Show & Sell Read online

  What this kid sees is what everyone sees...Declan Grayson, artist extraordinaire, leader of the most prominent adult modeling business in the city, and a fucking billionaire.

  I guess if I were his age, I might be intimidated by me.

  But come on, does he have to be so formal?

  I’m not my father...yet.

  I feel pissed off as I walk in. This meeting only happens once a year and, every time, my brothers and I fight and exchange harsh words. They get under my skin like no one else can, and today, there’s no avoiding them.

  I prefer to run my branch of the business and to stay out of their way.

  But that’s not happening today.

  Once in the familiar and opulent lobby, I hear hushed tones and whispers about me. People are so fucking obvious.

  “Did you hear about what happened to his dad?”

  “Yeah, it’s so sad.”

  “I heard they inherited a fortune.”

  “I guess they’re marriage material now more than ever.”

  “Oh, you can’t pin down a Grayson brother. They’re notorious playboys.”

  I smile as I hear the gossip.

  People are right. My brothers and I have a certain amount of infamy in this town. We’re used to going out and getting what we want, albeit in our separate corners.

  That’s the thing about us; we don’t really share. But we do have one thing in common and that’s our love of women and our dislike of commitment. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

  Once in the confines of the VIP elevator at the back of the building, I get ready to make my entrance. Dad’s office won’t be the same without him in there running the place.

  The doors open, and I go to his penthouse suite. Everything looks the same, and it all reminds me of him and what I’ve lost.

  Fuck. Grief never gets easier.

  I swing open the double doors and guess who’s waiting for me?

  “Hi, Declan. Long time no see.”

  Chapter 3

  Jasper

  My thighs burn.

  My biceps ache.

  But it’s worth every goddamn second. It’s not easy to achieve the perfect body, but I get off on it.

  Mind over fucking matter. This is no different to running a business, except that I have to control my body instead of people.

  I like punishment. I thrive on it. I fucking need it.

  “Come on Jas,” Luke urges me on. “Three to go. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, and one hundred.”

  “That’s four, asshole,” I growl and jump to my feet.

  Beads of sweat drip down my chest and back. I grab my plush towel and wipe my face. These sessions are a fucking killer, but they’re worth it.

  “Just testing,” my personal trainer says with a grin. “Time to switch sides.”

  “You’ve got be fucking kidding me.”

  I jump up and down on the spot to keep my muscles loose. Doing too many of these fucking push-ups can make me cease up, particularly if I overdo it.

  A good cure is a good fuck, but this is out of the question this morning. I’ve got places to be.

  “Come on, man.” Luke punches me in the shoulder. “You know the drill. One-armed and one-legged push ups need to be done on both sides.”

  Before I get back into position, I throw a short left jab and right hook into thin air. My trainings are a combo of strength sessions, some cardio, and shadow boxing, which is my favorite.

  “Let’s go!” Luke claps his hands, and I drop down to give him a hundred.

  Right arm and left leg on the ground, left arm and right leg off the ground. One, two, three...

  “One hundred,” Luke yells just before I think I’m going to fall to the floor in exhaustion.

  “Fuck, Luke,” I complain and rotate my shoulders.

  My trainer comes over with ice, and I’m grateful.

  “Those things work my muscles like nothing else,” I say.

  “That’s the idea.”

  I glance at my watch. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Hot date?”

  “I wish.”

  I punch the air left, right, and left again.

  It’s hard to contain all this testosterone, and I’d be lost without these daily sessions where Luke kicks my ass. He’s the best trainer in NYC. I should know because he charges me a fortune.

  “Family meeting,” I tell him.

  “Is it that time of year already?” Luke knows all about my family. “Same time tomorrow?” he calls after me as I head for the bathroom.

  I need to rinse off all that sweat.

  “You bet.”

  Luke finds his own way out, and I strip down as I walk to the master bath. It’s got all the amenities, and I take a nice long steam before showering off.

  I’m dreading today. I’m dreading seeing my brothers and having to deal with their competitive bullshit.

  My skin prickles from the assault of cold water. I like to finish every shower, no matter how cold it is outside, with sixty seconds of ice-cold water. Not only is it a personal challenge, but also it’s refreshing.

  When I emerge out of the shower, I feel invigorated.

  I wear my usual ripped blue jeans, white shirt, and black leather jacket...no need to wear a suit. I’m only meeting my brothers. It’s hardly an occasion worthy of getting dressed up for.

  If I could avoid this day, I would.

  Besides, women fall at my feet no matter what I wear. I run my fingers through my black hair, grab the keys to the bike, and leave.

  I almost forget my protein shake. It’s full of fucking goodness, including those little chia seed things, which, according to Luke, are a powerhouse of essential things. Whatever he says, I do.

  I don’t argue with the man because he’s sure to keep my body in fighting and fucking form.

  When I’ve gulped the shake down, I head to the elevator and press the button down to get to the VIP garage where my brand new bike is waiting.

  It’s custom. It’s fast. And it’s all I need.

  It pays to have money...lots of it.

  And trust me, I do.

  I had money before my dad died, but now we’ve inherited billions more. Unfortunately, I have to share it with my two brothers. But besides having to deal with them, my life is perfect.

