The Millionaire Mistress

The Millionaire Mistress

4.3 44
by Tiphani Montgomery

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"Sex, Money, and Mayhem! The Millionaire Mistress is what the streets have been waiting for. Tiphani officially earned her crown when she penned this explosive and sexy novel."
—Treasure E. Blue, Essence® bestselling author of Harlem Girl Lost

When times get rough, Chloe needs a fresh start—and some serious cash. Convinced

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"Sex, Money, and Mayhem! The Millionaire Mistress is what the streets have been waiting for. Tiphani officially earned her crown when she penned this explosive and sexy novel."
—Treasure E. Blue, Essence® bestselling author of Harlem Girl Lost

When times get rough, Chloe needs a fresh start—and some serious cash. Convinced her body is her most valuable asset, she puts herself to work in the bedroom. But she's still hoping to find a man who'll get her out of the game. So she's devastated when her cousin, Oshyn, snags a drug dealer with money to burn. Oshyn flaunts her cars and jewels, driving Chloe insane with jealousy—and determined to steal her lover. But when sex doesn't work, a desperate Chloe plans the ultimate betrayal . . . .

"By all means please judge this book by its cover.  .  .'Cause it's HOT." —Danielle Santiago, Essence® bestselling author of Little Ghetto Girl

"Filled with sex and downright excitement from the bloody catfights to the jealousy.  .  ." —The Urban Book Source

"Dramatic and exciting. With this novel, Tiphani Montgomery is ready to take the fiction world by storm." —

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Editorial Reviews

Brandi Tarver
I must say that this has to be one of the best books I have ever read in a long time. It just seemed so perfect. It pulls you in from the very beginning, helping you escape your own world and problems, and doesnt let you go until the end. It has drama and suspense and once you get started you cant put it down. I cant wait to read the sequel. I know its gonna be crazier than the first.

Product Details

Power Play Media
Publication date:
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.90(d)
Age Range:
18 Years

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The Millionaire Mistress

By Tiphani Montgomery


Copyright © 2006 Tiphani Montgomery
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-6325-4

Chapter One



"Where the fuck have you been?" I asked Trent, smelling his funky weed from across the room.

He immediately ducked from the cordless phone that was flying straight toward his head. It only missed because of my swollen eyes. I had been crying the ugly cry.

"Bitch, don't question me. Your young ass needs to play your position, and be lucky I'm still taking care of you!"

"Oh, so now I'm a young bitch? I'm eighteen years old and eight months pregnant with your son and I'm a bitch? Two fucking days, Trent! You been gone for two fucking days, and you couldn't even call to let me know that you were okay?" I stood with my hands below my protruding belly, ready to slice his ass. "You come walking in here at nine o'clock in the morning after being missing in action, and I'm a bitch? When did it get like this? What did I do to deserve being treated like shit?" I asked, crying like a little baby. I promised myself I wouldn't get soft, at least not this time. I couldn't help it, though; my feelings were torn apart. "When did you stop loving me?" I screamed.


Dead silence.

I stared at the man who used to love me. The man whose six-two frame used to smother me with hugs after a long day of getting money. The man who loved to sit between my legs and kiss my thighs while I braided his long, thick hair. I looked at the gold fronts on the bottom of his teeth, which enhanced his already perfect smile, remembering how sexy he used to make me feel. Trent looked a little different now—same body, different soul.

I wished I had a sixth sense so I could figure out exactly what was wrong with him. Him staying out all night was becoming all too familiar. I guess in a way part of me was in denial. I watched him ignore me as I stared off into space. Maybe reminiscing about the past will bring back some good memories, I thought.

It's funny how your life turns out, because I didn't like Trent when we first met two years ago. We were at Rush-Henrietta High School's basketball tournament. He was a twenty-year-old, well-known dope boy and stick-up kid, known for having money and a flashy lifestyle, but I wasn't impressed. Most of the people I hung around were guys, and I knew about all the games they played with the countless bitches they chased. None of my homeboys were worth shit, and they didn't want anything more than some pussy or head from whatever groupie was willing to give it to them.

