Rosabel And The Billionaire Beast (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 6)

by Catelyn Meadows

  Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

  Catelyn Meadows

  Copyright © 2020 by Catelyn Meadows

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Also by Catelyn Meadows

  About the Author

  Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

  He hired her …

  But she’ll show him who’s boss.

  Duncan Hawthorne is an absolute beast to work for and fires people at whim. Rosabel has survived as his personal assistant for a year.

  And people are starting to question why.

  Rumors swirl through the office.

  Rumors of a secret relationship.

  That couldn’t be further from the truth. Rosabel needs the large paycheck to help care for her father. When Duncan offers her a bonus to accompany him to Eureka Springs, she can’t say no.

  No matter that her reputation hangs by a thread.

  But the more time she spends with Duncan in this bewitching town, the more she realizes he’s hiding something …

  Something that may prove he’s not so beastly after all.

  1

  He should fire her.

  Any woman who could waltz into his office in a plaid blouse and a pencil skirt, with heels that emphasized just how toned her legs were and chestnut hair that swayed with the lilt in her hips, shouldn’t be allowed to deliver his coffee or set his memos on the desk or peer at him with such irritation in her rich chocolate eyes.

  Eyes that were rimmed with … dark circles?

  “Is something wrong?” Duncan asked.

  Rosabel muttered under her breath as she opened the blinds and rotated the spider plant, with its dripping green fronds, perched on the stand between his desk and the window. Sunlight created a glow around her.

  “What?” Rosabel’s exasperated tone broke through with sharpness.

  He shook himself. Stop staring at her, idiot. He’d only seen her every day for the last year and a half. Why should today be any different? She was still the same mind-boggling shade of beautiful she’d been the last time he’d looked at her.

  “Never mind,” he said, waving her away.

  Rolling her eyes, she strutted toward the printer to retrieve whatever papers she’d just sent through it.

  Hmm. She seemed to be more annoyed than usual. On top of her normal responsibilities and the ones she’d taken on herself—like filing the first-quarter employee payroll after sorting and balancing the accountant sent over—Duncan had told her to help with his best friend’s wedding plans. That might have something to do with it.

  Coordinating flights and hotels for someone she didn’t know—under Duncan’s request—wasn’t in her job description. Was she that bothered by it? He’d shrugged off her frustration with the request at the time. Maddox needed help, and Rosabel was always the first person Duncan turned to in a situation like that.

  He had hired her to carry out his demands as his personal assistant. Rosabel had to be used to Duncan adding the occasional unconventional request, didn’t she? She knew Maddox was Duncan’s best friend.

  She shifted through the papers. Duncan smirked and skimmed through email on his tablet, deleting as necessary, until a name stopped his heart.

  Beverly Hawthorne.

  His palms sweated. He pulled at his tie, which suddenly clenched around his throat. Mother emailed him? They hadn’t spoken in years, not since her final, harsh demand that he leave her house and never come back.

  Why had she ended their unspoken pact to pretend the other didn’t exist?

  Maybe the email was a fluke. Servers got hacked all the time, didn’t they? He’d be the last one to admit that suspicion, considering all the flak he’d given Rosabel about that very subject. She insisted on keeping physical copies of important paperwork in case Duncan’s system was ever infiltrated.

  He both dreaded and ached to open the email, but he wasn’t about to with anyone else in the room. “Get out,” he said.

  Rosabel turned, one hand on her hip. “Excuse me?”

  “Out. I’ve got something to do.”

  She settled into that adorable pout before stalking to his desk and slamming the papers down. A paper clip and the pen he was using skittered to the floor.

  Duncan’s hands trembled. He kept them in his lap instead of letting her see.

  She stared him down. “You know, ‘please’ goes a long way.”

  “I’m sure it does. Get out. Close the door behind you.”

  With an obvious scoff, Rosabel rolled her eyes and did as he asked.

  Duncan didn’t hesitate a moment. He tapped on the email and devoured the words on the screen.

  Duncan,

  It seems fitting to let you know that your grandmother is turning ninety-five in a week’s time. She requests you attend her birthday party on Friday, May seventh, at the Crystal Bridges Museum in Bentonville. Please let us know if you can make it.

  Mother

  That was it?

  Duncan’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. Words of apology for their harsh accusations the last time he’d been in Eureka Springs? Expressed desire to make amends?

  Memories of that awful day dragged on him from the minute he woke every morning. He’d tried his best to brush them off, but how could he forget the fact that his family blamed him for his grandfather’s heart attack?

