Mister Billions: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I pull on my happy-go-lucky grin, wanting to make my friend feel better. “We’ll figure this out," I assure her. "I’m a few weeks behind on my rent, too. Actually, I need to go talk to Mr. Kingston and try to work out a deal with him. You should come with me.”

  Iris shakes her head, looking sick to her stomach. She's not great at having uncomfortable conversations. “I can’t. I’m so far behind. I’m not ready to face him yet.”

  “You’ll be fine. Mr. Kingston is great. For a rich guy, he’s pretty understanding."

  It's well known that most businesses around here struggle during the winter months. Bordering on Lake Michigan, Crescent Harbor is a small blip of a town in the northernmost part of Illinois. Its breathtaking shoreline, quirky shops and lively nightspots draw throngs of visitors once the temperature starts rising but for the rest of the year, its five thousand residents are definitely not enough to keep the coffers of the local businesses overflowing.

  Money gets tight for everybody when the snow falls and the out-of-towners retreat inland. Mr. Kingston knows that.

  Things will get better. At least I hope so.

  I flick off the lights and Iris follows me to the door.

  “I almost forgot,” she says, and without looking at her, I can sense the smile in her voice. “I heard from Jessa that you were totally flirting with a hot guy at the coffee shop the other day.”

  I groan out loud as I lock up. “Damn, my sister is such a gossip. I thought you had bigger things to worry about than my non-existent sex life.”

  My relationship track record isn't great. Yeah, guys try to hook up with me now and then. They want to mess around 'cause that's just the way guys are. But the minute they realize that I'm a handful, that I'm more than they bargained for, they tend to bolt.

  I’m far from a virgin but I’ve never been in a real relationship. At least, nothing worth getting into specifics about.

  But it's whatever. I'm focused on building my business and the less distractions the better.

  Iris buries her face in my shoulder, suppressing a weak laugh. “Bear with me. I just need a break from all the drama in my own life.”

  I sigh. “Well, the guy at the coffee shop was a complete asshole, so I was definitely not flirting with him.”

  She hooks her arm through mine. “Sometimes arguing is foreplay,” she quips as we stroll down the street arm in arm.

  I roll my eyes. She couldn’t be more wrong. “I can assure you that it was not foreplay. In any form.”

  When we reach the intersection, I turn to give her a quick hug. But as we're about to part ways, I realize that her sad eyes are back. As her friend, I just want to make her smile again.

  “Fine,” I spit out grudgingly. “I'll admit it. The guy was kind of good-looking. Are you happy now?”

  She breaks into a face-wide grin that looks extra-ridiculous under her stupid hat. "Tell me more..." She rubs her hands together like a comic book villain.

  I fight a smile and turn in the direction of my landlord’s office building. "You're a weirdo," I call out as I go.

  Sure, I can admit that the jerkface was good-looking. But what I can’t admit is that his gorgeous face played in my mind last night as I fingered myself to sleep.

  6

  Cannon

  With bleary eyes, I blink at the mess of documents fanned out across the conference room table. I went back to my estate to catch a few hours of much-needed shuteye last night but not nearly enough. And now I've barricaded myself in Kingston Realties’s top floor conference room. I’d be concerned about taking over so much space in an office that isn't mine, but it’s become abundantly clear that no one cares. I could paint the space in a yellow and green zebra motif, and no one would even notice.

  On the side wall of the room, I’ve begun mapping out my Fuck Carl plan. Taking full liberties with the office supply of paper and tape, I think my strategies are playing out quite nicely.

  Pinned in the center of the wall is a grainy photo of Carl’s ugly mug. All around it are sticky notes and transaction records and clippings detailing his different assets and liabilities. I have graphs and flowcharts branching off to the sides with notes mapping out the systematic demise of the asshat’s wobbly empire.

  Carl's assets are detailed there in black and white, with colorful post-its and newspaper clippings and receipts thrown in, too. From his shares in various failing startups to the bonds his aunt Edna gave him for his bar mitzvah and his fishing boat in Tortola.

  And I plan to wreck it all.

