The Backdoor Billionaire's Bride

by Roz Lee

  “You heard?” At the sound of his voice, she glanced up. Shoulder propped against the doorframe, he looked as defeated as he sounded.

  “Heard what?”

  He snorted. “No need to play innocent, Becky Jean. I know you heard every word.”

  “Not every word.” She had missed a few. Maybe. “I thought you handled it well.”

  “So well she’ll probably end up living with me in my house back East.”

  “That would be bad?”

  He shrugged. “Not bad, but this is her home. She wouldn’t know anyone there. She’d be miserable.”

  “She has a lot to think about. Give her some time to adjust to the way things are.”

  His lips lifted on one corner. “You’re a good person, Becky Jean. My dad knew what he was doing when he hired you.”

  Becky stared at the empty doorway long after her partner vacated it. She couldn’t decide if she adored the man for his kindness to his mother and hated him for his disregard for the company bearing his name, and the town it meant so much to. Every time he talked about going back to his life on the East Coast, a gaping hole opened up in her midsection. His mother would eventually come around, but Ford seemed resolute. He would leave, and Becky would be wise to guard her heart so it didn’t go with him.

  ~~~

  Numbers don’t lie, but they do tell a story. Of all the things Becky had learned in her economics classes, that one statement stuck in her mind as she looked at the sales reports on her desk. She’d have to speak with Ford about finding a way to increase production of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. Sales from the initial broadcast had simply floored her, but she’d forgotten about the local network’s plans to tape and replay the show throughout the week.

  They’d gone live on Wednesday evening. By Saturday, eleven other small markets had called wanting to get in on the action. In other words, they were an overnight success.

  Even the astronomical numbers she had before her didn’t lessen her anger at the way Ford had manipulated her. Everyone around town called her B.J. these days… then snickered behind their hands. She knew exactly what they were thinking. B.J. stood for blow job. Her humiliation knew no bounds.

  Gathering the papers she needed to discuss with her partner, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Ford could be incredibly agreeable on some things, but on others… nothing short of dynamite would make him budge. It would be a shame to blow such a nice-looking male specimen to bits, but if it took an explosion….

  She knocked on his open door. “Ford? Got a few minutes?”

  “For you, B.J.? Always.” He tossed his drafting pencil on the desk and rocked back in his chair.

  “I’ve told you not to call me that,” she said, plunking into one of the old green leather visitors’ chairs. She’d thought Ford would want to change everything about his father’s office, but so far, he hadn’t moved a thing, except to arrange a place to display samples of all their past and present products. He’d said potential buyers would like seeing how the company had evolved over the last hundred or so years.

  No doubt their current success would bring a host of interested people to their door. If she sold her share, too, she’d have enough money to start over someplace else. Maybe open a small marketing firm of her own. Not that selling sex toys meant she had the knack for selling anything else, but she had more credibility than she’d ever had before.

  “You have to admit, the nickname turned out to be a stroke of genius, Becky Jean. B.J. Parker is a YouTube success.”

  “We’re on YouTube?” A stab of horror turned her insides to ice.

  “Yep. Our first episode has gone viral. I owe you an apology. I never thought this television network idea would work. You’re a marketing genius.”

  “I don’t know, Ford. Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.” She handed him the latest sales figures. “Sales jumped through the roof this week. I honestly don’t know how we’re going to meet the demand. And if the same thing happens with the next product we showcase?” She bit her bottom lip as he scanned the reports. “I think we might have bitten off more than we can chew.”

  Ford tossed the papers on his desk. “Nonsense, Becky Jean. We can handle this.”

  “Not without adding another shift to the factory. We’d have to hire more workers, including supervisory personnel. Our expenses would increase, too. Longer hours means higher utilities.”

  “How long would it take to hire and train a second and third shift of workers?”

  “Two new shifts? Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t think so, but thousands of people are waiting for their Safeguard Backdoor Locking System.” He smirked at the name she’d given his locking butt plug.

  “Laugh all you want, but I was right about the name. It adds a level of respectability to the product.”

  “And it looks good on the new sign out front.” He’d insisted on hanging a new sign on the front of the building. Adams Manufacturing. Home of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. Guard your assets with the best. She’d argued against the assets part, but he’d pulled his majority-shareholder card, and she’d had no choice but to back down.

  “I can’t even imagine what your father would say if he knew.”

  “He’d be proud as hell. The Adams family has weathered wars, depressions, recessions, and advances in technology to stay in business this long. We did what we had to do, Becky. He’d be proud of what we’ve accomplished.”

  She tried not to read anything into him calling her Becky. From the first day, he’d insisted on calling her Becky Jean or Becks, and then B.J. Never once, until today, had he called her by her preferred name. “He might be proud we found a way to stay in business, but I can’t help but think he would have preferred we do it with a more respectable product.”

  “Careful. You’re beginning to sound like my mother.”

  “She was right, you know?”

  “Maybe, but we did what we had to do.”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic. Ford’s ridiculous invention had brought the company back from the brink of bankruptcy, and done it in record-breaking time.

  “Which brings us back to these orders. We have to fill them. We don’t have any choice.”

  She sighed. She hated admitting he was right. “It’s going to cost a fortune to increase production.”

  He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at the computer monitor that barely clung to the corner of his desk. Like all the others in the building, the screensaver was a rotating montage of photos depicting the front of the building from various angles. She smiled at the one interior shot of all the employees on the factory floor, smiling and waving at the camera. Already outdated, it would be more so if they added production shifts. Soon they’d need a football field to hold everyone and a drone to hover over to take the photo.

  Ford’s voice snapped her attention back to their latest problem. “Remember, we make a lot more money off the direct sales orders. The extra cushion will offset a good portion of our investment in running an expanded production schedule.”

  She nodded and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Would he even notice if she replaced his ancient visitors’ chairs with something new? “True, but what happens when we feature another product next week? If we have an equal response, how are we going to meet the demand?”

  Ford’s gaze bored into her. “I have every confidence in you, Becky. You’ll find a way.”

  The sincerity in his voice washed over her like a warm summer breeze, lifting her spirits and melting her resistance. “I’ll ask our new HR person to start calling applicants she has on file. If we can’t find enough workers, we’ll advertise the positions. In the interim, we can expand the first shift an hour or two. It will cost us in overtime wages, but the increase will be less than the cost of new hires.”

  His smile warmed her. “I knew you’d find a way. Don’t worry about the numbers. The orders are going to keep coming in.” He glanced at
