The Contract

By Chloe Kent

Please note this title was previously published as ONE WICKED-HOT BOSS AND A FEISTY VIRGIN

A billionaire with no boundaries on borrowed time who always gets what he wants.

A sassy, determined never to fall in love heroine who isn't for sale… not like that anyway.

 

It's simple: From the moment Hunter McLeod sees her, he silently starts to own everything around her. He buys her favorite bookstore, her favorite coffee shop, the gym she never goes to, the building she lives in, the company she works at until he's ready to have her. And then all she has to do is sign the contract, accept the payment, and give herself to him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chloe Kent
• Release date: Aug 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223227038

Book preview

THE CONTRACT: A CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

CHLOE KENT

Copyright © 2023 by Chloe Kent

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Join my newsletter, get a free ebook and keep up to date with all my book news!

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CONTENTS

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

EPILOGUE

Newsletter Sign Up

About the Author

Author Links

Chapter One

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Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Kensley Reid, but you are going to die a virgin.

Seriously? You’re going to do this now? Kensley whispered, entirely too distracted with worry but knowing full well that once her self-appointed best friend Marcy Jensen started on that particular subject matter, she would only get more zealous.

Yes, seriously, I'm doing this now because I’m tired of literally having to haul you out of your apartment by your hair, Marcy said, her hand gestures as animated as her words. I then take you to the hottest... THE hottest new clubs in town, where a slew of beefcakes will prostrate themselves at your feet and worship your Mistress of Pleasure. And by 'mistress of pleasure,' I mean your cl—

I know what you meant, Kensley hurriedly said before Marcy could finish saying the word.

Did you really? Marcy asked as she folded her arms, sarcasm etched into her face. Marcy had always been very vocal about her lack of faith in Kensley’s ability to grasp sexual innuendo. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

She also wasn’t wrong about having to wrestle Kensley into one of her dresses, and yes, the word dress was used sparingly given its sparseness, then having to shove her into a cab and drag her into some hot nightclub where she hoped Kensley would get herself some guy action.

Then the sexiest guy I had ever seen in a while gives you his number, and what do you do? Marcy grumbled, stamping her pink platform heels into the rough gray office carpet that sent her plaid skirt twirling around her thighs. Marcy took full advantage of the fact that High Cloud Advertising, a hip marketing company, didn't have any dress rules, one miniskirt at a time. She also had the body of a model, so she pulled it off simply fine. Kensley preferred her skirts to reach her knees to signify her personality. Strict and boring. Just the way she liked it.

As for the number from the hot guy, Kensley had deleted it from her phone. It looked out of place and cluttered her contacts. That was a valid enough reason. Except, Marcy didn’t think so, which explained why she had predicted, rather theatrically, that Kensley would die a virgin, despite the fact that it sounded more like an accusation.

Kensley’s virginity and her tardiness in losing it were a hot topic of discussion for the redheaded, blue-eyed Marcy. Well, at least since the day Marcy lost her own, seven years before. And it's not like she was frantically dating guys herself. Currently, she had mad crushes on a few men, who didn’t even know she existed.

But really, Kensley just had bigger things to worry about than her hymen. She'd had so many problems in the last six months that it felt like she was juggling grenades while walking a tightrope drunk.

She stuffed a mini-donut into her mouth and reached for another. She wasn’t the only one stress-eating at that very moment. Her co-workers were presently slurping down free canapés as if there was no tomorrow. Given the bombshell their boss had just dropped on them, she could hardly blame them.

...Just one more thing added to her list of troubles. She now had to worry about keeping her job.

What had been an ordinary day at the office where she worked as a junior public relations manager—yes, she was responsible for keeping the small company on the straight and narrow, an easy feat being the serial killer of all joy—had been quickly turned on its head. Ellis Callahan, their boss, told them, not even an hour into the morning, that he had just sold High Cloud Advertising with immediate effect and was retiring to go fly-fishing in Alaska.

