Bought A Gigolo, Got A Billionaire CEO

The tip of the expensive fountain pen tore through the crisp white paper.

Alexis Sweet pressed down so hard her knuckles turned stark white. She signed her name on the final page of the divorce agreement. The document that stripped her of everything. No assets. No alimony. Just the clothes on her back.

She folded the thick stack of papers, her fingers trembling slightly, and shoved them into her designer leather bag.

Sitting at the dimly lit bar of the Manhattan luxury hotel, she grabbed the chilled martini glass in front of her. The cold condensation wet her palm. She tipped her head back and swallowed the clear liquid in one massive gulp. The alcohol burned a harsh trail down her throat, settling like a hot coal in her empty stomach. It did nothing to burn away the humiliation.

Her phone buzzed against the mahogany bar top. The screen lit up with a text from her best friend, Ayla.

I handled it. Top-tier entertainment for tonight. Room 5012. Go ruin yourself a little, Lexi. You deserve to forget that bastard Carlos.

Alexis stared at the glowing words. Her chest heaved. Carlos had spent the last two years treating her like dirt, and today he threw her out like garbage. She needed this. She needed to feel something other than the crushing weight of betrayal. She needed to use someone the way she had been used.

A sudden shift in the air pulled her attention.

A low murmur rippled through the entrance of the bar. The crowd naturally parted, stepping back as if repelled by an invisible force.

Jarrett Hughes walked into the dim light. He wore a charcoal, hand-tailored suit that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His jaw was sharp, his expression entirely devoid of warmth. He moved with the slow, predatory grace of a man who owned the ground he walked on.

Behind him, his assistant Bruno leaned in, speaking in a hushed, urgent tone about that high-stakes real estate acquisition.

Alexis's alcohol-blurred vision locked onto Jarrett. Her breath hitched. The sheer, aggressive masculinity radiating from him made her skin prickle. Her buzzed brain connected the dots instantly. Ayla had paid for top-tier. This man, with his flawless face and expensive costume, had to be the high-end gigolo.

She slid off the high barstool. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor. The room spun slightly, but she forced her legs to move, swaying toward him.

Bruno noticed her approaching. His eyes widened, and he immediately stepped forward, raising a hand to block her path.

Jarrett lifted two fingers. Bruno froze and stepped back instantly. Jarrett's dark, piercing eyes dropped to Alexis's flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips. He watched her with a dangerous, quiet curiosity.

Alexis stopped inches from his chest. She could smell his cologne-cedar, bergamot, and something dark and expensive. She held up a plastic keycard between her index and middle finger.

She slapped the keycard flat against the hard muscle of his chest.

"You're mine for the night," she said, her voice thick with vodka and reckless defiance. "I bought your time."

Jarrett's eyes narrowed. A flicker of dark amusement sparked in his irises.

Bruno sucked in a sharp breath. He opened his mouth to shout at the woman who had just assaulted the CEO of Phoenix Realty.

Jarrett let out a low, rough chuckle. He reached up, his long fingers brushing against her knuckles as he slid the keycard out from under her hand.

He leaned down. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent a shiver straight down her spine.

"Lead the way."

Jarrett turned his head and gave Bruno a single, sharp look. Stay here. Bruno swallowed hard and nodded.

Jarrett wrapped a heavy, warm arm around Alexis's waist. He pulled her flush against his side and guided her toward the private VIP elevators.

The metal doors slid shut. The sudden silence of the small space was deafening. The heavy scent of male pheromones wrapped around Alexis, making her lungs feel tight.

The elevator dinged at the penthouse level. They stumbled out, Jarrett's hand gripping her hip tightly. He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the suite.

The second the door clicked shut, the dynamic flipped. Jarrett pinned her against the solid wood. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, and his mouth crashed down on hers.

Clothes were torn away, dropping to the thick carpet. They fell onto the massive, soft bed. The world disappeared into a blur of skin, heat, and desperate friction.

Hours later, a sliver of harsh morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the blackout curtains. It hit Alexis right in the eye.

She gasped and shot up in bed. Her head pounded. She looked to her left. The stranger was fast asleep on his stomach, the white sheet draped low over his muscular back. The memories of his hands, his mouth, his relentless stamina slammed into her brain.

Her stomach twisted with violent regret. Panic seized her throat.

She threw off the covers. Her bare feet hit the cold floor. She scrambled around the room, snatching her scattered clothes and pulling them on with shaking hands.

She grabbed her purse. She unzipped the wallet and pulled out every single bill she had left to her name. Eight hundred dollars.

She walked over to the nightstand. She placed the cash down and set a glass of water on top of it to keep the bills from blowing away. Her final payment for his services.

Alexis grabbed her bag, held her breath, and slipped out of the heavy suite door like a thief.