Dirty Filthy Billionaire, page 1
part #198 of 1001 Dark Nights Series
Dirty Filthy Billionaire
A Dirty Universe Novella
By Laurelin Paige
Dirty Filthy Billionaire
A Dirty Universe Novella
By Laurelin Paige
1001 Dark Nights
Copyright 2023 Laurelin Paige
ISBN: 979-8-88542-014-3
Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose
Published by 1001 Dark Nights Press, an imprint of Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Book Description
Dirty Filthy Billionaire by Laurelin Paige
A Dirty Universe Novella
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Laurelin Paige comes a new story in her Dirty Universe series…
I’m damn good at my job.
So if I swipe my boss’s event invitations from time to time, it’s kind of like a much-earned bonus. He’ll never miss them, and I get a five-star free meal in the company of men in well-fitted suits.
But then he shows up at an award’s dinner that I’m most definitely not supposed to be at.
Lucky for me, when my boss accuses me of stealing his ticket, a hot swoony man in a tux steps in and says, “She came with me.”
Now I owe the stranger one, which is totally cool.
Until I discover the hot, swoony man is none other than Steele Sebastian, a rich man with a penchant for scandal.
And the way he wants me to pay him back?
Let’s just say that Steele Sebastian has a reputation as a dirty filthy billionaire, and I’m about to find out why.
**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**
About Laurelin Paige
With millions of books sold, Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She's a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn't seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Billions and Succession, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn't do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.
You can connect with Laurelin on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LaurelinPaige, Instagram @thereallaurelinpaige, or Tik Tok @laurelinpaige. You can also visit her website, www.laurelinpaige.com, to sign up for e-mails about new releases.
Also From Laurelin Paige
Brutal Billionaires
Brutal Billionaire
Man in Charge Duet
Man in Charge
Man in Love
Man for Me: A Man in Charge Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
Slay Series
Slay One: Rivalry
Slay Two: Ruin
Slay Three: Revenge
Slay Four: Rising
Slash: A Slay Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
The Fixed Series
Fixed on You
Found in You
Forever with You
Hudson
Falling Under You: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
Chandler
Dirty, Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
Fixed Forever
Dirty Universe
Dirty Filthy Rich Boys
Dirty Filthy Rich Men
Dirty Filthy Rich Love
Dirty, Sexy Player
Dirty Sexy Games
Sweet Liar
Sweet Fate
Dirty Sweet Valentine
Wild Rebel
Wild War
Wild Heart
Kincaid
Dirty Filthy Billionaire: A Dirty Universe Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
Found Duet
Free Me
Find Me
The Open Door: A Found Duet Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
First and Last
First Touch
Last Kiss
Hollywood Heat
Sex Symbol
Star Struck
One More Time
Close
Co-Written Works:
Written with Sierra Simone:
Porn Star
Hot Cop
Written with Kayti McGee:
Dating Season
Spring Fling
Summer Rebound
Fall Hard
Winter Bloom
Spring Fever
Summer Lovin
Miss Match
Love Struck
MisTaken: A Novella
Dedication
For all the prickly people who say they hate everyone, so no one knows they have a gooey, vulnerable center
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Table of Contents
Book Description
About Laurelin Paige
Also from Laurelin Paige
Dedication
Discover More 1001 Dark Nights Authors
Discover More Blue Box Press Authors
Foreword
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Ten
Discover More Laurelin Paige
An excerpt from Brutal Billionaire by Laurelin Paige
Discover the World of 1001 Dark Nights
Special Thanks
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Chapter One
I have one word for the menu in front of me—fandamntastic.
Honestly, I’m not surprised. The Annual Awards for Advances in the Media has the best dinner of the year. I should know because I attend many. Every time my boss, Donovan Kincaid, declines an invitation, I RSVP in his place because, seriously. Saffron crème brûlée? Sure beats the from-the-box cheesecake at Doug’s Diner on 34th.
Not knocking Doug. He makes most of my meals these days—or his kitchen staff does—but the convenience and affordability rank higher than the taste. He’s open late, does take-out and delivery, and is only a block from my apartment. Plus, he lets me order off-menu, which is not easy to find these days.
And again, by he, I mean the staff. Doug doesn’t know me from Eve, and still he’s the number one man in my life after Donovan.
That probably says more about me than I should admit.
Point being, I will take any chance I can to get a fancy meal for one that doesn’t require a date or using my own credit card. Particularly, when the meal has a dessert as scrumptious as saffron crème brûlée.
I’m already salivating when someone sits in the seat next to me.