All members of staff, accordingly stunned, were then ushered into the boardroom for coffee and hors d'oeuvres, which he had splurged on, so he could introduce them to their new boss, scheduled to arrive soon.

A new boss sounded like an omen to Kensley. Why couldn’t things just stay the way they were?

She fought the urge to bite her lips and instead pushed down on her fear until it made her throat thicken. It was way too early in the day to deal with things like this.

All they knew about the new owner was that he owned multi-billion-dollar conglomerates with almost half of the world already conquered and was currently blazing through the Eastern Seaboard. He had paid Ellis such a colossal sum of money for his company that Kensley decided that it had to be incorrect. He had added one too many zeros to his offer. And he went by the name of Hunter McLeod. What kind of name was that, anyway?

There were no guarantees that this Hunter McLeod wouldn't decide to fire everyone at High Cloud, demolish the old stone building, and erect some other space-age cloud-kissing edifice in its wake. She loved working at the advertising company. It had been her first job since getting out of college, and she was months away from getting a promotion where she would lose the word ‘junior’ in her title. Heralda Dawson, the woman she reported to and who was on maternity leave, had confided in Kensley that she was going to quit working. While she was absolutely sure Ellis would promote Kensley into her position, she planned to motivate the heck out of it anyway.

What if I lose my job, Marcy? What if we all lose our jobs?

You worry too much, babe. Ellis assured us that the new old fart has no plans to change anything around here. That means no one is getting fired, Marcy said, her usual casual confidence shining through. But I'm dead serious, Kens. You're going to die a virgin. Do you understand that?"

There really was no stopping Marcy. Using her friend’s prophecy about the intactness of her virginity as a segue to escape, she slipped out of the boardroom. She didn’t want half the office to know she was still a virgin, but also, her apprehension had skyrocketed. She hated change.

Hey, where are you going? Marcy asked, following her out still with her glass in hand.

To my office. I have work to do, and there’s still fifteen minutes before the new boss arrives. It was fine. Her office was right next to the boardroom, and she would hear the elevator ping, giving her enough time to slip back into the boardroom.

You’re not going to start knitting again, are you? Marcy groaned.

Crap.

Knitting calmed her nerves. She wasn’t even good at it. She had no idea how to read a pattern. She knew only two types of stitches, pearl and plain, and all twelve of her meter-long scarves had holes in them. She had only taken up the hobby six months ago after spotting her gran’s unused knitting basket in the corner of her grandparents’ apartment.

No, I’m not going to knit, Marcy, she said and opened her laptop instead with a defensive shake of her head because that was exactly what she had intended to do. She had a small stash of needles and yarn at work. So sue her.

"Kensley, babe, I’m worried about you. Your ex-fiancé was a cheating, stupid dumbass son of a bitch. He didn't deserve you, and you didn't love him, but out there is some super-hot, sexy guy—and I’m not talking about the guy from the club—he was a mistake, I realized too late, but some guy more your type, is just waiting for you to come his way. Emphasis on come."

Oh, yes, there had been that. One of Kenley’s juggling grenades had been her fiancé. There she had been, stupidly spending her whole salary on a designer gold dress for one of his many work dinners, only to accidentally peek at an incoming message on his phone, only then to discover he had been cheating on her the whole time. Worse, he had said he was okay with waiting until they got married but clearly he lied.

But she was over that whole sorry episode in her life and over him too. It hadn't taken much of an emotional toll on her, but Marcy suspected she'd curled back into her shell before she could release her 'sex goddess.'

Kensley didn’t need sex.

End of story.

Marcy strongly disagreed.

She glared at her friend over her laptop. Marcy was up to something.

It'll be six months tomorrow since you broke up with dickhead Hugh Blankshaw. And don't look at me with that ice-maiden expression of yours.

What guy? Kensley asked through gritted teeth.