  “Are you sure this is everything?” I ask my lawyer.

  “My law firm used every means at its disposal—legal and not so legal—and these are the last assets we were able to uncover,” Frank assures me.

  Good, very good. I barely resist the urge to rub my hands together. I cannot wait to destroy Carl, to show him exactly what he’s worth. Utterly nothing. That’s what he’s worth.

  The backstabbing asshole won’t even be able to go fishing when I’m through with him.

  This is going to be way too much fun.

  I'll admit to having a little hop in my step as I grab a file off the table and head out toward the photocopy room. My balls are practically aching to add these documents to my wall of doom. But right as I pass by the elevator, the door slides open.

  My neck snaps back at the sight of the woman traipsing off the lift. She stops in her tracks with a hard blink.

  Wild hair. Baby doll eyes. Outfit a mess.

  “You...” she seethes under her breath.

  At the sight of her, I feel like someone kicked out the chair from under me. I make a mental note to figure out what the fuck is up with this tight feeling in my chest. In the meantime, I manage to pull off a smirk.

  "Good morning to you, too, Stormy. Look at you, beaming as always. Sunshine follows you everywhere you go, doesn't it?”

  Tone light. Gaze aloof. Cock hard. She doesn't need to know that last part, though.

  She responds, words bathed in fire. "Oh, vampires aren't supposed to be out in the sunlight. You really ought to stop taking those kinds of risks with your wellbeing, Mr. Billions."

  A chuckle shoots past my lips. Christ, she’s fiery.

  She narrows her wide, inquisitive eyes on me. “And what are you doing here anyway?" Then she glances around the rental office and her expression shifts with panic. "Is Mr. Kingston your landlord, too? Please don't tell me you're opening a business in Crescent Harbor.”

  Her face is so expressive. Her eyes broadcast every little thought that flits through her mind, every fleeting feeling that moves through her body. I find that so endearing.

  Yes, she may be a handful but I come from a world where every woman is putting on an act. It's refreshing to meet someone sincere, genuine, real. It makes me feel something.

  I pluck my phone from my pocket and boredly scroll across the screen so I don't have to face these unsettling desires. "Me? Open a business in Crescent Harbor? That's cute." I spit out a laugh.

  A hand leaps to her chest. "Oh, thank god. The idea of having to deal with you at merchant's association meetings was almost enough to make me close up shop."

  When I step forward, the sweetness of her wild hair crawls into my lungs. Girly and crisp. Grapefruit juice. That's what she smells like. Grapefruit juice on a hot-as-hell summer day.

  I lower my voice by her ear. “I'm not opening up shop in town but let me give you some business advice; it's not a good business practice to go around insulting your landlord’s son.”

  I pull back just in time to witness her expression crumple. She examines my face. "You're..."

  "Cannon Kingston." With a smirk, I extend a hand.

  She freezes. She blinks. Her chest expands and her nostrils flare. Then she marches right past me. "Didn't ask."

  I drop my head and shake it. God. This girl is fire.

  I’m too intrigued to go off on my photocopying mission, so I hover nearby as she approaches the secretary. “Morning Sally. Ca
n I speak with Mr. Kingston?” Stormy asks.

  The bored-looking woman glances up from the sudoku puzzle she's hunched over. “Sorry, Ms. Robson. He hasn’t come in yet today. What is this with regards to?”

  Stormy recoils, appalled. “Hey, now. None of that. Call me Alexia. Hell, call me Lexi.” She takes a glimpse of me over her shoulder like she's making sure I heard her name.

  Yeah, I heard it, honey. Loud and clear.

  Alexia. Alexia Robson. I like it. For some reason, it suits her.

  And it appears that Alexia Robson happens to be a business owner and a tenant of Kingston Realties. I wasn’t expecting that, but then again, I should know by now that half the townies I run into will have some sort of tie to one of our many assets. Ms. Stormy continues to catch me off guard.

  She shoots me another glare over her shoulder. This one is less defiant, more self-conscious. I don't avert my eyes to give her the privacy she seems to be seeking. Instead, I smirk and lean a shoulder on the doorframe, feet crossed at the ankles.

