The Art of Lust, page 1
part #1 of Taming the Billionaire Series
The Art of Lust
Taming the Billionaire
Book 1
Kayla C. Oliver
Let’s get to know each other…
WARNING:
This book contains sexually explicit content and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only. Please ensure this book is stored in a location that cannot be accessed by underage readers.
Copyright © 2017 by Kayla C. Oliver
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
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 constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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 Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Signing Him (Bonus book)
Virgin’s Desire (Bonus book)
Touch Me (The Billionaire’s Secrets Book 1 – Bonus)
Kiss Me (The Billionaire’s Secrets Book 2 – Preview)
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She had the opportunity of a lifetime right at her fingertips, but the passion she found in his arms could destroy it all.
Happy reading!
Kayla C. Oliver
Chapter One
Missy
“Everyone bow your heads, bring your hands together, and thank the Universe for its guidance,” I said, realizing I spoke those words at least six times a day. “Namaste.”
I looked up from my place on the floor and watched as my class slowly raised their heads and smiled, feeling the flexibility, the stress relief, and the comfort in their necks after a really good yoga session. I walked to the front and scheduled several new people in for the longer classes that started next week and waited by the door as the last of my students left for the evening. When they were gone, I pulled the gate down in front of the glass shop doors and locked myself inside. The smell of patchouli incense wafted through the air, and I took in a deep breath, thankful that the day was almost over. I loved my business, but I was the first person to admit that I spent way too much time here.
Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of being a business owner. As I grew older, I looked into all kinds of different areas of business, except for fitness and nutrition. I grew up right outside of Dayton, Ohio, where there were more fields than people. I always ate healthily, but it wasn’t until after I graduated from college and realized working for the man was not my cup of tea that I figured out how much I was into health and nutrition. My mother and father raised me until I was ten, but three days after my birthday, they both were killed when a tractor trailer slid on the back roads after an ice storm. I still remember that day so clearly in my mind.
After that, I lived with my grandmother, Mary, who was very high spirited, nonconforming, and was quick-witted like me. I guess I should say I was quick-witted like her because she’s who I learned it from. Knowing I needed to get good grades to get a scholarship to pay for college, I set my sights on business and ended up winning an almost full ride to NYU. I was excited to leave small-town life and come to the big city, but soon after graduation, I realized the big city could quickly chew you up and spit you back out. I found myself unemployed and eating ramen from the crate I used as my dining room table. While waiting for the perfect job to show its face, I started watching workout videos, reading nutritional blogs, and doing pretty much anything I could get my hands on. It quickly became more than a hobby, and I ended up getting my personal training license and certification in yoga instruction.
On my twenty-fifth birthday, I got a check in the mail from my grandmother. It was the inheritance my parents had left me, something I didn’t even know existed. The first thing I did was start my own personal training company, which is where I am now, a year later, with ten private clients and regular yoga classes. I guess I just had a knack for it, and people always came back. Zen Fitness was my passion, and I knew I could grow it even bigger than I already had in just one year; it just took perseverance and dedication. My grandmother had been my biggest cheerleader, really for my entire life, but man did she know how to poke me in the wrong spot, which usually involved asking when I was going to start dating.
When everything was cleaned and put away, I walked through the place switching all the lights off before taking the back door up to my apartment. I lived above the studio—I know, shocking—but it came with the lease, so I figured I’d get myself out of Brooklyn and kill two birds with one stone. It had been really taken care of and was way better than the loft I used to have. At least at the new place, the rats didn’t infiltrate my life. I closed and locked the door behind me before throwing my stuff in the closet and washing up so I could prepare dinner. Most nights I really wanted to give in and get takeout, but I really was super health-conscious and had adopted a vegan diet two years ago. So, I came home and dug through my fridge and cooked up a delish plate of brussels sprouts, vegan pakoras, and a chili-lime dipping sauce. It sounded fancy, but it was literally me mixing like a mad scientist until I found the best flavors.
I sat at my breakfast table looking over the numbers from last week, proud that I had increased my sales by 20 percent, but worried knowing the winter was coming. For some reason, people didn’t feel that it was necessary to keep their health up in the winter, and last year when the business was just getting going, winter almost killed me. This year, though, I was going to be ready, and I was going to start preparing way in advance. I sighed as I poked my veggies around the plate, too tired to really even eat. I taught four of the six yoga classes of the day and had four of my private clients come in for workout sessions, which I participated in. I wasn’t the trainer who was going to instruct and sit back watching while I shoved chips in my mouth. If I wanted them to do it, I needed to show them it could be done. I was pretty sure that was the reason I had so many return clients; they actually felt like I cared. In this line of work, that was a rarity.
