Bought And Paid For: The Billionaire's Girlfriend Read online



  Bought And Paid For

  The Billionaire’s Girlfriend

  By Lara Hunter

  Copyright 2015 by Lara Hunter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  The sequel to this story is available now!

  Bought And Paid For: Truth And Lies

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  Table of Contents:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  “How much farther?” I asked the driver, clutching my purse tightly in my lap. The city lights rushed by the car window. I sat tensely, too nervous to enjoy the plush, luxurious interior of the car.

  “About thirty minutes, miss,” the driver said, glancing back at me in the rearview mirror.

  I wished that I had audition pages to study, something to occupy my mind and soothe my nerves. It would have been easier to prepare for this if I’d been told a little more, but I’d been told almost nothing, only where and when to be ready.

  It had been three days ago, the closing night of Miles to Go, the small, independent play I’d been performing in. The theater was small, and even then most showings didn’t sell out, but my part had more than a few lines, for once, and I was proud of the work I’d done. So I’d been feeling pretty good after the last curtain had fallen and final bows had been taken. In the morning, I’d have to start worrying about finding more work, soon, if I was going to make rent next month, but just for the night, I was letting myself forget my money problems and celebrate with the rest of the cast. I’d been drinking cheap champagne and chatting with some of the other players in the wings when a man approached.

  He immediately stood out from the other people in the theater that night. Rather than the bohemian clothes that the independent theater crowd typically preferred, he wore a dark suit that had probably cost more than what I’d earned acting in the last six months. He was completely bald and immaculately groomed – tie straight, jacket buttoned, shoes shining – and carried himself with perfect posture. He was tall and broad-shouldered; his neck was thickly muscled.

  “Alice Brennan?” he asked, approaching me.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I said. I stood up straighter and put down my drink. Somehow I didn’t think this man was coming backstage for an autograph. The other actors around me eyed us cautiously.

  “My name is Michael Northern,” he said. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately about a business matter?”

  “Um, sure,” I said, glancing around. One of the male leads in the play caught my eye and mouthed ‘everything okay?’ I nodded.

  I led Michael to the dressing room that the female actors in the play shared. Two women were just finishing gathering up costume pieces. They slipped out of the room as we went in, wishing me goodnight as they left.

  “I’ll get to the point,” Michael said, once we were alone. “My employer is looking for an actress for a particularly… unusual assignment. I’ve watched you for the past few nights and think you might be perfect for this job.”

  “Really?” I said, feeling both wary and hopeful. “What kind of job?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give any details now, miss,” he said. “If you are interested in learning more and being considered for the role, I’ll set up a meeting for you with my employer.”

  I eyed him speculatively.

  “I don’t do porn,” I said. “Not ever. If it’s anything like that—”

  He gave a short bark of laughter.

  “No, it’s nothing like that, I can assure you,” he said. “If you do agree to meet, you would be compensated for your time, regardless of whether you accept the position.”

  It was an odd request, but I couldn’t afford to pass up the opportunity for work.

  “Alright, okay,” I said. “Why not? I’ll meet with your boss.”

  He took a business card (Michael Northern, Private Security, it read) out of his jacket pocket and flipped it over to the blank side. He took a pen out of a different pocket and wrote down a date and time.

  “We’ll send a car for you at your home in three days,” he said.

  I gave him the address of my apartment, ignoring my growing disquiet.

  “What audition material will I be reading?” I asked. “What kind of part is it? Is there anything you can tell me so I can be properly prepared?” I imagined the disaster that would ensue if I were asked to tap dance and sing without warning.

  “You don’t need to prepare anything in advance,” he said. “My employer will explain everything at the meeting. You’ll understand then.”

  And that is why, three days later, I stood on the curb outside my apartment building waiting until a black Bentley pulled up to the curb. The driver was someone I hadn’t met before, a slight man in a dark driver’s uniform and cap. He got out of the car, verified my identity, and opened the rear passenger door for me. I got in, and soon we were cruising away from the city center, heading through increasingly high-end residential neighborhoods, the kinds of places full of old money, high hedges, and ornate gates guarding impossibly long driveways.

  After about forty-five minutes of driving, the car turned onto one such driveway, stopping at the scrolled iron gate. The driver opened his window and typed a security code into the control pad. The gates swung inward smoothly, letting us in. My heart raced.

