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  So I stretched out, looking around. This place was okay. Sometimes we run satellite ops, off-shoots of the real deal to test a new market, see what we can catch elsewhere. Although we have the best recruiters, sometimes we staff a new set-up just to see what happens, maybe draw in some prime female flesh. And this particular hush-hush operation had popped up on the fly, with no real planning, just the goal, as always, to find the best, most beautiful women out there.

  So no, the interior wasn’t anything to write home about. Sure, the lights were dim, but the set-up inside was bizarre, like it’d been designed by some funky nouveau interior designer. First, instead of having private booths, this place had a maze using plants, a series of bushes and hedges that came up to my chin, forming a labyrinth of sorts. I have to admit it was a cool idea because it gave the place a lush feel, like we were in a tropical garden instead of some no-name industrial complex. Plus, the vegetation definitely muzzled sounds, so the moans and cries of various women in heat, the grunts of alpha males spurting, were merely muffed cries, arousing as shit.

  But yeah, other than the musical symphony, this place was just okay. I stared at the amber liquid in my hand, a shot of the good stuff, Maker’s Mark straight. But that’s the problem. It was just Maker’s, there was no Woodford Reserve, hell, the waitress had never even heard of Woodford Reserve, the words were completely foreign. So I shook my head, disgusted. What kind of bar only has one type of bourbon? A shitty ass bar, that’s what, I thought, throwing back the drink.

  But the alcohol wasn’t my prime concern tonight. I was here to see whether or not the right type of girl was coming through, whether there was any potential to source females from this part of the country. Even though NYC is generally ripe pickings, still, if you’re on the wrong block you can be cold, whereas a place one mile up is hot. And what I’d seen so far hadn’t been promising. The first girl was ridiculous, too much plastic everywhere. I don’t know what’s with the ladies these days, but that female couldn’t have been more than nineteen and yet she’d had significant work done. Her chin and cheekbones protruded bumpily, you could practically see the stitches in her skin. Plus the perfectly circular, rubbery breasts were fuckin’ scary, like cones poking out. It was too fake and I wasn’t exactly shy telling her.

  “Naw,” I grunted, leaning back in my chair.

  But the blonde Barbie couldn’t be dissuaded. It’s something about my aura, maybe the expensive suit I have on, the polished shoes or the forty-thousand dollar watch on my wrist. Because despite the fact that I’d already dismissed her, Barbie wasn’t turned off at all. She flipped a perfectly straight sheaf of long, platinum hair over her shoulder and glanced at me coyly.

  “You sure big guy?” she murmured, batting her lashes. “How about if I give you a little of this?” she cooed, pulling down one side of her top so that a huge gazonga popped out, giant and ghostly white under the lights.

  But like I said before, this woman has had way too much work done, and unfortunately, it wasn’t done well. Even in the dim interior, I could make out the slight ridge of her implant, a line in her flesh marking where the breast tissue stopped and the saline began. So I shook my head again, disgusted.

  “Naw, baby girl,” I grunted disinterestedly. “But you might want to get that looked at,” I added. “Shit like that’ll go bad on you in a few years, not the ten they say.”

  The girl was obviously confused, she had no idea what I was talking about. Plus, I’m sure most dudes salivated at her titties, happy to get a mouthful of Double D. So the girl stuttered, her expression creasing into a bimbo-like look of confusion.

  “I’m sorry, wha?” she asked, eyes almost crossing with bewilderment. “I’m sorry sir, what did you say?”

  I sighed, feeling more exasperated than anything. The poor thing was like a bag of rocks, not two brain cells to rub together.

  “Your tits,” I ground out, staring at that one big boobie pointedly. “Your implants are shitty and they’re gonna explode way before the expiration date. Go see a doctor,” I commanded.

  The girl flushed then. But instead of being embarrassed or ashamed, instead she pulled the fabric lower so that both her breasts sprung out like enormous buoys.

  “But how do you know?” she simpered. “Don’t you want to touch to make sure? You can be my doctor,” she breathed invitingly.

