by Eve Langlais
Propositioned by the Billionaire Moose
A HOWLS Romance
Eve Langlais
Copyright © August 2017, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Yocla Designs © August 2017
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
http://www.EveLanglais.com
E-ISBN-13: 978 1988 328 829
Ingram Print ISBN: 978 1988 328 836
Createspace Print ISBN: 978 1549 799 464
All Rights Reserved
Propositioned by the Billionaire Moose is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental. If you think you might be a shapeshifting moose, please consider seeing a mental health professional.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Contents
Introduction
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
Epilogue
Also by Eve Langlais
Introduction
When the size of his rack fails to impress, this moose has to resort to bribery.
Get married or you’re out of the will.
Blackmail pure and simple, but Bryce doesn’t have much of a choice if he wants to remain Grandfather’s heir. With the old man on his deathbed, the clock is ticking, so he’d better get cracking because a supposed cousin has just shown up looking for a pint of the maple syrup business.
I’ll gore him with my rack first!
Lucky for Bryce, he sniffs out the perfect woman and makes her a deal. What he doesn’t expect is to lose his heart in the process.
* * *
Get ready to indulge in an over the top romance with a paranormal twist on some favorite tropes.
Chapter 1
“You will do it, or else.” A claim that lacked the ominous dum-dum-dum soundtrack to go along with it.
“Or else what, old man?” Bryce grew tired of his grandfather’s threats. Especially the one ordering Bryce to get married. Marriage was for pussies who got tricked into grounding their dicks for life.
“Don’t test me, boy. I will cut you off and give my estate to someone else.” The crotchety old man might lie in a bed, his features creased with age, but there was nothing old or weak about his gaze. The icy blue eyes fixed Bryce.
“Bullshit. You’re bluffing.” The only grandson of the billionaire, Bryce always knew he’d inherit, especially after his mother passed. The threat to cut him off was hollow. Grandfather would leave his legacy to his only living male heir.
“Better start believing, boy. You’re not the only person who’d like to get his hands on my fortune.” A sizeable fortune built up over decades of good business and lucky investments.
“Yeah, but I’m the only one actually related to you. Don’t tell me you’re going to leave your legacy”—a word spoken with a certain amount of mockery—“to a non-family member. We both know your daddy made it a condition in his will that only a direct descendent could inherit the company.”
“You’re right. He did. And my daddy also had two kids.” Grandfather sounded rather smug.
“Are you referring to Aunt Trixie?” Bryce frowned. His flighty aunt had never married, to the disapproval of the family. She’d also only gotten a lump sum from her daddy. The family empire went to the eldest, and more responsible, child.
“Yes, I’m talking about my sister. Did you know your aunt had a son? Boy is almost the same age as you, as a matter of fact. Also just as arrogant.”
The snide comment stiffened Bryce’s back. “Since when did she have a kid? And what does it matter if she did? You can’t tell me you’d rather leave the company to an unknown nephew than your own grandson.”
The old man adopted a coy expression. “A man in my position, facing his mortality, has got to make some decisions, decisions to ensure the future of his legacy. My newfound nephew was overjoyed to find out about me. Turns out Trixie left her kid with the father and never looked back. My nephew never knew he had more family.”
“If what he says is even true.” With his aunt dead, only a DNA test would validate the claim.
Grandfather shrugged. “He looks just like her.”
“Doesn’t mean shit and you know it.”
“Worried?” The old curmudgeon intentionally taunted. He always knew how to irritate Bryce.
When Bryce was young, Grandfather challenged him to do better at school, implying he was stupid if he got anything under a B+. The hard work that had him graduating top of his class paid off in the form of a brand-new sport BMW. University had netted him a boat. Yet the fact that Bryce had finished his studies with honors didn’t mean shit when he joined the family company. Grandfather made him work hard to rise through the ranks because apparently nepotism didn’t make for good business decisions.
Until now.
Now grandfather was talking about leaving their company to an outsider. Had he finally turned senile?
“Whoever he is, he knows nothing about the business,” Bryce argued.
“He can learn.”
Learn what had taken Bryce years? The unfairness of it made him simmer, and the beast inside pawed with a heavy hoof. His nostrils flared. “You’re not about to will your fortune to someone with a different last name.”
“Rory is receptive to the idea of taking on the family name. Apparently, he and his father don’t get along.”
“This is bullshit. You can’t be seriously thinking about letting a stranger inherit the family business. A business I’ve been working my ass off for.” The words exploded.
“He won’t be a stranger for long. You’ll be meeting him shortly. He’s coming for a visit. I’ve invited him to stay at the mansion rather than a hotel so we can get to know each other.”
