Two Billionaires For Her: An MMF Romance Read online

  Two Billionaires For Her

  An MMF Romance

  Ellie Rowe

  Ellie Rowe Writes

  Copyright © 2021 by Ellie Rowe

  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.

  * * *

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  Contents

  Also by Ellie Rowe

  1. Darian

  2. Pete

  3. Becky

  4. Darian

  5. Peter

  6. Becky

  7. Becky

  8. Darian

  9. Becky

  10. Darian

  11. Peter

  12. Becky

  13. Darian

  14. Peter

  15. Becky

  16. Darian

  17. Peter

  18. Darian

  19. Becky

  20. Peter

  21. Becky

  22. Darian

  23. Peter

  24. Becky

  25. Darian

  26. Peter

  27. Becky

  28. Darian

  29. Peter

  30. Becky

  31. Darian

  32. Peter

  Preview….

  33. Monica

  34. Kent

  35. Monica

  Also by Ellie Rowe

  Also by Ellie Rowe

  Mom RomCom:

  Route 69

  After School Special

  Hell’s Bells

  * * *

  Standalones:

  The Jerk Who Saved Me

  The Billionaire and the Babe

  * * *

  Skyscrapers and Stilettos Shared World:

  The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven

  Guide to Bossing A Billionaire

  Manhattan Cowboy

  One

  Darian

  “Are you staring at my tits?” the blonde chick asks me.

  “Yeah, you fucking bet I am,” I sneer back.

  “Good, because I was feeling left out for a minute,” she snaps back.

  I can’t help but laugh at that.

  “That’s the trouble I guess when you have two beautiful women and one on each side,” I say, taking a moment to eye the one to the right of me whose tits are popping out of her black dress and the brown haired gal to the left of me with a white wraparound dress that leaves so very little to the imagination.

  We’re in the back of my limo and they’ve got some champagne. My hands are holding both these women close to me as we ride. They’re part of my evening.

  “Where we going anyway, Darian?” the brown haired girl, I think her name is Chloe or Kloe or something like that is asking me.

  “We’re gonna go do a business meeting first and then I’m taking you to Graybar,” I say.

  “Are you still working?” the blonde haired girl with the tits – whose name I’ve completely forgotten so there’s no sense trying to remember – asks.

  “Baby, you don’t become a billionaire at my age in this city in real estate if you’re not always working,” I say back. “You can’t get to where we’re going if you’re not mixing business with pleasure.”

  And that’s exactly what Chloe and her friend are. A little bit of business in an evening of pleasure.

  So what if it's Friday evening during the summer. I’m still in New York City and I still have a reputation for working hard and partying even harder.

  That’s why I’m doing this business meeting. Looking to buy a property and the land that it sits on and do a deal that’ll make me some money. And then head to one of the hottest nightclubs in the city, where I’ll have these two ladies to myself.

  And after that?

  Well, I’m Darian Strong. I wouldn’t be living up to my name if I didn’t take these two women back to my penthouse suite and fuck the living shit out of them.

  “Darian, let's make work quick so we can go play, shall we?” the blonde asks me. “I’ve got some things to show you I think you’ll like.”

  I leer at her as I run my hand up her thigh. Her dress is riding high and I’m loving the bare flesh at my touch. I squeeze her thigh and she leans close.

  “I’ve got something to show you that you’re definitely gonna like, baby,” I whisper to her.

  “Is it a surprise?” she asks me.

  “A very big one,” I answer.

  “Maybe I can see now?” she offers.

  Normally I wouldn’t be opposed but I look out the window and I see that we’re pulling up to my destination.

  A nondescript strip club in Midtown Manhattan. With a silly fucking name. The Wiggle Jiggle.

  I get out of my limo and walk with my girls – one on each arm – past the bouncers. They know I’m VIP. Everyone in this city knows who I am.

  “Mr. Kleeberger is expecting me,” I tell the host at the front and he walks me over to the VIP seating area. It’s right next to the main stage.

  Max Kleeberger is a smallish looking man with a rat face and squinty fucking eyes. He’s bald and fat and looks like he’s ready to scurry at any moment.

  He’s also the owner of this strip club. But not just the building. The land it sits on.

  Land that if purchased, could be combined with the other offers I’ve gotten from the other lots who have agreed to sell and made into a large enough plot that could put up the next ultra tall condo and office tower.

  A project like that would cost hundreds of millions.

  But it would make…hundreds of billions.

  “Mr. Kleeberger,” I say to Max by way of greeting as I sit down. Chloe and whatever her blonde friend’s name is sit down next to me.

