Highest Bidder (A Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  HIGHEST BIDDER

  Mia Carson

  Contents

  HIGHEST BIDDER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  BOYFRIEND

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author.

  COPRIGHT 2017 MIA CARSON

  HIGHEST BIDDER

  She’s up for sale - her virginity is, anyway.

  I’m always game for a new girl, so I bid.

  I win.

  Damn, I just bought a virgin.

  She’s mine, for the night.

  But I don’t want to take her just yet.

  Not yet.

  Sooner or later every billionaire buys a virgin – I’m no exception. It’s a game we all eventually play.

  Highest bidder gets the virgin.

  When my friend drags me to this sleazy s*x bar, I end up with her.

  She’s all mine, but she’s too nice.

  I don’t date nice girls.

  Heck, I don’t date. Period.

  I just f*ck.

  No time for commitments.

  Life’s too short for one woman.

  But this girl got me thinking crazy - she’s different.

  I find myself telling her things she shouldn’t know.

  Next, I’m trying to save her from a drug lord.

  Then she’s pregnant.

  Damn!

  All I wanted was her virginity, and now I’m a dad? What the heck?

  Chapter 1

  “If you’re going to sit in that chair all day, playing with that damn deck of cards, you might as well go home,” Marcus muttered, sitting across from his boss.

  Samuel Benson, CEO, split the deck with only his right hand and swiveled around in his chair. “If the noise bothers you, there’s the door. This is my office last I checked.” He shuffled the cards again with a crooked grin, and Marcus sighed like a martyr. “What’s your problem with me today, anyway?”

  “No problem, except you’re not paying attention.”

  “Says who? I can recite every update you just relayed to me,” Sam argued and set the yellowed, worn deck of cards carefully on the corner of his desk. “So I’m a little distracted.”

  “You’re a lot distracted.” Marcus snapped the folder shut in his hand and tossed it over to Sam. “That girl…you ditched her, didn’t you—the one you were with for longer than a classic Sam special one-night stand?”

  Sam opened the folder and glossed over the numbers laid out before him, projections for one of their client’s sales to rise over the next three weeks. He flipped to another page, pointedly not looking at Marcus or responding. “Sales look good,” he said finally and closed the folder again. “Who else is on the docket for the day?”

  Marcus’ lips thinned, but he handed over the next account for Christopher Devois, a powerhouse in the city. His hands were dipped in several enterprises, but mostly casinos.

  “He opened two more accounts?” Sam asked curiously. “Where’s the rest of the information on them?”

  “That’s all that showed up in the report. I already sent a note down to let them know we need the completed forms filled out by Mr. Devois before his accounts are flagged.”

  Sam scratched the stubble on his cheek. Devois was one of the few clients he’d hesitated to take to begin with. Sam had received an interesting phone call a few months back from FBI Agent David Higgins stating Mr. Devois was being watched very closely for anything connecting him to several big-time mafias who’d moved into Vegas—mafias bringing with them new shipments of drugs. That information was just the beginning, and all the agent had told Sam. If the man opened new accounts, Sam would watch them closely. He made a note to call Agent Higgins later and set the file aside.

  The next hour passed running down the main topics for their meeting that afternoon with Sam’s senior staff and account managers at his accounting and marketing firm, Ace of Marketing. A cheesy name—he knew it when he picked it—but there was more to the name than the average person would ever understand. Even Marcus was not privileged to such information. Everyone assumed the name was because of the company’s locale in Vegas. Sam had secrets he would never tell anyone. He was too ashamed and still too pissed to explain the darkest parts of his past.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” Marcus scooped up the files and his notes from their meeting and stood with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “Nothing. I’ll probably go home and stare at my fish tank. Why?” Sam wasn’t in the mood for going out and hoped his face said all he didn’t, but Marcus had never learned to quit while he was ahead. He chortled as he backed to the door. “Marcus, whatever you’re planning, it’s a no.”

  “I think it’s a yes. You need a pick-me-up before those depressed frown lines on your face become permanent.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair with an aggravated sigh. “Can we at least wait until tomorrow night? When I don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn the next day?”

  “You do remember you’re the boss, right, and can be late whenever you want?”

  “It sets a bad example,” he pointed out, even though that wasn’t even close to the real reason.

  “Right, and wearing tight, black, leather pants and having sex in your office doesn’t.”

  Sam’s eyes shifted to the red leather couch across his corner office and he smirked. “One time. I only had sex in here one time.”

  “And half the floor heard it,” Marcus reminded him. “I don’t know why you care so much about being on time when nothing else about you screams die-hard professional suit.”

  Sam shrugged and refused to grace him with an answer. That was a part of his background he couldn’t burden anyone else with. “Friday, then?”

