Paying My Boyfriend's Debt: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

Paying My Boyfriend’s Debt

~A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance~

© 2018

By Cassandra Dee

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© 2018

All Rights Reserved.

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DEDICATION

To all the girls who love cold drinks, alpha males, and especially both at once.

This one’s for you!

NOTE FROM CASSANDRA

Hi! Thanks so much for reading Paying My Boyfriend’s Debt: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance. I hope you enjoy the steam between Missy and her man.

Plus, be sure to join my Facebook group Alpha Males on Top to hear about new releases, discounts, and freebies.

Love,

Cassie

ABOUT THIS BOOK

Paying My Boyfriend’s Debt: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

My boyfriend owes the loan shark a debt, and he’s offered me as payment.

Missy:

I love my boyfriend, but even I have to admit that Henry’s got a gambling problem.

He hits up the underground tables Every. Single. Night.

And one day, he comes home broken and defeated.

He owes the house six figures, he says. Six figures?!?! How will we ever pay that?

But Henry says the loan shark’s wiling to cut a deal.

Me, for a month, and then the debt will be wiped out.

Stone:

I prey on those weaker than me and unfortunately, Henry Kettle’s one of them.

He’s a man with no talent, no spine, and no money.

He says he can’t pay back what he owes, so I’m taking something else instead – his girlfriend Missy.

And my mission is to make it so good for the curvy female that she stays in my arms forever.

Hey Readers – Have you ever had a crush on someone who was *totally* inappropriate? Well, this is your time to indulge. As always, our feisty heroine gets her HEA, with a baby to boot. You’ll love it, I promise. Xoxo, Cassie

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Paying My Boyfriend’s Debt

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Sneak Peek: Tempt the Boss

Chapter One

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Chapter One

Missy

Two bacon cheeseburgers and a side of sloppy fries! Rusty shouts, shoving the plates across the counter. He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

I swipe the plates and head for the table as other waitresses rush around carrying plates and trays. The overpowering smell of frying oil and beef grease sticks to the insides of my nostrils. I rush the plates to table seven, where two crusty old guys are waiting. They’re both dressed in flannel and dirty jeans.

Here you go guys, I smile at them, setting the plates down. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.

One of the guys takes a bite of sloppy fries and mumbles something which is probably about my body. The other guys laughs, a sound like a machine gun firing. Thanks sweetheart, he says. I can feel his eyes on my ass.

I roll my eyes, but keep smiling, hoping for a decent tip. I head back to the kitchen to grab a chicken finger meal and another bacon cheeseburger for table five, where a mom who looks like she hasn’t slept in two days is trying to keep a little blonde boy from leaving the table and running around the restaurant.

Sit down, Jimmy! she says to the kid, mouthing I’m sorry at me.

It’s ok, I say, as Jimmy knocks into my legs. I almost fall over, but I manage to catch myself and lay the plates on the table without spilling them. This time my smile is real, because I’m happy to have escaped disaster. I love kids, even the little monsters that frequent this restaurant, and I definitely wouldn’t want to hurt one. I fantasize about having a little boy or girl of my own sometimes, but in my fantasies, my children are sweet and well-behaved.

The harried mom claps for me and then and she and little Jimmy dig into their food.

Waitress! Waitress! an old lady at a table that isn’t mine calls out to me. I don’t see Emily or Karen, the other servers, so I rush over to the lady, who wants more mustard. As soon as I get it to her, I have to run back to the kitchen to get another set of plates.

By the time lunch rush is over, my feet are tired and I’m beyond grateful for the chance to take a break. The cook, Rusty, dishes me up a cheeseburger with bacon, swiss and mushrooms with a side of garlic fries. My stomach growls in anticipation.

I don’t exactly love this job, but I can’t complain too much. My coworkers are pretty nice, most of the time at least. The tips are okay. The absolute best part of the job is that Rusty will make me up whatever I want to eat for free, plus any order that gets sent back is fair game. It’s not the greatest restaurant in the world, but the portions are big and the burgers are filling.

I sit down in the back, kick off my black ballet flats, and start eating, savoring the smokiness of the bacon, the meltiness of the cheese, the rich flavor of the grilled meat and mushrooms, the crunch of the lettuce, and the ripe juiciness of the tomato. I take a bite of a perfectly cooked french fry with just the right amount of garlic. Lunch break is pretty much the highlight of my life right now.

I’m almost done with my burger, still making my way through my fries, when Karen plops down next to me. She’s a redhead with pretty brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. We went to high school together before I had to drop out, but we ran in different circles. We didn’t really become friends until we started working at Bob’s.

Karen has ordered a salad, which is a sad sort of thing with iceberg lettuce, a tomato, amd a few slices of onion with some kind of creamy dressing. It is definitely not what I would order. I’d starve eating just a salad.

Crazy day today, wasn’t it, Missy? she remarks, between dainty bites. I sigh.

Yeah. I literally almost fell over and dumped plates on a child today. I don’t know why but Tuesdays always seem to be insane here, I say.

Maybe because there’s nothing else to do in this city except come to Bob’s Burgers on a Tuesday, she offers.

There’s always something to do, you just have to know where to look. I smile at her.

She laughs a little bit, poking at her salad. Whatever you say, Missy. Me, personally? I can’t wait until I get out of this stupid town, she says. It won’t be that much longer.

Are you planning on moving? I ask her. It’s the first I’ve heard of this.