  “Mr. Strong,” Max says, as he takes a sip of his drink. “I’m glad you could come to discuss your offer in my humble club.”

  I take a look around. It’s your standard Manhattan strip club. It’s got the Wall Street types, the suburban dads, the tourists, and of course it’s got the girls.

  So many topless, gyrating, lithe women looking to make a buck.

  Definitely a place to come if you wanted to play. Somewhere I’m probably looking to spend a couple hundred thousand dollars on any other night.

  But tonight?

  I’m looking to spend several million dollars.

  “I’ve wondered if you got a chance to look at my offer, Mr. Kleeberger,” I ask.

  “Please call me Max,” he offers.

  “It’s worth 25 million dollars,” I tell him. “An amount like that and you could retire from the strip club business.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Darian,” he says. “But I want something more.”

  “Name it, Max,” I say, leaning back and taking a scotch the waiter puts in front of me. “I’ve got the world by a fucking string. I date the hottest women and I own the best properties. I’m sure there’s nothing you could ask for that I can’t give.”

  “I want more money,” he begins.

  “Done,” I say. “I’ll give you 50 million dollars.”

  “And I want a seat on your Board of Directors.”

  Holy shit. What the fuck is this? I sit back up, holding my drink and narrowing my eyes.

  “You want a seat on my Board?” I ask. “Why would you want that?”

  He shrugs. “If you’re going to be buying my whole business lock stock and barrel, I want to be part of whatever it gets combined with. It’s not so much to ask.”

  “Mr. Kleeberger, I say, forgetting the booze
in front of me and the girls sitting on either side. “I run a multi-billion dollar company that does business all over the city. Why would I give you a coveted Board seat just to sell me a rinky-dink shitty strip club in the middle of Midtown?”

  Max shrugs again. He seems to do that a lot.

  “Because you want this strip club so badly,” he says to me. “And you want the land underneath. You probably have conditional agreements to buy the other business on this block. So you could build something big.”

  “So what if I do?” I ask.

  “That makes this rinky dink shitty strip club much more valuable than if it were by itself,” he tells me.

  “Well, guess what?” I say. “I can just as easily go build somewhere else. It’s not like anyone else could match what I’m offering. So maybe don’t go trying to get so fucking greedy.”

  “I’m not being greedy,” he says to me with a gleam in his eye. “I’m just trying to get what’s fair.”

  “Why don’t I raise the offer to 100 million dollars, Max?” I ask. “It’s a lot of money. You can’t beat it.”

  “I want the Board seat,” Max says. “And if you don’t give it to me, I’ve got someone in mind who probably would.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Him,” Max says, pointing with one hand behind me.

  I turn around to see a blonde haired, well kept, athletic man in a sharply tailored suit walking up to us.

  The one guy I hate the most. My rival and the only person in this city who tries to one up me as many times as I do to him.

  Bidding on this same contract?

  Pete fucking Silver.

  Great.

  Two

  Pete

  Holy fucking Christ.

  Of course that’s Darian Strong over there, sitting with his arms draped over two blondie bimbos.

  Only Darian would bring two of his party girls to a business negotiation.

  “Peter Silver,” Darian says, as he turns around and gets out of his char. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question, asshole,” I snarl.

  I can’t help it.

  This guy is a joke. He’s always been a joke. Anything and everything about him screams amateur.

  “Why I’m here is none of your fucking business,” Darian snarls back.

  “Actually, it is,” Max Kleeberger says. “You see Mr. Strong like I said I invited Mr. Silver here because I think that it's important you realize that yours is not the only offer I’m entertaining.”

  “Are you seriously considering doing business with this joker?” I ask Max, incredulous. “That’s why you invited me here tonight? To use me as leverage against this clown?”

  Max Kleeberger is also a character. You heard of being easy on the eyes?

  This guy is positively fucking hard on the eyes. The kind that makes you go blind.

  But this is Manhattan. Where having money makes you hot.

  If that’s actually the case, then I am motherfucking smoking. But I don’t need a fat bank account to know I have game. The women that pass through my life can tell you that.

  It’s just that I’ve never had time for a woman in my life.

  Not the kind that I’d have to be paying attention to. That I’d have to compromise for. Buy gifts for and remember birthdays for.

  A woman that I’d fall in love with or share my life with would have to make spending time with her worth more to me than building up my business.

  And no one, man or woman, has ever been able to do that for me. Sure, I’ve fucked a bunch of women. But it wasn’t anything more than a fling. Maybe they wanted more. Who knows. I made it clear to them from the beginning that I couldn’t be that guy. I couldn’t offer them that.

  Unlike Darian Strong here who offers the women everything and maybe even delivers but then shows them with his insane lifestyle that it's not all that it's cracked up to be.