“You’re letting a stranger come to live here?” Bryce couldn’t help but yell. “Are you out of your mind? You know we can’t have outsiders here.” An outsider might notice strange things, such as wildlife visiting the house in the dead of night.
“He’s my sister’s kid.”
“Might be,” Bryce corrected. “And even if he is, what if he’s not one of us? What if he doesn’t—”
“Shift?” Grandfather said, interrupting. “You’re right. I don’t know if he’s got the family gene. Not exactly something I could broach via emails and phone calls. But we’ll know soon enough. Once he’s here, we’ll have his blood work rushed off to the lab, but we both know a simple sniff test will also do the trick.”
Sniff. Sense. Shapeshifters—those that could swap their human guise for their animal self—could usually identify others of their ilk. The human shell couldn’t quite mask the animal within, although cologne could make it difficult. But no amount of perfume in the world would stop Bryce from ousting the imposter.
And he had to be an imposter. It seemed a little convenient that this man had suddenly app
eared out of nowhere claiming parentage.
Probably another bloody vulture. The media had recently gotten wind of Grandfather’s ailing health. As one of the richest men in Canada, the social pages followed him—and his bachelor grandson—closely.
“He’ll turn out to be a fraud. You’ll see.”
“And if he’s not? What ever shall I do with two plausible heirs to my fortune?” asked his grandfather, his gaze turning sly. “Perhaps I’ll make it easy. Whoever marries first becomes my heir.”
“That preposterous,” Bryce sputtered. “You can’t force a man to marry for money.” Blackmail wasn’t a reason to tie himself to one woman for life.
“Then don’t marry, but don’t come crying at my grave when I’m gone and you’re looking for a real job.”
“You’ll never die. You’re too fucking stubborn,” he grumbled.
“Tenacious, my boy. A man shouldn’t be afraid or too timid to demand what he wants.”
“Even if what he wants involves meddling in other people’s lives?”
“Don’t like my rules? You know where the door is.” The threat his grandfather used anytime they butted heads.
“One of these days, I will walk out,” Bryce grumbled.
“Go ahead. I dare you. See what it’s like to actually work for a living.”
Except Bryce already knew about hard work. Grandfather might accuse him of being lazy, but Bryce worked hard. Fucking hard. He’d done his time in the trenches, learning the business from the ground up. His fingers were callused from work. How dare that old bastard accuse him otherwise.
“I should start my own company,” he grumbled under his breath. One with something he’d long had a passion for.
“What’s that, boy?”
Instead of replying, Bryce moved away from the bed holding his grandfather invalid. He needed to move away before he said something he’d really regret. He loved his grandfather even if the old man didn’t make it easy. But that didn’t mean he’d tolerate abuse—or blackmail.
Surely the old man didn’t truly intend to make his will contingent on Bryce getting married.
He was too young, still only a buck, with plenty of prancing years left ahead of him before he let some woman throw a noose around his single life.
There has to be a way out of this. A way to stay single—and rich.
Chapter 2
Being single sucks.
Sucked big hairy balls, with which Melanie had no personal experience. Melanie had little experience with men at all. Not for a lack of wanting a man, more because she worried about hurting a man.
As in putting him in a hospital…
Who says he wouldn’t like it? her inner voice purred.
No one liked stitches. Hence why she avoided getting close to anyone of the opposite sex, but right about now, a sturdy man might have come in handy to give her a hug and say he’d handle things. Don’t misconstrue, she wasn’t weak. Melanie could handle stuff on her own; she was just so goddamned tired of it. For once, it would be nice to let someone carry the burden. To say, “Don’t worry, I got this.” Right about now, she could have used a man who would gladly carry the groceries home.
The list in her hand appeared short enough, but the juice mother insisted on would make it heavy. She also wondered if she’d have enough funds. Her mother’s failing health had meant more expenses than usual. More than the meager government checks could handle and she’d long since spent her last actual paycheck.
Some days Melanie was so tired of scrimping every penny she could. Of cutting coupons and dealing with debt collectors. She’d not asked to be burdened with a sick mother, one made ill because she’d pickled her liver her entire life.
At times she railed against fate, a cruel mistress that had Melanie take on the care of her mother at the expense of her own happiness.
I am only twenty-two. Twenty-two and barely kissed. Twenty-two and never made it anywhere past college. Nope. She’d gotten stuck going back home to take care of the woman who had made her life miserable.
Why can’t she just die?
I could help it along. A pillow over her face. A dropped toaster in the shower. A little something in her evening cocoa. Except the cocoa sometimes got tossed in her face, so it would be a waste of the expensive drugs.