  She cuts her eyes at me and bends over the desk. And oh, what a glorious view. Tight waist, firm ass, legs for days and weeks and months. “I’d rather just speak to Mr. Kingston directly, if that’s okay?” She talks in a hushed voice.

  Sally smiles a motherly smile. “Of course, Lexi. Does next week work?” Stormy nods. “Great, I’ll get you on his calendar then.”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. A string of new text messages. I pull it out to check.

  Carl: Hey buddy

  Carl: How's it going?

  Carl: DataCo's credit cards are frozen. You happen to know anything about that?

  My mood sours instantly. Well, thanks for killing my vibe, asshat.

  At the unpleasant interruption, I realize that I'm way too invested in Alexia and her secrets. I have enough shit of my own to deal with. Plus, I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how very intriguing I find her.

  Hell, I don't even want to admit to myself how very intriguing I find her.

  I peel myself away from the doorframe and wander down the hall to the copy room. I force myself to think business-thoughts, billionaire-thoughts, world-domination-thoughts as I arrange my file in one of the feeder trays and prep the ancient machine to copy my documents.

  The stack of papers lying abandoned in the print tray catches my attention and that makes me irrationally angry. Good god, not only is the staff here incompetent, they are also disgustingly lazy. How hard is it to take a break from eating corn chips and playing sudoku to run some papers through the damn shredder?

  Lucky for them, I've decided not to meddle in the way my Dad is running this business or else they'd all be in the unemployment line by the end of the day.

  I move to grab the sheets to dump them in the recycling bin. But when my eyes graze the top sheet, my steps falter.

  I read the first page. And then the next. And then the next.

  "What the fuck am I looking at...?" I put on my glasses and drop into the folding chair beside the fax machine.

  My eyes scan the list of Kingston Realties's assets and corresponding balance sheets. There’s a hell of a lot more red ink on this page than black. All along I thought that Kingston Realty Holdings’ biggest problem was employees eating junk food and playing puzzles on the company dime.

  I was wrong.

  No, the company’s biggest problem is in the negative cash flow, the shrinking asset list, the outrageous debt value.

  The truth is staring me straight in my face. My grandfather's company—his legacy—it's dying a fast and painful death.

  My entire world tips off its axis. And suddenly, plotting revenge on Carl and Margot isn't the center of the universe anymore.

  7

  Lexi

  Who'd you rather?" Jessa holds the magazine to her chest and aims an excited look at Iris. "An athlete or a rockstar?”

  Iris rolls her eyes at my sister from where she’s wiping down tables across the sandwich shop.

  “I’m serious,” Jessa insists with a giggle, tucking her legs beneath her in her creaky plastic chair.

  “And so am I." Iris sweeps her arm up and down, gesturing to her petite, voluptuous body. "What kind of athlete or musician are we talking about here? A blind pingpong player? A clarinet player with a beer gut and body odor?”

  “You stop it,” I chide. “You are a prize and you are gorgeous." I tip my cup and slurp soda through my straw.

  Penny struts out of the back room and pauses to study her cousin's outfit. "You're a babe, Iris, but that frumpy uniform you're wearing really isn't helping the situation."

  Iris scoffs despite the laughter in her eyes. "How dare you?"

  Her cousin grins and shrugs. "I can get away with saying that because you're the boss of this sandwich shop, so honey, that ugly uniform is a choice.”

  Jessa and I laugh as Iris defensively smooths her hands down the front of her work t-shirt before adjusting her matching visor. Both items have Merlini's Sandwich Shop screen-printed across the fabric. "Excuse me, Miss Hot Stuff, but not everybody gets to show up to work looking like Jessica Rabbit come-to-life."

  Penny throws an arm around her cousin and gives her a squeeze. "You know I'm joking, Iris. I'm just trying to interrupt your perpetual pity party and make you smile."

  "The nerve of her," Jessa leans across the table and grins. "She is a monster."

  Iris’s eye roll is accompanied by a half-smile.