What 'what guy?’ Marcy took a step back and asked innocently. I meant that hypothetically, of course. She shrugged and then fiddled with a folder on Kensley’s desk.

You don’t mean anything hypothetically, Mace. Kensley smacked Marcy’s hand away before she tore the report to bits with her nails.

Okay, fine. He's absolutely perfect for you. I’ve been taking you to clubs for some fuckboy fun, but you need a real man, a mature gentleman, and this man is just wonderful, and he is already crazy about you. I showed him your pic and...

You didn’t! Getting a guy’s number randomly with no parameters set as to the next stage of contact was one thing; arranging a blind date with a scheduled time and place meant Kensley had no choice but to show up because that was how she was rigged. And Marcy knew that too well.

I'm not asking you to marry him. I don’t want you to be alone tomorrow night with only your damn knitting needles to keep you company, and there’s just so much I can do for you because I don’t have the required goods, okay?

I won’t be alone. I’ll have Mr. Rogers keep me company, Kensley said, then smiled deviously at her friend. Mr. Rogers had been a gift from Marcy. He came in bright purple with six settings, had an obscenely long battery life, and had the power to transport her into another dimension with nothing more than the little bunny ears that teased her clit.

You need the real thing, Kens. Marcy squealed. Besides, Mr. Roger is not even a dildo, you only get clit action. Please, please, please, let me fix you. She pressed her palms together and pleaded while she tossed her head from side to side, shaking her red curls at Kensley.

Kensley was not sold. You seriously set me up on a blind date? That was the one thing—

Blind for you, but not for me. I can see him clearly, he is gorgeous, smart, and rich, and he has his life together. He's a doctor. He saves little children and climbs mountains in his spare time.

And his hands—Kensley—he has the most delicious hands. Lickable fingers, and... look, you really should be worrying about your poor little malnourished vagina, which has, I swear, given up on you already.

My va— Kensley lowered her voice, rose from her chair, and strode to the copier in the corner of her office. My vagina has not given up on me.

Well, maybe it had, which was fine as well.

Marcy spun her around, wrapped her hands around Kensley's arms, and nodded gravely. It has. Your vagina was closed down before it even went into business. It has died a slow, lonely, virginal death. You basically used your clit like a key and locked your lips like a door. Marcy released her, then turned an imaginary key in the air and threw said key over her shoulder.

Kensley couldn't help it. Giggles bellowed from inside her and escaped her mouth. Marcy could hardly keep her face straight any longer, and they ended up laughing together.

She loved Marcy with all her heart. Kensley wouldn’t have survived half the bizarre things she had gone through without her. They had known each other since elementary school. When an opening for an events coordinator surfaced at High Cloud a year ago, she recommended Marcy to Ellis, and he hired her on the spot.

But it wasn't long before her friend's laughter turned into a choke, and her eyes widened to twice their size.

What? Kensley asked, then turned to see what had caught Marcy’s attention. Her gaze landed smack on a broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway of her office. She quickly consumed his ebony black hair, chiseled lips, and thick, long-lashed green eyes.

The insanely structured angle of his jaw had her heart pounding in her chest, as did his immaculate suit and gleaming black shoes. When she returned her gaze to his face, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, and it was now her turn to be scrutinized from head to toe.

Except... he did it slowly, deliberately, and yet with an air of casual superiority. She had never in all her life been as thoroughly perused as she was now.

Thudding heartbeats echoed in her ears. Her body temperature seemed to rise as he scanned her face, dipped to her mouth, then throat, and dared to go lower, gliding over her breasts, each in turn, before landing on her favorite pair of practical black stilettos. The man made her want to do something feminine, like pouting her lips or flicking her hair over her shoulder.

Instead, as always, she had whipped her tresses into a mean, tenacious knot, not a strand out of place. And she was too busy gaping to do anything else with her lips.

She wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn't been happening to her right then, but she, a proud Ice-Maiden, had become flustered, her porcupine