the latest sales report again. “Have you looked into transforming the original factory building into a home for the Adult Shopping Show?”

  “I have the plans I’d initially drawn up and a few estimates. The historical society voted to allow most of the interior renovations, provided we don’t significantly change the exterior.”

  “I suppose putting ASS on a sign out front is out of the question.”

  She sighed at the old argument. “Yes, I’m afraid it is. You’ll have to settle for Adult Shopping Show on a discreet, street-level sign.”

  He shrugged off her dismissal of his ridiculous proposal. “Let’s get hopping on those renovations. As I said, your idea is pure genius. It’s already exceeded my wildest dreams, and it’s only going to get bigger.”

  That’s what she was afraid of. It was time to make some changes. “About the show,” she said, placing another stack of papers on his desk. “I think we should find a real spokeswoman to replace me.”

  He didn’t even glance at the headshots the Dallas talent agency had sent over. “Why would we do a fool thing like that? I didn’t sell all those units. We sold them, Becky Jean. You and me. Look at the comments on YouTube if you don’t believe me.”

  “You tricked me into saying those things,” she accused.

  “Maybe so, but your backhanded endorsement convinced people to buy the product and cemented in their mind that you and I are more than business partners. They want to see more, and they want to hear you endorse the product.”

  “You expect me to actually try everything we showcase?”

  He nodded. “Yep, and endorse it. I promised our viewers we wouldn’t bring them a product we hadn’t personally tried and found to be worthy.”

  “Don’t you mean you promised them I would try the products?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not my fault they assumed we would be trying them out together.”

  God, if only we were. She squelched the thought. Having those images in her head during a show would render her incapable of speech. “Aren’t you even going to look at the models who want the job?”

  “It would be a waste of time, and you know it.” He dropped the photos in the wastebasket beside his desk. “Which product are we featuring this week?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” she said, rising to leave before she suggested he help her try something out.

  “I suggest we go with the KeyP Me Safe Light. Increasing production on the tiny flashlights will be fairly easy.”

  The small personal vibrator that doubled as a key ring/flashlight hadn’t gained the same popularity as the locking butt plug. It could use a marketing push. It amounted to a variation on the flashlight they had been producing with a few add-ons easily outsourced to people in the community to assemble off-site. “I’ll come up with a script for the show and get it over to you so you can read it before we go on air.”

  “Just send me a list of the talking points. We did okay without a script last time.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who’d made a fool of himself, blurting out very personal and private information. “You aren’t going to goad me into confessing I’ve used this thing.”

  “I won’t have to because you are going to test it and tell the audience about your experience. If you don’t, I’ll make something up myself.”

  She clenched her fists. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would, and I will.” He picked up his drafting pencil and shuffled papers, searching for whatever he’d been working on when she came in. “Call me this evening if you need help using the KeyP Me Safe Light. That’s the kind of research I excel at.”

  She made it to the door before he stopped her. “Oh, and check out the YouTube videos. You’ll see what I mean.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Is all this really necessary?” Becky eyed the extensive makeup palette spread across her kitchen counter. She should have known better than to ask for Roseanne’s help.

  “Yes, it is.” Her friend rearranged the assortment of paints and creams, most of which Becky couldn’t identify. “Amy did a great job on your hair, and the dress we picked out is killer. All you need is a little makeup, and Ford Adams won’t know what hit him.”

  Amy Kilgore, former classmate and present owner of Dippity Do, had done a fantastic job on Becky’s hair. The new layered cut made the most of her natural curls while framing her face in the best possible way. Thrilled with the outcome, she’d made an appointment for the following week to have her hair styled before the next show, too. “I don’t want to hit him. I just want him to notice me.” Becky closed her eyes while Roseanne smeared some kind of lotion stuff on her face.

  “Trust me, he’s going to notice.” She put the cap back on the tube and tossed it aside. From another tube, she squirted a dot of pale liquid onto her fingertip. Brush in hand, she tilted Becky’s head back. “Hold still, will you? We’ve got to get this done, pour you into your dress, and get you there in time for the show.”

  “Preaching to the choir.” Becky twitched her nose. “That tickles.”

  “Shut up. Artist at work here.”

  Aware of the minutes ticking by, she tried to remain calm, but the closer she came to actually carrying out her plan to bring Ford to his knees, the more she doubted she should. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “No doubts, girlfriend. The man deserves to be taken down a peg or two after the way he tricked you on last week’s show.”

  When Roseanne came at her with another brush, Becky closed her eyes again. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much if Ford thought her uptight, but it did. And she’d made up her mind to change his opinion.

  Becky closed her mouth while her friend drew a line beneath her lower lashes. As soon as her hand lifted, she asked, “What if he doesn’t notice?”

  “He’s gonna notice. He’d have to be dead not to. Take my word for it. Lips open, honey.”

  Becky parted her lips. While Roseanne worked her magic on them, Becky envisioned Ford’s face when he saw her. Maybe, for once, he’d see her as a woman, not just his business partner. What kind of relationship could he have with this Ronnie woman? Ford had been in Butte Plains for half a year, and she’d yet to make an appearance. If she had a guy as gorgeous and great as Ford, no way would she let him wander off on his own for months. Ford had never given Becky reason to believe his affections were up for grabs, but his actions didn’t speak of a commitment to his long-distance relationship. Besides, she had no intention of trying to steal Ford. He’d deliberately insulted her. Today’s makeover was payback.

  “There. All done.” Becky grabbed the hand mirror Roseanne held out to her. “What do you think?”

  “Oh, wow.” The woman staring back at her couldn’t be her.

  “Like it?”

  Becky turned her head from side to side, admiring the transformation from all angles. “You’re a genius, Roseanne. Where did you learn to do this?”

  “Lonely hours spent watching YouTube videos.”

  Becky set the mirror aside. “Business has been that bad?”

  “My occupancy rate last year was less than 20 percent. Thank goodness I own the house outright. I’m only paying utilities and the small loan I took out to convert the property into a B&B. As long as I do all the cooking and cleaning myself, I can get by with renting the occasional room.”

  “Then I won’t waste any more of my time feeling guilty about the length of time Scott spent here. I’m sure the extra money helped.”

  “Sure did.” Roseanne got busy stashing everything back into the plastic shoebox she’d used as a travel case for today. “Is he coming back?”

  Becky didn’t miss the wistful tone of her friend’s voice. Even though she complained about Scott’s overbearing ways, anyone who knew Roseanne well could see she’d fallen hard for the Yankee and had been devastated when he returned to New York. “Maybe. I’ll make sure he stays at The Yellow Rose if he does.”

  “Thanks.” She secured the lid on the box. “L
et’s get you into your dress and on your way. At least one of us should get what she wants.”