  "Anyway, I love you all." Penny goes around the room, kissing us each on the forehead. Then she adjusts her cleavage inside her low-cut halter top. "I'm off to earn my livelihood. Drinks on me if you guys come by the bar later."

  I yip excitedly. "I'm in!"

  Iris's shoulders clam up immediately. She gives me an uneasy look before her eyes flash over to Penny. "I-I don't know if I'm ready for that yet."

  "It's just an invitation, Iris. No pressure. Take all the time you need. The bar isn't going anywhere." The cousins share a smile.

  We call out our goodbyes to Penny as she exits the building, on her way to her bartending job at the Frosty Pitcher.

  I shift my attention back to Iris and speak in a soft voice. "Hey. Come sit with us. You’ve cleaned that table at least three times, and we’re the only people here. Take a break.”

  Iris falls into the seat next to me. That defeated look clouds her face again. “It’s easier when I’m busy...” she confesses softly.

  It hurts my heart to see her like this. All the uncertainty in her eyes. The way her shoulders curl in like a visceral instinct to protect her fragile heart. I can't even imagine what she's going through.

  Jessa seems to be thinking the same thing. She puts on a cheery smile and slides a glossy magazine in front of Iris. “Play along. Open it. Pick your new obsession. Just for fun.”

  My friend eyes me and I nod, silently encouraging her to loosen up, to have some harmless fun daydreaming about men we'll never meet in person. I hold up an open page and gush about some random actor’s amazing abs. My Disney princess sister gets pulled in by an alphahole in a crisp business suit with tattoos crawling up from the collar of his button-down. As for Iris, she lingers on an article about a bad boy football player.

  “I knew it. Athletes are totally your type,” I joke. Iris smacks me over the head with her magazine but she doesn’t deny it so I tease her a bit. “Y'know, Iowa has a pretty good-looking NFL team, and I’m always up for a road trip.” I wink.

  “Oh boy,” Iris groans, but it’s only to disguise her laughter.

  Before I can download a travel app and start planning a girls’ weekend, I notice a uniformed man lingering by the shop's door. I recognize him as the county bailiff.

  “Hey, Mike,” I call out and wave.

  From the sidewalk right outside, he nods in our direction, but doesn’t smile. I’m confused when he lingers by the door instead of coming in for a salami sub like he usually does. But then I see him grab a piece of paper and a strip of tape out of his file f
older.

  And my heart stops.

  The bailiff holds the sheet to the glass of the door and seals it with tape on each of the four sides.

  “No...” Iris whispers, her eyes widening as Mike finishes his task.

  Gingerly, he steps inside and slips a copy of the document across the table in front of my shaking friend. "I'm real sorry, Iris. Only doing my job." He leaves the room in silence.

  Jessa is the first to speak. “What? What is that?” She cranes her neck to read the paper. I shake my head at her to shut the heck up.

  She's not a business owner like Iris and me. She doesn't know that a bailiff showing up with legal documents can be the kiss of death for a small enterprise like this sandwich shop.

  “What?” Jessa asks again, shaking her head back at me, completely not getting it. She pulls the paper toward her then proceeds to read Iris’s eviction notice out loud.

  The words of the eviction notice send an icy feeling down my spine, digging up painful memories I buried deep into my subconscious a long damn time ago. Now is not the time, Alexia. I push them down and focus on my friend.

  Iris's throat quivers when she swallows. Her gaze slowly lifts to my face. “Seven days...I have seven days to vacate the premises...”

  8

  Cannon

  I’m set up in my usual conference room chair when my father marches off the elevator. I slip my broken watch out of my front pocket to note the time. Color me impressed. This is the earliest I’ve seen Dad at the office in the days that I've been here. Not even the corn chips guy is here yet.

  He’s lost that tired, dreary look. This morning, it's pure fire in his expression. In fact, my father looks downright pissed.

  When he shoves open the conference room door, it ricochets off the wall. “What the hell did you do, Cannon?”

  Whoa there. "Good morning to you, too, Dad." Feet crossed at the ankles, I lean back and lazily stretch my arms above my head.