Masked For The Billionaire

Elowen POV.

The leather sofa in VIP Room Three still held the warmth of the last client. I could feel it through the thin crimson silk barely covering my body as I adjusted my position, making sure every angle was perfect. 

The jeweled mask sat secure against my face, catching the low amber light, hiding everything that mattered while showing everything that didn't.

My red hair fell in waves over my bare shoulders. No brown wig or oversized cardigan swallowing my curves tonight.

Tonight, I was Nyx, and Nyx didn't hide.

The bass from the main floor vibrated through the walls as I waited, counting my heartbeats. One client. Three songs. Maybe four hundred dollars if he was generous, another small dent in a mountain of debt so massive I'd need a thousand nights like this to even see the top.

Fifteen million dollars didn’t care about dignity.

The door opened. My practiced smile was already in place, sultry and inviting, as I looked up, my heart just stopped.

Nicholas Bodeen stood in the doorway.

My boss. The man whose coffee I fetched every morning at exactly eight fifteen. The billionaire who'd walked past my desk for four years without seeing me once. Those dark eyes that cut through boardroom presentations now swept over my body, and I forgot how to breathe.

Oh No!

But his gaze held no recognition. Just appreciation, because he was looking at Nyx, not Elowen Roberts.

He didn't know me. Relief and something darker, crashed through my chest.

"Hi," My voice came out lower than Elowen's timid whisper. "I'm Nyx."

"Nicholas." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The soft click made my pulse jump. "But you can call me Nick."

I'd never heard him say that. At work, he was Mr. Bodeen to everyone below executive level.

"First time at Nocturne?" I stood slowly, letting him watch every inch of me unfold. The crimson lingerie left almost nothing to imagination, just scraps of silk and lace holding together a fantasy.

"That obvious?" He settled onto the sofa, legs spread in that confident way powerful men always sat like they owned every room they entered. "A friend said I needed to relax."

The music started, low and hypnotic with a pulse that matched my racing heart and I moved toward him, my heels clicking against marble. "And are you? Relaxed?"

His eyes followed every step. "Getting there."

I positioned myself between his knees, close enough to feel his body heat but not touching. My hips found the rhythm easily, four years of practice made this part muscle memory. I turned, pressing back against him, rolling my body to the beat.

His breath caught. I felt it against my bare shoulder, his whole body tensed, but his hands stayed on the sofa. Most men thought the money meant they could touch wherever they wanted but Nick just watched, his breathing going rougher, his knuckles white where he gripped the leather.

"You're different," he said suddenly.

My stomach dropped. "Different how?" I kept moving, kept my voice steady even though panic clawed up my throat.

"Than what I expected." He paused, and I could hear him choosing words carefully. "Most dancers here... you seem educated. The way you move. The way you speak."

I laughed, the sound practiced and light. "What, strippers can't have vocabularies?"

"That's not..." He stopped himself, and his chest shook with quiet laughter against my back. "You're going to make me work for this, aren't you?"

"That's what you're paying for, Nick." I turned to face him, straddling his lap but keeping space between us, my hands settled on his shoulders. "Good conversation."

His hands finally moved, settling on my waist. The heat of his palms burned through silk, and my body responded in ways that would get me fired from both jobs if he ever found out who I really was.

"What if I want more than conversation?" His voice had gone deeper.

My pulse hammered everywhere he touched. "Depends what you mean by more."

"Your time," His eyes locked on mine through the mask, and the intensity there stole my breath. "I'd like to see you again. Regularly."

This was bad. This was so monumentally bad.

"That can be arranged," The words escaped before I could stop them. "You'll have to talk to Dominic about rates for..."

"I don't care what it costs," His grip on my waist tightened slightly. "Name your price."

The song was winding down, but neither of us moved. We just stayed frozen, I leaned closer until my lips almost brushed his ear. "Next Friday, same time."

"Friday." He repeated it like a prayer.

I stood on shaky legs, stepping back, and he reached for his wallet. The same black leather wallet I'd seen him pull out yesterday when he bought lunch for the executive team.

He handed me five hundred-dollar bills.

For three minutes.

"That's too much," I whispered, but my fingers were already closing around the money because rent was due and the debt collector had called twice this week.

"No," His smile was soft. "It's not nearly enough."

I turned toward the door, my heart still racing, my mind already spinning with all the ways this could destroy me.

His hand caught my wrist.

The touch was gentle but firm, his fingers wrapping around my pulse point.

"Wait."

Oh God, he knew. My pulse hammered beneath his fingertips, wild and terrified, and there was no way he couldn't feel it.

The door swung open without warning.

Dominic stood there, his expression apologetic as he gestured to someone behind him. "My apologies, Mr. Bodeen. Just escorting our next guest."

A tall man in dark suit stepped into view behind Dominic. 

Wearing an Aurelian Group security uniform.

My blood turned to ice.

The guard's eyes swept the room, casual at first, then landed on me his brow furrowed, and I watched him tilt his head slightly like he was trying to place something familiar.

Nick's hand was still wrapped around my wrist.

The security guard's gaze dropped to where we were connected, then back up to my masked face.

I saw it happen. Saw the exact moment recognition started to dawn in his eyes.

He opened his mouth like he was about to call my name.