  Now, Grandmother wanted him to come home. Mother hadn’t said a word about wanting to see him, but she’d always been a tough woman to read. She often concealed her feelings instead of wearing them for the world to see, like Rosabel.

  He’d thought about going home so many times, but the idea always made him anxious. Going back to Arkansas now would open a whole can of worms, and those things were nasty. He didn’t want to relive the pain.

  Ignoring the email was a definite option. Maybe that was why Mother had emailed instead of called. She was probably about as anxious about having him come home as he was. Maybe the email was an opening to pretend he’d never received it.

  In another instance, with any other person, he might have considered ignoring it. This time, he found he couldn’t. Grandmother, the woman who’d raised him while Mother had been busy building a career as a fashion designer, was turning ninety-five. Who knew how much time there was left to make things right?

  Mother hadn’t said a word about him being welcome to stay in his old room, and truth be told, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  While Eureka Springs was quaint and quirky, Duncan didn’t want to stay at any of the cutesy beds and breakfasts speckling the town—not when each location was old and filled with its own history. Rumor had it that several places were haunted by previous owners. Not only that, but dealing with n
oisy fellow travelers and their comings and goings didn’t hold much appeal. He’d always preferred to keep to himself.

  With a sniff, Duncan pulled open his desk drawer. The pamphlet showcasing luxurious getaway homes in a mountain cove just outside of Eureka Springs sounded better and better by the minute. He’d discarded the idea when the pamphlet had arrived in the mail, but why not buy a house on Beaver Lake after all? He’d have his own place, which would be up to his standards. He could visit and fish or simply escape whenever he liked, without his family ever needing to know. Sure, there would be neighbors, but at least they’d be from his own tax bracket.

  A lake house retreat, far enough from Eureka Springs that he could come and go without telling his family, and yet close enough for a visit to his hometown …

  Another idea struck him. Google at hand, he searched for the Painted Lady house. It’d been the cause of all the familial mayhem in the first place, but Duncan had always been a dab hand at investments—more so than his father or grandfather. If he could manage to purchase that house and offer it as a gift to Grandmother, could the gesture serve to soften the older woman toward him?

  Grandmother hadn’t contacted him since the argument, and he hadn’t tried to talk to her. He wasn’t about to go back to Arkansas without some kind of plan. Argument or no, Duncan wasn’t sure he could live with himself knowing he had the chance to make things right and didn’t take it.

  That settled it. He would go back.

  But he had to make a phone call first.

  * * *

  Duncan’s hands shook. He skimmed through his contacts, but Beverly Hawthorne wasn’t one of them. Of course not. He’d deleted his mother from his phone—and his computer too.

  Rosabel glided past his office window. She paused at one of the cubicles, tossed her hair, and laughed at something Charity, the receptionist, said, before both women parted in opposite directions.

  What if he did have Mother’s number after all?

  He strode out, ignoring the stirring hum of conversation and clicking computer keys and the way people looked away to avoid eye contact, and entered Rosabel’s office. The place was empty, but the filing cabinets didn’t care that he was there. He marched over and started with the top drawer of the closest cabinet, thumbing through every single file.

  Anticipation grew with every folder he skimmed. His whole company was here, in these files. Another drawer closed; another opened. He searched through file after file, until finally, he found the one he was after. He wasn’t sure how Rosabel had managed it, but the name Beverly Hawthorne said enough.

  “Kudos, Rosie,” he muttered, yanking the file out, slamming the drawer shut, and storming back to his office.

  Duncan slapped the file onto the papers Rosabel had left on his desk. She usually straightened everything for him as she came and went. He liked to leave a mess just because he knew how much the disarray bothered her. This time, he ignored the clutter. He saw only the information in the folder.

  Palms sweating, he dialed Mother’s number. His heart didn’t have time to slow before she answered with a dignified “Hello?”

  “Mother,” he said with an exhale. What was the deal? He never got this nervous.

  A pause. “Duncan?”

  Why did her voice have such a noticeable effect on him? He wanted to be as callous as he’d been the day of the argument. The day he’d left. He shoved the memories down.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Funny, she didn’t sound pleased. She sounded detached and impartial, almost annoyed that he’d called. Why should she be? She was the one who’d emailed him.

  “I got your email. I wanted to …”

  “You could have replied. I didn’t need a call.”

  Another pause, long enough to be awkward. Words in a business deal always came like cake to him, but talking to his mom after all this time? He might as well have had his tongue cut out.

  “Are you coming?” she asked. “I’ll set a guest room for you at the cottage.”