This is a good time to mention that I’m not really a people person. Or rather, I’m a specific-people sort of person, meaning I can list the specific people I like on one hand:
1. Donovan.
2. His business partners, Nate and Cade (thank God Weston moved to France because ew).
3. My neighbor Ashish, who waters my plants for me when I need him to. (I return the favor with fairly satisfying casual sex).
4. And Doug of Doug’s Diner, whom I’ve never met and might not even be a real person.
I like my sister, Danelle, most of the time too, but not enough to add her to the list, and besides, family shouldn’t count.
It’s perhaps a bad quality for someone who has a people-facing job, I know, but I’m pretty good at faking it when I have to. I’ve never had any of Donovan’s clients lodge a formal complaint, and as his capital P, Personal, capital A, Assistant—do not call me secretary; I loathe the word—I interact with all of them. Whatever I lack in customer service, I more than make up for with my organization skills. I know how to hide the dead bodies, so to speak, and Donovan has more of those than many of the other rich bastards in this town.
All that to say, I do not come to these functions to socialize.
Obviously, I RSVP’d a plus one, which means that my purse is occupying the seat to my left. We’re given our table number at check-in, so I couldn’t do a speedy online stalk of whoever else is assigned to this round. So far, it’s been tolerable. The older couple across from me are too uptight to engage with anyone ambiguously ethnic. My straight dark hair and light eyes skew more toward my Brazilian Swiss side, but my darker skin, luscious lips, and bone structure give away my Afro-Japanese genes, so I’m doubting the older couple will try to engage. The couple next to them are fellow Millennials and too into posting on Instagram to have noticed me. The Latina next to them seems to be part of their party. I was prepared to ignore whoever sat in the last empty seat to my right, expecting the usual too white, too old, too out-of-touch misogynist to take the spot.
I am not prepared for the six-foot, beardy, dark blond, green-eyed masterpiece that wears a tux better than I wear a grudge—and I’m a Scorpio; I can seriously wear a grudge—that sits beside me. So not prepared that I literally choke on my water.
Thankfully, I’m smooth, and cover it up with a swerve of my head in the opposite direction, along with a subtle cough that I’m sure comes off as a reaction to the circulated air. There’s no way he notices.
“Are you okay, there?” Fuck, his voice is sandpaper. The best of all kinds of voices. “If you need the Heimlich, I’m going to have to pass.”
I almost choke again for a multitude of reasons:
1. He noticed.
2. That voice.
3. He’s going to pass?
I gather myself as quickly as possible, which is pretty quick. It’s amazing how together I can be when I’m annoyed. “You can’t pass on someone choking. What if I’d been dying?”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You weren’t dying.”
“But what if I had been? You can’t just say pass.”
He leans an elbow on the table and holds up a single finger. “One, it’s not my obligation to know how to do the Heimlich.”
Oh my God, he’s using lists. That’s my language.
His second finger goes up. “Two, it’s not my responsibility to attempt to rescue a stranger who would probably sue me for manhandling.” A third finger. “Three, nothing’s been served but water.” He drops his hand, not bothering with holding up another digit. “Four, you’re talking to me. You’re obviously fine.”
So conceited. Obviously an Aries.
Dammit, that makes him even hotter.
I narrow my eyes, unsure if I should bother with a comeback. On the one hand, I don’t want to encourage conversation. On the other hand, I do love a good sparring match. Especially if it’s followed up with a one-night only tussle in the bedroom. Preferably, his bedroom, since my sheets are due for the laundry.
In the end, I can’t help myself. No one will ever call Simone Lima a quitter.
I lower my voice so as not to invite the others into the conversation before speaking. “Maybe I popped a cough drop in my mouth.”
He leans in, lowering his voice to match mine. “But you didn’t.”
“But you didn’t know that.”
“But I did.”
“How? You just sat down.”
“Because I’ve been watching you for the past ten minutes.”
I’m momentarily speechless. Point to him.
When I find my voice, all I’m able to say is, “Oh.” Then again, “Ohhhh,” drawing out the sound this time, because I see the game now. This is definitely foreplay, and I’m here for it.
Sitting back in my chair, I cross my arms under my breasts, giving them a little needed perk. (They don’t need much.) Then I layer my best purr under my words. “Looking for anything particular during your cross-the-room stalking?”
“Honestly? I was trying to decide if the dinner was worth it, or if I should continue schmoozing in the lounge instead.”
I’m guessing the reason he chose the meal was moi, but I play coy. “The dinner is definitely worth it.”
