Steal The CEO's Daughter - A Carny Bad Boy Romance
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
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
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Steal The CEO’s Daughter
Layla Valentine
Contents
Layla Valentine
Steal The CEO’s Daughter
Want More?
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
Epilogue
Layla Valentine
Killer
Introduction
Want More?
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Want More?
Layla Valentine
Buy Me, Bride Me
Introduction
Want More?
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
Layla Valentine
Take Me
Introduction
Want More?
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks
Fake It For Me
Introduction
Want More?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Steal The CEO’s Daughter
Layla Valentine
Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
Ella
In my defense, I made a valiant attempt to join in with the festivities. As the heiress to EBgen Corp, it would only be suitable to mingle with my future employees. However, upon spotting my mother with a half-dozen shot glasses lined up in front of her, I made an executive decision; as pleasant as it might have been to break the news to her when she was three sheets to the wind, I knew I would only regret it later. She’d wake up the next day, mind wiped thanks to that heavenly elixir known as bourbon. Which, for me, meant I would have the most awkward conversation of my life not once, b
ut twice.
Granted, I could have tried to just enjoy the party. Unfortunately, except for the crew themselves, every other person on board the cruise ship was one of my mother’s employees. As appealing as the thought of hitting the free bar was, I knew I wouldn’t much enjoy talking shop with a ship full of drunk businesspeople.
That was one of the most annoying things about being the poster child for EBgen; most of the employees were older men who had been working for my mother for decades. In spite of just turning twenty-four, they still viewed me as little more than a child. It wouldn’t do for Ella Beck to go on a drunken tirade saying things such as, “Yes, I’m very much allowed to drink, Bernard. This sort of thing is why your wife divorced you; you can’t keep your opinions to yourself.”
I could imagine the field day my mother would have with that one. In spite of naming her company after me, there was no question that she would side with her employees over her daughter—faster than you could say, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ella."
This was what left me darting away from the main bar on the upper deck, trying to dismiss the turmoil in my stomach as seasickness. I was a grown woman; it was humiliating to acknowledge how fearful I was of my mother’s disappointment.
It should have been an enjoyable cruise. Especially considering that once we hit port in Rio, my mother would be signing a contract so lucrative that everyone under her employment would see their salaries nearly double. It didn't mean very much to me, however. I didn’t have to work to get to the point I was; I was born to take over EBgen.
I’m pretty sure my mother had negotiated a contract with my father (or, by my mom’s assertion, sperm donor) to ensure that he wouldn’t put any ideas of freedom in my head. They had divorced when I was an infant, however, so I couldn’t pose such questions to the man himself. My mother liked to claim that he had been a deadbeat, but in Martha Beck’s eyes, having any dreams that went beyond your income confirmed you a deadbeat on the spot.
I loved my mother dearly, regardless of my bitterness. All the same, I could see why anyone would head for the hills after getting to know her winning business model. I had been fantasizing about my great escape for some years, and had even gone to one of the most prestigious liberal arts schools in the country in an attempt to assert some independence.
Unfortunately, growing up home-schooled with a parent who placed zero emphasis on the arts left me ill-prepared for such a big step. Cue me tucking tail and changing my major to an MBA. Not one of my proudest moments, but my mother had been thrilled.
In spite of my entire life seemingly leading up to the time that I would take over EBgen, I still carried hopes and dreams beyond that. I wanted nothing more than to travel the world, learn new languages, and immerse myself in the cultures beyond my own. The only trips I’d been on had been business-related, and while the destinations were grand, I hadn’t seen much besides the insides of offices and hotel conference centers.
This particular trip had only served to cement the idea that I was unsuited for this lifestyle. I couldn’t even feign interest in the stories my mother had heard around the office printer. Oh, yes, do fill me in on all the details of how Jerry had mixed up the cyan and magenta ink! I had begun to wonder if I was insane; if perhaps that was the sort of thing ordinary people found themselves entertained by? Was I defective in some way? Christ, there had to be more to life than break room gossip and stock market shifts.
God forbid I try to find a boyfriend with interests outside of the box deemed acceptable by my mom. Does he like stand-up comedy? “He must be a stoner, Ella, for the love of God.” Does he work in graphic design? “Oh, heavens, a starving artist. Enjoy living off of ramen noodles for the rest of your life.” It drove me crazy how quickly my mother dismissed my desires. For years, I had been convinced that she just wanted me to stay single and ‘ready to mingle,’ but then she had started trying to set me up with the stuffy sons of her employees.
It would have been fine if they had been handsome, or at least moderately attractive. However, they had all been prematurely balding, with interests including ‘fiscal responsibility.' I had the vaguest inkling of an idea that my mother only wanted me to birth another child to take my place after I kicked the bucket. Which, judging by the stress that went with this job, I could see myself doing by forty.
