Auctioned Virginity

Chapter 1

Romero

Smoke poured from my lips as I exhaled. The cigar burned with the faintest crinkling sound, its scent wooden and utterly delicious. Paired with the scotch in my glass, I could almost forget the constant dull ache in my chest.

The entire building was silent, and I considered turning on some music to help ease the ringing in my ears, but decided against it. Staring down at the paperwork before me, I took another long drag from the thick roll of tobacco.

The numbers all jumbled together from hours of pouring over the documents. I rubbed my eyes, hoping to clear them. The time on my watch said it was eleven. Everyone had left several hours ago.

But every night I buried myself in work, needing the distraction. The house I lived in by myself was too fucking empty—too quiet—for me to rationalize going back. My pathetic excuse for a wife was dead, and her now eighteen-year-old daughter bounced from her car to her best friend's couch like life was a fucking trampoline.

Julietta.

The bright, golden girl with sapphire eyes models would kill for. She was a spit-fire, daring to make it in the world on her own, just like I had. My mother had been a crack whore too, selling me at the mere age of two to her dealer. He'd raised me by the back of his hand until I was five when I ran away, though I didn't know where the fuck I was going.

Luckily the asshole didn't come looking for me. From there, it was foster homes.

Julietta at least had her grandmother until she passed away a little over a year before I showed up in her life, attempting to force her mother to sober the fuck up. The two of us learned early on how to survive on our own. Though right now, the world was chewing her up and about to spit her out.

Luck and money were running out. Not that I'd been monitoring her bank account or anything. I was surprised she'd made it two years. Several months ago, she completed her GED while working at that tiny shoe store that clearly struggled to offer her minimum wage.

My phone vibrated next to my arm, the screen lighting up with the phone number I knew all too well. A sudden jump in my pulse made me set my drink down hard enough for the dregs of expensive Scotch splashing out onto the table. I jerked the papers away from the puddle with an agitated hiss. The phone continued to buzz, and I plucked it up, hoping I wasn't too late.

"Hello?" I rasped in a rush, my voice scratchy with disuse.

The line was silent a moment, and I imagined her holding her breath, desperately trying to come up with another plan. "Romero," she said at last.

That one little word—my name—warmed my chest. She sounded okay. She sounded healthy.

"It's good to hear from you, Julietta." Pushing my office chair back, I sat the cigar in the ash tray, but swallowed what was left of my drink before I went to stand in front of the open window. The city below glittered with life and vibrance—but all I saw was money to be made. Fools who chased a life that they'd die before finding.

I heard her clear her throat. "You too," she whispered. Then, seeming to regain her usual strength she said, "I have a proposition for you."

My back straightened, though I had a good idea what she wanted to ask. "I'm listening." For some reason, I sounded a little hoarse, and wished my glass wasn't empty.

"I've been accepted to the university right near...your house, but I couldn't get enough of a loan to live on campus, so I'm wondering if I could just stay there. With you. I'll pay rent and everything. It's just that my car keeps breaking down and my insurance is so high—"

"Yes," I said firmly, cutting her off. When she didn't immediately continue, I carried on. "You'll stay for free in your mother's house. I'll take a look at your car, and for the duration of your studies, I will pay your insurance. Your medical debt will be cleared also. Do you want to come now?"

There was another long drip of silence that made me check to see if the call had been dropped. Then,

"I'll come tomorrow. If you're sure," she answered. "But you're not paying my insurance or my medical bills. We'll discuss rent when I get there."

The little firecracker hung up before I had time to argue, but I found myself smiling. Downing the last of the burning alcohol, I felt a flare of something warm and pleasant in my chest for the first time in years. It replaced the hollow sensation I'd walked around with since the day Vanessa's sixteen-year-old daughter walked out the door two years ago.

I grabbed my suit jacket from the back of my chair, slung it on and headed out the door, toward the elevator.

It might have seemed silly or even odd that a man my age was looking forward to bringing a teenager to stay under his roof yet again, but I'd sworn the moment I'd discovered her existence that I would protect her.

And what better way to protect my assets than keeping them close?