Tipping The Billionaire: His Runaway Lover

A sharp beam of morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, striking Alida right in the eye.

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Her head pounded with a vicious, rhythmic ache.

She tried to move her legs, and a sharp, pulling soreness radiated through her lower body. Her breath hitched.

Alida snapped her eyes open.

She was lying on her stomach, completely naked, tangled in high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Her wrists throbbed with a dull, bruised ache. She instinctively pulled her arms down, realizing that the silk tie that had bound her to the headboard must have slipped loose during their frantic, relentless movements in the middle of the night.

The memories hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. The club. The drug. The hallway. The man.

Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. She slowly, agonizingly, turned her head.

A man lay beside her, sleeping on his stomach. His broad, muscular back was exposed, the skin marked with faint red scratches. Her scratches.

Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, forcing herself not to make a sound. She carefully lifted the edge of the duvet and slid her legs off the mattress.

Her feet touched the plush carpet. Her legs shook violently, threatening to give out. She grabbed the edge of the mahogany nightstand to steady herself.

The man on the bed shifted, letting out a deep exhale.

Alida froze, her lungs burning as she held her breath. She waited until his breathing returned to a slow, steady rhythm.

She scanned the floor. Her dress was torn, lying in a heap near the door. She tiptoed over, snatched it up, and pulled it over her head. She found her purse underneath a discarded suit jacket.

She was about to run when a thought stopped her.

She had told him she was buying him. Her pride, battered and bruised by Deron's betrayal and Belva's cruelty, flared up. She wouldn't be a victim. She wouldn't owe this stranger anything.

She opened her purse. The fifty-thousand-dollar check had been tucked back into the side pocket—he must have returned it. In her main wallet, she found a single, crumpled one-hundred-dollar bill.

Alida walked over to the heavy oak desk near the window. She picked up a hotel notepad and a heavy Montblanc pen.

Her hand shook slightly as she wrote.

Service fee. Average skills. Like an uncivilized beast.

She walked back to the bed. She placed the note on the nightstand right next to his head, and smoothed the hundred-dollar bill down on top of it.

She grabbed her heels, didn't bother putting them on, and bolted for the door.

She slipped out of the penthouse, sprinting barefoot down the carpeted hallway to the elevator. She jammed the lobby button, her chest heaving, praying the doors would close.

Thirty minutes later, the man in the bed stirred.

Jax Vaughn opened his eyes. A dull headache pulsed at his temples from the alcohol and the sheer physical exertion of the night.

He reached his arm across the bed, expecting to pull the warm, soft woman back against his chest.

His hand met empty, cool sheets.

Jax sat up abruptly. His sharp eyes swept the massive room. Empty.

He turned his head. His gaze locked onto the nightstand.

A crumpled green bill sat on top of a piece of hotel stationery.

Jax reached out, his long fingers plucking the paper from the wood. He read the words written in hurried, elegant script.

Service fee. Average skills. Like an uncivilized beast.

The air in the room evaporated.

Jax stared at the hundred-dollar bill. A vein in his neck bulged against his skin. His jaw ticked so hard his teeth ground together.

He, Jax Vaughn, CEO of Vaughn Enterprises, a man who controlled billions, had just been paid off with a hundred-dollar bill. Like a cheap street whore.

A roar of pure, unadulterated fury tore from his throat.

He crushed the paper and the money in his fist, his knuckles turning bone-white. He swung his leg out of bed and kicked the heavy mahogany coffee table. It shattered, glass exploding across the room.

Jax grabbed the landline on the desk.

"Lock down the building," he snarled into the receiver, his voice vibrating with lethal rage. "Pull every camera feed. Nobody leaves. If a single fly escapes this hotel, you're all fired."

His assistant and two bodyguards burst through the doors seconds later, freezing at the sight of the destroyed room and their boss standing naked, radiating a murderous aura.

Jax stared out the window at the city below. "Find her," he whispered, a promise of violence. "Find her now."