  Again, some guys would have been all over this. Some guys would have welcomed the opportunity to motorboat his face between two huge bags of saline, enjoying the artificial bounceback. But not me, I like ‘em creamy and real, and this Barbie was all plastic. So disgusted, I reached into my wallet, pulling out a card.

  “Here,” I said shortly. “Here’s the name of my secretary, call her for the name of a decent MD.”

  The girl was on it immediately, scooping up the paper like she’d won a grand prize.

  “Oh sure, and I can call you at this number too, right? This is where I can reach you,” she simpered, tantalizingly slipping the card between those gazongas, the breastflesh eating up the scrap. But I’d had enough of this shit. She could call my secretary as much as she wanted, but the blonde would never reach me, Mrs. Cohen knew exactly how to screen wannabes and hangers-on. So I merely shook my head and took another swig of my drink, clicking a button next to the chair.

  “Handler,” I grunted, and immediately a woman appeared, middle-aged and severe, dressed all in black.

  “Sir, may I help you?” she nodded courteously. “Is there something I can do?”

  I nodded, expressionless.

  “Get her out of here,” I said, indicating the blonde. “And make sure she sees a plastic surgeon. An accredited one,” I said meaningfully, “not some fake who pumps girls full of industrial silicone.”

  The woman nodded, gesturing to the blonde.

  “Of course, we’ll make sure Courtney is taken care of. Courtney,” she said with a stern glance, almost like she was talking to a child. “Let’s go Courtney, pull your dress up, it’s time to go.”

  And Courtney was like a dumb doll, getting up unsteadily, manhandling her boobs awkwardly, the flesh slipping this way and that until they were stuffed back into her top.

  “Oh sure, but what about Mr. …?” she asked, blue eyes wide, looking between the two of us. “Are we gonna get together again, big guy?”

  I was so disgusted that I couldn’t reply. There was nothing appealing about this girl, both her body and mind were missing, she was a life-size mannequin. So I turned away silently, leaving the handler to take care of it.

  “Maybe Courtney,” the woman cajoled. “But remember, it’s the clients choice, so let’s give him some privacy to decide,” she soothed, grabbing Courtney by the wrist as the girl teetered in her high heels, top heavy and ridiculous. “Let’s give Mr. White some privacy, shall we?” she asked again, this time pulling the blonde along behind her.

  And Courtney was happy enough to leave, thinking that we’d be reunited later. But the handler knew exactly what I wanted because at the last moment, the woman turned and nodded again, still dragging her charge along.

  “Would you like another one, sir?” she asked courteously. “I’m sorry this one didn’t work out, but we have a particularly abundant selection tonight.”

  It’s funny. Any other club, and you would have thought she was referring to a drink, offering me another cocktail. But no, we were the Billionaires Club and I was here to check out the girls, to see if there was a viable pipeline that would sate my brothers back in Nevada. And so far, it’d been disappointing, a real let down. The girls tonight just hadn’t been with it, and Courtney was a prime example of everything that was wrong, the low IQ, the plastic body, the clueless personality. The Billionaires Club sources the highest quality material, not fake shit, not dumb shit, and not illegal shit. We want the best and are willing to pay for it, yet tonight’s selection had been overwhelmingly bad, the bottom of the barrel.

  So I almost said no, I almost put the lid on it and left for the nigh
t. But something changed my mind. I’m not sure what it was, maybe it was the sound of a female moan from a couple booths away, or maybe it was the alcohol speaking. Shit, Maker’s Mark is still potent stuff and I’d had four or five shots by now, numbing myself to the pain.

  So I forced myself back to attention and nodded.

  “One more,” I said warningly. “And she better be good.”

  The middle-aged woman looked worried, like it was on her to source a desirable female, someone up to Club standards. But she nodded curtly and remained silent, merely dragging Courtney along behind her.

  “Of course,” she murmured deferentially, “I’ll see what we have.”

  And with that, both women disappeared behind a hedgerow and I sank lower in my chair. Shit, shit, shit. Was I really up for this? Even another fifteen minutes with a dumb bitch was intolerable, my body would dissolve, bones melting from sheer agony. I resolved to give the new girl two minutes max. If there was anything, and I mean anything, I didn’t like about the female, I was booting her stat and beating feet, headed back to the hotel. Life is short and I didn’t want to waste it with another dud.

