The Billionaire’s Mistress

By S.N. Garza

My poor choices in life landed me in Houston, Texas. I’m poor, living out of a motel and work two jobs. One of those jobs led me to meet Houston’s most eligible bachelor, Clark Mitchell.
I might be a girl down on her luck, but I will never be desperate enough to become Clark Mitchell’s mistress— but I can’t help being tempted by him. He brings out a side of me I’ve never known existed.
A dark, sinful side that won’t dissipate and I want more, but I have too much bad shit in my life at the moment that I can’t offer him anything.
Until he takes it into his own hands and I have no choice but to go along with it. But he’s going to learn I am no man’s mistress.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.N. Garza
• Release date: May 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370406975

S.N. Garza

I am a 37 year old wife and mother of two who lives in a small country town in southeast Texas. I work during the day at Chilis Bar and Grill. I write dark, deeply emotional stories weaved with erotic romance that leaves you wanting more. My debut novel is Love Came Back & my best selling book & series, is The Billionaire’s Baby, book one in my Nauti Billionaires of Houston series. It is all sexy passion with an alpha hero who’ll sweep you off your feet.

Book preview

The Billionaire’s Mistress/Nauti Billionaires of Houston, BOOK 2

By S.N. Garza

©May 2018, Stephanie Nicole Garza Cover Design: SNGarza

Cover Photo: Sara Eirew

Cover Model: Rachel Van Dyken

All Rights Reserved

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, places are either the work of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

Other Titles

Nauti Billionaires of Houston

The Billionaire’s Baby

The Billionaire’s Mistress

Men of Beaumont Place

My Next Mistake

Southern Ink

Bad Rep

Bound Hearts

Bound

Hot Houston Nights serials

Graham & Isabella, 1-3 Grant & Pippah, 1-3

Hot Houston Nights: Volume 1

Pyro Princess Design & Style

Love Came Back

Single Titles

Cross My Heart

Served

His Second Chance

X-Treme Measure

My Sweet Temptation

Coming Soon

Love & Law series

A Double Shot of Heaven

Such a Beautiful Drug

BLURB

My poor choices in life landed me in Houston, Texas. I’m poor, living out of a motel and work two jobs. One of those jobs led me to meet Houston’s most eligible bachelor, Clark Mitchell.

I might be a girl down on her luck, but I will never be desperate enough to become Clark Mitchell’s mistress— but I can’t help being tempted by him. He brings out a side of me I’ve never known existed.

A dark, sinful side that won’t dissipate and I want more, but I have too much bad shit in my life at the moment that I can’t offer him anything.

Until he takes it into his own hands and I have no choice but to go along with it. But he’s going to learn I am no man’s mistress.

PLAYLIST

Love Me Like You Do, Ellie Goulding

New Love, Maroon 5

Thy Will, Hillary Scott

You Save Me, Kenny Chesney

WARNING!!

This is an erotic romance! Filled with sexy, filthy, dirty things in some places!

Note: This book is seriously sexually explicit! Remember this as you read The Billionaire’s Mistress. It’s not for everyone. There is a love story! So don’t worry! It’s just sexy and wicked dirty.

Difference between SMUT & PORN

A writing style that is sexually explicit and generally associated with females. Basically porn aimed towards women.

Porn: Usually has very little plot line and is extremely sexually explicit. Mostly watched or 'read' for the pictures. Aimed towards men.

Smut: Highly developed stories with LOVE LINES and other things that appeal to women that also include a lot of sexually explicit scenes. Can be in comic form, or in written form (as in romance books)

Words used: dick, cock, pussy, cunt, slut, whore, bitch

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT

Other Titles

BLURB

PLAYLIST

WARNING

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

Epilogue

Back of Book Shit

About the Author

Sneak Peek

ADSOH Blurb

Recommended Reads

chapter one

Hera, take these to the table up front. Mandy just threw up again and I had to send her home. You’ll be taking over her section as well.

Great.

So I’m working twelve tables now. I thought I’d be able to get off early and sleep a few hours before heading to my second job—stripping. Yeah.

