PAID FOR Read online

  Paid For

  Alexa Riley

  Contents

  Paid For

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Mechanic

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Everything For Her

  Preface

  Also by Alexa Riley

  Stalk the Author

  Paid For

  by Alexa Riley

  Mason Foster goes through assistants like some people go through tissues. He’s sick and tired of having to replace them, so his best friend and business partner decides to help him out.

  Kennedy Myers is here for a job and nothing else. But when the money is too good to be true, there’s nothing she won’t do to please her new boss. She’s bought and paid for, so who is she to say no? Especially when she likes it.

  Warning: This dirty office romance is over-the-top filthy. If you want a possessive alpha with a bossy mouth, then do what you’re told and get this book! Seriously, though, if Mason asks, just say you bought it. He’s grumpy.

  Copyright © 2016 by Author Alexa Riley LLC. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected]

  http://alexariley.com/

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  For Janet… you’re the best.

  Chapter One

  Kennedy

  I think I’m going to throw up. The single thought runs through my head, over and over. I take a deep breath, trying to get my nerves under control. Glancing around the giant room, I feel completely out of place. A woman in her late fifties sits typing away at a large desk, the clicks of her fingers hitting the keys the only sound in the big, empty lobby. I’m on the fiftieth floor of the Foster Building, trying to control my stomach as the lady ignores me and continues to work. Her silky gray hair is cut short to just below her ears and she’s wearing thick-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Everything about her is professional and says she belongs here. Her outfit is stylish in a way I could never put together, even if I had the money to do so. She’s classy and elegant and was surprisingly sweet to me when I checked in. She didn’t give me a snide look like the women downstairs had done.

  I run one hand across my thighs in an attempt to brush away any pieces of fuzz on the too-tight gray skirt I have on. I’m still shocked I got myself into the thing. I got it in the ninth grade when I’d joined the debate team and needed to look professional. My stint at that size lasted about as long as my time on the team. The waist is starting to dig into my stomach, and I pray that the button in the back won’t pop.

  I’m wearing simple black heels that I spent two hours practicing walking in yesterday. I found them in a discount bin in a shop down the street from my little studio apartment, along with a simple button-up white shirt. I feel so plain, even a little mousy. I was trying to look older, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off.

  I tried my hand at a little makeup and even took the time to put some curls into my hair. I’d tried to mimic a woman from a magazine I saw, but I’m not sure I got close to what I was trying to pull off.

  What am I doing here? I shake my head at myself. I’m a horrible liar and I know it. The absolute worst at it. When I was seven, I broke a glass case my grandpa kept a signed football in. I’d confessed before he could even ask me what happened to it. Then when I was thirteen, my grandpa asked me how my day at school was, and out of my mouth came details of how Cody kissed me after school. I was so bad at lying. I couldn’t even fake it for a second. I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  How I think I’ll ever pull this off, I have no idea. Because you have no other choice, I remind myself. I need this job. Correction, I more than need this job. I needed this job three weeks ago.

  The little money I had left from selling my grandpa’s house is almost gone. I have no idea how I am going to make rent in my shitty little studio apartment. I might actually be happy to lose the place, though. Maybe I can find a local YMCA to stay at or something. My landlord is starting to really creep me out.

  His apartment is right next to mine, and this morning he caught me as I was leaving, reminding me my rent was due three days ago. He also implied there are other ways to pay my rent. Ways that don’t involve money. It made my skin crawl. Mr. Kelly was easily sixty years old. He is always in pajama bottoms and a wife beater with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. And I am pretty sure the lady across the hall from me is paying her rent in the other ways he was talking about. I’d heard her earn her room on multiple occasions, and it made me shiver with disgust.

  He was always a little too handsy. He finds new ways to put his hands on me all the time, and it’s becoming unsettling. I try to find ways to avoid him, but yesterday I’d come home to find him standing inside my home. He said he was checking on the water pipes, something about a leak, but my blood ran cold at how easily he accessed my home. How easily he could do it again. After he left, I shoved a chair under the door handle, but it gave me no comfort. I barely slept all night. I had no idea what I was going to do if I came up with the money to pay the rent, because I didn’t feel safe at all.

  I’m just happy I still have a few more weeks until I need to make another payment to the nursing home my grandpa’s in. Knowing he has a place to be for a little longer gives me some relief, but not much. A sharp pain in my palm reminds me I’m squeezing my apartment keys too tight and they’re digging into my skin. I open my bag and drop them down inside.

