by Sophia Lynn
Table of Contents
The Billionaire’s Surprise Babies
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
ANOTHER STORY YOU MAY ENJOY
Owned by the Sheikh
Table of Contents
The Billionaire’s Surprise Babies
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
ANOTHER STORY YOU MAY ENJOY
Owned by the Sheikh
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
The Billionaire’s Surprise Babies
By Sophia Lynn
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2017 Sophia Lynn.
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Chapter One
Around seven o'clock, the head housekeeper, Mrs. O'Donnely, had taken a suspicious look at the job Jordan had done on the silverware, inspecting every edge and tine as if it had potentially offended her. Throughout the examination, Jordan had kept her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes downcast as if she were a demure young woman who feared nothing but the disappointment of her betters. At the very least, keeping her eyes down meant that no one was going to see her rolling them.
Finally, Mrs. O'Donnely had nodded, a gracious gesture that was grudging but sincere.
"All right, this will do. Well done, then, Miss Matthews. You are dismissed for the evening."
Jordan had smiled that humble smile that she had gotten so good at and headed for her room. If any one of the other ten servants of Waverly Manor had seen her, they would have seen a young woman who was relieved to be finally falling into her place, getting her feet underneath her at the stately house. They wouldn't have seen the way her mind was clicking and firing like a precise clockwork mechanism, barely restrained from planning her next move.
Finally, finally, she thought. It's about goddamn time.
In the two weeks since she had started at Waverly Manor, home of the esteemed Everett family of Tennessee, she had fallen into bed exhausted. The household standards were exacting, as Mrs. O'Donnely said so often, and as the newest maid, she was going to be held to them with great severity.
She supposed it said something about the Everetts that they liked to keep house as if they were still in the Victorian era. Servants lived on site with room and board provided, there was a black and white maid's uniform that had to be tailored to her curves, and a full-time obligation.
"Many girls would be happy for this place," the housekeeper had impressed upon her. "Several have used their place to keep them as they went to night school, and some have been given impressive bonuses for faithful service."
"Oh, school," Jordan had sighed as if she had always dreamed of such a thing. "That would be so amazing."
She had tried college, but she’d flunked out for lack of money and interest after a single semester. Of course, if Mrs. O'Donnely went looking, she would find nothing of the sort. The man whom Jordan had gotten to set all this up had been very thorough when it came to giving her a past that would get her a place at Waverly Manor, and a history of flunking school was right out.
Flumping down in the narrow twin bed in her room in the servants' quarters—dear God, this place had servants' quarters. What the hell was up with that?—Jordan had to admit to herself that this was already a little more difficult than expected.
She hadn't expected it to be easy at all. The Everetts were perhaps the most powerful family in eastern Tennessee, rich in cash and political connections, and no one had ever taken them down before. She hadn't expected it to be easy, but that was before she spent eight hours scrubbing baseboards and moving around heavy furniture so she could vacuum underneath it. That was before she was introduced to what must have been a good forty pounds of silver and told that it was her responsibility to polish it.
Lying in her bed, Jordan listened to the sounds of the household settling in. There were two other maids she worked with along with Mrs. O'Donnely and an actual butler who saw to company and other matters that she was not clear on. There were a number of men who saw to the grounds, at least two men who saw to the stables, and someone to look after the car.
The amount of wealth that flowed through Waverly Manor dizzied her, and if she thought about it for too long, Jordan would only start to get angry, and that wasn't something that she could afford. Instead, she had to stay focused. She had to concentrate. She had . . . to nap.
Jordan made a face because she was always a girl who wanted to go. She wanted things to happen fast and she wanted things to be on her terms, but if she indulged in that right now, she was going to get thrown out on her ear, or worse, arrested.
Though a part of her wanted nothing more than to pace in her little room until the time came when she could act, she stripped to the skin. In another life, she would have thrown her uniform on the ground and avoided worrying about it until she woke up, but Jordan the maid was meticulous, loved order, and couldn't bear to leave a thing out of place. God, she was beginning to hate Jordan the maid. Instead, she hung up her uniform, and dressed in nothing other than a pair of black panties, she stretched out on the bed. At twenty-three, Jordan was plush and curvy, with wide hips, a surprisingly small waist, and round breasts. The uniform that they had given her hung at strange angles until tutting, Mrs. O'Donnely had had it altered for her. It fit better now, and even if it looked just a little fetishy to Jordan's gaze, well, at least she wasn't doing anything like serving in front of company or anything like that.