Sounded cruel? Walk a mile in her shoes. There was no love between Melanie and her mother. Hadn’t been for as far back as Melanie could remember.
Maizie had never been a true parent to Melanie. Ever. Melanie had been taking care of them both since she could walk and feed herself from the damned fridge.
Just her and a mother who hated Melanie because Daddy left the picture. She couldn’t have said if Maizie’s drinking drove him away or if the drinking came after.
It didn’t matter. Melanie was so bloody tired of it.
The cashier rang up the total. “That will be thirty-six forty-two, ma’am.” About three dollars more than she had. The embarrassment of having to pull some items from the checkout no longer had the ability to bring heat to her cheeks. It happened all too often. A coupon she tried to use failed or something ended up a little pricier than expected. She yanked out the crackers. There went her breakfast for the week.
After she paid, she grabbed the plastic bags by the handles and hoped they wouldn’t split this time. She could carry the two bags easily, not enough food to create any true weight. A good thing seeing as how the store was two miles from home. God forbid she used any money to take a bus.
“Lazy cow. God gave you legs so use them.”
God had given her claws, too, but she kept them sheathed.
As a car swept by, a big white sedan, the windows tinted and closed, with climate control, she sighed.
What would it be like to have money? Not just any money, big money. The kind that meant never looking at a price tag when you shopped. The kind that could hire a nurse for her mother. Or, even better, stick her mother in a home—and bribe the staff to give her daily enemas plus feed her peas. Maizie hated peas.
When she’d had a rough day and couldn’t sleep, she liked to fantasize about what she’d do if she had money. The best she could hope for was to win the lottery to make those dreams come true.
A girl like Melanie—born in poverty, with a diploma in hospitality, and a face that never went further than pretty—would never marry a man who drove a luxury car. Especially since she had a secret. A furry secret that added a layer of difficulty in her search for a man.
I am not one hundred percent human. An admission she never made out loud, but she couldn’t exactly deny it to herself.
I can change shapes. She didn’t know why.
Most likely she’d gotten her special side from her daddy because her mother certainly wasn’t a shapeshifter like Melanie. The one time she’d asked, her mother had slapped her so hard and accused her of being a druggie, she’d hissed and almost swiped back.
What if I am wrong? What if the times she went into the woods and shed her clothes and became her other self, her wilder self, were a fantasy? I could be crazy. Maybe I’ve only imagined I turn into a cat.
She’d take fantasy over reality any day. Some days she wondered what it would be like to stay as her other self, to run wild in the woods and never come back. Then it would mean not hearing, “Melanie, is that you, lazy girl? Get over here. I soiled myself. And the bed.”
Of course she had, because her mother wouldn’t wear a diaper. Too degrading. But apparently shitting herself wasn’t.
“Coming, Maizie.” She sighed as she set the groceries on the counter. Would this nightmare never end?
That evening, as she laced her mother’s cocoa with a sleeping agent, one prescribed by the doctor to give Melanie a break, she decided she needed to get out. To breathe. She’d been cooped up for months now, at her mother’s beck and call, only managing to slip away for short periods of time, barely enough to get her paws wet.
Tonight the moon would rise, full and fat. Tonight, while her mother
slept, she’d let herself run wild.
Free.
And maybe never come back.
Chapter 3
I should go back. Bryce had been out for a while now, enjoying the brisk evening air. This time of the year everything smelled so crisp.
The moon shone bright overhead, caressing the skin of his back, bathing him in its soft glow. He tossed his head, letting the light catch his rack, the huge antlers casting a shadow on the ground. A crown for the king.
He trotted through the forest, kicking up leaves, avoiding the low-hanging branches. After a day of dealing with his grandfather and the threats, Bryce needed to get out, relax. Stretch his legs and remind himself that his grandfather was being extra ornery of late because of his enforced bed rest. No one liked to be an invalid.
If Bryce could have taken a picture of his evening stroll and sent it to the old bastard, he would have. Captioned it too. Wish you were here. #walkingtherack
Grandfather would have flipped. The old man hated not being able to shift and get out of bed, but the doctor said nothing strenuous. The open-heart surgery had taken a lot out of his grandfather. Even though he healed quicker than a human, his age made his health more precarious. Grandfather had gotten a taste of mortality and railed against it.
The sound of the stream beckoned, the thought of crisp water too tempting to resist. He had no fear on his lands. His family owned hundreds of wild acres, free of hunters and prying eyes.
What it didn’t prevent was other animals from roaming. As Bryce neared the stream’s edge, he froze as the scent of a predator tickled past.