  Your name is Kennedy Myers. You went to University of Michigan, where you got a degree in liberal arts. You are twenty-two years old and have always dreamed of working for a company like Foster and Crate, I remind myself for the hundredth time. All lies, other than my name. Lies I made up to try and get this job.

  I’m barely eighteen, almost didn’t graduate high school because of my attendance, and I had no freaking clue what Foster and Crate was until two days ago when I saw the job listing. It’s a job that pays more than I could dream of. Enough to keep my grandfather in the pricey nursing home he’s in. Not only that, but if I can keep the sham up, I can get us both health insurance in a few months’ time.

  This has to work. I have no other options. This isn’t merely about me. It’s about the man who raised me since I was a little girl. A man who tried to give me everything he could until he started to forget who I was.

  I knew I couldn’t take care of him anymore. He needed someone to be with him 24/7, and not only that, I was physically incapable of helping him at times—my grandfather is a big man, easily twice my size. I could, however, make sure he was somewhere safe where people were good to him. So far, I had done that, but the place was far from cheap, and I quickly burned through the money I’d gotten from selling the home he raised me in. I’m drowning i
n bills. Waiting tables and cleaning jobs simply aren’t cutting it anymore.

  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered other ways to make money. One of the girls in my building strips and says she could make over a thousand dollars some nights just off cash tips. I’d toyed with the idea. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but there wasn’t a lot I wouldn’t do to keep my grandfather happy.

  The man had raised me since I was a little girl. I don’t remember my mother. My memories are crafted from the stories he told me about her. I never knew my father. My grandpa made it seem like he didn’t know who he was either.

  It was always just the two of us, and I love him more than anything in the world. He is the only family I’ve ever known. I loved it when I’d lie down to bed at night and he’d tell me stories about grandma. He always lit up at the memory of her. I grew up thinking I wanted a love like that, but then all that was pushed to the back burner as his health started to decline.

  Lately, whenever he is having a good day and starts talking about my mom and grandmother when I visit, I write down everything he says. I am scared that one day he’ll no longer remember the stories himself, and I want to be able to tell him those same stories.

  I feel wetness hit my cheeks and I quickly wipe it away. Looking up, I see the woman behind the desk watching me. She gives me a sad smile, and I look away, not liking that I’ve been caught crying. Lovely. I’m sure that’s not going to help me get this job.

  I stand up. I need to get myself under control.

  “Bathroom?” I ask the woman.

  “Down the hall, second door on the right,” she says.

  I nod and make my way down the hall, almost running into a man coming out of an office.

  “Sorry,” I whisper before moving around him and darting into the bathroom. I feel his eyes on me the whole way.

  Get it together, Kennedy.

  Chapter Two

  Mason

  “You’re going to give yourself a headache if you stare any harder at that screen.”

  I look up from my computer to see my business partner, Finn, kicked back in one of my chairs, eating a bowl of grapes, not a fucking care in the world.

  “We can’t all have a Helen to do everything for us. Some of us have to figure out this scheduling shit on our own.”

  I go back to what I was doing, scowling at my computer screen and trying to make sense of what all these different colors mean for scheduling. It looks like a rainbow exploded on my screen.

  “Helen is here to help you, too, but it’s not her fault you go through admins faster than you say Go Pack Go.” He rolls his eyes like he’s the one who has to deal with this mess.

  “I like Green Bay. I don’t see the problem,” I say, ignoring the part where he’s right. I do go through admins at a pretty rapid pace.

  Finn lucked out with our office assistant, Helen. She’s been with us since the beginning and is perfect at everything. Unfortunately, she’s only one person, and Finn and I are demanding assholes when it comes to our company. Technically, Helen is his admin, and I have my own. Only I haven’t had a steady assistant in years. Normally they either last a few weeks before they quit, or I have to fire them for inappropriate behavior.

  It’s not that I’m a prude, but the workplace isn’t the location for romance. No matter what they say, it’s what they want. They think they can entice you with a quick fuck that will maybe grow into something more. When I hire someone, I expect them to do their job and leave me alone until I need them again. Some of my admins hung around my desk, looking for every little excuse to touch me or get close. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the company of a woman, it’s simply not a priority for me. I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date, so it must not have been all that great. The biggest problem with hiring an admin is that we spend so much time together, so feelings can get confused.

  One or two of my male admins tried to start something physical with me, thinking that maybe since I rejected women I preferred their attentions. Then the straight ones wanted to become best friends, with hopes of taking over my company or getting some part of it. It’s not that I don’t like healthy competition, but I don’t need my administrative assistant gunning for what’s mine. I didn’t like having to look over my shoulder or worry about what kind of information they might be stealing.