  So I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to relax. Shit is hard when you’re a billionaire, but it’s a different kind of hard. Opportunities come at you all the time, and sure, a lot of folks would give their eye teeth at the options I had. But still, when the choices were bad, it’s always a disappointment, and tonight had been one disappointment after another. Every girl had been wrong in some way, or in multiple ways, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to will away an oncoming migraine.

  But no such luck. As the pressure behind my eyes began to swell and grow, becoming a massive cloud of red pain, the handler’s voice penetrated the fog again.

  “Sir,” she began tentatively. “I’m so sorry to intrude, but the next girl is here.”

  And pausing a moment, I gathered my calm. Do not blow up when you see her, a voice inside cautioned. Even if she’s a sack of shit with four eyes and tentacles, do not blow up. Just get up and leave, this place is shit, but who the fuck cares?

  So I opened my eyes slowly, expecting nothing. Less than nothing, tonight had been such a downer that if an octopus stared at me, suckers waving, I would have just gotten up and left without a word. But instead, a beautiful girl looked back at me, hesitantly biting her lip.

  “Handler,” I ground out. “Leave us.”

  Just like that, the woman was gone, leaving the girl in her wake. And what a girl she was. The female couldn’t have been more than eighteen, ripe and supple with wide, innocent eyes and the pinkest, lushest mouth. Brown curls framed a heart-shaped face, topped off with a small chin and pert, perfect nose.

  And the female was ripe too. As the brunette moved to seat herself, I took in that body, dick going instinctively hard. God, that lushness, it was a curvy delight, massive tits that jiggled and swayed naturally, no silicone here. And shit, that ass. It was huge and fleshy, just the way I like it, hips swinging freely before curving into a narrow waist, all of it highlighted by the clingy dress she wore.

  “Hi,” the girl murmured throatily. “I’m Abigail.”

  I didn’t reply at first, just looking my fill. Shit, this was a fitting end to the night. Suddenly the fact that I’d just waded through a dozen duds made no difference, the memory already slipping from my mind. Because by sticking it out, the prize had come at the end. Abigail was gorgeous, and I could tell from the light in her eyes that she was a catch, no vapid dummy here.

  “Hey,” I growled. “Jared. Care for a drink?”

  Even the fact that I was offering her a drink was notable because I hadn’t done as much for the previous women. Hell no, some of those ladies couldn’t have handled the alcohol, they would have gone from dumb to dumber in no time, making my job even more painful.

  But the girl shook her head, flushing a bit.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, biting her lip. “But I can’t because I’m underage. Not quite twenty-one yet,” she said with a slight smile.

  My eyebrows went up. Shit, this was a girl with morals, most teens were always looking for someone to buy them alcohol. Hell, didn’t all the kids have fake IDs these days, specifically for that purpose? But the brunette was different, she’d turned down free shit without even hesitating. So I paused, just taking the female in. She was so luscious and even that voice had me hooked, her words coming out breathy and tantalizing. Or maybe it was the alcohol playing tricks on me, maybe I’d had way more than I thought and was tanked like a dumbass.

  But what the fuck, I didn’t get to where I am by being a shy pansy. I take when the goods are offered, and a bonanza had just arrived, unexpected and lush. So I smiled lazily at her.

  “Something virgin then?” I drawled. “I’m sure we can get whatever you need.”

  The girl blushed at the word “virgin,” my eyes going sharp even if outwardly, there was no indication that I’d noticed. Holy hell, was the woman a virgin? Was this sweet teen untouched by man, pure and innocent? My heart started pounding like a drum because she was prime Club material if so, shit, she’d fetch a price at auction in the millions if it was true.

  But there was no sense in asking straight out, that was for amateurs. Instead, the information was there, waiting to be mined, but I’d get at it subtly, pulling it out like a spider drawing out a skein of silk.

  “Um sure,” she nodded hesitantly. “Maybe a virgin pina colada?”