But! Not actually stripping. Thank God. I’m just a bartender who wears ridiculously scandalous clothes.

Hey, a girl has to do what she can to survive. Oh, and not having your ex-boyfriend run up a ridiculous amount of credit card debt in your name and maxing them out like crazy and not paying them. I was in debt up to the ceiling of this high rise hotel.

Sigh. My life is shit and I just can’t get out of the gutter. I’ve been praying for my luck to change and still…it is what it is.

The restaurant I work at, Del Mar, is a steakhouse and a huge catering chain. We serve to the high and mighty class of Houston.

And this is what society rags are calling ‘the wedding of the decade’. Chase Mitchell is finally tying the knot to his once-time personal assistant and nanny, Madeline Snow. The girl actually came from a blue-collar family. Surprising to say the least since the Mitchell’s were the it family of Houston.

Not just millionaires. But billionaires. They’re the movers and shakers in this big city and the free-world—that’s added for flare.

It only took four years and four babies. Yeah. One right after the after. And they hadn’t been married through any of that. But then, I read once in a Weekly magazine that Chase Mitchell had a son who was illegitimate and between him and his long-time fiancée, Madeline Snow, were hell bent on showing the Mitchell patriarch that being married shouldn’t matter when kids are involved. Or something like that. Rebelling. That and the now Mrs. Chase Mitchell, junior wanted to have a good body to fit into her wedding dress. She had to keep her man off her to achieve this or she’d probably be pregnant again now. I mean, come on.

All I had to say is, birth control much?

Eye-roll. Rich people. Even if she was from a blue-collar family, she was in the big leagues now. She could halt the whole baby making machine that’s her now husband and resist right?

Hell if I knew anything about it anyway. I just turned twenty. Moved from Phoenix, Arizona when I was eighteen with said ex-boyfriend and my parents refused to take me back since I was a bad seed and bad influence for my little sister, Athena. Ha. Yeah, right. I might have made a colossal mistake getting with Dex-the-ex, but I was young and they thought I was reckless. Too reckless.

Yeah, there’s a good reason why I left home. I wasn’t at all like they painted me. But I made a promise. And a promise is something I could never break. Had it been reckless for me to move? Probably. But I’m not reckless now. I was on my own and that’s fine by me. I dealt with it just fine.

HERA!

Shaken out of my thoughts, I look up to see Patricia Hill, my employer—a snotty witch who likes to treat people like shit, but the money’s too good to pass up—passed me a tray of the finest champagne. Ugh. What I wouldn’t give for some Fireball Sangria right now.

Not that I can legally drink, but I usually drank a half glass from my other job to soothe my nerves. Yeah, I have no problem admitting I’m the chick that has ‘nerves’. The manager didn’t have a problem with it as long as it was only one glass. And it’s not like it’s a big one. I never got drunk—as if I ever would. The men that frequent The Lounge, could be questionable after several drinks. The shit I’m putting up at the moment though, I plan on downing a whole glass I’m so freaking high-strung right now.

The Lounge is also a gentlemen’s club for the rich dicks of Houston and their kind. So who knows? I might be seeing some of these guys later. Ugh.

Alright, her section is what again?

The people that this party is made for. The Mitchell’s.

Lovely. I grab the tray of the extremely expensive champagne and with my RBF expression in place to my boss, I turn and walk out of the hotel kitchen area, making sure I put on my best, I really care what you think smile and make my way towards the big round circle where the happy couple sat.

A very hot, younger version of Chase Mitchell sat on his right, who must be the one and only Clark Mitchell. I didn’t know much about him, but he is sexy as hell. Not as barbaric looking at Chase Mitchell. Not as wild. Clark Mitchell seemed very well put together. Sleek, tailored suits, dark ebony hair perfectly coiffed but thankfully it wasn’t helmet hair like Frankie in Back to the Beach. No, Clark Mitchell had an air about him that radiates power and sophistication. I’ve seen him a few times in Del Mar. Always with a different chick on his arm.

Manwhore.

