Bought And Paid For (Part One)

  Bought And Paid For (Part One)

  Paige North

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Want To Be In The Know?

  Bought And Paid For (Part One) by Paige North

  1. Harlow

  2. Grayson

  3. Harlow

  4. Grayson

  5. Harlow

  Want To Be In The Know?

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  Bought And Paid For (Part One) by Paige North

  Harlow

  What kind of man needs a mail-order bride?

  Or, more to the point, how in the world did I ever become one?

  As I slowly walk up the steps to a huge, luxurious Colonial mansion, the limousine that brought me to this swanky suburb of Boston disappears down the long driveway, past the sweeping green lawns and the forest of trees, and then toward the imposing iron gates. Feeling totally deserted, I face the door.

  Once again, I tell myself that I only came here to do one simple thing — pretend to be a man’s significant other for a month. Then I’ll emerge from this situation with $50,000, which is only half of what I so desperately need to save my family. I never imagined I would be a mail-order bride who was auctioned off at an exclusive, discreet website, but at least I won’t actually have to get married to this client.

  God, this is all so crazy.

  I blow out a long breath, still gathering my courage to ring the doorbell. I have only the slightest idea of what to expect, thanks to the small dossier I received when I signed my contracts, various non-disclosures, and official forms. But I did a lot of Googling to discover more information about my “significant other.”

  He’s one of the most sought-after bachelors in Boston. A man rolling in a jaw-dropping amount of money…Grayson Royal.

  The man I’m about to meet has got riches, good looks, and major success as a twenty-seven-year-old biotech billionaire. He has all the girlfriends a young, partying, womanizing player like him could ever want. According to the gossip columns and tabloids, he certainly hasn’t squandered the opportunity to feast on the bountiful supply of actresses, models, and socialites available to him. But, while his wild social life and movie-star looks intimidate me, I’m actually intrigued by his other side — a Harvard grad, a prodigy in the pharmaceutical industry, and so sought-after by the ladies that Boston Magazine has put him on their list of the Top 10 Most Eligible Bachelors for the last three years running.

  I think I’m about to meet Bruce Wayne. But even the scion of Gotham didn’t have what Grayson Royal supposedly did in his recent past.

  A rumored sex tape.

  Sure, it was scrubbed from the web — if it even existed in the first place — so that’s why I couldn’t verify its existence. But then again the story might just be more urban legend than reality anyway. All I know is that I’m nothing like the babes I’ve seen him with in those society-page pictures.

  I finally tamp down my bippity-bop heartbeat and ring the doorbell. Chimes sing inside the mansion, and as I hold my breath, the trees around the massive property stir, their spring leaves rustling in the wind. Even if I was relieved and, yes, a little intimidated when I discovered who the buyer was, I won’t give in to my fear and run away. I mean, I could’ve been stuck with some ugly rich dude instead, right?

  But even if that had happened — shudder — I still would’ve gone through this. I’m not here for love, after all.

  I ring the doorbell again. My pulse pounds, heating up every inch of my skin. If this works out, I’ll have made a dent in the $100,000 I need to bail Mom out of jail...

  I jump when the door opens, revealing Grayson Royal standing there in all his heart-stopping glory, towering over me like a massive, stone statue. His dark hair is perfectly cut and slicked back, his eyes a cool cobalt blue-gray. He’s wearing a creased gray designer suit that only makes his shoulders broader, his chest wider, his whole appearance more imposing than in any of those photos I saw of him.

  Something throbs deep and low within me, and I can feel my face flush. This is the kind of man who inspires long, hot, restless nights filed with steamy dreams that keep a girl like me awake. My blood runs faster and harder just at the thought of breathing the same air he’s breathing.

  Wait — I think I’ve stopped breathing.

  I get myself together and finally manage a smile. “I expected a butler or maid to answer, but it’s you!”

  He doesn’t even crack a grin.

  Okay.

  I clear my throat. “I’m Harlow Turner...”

  Before I can continue, he wordlessly steps aside, opening the door to let me in.

  Well. Maybe I interrupted him during his workday or something, because he sure seems bothered for a guy who bid on a bride.

  As I wait for him to at least say Hello, fake lady love, I’m pleased to meet you, I study the two-story foyer. Unlike Grayson, the staircase has open arms, curving down both sides of the room with slender dark-wooded railings that delicately contrast with the dignified beige-and-white accents of the room. The furniture is antique, yet the circular light figure above us seems more modern. Interestingly, the styles don’t clash — they somehow meld into something harmonious, Colonial meets modern, the past meets the present.

  Grayson closes the door behind me and then scans me with a detached gaze, taking in my white crocheted bell-sleeved blouse, my patchwork purse and ragged duffel bag, and then my sunny boho skirt that flirts with the middle of my thighs.

  He finally deigns to greet me. “To be clear, this was not my idea.”

