1

The New Hampshire Gala.

Only the rich and famous ever got invited.

Did Chance Gregory care?

No.

All he wanted tonight was a belly full, and a warm place to properly crash at for the night.

He didn't get the memo either.

It was a red tie and stilettos event.

Which meant men were to wear red ties, with well-tailored suits, while their female counterparts were to wear red stilettos, that matched their fancy dresses.

Chance, on the other hand, nothing of the sort. In fact, he snuck in, pretending to be a part of the waiting staff. Where he tricked a young inexperienced boy into playing a game of cards or lose his attire.

He lost and had to hand over his last 10 bucks, even though neither knew how to play the game. Chance turned out to be the worst at his own idea. So there he was, dressed in a pair of black washed out skinny jeans, and a yellow buttoned down shirt that was stained from his interview last week at Burger King. Where he stole an already made meal, frozen beef and ketchup.

Chance glanced at himself in a shiny armour that led to the main ballroom. His sandy blonde hair was up in what he called a Chance bun, to top it off he needed a bath, anyone could tell that he hadn't had a bath in a week just by the smudge on his cheek and even the smell he had.

Chance noticed the stares he got, but didn't care. While everyone else paid to be at the Gala, he got in for free. Will eat for free and enjoying a free evening as best as he could.

Grabbing two glasses of champagne off of a passing tray, he raised one in the security's direction that has watchful eyes on him. The brawny man gave a slight nod, then raised his palm to his lips. No doubt telling the others on his team to be on the lookout for him.

After downing his drinks and grabbing two more, Chance thought it best to move to a more dense area, or somewhere out of sight, preferably with low lightning and no snobby rich folk.

So he settled where there were sofas overlooking the city, and with very few people that were having drinks and seem to be in their own world, not too caring about those around them.

“I like your style, stranger.”

Chance just sat back to relax in an oversize, yet comfortable sofa, when the voice came, one which raise above all the others that whispered to each other.

Chance straightened in an upright position, gazing in the voice's direction. Peering back at him were two mischievous grey eyes and a face that has a lopsided smirk.

It was the face of the well known, black-haired billionaire player.

The said one all the ladies at the Gala whispered about and wished they could be in his bed or even lucky enough to even be graced with his presence.

His name was on the tips of all their tongues, rolling smoothly off their lips.

But how could they not?

A 6"2 god, being in their presence. A god like man voted Megamale's sexiest, most eligible man alive ever.

With his cocky smile on thin pink lips, a 5 o'clock shadow on a strong jawline. Straight nose, and a body that would put Zac Efron to shame.

Even dogs and old people stopped to stare.

He knew he was hot and used it to his advantage.

Not to mention he is the son of some rich, beyond measure, greedy wolf who cheated his way to the top, and now owns a multibillion dollar telecommunication company.

The man before Chance has his own money, so he never depended on his father. He had earned his own from modelling on social media, advertising for businesses, and from having his own telecommunitation company.

Word on the street was that Mr. Player is a generous lover, one that never visited the same women twice, no matter how much they begged.

This gained him his fair share of obsessive, crazy b*tches, that would stop at nothing for him to be in their pants again. Fake their pregnancies, threatened to kill themselves.

One even mailed a finger to him, which made him laugh at the time, wondering if it was the middle one.

Fawning admirers surrounded the rich kid and gave him the attention he craved, so why would he be addressing Chance?

“My style?” Chance inquired.

'He must’ve been watching me.' Chance thought to himself.

The billionaire’s expression was amused. “I saw you, sweetheart. Sneaking in here, acting like one of us.”

Chance's face warmed at that.

He called him sweetheart.

Now, Chance is not one to take an interest in men, but those words did something to him.

Crap, Chance almost choked on his drink, when a sexy smile curve on his approacher's lips.

'Wait, who the hell was he calling sweetheart?' Chance balled his fists.

The sexy, rich man before him smiled even more. Again, Chance's face heated up.

'Blushing? Maybe, but why?'

As a street, rowdy, smart a*s, he never blushed. He had lived his entire life scowling and being angry at his circumstances.

“We do what we can. Who said the world was only for the rich?” Chance tried for a smirk, taking a long drink from his flute, hiding his discomfort.

The billionaire laughed, the rich sound was pleasing to everyone's ears.

A lock of shoulder-length black hair falling over one of his grey eyes, which was just typical. He smoothed it back like he had done plenty of times to seduce women.

Chance took his moment of distraction to check him out, something he never done before. His eyes never lingered on the opposite sex for more than a minute.

His smooth skin was sun-kissed, maybe from surfing most days, when he wasn't busy f*cking some low self-estimate female or even a high classed whore that wants a bad boy.

His high cheekbones tinged with a healthy colour, and dimples.

'Bloody good looking just like the magazines says.' Chance had to turn his eyes away. He didn't like or feel comfortable with how he was admiring the man before him.

"The world is mine for the taking." Chance flashed him an even more gorgeous boyish grin, just right after calming down his racing heart.

“A charmer, aren’t you?” A thick English accent came.

'But, wasn't he American?' Chance wonders.

“Come join us.” The billionaire motioned with his head.

Chance glanced behind him, only to see that everyone in the room seemed to watch their exchange, holding their breath.

'What does he want with me?' Chance tried to figure out.

“I’m good, thanks.” Chance replied after a beat.

Collective gasped spread across the room, as all eyes now watched them intently.

The billionaire's head shot up with surprise.

'Maybe the first time he was ever rejected.' Chance decided.

With a slow, lazy grin spreading over his face, the billionaire closed the distance between him and Chance.

Then stoop down so they were at eye level.

Admirers shot Chance killing looks.

As if he had sought this attention, and called it upon himself, well, he kind of did. But still.

He was straight, and isn't into whatever was running through the female's jealous minds.

Chance noticed that Mr. player, is a few inches shorter than his seven feet figure.

Whereas Chance had a brawny build, the billionaire had lean muscles.

But can Chance take him if need be? Surely others will join the fight, not to mention security and personal bodyguards.

"What do you want with me?" Chance finally let out, getting agitated.

“For now, I’ll have your name.” The billionaire smiled, showing of perfect rows of pearly whites.

"Chance Greg--- Just Chance for now," he gradually answered.

“Well, I’m Royalty Kristoff Pantovic the 3rd. Call me Kris or Kristoff, whatever you like.” He extended a hand, his smile never wavering.

“Royalty?” Chance questioned, his tone mocking.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you more, but I am somewhat of a prince.” Kristoff smiled again.

'Is he toying with me?' Chance narrowed his eyes at Kristoff.

“You joined me for a reason. . .” Chance dragged on.

“Perhaps I seek friendship. Tell me about yourself.” Kristoff seemed genuinely interested, but then again, he could easily fake it.

'Why waste his time with me? Unlike the others here,' Chance thought.