  ~~~

  Ford tossed the script for the KeyP Me Safe Light show in the wastebasket without reading a single word. They’d tried going the scripted route, and it had been a dismal failure. He had no idea if Becky Jean had tried out the product, but he’d find out soon enough. Ever since their conversation earlier in the week, he’d been thinking about how to play it if it became clear she hadn’t tried it. He hadn’t tried it either, but he knew what the tiny little device could do, and he had plenty of experience with similar items. If necessary, he’d point out the unique features of their pocket vibrator then launch into a monologue about how much fun it had been to use it on B.J.

  Becky Jean would be sure to turn varied shades of red, which the viewers would incorrectly interpret as embarrassment. They’d sell thousands of units, and no one would be the wiser except him. He’d be watching his back for the foreseeable future, but the sales would be worth sacrificing his safety.

  “Hey, Justin,” he said, looking around their tiny studio. “I can see our co-host isn’t here yet.”

  “We’ve got time. She called about an hour ago to say she’d gone home to change clothes for the show. I sure hope she doesn’t have any more suits like the one she had on last week.”

  “I hear you,” Ford said as he adjusted his tie. “It worked out though.”

  “Sure did. A few more weeks like the last one and I can pay off all my student loans.”

  “That would be nice.” He propped his hip against the display table. “I know what you said when we hired you, about this being an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of something with real potential. And honestly? I thought you were nuts.”