Billionaire's Princess: A Standalone Novel (A Royal Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires Book 2)

by Claire Adams

  Stopping the elevator made me think of Kya. The jolt had made her giggle then her green eyes had gotten brighter. She had pushed me into the corner of the elevator and kissed me until we sunk together to the floor.

  "I know you like to be bad, I do, too," Talia said. She swayed the short hem of her dress in front of my belt loop.

  I felt my blood rush to where she brushed against me, but it was not Talia I wanted. "Not here," I told her.

  She stood up and leaned back against me. The position gave me an open view down the front of her dress. She was not wearing a bra, her breasts firm and rounded against the material, nipples aroused as she squirmed inside the fabric. "I know a dark corner where no one plays the slots at this hour."

  I had to try. I reached around Talia and cupped both her firm breasts in my hands. She moaned loudly as I squeezed, and her hands sneaked between us to my belt loop. I fingered her nipples, feeling every shudder through her sensual body. She undid my zipper, but before she could reach me and work me hard with her hands, I had to admit the truth – all I could think about was Kya.

  "Damn, sorry. I…I just can't do this now," I said.

  The elevator doors slid open just as I rebuckled my belt. Talia was still teasing me, her breasts pressed to my arm, one hand cupping my ass.

  "Don't let me interrupt," my manager said. He stepped onto the elevator and licked his lips at Talia. "I was coming to get you for dinner, but I understand if you're ordering in."

  "No, dinner is great," I said.

  "Gimme the restaurant," Kev said into his phone. "Yeah, make it three. We're on our way."

  Talia bounced happily and wrapped her arms around mine. Kev nodded his head along with her still erect nipples and whistled. He stayed distracted by her shiny dress until we were seated at the restaurant.

  "Alright, tell me about Kya Allen. I'm dying to know what happened after the nightclub. You two were looking pretty hot and heavy on the way out," Kev said.

  Talia pouted and slid a little closer to me in the dark leather booth. I shook my head. "You know I was just messing with her. Distracting her from getting her pitch out. I'm not signing on to hock vitamin supplements."

  Kev shrugged. "It'd be smart to pick something long-term like that. Shoes go out of style, but vitamins have a good long contract. Anyway, enough about business. What's the Country Club Princess like?"

  "She sounds boring," Talia said.

  "Apparently not," Kev said. "She kept our boy distracted all night long."

  "Let's talk about something else," Talia pouted and ran a hand high up the inside of my thigh. She started to knead my muscles there in slow circles. "What kind of fun are we going to have tonight?"

  "First cocktails, then steak, then more cocktails, then we hit the town," Kev said.

  "Did you sign a deal I don't know about?" I asked. "Where are all these funds coming from?"

  My manager shrugged again. He waved at a man across the bar. "Bran cereal, breakfast of champions, that sort of thing. I told him I would hand you this. Pretend to read over it, keep it out on the table, and he's picking up the tab."

  I took the product information packet and glanced back at the endorsement agent. He raised his glass then turned back to the bar. Trying the soft sell. It seemed wrong to take advantage of him, but my manager had already ordered two bottles of wine and steak dinners for all of us.

  "What did Ms. Allen offer you, or was it all below the table?" Kev asked.

  Talia's hand gripped hard before she redoubled her efforts to arouse me. With my manager salivating across the table at us, she had a better chance of getting me to endorse jock straps.

  "She hasn't tried her business pitch on you?" I asked. "Most agents are like our friend at the bar, they go through the manager."

  "Well, everyone in the industry knows she's different. Likes to go straight for what she wants," he said. "Come on, you're really not gonna give me any details about the other night?"

  "No, I'm not. Find your own details," I said.

  "I wish! Hey, maybe Miss Wriggler there has a friend?" he asked.

  "Sure. I know some girls are heading over to the new club at the Tropicana," Talia said.

  "The Tropicana?" I asked, remembering that was where I had dropped Kya off that morning.

