The Billionaire's Bet Read online

  The Billionaire’s Bet

  M. S. Parker

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Free Book

  Book Description

  1. Dorian

  2. Briana

  3. Dorian

  4. Briana

  5. Dorian

  6. Briana

  7. Briana

  8. Dorian

  9. Briana

  10. Dorian

  11. Briana

  12. Dorian

  13. Briana

  14. Dorian

  15. Briana

  16. Briana

  17. Dorian

  18. Briana

  19. Dorian

  20. Briana

  21. Dorian

  22. Briana

  23. Dorian

  24. Briana

  25. Dorian

  26. Briana

  27. Dorian

  28. Briana

  29. Dorian

  30. Briana

  31. Dorian

  32. Briana

  33. Dorian

  34. Briana

  35. Dorian

  36. Briana

  37. Dorian

  38. Briana

  39. Dorian

  40. Briana

  The Gamble: Preview

  Also By MS Parker

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

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  Book Description

  Dorian: A bet is a stimulant more powerful than drugs or booze. No matter what you call it, there’s nothing like the rush you feel when you lay it all on the line in a single wager. Winner takes all. That’s why, my brother, Enzo, and I, make bets on anything and anywhere. It’s not the money, believe me, our family has plenty. It’s the thrill of winning…and proving to Enzo who’s the smartest. Despite craving the addictive rush, we never take it seriously. It’s all in good fun...except the big bet we made in Vegas just got very serious.

  Brianna: Working as a hostess for one of the biggest casinos in Vegas, my job is simple: keep the wealthy clients happy by fulfilling their every need and desire. Happy and content so they wager their millions in our casino instead of going to the competition. That sometimes requires special “services” or favors, and with a better job on the line, everything is fair game. Because it's not for me; it’s for my daughter.

  Don’t miss, The Billionaire’s Bet, the latest billionaire romance from M. S. Parker.

  1

  Dorian

  “I spot a bit of action, bro.” Enzo nudged my shoulder, drawing my attention away from the churning sea of bodies on the dance floor and toward what looked to be the start of a small scuffle by the bar.

  “Just goes to show,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn't matter how classy a girl is, there's always a little hellion just waiting to break loose.”

  He had to shout for his voice to reach me over the pounding bass, even though we sat beside each other in the recessed booth at the side of the room.

  I didn't respond as I watched the small blonde wave her arms in fury. She was yelling at a taller redhead with the sort of bright lipstick that was usually seen either on girls who were too immature to realize they looked like hookers...or hookers. Judging by how they were staggering, both girls were clearly shit-faced.

  “Who’s going to lose her head and swing first?” my big brother asked as he leaned closer to avoid shouting again.

  He loved a good cat-fight.

  Not that I entirely disagreed. I chuckled as I answered his question. “I like the redhead for it.”

  “Really?” He cocked his head to the side, evaluating the two women. “She's holding it together way better.”

  “Don't believe me?” I grinned and elbowed him in the side. “How about we put a wager on it?”

  His hazel eyes lit up. He loved a good bet. Hell, we both did. Aside from our dark hair, it was one of the few things we had in common.

  “How about...” he stroked his chin in thought, “five grand?”

  “Deal.”

  We shook and watched the two women continue to squabble. A small group of onlookers had formed around them, keeping a polite distance but being obvious about their rubbernecking nonetheless. I wondered what the fight was about. Was it something substantial, or just another drunk argument at the bar? A man? Had one of them spilled something on the other? Nah, a man no doubt. It’s always a man.

  Then, lo and behold, the blonde cranked her arm back. I gritted my teeth and waited for Enzo to start bragging. The redhead was faster. She struck out first, connecting her fist into the blonde's jaw, and sending the other girl tumbling over the nearest table.

  “Yes!” I shot a triumphant look Enzo's way. “What a show!”

  My brother glared sourly at me. “Mine was about to swing.”

  “Yes, but I think yours was going for a slap,” I pointed out. “Open hand, arm pulled back too far. But you can always count on a redhead to know when to slap and when to punch.”

  Security finally dove in, scattering the onlookers. I suspected the men had been hanging back before, wanting – much like us – to see how the scene played out. If it'd stuck with just being an argument, they might not have gotten involved. Now that it'd turned violent, they pounced on the girls and pulled them, kicking and screaming, toward the exit.

  “Pay up.”

  Enzo sighed as he reached into his pocket, then flipped a poker chip at me. The value was printed in the middle in holographic lettering.

  “Who carries around a poker chip for five grand just willy-nilly?” I asked.

  He took another sip of his scotch. “Who says the word willy-nilly, other than ninety-year-old grandmothers?”

  “Touché.”

  We clinked glasses, and each took a sip. Now that our distractions had been removed, Enzo and I could get down to the real brass tacks of why we'd met up this evening.

