by Nicole Casey
Pursuing Yvette
The Viera Triplets: Book 3
Nicole Casey
Copyright © 2017 by Nicole Casey. All Rights Reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Contents
Also by Nicole Casey
Free Book Giveaway
Book Description
1. Draven
2. Yvette
3. Draven
4. Yvette
5. Draven
6. Yvette
7. Draven
8. Yvette
9. Draven
10. Yvette
11. Draven
Hot Dad Next Door
1. Ryan
2. Emma
3. Ryan
4. Emma
5. Emma
6. Ryan
7. Emma
8. Emma
9. Ryan
10. Emma
11. Ryan
The Billionaire’s Conquest
1. Jasmine
2. Trevor
3. Jasmine
4. Trevor
5. Jasmine
6. Trevor
7. Jasmine
8. Trevor
9. Jasmine
10. Trevor
11. Jasmine
12. Trevor
13. Jasmine
14. Trevor
Epilogue
The Billionaire’s Bid
1. Lyla
2. Preston
3. Lyla
4. Preston
5. Lyla
6. Preston
7. Lyla
8. Preston
9. Lyla
10. Preston
11. Lyla
12. Lyla
13. Lyla
14. Preston
15. Lyla
16. Preston
17. Lyla
18. Preston
19. Lyla
Epilogue
The Billionaire’s Proposal
Prologue
1. Noelle
2. Daxter
3. Noelle
4. Daxter
5. Noelle
6. Daxter
7. Noelle
8. Daxter
9. Noelle
10. Daxter
11. Noelle
12. Daxter
13. Noelle
14. Daxter
15. Noelle
The Billionaire’s Desires
Prologue
1. Natasha
2. Marcus
3. Natasha
4. Marcus
5. Natasha
6. Marcus
7. Natasha
8. Marcus
9. Natasha
10. Marcus
11. Natasha
12. Marcus
13. Natasha
14. Marcus
15. Natasha
16. Marcus
17. Natasha
18. Marcus
19. Natasha
20. Marcus
21. Natasha
The Billionaire’s Past
Prologue
1. Damon
2. Emilia
3. Damon
4. Emilia
5. Damon
6. Emilia
7. Damon
8. Emilia
9. Damon
10. Emilia
11. Damon
12. Emilia
Epilogue
The Billionaire’s Deal
Prologue
1. Cherry
2. Cherry
3. Dylan
4. Dylan
5. Cherry
6. Cherry
7. Dylan
8. Cherry
9. Dylan
10. Dylan
11. Cherry
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Nicole Casey
Free Book Giveaway
About the Author
Also by Nicole Casey
Mercury Billionaires Series
Book 1: The Billionaire’s Conquest
Book 2: The Billionaire’s Bid
Book 3: The Billionaire’s Proposal
Book 4: The Billionaire’s Desires
Book 5: The Billionaire’s Past
Book 6: The Billionaire’s Deal
Mercury Billionaire 6 in 1 Box Set
The Viera Triplets Series
Book 1: Dominating Vyolet
Book 2: Protecting Maya
Book 3: Pursuing Yvette
Stand-Alone Novella & Short Story
Hot Dad Next Door
The Unexpected Gift
Free Book Giveaway
As my way of saying thank you for reading my book, I’d like to give you a free copy of my book - The Billionaire’s Conquest.
It’s the first book of the Mercury Billionaires Series, a steamy Billionaire and Virgin romance.
>>Click Here to Sign Up and Get Your Free Book <<
Book Description
Pursuing Yvette
Yes, we had a history. But that was six years ago.
We were kids.
We were innocent.
We didn’t understand love.
And we were both ambitious to pursue the career of an attorney.
So I took all my belongings and disappeared from his life.
I became a junior partner at a law firm to tear married couples apart.
I’ve seen enough to draw this conclusion: true love doesn’t exist.
But how come my heart still sores when I think about him?
Worse yet?
We are both fighting for the senior partner position in the same firm.
