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  Copyright © 2017 by Ayla D. Viktoreva

  All Rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of BLVNP Inc. For more information contact BLVNP Inc. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  DISCLAIMER

  This book is a work of FICTION. It is fiction and not to be confused with reality. Neither the author nor the publisher or its associates assume any responsibility for any loss, injury, death or legal consequences resulting from acting on the contents in this book. The author’s opinions are not to be construed as the opinions of the publisher. The material in this book is for entertainment purposes ONLY. Enjoy.

  One Night Stand with Billionaire

  By: Ayla D. Viktoreva

  ISBN: 978-1-68030-900-3

  ©Ayla D. Viktoreva 2017

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Dedicated to my fans, who supported and shaped me into a good author (or so I believe I am).

  To my friends, who would always give me a new perspective of my story (usually through witty and mean comments).

  To my family, whom this book would've been published half year ago.

  My agent and Blvnp staff, for finding me and giving me opportunity to publish my work. And to all those who put me down telling me I'll never make it; it's thanks to you guys that I felt motivated to finish it the most.

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  Prologue

  I hated winter—or no, it was the snow I hated.

  Since I’ve been living in Seattle my entire life, snow was something I rarely saw, maybe six times in my entire existence. I loved watching snowflakes fall to the ground and form an endless layer or white on our city.

  I loved it…until two years ago.

  It is laughable how everything you ever knew and had could be gone in the next second. I still remember that night like it was yesterday: rows between my parents and me, my little brother crying, my father turning around, and the crash.

  I was driving with my parents and my four-year-old brother, going out for a family dinner I didn’t want to go to, so I couldn’t keep quiet. I had to protest. Even now I wonder had I done something differently, had I kept quiet about it or something…would they have survived?

  Mom and Dad.

  I’ll regret my actions for the rest of my life, for they died because of me being a stubborn brat. They say that when rain falls, it washes away your burdens, everything you didn’t want. But what is the meaning behind snow then? On that snowy night, I had a feeling that every single snowflake falling down on the ground brought along chains that would tie me to my burden for eternity. The scene was sickeningly beautiful and hollow, terrifying and painful.

  The cries of my brother were the only thing telling me that it was real, my parents long above my reach. Everything seemed monochrome, shades between black and white, nothing too distinguishable except for the red. Red blood.

  Their blood.

  It was all my fault.

  By the time I had lost consciousness, I didn’t even feel pain anymore. All I could remember were snowflakes and light of sirens from help that arrived too late. I could no longer even hear my brother cry. I could not think as I pulled him closer to me, trying to protect at least him in case something happened. I truly believed that I wouldn’t survive.

  It wouldn’t be fair, anyway.

  Why would I survive while they died? Why would the one responsible for the car accident survive and they die? I couldn’t imagine that happening. I couldn’t live with it.

  But I have.

  My little brother, Ayden, and I survived. I don’t know how we managed, but we did, and he has become my life ever since. Nothing mattered to me but him. I buried the regret deep in my heart until the day he could live on his own arrived. Then, I could continue where I left.

  I had cried. I won’t say that their death didn’t affect me at all. They were people who raised me up, who took care of me, who loved me, and whom I loved back. I had cried so hard until their funeral was done that I forgot how to do it anymore.

  When I first woke up in the hospital after the accident, the police detectives investigating the crash informed me that case was closed. There was a witness and a video evidence that a lone drunken driver caused the accident; he had also lost his life in that collision. Both our car and his car had completely crashed.

  Blood. Their unmoving bodies. Ayden crying even more. It was the everlasting nightmare I couldn’t get rid of even after two years.

  It’s been a long two years after that. Having turned eighteen two months ago, I became Ayden’s legal guardian. I skipped a grade, graduated early, and temporarily shelved my dreams of going to college. My focus was on providing Ayden a loving, stable, and happy home.

  My teachers used to tell me that I had great future in art. I used to paint with a passion, but all I could think of when concentrating were the lifeless bodies of my parents. I was applying for college scholarships that give students with no financial security a yearly bursary to live on, but I doubted that I was going to make it.

  I never met my grandparents; Mom and Dad told me that they died in war and both my parents were orphans when they first met. But I don’t want you to think Ayden and I were all alone in this world. We had loving aunts.

