Just Until Forever (Blue Collar Billionaires: Seattle #1)

Chapter 1

WORTH

“Ah, fuck,” I grunt.

The brunette on her knees in front of me moans in response, mouth full and hands already down the front of her panties.

I like when a woman knows what she wants.

I like giving orders even more.

“Lift your skirt. I want to see your ass.” She doesn’t hesitate to obey.

I’m in my corner office at the top of Miller Towers, getting my dick sucked by my receptionist—and I couldn’t be more bored.

You’ll rarely hear a man complain about getting head, but this is just maintenance.

A stress-relief exercise. After thirteen hours—and still counting—at the office, my tension is through the roof, and she knew exactly what to suggest when she walked in, pretending to be remorseful for misscheduling a supplier call.

I’m not even convinced it was an accident.

Shaina is decent at this, I’ll give her that. She’s also the only one bold enough to offer, and I’m too busy to seek out anyone else. The convenience outweighs the effort. I don’t have time for dates or emotional labor—I barely have time to sleep.

Still, I’m staring at the starless sky instead of her mouth. Thinking about the past instead of the present. Wondering how the hell my life became this tightrope of responsibilities and isolation.

I used to feel something once. Pleasure. Maybe even the illusion of intimacy.

The last time I let someone in, she tore my world apart on her way out. My ex-wife didn’t just leave me—she gutted the part of me that still believed in love. Took it with her like one final, cruel souvenir.

So now I keep things simple.

Surface-level. Temporary. Unattached.

Another box to tick before moving on to the next task.

I sink my hand into Shaina’s hair and tilt my hips forward, pushing deeper. She gags a little, tears streaming down her face, but she doesn’t stop.

“Touch yourself until you come,” I tell her, voice flat. She’s close. I can feel it in the way her moans vibrate against my cock. I grit my teeth and chase the end. When I come, it’s hard and fast, pouring down her throat like it means nothing.

Because it doesn’t.

She wipes her mouth, smooths her skirt, and leaves without a word. That’s part of the arrangement—no talk, no delusions.

I tuck myself back in, loosen my tie, and lean back in the chair.

I glance at the time. 8:57 p.m.

Shit.

I shove the résumés for the junior designer position I’d been reviewing into my briefcase and lock up, pausing as I pass by Shaina’s desk.

It’s empty, but the scent of her strong, nauseating perfume still lingers.

There’s a lipstick-stained coffee mug sitting beside the keyboard and a sticky note on her monitor that says ‘teach me a lesson tomorrow for messing up ;)’ in bubbly cursive.

I stare at it, then rip the note off the screen, crumpling it in my fist. I toss it into the trash.

I should fire her for being so fucking bold and inappropriate. But I won’t, because that would mean confronting the fact that I’ve let this go on far too long. That I’ve blurred the lines and pretended it was harmless. I shake my head and sigh. I’ll deal with Shaina another day.

As I hit the elevator, my phone rings. I pick up without looking.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Dad.”

My daughter’s voice immediately cracks something open in me.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m on my way. I’ll be home soon to say goodnight.”

Guilt tightens my chest. I missed dinner. Again.

“I’m thirteen, Dad. You don’t need to tuck me in.”

I chuckle. “God forbid anyone finds out I still kiss you goodnight.”

The elevator doors open. I see Shaina heading toward me, and I jab the button to close the doors like my life depends on it.

Brianna giggles on the other end of the line. It’s the sound I live for. The one thing that still feels like joy.

“Maggie made me call to check if you’re still alive. She said, ‘make sure your father hasn’t worked himself into cardiac arrest.’”

I roll my eyes, though Bri’s impression is spot-on. “Tell Maggie I’m taking my vitamins and drinking plenty.”

“She says whiskey doesn’t count as hydration and that you need rest. R-E-S-T.”

I laugh, walking through the underground garage to my car. Brianna is barely a teenager and is already teaming up against me with our nanny.

When my marriage imploded, Maggie never tried to take anyone’s place, but she filled in the cracks. Always steady and dependable. Now, she’s become a second grandmother figure to Brianna.

“I’ll be home soon,” I promise again.

But soon won’t matter forever. Brianna is getting older. There will come a time when I won’t be able to fix things with a bedtime joke and a forehead kiss. When she won’t need me at all.

And maybe I deserve that.

I think about what Maggie said the other night.

“Brianna needs stability, Worth. You either show up now or you lose her later.”

But how do I show up for my daughter when I can barely keep my own head above water?

Maybe that’s why Henson, my brother and the company’s Chief Financial Officer, has been pushing me to restructure the business, hire a junior designer, and delegate more. So I can make room to actually be present. Both in my daughter’s and in my own life.