On numerous occasions throughout my life, I had tried to convince myself that my mother simply had my best interests at heart. As I grew older, however, it became apparent that the only thing she cared about was the life she had laid out for me. I would be wealthy, well-known across the country. Hell, I would likely be known worldwide if the expansion plan she was putting into action resulted in success. Of course, it would. Martha Beck didn’t know the meaning of failure.
The one lingering question was whether or not I would be happy. More specifically, did she even care about my happiness? Was I simply a vessel to perpetuate her success? Was she using the profits from EBgen to fund brain transplant surgery so she could swap our bodies when she became too old and frail?
Okay, I’ll admit that is a bit of a stretch. If you ask me, though, the entire situation was ridiculous. My life was founded in ridiculousness, at least if you accounted for the times my mother insisted I was as such. If you subtracted ridiculousness from the equation, my life’s foundation was much duller. At this point, I craved ridiculousness. I craved anything aside from the life that had my mother put into motion for me.
I was jolted from my thoughts as I nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
Oh, heavens.
He had to have been the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. His hair was dark and shaggy, his eyes the most piercing shade of blue. If I had ever doubted the existence of a higher power, he restored my faith upon seeing that he was shirtless, his well-formed abs exposed to the open air. My immediate thought was to ask, “Can I touch your muscles? Forgive me if that’s a ditzy thing to ask, but I’m a woman with needs!” Luckily, the idea registered in my mind as crazy before it reached my lips.
He seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice me, unfortunately, sidestepping me at the last possible second and continuing in the direction he was going. I came to a stop, turning to watch as he walked away. If you’ve ever heard that phrase, ‘I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,’ rest assured that it appropriately suited my thoughts at that moment. He had the roundest, most toned butt I had ever seen on a man, and his tanned, muscular legs seemed to stretch on for days.
As he turned the corner and I could no longer watch the unfairly sexy motions of his body, I realized abruptly that I needed a drink. A gin and tonic sounded magnificent, but to indulge that desire, I would have to join the festivities I was trying so desperately to avoid.
Making another executive decision, I walked in the direction of the party. If I was lucky, maybe my mother wouldn’t get as drunk as I expected. It had always been a tossup, and I was forced to wonder how lucrative alcoholism could be for the company’s image. I would at the very least get to enjoy that gin and tonic to soothe the fire of desire that had been brewing in my gut since I’d seen that handsome crew member.
In another world, in another lifetime, I might have stopped him and asked for his name. In another world, I wasn’t Elizabeth Beck; I would be a sexy alien princess, at liberty to have her share of handsome men any day of the week.
‘An alien? Honey, have you been reading that strange erotic fiction again?’
Great. I was even beginning to hear my mother’s voice in my brain. Quite fortunately, however, I didn’t have to offer my brain-mother an explanation for my strange thoughts. I simply imagined a tiny version of her working in the wings of my mind. She seemed to be lingering towards the inexplicable anxiety button, which was so like her.
I knew it was just my imagination, of course. I wasn’t that crazy. At least, not yet. If it wasn't the stroke by forty, it would be a nervous breakdown that rendered me incapable of running a business empire.
It’s always good to have a fallback plan, after all.
I managed to smile to myself as I made my way back to the party. One of my mom’s employees, Jerry, reached out a hand to stop me as I approached the bar, and I forced a pleasant expression.
“Just a moment, young lady. We’re going to need to see some ID!” he teased. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, something of which I was extraordinarily proud.
“Oh, yes! Right, considering the collective age of this cruise…” I paused, realizing what I’d said, some moments after the words slipped past my lips.
Jerry considered me with a quirked brow, and I tried to brush him off, producing my ID for the bartender. The young man preparing the drinks offered me a kind smile before swiftly producing my gin and tonic.
“I’d make sure that’s not a fake ID! She certainly doesn’t look old enough to be drinking,” the employee continued to joke, and I turned to narrow my eyes at him.
He smiled awkwardly, and after a moment I allowed the tension to release from my body. He wasn’t worth the argument, and he certainly wasn’t worth ruining what could be a good evening.
“Not too young for you to sleep with though, eh, Jerry? Word around the water cooler is you got caught with your daughter’s best friend. Funny how things work out,” I said brightly, accepting my gin and tonic before slipping away from the bar. Jerry stared at me with angry eyes, but I couldn’t deny myself the small victorious feeling that welled up inside me.
“Elizabeth Beck, what in the world has gotten into you!? You come back here and apologize to Jerry right now. He’s been going through a hard time, and you have no place to judge. At least his daughter has friends, am I right, Jerry?” A familiar and obnoxious voice called out, and I turned to see my mom lingering at the bar, ordering another round of shots.
I breathed a sigh, weighing the pros and cons of bolting away and hiding in my room for the remainder of the evening. On the positive side, I wouldn’t be stuck apologizing to my mother’s sleazy employee. On the other, my mom would never let it go if I ran away like a frightened child.
Suddenly, a realization swept over me. I tossed back the remainder of my drink before taking long strides in the direction of the bar. Martha Beck, CEO, looked at me expectantly, and I set down my glass before waving for the bartender to refill it.