  The car moved slowly up the long, winding driveway. Tall trees surrounded us, obscuring the view of the house itself. When we finally came close enough for me to see the structure, I drew in a short breath. The house was enormous, red brick covered in climbing ivy. It was a building that would make more sense as a school or hospital than as a home. I tried to imagine the kind of wealth that would make living in such a place seem normal, and I found that I couldn’t. I lived in a tiny studio apartment; the closets in this mansion were probably larger than my entire living space.

  What am I doing here? I thought, feeling as though I were having a very strange dream.

  The driver parked the car at the front entrance of the house. Wide stone steps led up to huge double doors, flanked by manicured topiary bushes. The driver came around and opened my door, offering his hand to help me out of the car. Such a small thing, a man helping a woman out of a car, but it seemed incredibly alien to me.

  One of the front doors opened as we approached. Michael Northern stepped out. He smiled at me and inclined his head.

  “Good evening, Miss Brennan,” he said. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Of course,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear how nervous I was. For the hundredth time, I worr
ied about what I was wearing, an emerald green sheath dress, the only thing I owned that was even possibly appropriate for a job interview. I loved the dress, but in the presence of such wealth, it felt cheap and obvious. I took a deep breath, telling myself not to worry about something I couldn’t change.

  “Please, come inside,” Northern said, stepping back and holding the door for me.

  I passed through the front doors into a large foyer. The floors were pale marble, the walls rich, dark wood. Most of my apartment could fit into this entryway.

  Northern escorted me down a long hallway. We passed by a dining room with a long, shining wooden table and a sitting room with a huge unlit fireplace. Finally we came to a closed door. He knocked on it twice.

  “Come in,” said a male voice.

  Northern opened the door, revealing a large study. At the far wall, there were large bay windows, the heavy drapes over them open to the darkness outside. In front of the windows was a massive wooden desk. Behind the desk, a man stood, studying a folder of papers. He looked up at us as we entered.

  The man was younger than I’d expected, perhaps early thirties, tall and lean, with dark hair that fell across his brow. He’d taken off his suit jacket; it hung over the back of his desk chair. Through his crisp white shirt, I could see an outline of muscular arms and shoulders, a broad chest narrowing to a trim waist. He was strikingly handsome, his face all smooth planes, strong jaw, high cheekbones. He studied me with piercing green eyes, looking me up and down once in cold appraisal. He took in my red hair, which curled wildly despite the pins I’d tried to control it with, my hazel eyes and pale skin, and my slim, petite frame, just an inch or two over five feet tall. I felt myself flush and forced myself not to fidget. He met Northern’s eyes briefly and gave a quick nod.

  “Thank you for coming out tonight, Miss Brennan,” he said. His voice communicated confidence, if not warmth.

  “Please, call me Alice,” I said. I’d been called ‘Miss Brennan’ more in the last week than in my entire life prior, and I found I didn’t much care for it.

  “Alice,” he agreed. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward one of two leather chairs facing the desk. Once I was sitting, he took a document from the folder he was holding. “Before we continue,” he said. “I will need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. This states that, regardless of whether you decide to work for me or not, you will not reveal any part of our conversation with any other person.”

  I took the document from him, skimming the words on the page. I looked at him with confusion.

  “This is a pretty unusual request,” I said. My mind began imagining the reasons for such a request. Maybe a new movie, still in early stages, that they wanted to keep from the press for now. I felt a surge of excitement at the thought.

  “It’s an unusual job,” he said, his voice tinged with annoyance. He picked up a pen from the desk and held it out to me. “The agreement is necessary. Will you sign, or are we done with this?”

  I raised an eyebrow as I took the pen from him. He’s not used to explaining his orders, I thought as I signed the papers. Who is this man?

  I handed the document back to him, and he put it back into the folder with a nod. He sat down then, clasping his hands in front of him on the desk. He glanced over at Northern.

  “That’s all for now, Mick,” he said. “I’ll buzz you when we’re through.”

  “Yes, sir,” Northern said, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

  “Miss Br—Alice,” he began, looking at me. “My name is Harvey Pace. I’ve brought you here tonight because Mick has watched your work, investigated your background, and thinks you might be a good fit for a need that has come up in my organization.” He opened the folder again and shuffled past a few pages. He cleared his throat, then started to speak again. “You’re Alice Catherine Brennan, twenty-four years old. Born in Bay City, Michigan to working class parents; mom was a nurse, dad worked in an auto parts factory. Graduated high school with honors, accepted into several college theater arts programs, but did not attend. So you’ve been working on and off for the past six years, small theater projects, product demonstrations, nickel and dime jobs. But you’re not a bad actress, just got a slow start, haven’t had a break. You work hard and have some real talent. I understand you were particularly good in your last play, Miles to Go. Your character was British, correct?”

