Billionaire Boss's Unexpected Child

“I’m Dant

e.” I nod. The name suits him, elegant and edgy all at once. “Stage name or real name?”

“Real name. I’m too new for a stage name.”

“What do you mean?”

“This was my first night.”

He studies me for a while. “Why do you think you’re worth a million dollars, Samantha?”

I glance down. “Because it’s a month. And because I’ll do whatever you want without complaining.”

“You sound desperate.”

“I kind of am.”

He stands up and takes a few strides toward me. It takes everything in me not to back up a step. He walks around me.

“Is this how you usually dress, Samantha? Is this how you’ll dress for me?”

“I’ll dress however you want me to.”

“Do you usually dress like a whore?”

I close my eyes. “No,” I whisper.

He reaches out and runs a big, calloused hand down the side of my waist, and I tremble. Not all of it is from fear. I’ve never had a man even touch that much bare skin before, and it’s a shock.

Not entirely an unpleasant one, and that’s sick, because what kind of girl wants a strange man touching her?

“Why are you so desperate?” he asks, standing in front of me, hands off me now. “Look at me.”

I force my gaze up to his.

“Why?” he repeats.

“My father owes someone money. He’s running out of time.”

“That’s your father’s problem.”

I shake my head. “It’s my problem. He has no way of paying the money he owes. He’s a dead man otherwise.”

“Gambling?”

I shake my head. “He took out a loan to pay for school for me. Arts academy,” I add in a whisper. “And then he lost his job.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

He stands there in silence. “One million. You’re at my beck and call. You stay with me. What I want, you give me.” I nod.

He reaches out and unties the knot in my shirt with a flick of his fingers. The fabric falls away, and my breasts spring free. I can barely breathe as he stands there looking at me, appraising me.

“Can I touch you, Samantha?” he asks in that low, smooth voice. In its own way, this calms me, even if only a little bit. I get the sense that this man won’t try to force himself on me, when he so easily could. He easily stands nearly a foot taller than me, and he’s built like an athlete: broad shoulders, biceps flexing even under the suit he’s wearing.

“Yes,” I whisper. I need this. One million dollars. My life will never, ever be the same. I’ll do whatever he wants, as long as I get my fresh start.