Page 1 of Playing to Win

Prologue

DANICA

Seven Years Earlier

“If you walk outof that door, young lady, don’t come back, not ever!” Those are the last words I hear as the door softly closes behind me.Taking everything I can in my small duffle bag and backpack, with only the money I earned from my job working as a cashier in the all-natural, uber-organic grocery store the past two years to my name. The man who just spewed those last words, he’s full of hate and self-righteousness in his narcissistic behavior. The kicker of it all, my own flesh and blood didn’t do a damn thing to stop him. My mom stood right beside him as her husband chewed my ass out over the simplest of things. This time, it was because I got home too late from work. My job is my saving grace, picking up as many hours as I can to stay out of the house, away from anything and everything Charles Masterson. His lecherous eyes and perverted words he uses when Mom isn’t around are despicable. Earlier this week, he commented that my skirt should be shorter when his business associates are over for dinner. I didn’t say a word and bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. It’s a miracle I made it through the dinner, excusing myself as fast as I could only to lock myself in my room, my desk door underneath the handle to keep myself as safe as possible. The time was coming for me to leave, or I’d be used in a way no woman should ever be if she doesn’t want that life for herself.

When Charles started on his bullshit the minute I walked through the door, ignoring him was the only option. My bag was already packed in preparedness, though I’d hoped to at least get through my senior year of high school. I guess my luck ran out. It’s better this way—for my dignity, my sanity, and my safety. With that thought, I throw my middle finger up, giving him and my mother the best salute there is, even if they can’t see it through the upper Manhattan super-elite-of-the-elite apartment. How my mother ever fell for someone as disgusting as Charles Masterson I have no idea. I mean, sure, living in poverty isn’t fun, but I’d rather be poor and hungry than be taken against my will. I shake my head in disgust as I head to the women’s shelter to see if there’s a room I can use until I figure out my next move.

“Danica, wait! Dani!” I hear my name off in the distance. My eyes move from one corner to the other, trying to figure out where my mother’s voice is coming from. She’s the epitome of style, grace, and demure, a Stepford wife through and through these days. Another side effect from Charles Masterson. And if he saw her running, he’d have an absolute coronary.

“Mom, go back inside. I’ll be fine.” She can’t choose between me and her husband. Really, she shouldn’t either. I’m eighteen now, responsible for myself. There are two more months between me and my next goal. Accomplishing going to school while being homeless might put a damper in things, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.

“Take this, Danica, and get the hell out of this place.” My mom’s usually perfectly styled hair is messed up from the wind plus running. How she managed to run in heels without falling flat on her face obviously took some practice. That isn’t what has me staggering back, though. Nope, that would be the now unconcealed marks along her neck. I’m shaken to my core, shocked beyond disbelief when I shouldn’t be. Charles Masterson is a monster, hiding beneath five-thousand-dollar suits, millions of dollars, and a smug smile.

“Come with me. Don’t go back, please.” We may not have the best relationship since Charles entered the picture, but that doesn’t mean I want any ill will brought to her. She is my mother after all. Which is why a lump is forming in the back of my throat, causing me to lose what little oxygen I had and making it hard to finish my next sentence.

“I can’t, but you can get out of here. Take this. There’s money, your birth certificate, and a few other things. Go be free, sweetheart. I love you.” I wrap my arms around her body, hugging her tightly like I used to before bed each night and early in the morning when she was sending me off to school.

“I love you, too, Mom.” Her body is rigid within our embrace, a small whimper leaves her lips, and I know she’s staying back for reasons I’m unprepared to think about. I soak in the last time I’ll probably have her like this. It sucks. The whole situation does. How she got wrapped up in Charles Masterson I have no idea, and her choosing to stay isn’t helping matters.

“I love you, Danica, never forget.” She pulls away abruptly, spins on her heels, and runs like the fire from hell is after her. That’s when I make a promise to myself: never ever get involved with a man who has charm and billions. Little did I know that seven years later, I’d be doing exactly that.

ONE

Theo

Present Day

“We’ll discussit at tomorrow’s meeting. I’ve just walked in on a woman on her and hands knees.” Parker is on the other end of the line. An exasperated breath leaves him. I don’t elaborate. I hang up the phone, pissing him off further, meaning I’ll get a ration of hell tomorrow at our once-a-month meeting. A meeting that could be an email, but it’s the one time a month we all get together—Parker, Ezra, Boston via a Zoom call, and Sylvester in case there’s some new investment we all want to take part in.

I pocket my phone, wondering why the hell the woman in front of me is scrubbing the floor in the kitchen. Her strawberry-blonde hair is in a ponytail, her body shows me the hourglass figure she’s rocking, her back is arched and ass tipped up in a way that would have any man dropping to his knees. My hands flex before tightening in a fist, imagining what it would be like to grip her tiny waist and pull her back onto my cock. I’ve yet to see the front of the woman who has my cock going from a flaccid state to a semi in a matter of seconds. It doesn’t help matters when she sways her hips in the tight denim shorts barely covering her ass, right to left then left to right. Toned and lean thighs give way to legs that remind me of a dancer, even her feet are dainty in her white canvas shoes. My eyes rove upwards. Her lower back is showing, the white men’s wife beater she seems to be wearing doing little to hide the tattoo on her lower back or the bra she wears beneath. It’s then I notice she’s got earbuds in both ears as one hand scrubs the marble floor while the other holds her up.