  “Friday. With what I have in mind, you’ll forget all about that woman.”

  Sam watched Marcus leave and the door close solidly behind him. “Yeah, I’m sure I will,” he whispered to the empty space.

  He rubbed his neck and spun around in his chair, staring at the ceiling overhead. His thirtieth birthd
ay was approaching quickly, and lately, he no longer sought the company of women who were only interested in one-night stands. That was the old Sam, and he craved a much deeper connection now that he was getting older. He wanted to be with a woman who made him laugh, who filled him with a desire to be with her and not for what was between her legs. The last time he’d had sex, Sam’s heart wasn’t even in it, and he had simply finished out of habit more than wanting to hear the woman in his arms scream his name in the heat of passion.

  He paced around his office and wondered if, over the course of the years of being a playboy, he was simply growing bored by the repetitive routine of his days. His heart didn’t pound in his chest as if trying to escape when he was in bed with a woman, and the excitement that used to be there when seeking a new partner for the night was gone, replaced by a sense of tediousness at having done it so many times.

  He rested his forehead against the windows and slipped his hands into his tight leather pockets. “Time for a change, old boy,” he murmured to himself, watching the tourist-filled streets below his office.

  So many people below, and all of them appeared to be happy, like he did. The last vacation he had taken was years ago. Maybe it was finally time for another one—get away from the boring routine of a city that never stopped moving to the beat of its own drum. If whatever Marcus had planned didn’t pull him out of his funk, he would disappear for a week—maybe even a month—and go somewhere cold.

  “Sir? They’re ready for you in the conference room,” Betty, his assistant, told him over the speaker from his desk phone.

  Sam walked over and held down the intercom button. “Thanks, be right there.”

  “And Marcus said I was to remind you to smile or he’ll do something to make you smile, but you won’t like it.”

  Picking up his black leather jacket off the back of his chair, he slipped it over his black button-up shirt—untucked—and stomped out the door. “You can tell Marcus to stop with the damn threats,” Sam told Betty as he passed. “They stopped working a long time ago.”

  “He just wants you to look like you’re in a good mood for the sake of the board,” she murmured, trailing after him with several stacks of papers in one hand while she texted with the other.

  “Are you saying I don’t look like I’m in a good mood?”

  She slid her gaze to him and shrugged. “Not lately, no.”

  “You are both losing it. I’m perfectly happy and at peace,” he lied, and Betty laughed sharply. “Fine, I’m not happy.”

  “No, you’re not, though I’m not sure why. Business is better than it has been in five years,” she reminded him as she continued to text on her cell. They walked through the building towards the conference room. “I’m assuming it has something to do with your personal life rather than the business.”

  “You know me oh so well,” he grumbled.

  Betty finally tucked her cell away. “It’s what happens when you work for someone from day one of their company,” she explained smartly. “Just wear that charming grin of yours for a few hours and then you can check out early and watch your damn fish the rest of the day.”

  “I won’t leave early, you know that.” He squared his shoulders and plastered a fake smile on his face. “How’s that?”

  “Terrifying,” she said, stifling a laugh. “Forget the smile. Let’s get this over with.”

  Sam glowered at her as she continued to try and smother her laughter. He pushed open the door and strolled inside. “Gentlemen, ladies, shall we go over the numbers?”

  As evening settled in over the city, Sam unlocked the door to his high-rise penthouse and dropped the keys in the bowl by the door. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out. His voice echoed back to him and he gritted his teeth. “There’s never going to be an answer to those words.”

  He stomped around his high-ceilinged home, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and popped the cap off. Once he’d swallowed half of it, he meandered through his quiet home towards the large aquarium set on the far wall of his living room. The tank was saltwater, nearly eight hundred gallons, and stood as tall as Sam was at six feet, two inches. It stuck out from the wall by nearly five feet with a curved front. He watched the array of vibrantly colored fish swimming around the coral and large rock structure built in the center. The eel poked its head out for a moment before ducking right back into its cave in the bottom right. Watching the fish move in their random patterns, darting back and forth, usually calmed Sam and reminded him of a time when he was happy, feeding his few fish with his mom by his side. Those rare moments of peace and happiness were all he cared to remember of his childhood—that, and the man who’d given him the aged deck of playing cards.

  He sank into his nearby armchair and finished his beer as he watched the fish, needing clarity. The only man he could ever talk to was dead and buried going on five years now. His photo sat on the bookshelf across the room, and Sam lifted his empty beer bottle to the man.

  “Here’s to you, Gramps,” he whispered. “I hope you’re happy at least.”

