The Millionaire's Mistake

The Millionaire’s Mistake

Sean Michael

Is it too late to win back the heart of the man he loves?

When Reid Allen said no to spoiled millionaire Ambrose Walter Simpson five years ago, AW kicked him out on his ass. Now AW is ready to admit he’s thrown away the only man he ever truly loved.

The rich bad boy has learned the value of sticking around when the going gets tough. But is it too late to make amends and win Reid back?

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

THE MILLIONAIRE’S MISTAKE

Bad Boys Series

Copyright © 2014 SEAN MICHAEL

Cover art by Amanda Kelsey

Edited by Trinity Scott

ISBN: 978-1-936387-71-7

All Romance eBooks, LLC Palm Harbor, Florida 34684 www.allromanceebooks.com

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First All Romance eBooks publication: May 2014

Ambrose Walter Simpson—AW to everyone, even himself—was bored.

He was at the top of his game. He could have anything he wanted. He could have anyone he wanted. In fact, the twinks at the clubs fell at his feet to lick his boots for him.

It was all so fucking boring.

There wasn’t any challenge anymore. No one had ever said no to him. Well, almost no one.

His phone rang and he hit answer. “Simpson.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Simpson, the sale has gone through. You are now the proud owner of the building at 800 Silver Street.”

“Thank you, Findlay.” His lawyer rocked.

And never said no to him.

The man who owned the little coffee shop in the 800 Silver Street building, however, had.

Just the once, but that had been enough to make AW drop him like a hot potato. No one said no to him. And when Reid Allen had said it, refusing to do a scene with him on stage at the club, AW hadn’t had the benefit of realizing what a novelty someone saying no was.

Now, he was going to go make Reid Allen change his mind.

A challenge. One with very real stakes.

AW couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited.

And Reid Allen had no idea what was coming his way.

“Two cappuccinos, an Americano, and two drips, Reid!”

“You got it, honey.” Reid pulled coffee, humming under his breath as they worked through the morning rush. There’d be another one at lunch and a tiny one around four. It was perfect.

“Reid, I’m going to grab the cranberry muffins. We’re down to only blueberry and one lemon.” Barb, his other employee rushed by from where she’d been bussing tables.

“Run a load of cups, huh?” He needed to pick up more; they were starting to run low. It never failed to amaze him how he had to buy another couple dozen every few months, like clockwork.

David nodded from the register. “Cups good. Muffins good. Customers like wild, slavering beasts.”

“Are you allowed to say that where we can hear?” asked the next customer, the man’s voice like liquid fucking velvet.

“Oh, yeah. You guys are sharks. What can I get you, man?” The grin in David’s voice was audible.

Reid didn’t look, even though his cock jerked at the husky tone—the customer’s, not David’s.

“I’ll have a double espresso.” God, that voice was beginning to settle in his balls.

“You got it. Muffin?”

Reid went still, halfway through pulling the Americano. He knew that voice. He did.

“No, I want something…sweeter.” The customer was looking at Reid; he could feel it. Especially now that he knew who it was.

“There’s muffins and raspberry scones. Those are your options, Walt.” He didn’t meet his ex’s eyes. Fucker.

“So you do remember me.” That husky voice went even deeper over the words. “And I’ll have the raspberry scone.”

Reid plated up the scone, pulled the espressos, put them on the counter. “Double espresso, scone.”

“Thank you. Will you join me?”

“Will I what?” He did look that time, right into Walt’s eyes. The dark blue was as intense as ever and Walt didn’t flinch for a second.

“I said, ‘Will you join me?’”

“I’m working. Rush. Sorry.” No. No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“When the rush is over then. Excellent.” Walt walked away like it hadn’t been five fucking years.

Reid stood there staring. No. No. Working, then he’d go to the back. No way he was fucking talking to Mr. Playboy Everybody Loves Me.

Walt glanced back and gave him a smug little smile.

Christ.

They’d been together for three years, right after university. Three years of wild kinky sex and one night Walt had said “get out.”

One fight about time and work and the club and shit and Walt threw him out with his wallet, his backpack, and his laptop. Fuck him. The man had been painting the town red with some baby twink the next Friday night too. Asshole. Waltzing back in like he owned the place. God damn spoiled millionaire bastard.

Reid made the next order, reminding himself that he’d done fine. He had a life, a good life. He’d built a strong business. He had friends, lovers. A cat.

All the while he worked, he could feel Walt’s eyes on him. It was like a fucking touch. How could that still be possible after five fucking years?

The rush slowly died out and he handed the machine off to Barb, letting her take over filling the orders. She and David could work until the lunch rush with their eyes closed and one hand tied behind their backs. His presence was not needed out here. “Gonna do some paperwork.” In the back where he had a door that closed.

“Sure thing, boss.” Barb gave him a warm grin. It was almost unnatural, how cheery she was in the mornings.

“That guy is still here,” David pointed out.

“He’s an ex, man.” Reid kept his voice low; he didn’t want Walt to think he’d given the man a second thought.

“Oh. Oh! The…that one?” David was a friend as well as employee, so he knew the sordid story, at least some of it.

Reid looked away. “Yeah.”

“Whoa.”

Like he knew they were talking about him, Walt turned and looked right at him. And why was he looking at Walt in the first place?

“I’m heading to the back. Holler if you need me.” So what if he was running away? He was allowed, damn it.

“Nobody should look that good in leather.” Barb licked her lips.

“Yeah.” Nobody should be wearing leather this early in the day.