The last time the cleaning company sent someone over, they made themselves at home, eating my food, watching TV, and even using my computer. Today, they scheduled a new employee. I wasn’t willing to take any chance and have a repeat performance. In all actuality, I should have fired Clean and Gleam, probably would have, too, if they didn’t take care of Four Brothers, my place, and everyone else in our friend group, plus they made it right. It saved me the headache of having to find another company, and damn it’s making it hard to be upset with them with my current view. I walk around, watching the way her tits bounce with every movement she makes, seeing her lips say something, but I can’t decipher it. Once I’m in front of the woman, she still doesn’t look up or feel my presence. A protective feeling I’ve never felt before hits me in my gut. How is it she can be in a stranger’s home and so unaware of her surroundings? I drop down to my haunches, hand reaching out to take one of her earbuds out, and that’s when she lets out a glass-shattering scream.

“Oh, my fucking God! What is wrong with you!” It’s not a question. She’s shouting the whole damn place down. The lack of furniture and shit most people collect doesn’t help with her echo. That along with the floor-to-ceiling windows, yeah, I’m sure the neighbors below me could hear the banshee. I’d have answered her scream if it weren’t for the wet rag that hits me square in the chest, soaking my shirt while dirtying me, I’m sure.

“Me? You’re in my home.” The front is even better than the back. I didn’t think that was possible. She’s sprawled out, ass to the floor, feet planted on the ground, legs spread and hands behind her back. A look of confusion is written on her face. She’s got light green eyes, full plush lips, and a face devoid of any type of makeup, thank fucking God. All natural, just like the rest of her body, as her tits move with each deep inhale and exhale she takes. I’ve watched each and every one of the men who are like family fall, hard and fast. I never thought it’d happen to me, yet here’s this tiny woman, much smaller than my six-foot-two frame, and I’m having thoughts about keeping her.

“You still could have tapped me on the shoulder or something.” Oh, she’s big fucking mad. Good. That makes the two of us. I have no idea who else she cleans houses for with Clean and Gleam, but she won’t be doing those ever again.

“Sorry about that.” My apology is insincere.

“I told Mallory I didn’t want to work at this place,” she mumbles low, probably thinking I can’t hear her. I stand up from my perch and take a hesitant step toward the woman, walking around the wet area she was working on. As much as I’m sure she’d like me to fall flat on my face, making an ass out of myself is not in the cards today.

“And what’s wrong with this place?” I hold my hand out, offering to help her up. The little firecracker waves my hand away. I’m relentless in staying where I am. So, when she’s off her feet, the fairy of a woman, it’s just as I assumed—she’s fucking tiny in height and stature. I’m head and shoulders taller than her, and I’d bet anything I could carry her with little to no effort.

“It’s not the place. It’s the people.” I arch my eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I’m almost done for the day, then I’ll be out of your way.” It’s clear as day I won’t be getting a response, choosing to step aside as she takes a step forward, shoulders squared, ready to attack. Yep, I’ll be making a call to Clean and Gleam. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she keeps working in my penthouse and no one else’s.

TWO

Danica

“Don’t go there,”I mutter under my breath as I resume my task of scrubbing the floor. The man whose name is Theo Goldman, co-owner of Four Brothers, a billion-dollar company, is a man I want nothing to do with. A man in a business suit that costs three times more than my monthly rent. Hell, his shoes would cover at least one month. It brings up a past I’d like to keep buried, a time when money was the key to everything, except it wasn’t. I shake my head. No way, not today, Satan. It’s bad enough the penthouse owner already caught me unaware. A practice I try to never allow to happen. I’m usually on my A-game, careful, watchful, and alert. Theo Goldman wasn’t due home while I was cleaning today. This job also should have been easy, but it wasn’t. The penthouse wasn’t disgustingly filthy by any means, but when you really looked at the kitchen counters, refrigerator, behind the toilets, and the floor, well, that was an entirely different story—dust, dirt, grime, and crumbs were definitely there. I got lost in my task with both earbuds back in, noise cancellation turned off, so I could hear what was going on around me while still listening to the sultry song, a guitar riff tearing it up, the male singer giving what I’m sure is the lead guitarist his moment. Still, I didn’t hear him, which sucks because I was too in the moment.

My eyes catch on a pair of black shoes leaving the area, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief. Now, if I could tell my dumb body that he’s nothing, he’s nobody, just another male body. Except I can’t get over the way I reacted to him. Seven years I’ve gone against the grain, so to speak, using a man for one night and one night only. I’d sneak out of their bed the next morning, never to see them again. I also made sure they never wore a suit. We’d meet at a place a wealthy person would never step foot inside of, and no numbers are ever exchanged. I made the rules, stuck with them, and never put myself in a situation where I’d be dependent on a man. Maybe it’s been too long sing I’ve been on or under a man because the way Theo made me feel, it’s different. It didn’t matter that his presence was twice that of mine; he didn’t come off as someone who would use their body against someone unwillingly. Theo Goldman came off as mischievous, alluring, and, I’m not ashamed to admit, ridiculously handsome.

---