Not that he’d ever see a girl like me though. Not that I wanted him to either. Clark Mitchell looks every inch of the billionaire he is. Dashing, debonair…Houston’s royalty. The chick to his right looks just as sophisticated. But with an I’m-better-than-everyone-here look on her face. I hate those type of people. Even on men. They’d come to the strip-club—gentleman’s’ club, my ass—and I could hear the shit they say about the strippers and it’s appalling. They had no clue what most of them have to do to stay alive. Hell, most of them had kids.

The closer I get to the table, the more I see the pinched look on Mr. Clark Mitchell’s date’s face and either she looked ready to take a shit or really trying to look as amazing as the new Mrs. Mitchell. She looked stunning. Almost like a fairy princess.

And compared to everyone at that table, fairy is just about right. She doesn’t look that much shorter than me and I’m five and a half feet.

Father and mother Mitchell look only half-what pleasant. The only people happy at this table are the newlyweds and Clark Mitchell who interacted animatedly with them. I’m passing the flutes of bubbly around and Mrs. Madeline Mitchell turns, smiles and says, Thank you.

Wow. That’s a first. I beg your pardon? Fuck. Me. I just said that out loud. I quickly mutter, You’re welcome, ma’am.

Mrs. Mitchell looks at me with wide, shocked blue eyes and turns to her husband asking, Did she just call me ma’am? Am I old now? Is it because I keep having babies? This is all your fault.

Oh, no. I just insulted her. My eyes widen and I feel sweat about to bead at my brow. How could being respectful to someone be insulting?

No, Maddy-mine. She’s just being respectful. And you don’t have to say thank you to everyone who brings something to you. It’s their job. And I know all of our babies are my fault. I remember each one.

Holy crap. Is my face red? Because the look on Chase Mitchell’s face as he said that was nothing short of hot, hungry male pride and satisfaction.

Also, TMI. And thank God for the first part but then, what an ass. Saying thank you any way was nice to hear. Like I said. Rich people. No fucking clue what so ever when it comes to the middle class. The pink-collar class.

Oh, well. I do hate being called ma’am. It makes me feel old. Then with a red, flushed face she turned to Mrs. Mitchell, the groom’s mother. Ha. Sorry.

Clark Mitchell bursts out laughing and it somehow shot a bolt of arousal down my body, hitting straight at my core. It’s a beautiful, loud laugh full of emotion.

I turn my head to see his mother glaring daggers right into him and then he cleared his throat, said. Sorry, mother.

Chase Mitchell smirked and I thought he was about to laugh but he’s good at holding it in. He just shakes his head, turns my way and said, Thank you, miss.

Miss? What era are they living in?

I hold in an eye-roll and move on.

I set down the drinks for the parents and when I got to Miss Pinch-face, she doesn’t even bother looking at me. Just dismissed me like I was yesterday’s garbage. I’m used to it though. I’m placing her flute down when she turns suddenly, the tray in my hand wobbles and I just couldn’t catch it and the flute in time so I picked the more expensive option. The two-grand Pinot Noir bottle.

The woman screams bloody murder as the champagne falls, spills and splashes all over her.

Oh. Fuck.

I set the ice bucket down and began to apologize but she’s not having it. Then of course all the other tables began staring and whispering. Pinch-face is red-faced, angry, embarrassed, did I mention angry? Oh, no. This woman is livid.

"I’m so sor—

Stupid girl.

She shoves her chair back and stands up, making me stumble once again but this time I couldn’t catch my own balance.

I’m going down fast when two strong hands come around me like lightning, grabbing a hold of my waist and with a fast head rush, I’m standing once again. He turns me in his arms and my hands automatically land on his chest, my nails slightly digging in. His green eyes clash with mine and our eyes hold longer than is appropriate and I feel it all the way to my bones.

His chest feels muscular and tight. Oh, God. He so worked out. I loved a man with muscles. Dex-the-ex had muscles too. But they surely never felt like this guys. Hell, Clark is all man.

Stupid girl! You ruined my dress. This dress cost more than your life. I want you fired.

I push away, embarrassment crawling up my face.

Madeline Mitchell stood up but not before her husband did the same, a look of complete and utter rage marring his expression as a red hue began whispering up his neck.

