Serving the Billionaire Alphas
I knew the rules. I knew how it all worked. I played the game, and I played it extraordinarily well. Kept a straight face, did was expected of me, and then got the hell out of dodge with the money.
Such was life. As an in-demand call girl for one of the hottest agencies in Vegas, I had been with some incredibly strange clients before. I’d seen them all before. There were the guys who liked the fake stepdaughter stuff. Then you had your guys who were into the whole pain and submission thing, either giving or taking. In my experience, it was usually giving – and that let me let out some frustration as I whipped them, humiliating them the way they wanted me to.
After a year of working my way up the ranks, building up an impressive clientele and some extremely pricey demands, I lived extraordinarily comfortably on the dime of some of the richest men to step within a fifty-mile radius of the city. I never let emotion into it, always played it cool and acted the part until after I was home and freshly bathed.
But I think my last clients, the shifters, probably take the cake.
I knew the type. You see, shifters kind of go either way. You get the ones that are all about their destined mates, these soul-bound lovers who find their “one true love” and defend them to the end of time, even against others of their kind. Then, you get the other kind, the sorts of shifters who are seriously into the whole “pack mentality” thing. These particular ones like to take their lovers together , in a whole big mating frenzy. It’s a regular ménage fracas, I can tell you that.
Go on , you say? Tell you more?
Well, aren’t we on the demanding side?
Sure, I can go on. Go ahead. Get comfortable. Saddle up for the hot stuff…because what I’m about to tell is going to rock your freaking world.
You ready?
Fantastic.
~
The tale of my most extraordinary night begins with a man named Cedric Furlough. Cedric was an incredible specimen of man in every sense of the word. For starters, the guy was incredibly handsome. As in, the whole nine yards: he had broad, cut shoulders…rippling muscles and washboard abs…and a mischievous, panty-dropping smile that could make even the sturdiest women blush.
But he wasn’t just gifted with the physique of a god – no, Cedric Furlough also happened to be filthy rich. As the inheritor of some big money from a few generations ago, he was a guy who managed to turn compounded decades of some extremely poor business investments around. At the ripe young age of 18, he inherited his struggling fashion empire, a fraction of its former self. Within half a decade, he’d turned it around and made his flagship Minoc line some of the most sought-after designs in among the rich and famous the world over.
Of course, Cedric didn’t design any of his work himself. He was a consummate businessman, hiring hidden gems in the fashion world, with an instinct for raw, overlooked talent and making things happen. With a carefully curated team of hand-picked former nobodies in the biz, usually under the age of 30, he took a handful of small, failing overseas factories and spun that entire thing around. By the time he was 25, he was gracing the fronts of magazine covers, his face almost recognizable to every household. You see, he gave back to the environment, being sure to source sustainably for his burgeoning empire as he expanding into other fields, doing his part to revitalize forests and snatch up land wherever he went, only to turn it into conservational gifts to the public. When a Furlough building sprung up somewhere, it was usually joined with a pledge to keep carbon emissions low, match its carbon footprint with ecological improvements all around, and support for local charities that helped underprivileged youth and conservation.
When the whole “shifter” thing came out, he stepped forth as one of them. In