  Or so we th
ought.

  When Mom and Dad were still alive, they used to come by all the time. They even brought generous gifts for special occasions. Which was why I thought that when our parents died Ayden and I were going to move in with them…But they had other plans. They convinced social services to leave us in their care so that they could look after us at home. They arranged it so the bank and insurance companies gave them full control of our legacy. And as soon as my aunts got their hands on our money, like magicians, they disappeared into thin air and have been living it up since then. They shopped in the most exclusive designer shops, skied in Aspen, or went on cruising for months on end in the Caribbean.

  Betrayal.

  I couldn’t say a word. I was still a minor with only sixteen years, and I feared what they would do had I complained. They would’ve given us to social workers, and I would’ve been separated from Ayden. I could take anything but live without him. Without him, I was as good as dead. I had no best friends, only the people I was convenient with and to whom I was convenient to have around. Ayden was the only person remaining I had a bond with.

  Since my aunts have sold our house and rented us a single-story house, it had become our home. For some reason, social workers never bothered to visit us. It was better that way, perhaps; that would mean that no one would take Ayden from me.

  Selfish, but the only thing I could do at that moment. I was young and stupid. I had lost much but didn’t want to lose everything. I want to embrace what was in front of me. With my small hands, I tried to protect the last that was left of my family.

  Now that I think of it, maybe it would’ve been better that way.

  As of our new home, Ayden has had the only bedroom in it. It also had a reading desk and a cherished old computer that he played games or learned English on. We couldn’t afford much. I hated that he had to live that way. Our living room doubled up as my bedroom at night, but it was more than enough to appreciate having my brother alive by my side. It’s was not perfect, but I could manage the rent and the bills and have learned to live within my small income.

  Ayden and I have settled into a routine. My mom used to quote someone and explain us the meaning of those words. Both Ayden and I loved the game we played with her when she was still alive.

  Had she still been around, she would have reminded me that the sea is always calm before the storm.

  That indeed was very true, and I had to learn it the hard way.

  The way that would leave me either with nothing to embrace or with acquiring the true joy of being alive.

  Chapter 1

  How It All Began

  Never trust others too much. Remember, the Devil was once an angel.

  “Would that be all?” I asked and smiled at the regular customer politely. Her name is Betty, or that’s what her current date called her. She went all the way from Beatrice, Trix, Bella, Trice, and Betty, so it’s kind of hard to guess which one of those will come out next.

  Being a waitress at the little café on the corner may not have been my ideal job, but the payment was just enough for me to deal with the rent and take care of Ayden.

  “Make sure that salad is well washed,” she snarled dismissively at me. And no, I wasn’t joking. She would scrunch her face whenever she saw another girl and would start grabbing all attention from people around her.

  Insecure or just obsessed with attention?

  I felt sorry for her dates sometimes. She must have noticed her leather-clad date check out my legs, and I sighed. I knew I was short, but he looked at them just like I was barely a meter tall.

  Why was I so different from other girls?

  I looked at her closely and thought of an appropriate put-down. She’s a golden blonde, medium height, wearing a top that just about covered her C-cup breasts, a skirt that barely covered her butt, and high heels. A woman could wear whatever she liked, but I must say that Betty’s the kind of person someone might think of as the blonde stereotype.

  I was not picking on blondes seeing as I was one myself, but if I hated something, then it’s when people disrespected other people. There’s also an unwritten rule not to be rude to someone who handles food you are about to eat.

  I have no patience for people being rude. Take Betty. She had nineteen different dates bring her here for a meal this past fortnight. Betty had seen me waiting on her, serving her meals, and clearing up afterward. She probably thought that I was a young woman with no intelligence, college prospects, or self-worth, so she’s been disrespecting me because her date checked out my legs. She has gotten all her dates to pay for her meals. Some have even left me generous tips.

  I didn’t mind the snake dance their tongues do in each other’s mouths in between meals, but I minded that she looked at them like they were her toys.

  Manipulative.

  “Sure thing.” I feigned a smile, making a beeline for gourmet chef Ryan. I handed him Betty and hunk number nineteen’s food orders.