She stretched out on the bed, and though she wondered if she would sleep at all, she dropped off almost immediately. Waverly Manor was a hard place to work no matter how generous the payoffs were, and she was bone-tired.
A thunder-clap woke her some five hours later, and for a moment, Jordan simply lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The thin blanket she had pulled over herself felt terribly inadequate against the late winter chill of the manor, and for a moment, all she wanted to do was to turn over and forget about all of it, if only for tonight.
No, she thought sternly. That won't do at all. I'm here for a reason, and it's not to polish Cord Everett's silver.
After a moment of deliberation, she slid out of bed and reached for the single chest of drawers that contained all of the things she had with her here at Waverly Manor.
She had thou
ght about her first late-night venture into the manor several times over the previous weeks, and though a part of her thought that black was the only correct choice for something like this, common sense had prevailed. She threw her blonde hair into a careless bun, and then she slid on a pair of pajama pants, worn thin, and a slightly tattered black camisole. Over all of it, she threw an old robe that had belonged to her mother, and after she put on a pair of worn slippers, she was about as ready as she would ever be. Well, almost. She slid a small bundle wrapped in leather out from its hiding place in her one good pair of heels and slid it into her pocket. They were the most dangerous thing, she figured. Everything else was fine, but if someone had found that particular packet on her, she would be sent packing very, very quickly.
It occurred to Jordan that Waverly Manor at night was far spookier than it was during the day. There were some lights scattered here and there along the passages and hallways, but Waverly Manor had been built before the Civil War. There was only so friendly a place like this was going to be after dark.
Jordan felt her heart beat faster as she made her way along the passage, but it had nothing to do with the fear of being caught or the spookiness of the long hallways. Instead, it had everything to do with what she was going to do and what was finally going to happen.
She had figured soon after her initial tour of the manor that the library was the place to start. Cord Everett was a modern man, but his father hadn't been, and her quick eyes had caught the ledgers that were still shelved in the glass cabinets behind his desk in the library. She had a feeling that those ledgers held more of Lance Everett's business than anyone guessed, and she would find what she needed there.
The library door opened for her with no noise at all, and she took a moment to get her bearings. A part of her wanted to turn on her cellphone flashlight, but she reminded herself to think like Jordan the maid.
Oh, I just couldn't sleep, and I thought I could get a book that would help me relax! I didn't know that I couldn't. I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again!
That was her excuse, anyway, and as a bit of further insurance, she grabbed what looked like a slick science fiction novel from the more modern part of the shelves. Props were always good, but Jordan decided that she had put this off for too long.
She padded toward the prize, the glass cabinets behind the desk. Jordan knew that time was short, but she couldn't help glancing at the desk as she went by it. It was an enormous thing of dark wood and antique lines. It was too easy to imagine a wealthy man sitting behind it, watching with a sharp eye as people came to argue their case in front of it. She wondered if her father had done so, coming in the door and padding along the thick carpet.
Jordan's memories of her father were very vague. She remembered him mostly as a broken man who slumped at their kitchen table. He had a sweet smile when he could be bothered to use it, and she remembered a gentle man who liked to play games with her. It was only later that she realized that he could play so many games with her because he was frequently unemployed, leaving her mother to pick up the slack.
She shook the memories off because they weren't going to help her. Not now. She was here to avenge her father and what the Everetts had done to them, but she could not be bogged down in fits of memory. She needed to be as cold as an icy lake and as sharp as a knife.
She was unsurprised when the cabinet was locked, and that was where the little leather bundle came in. It unrolled to reveal a set of delicate tools that looked a bit like dental instruments but that anyone used to criminal enterprises would recognize as a set of lock-picks. Jordan had always thought that she should pick up skills wherever she could, and this was one of her prizes.
As she suspected, the lock was a simple one. In the Everett household, she figured, it was the power of the family name that kept everyone honest. The lock simply told people that this was a boundary they should not cross, and then it relied on the family name to do the rest.
The cabinet popped open with a click, and Jordan reached for the first volume with a smile. Then, the noise from the storm outside slackened, and for a moment, all was still. In that single moment of silence, Jordan realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she could hear footsteps.
Chapter Two
Cord Everett was in a foul mood. The current CEO of Everett Enterprises was not a man used to being told 'no', and he had absolutely no patience for fools. He was wet from the storm, he was exhausted from his flight from New York, and he’d had to cancel what was meant to be a very promising night with Brianna.
She had been so agreeable for their first four weeks together, and Cord had been honestly blindsided when she had burst into messy tears at his announcement that he was going home instead of meeting her at the restaurant.
