Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1

by Jessica Lemmon

  Once Upon a Billionaire

  Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1

  Jessica Lemmon

  Lemmon Ink

  Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Lemmon

  All rights reserved.

  Once Upon a Billionaire is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  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.

  Published in the United States by Jessica Lemmon.

  Cover concept by Jessica Lemmon

  Cover design by Passion Creations

  Dedication

  For romance lovers everywhere.

  Read for fun!

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Charmed by the Billionaire PREVIEW

  Charmed by the Billionaire

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Lemmon

  Chapter One

  Vivian

  Vivian Vandemark isn’t my real name.

  It sounds fancy, though, doesn’t it? That alliteration of both Vs is to die for and reminds me of a classy label on clothing. Vandemark could have been the next Gucci. Maybe in another life.

  I changed my name because my actual last name has been tainted by the man who gave it to me. My father is a criminal. Was. Was a criminal. It’s hard to get used to the idea that he’s no longer living. One would think since he was in prison for the last several years he’d be easy to forget, but that’s only because I haven’t told you who he is yet.

  Walter Steele.

  Yes, that Walter Steele.

  The man who robbed his investors of millions and millions of dollars to line his own pockets. That man is my father.

  Was. Damn. That really is hard to wrap my head around.

  The trial was bananas. It lasted one hundred days, and during that time my mother, brother, and I were harassed nonstop by the press. That was six years ago. Since then I’ve fallen off the radar.

  My mother quite literally fell off the radar when she swallowed a lot of pain relievers and chased them with a lot of vodka. That was the day my father was sentenced. By then I was twenty-three and out of the house. My younger brother, Walt, was twenty. He’s been trying to finish what booze my mother didn’t since then. He’d been an addict most of his young life. I’ve never enjoyed escapism as a hobby.

  Until now, I suppose.

  Chicago is a far cry from Clear Ridge, Ohio. Clear Ridge has an unassuming Midwest vibe. The town is mostly shopping malls and chain restaurants, tall maple trees, and fences surrounding green, grassy yards. The live-work site currently being built is unique to this area. It’s impressive, even if the company building it is the bane of my boss’s existence.

  I’m employed in a government office in this aspiring city. The building I walk into each day is half the size of my father’s former summer home. Half.

  I used to be a high-powered executive. All my faith, trust, time, and savings were wrapped up in our family’s company. And then it all turned out to be a sham. On my watch, everything fell apart. Steele Investments toppled like a house of cards, taking my position with it. My father went down with the ship, the rest of my family “spared,” if you could say that.

  I’ve never felt more powerless. Watching my life crumble reminded me of TV footage of the World Trade Center vanishing in a plume of smoke on 9/11. When I left that life behind, I swore never again.

  I’ll never again stand by, unwittingly, while someone steals (steal/Steele—how about that for irony?) people’s life savings and retirement funds. I thought I was living the good life, but it was blood money.

  Now, I buy my clothes at department stores or Target—they have some really nice clothes, by the way. I also cook at home a lot—not well, but I’m learning. And I endure the office coffee even though I pass a drool-worthy Starbucks each and every morning on my way to work.

  I’m paying penance for a life I never chose. Thanks, Dad.

  The second I set foot in the office, I’m met with raised voices. The loudest of the two is Gary, an otherwise mild-mannered inspector at our bureau. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him raise his voice. My boss, Daniel, however, has a well-known temper. His blood pressure often runs high—you can tell by his reddened face.

  Gary and Daniel are in Daniel’s office, and while I can’t make out what they’re saying, it’s obvious they’re having a disagreement.

  “Amber.” I lean into my coworker’s cubicle. “What’s going on?”

  She looks over her shoulder and gives me a smile that is half amused, half surprised. “Gary is fit to be tied.”

  “Yeah, I hear that. What’s it about?”

  “Who do you think?” She raises one prim, blond eyebrow.

  “Nathaniel Owen,” I answer. The billionaire in charge of the live-work project has been mentioned about a billion times since I started working here, and never favorably.

  “The one and only.” Amber, still smiling, stands and leans a shoulder on the cubicle wall. We’re both facing Daniel’s closed door where the “conversation” is going strong. Nathaniel Owen’s name is used like a curse word in this place. I’ve never interacted with him personally, but I’m familiar with the type.

  Rich. Entitled. The kind of man who believes he’s above the law.

  The door swings open and Gary steps out, his mouth a firm line of disapproval. He huffs past Amber’s cubicle and we brace ourselves for Daniel’s wrath when he looks at us. No, wait.

  Looks at me.

  “Vandemark. Get in here.” He vanishes into his office.

