Bought The Billionaire For One Night

Chloe Carr had everything-until she caught her fiancé cheating with her maid of honor in a JFK parking lot. One impulsive night, she walks into an exclusive Manhattan club and buys a man. But he isn't just any man. He's Emilio Gillespie-the new CEO of her airline.

Now Chloe's life is unraveling. Her promotion stolen. Her reputation destroyed by leaked photos from Paris. And the man she paid for one night now holds her career, her secrets, and her body in his hands. He's not just her boss. He's a predator who plays chess with people's lives-and she's become his most dangerous piece.

Forced to be his arm candy at a Paris gala, robbed at knifepoint, then suspended from flying over a photo that screams scandal-Chloe is trapped in a web she never saw coming. She doesn't know who set her up, but someone is playing a very calculated game. And Emilio? He's always three moves ahead.

She thought she was buying a night of escape. She never imagined she'd be buying a war she can't win.

***

The harsh fluorescent lights of the JFK parking garage flickered, but Chloe Carr's attention was entirely consumed by the black SUV parked in the far corner.

Brennen's SUV.

She quickened her pace, her rolling bag bumping over the uneven concrete, a tired but eager smile forming on her lips.

But as she got closer, her footsteps faltered.

The car was rocking.

It was a subtle, rhythmic motion. A sound drifted through the slightly cracked window-a breathless gasp, followed by a low, guttural moan that Chloe recognized instantly.

Her stomach dropped, a sickening lurch that made her taste the cheap airline coffee she had drunk hours ago.

Her feet felt glued to the oil-stained concrete, but her hand moved on its own accord. She grabbed the cold metal of the door handle and yanked it open.

The overhead light clicked on, illuminating the interior like a grotesque stage play.

Brennen's pants were shoved down around his ankles. And straddling him, her skirt hiked up to her waist, was Kate Norton.

Kate-her best friend, her colleague, her maid of honor.

Kate didn't scream. She didn't scramble.

Instead, she turned her head slowly, her eyes meeting Chloe's with a chilling, unbothered calm. A slow, mocking smirk curled the edges of her ruby-red lips.

Slowly, Kate lifted herself off Brennen. She smoothed down her skirt with steady hands, as if she had merely been interrupted during a casual coffee break. She looked Chloe up and down, her gaze dripping with condescension and a vicious, undeniable triumph.

Brennen, however, was a picture of pure panic. His lips were smeared with Kate's signature lipstick.

"Chloe!" he gasped, shoving Kate aside and struggling frantically with his belt. "Baby, listen to me! It's not what it looks like!"

"Not what it looks like?" Chloe's voice was a hollow, trembling whisper. The cold air bit into her skin, but her blood had already turned to ice. "You got together with my maid of honor, Brennen. We are getting married in seven days."

The words hung in the suffocating air.

Brennen looked pathetic, his face pale with shock. But Kate just tilted her head, her smirk widening. She wasn't sorry. She had won.

The world narrowed down to that sickening red smear on his mouth, and the sheer audacity in Kate's eyes.

Her trembling fingers slipped into her coat pocket, brushing against a small, square velvet box. Inside was a vintage Rolex. She had taken an earlier flight back, exhausted and jet-lagged, just to surprise him for his birthday. She had wanted to see his eyes light up. What a sick, twisted joke.

She didn't scream. She didn't cry.

She simply pulled the velvet box from her pocket and hurled it with all her might.

It hit Brennen square on the nose with a satisfying, sickening crack. He yelped in pain, clutching his bleeding face as the box popped open. The expensive watch spilled out, landing in the footwell right next to Kate's discarded stiletto.

"Keep it," Chloe said, her voice dead. "Consider it a wedding gift."

She turned and ran.

She didn't look back, even when she heard Brennen shouting her name.

She didn't look back, even when she heard Kate's soft, mocking laughter echoing off the concrete walls.

She threw her luggage into the trunk of her own car and peeled out of the garage, tires squealing in protest.

She drove blind, hot tears finally spilling over and blurring the lights of the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. She couldn't go back to their shared apartment. She couldn't stand the thought of their bed.