"You don't care at all," the gorgeous redhead had accused through sobs. "I've not seen you for almost—"
"I haven't seen you for four days," he cut in. "Four days, Brianna. I think you can go without for another day or so."
"But I can't," she wailed, and they had gone back and forth like that for almost twenty minutes before he had pulled up into the drive at Waverly.
Cord knew that he could have stopped it after ten, but he was thirty-seven, and he had danced this dance enough times that he could call the steps. First, she cried about how much she had missed him and how he didn't care about her, then came the revelation of her past issues with lovers who had done similar things and how she had expected him to be different.
After that had come the grief at how he had probably been cheating on her, and then a plea to see him because she was just out of her head and didn't know what she was saying.
By the time he had made it to the library where the better whiskey was kept, Brianna was in tears and ready to make her final ploy.
"You just don't understand," she cried piteously. "Cord, Cord, I love you, and you treat me like—"
"No, you don't," he said, closing the library door behind him. "Believe me, you do not love me."
"I do!" she said, her voice rising, and he winced, remembering that she had been an amateur actress. "I do, I do, and—"
"Brianna," he said, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a polished glass tumbler, "if you stop saying 'I love you', I am going to give you eight thousand dollars."
She shut up so fast that he could hear her teeth click together, something that brought him his first laugh of the day.
"Good. Good girl," Cord said, and if his voice was dripping with sarcasm, well, no one really cared when money was brought into play, did they? "Now, I think this has really run its course for both of us, honey."
She started to protest but shushed after a single word from him. God, she was as predictable as they all were, and if he had any doubts about what he was doing, they were banished.
"As long as you walk away with a full understanding that I don't owe you anything, I will raise it to ten thousand. You will get that ten thousand by the beginning of next week, and you can keep it free and clear as long as I don't have to see you again. Consider it a payoff for the fun we had together, all right?"
She made a reluctant murmur of assent, and Cord's voice sharpened.
"And if I ever get the idea that you are coming back for more, believe me, Brianna, when I say that I am going to make you regret it. I'll make sure that no one from New York to LA hires you for so much as a pet food commercial, and that the only job you can get is mucking out stalls at the Kentucky Derby, do you understand me?"
She agreed, but in that moment, Cord heard a sound that he had not expected to hear at all. While he was paying off his mistress and while she was telling him that of course she would abide by his terms . . . Cord heard a sneeze.
"That's a good girl, Brianna," he said, starting to circle the library with his tumbler of whiskey in his hand. "That's really good. You'll see, this is the best for both of us. Yes, the money will be in your account by Monday, my honor as a gentleman on it."
She hung up with more pathetic mewls
of regret, but Cord kept on talking on the phone as if she was there. He kept his walk aimless and casual, as if he were just pacing his library as he talked and drank. There was no one behind the chaises closest to the fire, no one in the alcove at all. He made a wide circuit of the room, and after a moment, he paused behind the enormous desk. He continued making sounds at his phone, keeping his step light, and then in the middle of a word, Cord bent forward and his hand darted under the desk.
With a growl of victory, he hauled out a blonde girl with wide, dark eyes wearing an utterly ridiculous bath robe, and for a long moment, they stared at each other.
She was short, barely coming up to his shoulder, and in her disarray, he could see that she was extraordinarily curvy. Her golden hair and her black eyes were a strange combination, and Cord, whose tastes usually ran to raven-haired models and redheaded actresses, was momentarily confused. She was young, barely past twenty, and from the age of thirty-seven, that was very young indeed.
"And what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, setting his phone down.
She tugged haplessly at the hand holding her wrist, but he ignored it. He had caught her in his library, and he had no intention of letting her go until he damned well felt like it.
"I–I–I—"
"I–I–I," he mimicked. "Not very impressive yet, whoever you are. Maybe I should turn you over to the police, and they'll be a little better about getting you to talk."
"No," she blurted out, her eyes filled with panic. "Don't do that, please, sir! I'm Jordan Matthews. I'm a maid! I work here!"
A maid? His eyes narrowed and he looked her over. Mrs. O'Donnely had mentioned a new maid at that, but that was really her domain.
"Do you, little Jordan? So what the hell are you doing here and not scrubbing the stove or something?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but it's two in the morning," she said meekly. "No one scrubs the stove at two in the morning."
He had to laugh at her terrified explanation, and he loosened his grip on her wrist. He didn't let it go entirely—that would come later, perhaps.
"All right, so no stove scrubbing. What are you doing here? Did you come to swipe some booze or something?"