She smiles big, dimples forming in her cheeks while her shoulders move up towards her ears. Yeah. I’m going to move to Hollywood!

Really? I ask, a little skeptically. My boyfriend, Henry, told me he was going to take me to Hollywood for my birthday last month, but the trip fell through at the last minute and we ended up taking the train to NYC and just hanging out in Times Square while drinking some cheap beer from a liquor store. It was a huge let-down obviously, but I tried to make the best of it. I love New York, and I appreciated the bright lights and the beers, even if it was a far cry from the balmy weather of California.

Yes, says Karen firmly before taking a lottery ticket out of her pocket and showing it to me. See these numbers? Next week, when they draw the New Jersey lotto, these are going to be the winning numbers. I have a really, really good feeling about it this time. She slips the ticket back in her pocket.

Oh, I say, nonplussed. I thought Missy was really going to move, but evidently she’s just dreaming. People don’t really win the lottery. Not real people. Not people I know. Still, she’s my friend and I don’t want to dash her hopes. That’s cool. It would be awesome to win the lotto.

"You mean it will be awesome. It’s all about intention. If you can visualize it, you can live it, and I can definitely visualize it. She closes her eyes for a moment, imagining. I’m going to win the lotto, I’m going to move to Hollywood, and I’m going to marry Cooter Hale." She flips her red hair with a flourish.

What? I don’t want to be rude, but this is crazy. It’s crazier than the lunch rush at this restaurant.

She raises her eyebrow. "Coo-ter Hale, she says, enunciating every syllable. Blonde, blue eyes, abs for days? Officer Gunderson? Captain Planet? Basically the hottest guy on Earth?"

I know who Cooter Hale is, I say ruefully. Everyone knows who Cooter Hale is. He’s probably one of the top ten actors in Hollywood.

Well, I’m going to marry him! Karen is in her own world, an expression of bliss on her face as she imagines her life as a millionaire and a movie star’s wife.

What I don’t tell Karen is that I sort of know Cooter Hale. He’s my boyfriend’s cousin. I’ve never actually met him, but I’ve heard a lot of stories about Cooter from Henry. He’s the reason we were supposed to be going to Los Angeles for my birthday, or, at least, that’s what Henry said. I don’t tell Karen any of this because I don’t want the rush of questions that would inevitably come. I just sigh and keep it to myself. That would be really cool, I say. But what if you don’t win the lotto? What do you really want to do with the rest of your life?

I already told you, silly, she moons. It’s all about the lottery and Cooter Hale for me. Now what about you? What are your hopes and dreams, Missy Jones?

I don’t usually talk about this stuff. My hopes and dreams seem a long way off, filtered through a fog of grease and sore feet and forgotten birthdays. Looking down, I speak my dream quietly, almost afraid to say it.

I really want to go to college, are my words.

Really? Karen asks. This time it’s her turn to be nonplussed. What would you study?

I don’t know. I’m not sure exactly what I want to do. I just want to learn about everything, you know? I want to go to a liberal arts school and take a bunch of classes and explore all the subjects and figure it out. I shrug wistfully. It’s such a pipe dream that it seems crazy to say the words.

And Karen doesn’t help either. She wrinkles up her freckled nose. What? Why on Earth would you want to do that? School sucks and college is really expensive. If you’re going to go to school, do it with a real plan so you can get a good job and make more money at least.

I smile, a little sadly, my heart feeling small. It’s not just about the money, though. You know that feeling where you just get lost in a book, like you’re transported to another world?

The expression on her face tells me that unfortunately, Karen does not know that feeling. I keep going anyway. I just really want to learn more about the human condition, I say.

Karen stares at me like I’ve just told her I want to move to Mars. The human condition? What are you? Some philosopher? Didn’t you drop out of high school?

Her words sting, like a slap to the face. I didn’t drop out of high school because I was stupid or couldn’t hack it. I dropped out because my mom left when I was a kid, and my dad spent the next ten years trying to kill the memory with alcohol. I dropped out because we needed money and I needed to be responsible for myself, because no one else was. I dropped out because someone had to put food on the table, and it wasn’t going to be Dad anymore. That’s just the way the world is sometimes, visualization or no visualization. But there’s no sense in telling Karen, with her dreams about Cooter and Hollywood.

I have my GED now, I say a little stiffly.

Karen pats my hand. She talks to me as if talking to a child. Well, sweetie, I’m sure you’ll get there. I take a deep breath, trying to will the tears in my eyes back down. They sting my lids and I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat refuses to go away. Because this is where I am now – Bob’s Burgers. I just wish I had a way out … although so far, there’s no exit in sight.

Chapter Two

Missy

The middle part of the day is a little less busy, but around 5 o’clock, the early bird diners start showing up. Bob’s has a senior special, half priced for over sixty-fives between 5 and 6:30, so it’s like a retirement home at the joint for the next two hours. But after that, the couples and families start to arrive again. I spend all day ferrying burgers between the kitchen and the dining room, just like I do every day.

When my shift ends, it’s dark outside, and I’m sore all over. My clothes are stained with grease and sauce. I climb aboard a standing room only New Jersey transit train, pressed against other weary workers, smelling their sweat with my feet so tired that it hurts to remain upright. I ride five stops before I finally get to sit down, and then ride another two stops.

I walk back from the train station to my ramshackle apartment in Edison. It’s in a falling down brick building on the eleventh floor. It’s not much, but it’s