  I fuck when I want. I do what I want. And I have all the power and prestige I could ever ask for.

  My dad was a major player in this town, and I intend to do good by his name.

  I walk into the garage just as a couple of women from the building come toward me. They gawk openly at my awesome physique.

  “Hey, baby, you’re Jasper Grayson, aren’t you?” one of them teases.

  “Maybe.”

  “We’re sorry to hear about your dad. Read it in the papers.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say, feeling annoyed now at their attention.

  “Wanna get together sometime?” one of them says. “I live in 16C.”

  I look her up and down. She’s pretty. Big, nice tits and a toned body.

  “We’ll see,” I lie.

  I don’t have time for random girls. I have time for only the best.

  I swing my leg over my real baby—my bike—and say hello to freedom. The only way to really fly across the streets of New York is on one of these.

  It takes me no time at all to weave in and out of traffic. I beat cars left and right and enjoy the race. Before too long and all too soon, I pull up in front of Grayson Enterprises.

  It’s a commanding building downtown. My father had always built things to be bigger and better. He liked to intimidate people, and I have that trait, too.

  I feel sad for a second, thinking of him. But I wipe all that from my expression so as not to show my brothers any sign of weakness. I drive right up to the sidewalk, not intending to stay long, and leave my bike just outside the revolving doors.

  Helmet in hand, I stride right in. Several people stop talking as I walk past.

 
Women and men turn to stare.

  What can I say? I defy gender norms and attract people of both sexes.

  I really am that hot.

  The receptionist forgets to close her mouth as I walk past. A couple of girls nearly run into the wall as they cast their eyes my way.

  I’m good-looking, and I know it. The attention is great, but it also makes me feel a little jaded. To have women fall at my feet all the time, with no sense of chase, excitement, or adventure...well, it gets old.

  It doesn’t come easy either.

  All manner of blood, sweat, and tears go into these muscles. My chiseled six-pack and streamlined torso are thanks to a religious and punishing regime of self-sacrifice. Bulging chest and shoulder muscles come from years of pushing and pressing.

  I spend a large portion of each day perfecting my physique to achieve the stares that are coming my way now. I’d be disappointed if they didn’t look.

  The elevator stops at the penthouse.

  I walk out and nearly knock a young woman off her feet.

  “S-s-shit,” she stutters and stares at me with innocent puppy eyes. “I…I …”

  She’s pretty enough for me to have fun with. Time to put on the charm.

  “Entirely my fault, sweetie,” I purr. “Are you all right?”

  I pat her on the shoulder and notice with delight how her cheeks redden to the color of the ripest tomato.

  “Yes. Thank you. Fine, Mr. Grayson,” she says, breathing hard and fast.

  This will be fucking easy.

  “Can I make it up to you later?”

  Her face looks as eager as a child who’s just been offered all the chocolate in the world.

  “That’s not necessary,” she mumbles, and I know she’s going to be easy prey.

  “No. It’s the least I can do. I really want to make sure you’re all right,” I say, voice filled with feeling and compassion.

  Women love that sort of shit.

  “Well,” she starts and stares at my package. “I guess if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Tell you what, sweetie,” I interrupt her.

  Time is of essence, and I need to fucking fly.

  “I’ll find you after my meeting, and we’ll go somewhere more private.”

  Now she’s so red she might explode.

  Grinning, I walk off. My mid-morning fuck is in the bag.

  My dad’s secretary drops the teabag she’s taking out of her mug as I walk past her desk. I nod a greeting in her direction. She’s a nice woman and has always been loyal to my dad.

  I’m pretty sure they were fucking, but that’s beyond the grave now.

  With a great flourish, I open the door and pause briefly as I see my brothers, mirror images of my own face.

  It gets tiring having to differentiate myself from them all the time. Luckily for me, we mostly lead separate lives.

  I go in and take a seat in one of dad’s leather chairs. I put my boots up on the table without a care in the world.

  “Jasper, it’s nice to see you,” Finn says through clenched teeth, obviously hating my nonchalant attitude.

  “You, too, brother. It’s been too long,” I say.

  “Not long enough I’d say,” Declan comments wryly.

  I shake my head. How long has it been?

  Twelve months. Twelve long fucking months, and nothing’s changed.

  Without a word or acknowledgement to them, I get up and stride to the little hole in the wall where dad kept his scotch.

  Dad loved a good drop. There’s no fucking way I can get through this meeting without a strong alcoholic drink.

  The old man still had a near full bottle of Dalmore Sixty-Two—the best fucking Single Highland Malt Scotch there is in the office. Several ice cubes into a thick crystal glass, and I’m in business.

  Now, I turn to the rest of them. They look just like last year, maybe a bit older, but none the fucking wiser. I smirk at my own mental joke.

  “Okay,” I say, keeping my voice crisp and business-like. “Let’s get to it.”

  No need for small talk. It’s family—who gives a shit what they’ve been up to? Besides, I’ve got an idea already of what their lives are like.

  “Impatient, are we?” Declan says coldly.