  "Yeah, it’s retro cool, good music. The bathrooms are great." Talia batted her eyelashes at me and slipped her hand higher up my leg.

  I was glad when the food and wine arrived because Talia had something else to do with her hands. The sight of Kevin Casey eating a rare steak was enough to turn anyone off. Fortunately, the wine was good and my manager had a slew of entertaining stories.

  "And that is why you never challenge Chris Rock to a game of baseball," Kev finished his story and poured out the last of the second bottle of wine.

  Talia giggled and swayed as she got out of the booth. "Chris Rock performed in Vegas a few years ago. My friend and I sneaked backstage, but we never made it further than his bodyguards."

  Knowing her preference for tough guys first hand, I did not bother to ask what happened with the bodyguards. She wrapped both arms around my bicep and whispered it in my ear anyway. It may have been the strong wine, but her dirty memory got my blood pumping.

  It seemed ridiculous to take a town car to a casino we could see from outside the MGM Grand, but the enormous buildings were deceptively far apart. Plus, the town car gave Talia the chance to sit in my lap. I ran my hands all over her curves, but somehow, Kya kept coming between me and Talia's thin dress. It was wrong to compare the two women, but it was all I could do.

  I only wanted Kya. The only answer to that was to drink more. We messed around at the Blackjack tables inside the Tropicana long enough to get served strong cocktails. Kev hit a hot streak and Talia had fun flirting with the dealer. I played conservatively and tried not to tally every loss against the free chips I was given for my minor celebrity.

  Counting my savings in my head made me again think of Kya. I could understand how she did not want to let loose until she had a safety net. It made sense, and I operated the same way. That was why I needed to get Kya Allen out of my system. She was the only one in years that made me want to skip my personal parameters and start a relationship early.

  Relationship – I shook my head. I have got to get her out of my head, I thought.

  Too bad when I turned back to our Blackjack game, I spotted Kya Allen across the casino floor. She paced in front of a video poker game on the end of a long row. As her phone conversation stretched on, she played a few hands. It was easy to see from the flashing lights of her machine that she was casually winning. Only Kya would win offhand while talking on the phone.

  Talia caught me watching Kya. She gave up her seat and stood next to me. Her bouncing breasts were even with my cheek as she leaned into my stool. "Let's go dance, Fenton. Or better yet, let's go swimming. I bet we could convince the front desk to let us into the pool."

  "You go ahead and join your friends," I told her. "I'm going to stick around here."

  Talia bent lower, sucking on my ear lobe. "The best way to get over someone is to sleep with someone else," she said.

  "You're right," I agreed. The cocktails had confused my hearing. "I gotta sleep with her to get over her."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kya

  I was holding my phone away from my ear. My boss was off on one of his supreme lectures, making me wonder for the thousandth time if my apparent listening was part of the reason he hired me.

  "You hear me?" James Cort asked.

  I did not have to utter a full word, just a hum and he launched into part three of what I suspected was going to be at least a five part series. I punched a few cards on the video poker screen and paced away while imaginary money racked up.

  "Are you really this lucky?" Fenton asked from behind me. He sauntered up and leaned against the end machine, watching my winnings calculate.

  "I'm not sure you'd call this lucky," I held out the phone so he
could hear my boss' chatter.

  "Well, a lot of women would think you're lucky right about now," Fenton said. He nodded to one particularly catty looking woman with long black hair.

  "Just because you're talking to me?" I asked. "James, Fenton is here. Yes, I call him by his first name. Right. No. Don't be gross." I hung up my phone and punched a few more cards on the video poker screen.

  "Because you seem to be the only woman I'm interested in talking to," Fenton said. "Was that your boss you just hung up on?"

  "Yes." I watched his smirk wobble a bit and I wondered if he had been drinking. "He told me to make you happy and get you signed."

  He pushed off the video poker screen and leaned towards me. "I'd be happy to see that little black dress again," he said.

  I glanced down at my silk blouse and jeans. "I've seen people gambling in worse. You're lucky I'm not wearing sweatpants and a fleece vest."

