Virgin for Sale Read online

  Virgin for Sale

  ~Bought by the Billionaire~

  © 2017

  By Cassandra Dee

  Want to hear about my newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/cgt2DD and get a FREE BOOK unavailable elsewhere!

  © 2017 Cassandra Dee

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all products of the author's imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Virgin for Sale

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  Twin Stepbrothers Exposed

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  RELATED BOOKS

  DEDICATION

  For all the girls who’ve got something precious to sell.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Annie

  “Take care of yourself, okay honey?” said my mom, Tina, worriedly. “Make sure you get enough to eat, that you don’t work too hard. You have to look out for yourself, it’s a big world out there.”

  I smiled gently. Even though I’d just finished my freshman year, trust Tina to be a worrywart.

  “No worries, Mom, I got it,” I replied. “This summer internship is gonna be cakewalk, Nevada will be fun.”

  “We know,” rumbled my dad. “It’s just that you’ve never been so far from us before. You practically need a passport to go out West, it’s a completely different country.”

  And I laughed at that.

  “No passport necessary, Dad, Nevada’s one of the fifty United States. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  But my mom wasn’t comforted.

  “Call us as soon as you get there okay?” she asked, her voice edged with concern as I hopped out of the beat-up Dodge. “Promise me, honey?”

  And I nodded, smiling, waving, dragging my rollerboard onto the curb at the airport. But it was already too late because a metermaid zoomed up behind my parents’ car, lights flashing on top, a small siren going off.

  “No idling,” blared a voice from a megaphone. “Curbside is for drop-offs and pick-ups only.”

  His eyes on the rearview mirror, my dad turned the key in the ignition. But there was no sound, the old Dodge was as silent as an ice box. Jerking his wrist again, a look of confusion and embarrassment came over Carl’s face while my mom stuck her head out the window of the passenger side, eyes beseeching.

  “I’m so sorry, sir, our car is having trouble, just give us a minute,” she called, waving her arms frantically.

  The light on top of the metermaid seemed to flash even brighter, blue and white blazes shooting into my eyes. I grew slightly pink watching the scene before me, my dad’s expression focused as he tried to will the rusty Dodge to life as my mom turned pleading eyes to the cop once again.

  “Please, please,” she began. But her voice was drowned out by the vroom of the car, our rust bucket revving with a growl that was more croaky old frog than powerful engine. But it was enough and sensing the opportunity, Carl put pedal to the metal immediately, accelerating before the vehicle decided to die again.

  “Goodbye honey!” called my mom, her voice trailing off as I stood at the curb. “Enjoy your internship!”

  And I watched as the police took off again, looking for others to harass. It wasn’t my parents’ fault. The fact is that Tina and Carl are struggling these days, and we couldn’t afford a new car, especially since I was at college now. Both my folks worked at the local factory making a decent wage, but recently they’d announced layoffs and my mom was one of the ones cut. She was realistic, counting her blessings.

  “At least they gave me three months paid severance,” she said ruefully. “That was nice of them.”

  “No it’s not nice!” I exclaimed vehemently. “Ma, you worked for Cargo for thirty years, three months is the least they could do.”

  “I know honey, I know,” she said, patting my arm and taking a deep breath, the lines on her face somehow seeming deeper, the joints in her hands more swollen. “But it’s okay, so long as Daddy still has his job.”

  Because I knew my parents were worried. With Mom unemployed, we’d survive. But if both my parents got laid off, then we were in big trouble. There’d be no money to pay the mortgage or to put food on the table, much less pay my tuition. And unfortunately I hadn’t gotten a big enough scholarship to make going to school free.

  “Mom, are you going to try and find another job?” I asked worriedly. “Is Dad looking around as well? Cargo’s obviously not doing well, we can’t just wait for the hammer to drop.”

  And my mom sighed.

  “Of course we are honey, I’ve already sent out fifty or sixty resumes. But the fact is we’re old dogs, baby,” she said with a weary shrug. “Your dad and I, we don’t know anything else. People tell us that we should re-train, learn computers or something, but honey, do I look like the type of person who could learn about computers? I don’t think so,” she shook her head, defeated.

  But I wasn’t so sure.

  “Of course you can, Mom,” I said persuasively. “It’s not that hard, there are a lot of kids at college learning the same stuff and they don’t have anything on you. Especially since you have so much work experience, so much life experience, that’s got to appeal to an employer.”

  But Tina just took my hand again, patting it comfortingly.