  Relief stole over him. If she was inviting him to stay at home, that had to mean she didn’t hate him as much as he’d thought. Even so, he hurried to contradict her. If a phone call was this awful, he wasn’t about to stay there. “There’s no need,” he said. “I have a place to stay.” Or he would, once he closed on the lake house he intended to buy. “But yes, I’m coming.”

  His throat fisted over the statement. He yanked at his collar and reclined in his office chair, fiddling with the pamphlet on his desk displaying Beaver Lake and the mansions available there.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  This time Mother’s voice betrayed a hint of curiosity. “Are you bringing … anyone with you, or will you be coming alone?”

  She was asking if he was in a relationship? In an instant, Rosabel’s face flooded his mind, from her wide, engaging brown eyes that could flash with frustration or delight depending on her mood, to the line of her cheekbones and the pout of her lips.

  Why did she need to know if he was bringing someone? He wasn’t going to stay at his childhood home; Mother wouldn’t need to make extra accommodations. There was the party; maybe she needed to know for that, though knowing Mother, she was probably already planning on hundreds of guests. What was one more?

  The only other explanation was that Mother wanted to know if he was dating someone.

  Rosabel traipsed past his office window once more. An unexpected smile quirked his lips at the sight of her, but he forced it down. Without thinking, he answered, “Yes. I’m bringing someone special.”

  2

  The rumors about himself and Rosabel hadn’t escaped Duncan. In fact, he blamed those rumors for making him look at her differently than he had before. Rising from his office chair, he wandered to the window separating his office from the rest of the cubicles outside and parted the blinds further. Coffee mug in hand, papers tucked in her arm, Rosabel swept past everyone, completely unaware of the way her coworkers watched her.

  Vultures. They salivated for something juicy, for either Rosabel or Duncan to confess what they all thought was going on, or better yet, to catch the two of them at it. He couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing her had crossed his mind more often than he could count.

  But Rosabel was his assistant. They couldn’t mix business with pleasure—that never worked out well. Like it or not, Duncan had to keep his distance from her. Maintaining space between them was the main reason he snapped at her. No one could believe there was anything going on between them if she hated him.

  Why, then, should he invite her to go home with him? Duncan squirmed inside. He’d never considered himself a coward, but the truth was, he didn’t want to go home alone. There was something comforting about Rosabel. Something familiar, and therefore, grounding. She made him feel capable. He wanted her there when he faced his family again.

  “Rosabel,” he barked, knowing she was close enough to hear. He didn’t miss the cubicle gophers peeking their heads out as though he’d called one of them instead.

  Soon enough, the handle turned, and there she was. Instead of standing in the doorway, she entered his office and closed the door. She was exasperated, as usual, looking just as tired as she had earlier. Her hair draped in chestnut waves past her shoulders, and she smoothed a hand over her pencil skirt.

  “Do you even hear the way you talk to me?” she said, without asking what he wanted as she usually did. “I should quit.”

  This was new. She’d never talked about quitting before. Amusing, considering how he’d recently—jokingly—contemplated firing her. He moved in closer, momentarily forgetting what he’d called her in here for. “Okay, then. Why don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Why don’t you quit?”

  Rosabel’s mouth parted. She really needed to stop wearing that lip gloss.

  Thoughts fled, unable to follow a direct course with her standing so near. He could tell something troubled he
r. She was tired, that much was obvious, but a different kind of weariness settled over her. He wanted to ask what the problem was, but he already did once this morning. Doing so again would destroy the careful nothing he’d kept between them thus far.

  “I need the job.”

  Duncan tucked two fingers into his pocket. “You’re a strong, talented, efficient woman. You could find work in any number of places. So why don’t you?”

  The most delicious shade of pink filled her cheeks. She didn’t dip her chin or show any other sign of flattery that could put him at ease or give an inclination that she was affected by him. Instead, she pegged her gaze right to him as mysterious confusion crossed over her face. “You paid me a compliment,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You just said something nice about me. Right to my face.”

  This time, Duncan’s cheeks heated. The rumors were already thick enough. He didn’t need to go adding to them by complimenting her. “You’re avoiding my question.”

  She inched another step closer. “You’re avoiding the fact that you said something nice about me.”

  “Pfft.” He fluttered his lips and stalked back, needing to space to think. “I say all kinds of nice things about you.”

  Rosabel folded her arms. “Sure you do.”

  “I do. You’re just never around to hear it.”

  Her eyes softened in a way they never had before, revealing the vulnerability he’d sensed the minute she’d stepped in. What was going on? Typically, she was all claws-out, ready to spring. “Why not?” Her voice was deathly soft.