The Billionaire's Plaything

"What do you have for me?" Vlad asked, his gaze fixed on the distant city outside his study window. "We have found her location, sir," Marco, Vlad's PI, said. "Every thing you need to know is in the file," he added. Vlad turned from the window. "Good. You shall be paid accordingly for your service," he said to Marco, accepting the file he had extended. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Romanov," Marco said respectfully, bowing his head slightly. Vlad nodded, and Marco turned and left the study. Vlad stared at the file in his hands for a long while. This was just another of unpaid debts, and he always made sure he collected all his debts. He never compromised, and they all had to pay one way or the other. He preferred they paid him well, but others could not, and settled their debts in a much more gruesome way. Others cooperated well, and settled them the easy way. Unfortunately, for this case, the person who owned him died without paying. To some, that would automatically wipe the debt off, but not to Vlad. Family had to settle the debt, unless of course, the whole family was dead. And fortunately, this one still had a live family member, just one. He settled in his chair behind a huge mahogany desk, and opened the file. A young woman's picture was stapled to a profile. She was young, in her early twenties he guessed. She had raven black hair, blue eyes, a small aquiline nose, and small but plump rosy lips. She was a pretty thing, but Vlad wasn't going to focus on that. He held up the picture. Celeste Neveu. Daughter to Frank Neveu, the man who had bitten off more than he could chew. Vlad would be visiting her the following day. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to settle her father's debt. "You're late," Sarah, Celeste's boss, told her. Celeste hurriedly tied her black hair up into a tight ponytail, though some bouncy locks managed to escape and fall against the sides of her face. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, hurrying past Sarah to the counter. She grabbed a pad and pen, and slid under the counter door, moving to a newly occupied table. She worked at a cafeteria close to her college when she had no lectures, and though she didn't like it, it was the only way she could afford basic necessities. "Welcome to the Rovuwa Cafe, what would you like?" she asked, beaming brightly. It was a smile she practised in front of the mirror, meant to put customers at ease, according to Sarah. It annoyed her, because even as she smiled brightly the customers rarely tipped them, and when they were thoughtful enough to do so, it was a couple cents, which, to her and the other three waitresses, was close to nothing really. She sounded ungrateful, but her meager salary barely got her everything she needed, and earning a bonus here relied on the amount of tips in the jar. She had won a scholarship to attend a prestigious college called Kempton College, only to come over and discover they only covered her accomodation and tuition fees. The rest was on her, therefore forcing her to find a job. This was the only decent one, and being hired when she was sure she wouldn't be was something she thanked the heavens for. With every paycheck she got, she'd go shopping for groceries to last her month, some toiletries, and every time she had not a single dime to save. For her wardrobe, she occasionally bought from secondhand stores during sales, never having the luxury of buying herself a new pair of shoes or a new top or jeans. It wasn't something new to her; all her life she lived by hand-me-downs. From a very young age, what she could remember was very little. Her father was a chronic gambler from what she heard from the social workers that put her up from adoption. She had no mother, she didn't know how or why. Her father had suddenly died from a heart attack when she was ten. At eleven, she was adopted, but she had begged she continue using her father's surname. She never got new clothes, even on Christmas. The rare occasion her foster parents decided to buy her clothes, they were either too big, or too small. They never let her keep the clothes if they were not her size, and Celeste could remember being told she was greedy when she begged to keep the bigger clothes. It would have been easier for her to grow into them, but they didn't see that. At school she was laughed at for her old looking clothes by her peers. She was a target for disdain from the other kids' parents, who said she had 'the face of a fallen angel'. Celeste never knew what they meant then, but she came to realise it when she grew into a teenager. The attention from the opposite gender started, and she tried ever so hard to downplay her looks. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't. After getting her scholarship, she then learned that men preferred wild, carefree girls that wore exposing clothing and clubbed every night. She was none of those things, to her, those were unnecessary expenses, and she didn't have the stability of buying herself new clothes, talk less of clubbing. For her, it made her life easier. "Are you going to make a choice, sir?" she asked the man seated at the table. The man nodded, staring at the menu. As she waited for him to order, she spotted a black Rolex watch on the man's left wrist. 'Shocking,' she thought, 'why would a person that can afford a watch like that patronise us?' Taking a good look at him, she noted that even his clothes looked expensive. She couldn't place the designers, but she didn't need to be a genius to know this man was rich. 'Hopefully, he'll give a generous tip,' she silently mused. "I think I'll just have coffee," the man said, his deep baritone stunning her. That had to be the sexiest voice she had ever heard. She wasn't one to compliment men, but good Lord, this one was unavoidable. She nodded, and hurried away, afraid she'd make a fool of herself if she stayed any longer. She had only heard his voice, and she knew that voice was accompanied by an equally gorgeous face. She hadn't even seen his face, nor would she. She pulled Ava, one of the waitresses aside as she passed. "Hey, can you do me a favour?" she whispered to her. "Sure, what's up?" Celeste pointed to the man who had his back to them. "Can you serve him? He ordered coffee only," she told her. "Yeah, sure," Ava said, not asking any questions. Celeste knew why, and she had the sudden urge to hurl. She was a virgin, but she did know any red blooded woman would love nothing more than to have their nails in such a broad expanse of back, Ava included. Shocking how some women put themselves out for the attention of men, while she loathed it. Thanking Ava, she moved to other tables, collecting orders, sending them to the kitchen, and serving. Time flew fast as she fully settled into work, working like a programmed machine. By the time it struck noon, Celeste was exhausted and ready to go home. Unfortunately for her, home was another seven hours of work away. As she worked, she felt like she was being watched, but when she risked a glance around, everyone seemed to be minding their own business. She couldn't shake off the feeling, and it annoyed her.