  “If you go into business with Peter Silver, you’re looking for one of the most boring deals in your life,” Darian says sitting back down. “He’s got no imagination. He’s got no excitement.”

  “I guess blowing tons of money on stupid accessories in your buildings is imagination?” I ask back.

  “Listen, the tenants fucking love it, Peter. What do you even do? Build warehouses?”

  It’s true.

  I worked hard after college to build up my bread and butter real estate portfolio doing deals that weren’t sexy. They weren’t flashy. Like warehouses in Queens and apartment blocks in Brooklyn. I did parking lots in New Jersey when Darian was putting the touches on his hotel on Fifth Avenue.

  But you know what? I built myself a stable source of monthly income that let me leverage that into billions of dollars worth of properties.

  “You can put lipstick on shit, Darian,” I say. “But its still shiny fucking shit.”

  “You’re shiny shit, asshole!” Darian snarls again.

  “Gentlemen, please,” Max interjects. “I brought you here because its in my best interests to. Each of you knows what you would do with my plot of land. Darian Strong would probably build high end condos and hotels. Peter Silver would probably have office towers. I would like to involved in either.”

  I turn to look at Max.

  I had first been approached by Max Kleeberger through my lawyer. He was a small man asking if I’d like to do a deal. At first I was about to say no but then I did some due diligence and found out all of the tenants on the block were looking to sell and get rights to something bigger.

  What can I say? It’s a marvelous opportunity.

  And for a business focused person like me, it’s enough of an opportunity to come into a strip club on a Friday night when every other loser in the world who can’t get laid is here hoping to live out the fantasy so that I could talk business with Max.

  “Now, gentlemen,” he says, leaning back in his chair and intertwining his fingers. “What can you offer me?”

  God, what a slimy fucking sleaze bag. I sit down.

  “I’ll offer one hundred million, like I said,” Darian says.

  “I’ll take that to one hundred and five million,” I counter. I came prepared for this.

  “I require a seat on the Board of Directors,” Max replies back. “No matter the sum of money.”

  Wait.

  What?

  He wants to be involved in the greater decision making of Silver Real Estate Holdings?

  I mean, the lot itself that this tiny strip club is sitting on is worth enough that that it could triple the value of my company.

  But to give up a seat on my Board?

  “I’ll leave you two to decide who gets this prize,” he says with a gleam in his eye. I watch warily as Max gets up and walks out of the VIP section.

  Leaving me with Darian.

  “I should have known you’d be here,” Darian says. “I had a good thing and you had to come in and ruin it.”

  “It doesn’t look like you had a good thing going in here at all,” I say. “In fact it looks like you were fucking it up like normal.”

  “Look who's talking Warehouse King.”

  I sigh. Like this shit really insults me? It's just boring now.

  “You know what, Darian?” I ask after a moment. “You’re a fucking child.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve always been an emotionally stunted little miscreant,” I say. “You never grew up. You’re just like you were in college.”

  “I should have moved out of the dorm the day you moved in,” he sneers.

  “I mean you’d be doing the same thing as now,” I say, gesturing to the two ladies on each side of him. “You can’t think of anything but cheap mindless sex and thrills. You got successful by mistake. It wasn’t luck. It was just dumb stupid mistakes on the part of the world.”

  “I worked for everything I have!” he yells.

  “You never worked for anything,” I say. “Not real work.”

  “Yeah? Beca
use I didn’t play football to pay for college?” he challenges. “I was making money my own way.”

  “As a fucking male stripper!”

  “Don’t fucking judge me, asshole.”

  “I’m not judging you,” I say. “It’s a waste of time. You’re a waste of time.”

  “Let’s go, girls,” Darian says, getting up from the chair. I shrug. I’m not here to work with him. If he leaves then Max only has to deal with me. And I can drive a harder bargain. Maybe Mr. Playboy hasn’t realized that yet, but he will. That’s why I’m the man and he’s a….child.

  But that’s when the music changes.

  It’s sudden and there’s almost s silence that goes through the crowd.

  Both Darian and I turn to the main stage, which has a perfect line of sight from the VIP table we’re in.

  And we see….her.

  The most beautiful fucking woman to ever be created in this world.

  Holy. Fucking. Christ.

  Three

  Becky

  The bright rows of lights that surround the mirror in my dressing room seem to glow extra brightly tonight, and I squint as I put on lipstick. It’s bright red, which is a color I would normally try to stay away from, but everything around here is standard issue, right down to the colorful sequin bras and skimpy skirts, which I just finished putting on a couple seconds ago.

  Do it for the job, I think. Just do it for the job.