We are both involved in a celebrity divorce case, an epic and ugly legal battle.
The competition is about to get fierce, and so is the heat between us.
1
Draven
I watched the tablet fizz in the glass of water as my stomach made an unsettling noise. It wasn’t a hangover; it was an ulcer in the making. I had warded them off before and I hoped I didn’t have to go back to the doctor again.
I guess Indian food is out of the question for lunch, I thought wryly. Not that I ever wanted to eat Indian food but knowing that it was off limits somehow made it more appealing.
My stomach snarled again, and I silently apologized to it for the joke.
“Mr. Archer, Sarah Miller is on line one and Avery Carlissi is on line three.”
I groaned aloud and rolled my eyes before snatching up the phone.
“Take messages on both and hold all my calls until eleven,” I told Abby, glancing at my desk calendar. I stifled yet another grunt of agony as I realized what I had in store for me that day.
“Actually, hold all my calls until after lunch.”
“Yes, Mr. Archer,” Abby chirped back, and I wondered, not for the first time, if she got a kick out of dealing with the angry souls who endlessly called the offices.
She always sounded so damned happy when I told her to brush off the clients as if she thrived for the moment that she could feed someone more bad news.
I was probably imagining things, living vicariously through someone who might be happy in the realm of misery I called work.
Eyeing the glass of antacid war
ily, I picked it up and choked it back before I could change my mind, gagging on the liquid slightly before placing the empty glass on the desktop.
It was only Monday.
I flopped into my leather swivel chair and turned to the computer, trying to get my mind in order to face the week.
A knock on the door proved to be a happy distraction and I turned my attention to the doorframe expectantly.
“Come in!” I called, and Vern stuck his head inside.
It was comforting to see that he seemed as frazzled as I felt most days but of course I made no comment to his disheveled hair and raccoon eyes barely hidden behind his glasses.
He resembled a man doing the walk of shame home after a spotty Friday night in the city.
I tried to envision Vern drunk and the thought terrified me for some reason.
“You busy, Drave?” he asked, and I did not comment on the inane nature of the question.
Am I busy? I’m a junior partner. Of course, I’m busy.
But Vern was a senior partner. I was never too busy for him even though the world was constantly falling apart around me.
“Nope,” I lied, sitting back and exhaling as the Alker Seltzer did its magic in my stomach. “What’s up?”
“Do you know Ryerson Sterling?” he asked, and I was beginning to wonder if today was going to be ridiculous inquiry day.
If so, I didn’t get the memo.
Ryerson Sterling was likely the richest man in our part of North Carolina, a self-made billionaire with half a dozen media companies under his umbrella corporation.
I think our firm had been advertising with his stations and papers for twenty years minimally, never mind the corporate and tax accounts we had been bequeathed on his behalf.
Sterling was the closest thing to royalty New Bern had ever seen.
Still, I maintained the easy expression on my face and nodded simply.
“Of course,” I replied. “I would wager that anyone over the age of twenty-five knows who Ryerson Sterling is.”
Vern sauntered into spacious inner office and gingerly sat on the edge of a modern chic chair facing me.
He sighed heavily, and I arched an eyebrow in curiosity.
“What happened?” I demanded. “Did he kick the bucket?”
Vern’s brow knit, and he scowled slightly, shaking his head.
“It’s worse,” he replied. “His wife has filed for a divorce.”
I almost shrugged indifferently but I caught myself.
Another celebrity divorce? What’s the big deal? It happened once every sixty seconds, even in our quiet town.
I decided to voice my question.
“Why do you look so pained?” I asked and if possible, Vern appeared even more glum, his somber face becoming a mask of stone.
“Because Angeline Sterling has retained us to handle it.”
Suddenly I understood the problem.
Our firm handled most avenues of law from corporate to criminal and everything in between. The term was “full-service” law firm although I always found the name a little cheap.
It was not hard to foresee that with such clients came an entirely different spectrum of the field; divorces.
