Prick. *sshole. Lucky bastard. That’s what people called me. I wasn’t going to deny it. I had been lucky even before my company’s IPO, which had made me a tech billionaire overnight. I was also a morally compromised son of a bitch—anyone who knew me could attest to that. But it didn’t mean I lacked a set of codes to live by.
I wasn’t interested in romantic complications, but I was always up for a challenge. Then I met her. A flame-haired cocktail waitress with a smart mouth. And I was going to have her, even if I had to break my own rules.
So I made her an offer—one that she couldn’t refuse.
I was the cliché, a punch line to a joke. The virgin working in a strip club. But I wasn’t naïve, and I wasn’t taking my clothes off for money. I was just serving drinks while wearing a naughty-schoolgirl outfit. At twenty-three, I just wanted one thing—to make enough money to go back and finish my last year of college.
Then I felt the heat of his stare from the back of the club. The guy in the suit. I assumed he was like all the rest, but I was so wrong. James McDevitt was a son of a bitch—one insanely hot son of a bitch. And he had an offer for me.
The question was: could I refuse?
This is NOT a “clean” read.