When I was done eating, I picked up my phone from the counter, having heard it buzz several times but wanting to concentrate on what I was doing. I laughed out loud as I read the messages from my grandmother. She was so hilarious, and I could see the succession of sarcasm.
7:05 pm Hey sweetie call me when you’re done. Miss you!
7:15 pm Hey sweet granddaughter, your grandmother misses you.
7:30 pm Have you been abducted?
7:45 pm No, no, it’s not like I’m 70 years old and facing my death in the coming years. By all means, take your time.
8:00 pm I took you out of the will, your Uncle John gets the unicorn statue. I hope that stings.
I shook my head and scrolled down to the picture of her saved to my contacts. She was wearing giant clown sunglasses and sticking her tongue out at the camera. I pressed the Call button and sat down on the couch, leaning back against the pillows. I chuckled to myself knowing she was going to wait until the last second to actually pick up.
“I’ll call off the FBI,” she said grimly. “I was sure you were someone’s lampshade by now.”
“No, Grandma—remember, I’m the one that turns them into lampshades,” I replied.
“Well, shit. Hide your lamps, the cops are coming,” she replied.
“How are you?” I asked with a serious giggle. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had a late last class, and I needed to eat.”
“Are you still eating the rabbit food?”
“All the time,” I replied, remembering she always gave me a hard time about being a vegan. It wasn’t a surprise since she grew up on a farm where they raised pigs. By the time I lived there, though, the farm was shut down.
“Well, you won’t find you a date eating lettuce and tofu,” she replied. “Unless you’re into the man bun and wolf-beard fad.”
“Good thing I don’t have time for dating,” I stated, rolling my eyes.
“Good thing you are going to never produce me great-grandchildren that will brighten my old life,” she said sarcastically. “But I won’t get back into that—it’s like talking to a tree, and not the ones you are hugging.”
“You are a mess,” I laughed.
“Well, I just wanted to hear your voice and know you are doing okay,” she said sadly. “It’s quiet around here.”
“Come out to the city,” I suggested.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “I could wear a tutu and drink martinis like
“I could see that,” I laughed. “Though you are more prone to drink the blood of the young.”
“Very true, my dear. It’s how I keep my youthful glow,” she said with a straight voice.
I stayed on the phone with Mary for about an hour talking about everything from the weather to the news headlines she was seeing on her television. I tried to make it a habit of calling her at least once a week if not more. I couldn’t even imagine how hard it was for her to be all alone on that big farm. My uncle lived pretty close, but he worked a lot and had something like seven kids to tend to. It did make me feel good knowing I was the favorite grandchild.
“All right, dear, it’s nearly ten o’clock,” she sighed. “Before you know it, I’ll be staying up all night, breaking into the booze cabinet, and holding wild ragers.”
“Yeah, we all know how a late bedtime is the real gateway drug,” I laughed. “Have sweet dreams. I’ll call you soon.”
“You better,” she growled.
When I hung up the phone, I leaned my head back against the wall and smiled. I really loved that woman. I pulled myself from the couch knowing that before I went to bed I had to finish up the route for the marketing flyer handout tomorrow. The cards had finally arrived from the printer, and I wanted to get them passed out all over the city so I could start booking winter sessions. We were located in the Art District, which wasn’t great to live in but everyone thought was cool to come to. I used that to my advantage when trying to lure clients from across town. There were so many gyms and trainers in this city you could easily get lost in the sea of businesses, and I didn’t want that to happen. At the same time, though, I also knew that there were more than enough flabby bodies in New York to fill all the gyms ten times over, and I was just looking for enough to start hiring other teachers and hopefully expand. I had my eye on this one storefront in Manhattan that would draw in all the upscale clients. However, to do that I would need to kick this place into gear.
My best friend, Eliza, was the only employee I had, and though she only worked part-time, she was a lifesaver. She taught several of the yoga classes and manned the front desk so I wouldn’t miss any calls from new clients. I knew if they didn’t get an answer, they would move on to the next gym and I would be too late. Eliza had volunteered to be the marketing master and take all the flyers to the businesses across the city. She loved exploring New York, even though she had been there forever. She said it made her feel like she was part of something bigger. It just made me feel like I needed to wear a gas mask and carry a machete. Suffice it to say, I was more than happy to hand this duty over to her, but I needed to have a plan for her or she would end up handing the flyers to tourists and donut shops.
