The Billionaire's Proposal

by Sierra Rose

  The Billionaire’s Proposal

  Part 2

  By

  Sierra Rose

  Copyright 2016 Sierra Rose

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Billionaire's Proposal (Taming The Bad Boy Billionaire, #2)

  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

  Visit the author at: www.authorsierrarose.com

  Chapter 1

  For the last two years, my life had not been my own. Every minute, every phone call, every holiday and party had all been in the service of someone else. I’d learned to eat quicker, so I’d be ready to pick up the phone at a moment’s notice. I carried my passport constantly in my purse. My emergency contact was Louise-the-Bavarian-housekeeper.

  The very essence of me had been temporarily shanghaied by another. All personal growth and development put on hold so I could make someone else my focus. A person whose quirks and dreams I knew even better than my own. The same person I’d spent the last two years of my life chasing around the globe as he indulged whim after whim.

  But something changed that night in Spain. An irrevocable and permanent shift. One with so many rippled implications, it would take a lifetime to sort them all out. All I knew at the time, was that for the first time in two years, the tables had suddenly turned.

  For the first time in two years...Nicholas Hunter was the one chasing after me.

  “Abby!”

  The two of us careened out into the night, one after the other. Dodging cars, tripping on cobblestones, blurring past a midnight portrait of Barcelona. For the first time since we’d arrived, the exquisite moonlit streets held no allure for me. As spellbinding as the city was, I was temporarily immune to its charms. My only thought was to escape. I had to get to the airport.

  “Abby—please! Wait!”

  He was catching up. Although I didn’t dare turn around as I sprinted down the cold streets toward the main thoroughfare that led back to the airstrip, his footfalls were getting steadily louder. It was only a matter of seconds before he was right in front of me, and then what? What the hell was I supposed to do once the two of us were standing face to face?

  Thinking fast, I slipped through a tiny gap between two cars stuck in traffic—a gap too small for Nick to follow. A feeling of momentarily relief washed over me, until I glanced back to see him simply jump over the hood of the second car—sliding across it like some kind of secret agent, hardly even breaking his stride.

  What the hell do they teach those kids at boarding school?!

  I picked up the pace again, but even as I rounded a corner and saw the bright lights of the airport flickering in the distance, I knew it was too late. A sudden paralysis came over me, and I stopped dead in my tracks—gazing numbly out toward the horizon.

  A second later, Nick skidded to a stop at my side.

  Unlike me, he wasn’t even out of breath. If anything, the impromptu dash seemed to have revitalized him. Tousling his hair and flushing his cheeks with fresh color.

  He was, however, looking uncharacteristically cautious. His muscles tensed and his eyes were alert. As if at any moment, I might sprint back out into traffic and the chase would be on.

  “Abby?”

  I stayed put, but I refused to look up into those eyes. Not even for a moment. They would only derail me, and this was one argument I could not afford to lose.

  It wasn’t just that he’d asked me to replace Ella. To pretend to be his girlfriend in the eyes of the world for three more months until the merger. It wasn’t just that he was drunk, and I was drunk. It wasn’t just that we’d been grinding up against each other in a nightclub in Spain. It wasn’t even that he’d been about to kiss me. (Although...what the fuck?!)

  It was that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t going to back down.

  It simply wasn’t in his nature. He would do whatever it took, say whatever he needed to, hold out for however long was required until he got his way.

  And that...was career suicide.

  “You know I can’t do that, Nick.” My breath came out shallow and quick, the taste of sugared tequila was hanging on my tongue. “I could never do that.”

  He folded his arms across his chest.

  “Why not? You asked me to do it. Why won’t you?”

  The words fired out sharp and precise. Not an ounce of hesitation or leniency. It was that damn Oxford debate team again. Why couldn’t he have picked up a less useful skill?

  “I didn’t ask you to do it,” I countered quickly, knowing all the while that it wasn’t entirely true. “Your father asked you to do it. For the company. For the board—”

  “But you know I don’t care about any of those things,” he replied evenly. “You were the one who asked me. I did it, because the request came from you.”

  “Nick—”

  “And now I’m asking.” In one swift movement, he tilted up my chin. Forced me to look into those impossible eyes after all. “I’m asking you to do this for me.”

  An involuntary shiver tingled down my spine, and I took a deliberate step back, creating a well-needed barrier of space between the two of us.

  “That’s not fair,” I said quietly.

  For the first time, he smiled—incredulous as it was.

