The Billionaire's Girl Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Anne Miller.

  All rights reserved.

  The unauthorized reproduction of this publication, in whole or in part, constitutes copyright infringement. (Law 9.160/98)

  Cover: Anne Miller

  Digital Edition: January 2019.

  Index

  Index

  Prologue

  Chapter 01 — Sabrina Lancaster

  Chapter 02 — Warm Reception

  Chapter 03 — The End of the Night

  Chapter 04 — Mr. Marinho

  Chapter 05 — Family

  Chapter 06 — Unexpected Invitation

  Chapter 07 — Reception

  Chapter 08 — Dominator

  Chapter 09 — Privacy

  Chapter 10 — The Event

  Chapter 11 — Unwanted Customer

  Chapter 12 — After the Shock

  Chapter 13 — Recommendation

  Chapter 14 — Revelation

  Chapter 15 — Out of Control

  Chapter 16 — Exclusivity

  Chapter 17 — Bathroom

  Chapter 18 — Interrogations

  Chapter 19 — Brawl

  Chapter 20 — Jéssica Martins

  Epilogue

  Anne Miller

  Prologue

  Five years earlier.

  I was so scared.

  Like I had never been before.

  Sitting on that park bench, I was trying to deceive myself, saying that everything would be all right, that things would improve down the road eventually. That old story where we try to convince ourselves that the next day will be better than the one before.

  But it was such a dismal lie that fear kept creeping in. As much as I repeated those same words as a mantra — “Everything’s going to be fine, Jéssica” — my body was still shaking.

  The bottom line is that you may even be able to fool other people, but these lies do not work with yourself — at least, not for long.

  And, in my case, it did not even last four silly hours.

  Knowing that I would not sort my issues sitting on that damn bench, I got up and started walking down the main avenue, hoping to think of anything that would keep me from going home.

  Was that place still my home anyway?

  Even if a part of me — the most coward — wanted to go back, deep down I knew that, even if my mother decided to accept me again, I would never see the environment in which I grew up — that place — as home again.

  While my thoughts unleashed another rippling wave of terror — concatenating hundreds of even more unpleasant situations —, I kept walking aimlessly and without any sort of planning. I simply stopped when a black car parked next to me.

  Initially, I thought the person was merely lost, in need of some information, perhaps a particular street or place — which I, without any doubt, would fail to answer positively. And, although it was already long past ten o’clock, I opted to be helpful.

  I walked to the dark vehicle and stared at the boy who opened the window, before leaning over to speak to me.

  The first thing I noticed on his face was two green lanterns. They looked like a pair of emeralds, brightening that face amid the street’s darkish tones.

  — How… how much do you charge? — he asked, much to my bewilderment. It was as if I had just grabbed the end of his sentence and that left me in an absolute state of confusion. But I did not even manage to question his final words, as he continued, saying, “You know what, who cares... Just come in, I’ll pay you!”

  After the “just come in, I'll pay you!”, I was not that confused anymore.

  I knew exactly what that guy wanted, and specifically what he thought I was.

  And even though I was not a hooker — and considering the fact that I had not done anything like that before — I nodded positively, accepting his proposal.

  The truth — and the only explanation for what I did or what I was about to do — is that I did not think about it. I had no place to crash — at least one that could be mine for more than just a single night —, I needed the money and identified an opportunity to earn it.

  When some needs knock on your door, some limits simply cease to exist.

  The guy smiled and opened the passenger’s door, and I stepped in, sitting next to him, not knowing what to say or do.

  I put my seat belt on and I focused my eyes on the road, already regretting to have entered that damn car.

  All I could think was “what are you doing, girl?”.

  The man sitting next to me had to be someone unhappy with his relationship — one of the main reasons why people cheat on their better—half, right after shameless urges, of course — but, then again, he could also be a serial killer. Adding to that horror film already rolling in my mind, I had no idea what our destination would be — not even if there was one.

  But, yet again, he did not give me time to talk or to do anything else — things like stopping that whole insanity, for instance.

  The green-eyed guy stepped on the gas and pulled us out of the avenue, forcing me to finally look at him. I watched the thin strands of his trimmed beard, his comb-over haircut, particularly striking, and the confident way he drove the vehicle.

  He did not tell me anything, he simply kept driving. But he did not force me to say a word, which was good, given that I was now even more lost than when I walked alone down the street.

  We remained quiet until we got to a place that I recognized as a motel. As I stepped out of the car, I was afraid someone would suspect that I was not even eighteen yet, but, in the end, it was stupid, as no one stopped me from going in.

  They paid no mind to the seventeen—year—old who had just gotten out of the car of a complete stranger. They could not care less about the terrified expression on my face. People only cared about their own issues.

  After waiting a bit at the reception, where the guy who brought me paid in advance for the room, we went up to the upper floor, in complete silence. And I was getting more terrified after each step, thinking about what I was about to do — with no turning back.

