His Acquisition
(The Billionaire's Muse, #1)
Ava Lore
Part I
Chapter One
I hung back from the press of people, lingering at the edge of
the crowd. The women were all dressed in onyx and ruby and sapphire and emerald
dresses, brilliant birds of paradise, while the men stood with them, all black
and white and staid and stolid as penguins. I scrutinized the assembled throng
and pondered a very important question.
Which of these men is Batman?
I hadn't found him yet, because most of the people that attend
these terrible 'charity' functions are old and boring because you have to be
old and boring to be invited. No one with less than ten million dollars is
allowed in, unless you're part of the support staff. Which would be me, I
suppose. And usually if you have ten million dollars you are either old and
boring or young and that particular sort of country club inbred that just
screams I have a trust fund and have never done my own grocery shopping! Except Anton Waters, my employer, who is handsome, rich, sexy, self-made and
young. Or I guess his wife and my best friend, Felicia, is my employer, but
ever since they were married a second time they've been so joined at the hip
they might as well be one person.
I sighed. Thinking about Felicia reminded me of how much I
missed her. I knew her before she married Anton, which is how I landed a job as
her personal assistant, though recently it had expanded to include other duties
as well. To my deep despair, I seemed to have a talent for this type of thing.
Otherwise I'd still be drinking watery piss beer and smoking some dank nugs on
my Friday nights rather than organizing a dumb charity auction for a bunch of
people whose shoes cost more than whatever they'd spend on 'charity' tonight.
God. If only.
I sighed again and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing
alcohol jockey. I downed it in two gulps, feeling the alcohol warm me all the
way down to my toes, and resumed looking for Batman, my favorite mental pastime
at these events.
I didn't really expect to find him, of course. I know he's got a
secret identity.
I scanned the men. Too old. Too short. Too bald, although I
guess Batman does wear a hood, so he could be bald under that outfit. But
probably not. Too old. Too old. Too old again. Too thin. Too goofy. Wearing
glasses. Wait, doesn't Batman wear glasses? No, that's Superman. Clark Kent.
Whatever. Too blind, anyway. Batman would have laser surgery. Too old. Too
inbred. Too old. Too...hot? Is that a thing? Wait a minute...
I pulled up short, my eyes widening. Not twenty feet away stood
a tall, sinfully handsome man, dressed to the nines. His sandy hair swept back
from his temples in slick, perfect waves, highlighting his fine cheekbones and
rich brown eyes. His mouth was a perfect, delicious pout, and the hand that
held his flute of champagne was elegant and poised. An artist's hand. And I
should know. Before I landed this sweet gig I'd spent most of my waking hours
buried in my art, and this guy was making me want to pick up a pencil and
sketch him. Naked.
His deep brown eyes bored into mine. Despite myself I felt my
cheeks stain with color under his scrutiny, and his perfect, pouty mouth slowly
broke into a suggestive smile.
Batman is staring at me, I thought. What a creeper.
His eyes flicked up and down my body, as though appraising me.
It wasn't a comfortable feeling and pissed me off, so I returned the favor.
Narrowing my eyes, I took in his broad shoulders and barrel chest, his trim
waist, his narrow hips and the muscled thighs barely poured into his tux pants.
I pursed my lips and tried to assess him from a cold, artistic perspective.
It wasn't working.
My god, he was hot.
I flicked my gaze back to his, hoping he couldn't see the
hammering pulse in my throat and quirked my mouth at him. A seen better to
his casual objectification. And I had seen better. In my dreams.
He held my eyes for a long moment, then lifted his brows and
this time his
(The Billionaire's Muse, #1)
Ava Lore
Part I
Chapter One
I hung back from the press of people, lingering at the edge of
the crowd. The women were all dressed in onyx and ruby and sapphire and emerald
dresses, brilliant birds of paradise, while the men stood with them, all black
and white and staid and stolid as penguins. I scrutinized the assembled throng
and pondered a very important question.
Which of these men is Batman?
I hadn't found him yet, because most of the people that attend
these terrible 'charity' functions are old and boring because you have to be
old and boring to be invited. No one with less than ten million dollars is
allowed in, unless you're part of the support staff. Which would be me, I
suppose. And usually if you have ten million dollars you are either old and
boring or young and that particular sort of country club inbred that just
screams I have a trust fund and have never done my own grocery shopping! Except Anton Waters, my employer, who is handsome, rich, sexy, self-made and
young. Or I guess his wife and my best friend, Felicia, is my employer, but
ever since they were married a second time they've been so joined at the hip
they might as well be one person.
I sighed. Thinking about Felicia reminded me of how much I
missed her. I knew her before she married Anton, which is how I landed a job as
her personal assistant, though recently it had expanded to include other duties
as well. To my deep despair, I seemed to have a talent for this type of thing.
Otherwise I'd still be drinking watery piss beer and smoking some dank nugs on
my Friday nights rather than organizing a dumb charity auction for a bunch of
people whose shoes cost more than whatever they'd spend on 'charity' tonight.
God. If only.
I sighed again and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing
alcohol jockey. I downed it in two gulps, feeling the alcohol warm me all the
way down to my toes, and resumed looking for Batman, my favorite mental pastime
at these events.
I didn't really expect to find him, of course. I know he's got a
secret identity.
I scanned the men. Too old. Too short. Too bald, although I
guess Batman does wear a hood, so he could be bald under that outfit. But
probably not. Too old. Too old. Too old again. Too thin. Too goofy. Wearing
glasses. Wait, doesn't Batman wear glasses? No, that's Superman. Clark Kent.
Whatever. Too blind, anyway. Batman would have laser surgery. Too old. Too
inbred. Too old. Too...hot? Is that a thing? Wait a minute...
I pulled up short, my eyes widening. Not twenty feet away stood
a tall, sinfully handsome man, dressed to the nines. His sandy hair swept back
from his temples in slick, perfect waves, highlighting his fine cheekbones and
rich brown eyes. His mouth was a perfect, delicious pout, and the hand that
held his flute of champagne was elegant and poised. An artist's hand. And I
should know. Before I landed this sweet gig I'd spent most of my waking hours
buried in my art, and this guy was making me want to pick up a pencil and
sketch him. Naked.
His deep brown eyes bored into mine. Despite myself I felt my
cheeks stain with color under his scrutiny, and his perfect, pouty mouth slowly
broke into a suggestive smile.
Batman is staring at me, I thought. What a creeper.
His eyes flicked up and down my body, as though appraising me.
It wasn't a comfortable feeling and pissed me off, so I returned the favor.
Narrowing my eyes, I took in his broad shoulders and barrel chest, his trim
waist, his narrow hips and the muscled thighs barely poured into his tux pants.
I pursed my lips and tried to assess him from a cold, artistic perspective.
It wasn't working.
My god, he was hot.
I flicked my gaze back to his, hoping he couldn't see the
hammering pulse in my throat and quirked my mouth at him. A seen better to
his casual objectification. And I had seen better. In my dreams.
He held my eyes for a long moment, then lifted his brows and
this time his
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