But the only voice I heard in that moment is the man who insisted on putting his hands on me. You alright?

Looking around at all the guests who just seemed to stare at me like I’m some bug to be squashed, tears began forming in my eyes and I pushed away, running towards the back.

I have never been so humiliated in my life.

I ran to the back where the cooks were preparing food and don’t stop until I’m outside in the back, grabbing some much needed air. Not that it mattered, the hot summer heat was stifling making it worse.

Great.

I’m so going to get fired. Patricia Hill was one mean bitch when it came to her business. I’ve been working for her since I moved here and I’ve never had a problem. I’ve seen problems before. Hell, one chick who worked for her for eight years decided to eat a small plate of food—granted it wasn’t for the waiters—but she hadn’t eaten all day because she had been working since that morning and Patricia caught her and fired her on the spot for stealing.

But then Del Mar has one of the best reputations in the city and state.

Fuck.

I should have been able to handle it. I’ve dealt with twelve tables before. Not once have I ever had a problem. Not one mishap. But now, of course, it would be blamed on me and not that spineless, bitchy debutante. She saw me clear as day, she had to have. Why would she pick that moment to move?

Fucking hell. Better go face the music now. She’s probably chomping at the bit to lay into me. I walk back in to see Patricia walking back through the kitchen area and look around until her eyes lock on mine and then she’s heading straight for me. Lovely. I needed this job more than she could imagine. Maybe I could sway her to my side.

Patricia, it was an accident. She turned at the same time I was placing the champagne down.

Yes, well. This is something I can’t afford. You’ve been trained to be able to handle any situation. And yet you let this happen. I’m sorry, but I can’t have you ruining our reputation.

What? Over one accident? That wasn’t even my fault?

I’m sorry, Hera. And you will also be getting the dry-cleaning bill when we receive it.

Am I being fired?

Yes.

Well, that’s just fucked up.

We both turn to the deep, southern drawl. Clark Mitchell. Great. Let’s see more humiliation why don’t we?

I’m sorry, sir? Can I help you?

I came back here to tell you not to worry about my date, it was an accident and I’m taking care of it. Then he looks over at me—and yeah, I was kinda splotchy because tears had already fallen and of course the night heat killed me when I walked outside. Nothing to worry your pretty head over, girl.

Yes. Well, even still. I pride myself on being the best catering business in Houston. I can’t afford the slight on its reputation.

So you’re firing her? That would be a mistake.

His tone went flat and there was a hidden menace behind it that not even Patricia Hill could ignore. But she did anyway since she stood straighter. Chin out. As if she could best Clark Mitchell. Hell, I don’t think anyone could manage that feat. He looked…quite possibly the most magnificent looking male I’ve ever laid eyes on. Sweet mother of God, that made me feel hot and bothered. My legs clenched together and Clark’s eyes flickered to me, roaming quickly over my overheating body and dammit! My thighs squeezed together once more and his eyes find mine before his mouth twitches up on one side as if amused by me before they flatten and zoom in on Patricia once more.

And his eyes are a light chartreuse color that were practically breathing fire towards Patricia.

Excuse us, Mr. Mitchell. Why don’t you go and enjoy the rest of the party?

Are you dismissing me? His brows rise high as if he couldn’t believe his ears. But she just turned back to me and held out her hand.

What?

You are relieved. Please give back the uniform and apron.

What is that pounding I start to hear? Oh, yeah. My heart.

My eyes skirt over to behind Patricia to find Clark Mitchell getting seriously angry. His hands fist tightly by his sides and his eyes narrow into thin slits while his nose flares hotly. And this man angry, made me nervous. And just a little scared.

Thankfully I’m wearing a tank top underneath, but I can’t believe she’s demanding the shirt now. In front of everyone back here. Shame like I’ve never known burns through me and I do my best to keep my eyes dry.

Now, Miss Gossom. This business is mine and I won’t have anyone maligning me by a costly mistake. Not good for business. Stop wasting my time.