  But when I recalled what I had to deal with, I just realized that I had nothing to lose.

  When we entered the room, I was completely stunned by the luxurious surroundings.

  Everything around me was extremely beautiful.

  The bed seemed immensely cozy, the rugs on the floor were so delicate that I felt bad for having to step on them. The window drapes were also beautiful. I had only seen places like that in some movies I had watched at the house of my friend Isabela.

  I sat on the bed and let my hand touch its cover. I felt the softness of the cloth as I searched for the boy who had brought me to the motel.

  He was standing next to the door, looking at me in an oddly, completely indecipherable fashion. And, as inexperienced as I was in the prostitution thing, I could not spot anything that resembled lust in her facial expression.

  After taking off his jacket, he walked towards me and so I stood up just like that, automatically, making myself available. When we stood face to face, our eyes locked in a way that had not yet happened. For the very first time, he was actually looking at me.

  I started unbuttoning my shirt, ready to provide the service he was hiring. But his right hand, which touched mine, stopped me, dragging my frightened look to his face.

  — No... you don’t have to… — he whispered, making me as confused as when approached me on the street. He looked down, avoiding starting me, evidencing his discomfort. — I... I don’t even know why I brought you here.

  I immediately assumed that I was the problem, perhaps it had to do with my looks, my clothes and all the inexperience evident in my gestures and movements. If my mother could see me at that moment
, she would say that I even lacked the skills to be a whore.

  — Do you prefer if I leave? — I asked without knowing exactly what direction I would take after I leaving that motel room. — I know I’m not…

  — No, I want you to stay — he interrupted again. His bright lanterns reached me once more. My “client” sat on the bed and hit the empty spot next him twice with his hand, a hint for me to sit by his side. — I could really use some company tonight.

  He unbuttoned a couple of buttons of his celestial shirt and loosened his dark tie. And that propelled me to resume what I was doing minutes before, unbuttoning my blouse and clumsily trying to undress myself.

  The guy smiled, amused by my own awkwardness and lack of experience.

  — That’s not quite that kind of company I was alluding to... — He laid his back down on the bed and looked at the huge mirror on the ceiling. — Can we just talk?

  It was impossible not to be surprised.

  He approached me on the street and brought me to a motel room — whose cost apparently was not that low — just to have some chattering? That made no sense whatsoever.

  — Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you — he added, again noticing everything that was crossing my mind. After laughing, this time a little louder, he proceeded: — I must be the oddest guy you have ever dated, right?

  For some reason, I felt comfortable talking to him. Perhaps because he told me beforehand that things would not get more intimate. Maybe it was the way he stared at me with no malicious intent whatsoever. I did not know the reason, but I felt calmer beside him than I used to be in my own house.

  — As a matter of fact, you are my first client, kind of — I revealed to him, while also laying on the bed. — And since I have no idea what the odd ones are like, I cannot tell you whether you are one of those or not.

  He laughed again, surely connecting the dots. Any guy who ever hired an escort — which probably was not his case — would realize in the same second that I was not one.

  — But tell me... What horrible thing did you do to find solace in an escort? — I asked, feeling no trouble at all talking to him. At the moment, we were just two strangers, we could say anything we wanted, because the odds of another meeting were minimal. — Just don’t tell me you've killed someone.

  I have always been a very outgoing, extremely communicative girl who used to be nice to everyone. And maybe that was what caused me so much trouble. For some individuals, it was way too easy to confuse that sympathy with second intentions. And if you are the nice person, used to embracing the world, you simply cannot perceive evil intentions — not when you are the target.

  — Worse than that... I'm getting married — he said, still looking up. — All my friends wanted a stag party, but I downplayed that, I opted to look for some random hooker… — Noticing his last words, he quickly corrected himself. — I mean, I don’t want to offend you.

  Before I could question why he compared a marriage to a murder, the man next to me kept going: — I think that, deep down, I wanted to say goodbye to my life as a single man. — It was impossible not to smile after realizing how futile his issue was. At least, that's what I thought before he went on with the story. — We are in the 21st century and there are still arranged marriages. Tomorrow, for instance, I'm going to marry a woman I hate because our union will make my family richer.

  I kept staring at him, focusing myself on his beard, the spot he had on his neck, and the way he bit his lower lip as he pondered his thoughts, looking at the mirror in the ceiling. And, somewhere in his expression, I ended up finding shelter.

  — My stepfather started to hit on me… — I took a deep breath, struggling to get everything out. I would not have another chance to say all that; not to someone I would never see again. — I always downplayed his moves, the way he stared at me or all the second-intention jokes. That worked for a while, but one day, when my mother was absent, he tried to grab me and I screamed, I screamed so loudly that one of the neighbors showed up and caught him trying to abuse me. — The boy now stopped looking at the ceiling and turned his green eyes to me, waiting for the rest of the story. — When my mother got home and knew the whole story, she stood by her husband, saying that I had given him reasons to abuse me, she put the blame on my wardrobe, she blamed even the way I talked... And then she kicked me out.