  “How is it not fair? I’m literally asking exactly the same thing you asked of me—”

  “It’s not fair because that’s my job, Nick,” I fired back. It was much colder outside than it was in the club, and I folded my arms protectively across my chest, trying not to tremble. “You are the one in the public eye—not me. Of course you would be the one asked to do these sorts of things. None of that has anything to do with me. I handle the spin, nothing else—”

  “Oh—come on.” The smile faded as he looked at me coolly. “You handle the spin and nothing else? You’re really not any more invested than that?”

  Um...what?!

  For a second, both of us froze, thinking back to our almost kiss. A rush of color flooded his cheeks, and he was quick to clarify.

  “We’re friends, Abby. You’re one of my closest friends in the world. That’s why I’m asking you. Do it as my friend, as well as my publicist.” He ran a hand back through his hair and added as a convincing afterthought, “I can’t handle another Ella. I won’t do it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be another Ella,” I said quickly. “We can find you someone that you’ll actually enjoy spending time with. Someone better suited. But it sure as hell can’t be me.”

  “And why not?” he asked again, refusing to back down.

  I threw up my hands, unable to believe we were actually havin
g this conversation on the streets of Barcelona. Just a stone’s throw away from the airport.

  “For so many reasons! Nick, the board is looking for a certain kind of girl, you of all people know that. One with a certain kind of pedigree, or job, or appearance, or—”

  Nick raised a hand to silence me.

  “First of all, pedigree obviously doesn’t mean shit, judging by Ella Campbell.”

  He let that hang for a moment, before he started ticking things off—one by one.

  “You have a college degree, test scores as high as mine, and enough wit and charm to dazzle whatever room you walk into. You came from nothing and still rose to the top of your field. You’ve put up with my shit for two years—which is enough to qualify you right there. But you’re also dedicated, hard-working, empathetic, and kind.”

  He paused for a split second, before passionately concluding.

  “And Abby, if you don’t think that you’re ten times more beautiful than any of the women on the lists you gave me...then you’re fucking crazy.”

  By now, the people around us were starting to stare. I didn’t blame them. Nick had a way of speaking as though he was on a stage, rather than a sidewalk. But as for myself, I was frozen in place. A little bit shell-shocked. A little bit stunned.

  “You can control every moment,” he murmured, reaching down tentatively to take my hands, “orchestrate every headline, spin things whatever way you want. I’ll do anything you say—I promise. Whatever you think is best. Events, dinners, fundraisers...anything you like.”

  His thumbs rubbed gently across my knuckles, soothing and convincing at the same time.

  “It’s just for three months,” he bowed his head—bringing us inadvertently closer together, “three months, and then everything can go back to the way it was. The merger will be finished, the board will be thrilled, the company—all those jobs—will be safe.”

  He was using my own logic now. Turning my own argument against me.

  But the question still remained...

  “Why me?”

  He came up suddenly short, staring down with a million unspoken things dancing behind his sparkling eyes. No doubt, a dozen or so arguments and rationales came to his mind. But in the end, he didn’t go with any of them. In the end, he decided to simply tell the truth.

  “Because I trust you,” he said softly.

  It was perhaps the only thing he could have said to change my mind. The only thing that would make me pause. That would make me forget the airport lights twinkling just beyond.

  “I don’t want to do this with someone I don’t care about,” he continued, sounding almost shy. “With someone I don’t know, someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes flickered up to meet mine, before he blushed and lowered them again. “I want it to be you.”

  Blushing and shy? I didn’t know what to make of it. Neither one was even remotely Nick, but somehow, he had never seemed more sincere to me. More vulnerable.

  “Please, Abby.” His voice was almost a whisper. “For me?”

  Our eyes locked, and my breath caught in my chest.

  This was impossible—what he was asking. Absolutely, utterly impossible. No way in hell could it actually work. But here we were, standing drunk on the streets of Barcelona, staring at each other in the glowing moonlight. And that age-old question floated to the front of my mind.

  When have I ever refused him?

  “Let’s...talk about it inside.”

  Chapter 2

  The two of us ducked into an all-night café, squeezing into a tiny booth and ordering hot espressos to escape the cold. Nick was clearly thrilled beyond all belief, but he didn’t gloat. In fact, he didn’t say a single word. He simply watched as I took my first warming sip and perched on the edge of the bench with patient, eager eyes.

  “There would have to be some ground rules,” I began cautiously. “If this thing has even a shot in the dark at getting off the ground, we need to get a few things straight.”

  He set down his cup deliberately and folded his hands upon the table.

  “Fire away.”

  I bit my lip, considering for a moment, before blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “You don’t cheat on me.”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and I blushed to high heaven. Whatever he had been expecting me to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

  “Of course I wouldn’t—”

  “I’m serious, Nick,” I interrupted, suddenly quite relieved that I’d picked that particular thing to start with. “I don’t care whether this is a fake relationship or not, I don’t want to be made a fool of in front of the entire Western Hemisphere.”