I unlock my car, throw my jacket on the passenger seat, and slide behind the wheel. My head hits the seatback.

The blowjob didn’t help. I’m still stiff.

I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white.

Thank God it’s Friday.

A while later, I walk inside my house and hang my suit jacket on the hook by the door.

The rest of my things drop to the floor by the wall.

My bag slouches down, and my body wishes it could do the same, but I’m always tense, wound tighter than a suspension cable.

Some say my personality is the same—they’re not wrong.

I tried being the easy going guy once. That version of me got used, taken for granted, especially by my ex-wife. So now, I’m sharp edges and short tempers.

The grand staircase stretches ahead of me under the domed ceiling. I head towards it and call out, “Brianna? You up there?”

No answer.

I step further into the foyer.

The kitchen is spotless. Dishes put away. Counters wiped down. It looks like no one has been here in days, but I spoke to Bri less than an hour ago. Where the hell did they go?

I check everywhere. Kitchen. Dining room. Living room. Theater. Office. Bathrooms. Nothing.

My pulse spikes as worst-case scenarios flood my brain. What if someone broke in? What if they were taken? I start searching harder, my voice echoing through the too-big house. Who the hell needs this much square footage anyway?

I curse myself for buying this place. It’s just Brianna and me now. I’ve got five too many rooms and not nearly enough peace.

I turn in circles calling their names, and I’m met with dead silence.

The basement is the only place left. My feet slam against the stairs as I head down. When I hit the bottom step and round the corner, two bodies tackle me, hard. I stumble, arms flying up to protect my face.

“What the fuck is going on?” I bark.

“Language, Worth!” Maggie scolds.

I lower my arms to find Bri and Maggie laughing hysterically, standing over me on the carpet. My vision clears, and I see their smug faces. They look at each other, then double over in another fit of giggles.

“I thought you were hurt!” I yell, breath still catching up to my brain.

“It worked!” Bri shrieks, throwing her arms around Maggie. “We got him!”

I stare, speechless, as they celebrate their little ambush.

“You’re both dead,” I mutter.

“You’re so dramatic, Dad.” Brianna tries to muffle her snort.

Maggie offers me a hand. I grab it and yank her down beside me.

“Ah-ha!” I grin as she hits the carpet with a shocked gasp.

Bri and I burst out laughing while Maggie glares at me, lips twitching.

“How does it feel now?” I ask, smug.

“Yeah, Mags,” Bri chimes in. “How does that feel?”

I shoot my daughter a wicked look. “You’re not off the hook yet, Piglet. You better run.”

She squeals and bolts up the stairs. I give her a few seconds’ head start before chasing her, pounding up behind her like the big bad wolf—a game we always used to play when she was younger.

She darts through the first floor and zips up the back staircase, finally slamming her bedroom door shut in my face.

“Little pig, little pig,” I say in a gravelly voice, “let me come in.”

“No!” she shouts, giggling from the other side.

“Come on, little pig. I just want to talk.”

The door doesn’t lock—deliberate design choice, thank you very much—so I turn the knob and push against her weight.

“I’m not a pig, Dad!” Bri squeals.

I shove the door open and she leaps into bed, hiding under her blanket.

“Too slow.”

I dive in and tickle her until she’s snorting again.

“You sure sound like one,” I tease.

Her laughter is contagious. Loud, free, and full of life.

My heart swells. This is the part of me that still works. Being her dad.

“Okay,” I say, brushing hair from her face. “Time for bed, Piglet. Get ready while I check on Maggie.”

She nods, cheeks flushed, and I step out.

No amount of money compares to spending time with my daughter. Not the empire I’ve built, not the penthouse views or tailored suits, or even the boardroom wins that keep piling up like trophies on a shelf I no longer admire.

I don’t know who I’d be without Brianna.

Probably some lonely, bitter billionaire screwing his way through meaningless nights.

I find Maggie in the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeding your ungrateful arse,” she replies without looking up. “Even though you tackled an old woman.”

“Oh, piss off,” I grumble. “You’re not that old.”

She laughs and gives me a little shove on the shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

After bedtime routines and dinner, Maggie leaves and I head to my office in the back of the house, pour myself a glass of whiskey and sit at the desk, staring down the mountain of résumés.

The junior designer interviews start in two days and I haven’t even looked at any of the interviewees.

I down the drink, take a breath, and dive in.

It’s almost midnight when I spot a name: Mya Dessen-Jones.

Barely any experience, but top of her class. 4.2 GPA. Excellent recommendations.

HR must’ve flagged her for her academics alone.

I linger on her file a little longer than I should, wondering if she might be the right person to finally fill the role. We need someone hungry who can execute.

Then I leave everything on the desk, check on Bri one more time, and head to bed.