  With his eyes still burning on my face, he asked: — Wait a minute... How old are you, by the way?

  — Seventeen... Almost eighteen — I replied, trying to remove that scared look off his face. — Anyway, it's not like we've done something illegal here.

  — I brought a minor to a motel... How isn’t that illegal? — he was still focused on the age issue.

  I watched his frightened face and then I laughed.

  — And how old are you? — I asked amid a burst of laughter. — With that baby face, you don’t seem to be much older.

  He rolled his eyes at the “baby face” remarked, but laughed as well.

  — I'm twenty-four... Which, in case you do not know, is more than enough to be arrested.

  We smilingly stared at each other.

  I moved my hand to his and grabbed it. That attracted his green eyes to the brown eyes of mine. And the few seconds we stared at each other seemed like hours. There were so many things uttered in the silence. At that moment, I felt that he was capable of looking at me, seeing everything in the process, all the things I tried to conceal, my fears, my silly dreams and even my childhood thoughts, how beautiful he was, my willingness to kiss those lips and — even after he said that he did not want anything — to taste his body.

  But that did not stop me from nurturing that mutual stare. I only stopped staring at his face when I looked at the mirrored ceiling again.

  And, at one point, as I stared at him, I blacked out. Sleep came as a nighttime thief, without any warning whatsoever, and stole every moment I could have had with him.

  ***

  I woke up alone in bed.

  I looked around for the man — one whose name I did not even know — but there was no sign of him in the room. No jacket, no shoes, no socks and none of the things that should have been thrown on the floor.

  There was a note on the table by the bed.

  He used a piece of toilet paper to write and that made me laugh in the morning.

  “I had to leave early. Today it’s my lousy wedding day, so wish me luck. It was nice knowing you; I loved our conversation. And I still think you should go to the police to put that bastard of your stepfather behind bars, along with your stupid mother”.

  He did not sign it, which saddened me, as I would never know his name.

  There was a white envelope beside the note.

  And there were several hundred notes inside of it.

  Exactly five thousand Brazilian Reais.

  Did the guy give me all that money just for a conversation?

  I grabbed the envelope and left the room, thinking about what I would do with some of the money. I could stay in a hotel or some inn, I would not be forced to return home, where I was not even sure if I would be accepted by my “stupid” mother.

  Chapter 01 — Sabrina Lancaster

  I stood up and grabbed the clothes lying on the room’s floor. And, as I got dressed, I looked at Juliano and his lustful expression made me smile mischievously.

  — It was a pleasure, as usual... In a very literal sense, my darling — one of my most faithful customers said, happily smiling, which left me with the sense of accomplishment. — And I want to see you one more time, before I go back to Rio and to my routine over there... — He made a thoughtful pause. — If I could, I'd take you with me.

  Juliano’s “routine over there” obviously included his wife, Mrs. Carolina, who, according to most of our conversations — which were not that few — did not value the great man he was.

  And that's because the poor thing did not even know a thing about that “whole big affair” he was enjoying on her back.

&nbs
p; For some reason, some guys loved to tell me about marital issues on the bed — even while we fucked —, as if that could justify the fact that they had hired a luxury escort. In the end, I was not just providing sex to them, I could say that I also offered some sort of psychological advice.

  Total package.

  If it were not so tragic, it would be funny as hell.

  I nod my head in agreement, pretending to be as excited as he was for our next meeting — or date.

  Like it happens with any good deal, a good share of my clients needed to feel special, they needed to feel different from the other men I met with. And I went the extra mile for that, making them think they were not just "another client”. Juliano probably thought he would remain in my thoughts after the end of our session.

  — I'd love to see you more often... Anyway, you have my number, Ju — I whispered, trying to straighten my hair, which was not that cooperative. — And you really know where to find me.

  When I finally managed to tame my damn hairdo, I grabbed my handbag from the corner table and walked toward the door.

  Before crossing it, I turned my eyes to "Ju" and smiled. I blew him a kiss with my right hand and mumbled a little goodbye, still with the smile coloring my red lips.

  Fortunately, my “escort” already had called the front desk and requested a taxi for me. So, I did not have to wait too long downstairs, which was great, since I hated staying at the hotel door. The staff kept staring at me, as if I were some sort of walking alien.

  Given that I had been there several times before — always with different men —, they knew fairly well what I was and did more than just judging me with their inquisitive stares. Deep down, I knew that the biggest reason they hated me — beyond all the hypocrisy and false puritanism, of course — was because I made more money in one night than they would get in a whole month of slave working.

  The downside of surprise dates was that, when they came to an end, I had to run like crazy to avoid being late to the next one. But, as Juliano was one of the oldest on my list, I did not want to disappoint him, nor I wanted to lose that man to my competition — which, like in every other "profession", was only increasing.