  “You’d think, right?” she said wistfully. “You’d think that an employer would want someone with decades of experience, but honey, it’s not like that. Companies are looking for young, bright and ambitious, and although your father and I are hard workers, it’s not enough. We just don’t fit what they’re looking for anymore, so it’s tough, really tough.”

>   And I sat back, not sure what to say. On the one hand, I’ve heard of age discrimination, that employers only want a certain type these days – young, in their twenties, with no family and the ability to pull all-nighters. But on the other, that seemed so wrong. Tina and Carl were solid blue collar workers, they were worth their weight in gold with thirty years of experience each. Certainly, they’d do a better job than some teenage intern who was more annoying puppy than industrious employee.

  So I shook my head slowly, still disbelieving.

  “But Ma,” I said gently. “What happens if Dad does get laid off? What happens if you guys can’t find something new?”

  My mom was silent for a moment before blinking hard.

  “Well,” she said, trying to seem casual and unconcerned, “We’ll be okay, we have some saved, we’ll be fine for a while.”

  I knew that wasn’t true. My granny died last year after a long bout of illness, and my parents blew all their savings on her medical bills. I knew they were running on empty, that there wasn’t much in the tank.

  So I tried again.

  “Have you thought about going back to school? Maybe just for a three month course in IT, you’d be so employable after that.”

  And Tina sighed again heavily, this time not meeting my eyes.

  “Annie,” she said slowly, “I know you don’t believe me, but people don’t want old dogs like me and your dad anymore.”

  I cut in.

  “Don’t call yourself an old dog!” I said sharply. “It’s not true.”

  Tina swung to look at me then, her blue eyes dim, lines of weariness creasing her mouth, even her brown hair looking more faded these days, no longer the rich chestnut I remembered.

  “No honey, that’s the way it is,” she said quietly. “It’s the way the world works and there ain’t nothing your dad and I can do to change it.”

  So I sat back silently, stumped, unsure what to say. My family was sitting on a precarious financial ledge, one small push and we’d careen over into darkness, into abject poverty. Because we don’t have much, we’ve never had much, and all it took was one more illness in the family, one small fender bender, one burst boiler and we’d be in the poorhouse.

  I felt terrible, really terrible, my gut churning with worry. I didn’t care about school, I could always go back and get my degree later, there’s nothing that says you have to finish in four years. But I was terrified for my parents’ future. We were so close to having nothing, so close to ending up on welfare, and it’d be a serious blow to Tina and Carl’s sense of self, their image of themselves. They’ve never looked for hand-outs, proud Americans to the end, and to go on the dole wasn’t right for hard-working folk like us, wasn’t right for people who’d already put in thirty years with their hands, never missing a day on the job.

  So I resolved to do something. I wasn’t sure what yet, but for the last month I’d been looking at job postings, trying to find some way to help. Most of the want ads were depressing. There were a lot of minimum wage options, but that was nowhere near enough for my family, so I skipped those. I called a couple numbers looking for nannies and personal assistants, but a man always answered, and it sounded like the same one at that. So I put down the receiver hastily. There were definitely creepers out there, and it was best to steer clear.

  But finally, something caught my eye, out of desperation more than anything. It was an old fashioned ad in the newspaper that read, “Escorts Wanted. Generous Pay. Send photos.”

  My heart fluttered. Generous pay? What did that mean? I hoped at least fifty dollars an hour because my family really needed the cash. Snapping a couple selfies, I forwarded them to the address in the ad, and within twenty four hours, a reply popped into my inbox.

  “Please call Maria at 224-6879,” the text said.

  I picked up my cell, heart racing, and dialed with trembling fingers.

  “Hello?” came a woman’s voice on the line, calm and professional.

  “Hi,” I stammered. “I’m calling for Maria?”

  “Yes, hold please.”

  And there was a pause before another voice came on.

  “This is Maria,” a woman said, voice clipped. “Who is this please?”

  “I’m Annie,” I said, biting my lip. Oh shit, maybe I shouldn’t have used my real name, I should have invented an alias. But it was too late now. “I was calling about the ad in the paper? For escorts?” I asked, my voice dying to a whisper, I was so embarrassed.

  And the woman’s voice warmed immediately.

  “Oh yes, thank you for calling. We’d like to schedule an appointment with you, to meet in person. Can you come by our offices tomorrow? We’re in Midtown.”

  I gaped. Tomorrow? I had class, I couldn’t be traipsing off to nowhere in the middle of the day. But the woman made it easy for me.

  “We’re prepared to offer you an honorarium for your time,” she said, tone even. “Three hundred dollars for the first meeting.”

  My mouth gaped. Three hundred to meet them? Immediately my hackles went up, my spidey sense tingling.