  He looked a little shocked.

  “Abby, I would never—”

  But I had basically lived with him for two years. I knew his track record. The man was as distractible and restless as they came. And three months was a long time.

  “Just...promise me...”

  All the automatic defenses and explanations died on his tongue, as he closed his mouth and stared at me across the table. For a second, he looked almost sad. Then his face sobered to look as serious and solemn as I’d ever seen.

  “I promise.”

  We held each other’s gaze for a moment, before I looked away—nodding curtly.

  “Good. Uh, next thing...” I trailed off, thinking on the fly and feeling a bit strange to be giving him orders when it was usually the other way around. “I want to split amicably.”

  “You know, Abby,” his eyes twinkled teasingly, “we actually need to get together before you can try to break up with me.”

  “Are you making jokes?” I raised my voice threateningly, but beneath it all, I was relieved. This whole night had spun off the rails to such a drastic degree—we needed a little levity if we were going to find our way through it. “When I’m doing you this massive favor?”

  His dimples flashed as he bit his lip—trying to hide a smile.

  “No ma’am.”

  The old woman behind the counter swooned at the very sight, and I shook my head with a rueful grin. “When the time comes, we’ll just say that things fizzled out. Part as friends.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I will, of course, remain your publicist when this is all finished.”

  “Of course.”

  “My team will handle things for me back uptown.”

  “Whatever you like.”

  “And I want a new espresso maker for the office.”

  There was a sudden pause in the quick back and forth. Then Nick threw back his head and started laughing. It echoed brightly through the little shop, bouncing off corners, and making everyone who heard it smile as well.

  “So that’s what you think you’re worth, huh?” His eyes sparkled with unrestrained merriment as they stared back into mine. “One espresso maker?”

  I cocked my head sweetly to the side.

  “No, darling—that’s what I think you’re worth. That’s my price for dating you.”

  He laughed again, tossing back his messy hair as he twirled his empty cup.

  “Well sweetheart, I’ve never had to pay for someone’s company. But in your case, I think I can make an exception. The espresso maker’s yours.”

  Score! I could picture my entire staff cheering at once.

  My face glowed in triumph, but I hid it quickly behind my hair. In spite of all my reservations, a strange feeling of excitement had started stirring in my stomach. An anticipation I didn’t fully understand, and trusted even less.

  “Well, then I think that’s it,” I concluded in my best professional voice. “We can fly back to New York in the morning, and work out the strategy on the plane. My best guess would be to say that we’d always harbored some kind of feelings, and they blossomed on this trip to—”

  “Hang on,” he lifted a finger in the air between us, “I have a few conditions myself.”

  I paused in surprise, wondering what in the world could be going through that head of his. This wa
s his idea. He was the one asking me. Now he had conditions?

  “You do?” I asked in open astonishment. “What are you—”

  “Don’t worry,” he interrupted, “it’s actually just one.” With that, he leaned suddenly forward, gazing intently into my eyes. “If this is going to work, if this is going to be believable...then you have to let me treat you like I’d treat any of my other girlfriends.”

  A sudden shiver swept through me, as a whole host of other implications to this little scheme fell suddenly into place. We were trying to stage an entire relationship, after all. That meant a little more than just posing in front of the cameras...

  “Okay,” I began uncertainly, “I can...I can do that.”

  Nick cocked his head to the side, eyes twinkling at me appraisingly.

  “That means letting someone else take care of you, for once. That means letting yourself get pampered and fussed over. Accepting gifts bigger than a bag.”

  “A purse,” I corrected automatically, but his look made me fall silent.

  “I have a reputation of spoiling my women, Abby.” A smile was lurking just below the surface, but he kept up an admirable poker face. “A reputation that must be maintained.”

  My eyes danced with a sudden Dior flashback, but I kept a careful poker face myself.

  “Fair enough. But don’t ever refer to me again as one of your women,” I quoted dryly. “I didn’t sign up for a haram—got it?”

  A sudden grin flashed across his face, but he pursed his lips and nodded.

  “Got it.”

  “On that note,” I continued suddenly, “that also means that you and Anya have to pause your...Pilates for a while.”

  He mock saluted.

  “No more Pilates.”

  I eyed his mischievous face warily, and decided to clarify for my own peace of mind.

  “Nick, you know that by Pilates, I mean—”

  “—you mean fucking,” he laughed, “yeah, I got it. No more Anya.”

  I nodded, satisfied. But just as he went to stand up, another thought flashed through my head. One that was so obvious and serious, I felt as though both of us had been dancing around it on purpose. Compartmentalizing it away, because we didn’t know how to deal with it ourselves.