  I almost choked on my drink then, trying not to burst with laughter. Because a virgin pina colada is a drink you get while on a cruise with the parents, when Mom and Dad are watching, complete with perky cherry and colorful umbrella. But I didn’t want her to know how much she’d given away by her order, how naïve and yet innocently tempting. So I merely nodded and pressed the button by my chair.

  A waiter instantly appeared at my elbow, bowing subtly.

  “Pina colada,” I growled. “Virgin. And another Maker’s for me.”

  The man didn’t even speak, nodding and vanishing in an instant, leaving us alone once again. And this time, I leaned forward, looking closely at the girl.

  “So tell me,” I drawled. “How’d you get to be here, Abigail? Can I call you that?”

  She nodded slightly. I wasn’t sure the sourcing techniques of this off-shoot location. Hell, it didn’t matter to me that much, didn’t matter to the Club so long as tapped into a pipeline of hot girls legal and willing. But asking her origins was a good ice breaker.

  “I came with my friend,” she said bravely. “My friend Jennelle said this was an exclusive place, and we could get in if we talked to a couple guys. Of course,” she said thoughtfully. “I didn’t think it was exactly like this.”

  “You mean with the shrubs everywhere?” I drawled, leaning back in my chair, gesturing at the abundance of plants. “I admit, bushes wasn’t exactly what I expected either,” I added dryly.

  The brunette tilted her head back and laughed softly, eyes sparkling.

  “No, it’s not the vegetation, although yeah, that was unexpected,” she said with a shy smile. “It’s everything. I didn’t realize we’d be meeting guys.”

  My brows flew up, amused.

  “But I thought your friend said you were gonna talk with men to get in,” I drawled. “What did you think that meant?”

  The girl blushed then.

  “Well, I guess I just didn’t realize that we’d be, you know, talking one-on-one,” she murmured. And looking up, she took a deep breath and met my gaze squarely. “I didn’t realize I’d be separated from Jennelle,” she said firmly. “I thought we’d be together, that we’d chat with men together. Not like this,” she said, gesturing to our private space.

  I leaned back in my chair, giving the impression of relaxation but actually every cell in my body was attuned towards the brunette, to the youth and innocence she projected.

  “So has the experience met your expectations?” I drawled. “Have you had a good t
ime tonight?”

  The brunette bit her lip again, looking down before meeting my gaze with a wicked smile.

  “Well, I’ve been okay but I think some of the guys I met don’t feel the same,” she said with an amused smile playing about her lips.

  I almost shouted with laughter at that.

  “What, you’ve been terrorizing the clients here?” I asked dryly. It wasn’t impossible, the girls had been a fucking letdown, who knows, maybe the guys were too. And my instinct was right on the money because Abigail shot me another brilliant smile and nodded.

  “The last guy I met got his food from the garbage,” she murmured softly. “And he seemed really disappointed when I said I wasn’t going to do the same.”

  I snorted then, bourbon almost flying out my nose.

  “Seriously?” I growled. “What the fuck?”

  But the woman nodded, a smile playing about her lips.

  “It was pretty crazy,” she admitted. “He was really judgmental when I said I wouldn’t go with him to the dump to look for rotted fruit to eat.”

  And I leaned my head back and roared with laughter then. Because within two minutes, the woman had already proved her worth. Abigail was witty, delightful to look at, with a sense of humor that was both dry and deprecating. In short, she was perfect Billionaires Club material, and I wanted to get a closer look, to learn what she was about.

  “So why did you stick around?” I drawled, eyes like coals. “If the first client was such a dud, why did you stick around to meet a second?”

  Abigail shot me a shimmering smile again.

  “One was bad, but second time’s the charm, right?” she said. “Maybe the second time will be better.”

  And with that, I couldn’t resist anymore. I had to see the goods, I had to see if she had the drive to make it happen, the desire, the warmth, the heat that all our best girls have. And so with a flick of my wrist, I undid my zip, cock popping out at full length. Oh yeah, despite the fact that we’d had nothing but a few minutes of witty banter, her looks and sparkling personality had made me fuck-all hard and I was ready to ream, ready to play on a moment’s notice.