  "Or that tight little tank top you wore on our hike. You sore from the Overlook Trail?" he asked.

  I stepped back as he leaned closer. "Yes, I am a little sore, but nothing I can't handle. In fact, I was thinking I should join you again tomorrow. That's the best cure for sore muscles."

  "I know a better one." Fenton’s laser blue eyes narrowed as his smile widened.

  "Well, I can guess it’s not sitting on a stool playing video poker," I said. I punched out of the game and a slew of coins poured into the metal slot.

  Fenton shook his head at my luck again. "Sign us up for a couple's massage. Don't you have an expense account or something? Call your boss and ask for his credit card number."

  I raked the coins into a plastic cup. All the other agents I knew would do what Fenton said in an instant. And, it was not that I was not tempted. The idea of a couple's massage with him next to me was very tempting, indeed. My boss would be annoyed that he had not thought of it first. I could hear him rattling off his credit card number in his perpetually yelling tone.

  "You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Fenton said. "You never know, it might make me want vitamin supplements even more."

  I shook my head. "No. I've never landed an account that way before. Besides, you are just trying to take advantage of me. What kind of agent would I be if I just threw money away on my client's whims? I'm suppose to be proving to you that I have your best interests in mind."

  Fenton laughed, and my stomach quivered. "Well, if you won't treat me to a couple's massage, what kind of schmoozing do you have in mind? I hear there's a great nightclub here if you feel like taking me dancing."

  "What have other endorsement agents offered you?" I asked.

  "Well, let's see. One just gave me and two friends an open tab for dinner," he said.

  "Would that explain the hint of intoxication?"

  He stuck his nose in the air. "Yes. Jealous?"

  "Not impressed," I said. "What other sort of perks have you gotten?"

  "A car lease, a timeshare vacation, a purebred dog, a leather sofa. None of which I accepted."

  "What kind of dog?" I asked. I took my coins to the exchange and got a surprising wad of cash.

  "A pitbull. Sweet puppy," he said.

  "Hmm, I see you as more of a Rottweiler type," I told him.

  Fenton nudged me. "Really? I thought you would have noticed that I’m more the kitten type."

  "Well, massages and live animals aside, I'm not sure what I can offer you besides a sound business deal," I said.

  "Ah, there it is," Fenton said. "That's how you get all those Ivy League types. Make them think they are doing real business. We both know it’s selling out."

  "Selling out is what other agents would push for. I'm here to help you trade your name for solid investments."

  "Oh, the Kya Allen reputation at work," Fenton said. He sauntered away.

  "Wait, fine. Alright. I know how to have a little fun while working," I said.

  He spun around and looked skeptical. "I'm not accepting tickets to a show. I am the show, remember?"

  "I wasn't thinking about taking you to a show. I've got reservations for the restaurant on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Say tomorrow night at eight?"

  "Dress to impress?" Fenton asked.

  "Of course."

  "Then, it's a date."

  #

  I bought a new dress to wine and dine Fenton Morris. I could not bring myself to buy the fire engine red number, but the plunging neckline of my deep purple dress more than made up for the conservative color. The v stopped just short of my navel and somehow, the looping silver chains drew the eye to my cleavage instead of distracted from it.

  The double takes and soft whistles should have boosted my confidence, but I was nervous. Fenton had said it was a date. He had also been drinking. What if he forgot about it all together?

  I imagined him off somewhere with the jealous, black-haired beauty. I had not admitted it to him, but I had seen them enter the Tropicana the night before. She was wrapped around him like ivy and though he talked to his manager, his hand was still firmly on the curve of her hip.

  Should I have booked a couple's massage? I asked myself for the hundredth time.

  Fenton had probably gone back to the voluptuous woman right after I refused. They were probably still in his penthouse suite, ordering room service.

  I told myself the burning in my chest was not jealousy. I had grabbed a tiny bottle of liquid courage from my mini bar. It had to be the whiskey still burning its way down. It was no big deal if Fenton was having wild, passionate sex with another woman while I stood in a replica of Paris and shivered in the surprisingly chilly evening.