  “Excited for Hawaii?”

  He snorted. “Am I excited to go mingle in the shark tank? Hell no.”

  I couldn't help but agree with him. Our extended family ranged from eccentric to obnoxious, with few falling somewhere in between. It wasn't a secret as to why our particular branch did its best to avoid the others.

  “I will say one thing,” he continued. “I think we're in desperate need of a break after closing the Miller-Trenton deal.”

  Fuck if I ever wanted to hear the words Miller-Trenton ever again.

  Our family operated one of the largest restaurant and hotel businesses in the country and had been continuously acquiring assets since our great-grandfather started it in the early 1900s. Now our mother and father owned most of the shares, which was another reason being around the extended family wasn't always pleasant. Though many of them still worked in the family in some capacity, there were those who thought cushy employment wasn't good enough. They were still bitter about my parents having bought out the lion's share of the business following my great-grandfather's death. And in large families, pettiness was one of those things that could carry across generations.

  “I don't think there will be anything relaxing about being stuck in Maui for a week with a bunch of people who talk shit as soon as our backs are turned.”

>   Enzo shrugged. “Then just keep your back turned, and you won't notice it. We've got a whole floor in that hotel. What's it called again?”

  “The Wailea Grand, I think.”

  “Yeah, that sounds right. Anyway, a whole floor. Lots of space to keep away from family. And there's all the other floors too.” He grinned at me. “I'm sure there will be lots of other people to spend time with.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I waved him off. “You don't have to repeat the entire pitch again. Nonna and Nonno’s vow renewal is enough to get me there.”

  That was the truth. I loved my grandparents, and there wasn't much I wouldn't do for them.

  Enzo nodded. “The real question is...how do I get you to not be a killjoy while we're there?”

  His words hung in the air, and I downed another mouthful of my drink as I thought about it. Having some pretty young thing in my bed for the whole week would be a decent enough incentive, but the last thing I wanted to do was bring a date to the wedding. Most women would read way too much into meeting my family, and the entire Gianelli clan would take it as a declaration of marital intentions if I wasn't careful.

  And I'd learned the hard way to be careful.

  After a few minutes passed, Enzo decided to go ahead with his own suggestion. “What if we go to Vegas on the way?”

  My interest was piqued by the possibility. “Vegas, huh?” I swirled the amber liquid in my glass and thought about it. “I might be interested in a bit of gambling.”

  He laughed. “You're always interested in a bit of gambling, little brother.”

  I grinned. “Of course. How else am I supposed to get my kicks when everything else is a sure thing?”

  “Good point.” Enzo clinked glasses with me again.

  The more he drank, the fonder he was of life in general. He might've been three years my senior, but most people assumed our roles were reversed. Not because I looked older but because he fit the stereotype of a youngest. Wild, enjoying the spotlight, impulsive. Plus, I'd been taller than him since I was fifteen.

  “Sixty years,” he said wistfully, settling back into the leather of the bench. “Can you imagine spending sixty years with one woman?”

  “I can't imagine spending sixty days with one woman. But I hope you start imagining sixty years with a single woman because I don't think Elina is going anywhere.”

  Enzo glanced down at the gold ring on his left hand and shrugged. “She doesn't count.”

  I shook my head. “Better not let our parents hear you talking about her that way. Or Elina's parents, for that matter. I doubt the Michelis would take it well.”

  “Enough talking about me.” Enzo ran a hand through his coal-black hair. It was cut so precisely it fell back into place the second he was finished.

  Mine never did the same thing twice. I liked it that way, ruffled and a little bit unkempt. It was my little sort of rebellion to being the level-headed one to Enzo's more flashy personality. Most of our traits were like that. He was an inch under six feet tall, while I towered over him by six inches. He and our older brother got their olive-colored complexion from our father, while I was a couple shades lighter like our mother. I had her eyes too. A unique sort of green the color of freshly mown grass. He loved being the public face of things, while I had no problem keeping my eye on him from the background. We worked well together because of our differences rather than because of them.

  “So, Vegas...you're interested?” Enzo asked, bringing me back to his original suggestion.

  “Yeah, sure.” I shrugged and downed the rest of my drink. “What else am I going to do with my weekend?”

  I could think of a dozen other things my time would be better spent doing. Sure, we'd just closed a major deal. That didn't mean that the work was finished though. I had contracts upon contracts to sort through, as well as stacks of other paperwork. I'd also been thinking about hiring a new junior assistant since my current one had made it pretty clear that she'd only taken the job to get me into bed.

  But all that could wait, I supposed. Maybe this was something Enzo and I really needed.

  “I'll head back home and start making arrangements.” I set the glass on the table.

  Enzo shot out a hand to stop me. “One more for the road?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “One more bet or one more drink?”

  He grinned at me. “What do you think?”

  I chuckled and shook my head. He was incorrigible. “Alright. What is it this time?”