To me, Trent wasn't different, but he was annoyingly persistent. He had a little dough, and word on the street was that he snatched up any chick that crossed his path. It was out of character for him to have someone like me brushing him off. He was used to bitches dropping their panties at the drop of a dime, but not me. I wasn't interested in being added to the "I fucked her" club.

He was persistent as hell. I remember days when Trent would wait for me at my bus stop with dozens of red roses and fluffy teddy bears. At first, I was hesitant, but eventually I accepted the roses, stuffed animals, and the other gifts that followed.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I finally asked one day, aggravated at his constant uninvited presence. To the onlookers, he was just a sweet guy trying to treat me nice, but I knew the truth; boys were all the same. He wanted something in return for all the gifts he'd gotten me, and it was most likely pussy. I was one of the few virgins left in my school, and I wasn't going to ruin my reputation by giving up some ass.

Trent begged to take me out, promising that if I didn't enjoy myself he would leave me alone for good. That was an offer too good to refuse, so I agreed to the one date, and since then we were inseparable. Not once did he try to fuck or disrespect me in any way. It wasn't until a few months later that I decided to give him what I cherished the most, my virginity.

Sex with Trent was everything a girl could imagine. His gentle touch and delicate stroke had me hooked. He knew exactly how to make me feel good and I loved every minute of it. I guess that's why after I found out about my pregnancy, my excitement was uncontrollable. I knew at that point I had him for life.

While we were pillow talking one night, Trent told me that he knocked me up on purpose. Surprisingly to him, I didn't get upset. The smile on my face widened and I jumped into his arms without hesitation. The fact that we would be a family had me happier than a faggot with a dick in his mouth.

On occasions, he would always tell me how much he cared for me, and that he wanted me to have his son, be his wife, and raise his family. I believed him and had no doubt that he'd be a good father to his children. Trent vowed to raise our kids better than his crack-head parents. He had five sisters and one brother, all younger and still living in the foster care system. He hated his mother for that. Maybe that's why he insisted on serving her when the monkey on her back came scratching.

I asked him once why he insisted on giving his mother the drugs. That was after I watched her deteriorating body thank him for the poison that ran through her veins daily. I told him that he needed to help her. My suggestion was to admit her into rehab and not condone her habit any longer. I tried putting myself in his shoes, but just couldn't see doing that to my mother.

Trent snapped, with a little hostility in his voice, saying that he would rather give drugs to her for free than to wonder which one of his homeboys she fucked or sucked to get her fix. He also made it clear to never question him again about his mother. I left the subject alone, still feeling crazy about the whole idea of him serving his mother, but I realized that his back was against the wall with very few options. Deep down inside, I think he wanted to be responsible for her slow death.

When we talked about the pregnancy, Trent informed me that Steve, his best friend, would be the godfather. Steve and Trent grew up together on the east side of Rochester, New York. They were closer than brothers, the only family each had ever known. When I was four months pregnant, Steve went missing. His girlfriend called Trent when he didn't come home from a run. Trent immediately knew something was seriously wrong. In Rochester, New York, hustling and coming up missing only meant one thing ... death.

Trent searched and searched, and asked questions from Rochester to Harlem. Two months later, Steve's body was found decapitated inside of a plastic bag at the bottom of the Genesee River. Some said it was the mob, others said it was a stick-up gone wrong, but no matter what happened that night, Trent hadn't been right ever since.

His behavior mocked that of a person whose weed had been laced with angel dust. His mind was gone. Then the rumors came. It seemed this nigga just couldn't keep his dick in his pants. He was never satisfied. I ended up cutting a couple of bitches up over him. With my son in my stomach, I foolishly fought over dick that wasn't mine. Apparently never was.