Instead, she found herself deep in Manhattan, pulling up to a velvet rope outside a building with no sign. Elysium.

"If you ever need to completely erase a man from your brain, go to Elysium," her coworker Aisling had once joked over drinks. "The men there are walking masterpieces. But they come with a hefty price tag."

Chloe needed to forget. She needed to scrub the image of Brennen and Kate out of her retinas. She parked haphazardly, tossed her keys to the valet, and marched straight past the bouncer, who took one look at her tear-streaked, furious face and stepped aside.

The club was a wall of sound and heat. Heavy bass thumped against her ribs, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, vodka, and sweat.

She pushed her way to the glowing neon bar.

"Whiskey," Chloe demanded, slamming her hand on the sticky mahogany. "Neat. The strongest burn you have."

The bartender raised an eyebrow but slid a heavy crystal glass over. "Rough night, sweetheart?"

"You have no idea," she muttered.

She threw it back. The liquid burned a fiery trail down her throat, setting her empty stomach ablaze. It wasn't enough. "Another."

After her third glass, the sharp edges of the room finally began to soften. The agonizing pain in her chest dulled into a heavy, numb ache.

She spun around on her stool, scanning the writhing crowd. She was looking for something. Someone. A distraction. A weapon.

Her gaze landed on a secluded corner booth.

A man sat alone. He was wearing a bespoke dark suit that probably cost more than her yearly salary, the cut impeccable against his broad shoulders. He looked utterly bored, slowly swirling a glass of amber liquid. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and he was gorgeous in a dangerous, untouchable way. He looked lethal. He looked expensive.

Perfect.

Chloe grabbed her purse and stumbled over, the alcohol fueling a reckless, burning boldness. She slid into the leather booth directly across from him and slapped her platinum credit card down on the polished table.

The man slowly looked up.

His eyes were a deep, unsettling shade of brown, framed by thick, dark lashes. He didn't look surprised by the intrusion. He looked thoroughly amused.

"You," Chloe said, her words slurring just a fraction as she pointed a manicured finger at his chest. "Tonight. I'm buying."

He raised a dark eyebrow, a slow, devastating smile spreading across his face.

"Oh? Is that so?" His voice was a low, rich baritone that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "And what exactly is your offer, little bird?"

Chloe fumbled in her bag, pulling out her checkbook. It was her trust fund money-the emergency cushion she had sworn never to touch.

Her hand shook as she scrawled a number on the crisp paper. She ripped it out and pushed it across the table, right next to her credit card.

"Fifty thousand dollars," she challenged, her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. "Is that enough for one night?"

He picked up the check between two long fingers. He glanced at the number, then his gaze slowly dragged back up to her face, lingering on her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. He didn't look offended by being treated like an escort. He looked deeply intrigued.

"It's a start," he murmured.

He folded the check with deliberate slowness and slipped it into his breast pocket, right next to a silk handkerchief. Then, he stood up, towering over her.

The amused smile vanished, replaced by something much darker. Something commanding and predatory.

"Come with me," he ordered.

It wasn't a request.

Chloe stood on unsteady legs. He stepped close, placing a large, firm hand on the small of her back. The sheer heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of her jacket.

He guided her through the throng of people, parting the crowd effortlessly, past the VIP area, and into a private, gold-paneled elevator.

The elevator shot up to the top floor. The doors slid open to reveal a sprawling penthouse suite, bigger than her entire apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering expanse of Central Park.

But Chloe barely saw the view.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut, sealing them inside, the last thread of her restraint snapped.

She turned, grabbed the lapels of his expensive suit, and pulled him down to her level.

She kissed him, hard and desperate. She tasted the smoky whiskey on his tongue and the sharp mint on his breath. She kissed him with all the blinding anger, the shattering hurt, and the reckless desperation that had been building inside her since she opened that car door.

He didn't hesitate.

He responded instantly, like a match struck in the dark. His large hands gripped her waist, lifting her slightly and pulling her flush against his hard body. He didn't ask questions. He didn't offer useless comfort. He just took.

And for one night, Chloe let him.