  “Double or nothing says I can get that hot waitress' number.” He pointed to a brunette strolling by with an empty tray in her hands. “Two minutes or less.”

  I cocked my head as I watched her walk through the crowd. Guys of all shapes and sizes leered at her, and she barely flashed a smile. I suspected she'd be a tough nut to crack, even for my way-too-charming brother.

  “Sure.” We shook on it. “You've got two minutes.”

  Then I sat back to see if Enzo was as slick as he thought he was. It was even odds that I'd lose, I supposed, but it was always worth the money to watch.

  2

  Briana

  The early afternoon sunlight slanting through the vertical blinds felt like heaven on my bare back. It was probably the most pleasant part of my current activity, and I drank the feeling in, let it wash over me.

  Below me, Sinclair looked like he was about to finish. I had a hard time telling with him sometimes, even though we'd been fucking for nearly two years. As he was with most things, Sinclair was a complete dead fish in bed. He was successful because he was good at his job, not for his charisma or likability. Not that he was mean or anything like that. He was actually a pretty decent guy. Just not when it came to sex.

  The hotel suite was gorgeous. The crystal chandelier hanging in the sunken living room and the gold-accented wallpaper always made me feel like I was in a palace, somewhere far away. That was what appealed to me most about Sinclair D'Amil. He always got this suite when he visited Vegas, and we never went out anywhere, so it always felt surreal, like it wasn't actually part of my life. Like the person currently riding the stocky businessman beneath her wasn't the same person as the twenty-four-year-old single mother who'd run away from Oklahoma two weeks after her eighteenth birthday.

  Sinclair groaned, pulling my attention back down to him. I groaned, but not for the same reason. I hated thinking about money when we were having sex. It made me feel like what I was doing now was the same as selling myself, and it wasn't. Sinclair and I had an open relationship, with the understanding that I was his exclusive company during his time in the city. In exchange for my time and attention, he helped me out with my rent and my daughter's tuition at the private school she attended.

  It wasn't like I left here with an envelope full of cash or anything slutty like that.

  It was more like a boyfriend who paid some bills for me. A boyfriend who had other girlfriends in other cities. A boyfriend I never thought about when we were apart and rarely focused on when we were together.

  But he wanted my body and my company, not my affection. Neither one of us had any illusions about what this was between us.

  “I'm coming,” Sinclair announced like he was reading a newspaper headline.

  “Me too,” I lied.

  It was a lie I always gave him. Sex with him didn't hurt, and it wasn't even uncomfortable. Sure, it wasn't good, and he'd never actually given me an orgasm, but it didn't hurt to pretend.

  I rode him harder, swiveling my hips even as I squeezed him. After almost two years, I knew what he liked, and that's what it was about. Him getting off. Not me. He could find another girlfriend if he really wanted to. He was wealthy, nice, and while a little on the heavy side, he wasn't entirely bad-looking.

  Early forties, salt-and-pepper hair, a square, defined chin. He had eyes the color of ripe olives, which I often honed in on when we spoke. He might not have been exciting, but I knew he was better than most guys who wouldn't have taken care of me half as well. I was good at findi
ng the positive in every situation. It was the only way I stayed sane.

  Sinclair shook, holding onto my hips as his eyes rolled back. He grunted as he came, and I keened out the perfect fake orgasm to accompany it. I doubted that, even if he'd been a good lover, he would have been able to tell that none of it was real. No one else had ever figured it out. Well, except for Elroy Wheeler, my scum ex. He was the one who taught me about sex, including how to pretend that I enjoyed it.

  The next part of the routine was just as predictable as the position we always used. I didn't even try to make up an excuse as he pulled me down against his sweaty chest and held me there for a moment. He wasn't big on cuddling, but a couple minutes to recover seemed to make sense to him, so I went with it. Besides, it wasn't like he tried for pillow talk or wanted me to praise his prowess or anything like that. And he waxed, so it wasn't too bad.

  It also gave me a few minutes to finish planning what I needed to do the rest of the day. Like grocery shopping before I picked up Mikala from her weekend at her dad's. These weekend visits seemed so damn long sometimes. I missed my girl. At least Elroy didn't insist on regular visitation. The bastard.

  I turned my thoughts to groceries before I could get too annoyed thinking about that asshole. What did I need apart from milk? There was still a box of Mikala's favorite cereal, so I didn't need any more of that. Some fruit, whatever was on sale. She liked vegetables too. Celery with peanut butter was one of her favorite summer snacks.

  What had I ever done to deserve such a great kid?

  I couldn't think of a damn thing.

  “That was great,” Sinclair said.

  He might have worded it in different ways, but whatever positive statement he used to break the silence meant that we were done for the day. That was another thing I liked about Sinclair. We made a little small talk when we first met up, but he didn't try to draw things out.