My Billionaire Stepbrother (Lexi's Sexy Billionaire Romance #1) Read Online Free

now.  
    “I meant the other birthday card,” she says. “The one we all sent him.”
    “The one we sent him?” I say, incredulous.  
    Mom doesn’t even like Parker. She thinks he’s Satan incarnate. He acted out the whole time he lived with us, and as far as Mom is concerned, his exodus from LA might as well have been a vacation to Sodom and Gomorrah — whichever had the greater number of high-ticket Asian fusion tapas bars per capita.  
    Why would she send him a birthday card?  
    “Well, I know you have your issues with him, Angela,” she stammers, caught, dodging the fact that she , traditionally, has always had far more “issues” with Parker than I have. “But he’s thirty this year, and it just seemed time to renew acquaintances.”
    Meaning they want to get to know him again. To reenter his life like a tapeworm.
    There’s a prickle at the back of my neck. Something more to this story.
    “You said ‘we,’ Mom.”  
    “Oh, yes,” she tells me. “You were working at the time — ”  
    Shit. I don’t like this. Not today. Not now.
    “ — so I signed your name.”

PARKER

    S AMANTHA ’ S STILL WITH ME WHEN we enter the lobby. I couldn’t break up with her at the party because it would have caused a scene, and I couldn’t break up with her in the car because I see my driver every day and didn’t want him to hear the things she’ll inevitably say when I break it off.  
    Our relationship is more of a business arrangement than anything. Samantha looks like a doll and does all the things that the best, most expensive adult dolls do. She likes it for sure — is kind of insatiable in her moral depravity, really, which I’ll admit gets me hard every time — but we keep only the flimsiest of pretenses between us. It’s her job to get me off. It’s also her job to accompany me to the right kind of events and look stunning beside me. She’s also a key in certain locks, seeing as her family is connected in all the ways my family never was.  
    That last one is both a blessing and curse. Because while I have much, much more money and power today than Samantha, she knows exactly where I came from. Early in our relationship, when she was still pretending to like me above the waist, I made the mistake of driving her through my old neighborhood. She’ll forever hold that against me, wielding my lowbrow past like a highbrow weapon. When I end this, she’ll bring it up. She’ll call me a gutter rat, a poseur, a pretender to the WinFinity throne and a rider of Duncan’s coattails rather than his partner.  
    But as long as I don’t rock the boat, Sam will do her job. She’ll dress well, act cultured and civilized, make me look far more respectable than I’ve ever felt. She’ll elevate me to the realm where I truly belong, like Duncan keeps berating me about. And whenever I want — and plenty when I don’t, but am willing once prompted — she’ll give herself to me. Any orifice I want, whenever and wherever. She once gave me a hand job under the table of a five-star restaurant. I came all over her hand as the sommelier was describing the house white. It was so ironic.
    My job is easier. I make the money. I make the deals. But as it turns out, that job is far harder and less replaceable than Samantha’s. The fact that I don’t like her company much will make this easy, because I can slot her out for another disposable bit of arm candy if I so desire — something Duncan will demand in the name of networking and image. But dodging Samantha’s insults, anger, and jilted remonstrations? That will be harder.
    I look over at Sam as she crosses the lobby’s expensive imported tile. I like the doorman, Telly, quite a lot, but for some reason the way she’s always such an entitled cunt to him turns me on. I’m told women like bad boys. I like bad girls , at least for the kind of relationship Sam and I have. Maybe we all desire self-destruction. It’s such a head trip that I’m horny again