By the tone of her voice though, she wanted to say something else entirely, but not wanting to totally ruin herself in front of someone who had so many connections it could make her business soar if she could schmooze him. And not only is this Mitchell wedding going to take her places but maybe another one would set her for life.

And Clark Mitchell is still standing there. A red hue is now brushing up his neck. I’m being publicly humiliated in front of everyone and I couldn’t help the tears that reformed—they just couldn’t stay gone as I shake my head with resignation. I took the apron off and handed it to her and began unbuttoning the starched, pristine white shirt.

I couldn’t look at Clark Mitchell anymore and the question of why is he still standing there burns inside me. Shouldn’t he be getting back to his date and family?

The money you would have made tonight will go to the dry-cleaning bill Miss Martin will be sending us. Probably along with your other weekly wages.

What? My eyes bulged. The hell? She can’t do that. Could she?

That would be a big mistake, madam.

Madam? Wasn’t he proper? But that shouldn’t really be what I’m paying attention to. The look on this man’s face is positively animalistic. His voice is granite hard and even I feel cut from it.

It’s okay, sir. I have to go anyway.

Turning over the shirt, I turn and rush out from the back of the building. I walk-run with one purpose. To hurry and get home across town to my rundown apartment—well, it was a motel room with a kitchenette but the manager rents them out weekly so I just keep calling it my apartment so I didn’t sound so fucking cheap and poor. I don’t have a car either so I usually just take the bus.

That was a luxury too. I really shouldn’t be wasting money on metro, but I had no choice. I had to work, didn’t I?

I just made it to the bus stop when a deep voice calls out, Hey!

I turn just as I step onto the bus to see Clark Mitchell running towards me. But I just couldn’t stop now. Shaking my head, I enter the bus and went straight to the back where it was empty. But I couldn’t help myself. The need to look back overwhelmed me. I turn my head and look out the window as the bus began moving. And there he was. In the middle of the street looking like a man on a mission. He had his hands on his hips then a smirk, sexy and arrogant twitched on his lips as he nods his head, giving me a two finger salute.

I turned back in my seat, not understanding that smile, the nod and the salute. Although it was a sexy smirk, what was he smiling about? What was he thinking? He seemed angry at me being let go and wanted to help but now he was smiling like some crazy lunatic?

Ugh. Rich people. I don’t need any of that drama in my life.

chapter two

I walk into my room, toe off my shoes and plop down on the bed with a heavy sigh. I’ve been living in this motel, this dump, for the last nine months after Dex-the-ex royally screwed me over.

I couldn’t even get a shitty apartment. That’s how bad he ran my name into the ground. Was I stupid for ever being with the guy? Yeah. I was.

I’m young—younger—though. That’s my only excuse. The last few years I spent with him, I was the one to hold down a job and pay for everything. Yeah. That was all me. Mom and dad thought I was stupid for leaving with Dex, but I thought it was love and an excuse to get away from my troubles. Away from the truth.

What the hell did I know? I wanted a fairy tale. And Dex was tall, strong, handsome. I didn’t care that he didn’t have money. When he wanted to go…I saw an opportunity. Mom and dad kicked me out and I had nowhere else to go. He used me just as much as I used him. Well. Money-wise? No. He pretty much used me a lot more, but I used him as my reason to escape home after the shitstorm that happened with my parents.

Now I’m in a boatload of debt that didn’t have an ending in sight. You think a person can’t live off ramen noodles? This girl can. That and chocolate chip cookies. That was my drug. My vice.

My parents firmly believed in the saying ‘you made your bed now lie in it.’ Well, I was lying in it alright. Life couldn’t get any worse.

I have about three hours before my shift starts at The Lounge so I go and take a shower.

After wrapping my hair in a turban towel cap, I change into my panties, sleep shorts and baggie shirt I got from the Goodwill. Yeah, the only place I could really splurge was at a Goodwill store. Of course I went to Walmart, but still, I could get most of my clothes second hand and maybe pennies off a dollar.

I’m pushing back the bed comforter when there’s a firm, persistent knock on the door. Great. Probably the manager wondering where his weekly dues were. I’m a day late and planned on paying him tomorrow when I got paid. The Lounge was respectable enough that I did okay. But nothing like the strippers made.