  Anyone who met Sam assumed he’d had a rich childhood, filled with being spoiled by his rich parents and never wanting for anything. Hiding such dark secrets used to gnaw at him until he found he could lose himself in the arms of a beautiful woman for a night. Now that no longer worked, and his past crept up to haunt him again. Gripping the beer bottle tight, he pushed out of his armchair and stalked into the kitchen for another one. A night with Marcus, he feared, wouldn’t change anything about the dour mood he found himself in lately.

  Nothing made him happy. Not his job, not the bright lights of the city, nothing at all. The last woman had stayed with him for nearly a week before he admitted he felt nothing with her and wasn’t even sure why he kept her around so long. His words earned him a slap, and he deserved it. Whatever twisted him up inside hid his old charm and brought out the bastard side of him. He worked so hard at controlling it and bitterly thanked the asshole who gave him those unwanted traits. For years, he struggled to maintain a hold on his temper and was successful, but the loneliness and old hatred were harder to tamp out. When he started his business, he threw himself into his work and managed to keep himself so exhausted he had no energy to dwell on the past.

  “That’s it, time to start another business,” he mumbled into his beer.

  A while back, Marcus had suggested Sam sign up for one of those internet dating websites, but he flat-out refused. Dating was not what he did, or at least, it wasn’t what he wanted to do then. He walked towards his computer and turned it on, browsing a few of the websites. His mouse hovered over the ‘Create a Profile’ button before he cursed loudly and stomped to his bedroom.

  “Vacation, then new business venture,” he told himself as he stripped out of his clothes and dove naked into his empty bed. “If that doesn’t work, then you’ll have to admit you’re a broken man. Bored and broken.”

  As he drifted off to sleep, he sensed a woman by his side, her warm body pressed along the curves of his, fitting perfectly as if she had always belonged there. He grinned in his sleep, running his hands through silky strands of hair and kissing a soft shoulder as she sighed and whispered his name.

  Too bad it was only a dream.

  Chapter 2

  Her feet screaming in pain, Harley staggered upstairs to her top-floor, shitty apartment and fumbled with her keys. She’d worked a double at the casino as a cocktail waitress and tried to let her annoyance go at the old men who’d tried to cop a feel throughout the day. The tips were great, the pockets of her apron stuffed full, but the pain in her feet and throbbing headache behind her eyes made her question if it was worth it. In a few hours, she would have to get up and do it all over again.

  “There you are,” her friend Karen said as Harley slipped inside and closed the door firmly behind her. “You look wonderful. Want some breakfast?”

  “It’s three in the morning,” Harley grunted as she dropped her purse on the floor and kicked off her heels. “I wa
nt a bath and my bed. Oh, and while I’m at it, a foot massage, a better job, and a nicer place to live.”

  Karen leaned back in her chair. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “Why are you still up?” Harley sank into the opposite, scratched-up, wooden kitchen chair and rested her head on her arms.

  “Not still up, just getting up. I’m working the early rounds at the diner before I meet you at the casino.”

  “You know, I’ve decided something,” Harley announced before she opened her mouth wide in a yawn that seemed never ending. “You and I need a vacation, an escape from this shit. What do you say? I was thinking Paris.”

  “Oh, or maybe Venice,” Karen chimed in with a laugh. “If only, girlie.”

  “If only.” Harley drew out the wad of cash from her apron and counted it. “Not too bad a night, I guess.”

  “You going to stash half of it for your vacation?” Karen teased.

  Harley’s brow wrinkled. “You know, I think I might. I’ve got a small chunk in savings for emergencies. Why not take a vacation?”

  “I was joking.”

  “Yeah, but why? We’ve worked our asses off since we got out of high school.” A newfound energy lifted her from her chair, and she dug around in their cabinets for a jar. She dumped out its contents, some packets of ice tea in it, and slipped all her ones into the jar. “There, vacation fund started.”

  Karen walked to her purse on the counter, drew out a wad of ones, and dumped them in too. “I love your optimism. I’m not sure how you always manage it.”

  “It’s a gift. Now, I’m going to bed. See you around lunch time?’

  “Yeah, I’ll be there around noon. You pulling a double tomorrow?”

  Harley grimaced. “This whole week, actually. They offered me the hours. I’m not about to turn them down.”

  She waved to her friend, picked up her heels and purse, and slouched off to the tiny bedroom barely big enough for a dresser and twin bed. She stripped out of her clothes to her panties and tumbled into bed, deciding the bath would have to wait until a night when she wouldn’t pass out in the tub. Her head hit the pillow and she was nearly asleep when her cell rang shrilly beside her. She planted her pillow over her head to try and drown it out, but it kept ringing and ringing. When it finally stopped, Harley relaxed and settled back in to sleep, but it rang again. Groaning and cursing whomever was calling her this late—or early—she snaked her hand out to find it.