Billionaire Playboy Novels & Stories

Of companies, toys, and, apparently, women. James was an only child, and after inheriting his mother’s millions and displaying an uncanny flair for business during the following years, he became a billionaire and an absolute symbol of power. Not political power, but the good, old-fashioned power that came with having money. James wasn’t linked to the shady dealings of the Seattle political machine, but he could press that machine’s buttons if he wanted to. Every politician knew this—which was why being on the playboy’s good side was in their best interest.

Jill said. “What?” Adrienne asked. “Playboys have class now?” “Look at his profile!” Yuan looked like he’s starting to drool. “He’s only twenty-seven. He’s the heir of Adams Industries. He’s got Harvard degrees. He graduated with distinction. Although, he has a rebellious personality, he’s got no drugs and no gambling in his profile. He refused to work for his father. Instead he made millions of his own on the stock market. His hobby—Photography. Never had any girl attached to his name. He’s straight. He just didn’t have any steady relationship. He’s clean. He’s highly sought-after. He doesn’t pursue. He’s a mystery. And would you look at that gorgeous thing? He is absolutely divine!”

I know it won't be easy, always being a daddy's girl, getting everything I want in a platter of gold. Getting off my queen size bed I went to freshen up, and wash my hair with my all natural shampoo and conditioner I got from the store last week Tuesday after my interview. So excited I was selected, the company is worth multi-billion dollars. And I heard the owner has other businesses, and also comes from money. While surging the net I found out he is young something like 26, and very handsome too but, he is a Playboy. I searched the net more for his name and picture but found nothing. Only his accomplishment was online along with his many female conquests.

I nodded, and we left the club together, stepping out into the cool New York night. The city glittered around us, beautiful and brutal and utterly indifferent to girls like me. Somewhere in those towers of glass and steel, Declan Westcott was planning something. Something that involved me in ways I could not begin to understand. I pulled out my phone and stared at the hospital's missed calls. Then I opened a new search and typed his name. The results were immediate and overwhelming. Billionaire. CEO. Philanthropist. Playboy. Page after page of images showing him at galas, business meetings, charity events. Always alone. Always in control.

"The billionaire? What's he doing here?" "Charity event in the west wing. Though after that scandal with his ex-fiancée, I'm surprised he shows his face anywhere." "I heard he's looking for a new girlfriend. Someone to clean up his image." "A fake girlfriend, you mean. Like those Hollywood contracts." My feet stopped moving. Brett Graham. Everyone knew that name. The tech mogul who'd built an empire from nothing, worth billions, cold as ice and twice as ruthless. "How much do you think someone would pay for that kind of arrangement?" the first nurse asked.

But the moment my eyes landed on the cover, my stomach sank. There I was, staring back at myself from the glossy page. The headline was bold, impossible to miss: “Playboy Heartbreaker: Billionaire Treats Women Like Trash.” I began to read. The article beneath the headline only made it worse: “Owen Brown: Billionaire Playboy or Heartless Player? It is no secret that Owen Brown, one of Los Angeles’s wealthiest restaurateurs, has never been the settling down type. Known for his charming smile and effortless good looks, Brown is the kind of man who draws women in with ease , only to leave them shattered in his wake.

Perhaps not ever. I had a reputation as a playboy. Partying, womanizing, and spending huge sums of money. But that was expected. I was a billionaire after all, and a very handsome one. 6 ft., dark hair, dark eyes, and a muscled body got and maintained by hours in the gym. Rich and handsome, of course I was supposed to be a playboy. And it was a reputation I’d enjoyed. Girls fought each other for me, people in town did everything to get invited to the many parties I was fond of throwing. I was proudly a playboy and with no intention of slowing down.

A man well sculptured by God and perfect in every angle. "It's a lie. S..such men don't exist." I find myself talking with my voice slightly hoarse. "What do you mean it's a lie?! Look at this.. Multi-billionaire Wesley Cooper with a seven hundred billion dollars conglomerate that consists of companies, enterprises, hotels and resorts, industries and corporations all around the world... One of Earth's most eligible and droolworthy bachelor.. American's number 1. Playboy.. Businessman in the day.. Devil in the night..

It's impossible to miss his hotness factor. There's no doubt about it, Vincent Valiant is one of the hottest rich men in America. He may be a Warren Buffett in investing and Bill Gates in technology, but he is a Robert Downey Jr. in looks. Some girls have all the luck. As with most beautiful people, word on the street is he's a major dick. Ruthless in business, little is known about his personal life because it's said he doesn't have one. But can you blame the man? It takes a lot of work to build a corporation as large as his in only ten years. You don't become a billionaire at age thirty-two by playing nice and cutting checks.