  I take a long, thoughtful drink and say, “Let’s get this meeting on the way. I’ve got people to see, places to be, you know how it is.”

  Deliberately, I glance at my million-dollar watch.

  Instead of agreement, I’m bombarded with icy glares. The temperature drops considerably, and I pull up a chair around the massive mahogany table, the only piece of furniture still in this room.

  The old thing sits about sixteen people. Why we need this piece of crap in here is beyond me. It’s too big and too old.

  I’m ready to take dad’s office and everything else about this company into the new generation.

  “I guess we should talk about the upcoming auction,” Finn says after he clears his throat and shoots daggers in my direction.

  I’m not sure what I’ve done to piss him off, other than existing.

  “Dad was an avid supporter, and we need to do good by his name,” Declan says.

  Dad was a supporter of lots of shit—that doesn’t mean we should be, too.

  “What’s this auction about?” I take another sip and glance at my watch again.

  I’ve gotta go. There’s a pretty girl waiting to taste my cock.

  “The Billionaire’s Auction,” Declan says angrily like I should know. “I think it’s important to go and show the world that we, the Grayson brothers, are a force to be reckoned with in the adult entertainment industry.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. This whole thing’s a joke,” I say, feeling irritated that I’ll have to spend another second with them outside of this meeting.

  Declan’s getting pissed now.

  We can barely be in the same room without fighting, and this is evidence of that.

  “Okay, fine,” I nearly yell as I stand up to go. “Let’s go. I don’t care. Text me the address. I’m out of here.”

  I walk out and don’t look back.

  “Don’t be late,” I hear Declan say before the doors shut.

  Chapter 4

  Aurora

  My fucking heartbeat is so loud in my own ears that I can’t concentrate. I fight tears, scrunching my face and squinting my eyes. As the phone rings, I just can’t drown out the thoughts of ‘what if.’

  What if they tell me to come in? What if I have to ID his body?

  God. I can’t fucking handle it.

  Just as I’m able to get a hold of an officer at the precinct, the doorknob rattles. I whip my head around, and Anders makes his appearance.

  “I’m—I’m so sorry. I have the wrong number,” I speak quickly into the phone.

  I don’t even make a full explanation of my call; the person that’s been missing is now standing right in front of me. I accidentally drop my phone right to the floor as my body releases all of my built-up tension.

  Anders stands before me, scruffy and gross as ever. He looks like he’s literally been sleeping in a dumpster.

  “You’re okay,” I state.

  All that’s on my mind right now is how I thought he fucking died just two minutes ago.

  I don’t know if I should hug him, feed him, offer him a shower, or just start crying. I’m riding a roller coaster of emotions.

  “Uh, yeah?” Anders responds in his usual condescending, doped-up tone.

  As soon as the words exit his mouth, my overwhelming relief turns into anger and annoyance.

  “Yeah? That’s all you have to say? Anders, I’ve been worried sick about you! Where the hell were you?” I demand.

  God, ever since we lost Mom and Dad, I’ve felt such a compelling need to keep track of him.

  I can’t lose him to some reckless shit. And I can’t have him getting locked up either. It’s been hard the past five years without Mom and Dad, and having to run the business with a strung
out brother as my partner?

  I really can’t handle much more.

  I even have fears that he’ll be the drunk driver colliding with someone’s parents—just like someone did to us.

  “You aren’t going to answer me, right? It’s none of my business,” I yell.

  “It’s not that, jeez. Give me a minute to think,” Anders replies.

  “I gave you time. Now I need answers. And the truth. The lies last time weren’t very appreciated,” I snarl.

  I look him right in the eye the whole time we speak. I can’t accept what he’s out doing...drinking and drugging. I just want to remember him before he was introduced to drugs.

  He had all types of girls just pining for his attention. He was the star of the fucking football team. But now, he’s at rock bottom.

  And I’m down there with him because he’s sunk all of the company’s money onto his goddamn habits. My heart breaks for the family business Mom and Dad worked so hard to build, but it breaks harder for him when I see his sunken eyes and cracking teeth.

  “Anders, I’m done waiting. You need help. You really fucking do. I can’t keep doing this with you. I’m exhausted,” I tell him.

  “Why do you keep trying to butt into my life? I can handle my damn self!” he shouts.

  “No, you can’t,” I retort. “And can’t you see that you’re affecting me, too? We have no more money. We’re wiped out, and it’s because of you!”

  “Right!” he says eagerly. “When I came in, I had something to tell you,” he continues.

  And just like that, any conversation of rehab and his addiction is over.

  “Anders...” I start to say but he cuts me off.

  “Shhh! Don’t interrupt,” he interjects. “This is going to work.”

  He pulls a crumpled flyer out of his pocket.

  “This is our new future,” he says, handing me the advertisement.

  I read the invitation. There’s a billionaire’s bidding being hosted, auctioning willing virgins to sell their virginity. And what the hell do I have to do with this?

  I feel my knees go weak as I realize his intentions.

  “Come on, Rory,” he starts.

  “Fuck, Anders! Trying to buddy up to me, calling me by Mom’s nickname for me isn’t going to make this better. No. I’m not fucking doing it,” I snap.