  "Need my coat or can I warm you up?" Fenton’s voice came from behind me.

  "Oh, thank God you came," I said. "I mean, I'm starving. And I hear the foie gras is to die for."

  I led the way into the Paris Casino so he could not see the relieved blush on my cheeks. Fenton had come to meet me for dinner – he was not off with anyone else.

  "I should have told you, you could have brought a date. I'm sorry I did not say anything sooner," I said.

  The elevator doors shut and Fenton gave me a wolfish grin. "Bring a date on a date? What sort of man do you take me for?"

  I smiled, more relieved. "I thought you were a bad boy. I thought you were the show."

  "Yeah, yeah, I remember saying that," he laughed. "And, I've been wondering. Aren't you afraid that my reputation is going to ruin your reputation?"

  I backed towards the corner of the elevator as he slid closer. His gaze was locked on my lips and I licked them nervously. "Maybe they cancel each other out and we can just be regular people," I countered.

  His eyes softened and he stopped looming over me. I missed the heat of his body like the sun going behind a cloud. Then, he reached for my hand.

  "I'd like that, Kya. Now that would be something no other agent has ever given me," Fenton said.

  The doors opened and the maitre d' ruined the effects of my statement. He bowed low and welcomed us to the Eiffel Tower. He seated us right away at a special table with a view of the Bellagio Fountain. Heads turned as we took our seats.

  "Being regular for the night might be a tall order," I said. I gestured out the window to where a neon billboard almost a story high showed Fenton in action.

  He turned away from the window and concentrated on me. "It's at least worth a shot. What do regular people talk about on dates?"

  "Work?" I asked.

  He laughed, and again my stomach quivered. I loved hearing him laugh. The head waiter explained that we did not need menus; the chef had prepared a special meal. Then, the sommelier approached and poured the right wine to match our first course.

  After all the flourishes were finished and we had taken a few long sips, Fenton smiled again. "Alright, tell me about work. But not like you're an agent trying to sign me. What would you tell a date?"

  I touched my thumb to the small, comma-shaped beauty mark near my mouth, a sure tell that I was nervous. "It's a been awhile since I we
nt on a date. I guess most men want to know how I got into my profession."

  Fenton leaned his forearms on the table. "What I want to know is how you ended up working for James Cort. I asked my manager about him and he just laughed. They seem to be cut from the same slimy cloth."

  "I ran into him at a country club," I said.

  "You're joking."

  I laughed. "No, it’s true. I was on a road trip and needed to go to the bathroom. The nearest place I could find was this country club, so I sneaked in and used the facilities. When I came out, security was looking for me. James snagged my arm and introduced me to the golf pro. I must have charmed him because James left there with a new client, and I left with a new job."

  "What kind of car were you driving?" Fenton asked.

  In my mind, I could see the rust flaking off the door and smiled. "An 80s Thunderbird. The two-door kind. Big long heavy doors that tended to sag on the hinges when it was as rusted as mine."

  "A sweet sixteen present?"

  "No," I said. "I bought it myself just after high school. I needed something to get me to college."

  "Ah, yes, the Ivy League." Fenton leaned back in his seat.

  "University of Chicago," I said. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

  He smiled. "How many prospective clients get to hear that?"

  "None." I sipped my wine and felt warm. Talking with Fenton was easy – no patter, no holding up false impressions.

  He rolled up his sleeves and fixed his eyes on the candle between us. "Then I suppose it’s only fair I tell you something true."

  "About your reputation?" I asked.

  He nodded, his look faraway. "I hit that cop. He'd arrested my sister."

  The warmth inside me spread. I raised my glass to Fenton. "Here's to the half truths that make us regular people."

  His smile returned and made me dizzy all throughout the meal. When we were finally walking down the Strip later that evening, it did not feel at all strange to be arm in arm – just like it felt natural for him to walk me back to my room at the Tropicana. And then, it was only right that I invite him in for a nightcap.