  In spite of his chilly welcome, his voice is rich, deep, and a little rough. It drags through me like a slow caress, the friction causing sparks. I’m so caught up in it that it takes me a few seconds to realize that there isn’t even a hint of warmth about him.

  I start to respond, but he interrupts me.

  “To make a long story short, Miss Turner, you are here at the behest of my mentor, Dr. Rick Vangelis. I had nothing to do with bidding on you.”

  “All right.” Strange, but who am I to judge? Also, I do recall Dr. Vangelis’s name, because it was mentioned in the dossier. Evidently, at Harvard, Grayson showed such promise that one of his professors, Dr. Vangelis, brought him in on the ground floor of his new biotech company, Colossus Pharma. While developing new drugs, they hit it big during their first year, and it was because of Grayson’s research and development team. Dr. Vangelis made Grayson a partner in the company, and through further research, I found that Grayson got 30% of the stock for his achievements. After their second drug hit even bigger, the company grew enormously, and Colossus now employs over a thousand people while grossing nearly one billion dollars per year.

  Grayson lifts a cold, discerning eyebrow at me as if he’s wondering if the mail-order website accidently sent him a defective product that doesn’t know how to properly communicate.

  I swallow, because it really is hard to speak in the presence of a tall, dark Greek god.

  The god decides to speak again. “All you need to know is that Dr. Vangelis believes I need to ‘get my house in order’ so I might please our company’s shareholders. In spite of my success with Colossus so far, our investors feel
that I am incapable of keeping my nose to the grindstone, and I am indulging in ‘antics’ that are sure to bring the company down. They feel as if I am making Colossus Pharma into a joke within the industry, so you are here to help me with an image overhaul.”

  Oh. Does he need an image overhaul because of the infamous sex tape? So maybe it really did exist, and Grayson’s feet are being held to the fire because of it. But why couldn’t he just settle down and marry one of his many lovelies instead of hiring me?

  At any rate, Grayson’s bigger meaning is clear: it wasn’t bad enough that his partying and womanizing constantly put him in the tabloids and gossip columns — if there was a sex tape, it might’ve been the last straw with the board of Colossus, and I’m here to save his image.

  He starts sauntering toward a hallway, and I believe he expects me to follow, so I do.

  “In essence,” he says, obviously assuming that I’m on the heels of his expensive Italian leather shoes, “since pressure has been mounting on Dr. Vangelis to fire me, he took matters into his own hands. He contacted this...mail-order site.”

  He says site as if it’s actually a pimping whorehouse. But I know better. I had full control on that site, and as I try to keep up with his long strides, I realize something about Grayson Royal — he’s got a chip the size of Mount Everest on his broad shoulder. I have no idea why he’s so darn uptight and defensive, but I can guarantee my own problems dwarf his. I doubt Grayson Royal grew up with a monster as a father and poor as dirt.

  And even if my mother finally vanquished the monster, the nightmare is far from over for me and my family. Someone like Grayson would crumble under the kind of pressure I faced on a daily basis, and still do to this day.

  We stop in front of a beautiful room with mahogany shelves stretching up to the high ceiling and holding what seem like millions of books. There’s a fireplace, a grand desk, stately furniture, and a view of a huge swimming pool, gazebo, and pool house.

  “This is the study,” he says.

  Okay. I guess he’s giving me a tour of the mansion. Jeez, I’ve never met anyone who’s more all-business than this guy.

  And we’re off again, passing a room with a baby grand piano and another desk. He vaguely gestures toward it. “Music room.”

  Grayson keeps giving me a tour that is clearly a pain in his ass, but I stay with him. I even try to start up a polite conversation.

  “I read that you were Dr. Vangelis’s star pupil?”

  “Yes,” he says over his shoulder as we approach yet another room. “And he would like me to stay his star researcher and developer, so that is why he got this hare-brained idea to hire someone to improve my image. He heard from some trusted friends that this website delivers a very high-quality woman.” As we stop in front of a very modern room with vintage video games and a pool table, he motions toward it. “This is a media and game room.” He jerks his chin toward the back of the hallway. “Other rooms on this floor here in the west wing include a gourmet kitchen where a personal chef works, a breakfast nook, a wine cellar, and living and dining rooms.”

  He gives me another long look, and when I see something flicker in his gaze like a flame, my pulse jerks so brutally that I have to stop myself from gasping. But then the moment is gone, and I doubt I even saw it at all.

  He saunters toward a staircase, and I scramble after him. The thud of our footsteps as we climb echoes the hard beat of my heart.

  “Just you know,” I say, “I have no illusions about my importance in your life. I have my own reasons for joining that website too.”

  We’ve reached the top of the stairs, and Grayson holds up a large hand to stop me from going any farther. I can’t help but to look at his fingers — long, hot, and experienced. What would it feel like to have them trailing down my skin?

  Then he pulls me out of the fantasy. “There is no reason for you to share your reasons with me, Miss Turner. This is business, not a crash course in a real relationship.”