That was where was I came in.
I, along with half a dozen other associates, handled the cutthroat business of splitting up assets and division of property for those who wished to be rid of their significant others.
It wasn’t a glamorous job, but someone had to do it.
Not to mention the commissions afforded me luxuries a boy from Newark could only have dreamed of from the trailer park fold out bed which had been mine until college.
And now it seemed, I had the daunting task of fighting with one of our longest standing clients.
“You can’t entertain the idea of representing Angeline,” I gasped. “Ryerson is our client.”
Vern shook his head mournfully, his puppy dog eyes growing sadder.
“Actually,” he corrected me. “They are both our clients. Angeline’s family has been with the firm longer than Ryerson. They have always seemed like a packaged deal to you but the Voigts were here well before Sterling.”
My stomach jeered at me again.
“Does he know that she’s jumped in and hired us yet?” I asked, hoping to see some way out of the potential mess.
“I have no idea,” Vern sighed. “And it would be a conflict of interest to tell him anything.”
I knew he was right, but I also knew that Ryerson Sterling was not apt to take the news kindly.
No matter what history his soon-to-be ex-wife had with Kirkpatrick-Campbell, Ryerson was not going to enjoy having to seek out another firm for his end of the divorce proceedings.
Not when this firm knows everything about him already. It’s a conflict. It can’t happen.
“Anyway,” Vern grunted, rising to his feet like a tall, exhausted stork. “I just wanted to give you the heads up. You’re likely going to be handling her case.”
The information was a double-edged sword.
On one hand, it was flattering to know that he trusted me with such an important client but on the other hand, did I really want this on top of everything else I had to worry about?
It wasn’t like I had much of a choice in the matter. When the senior partner spoke, us minions jumped to do his bidding.
My only hope was that conflict applied and I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
A man can pray, can’t he?
I watched the senior partner walk towards the door with speculative grey eyes.
When I thought about it, I really had much less to worry about than Vern and at moments like that, I was grateful I didn’t have his job, no matter how alluring the benefits of senior partner might be.
Stop thinking that! I yelled internally. You’re cursing yourself!
Of course, I wanted to be a senior partner. What else was I working toward if not that?
“I’ll keep you updated,” he warned me, and I nodded.
“All right.”
When he retreated into the office, I gazed up at the ceiling, somehow sensing that my Monday jitters were about to get worse.
As if on cue, there was another knock at the door and I immediately tensed.
“Come in,” I called, trying to keep the stress from my voice.
I exhaled in relief when I saw who it was.
She walked toward me, half-smiling in her bemused way, a paper cup in hand.
“You look as eager to seize the day as I feel,” Yvette commented, depositing the coffee before me.
“It’s Monday,” I replied easily. “Thanks.”
It had been our tradition for as long as I could remember; alternating coffee days.
Had it started in college? I could barely remember even though our school days at NYU were not that long ago.
It just seemed to me that Yvette had always been a permanent fixture in my life, bearing coffee and gracing me with that mildly amused expression as if she knew secrets which no one else did.
A strand of silken hair had slipped from her chignon and tickled her rosy cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice it as she peered over my desk and looked at the calendar upside down.
“Ooh,” she taunted. “Beasley and Hunter today. You are a glutton for punishment on a Monday morning.”
“I just want them wrapped up,” I explained, taking a sip of the double espresso, she had brought. “How many months can people argue about a cat?”
Yvette grinned and plopped unceremoniously onto the chair Vern had occupied a minute earlier.
“It is the age-old question of divorce attorneys,” she replied laughing. “If it can be fought over, it will be.”
“And people ask us why we never married,” I said.
A slightly awkward pause followed my words and I chuckled to ease the tension.
“I don’t mean you and me,” I explained, and she nodded.
“I know.”
She glanced at her hands and grinned as
something occurred to her.
“I think the next time someone announced their engagement, I am going to let them sit in on a mediation for eight hours.”