Reid headed into the back, stopping to check that the dishwasher was running properly and trying not to remember how he’d trusted Walt, how he’d knelt down and begged. He’d given himself to Walt. All of himself.

He wouldn’t ever give himself totally to anyone, not ever again.

“You can’t go in there!” Barb’s angry tones preceded the sound of the little barrier to behind the counter swinging open and Walt walking right in.

“Pardon me? Employees only.” Firm. Stern. Brave.
Come on, Reid
. He waved Barb off. He could handle this.

“Does owner count?” Fucking butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth. That mouth, those lips, Walt’s eyes…

“I own this place.” Reid didn’t know who Walt thought he fucking was. Well, king of the world, obviously, but Grind It Down was a one-man show. Okay, one man and two employees, but he was sole owner and what the fuck was Walt playing at.

If anything, Walt’s smile got smugger. “But you don’t own the building it’s in.”

Reid’s heart stopped. It just stopped. Oh, God. Oh, God. “I have a lease. It’s not up for eight months. I haven’t broken a single clause.” He had employees. Customers. Bills. His whole fucking life.

Waving a hand dismissively, Walt shook his head. “I’m not looking to break your lease, Reid.”

“What do you want?” Reid knew Walt wouldn’t be here without an angle.

“You.”

Reid rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. He didn’t have time for this shit. “Just stop. What do you want?”

Walt crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You.”

“That’s not an option. Go away.” He was not dealing with this. Not.

Shaking his head, Walt made no attempt to move. “I’m not giving up.”

Right. Walt would get bored. That much he was sure of. He’d just ignore the man until that happened. Because a six-foot-four leather-jacket-wearing stud was so easy to ignore.

Reid was going to do his level best to do it. “Whatever. I have work to do.”

“And I’ll leave you to do it.” Walt was offering to leave? Really? “If you agree to have dinner with me tonight.” Ah, there always was a catch, wasn’t there?

Well, he wasn’t playing this game. “No. Go away.”

“No. You heard my terms.” Walt even managed to sound like an immovable force.

“Go. Away.” Reid was reaching the end of his tether.

“How about a tour of the place? Your landlord wants to see how you’re keeping up the space.”

Pressing his lips together, Reid counted to twenty, then nodded. “Of course. You’ve seen the front. This is the kitchen and prep area. There is a small office and back storage.”

Craning his neck, Walt looked around. “I’d like to see the office.”

Reid stormed over, opened the door. His chair was there, his computer, and his desk. He scanned all his receipts, which meant he was basically paperless, so his office was pristine.

Walt crowded up against him, almost pushing him into the room and the smell of leather and man surrounded him. “It’s tiny.”

He wasn’t going to react. He wasn’t going to react. “I don’t need much space.”

“No? You like tight quarters?” How could a voice feel like a touch?

Reid sucked in a breath, his entire body waking up.

“I seem to remember something being tight…” Walt’s voice had dropped even deeper than before.

“I’m sure you met him in one of your clubs,” Reid snapped back.

“That was bitchy.”

“Yep. You told me to leave, I left, you replaced me. Life goes on. Get out of my shop.” He was done. Past done.

“I’ll go, but you need to know that I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

“Whatever.”

Walt had the attention span of a gnat on crack. He’d get bored and leave.

Walt grabbed him and turned him so he was looking at the man. “Not whatever.” Then he was kissed, hard and short.

Then Walt was walking off. “I’ll pick you up here at six.”

No. Oh, no. No way. That was not happening. Not in his lifetime.

“Be hungry.” The words floated back from the front of the place, then the front door closed behind Walt.

Reid slammed closed the door to his office. Hard. He’d have done it again if he could.

No. No way. Never again. Walt was not coming back into his life. Not.

The whole room smelled like leather. No fair. Bastard.

Reid plopped down in his chair. If there was a god in heaven, he could just stay here.

AW stood in front of the mirror, checking himself out. He was tall, good-looking. He worked hard to look this good, but it paid off in amazing muscles, healthy skin, a straight, bright smile. He ran a hand through his hair, giving it just a touch of a mussed-up look.

Man, this was the first time in as long as he could remember that he was nervous about a date, nervous about how he looked. It sure didn’t fit the bad boy millionaire image he maintained. The unflappable Dom.

Reid was still pretty pissed at him and wasn’t going to just roll over, offer his ass up and forgive AW. No, Reid was going to make him work for it, work hard. Of course, that was what he wanted, right? AW wasn’t looking for an easy pushover. He wanted a fight, a challenge. He just hoped that Reid wasn’t too much of a challenge. Reid, who had flat-out refused to call him AW and had always been the only one, ever, who called him Walt. Reid, who had dared to refuse one of his orders, had said no right to his face and meant it. Was it any wonder AW was nervous? He had a big job ahead of him.

He took one last look, admiring the fit of his slacks, the way his blue shirt brought out his eyes. He’d put a tie on and taken it off again several times before deciding that as he was picking Reid up from work, it wouldn’t be fair to expect the man to be too dressy.

Grabbing his leather jacket, he headed downstairs.

He’d bought the building Reid worked in and had the top floor renovated into a penthouse apartment. He figured as Reid was in the building twelve hours a day, five days a week, it was the best spot for his base of operations. He’d moved in a week ago and was ready to start his offensive.

He slipped into the coffee shop, just as it was being locked up.

“Uh. I’m sorry, sir. We’re sort of totally turned off, machine-wise. All I can offer you is iced tea or a muffin.” This was from the same girls as this morning, a college student by the look of her. AW wasn’t sure why nose rings were currently all the rage. They looked like escapee boogers.