Page 3 of Owned By a Billionaire

“Yes, well, it’s early days.” Harry sipped his drink. “I’ve developed this desire to kick-start an investment arm to the Lovechilde brand. My father’s not so keen. He believes in land ownership and bricks and mortar. He hates the money market.”

“He can afford to carry those beliefs.” Rey’s eyebrow raise wasn’t lost on me. An occasional hint of his modest beginning slipped out now and then. I even sensed that he might have had a tough home life, just from the little things he’d mentioned after a few drinks had loosened his tongue.

That’s why, I believe, we connected that first time I met him at that swish bar, despite me not having a penny to my name, determined to seduce my way out of poverty.

It worked.

I met Rey.

Only Reynard Crisp wasn’t interested in methatway, I quickly discovered. I wondered if he was gay, but I soon learned about his juice, and it had little to do with men or even women. He liked them young and untouched. They had to be at least sixteen, he quickly added, after noticing the shocked look on my face.

Maybe that’s when I should have bolted from this entanglement.

But then, I was desperate, and meeting Rey had catapulted me into a glamorous life of possibilities. Faustian bargain or not, only time would tell, but it was a risk that I couldn’t affordnotto take.

With Rey’s financial and moral support, I completed my final year of high school. He even paid for a public-school education so I could learn to speak the Queen’s English with clipped accuracy.

He bought me a new wardrobe of clothes. All I had to do was turn up to dinner parties as his partner and then fuck some wealthy, nice-smelling older man.

I soon became very popular. I even started affairs with some, mainly for the gifts and weekend stays at five-star hotels by the coast.

All were married men. My moral compass had gone off-kilter the moment I ran away from Dalston. Besides, being nice was overrated. Especially if it meant marrying into poverty and enduring a lifelong struggle.

“So, what are you planning over your break?” Alice asked, brushing wispy blond strands from her eyes.

“I might just hang around London.”

She touched my new red silk blouse, which cost the equivalent of waiting tables for a week. “This is nice.”

“Couldn’t resist it. I picked it up at this quaint boutique on Oxford Street.”

Harry seemed attentive as he and Rey discussed some financial scheme. Or it could have been his natural cordiality. It was at that moment that I developed a serious crush and had to take care not to swoon. Whenever Harry caught my eye, my face heated.

Handsome, filthy rich, intelligent, and refreshingly inclusive, he neither patronized nor played the chauvinist card like so many men I’d met. And he was the first to make me blush.

I sensed that marrying a man like Harry would be like winning a lottery that promised a lifetime of bliss.

Alice smiled at me. “Harry asked me to marry him.”

I hoped she hadn’t noticed me wince in response to her excitable announcement. “How fantastic. I’m pleased for you.” Never one to show the kind of overflowing emotion that made women like Alice squeal and lose all sense of decorum, I remained cool, despite a sweeping rush of envy.

Yes, he was a catch, all right. A billionaire who wasn’t just pleasant-mannered but also tall, dark, and handsome.

“He hasn’t given me the ring yet. But soon, I guess.” Her smile was so sunny I had to squint.

Foreign as her excitement was to me, I would have loved a dose of her cheeriness and to feel that pounding-heart arousal that I’d read about in novels. Although I orgasmed easily by allowing my mind to wander into some lusty fantasy involving a big dick and a dangerous situation, I never walked away pining for the men I’d fucked.

“So, what about you?” She side-eyed Rey.

“We’re not like that. I’m not his type.”

“Wow. I would have thought you were everybody’s type. You’re so pretty, and you’ve got the best body.”

I nodded thanks. Yes, I’d been endowed with large breasts and an ass that poked out, as evil Bill, my foster father, often pointed out.

Would I have preferred being invisible?

Back then, I would have.

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