  Daniel is in charge of my paycheck, a paycheck I need very badly, since I refuse to touch the money in an account I set up after Dad’s trial. That money is for my brother’s rehabilitation. Those places aren’t cheap, and I’ll drain every dime out of it if it makes him better. I failed him once—I won’t fail him again. He’s the only family I have left.

  Anyway, my paycheck. It’s all that stands between me and homelessness, so I tend to be more gracious to my boss than he deserves.

  Amber whispers “good luck” as I leave her side and enter the lion’s den, aka Daniel’s office.

  “Good morning.” I try to sound breezy.

  “Not even close.” He’s pacing the floor, hands on his hips, frown marring his receding hairline. “Nathaniel Owen is a burr in my ass.”

  That should be the motto of the Clear Ridge Bureau of Inspection.

  “I need you to go to the Grand Marin
site,” he tells me. “Owen’s crew is there today, and I have it on good authority he has a meeting with the mayor which means he’ll likely be onsite. I don’t care if the mayor is in Owen’s pocket. We are not. At least we aren’t any longer.” He mutters that last part while looking out the window facing the alley.

  “Not Gary?” I can’t imagine a scenario where Gary would do anything short of aboveboard.

  “Owen paid off Gary. He had to have.” Daniel’s face turns beet red. “That electrical inspection paperwork flew in here on wings for my approval. It was way too fast. Gary was bribed. Mark my words.”

  I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but in this case Daniel makes a great point. Nothing happens fast in our little government bureau, and it’s particularly suspicious that Owen seems to make things happen at lightning speed compared to everyone else.

  “Did Gary quit?”

  “I fired him.” Daniel puffs up his chest, proud.

  “Seriously?”

  “No one at CRBI accepts bribes and remains on my payroll.” He ices me with a glare. “You’ll do well to remember that since you’re heading over there.”

  My blood heats. I’d never accept a bribe. Especially one from a stubborn billionaire.

  “We have a narrow window to teach Owen a lesson. You’re just the woman to do it.”

  “I hope you understand that I will not falsify paperwork in order to shut him down, either. I respect your mission, Daniel, but I’m not going to stoop to Owen’s level.”

  My boss’s grin is a tad creepy, but approving. “I know you won’t. All you have to do is ask Owen for proof of a passed electrical inspection. He won’t be able to show you one because he doesn’t have one—not legally, anyway. I never signed off on it. Therefore, you can shut him down.”

  “Wouldn’t you be a better candidate?” I don’t do site visits. In my six months as chief desk jockey, I haven’t been to a single construction site. It’s part of my plan to lay low. If I’m not in charge of anything I can’t fuck it up. Not to mention I’d have no idea what to do once I got there. “We both know how much you’d enjoy nailing his ass to the wall.”

  “More than you can imagine, but my schedule is full. Since Gary was fired, the next inspector in line handles their shit-show. Our other inspectors are busy, and frankly, I don’t want to wait another second. So, you get a raise. Congratulations. This project is a nightmare.”

  Did he say raise? My ears perk. Despite wanting to lay low, an increase in my income would be nice. Given that I refuse to touch my brother’s and my nest egg, I have to keep the lights on at home somehow.

  “If Owen isn’t there when you get there, let the site manager know you mean business.”

  Nathaniel Owen has a reputation for completing projects on time, which is a rare and coveted quality in a builder. He also sidesteps rules and does things his way rather than follow the letter of the law. The city of Clear Ridge doesn’t take kindly to rule-benders, and Daniel hates them. Look at that, my boss and I have something in common.

  “No problem,” I assure Daniel.

  Maybe delivering justice will be cathartic. I can’t go back in time and keep my father in line, or recoup the money of the people who trusted him, but I can prevent Nathaniel Owen from lining his pockets with even more money. The Owen name is stamped on nearly every new build within a thousand miles. How much more can the guy possibly need?

  That’s the thing about greed. It knows no bounds.

  “I have a meeting in five minutes and they’ll probably keep me for the afternoon.” Daniel swipes his sweaty brow. He’s a good seventy pounds overweight and even on his tall frame, it’s too much girth. “Can I count on you not to fuck this up?”

  I force a smile. His wasn’t the most wholehearted vote of confidence, but I’ll take it. “Of course.”

  “He’s cocky, strong-willed and needs a knot tied in his tail,” Daniel says, not quite finished with his tirade. “You’re strong. Smart. The perfect candidate to take him on, Viv.” His voice gentles, and I feel an odd catch in my chest at the compliment.

  The last man who praised me was my father. When I learned I couldn’t trust him at the end, I wondered if every ounce of praise he gave me before was a lie. There are two versions of him in my head. The man who encouraged me to believe in myself and never give up, and the man who told me those things while stealing money from innocent people.