When I was done I called it a night, dragging my old—but fit—body into the bedroom and collapsing on the bed. I was too tired to even take a shower and decided I would just do it in the morning. This business thing was hard work, and I laughed to myself thinking maybe skin lamps might be easier to sell.
Chapter Two
Mason
This was the best part about owning a recording label—listening to new tracks from new artists before anyone else heard them. This band was a sweet spot for our label, and we had picked them up right before everyone else discovered them on their indie label. By the time the indie realized they were exploding onto the scene, they had cut ties and signed with us. They were currently laying down their first CD with New Drive Recordings, and my most efficient and successful agent, who also happened to be my best friend, Chris Bastian, just happened to be the one to sign them to the label.
“Sweet sound,” Chris said to me, motioning for us to go out into the hall.
I gave a thumbs-up to the band as the recording agent mixed and mastered each song as they went. We opened the soundproof doors to the studio and stepped out into the hallway, smiling at the secretary, who inched past us to bring the band their lunch. Once the door was closed, Chris looked to me for feedback. He really was such an Italian, standing in the hallway with his slicked-back hair, piercing eyes, and Italian suit, tassels on the shoes and everything. He never wore a tie but instead left his dress shirt unbuttoned two buttons and threw on the jacket for a better appeal. Regardless of what he looked like, he was a kick-ass agent, and everything he touched turned to gold. His late father was Ricardo Bastian, the famous musician who started one of the top recording companies in the country.
When Chris’s father died, he was left with an enormous inheritance that included steady income from his father’s company but without any requirement to work for them at all. Chris had originally planned on traveling the world, but I hooked him in real fast, knowing he was the key to my success. No matter how long we were friends, though, he always wanted to know what I thought.
“They’re perfect,” I replied. “They have it all: the looks, the sound, everything. It’s another gold star for you, my friend.”
“Nice,” Chris said, shaking his head with his hand half in his pocket.
“So before I go to lunch,” I said, putting my arm around his shoulder and walking toward the door. “We need to see our numbers come up in the fourth quarter in order to meet the investor projections. Not many companies actually meet those projections, but we are seriously close. So, that being said, if we give this to our investors, they will continue to leave us alone. I hate when they get involved in shit.”
“Yeah, especially after what happened when we were forced to sign old man Richardson’s niece,” Chris said, cringing. “I swear my dog could sing better.”
“You have a dog?”
“No,” he chuckled. “He died three years ago and can still sing better than her.”
“That’s messed up, man,” I said, shaking my head. “You have issues.”
“I’ll get your numbers, boss,” he said, turning back toward the studio. “You can count on it.”
I saluted him and walked out the front doors into the sunlight. The city was bustling as New York always does, and I looked around the block to see what I wanted to eat for lunch. I ended up settling on the health food shop down the block and asked the hostess for a booth so I could spread my files out and do a little work while I ate. I was pretty sure if I could find a way to do work while I slept, I would. There was no downtime in this business, and if you didn’t keep your eye out, the next label over would snatch up your artist.
I ordered my food from the waitress before pulling out the file that had all the numbers for the last three quarters. We were doing better than the biggest labels out there and were projected to overshoot our goals by several million dollars. I didn’t tell Chris that because I knew he worked better under pressure, and I didn’t want him to slack off this month thinking we didn’t need the extra cash. I liked to keep the investors off my back and my office nice and peaceful.
When I started this label ten years ago, it was literally me in my house, managing my parents, The Phillips, and trying to use their clout to bring in more musicians of high caliber. My parents were huge stars in the sixties and seventies, and since they didn’t plan on doing any more tours, they agreed to leave their major label to help their son get his off the ground. Though their clout was what brought a lot of the early talent on board, I busted my ass day in and day out making sure this company stayed on track.
A lot of the old-school guys scoffed at me since I started the company with a trust when I was twenty, but in reality, that is how most businesses are started. I grew up in the lap of luxury going back and forth from LA to NY on a monthly basis. My parents’ homeschooled me, and I knew from the time I was old enough to understand what a record label was that I wanted to own one. So, when I was handed my trust from my parents on my twentieth birthday, I took over half the money and started the label. It was scary back then knowing once I received the trust my parents were no longer going to support me, but in the end, it came out better than I could have imagined. I was a billionaire, which didn’t faze me due to my childhood, but was completely earned from hard work and prime investments. Our investments were up-and-coming musicians, people who would be headhunted sooner or later, but we wanted to get a head start.