I recalled a time when I was five months pregnant. I asked Trent if he wanted to go to the movies to get his mind off of Steve. He hadn't been social, and I wanted us to spend a little more time together. He brushed me off, saying that he was busy and needed to make a run. I was hurt as hell when he strutted out the door, leaving a trail of his old-ass Cool Water cologne behind. Things seemed suspicious, but I couldn't pinpoint anything.

I yelled as the door shut in my face, "Don't forget my food!"

That night I decided to stay in and take some time for myself. My cell phone rang a few times, but I ignored it. My instinct told me it was Trent so I decided to check the caller ID. I saw that it was my homegirl, Apples, so I quickly answered the phone.

Before I could say hello, she unloaded all the details of her spotting Trent and some light-skinned bitch that went to Franklin High School at the movies. She said everybody saw them hugged up and kissing all over each other. I was sick to my stomach! I asked that motherfucker to go with me to the movies, and he's there with some bitch! I could hear Apples hyperventilating through the phone. She acted as if Trent was her man. The next thing I knew, she told me to get ready, she was on the way to my house.

I hurried when her words, "If we hustle, we can catch them as they come out the theatre," registered.

I remember hanging up the phone, still shocked at what I had just heard. But he was supposed to be on the way home with my Country Sweet Chicken, I thought, wondering why he would do something like that to me. His actions explained a lot of things, though. Trent hadn't touched me in a while, and maybe a new woman was why. He had gotten another bitch and was slowly kicking me out of his life, but I wasn't going without a fight.

Apples pulled up to the crib, and we made it back to the movies in record time. We cased the parking lot, making sure Trent's burgundy Tahoe was still there. We spotted his truck, parked in the cut, and watched like two detectives on a stakeout. I rubbed my hands nervously around my belly, wishing my baby could comfort me. An hour passed and there still was no sign of Trent or his bitch. I banged my fist on the dash.

"Damn, what the fuck did they go see?" I shouted.

Apples said nothing. She was ready for war. Just as she pulled out the Vaseline, we finally noticed a group of people walking out of the theater. I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I saw Trent with his arm wrapped around some chick's shoulders. He had a big smile on his face, something that I hadn't seen in a while.

I jumped out of the car like Rambo, and ran straight toward them. Not saying a word, I swung, cutting the bitch in the face with my box cutter. She didn't have any idea who I was, and she definitely didn't know what I'd cut her with. Trent was shocked. He looked like he wanted to run for help, but instead his eyes stayed glued on me. I'm not sure if it was because of all the blood that was squirting out of her face, or because he had been caught. Maybe it was a combination of both, but either way, the nigga quickly removed his arm as she fell to the ground holding her face.

Trent opened his mouth to justify himself, and before he could utter an explanation, I swung the blood-covered box cutter toward his face, barely missing it. Before I knew it, his punk ass was screaming like a bitch. His right hand had been split wide open, and I didn't give a fuck.

My young mind couldn't comprehend why any of that happened to me. I was a model girlfriend, didn't hang out, cooked, cleaned, and did my best to keep him satisfied. I even moved out of my Grandma's crib and in with him once I got pregnant.

Although Trent forgave me after the incident at the movies, our relationship was never the same. Just when I thought things would get better, Trent eventually started coming home later and sometimes not at all. I was tired of being treated like the other woman, and decided to stand my ground.

When I questioned him about his late hours, he'd get verbally abusive and threaten to leave me, but today was different. I didn't give a fuck what happened. I was sick of being treated like shit, sick of being neglected. This can't be what love is about, I reasoned with myself, thinking this wasn't the man I met two years ago. I was determined to put an end to his madness.

"Trent," I said, bringing myself back to reality. I had done so much reflecting that I forgot I'd asked him a question. "I asked you, when did you stop loving me?" I repeated, as if he hadn't heard me the first time.

Still no answer.

He made himself comfortable at the kitchen table, pretending to be busier than he really was, counting out the money scattered around the money machine.

"Where the fuck you been?" I screamed, frustrated that he was ignoring me. I knocked the neatly placed stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills off the table. The dirty money fluttered everywhere, hitting us in the face as it landed. There was a light scent of currency in the air that I hated. I didn't know if it was because of the pregnancy, but I could smell everything, especially dirty money.