Great.

That might have to change if I can’t find something more…normal. I did not like the sound of me having to strip, but those girls made bank. Some of them even did private bachelor parties and made serious green. But can I do that? Take my clothes off for strange men?

The quick answer is no. If I had no other choice? I’ll just have to get over it if it comes to that.

Another harsh knock came, shaking me out of my maudlin thoughts. I’m going to have to tell him I could pay him in the morning after my shift at The Lounge. All I wanted to do right now is pour myself a glass of milk and binge on the package of chocolate chip cookies I had laying on the dresser.

Yeah…it really is my one vice. I always had them on hand. I love dunking them in milk until they’re almost breaking apart and hurrying to shove them in my mouth—especially when I’m not in a happy mood. They say you shouldn’t eat when you’re upset or stressed but right now? Who gives a fuck? Not this girl.

I look longingly to the package of cookies on the TV stand-slash-dresser when another knock came, more predominant than before. Ugh. Can’t he tell I don’t want to answer?

I make my way to the door, take a deep breath and switch the lock open before swinging it wide. However, it isn’t Luis, the manager, knocking on the door. It’s Clark Mitchell.

Holy shit. And the look on his face is one of condescension. Did you even look to see who was outside? I should put you over my knee.

I slam the door closed, the beginning of a panic attack taking over.

What the heck are you doing here? How did you find me?

It was easy. I followed you. Now open up for me.

What? He’s completely crazy. Why did he follow me?

You’re crazy. I’m going to call the police.

You can try, but I doubt they’d believe you over me.

If that isn’t the stone cold truth, I don’t know what is. Men like Clark Mitchell has power. Connections. Secrets. Ways to probably make the little people like me disappear. And fucked up all in one notion. And that makes my hackles raise. Arrogant. Conceited. Asshole.

So without a care, I whip open the door letting him feel every ounce of feminine fury I felt.

Of course they wouldn’t. I’m the poor and the downtrodden. You’re the rich and spineless billionaire. I’d be shot quicker than a clown these days. And that’s saying something with all the clown killers in this country.

A visible shiver ran down my spine. I hate watching the news, but I watched it for the weather reports. I had to make sure I left the house before any downpours happened if I had to walk to my destination.

Spineless? You don’t know me well enough to call me spineless.

Whatever, buddy. What are you doing here? Why did you follow me? That’s stalking you know.

I came to see how you were. The bitch at the hotel was overstepping her boundaries by doing what she did. So I followed you. Then I saw where you were living.

His eyes roam around what he could see over my shoulders then those magnetic green eyes trail back to me and over my body with slow precision.

Why the hell did I feel like I was under a microscope? And of course his gaze stops in certain spots. Like my breasts. Which became fuller underneath his dragon-like eyes. My nipples tighten and bead underneath the thin, worn cotton of the shirt I wore and of course he noticed if the slight flare of his nostrils was anything to go by. His hands tighten on the door frame as he continues. I’m not going to be ashamed of being comfortable either. That stupid ass bra was pretty much cutting off my circulation. I didn’t wear a bra when I’m home so this guy was just going to have to deal.

I cross my hands over my chest which only puffs them up further but I ignore it—he doesn’t, the louse—and say, I’m fine. Now you can leave.

A very ungentlemanly-like snort flies past his lips and with a roll of his eyes, responds, I don’t think so. Now let me in.

No. You’ll probably kill me.

Probably not. Now, don’t make me ask again, honey. I don’t beg.

My name is Hera, Mr. Mitchell, not honey. And since I’ll never see you again, it would be wrong to let you in. I don’t know you. You’re a stranger. And I wouldn’t let you in even if you did beg. You might be rich but I’m not desperate.

He ignores the rest of my statement and asks, Hera? Like the goddess?

Of course that’s the only thing he hears. Men. I roll my eyes before switching my hands to my hips in indignation. The one and only.

The straight, resting bitch face he has turns into a hot, sexy one when one side of his mouth tilts into