  “You need to loosen up. And I’ve done something to take care of that.” I glance up from my screen to see a shit-eating grin on Finn’s face. I know that’s not good. Out of the two of us, he’s always been the more laid-back. Up for anything. I’ve had to shut down a few of his crazy ideas before. That said, our being so different is what makes us work so well together.

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t like massages. I’m not into strangers touching me,” I say, going back to my computer screen. I swear to God, whoever made this scheduling program is the devil.

  I would love to loosen up. I hate being the stuck-up asshole friend who never has time to do anything. Our company is very successful, and it’s because Finn and I have dedicated every waking hour to it. We started our company when we were in college and we saw a better way to design sports equipment. The two of us were biochemical majors, so we started working with plastics and fibers until we were able to design what we wanted. The University of Michigan ended up buying our first prototypes, and we went into manufacturing full time afterwards. We’ve made a ton of money, and Forbes called us the future of athletics last year. People have expectations, and I want to not only meet them, but smash them. I like winning. I’m a Packers fan, after all.

  Finn has been hounding me for the last year to slow down and enjoy some of our success, but I’m afraid if we do that, someone will step in and take our place. No matter what the market or my best friend tells me, I worry that all this could vanish at any moment. All this hard work could be gone. And for what? A few hours of fun.

  I lost my parents in a car accident when I was fifteen. I know all too well how fast things can slip through your fingers, and I don’t want to lose our advantage in the market. It seems like every time there’s a gap, someone is looking to fill it, and I don’t want to be in second place. Our competition regularly comes up with ideas that have clearly been stolen from us, and we continuously have to remind them that we won’t be fucked with.

  “It’s not a massage,” Finn says and throws a grape at me.

  I catch it with one hand and pop it in my mouth without looking up at him.

  “Asshole,” he mumbles not so softly. “I can tell you what I’ve done, or you can thank me and we can call it a day.”

  This has me looking up at him and glaring. “What did you do?”

  “I placed an ad for your new admin. I figured you’ve got a stick so far up your ass that it’s going to take someone special to pull it out.”

  “Great. But you’re not doing the interviews this time.” That’s how I ended up with half a dozen dudes before. I’m beginning to think Finn did it on purpose. Looks like I’m going to have to do the hiring myself this time.

  “No problem. I’m sure you can handle this on your own. I made the pay pretty astronomical, so you should get lots of quality applicants.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I grunt.

  “I think the higher the pay, the more idiots show up,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

  “Nah. This time, I made sure the ladies coming would be able to meet all your needs.”

  The way he says that makes me think he’s hiring me a prostitute. I shake my head, my annoyance growing. That’s all I need, people thinking we’re hiring hookers. The papers would have a field day with that shit.

  “Finn. What the fuck did you do?”

  He stands up and holds his hands out in front of him. “Easy, big fella. I know it’s been a long, long, long, long, long time since you got your rocks off. I’m merely offering you an easy solution—a professional who can do her administration job and then…another job. The kind that requires knee pads.
” He smirks.

  “You—” I start to tell him what a fucking dumbass he is, but Helen buzzes my phone. “Yes?” I answer, glaring daggers at Finn.

  “Mr. Foster, there is Miss Kennedy Myers here for an interview.”

  I grit my teeth. I don’t have time for this shit today. I’ve got a laundry list of items to clear off this schedule, and I don’t even know how to use the stupid thing.

  “Send her in,” I say as politely as possible, because it’s not Helen’s fault Finn got me an escort. Or whatever you call it.

  I know it’s been a while since I was with a woman, but my hand is a lot less drama when I don’t call it back.

  “Good luck,” he says, winking at me and slipping out the door before I can throw a paperweight at him.

  I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. If she’s truly a prostitute, this interview should go easy. I’ll just ask her if she knows how to use some of the software here and be done with it.

  For a split second, I allow my thoughts to drift to having my cock wrapped up in a warm, wet cunt. I feel stirrings between my legs, and then dismiss the idea. No one has caught my eye in years, and the idea is worse than terrible. You can’t work with someone you fuck, even if you pay them for both. Right?

  Chapter Three

  Kennedy

  “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” the man on the other side of the room bellows at me.

  I pause in the doorway to his office, making a fool of myself. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I take a tentative step forward, then another, until I’m standing in front of his large glass desk. He makes no motion to get up. I lean halfway across his desk to shake his hand. I’m totally unsure if that’s what I’m supposed to do.