"You stupid bitch!" Trent yelled.

I flinched from his deformed hand that was raised in the air, the hand that I marked for life. Trent had never hit me before, even when I stabbed him. I guess he realized what he was doing and put his hand back down.

"Stop asking me all these stupid ass questions, Oshyn," he said while walking away from the table. "Now have this shit picked up, some food on my table, and your pussy ready when I get out the shower!" he demanded.

So much for being hard, I thought to myself.

Thoughts of leaving Trent entered my mind, but I loved him. He was all I had ever known. He was my first, my last, my everything, as Barry White would say. I thought this was how a relationship was supposed to go.

I put my long hair into a ponytail because it kept sticking to my tear-stained face. My round belly and weak heart didn't allow for easy bending, so I took my time picking up the mess I made when his cell phone rang. At that point, I was frustrated and definitely didn't want Trent to leave out for a run. I was ready to hide the phone until I glanced at the caller ID.

"Hello?" I answered quickly, wanting to know who Chocolate was.

"Is this Oshyn?" she asked with a nasty attitude. I knew where this was headed. I'd had these conversations before—different bitch, same topic.

"Who the fuck is this?" I barked.

"This is Chocolate and I want to let you know that Trent is my man, and I'm pregnant with his baby, bitch, so you need to stop calling him in the middle of the night so that we can get some sleep!"

"Who the fuck you think you talking to? You can't know who I am!" I said, hitting her back with a question. Anyone who knew my M.O. wouldn't dare step to me with this bullshit, especially over this nigga. I'd kill a bitch over his dick. "Where you at, bitch? I'm coming to see you!"

"I'm at 521 North Clinton Avenue," she said, almost daring me to come.

This dumb broad actually lived on my side of town. "I'm on my way!" I shouted. After hanging up the phone, I considered asking Trent who Chocolate was, but chose not to, considering how our conversation just ended. Going to her crib was a must. I was too furious not to go. Besides, she probably had information that would satisfy some of my unanswered questions. I hated the thought of going out into the freezing cold, but this was crucial.

I threw on my black North Face coat, Timberlands and oversized mittens, and snuck out the crib. I ran up the street to the corner store and, just my luck, a cab was sitting there waiting for a fare. He took me to Chocolate's house, and I paid him a little extra to wait just in case something popped off.

I arrived at the spot, raced to the door, and started kicking it as hard as I could.

"Come out, bitch!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping that she heard me. I kicked the door harder, leaving a slight dent on the aging wood. It finally opened.

She was short, struggling to even be five-two, and chunky. Her wavy red hair touched her wide waist and protruding stomach that confirmed her claim of being pregnant. The bitch was huge and her nose was quite scary. Yeah, she was pregnant for real.

"What's up now?" she asked, pointing her chubby fingers in my face.

That was the biggest mistake she could have ever made. I never talked, just swung. I spit out my razor like a professional blade slinger and slashed her face wide open from her eyebrow to her cheek. Chocolate's flesh split wide open and blood gushed everywhere. She fell to her knees on the wooden porch and screamed in agony while trying to hold her face together. No one heard us, and if they did, they didn't care. These were the sounds that we were used to in the hood, and it was music to everyone's ears compared to random gunshots.

I kicked her in the stomach multiple times with my Timbs, until I could barely breathe. I glanced behind me to make sure no one was watching. With all of my might, I turned around and hit her one last time.

"Don't call Trent's fucking phone again!" I demanded, still gasping for air. My chest heaved in and out heavily as I walked back to the cab.

I was back to the crib in less than twenty minutes flat. I barged in the house with my hand caressing my cramping stomach, screaming to the top of my lungs.

"Trent! Who the fuck is Chocolate ... Treeennnt?"


Excerpted from The Millionaire Mistress by Tiphani Montgomery Copyright © 2006 by Tiphani Montgomery. Excerpted by permission of DAFINA BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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