  Ooooo-kay. I’d love to tell him that I didn’t come here to find Prince Charming — fat chance of that — but I keep my tongue. “Understood.”

  “Good. Then these are my expectations. You will look and act the part of my very serious girlfriend — not my bride. You will accompany me to corporate social events, dinners, and any gathering that can help to persuade industry people that I have changed my ways and settled down.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You will need to follow my rules to the letter.”

  Rules. Of course there’re rules with this obvious control freak. I cross my arms over my boho top and wait for him to continue.

  As he walks toward a closed door, my temperature rises. He moves as if he owns the world itself, and I hate to admit it, but it’s hot. I’m already getting moist and aching for him, and I wish I weren’t.

  “If you prove to be untrustworthy or incapable,” he says as he reaches the door, “you will be immediately terminated and asked to leave my house.”

  And that can’t happen. I need this money too much. “What are your rules?”

  “First,” he says, “you will have your own room and your own personal assistant who will help you buy” — he eyes my freewheeling outfit again — “appropriate clothes. Besides Dr. Vangelis, Jayne is the only person who knows about the arrangement we have.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable.”

  “Excellent. Jayne will also help you learn the kinds of things a woman in your position would typically know about this world.”

  “I’m a fast study.” I want to drop my duffel bag to the floor because it’s weighing on my shoulder like my own ever-growing chip. I’m usually a pretty mellow person, but he’s bringing something chippy out in me.

  Then I realize that the duffel bag’s strap has pulled down the shoulder of my top, revealing the strap of my camisole and an extra peek of skin. When Grayson’s gaze lingers there, I don’t move a muscle. My pussy gets even slicker with desire as I see a flash of...something...in his dark eyes. My heartbeat scampers around my chest as the air seems to thicken between us.

  Then he glances away, just as disinterested as before. I quickly slide my top back into place.

  “I am glad to hear you are a fast study, Miss Turner.” He opens the door we’re standing in front of. “You can start by studying your bedroom.”

  I peek inside, and my heart melts at the massive princess bed with mosquito netting draped around it, a vanity table, and a pair of French doors with filmy curtains falling over the glass in romantic splendor.

  But somehow I manage to keep my own cool. “Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

  He ignores me. “In addition to those rules — unless there is an event or some kind of public display for us to pretend to be a couple, we will not have any cause to speak or dine or have anything to do with each other.”

  I nod.

  “You will be served your own meals at different times of the day than I take my meals. You will have access to everything you might need or want, but you are to stay away from me in the common areas of the mansion unless you are specifically requested to be with me for a logical purpose related to the job at hand. Do you understand the terms?”

  “Yes.” Part of me is relieved that there will be no expectation of sex or anything that I feared beforehand. After all, I’m not exactly...experienced. I’ve kissed guys and gotten to a few bases with them, but I’ve never really...um...gotten down, if you know what I mean. I’ve always worried that every guy I met would be too much like my father, and besides, studying is so much closer to my comfort zone.

  Grayson must know all that too, because I had to admit this embarrassing fact when I filled out the application for the website. I went through a battery of tests, including psychological ones, IQ ones, and even a quiz about social graces, which I passed with flying colors. There was also a background check, blood work, and an extensive interview, so I’m sure Grayson knows more about me than I probably even know about myself.

  I dou
bt he’s into virgins anyway — judging from his past, he likes ‘em polished and seasoned. I’m just happy that I’m going to earn a cool $50,000 for posing as his One True Person. Then again, another part of me...

  It’s weird, but another part of me isn’t so happy about his disinterest. Grayson Royal has got an edge for sure, and I’ve steered clear of men in general out of wariness, but there’s something that draws me to this man who has such a crisp coolness to him.

  Grayson’s rejection leaves a pit of disappointment in my stomach.

  I glance at him again — this strong, strapping, immaculate titan who exudes heat. A tremor spins through me, drilling into my core and making my pussy pump with lust. And who wouldn’t be affected by him in such a way? Handsome and mysterious and inaccessible is a ruthless combination. He’s as sexy as all get out, and I can’t deny it. But he’s also an arrogant dick, so I’m caught between wanting him to like me and wanting to tell him to take his money and rules and shove them up his tight ass.

  When I realize he’s been waiting for me to get my butt into my room this entire time, I scoot in there. After all, I need this money and I am a humble creature, so I will quietly accept his stupid rules and his condescension.

  Clearly satisfied with my meekness, he starts to walk away. “Your dinner will be served in the dining room at seven o’clock sharp. Until then and even afterward, feel free to use the mansion as you see fit.”

  “As long as I avoid you,” I confirm. I don’t mean to be sarcastic, but somehow it came out that way.

  He stops and looks over his shoulder. “It seems you are a quick study.” Before he gets going again, he adds, “There’s just one final note to add to all the rest.”

  “Yes?”

  “You should never tell me anything about your personal life again. And do not ask anything about mine. I have no desire to get to know you.”