  Disgusting.

  “Shut him down,” my boss repeats. “Let’s teach him a lesson.”

  I draw my chin up at those words. Owen needs taught that you can’t do what you want and give the rules the finger.

  “Grab a hardhat from the back. Don’t want you busting that pretty noggin of yours and then suing me.”

  Aaaand…moment over.

  “Sure thing,” I reply blithely.

  I grab a hardhat from the back and walk outside to my 2014 Hyundai the car salesman assured me was “reliable.” I don’t even miss the sleek black Audi RS I used to own. Okay, I do a little. But a car is a car. This gem will deliver me to Grand Marin just as well as that Audi.

  Grand Marin is a soon-to-be massive live-work community. An open-air style shopping, dining, and retail area interspersed with offices for professionals as well as apartments for young, vibrant tenants who want to live in the middle of—or above—the action.

  Live-works have been growing in popularity, and whenever there’s a trend, I’ve noticed the Owen family has their mitts all over it. I’ve never had any personal dealings with Owen, but I know rich people. They’re not that great.

  As a former rich person, I speak from experience.

  I also know that Gary, the city’s former mild-mannered inspector, came into the office with his bottom lip dragging the ground each and every time he had to deal with this site. Gary was a softie, and we all liked him. He was rocking a five-foot-three frame and had a shy way of watching his shoes when he talked. Then he blows up at Daniel? I wouldn’t have guessed he’d raised his voice a day in his life before today.

  People can surprise you, though, and for me that should come as no surprise.

  Gary’s despondence, and the possibility that he took a bribe, proves what a bulldog this Owen guy can be.

  Bring it on, buddy. I’ve already been through the wringer.

  Daniel’s grumping about the mayor isn’t totally inaccurate. Rumor has it the Owens grease palms. Mayor Dick Dolans might well be their pet.

  I come to a stop the moment I merge onto the highway. So much for taking a shortcut. I-70 is a parking lot, and the heat index on the car’s thermometer reads 97° F.

  Worse, I’m wearing a synthetic-but-made-to-look-like-real-silk shirt and it’s sticking to me like a second skin. Waves of heat waft off the road as if the cars are in the process of being melted down into one big metal glob. The month of June is going out like it has a score to settle.

  Again: relate.

  I crank the A/C down and rest a hand on the steering wheel. I refuse to panic. I’ll get to Grand Marin when I get there. I wish I would have dug up some much-needed intel about the site before Daniel rushed me out of there. I know next to nothing about it.

  At least I’m wearing my nicest, most slimming pencil skirt and high heels. Not the best getup for tromping around a construction site, but it’s a good look when wanting to bust some billionaire balls. I smile to myself, straightening my shoulders.

  I’m out for a win for the good guys. A win for justice. I picture myself as Wonder Woman and lift my chin. If she did it in a bustier and panties, I can do it in a pencil skirt and knockoff silk.

  Ready or not, Nathaniel Owen, here I come.

  Chapter Two

  Vivian

  The Grand Marin site is further along than I imagined.

  The brick buildings are standing, windows and doors installed—manufacturers’ stickers on most of them. Dirt roads in every direction cut through the buildings and around them. When paved, those roads will lead through an open-air shopping cente
r with a small-town feel.

  Perfect for the city of Clear Ridge.

  Huge construction equipment and trucks stand sentinel, none of them in operation at the moment.

  I climb from the car, wilted from the A/C and sun beating the windshield during my drive. I was stuck in traffic for forty-eight minutes, and when I was moving again completed the twenty-minute trek to Grand Marin.

  Bright side, the traffic jam gave me an opportunity to call Amber for an assist. She did a thorough digging and found out many exceptions were made for this property. It’s been humming along even with Owen’s special requests. That they didn’t gum up the system boggles the mind.

  One of the city ordinances requires high wattage on streetlights, but Nathaniel Owen requested lower in order to preserve stargazing. Another ordinance requires sod, and Owen quibbled about that too, insisting forest flooring is better. Yet another states in this area of Ohio, the buildings must adhere to a specific style guide, but Owen insisted on using his own.

  Our resident billionaire builder either delights in being a pain in the city’s rear end and uses workarounds as a way to save money, or he enjoys watching city officials jump through hoops.

  I’m not in a jumping mood.

  I pull the white hardhat over my hair and carry a storage clipboard with my cell phone tucked inside. I’m going for aesthetics. I’m not an inspector, but I can look like one.

  The guys onsite seem to be in a light, airy mood, and there are a lot of them. Most holding Starbucks cups and leaning on either buildings or shovels. I must have stopped by at break time.