  Ryan was your typical elder; he didn’t stand out much. His once black hair now got few strands of gray as he entered the first half of his forties, quite the contrary to his soft and warm brown eyes looking like there was still life in them. He had that spark in them. He was someone I could call a kind person without a doubt.

  Proceeding to cut the perfect steak slices, he chose and washed the freshest vegetables. The way he’d move his knife so precisely and leisurely never failed to fascinate me.

  Still seething, I said, “I swear if she weren’t our source of money…Her dates actually, but still…I’d make her the junkiest food there is and force feed it to her.” Gritting my teeth, I was tempted to go back and tell her a thing or two.

  Too bad my imagination was actually quite the opposite of my course of actions. I might say this and that, but no way in hell I’d actually do it.

  “You are not the queen to be making up new words.” He chuckled. “That ‘junkiest’ is not about to get into our dictionary.”

  I raised my eyebrow. Way to ruin the fun.

  “Oh yeah?” As if I’d give up so easily. “Take a look into the modern world. Words like ‘Googling’ something or sending a ‘tweet’ made it to the Urban Dictionary without monarchs raising a finger. And I can become one and add it,” I rebutted with confidence then added, “One day there could be a product named after me.”

  Ryan gasped mockingly. “That’s the day I see pigs fly.”

  Really? Pigs? What—cows have become too mainstream now?

  “Well, why don’t you go to those old farms? Aliens have been stealing them, so you can see one or two flying,” I said. Sure, they wouldn’t use their teleportation devices on them, but something with an anti-gravitational system would probably work…Eh, right?

  I should stop here.

  “Whatever floats your boat.” He sighed, and I frowned.

  “My boat doesn’t float. I don’t even know how to swim, nonetheless, use that thingy.” Not this time. I win this one.

  “You’re weird, you know?” he asked, and I chuckled. Tell that to the rest of Seattle or people in asylums.

  “It’s called being unique, Ruy.” I couldn’t help the grin that formed on my face when Ryan burst out laughing. He and his wife had no children. I guess that’s the reason he took me in as a waitress or helped me whenever he had a chance. He probably saw me as his daughter…He was a good friend of my father after all.

  “Kaley, I’d be proud of you whether or not you achieve anything worth entering the dictionary.” He gave me a meaningful look like the one dad used to give after seeing me work hard on a science experiment…Or something that resembled it.

  I smiled, picking up warmed plates with the main course for Betty and her date.

  The phone in my pocket began to vibrate, so I put down the tray and picked it up mouthing, “Sorry!” to Ryan as I checked the caller ID. He shrugged it off. He wasn’t some evil boss from hell.

  It was Melissa, my best friend I’ve met right here where I was working, although she was also Ayde
n’s teacher at the kindergarten. If she was calling in the middle of the day, then it was probably important.

  I expected to be on the phone several minutes.

  I waved at Tim, my co-worker, and gestured for him to take over the main course that Ryan had served onto plates with the precision of a designer. His freshly made meals were visually appealing. The aroma tantalized, and the taste was enough to bring customers back for more. Handling Tim the order ticket so Betty and her date at table five could get it before it got cold or fellow customers got nauseated by their show of tongue tango, I answered the call.

  “Hey, Melissa! What’s up?” I asked warily. It was unexpected hearing from her when she was at work.

  “I had to call right away. Ayden was at the playground when he suddenly fainted. He has not yet responded to first-aid, and I have to tell you I’m worried. The ambulance has just arrived, and I’m going with him to the hospital.”

  Hospital?

  “Was he playing rough with the other kids,” I asked, trying to picture what could have happened. There was no need to panic.

  “Ayden was running one second and was out cold the next. He dropped hard, hitting his head. He’s pale and his pulse shallow. It seems serious to me, but I don’t want to worry you before the doctor gives us a diagnosis.”

  That was not okay.

  Melissa had the odd combination of a molten heart and nerves of steel to work with overactive toddlers every day. If she thought Ayden’s condition could be serious, then it was.

  I, on the other hand, could not breathe. The last time I went to the hospital in winter-like weather, and it was something serious, Mom and Dad died. I associated hospitals with the worst time in my life from the day our family was split in half, so I couldn’t bear to enter one again. The memories of what happened would still linger in my heart, giving me nightmares. Just a quick glance at the hospital reminded me of their dead bodies. I couldn’t stand them.