being able to play.
On a good note, the San Francisco 49er who made that tackle was cited for unnecessary roughness. My mother said that should’ve made me happy. Funny how it didn’t at all.
The Jets kept me on, letting me play the next season. And that year was a great one—no injuries at all. I felt like the old me was back and better than ever. And things kept going well, up until I turned thirty-one.
Some years my early September birthday would coincide with the first game of the season. And my thirty-first birthday was one of those seasons. My family filled the stands at the home game at MetLife Stadium. A big birthday party was already planned. Coach Bowles graciously offered his home for the big bash.
The first half was great. We were winning. The second half saw us losing our twenty-point lead. As can happen, my team became desperate and played a lot harder than we usually would in a first game.
Somehow, I ended up taking a tumble that left me with a pretty bad concussion. A broken left arm and two broken fingers on my right hand added to one shitshow of an injury. Bleeding on my brain required them going in to release the pressure, and that surgery gave me a blood clot somehow.
My mother begged me to stop playing. She fell on her knees and cried like a baby, asking me to please retire. My body hurt like hell anyways, and watching my mother cry was something I just couldn’t take. So, I did what she had asked, telling the coach that I’d like to retire. He took it well, even told me he understood completely.
The years of playing had my bank accounts looking pretty damn good. I could afford to relax for a while. But that proved to be boring. Once I healed, I wanted to do something. I was thirty-two, not eighty-two, after all.
Dirty News (Dirty Network Book 1) Page 1