  “No,” I said firmly. “I’m so sorry, this isn’t what …”

  But the woman cut me off then.

  “Five hundred,” she said perfunctorily.

  And my mouth dropped open then. Five hundred dollars for a mere meeting? It was so much, enough to pay my rent in my dingy shared apartment for a month. So I swallowed thickly.

  “Okay, where?” I asked, throat dry.

  And the woman rattled off a corporate address somewhere in Midtown, somewhere close to the subway with busy professionals scurrying about like mice. I let out a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t some hidey hole god knows where, I’d be out in the open under the light of the sun.

  So the next day, I put on a nice skirt and sweater and showed up at an imposing corporate tower.

  “Um, hi, I’m here to see Maria of Club Productions?” I asked the doorman hesitantly. He didn’t even look up.

  “Fifth floor,” he grunted, and I tiptoed quietly to the elevator, unsure of myself, looking like a student amidst the busy people in their thousand-dollar suits, briskly walking to and fro. I stood out like a sore thumb, for sure. With my curly brown hair, curvaceous figure, and humdrum clothes, I didn’t look anything like the folks here, cool, efficient, crisp, probably making six figure salaries, easy. In comparison, I was a poor church mouse, a shy and timid one at that, and stepped hesitantly into the elevator.

  But when the doors whisked open, I was greeted by a middle aged woman, Maria herself in fact.

  “Hello,” she said with a warm smile, holding out her hand. “Welcome to Club Productions.”

  The woman looked normal actually, reassuringly middle-aged. Maria was dressed in a grey suit, but there was color to her face, she made eye contact, and came off more mother hen than corporate drone. So I smiled back, tentatively gripping her hand.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I’m Anna, we talked on the phone?”

  And she nodded, leading me over to a private conference room.

  “Yes of course, welcome to our offices,” she smiled warmly again. “Here, take a seat, I’ll be back in a minute, just give me a sec to grab my stuff.”

  And she was back with a notebook in a jiff, one with Justin Bieber gazing moodily from the cover, hair ruffled just so. I stifled a giggle, trying to muffle a laugh behind one hand.

  “I know,” chuckled Maria, “I couldn’t find my regular notebook, so I grabbed the one my daughter put in my bag this morning. It’s ridiculous isn’t it?” she asked, picking it up and scrutinizing the cover. “Justin Bieber is so … well, there are no words,” she said wryly. “But back to you,” she said with another smile. “So Anna. Is it Anna or Annie?” she asked, eyebrow quirked.

  I nodded.

  “Both, either is fine,” I said, at ease now, “I’ll answer to either.”

  And Maria nodded approvingly.

  “Flexibility, we like that,” she said, ticking something
off on her checklist. I paused, interrupting for a moment.

  “Excuse me, sorry to ask, but I just want to make sure,” I said slowly. “I’m here for an interview right? I’m interviewing for an escort position?” I wasn’t sure, this wasn’t what I thought it’d be like. I thought I’d be asked to take off my clothes, show them my body, I wasn’t even sure what they were looking for. But instead, we were talking about Justin Bieber and sitting around an office conference table making small talk.

  Maria shot me a friendly smile.

  “It absolutely is,” she confirmed nodding. “It’s my job to act as a screen for the Club, I’m their eyes and ears so to say, to find the best people for this particular job. It is a job, you see, and not your average nine to five.”

  I nodded. This was escorting, I was expecting five p.m. to nine a.m., not the other way around.

  Maria nodded again.

  “So everything I’m going to ask you will be noted for Club members,” she said. “Now, before we start, I want to make sure. You do know what escorting is, don’t you?”

  And I bit my lip, nodding.

  “It’s where you date men for money,” I said, choking a little despite myself. That would never do, I’d never be hired if I acted like this. So taking a deep breath, I tried again.

  “It’s going out on dates,” I said with a chirpy smile. “It’s exciting, like having an adventure.”

  And Maria’s eyebrows raised.

  “Well, it definitely is an adventure,” she acknowledged, “because the Club isn’t in New York,” she said slowly. “It’s in Nevada.”

  My brow scrunched.

  “Nevada?” I asked, confused. “Why are you recruiting out here then? Wouldn’t it be easier to find girls closer to home?” That was odd.

  Maria nodded knowingly.

  “It would,” she said, “but the Club is very selective about the girls they choose. So I’ve been tasked with finding the best and brightest anywhere in the United States, but so far, we’ve come up empty.”

  I shot her a startled look. New York is known for its beautiful women, there are loads and loads of females here, models and actresses both, and I was surprised to find that no one had popped up just yet.