  “Um, yes,” I stammered. How did they know so much about me? And why?

  “Mick worked in the UK for six years on a contract after he got out of the Army,” he said. “He was impressed by the quality of your stage accent. He said you sounded like one of the uptown locals.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “We’ll need that,” he said, almost to himself, nodding.

  “Mister Pace—”

  “Harvey,” he said. “You should get used to calling me Harvey.”

  “Harvey,” I repeated. “Can you please tell me why I’m here? I’m certainly looking for work, but this situation is more than a little odd. I would really like to know more now.”

  Harvey nodded, closing the folder and setting it down on the desk.

  “Of course, Alice,” he said. “And we appreciate your patience. The business I’m in is investment management. I purchase businesses, financial products, anything that I believe shows potential for increased value with the right management strategy. I’m currently in the process of researching the possible purchase of a steel manufacturing company. It’s an old business, a family business, and it’s not being operated to its full potential. I believe that, with five years of competent oversight, the value of the business could double, or perhaps triple. The current owners have strong ties to the operation, but they aren’t up to date on the best strategies for growing it. It’s been struggling in the past few years, and my sources say that the owners might be willing to sell soon.

  “But getting this deal in place is going to be touchy. Any little thing could swing it, and I won’t be the only investor competing for the sale. I need to go into this with the best possible chance at establishing a good rapport with the owners. And that’s where you come in. The owners are very traditional, very family-focused. They have historically done business with others who hold the same values. They aren’t likely to see me that way. I haven’t been in a regular relationship for some years, and there’s a good deal of press portraying me in a certain light. The word ‘playboy’ is used far more often than I’d like.”

  I nodded, still not understanding.

  “But the fact of the matter is that I’m not interested in getting married right now, or even in finding a girlfriend. I have very limited free time, and I make no apologies for my work being my sole focus. And so, it seems that the most efficient solution to this… image problem of mine is to hire a girlfriend for a while.”

  I felt a surge of anger. I began to stammer.

  “Hire a… Mister Pace—”

  “Harvey.”

  “Harvey, I don’t know what your man told you about me, but I’m an actress, not a prostitute. And I’m… beyond insulted that you would even think—”

  “Now, wait,” Harvey said, holding up his hands. “I am asking no such thing. I’m not hiring you for sex, only to accompany me to public functions, play a character. I need to be seen with a steady girlfriend. People need to think that I’m in a serious relationship with a suitable woman, on track toward marriage, a settled, respectable life. You would simply play that role with me in front of others. I would ask nothing of you behind closed doors.”

  I let out a breath, relaxing a little. Harvey selected another paper from the folder and handed it across the desk to me.

  “This details your compensation package for the assignment,” he said. “You’ll be paid for our interview today, as previously agreed upon. If you do accept this role, you will receive a salary, as well as funds for related expenses. So long as you abide by your contract and see the assignment through to its completion,
you will receive a severance bonus as well.”

  My eyes scanned the paper. I felt my knees go weak when I read the amounts. This couldn’t be right.

  “This seems, um, awfully high,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “I’m willing to pay for what I need, Miss Br—Alice,” Harvey said, leaning forward on his elbows. “This assignment will be challenging, and your complete commitment, as well as your complete discretion, are essential. You won’t be able to accept other work during this time. You’ll be required to maintain this cover full-time, and make changes to your lifestyle and routine, and even your appearance, for the duration of the assignment. This is a twenty-four hour a day job, Alice. The compensation takes that into account.”

  “How long is this assignment?” I asked.

  “I can’t give you an exact timeline,” he said. “A few months, perhaps a bit longer. You’ll stay on until the steel company deal is finalized, or off the table. I’ll need you to be flexible and stay on until the finish. That’s what the severance is intended to ensure.”

  For someone with my background, the pay he proposed was staggering. The severance pay alone would be more than I’d earned in the last three years, combined. The weekly pay would allow me to save for a car that didn’t break down twice a month, maybe some more acting workshops, some decent clothes for auditions. It seemed too good to be true. Still, something told me not to act too quickly.