by Lexy Timms
Facade
Billionaire in Disguise Series, Volume 1
Lexy Timms
Published by Dark Shadow Publishing, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
FACADE
First edition. February 26, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Lexy Timms.
Written by Lexy Timms.
Also by Lexy Timms
A Chance at Forever Series
Forever Perfect
Forever Desired
Forever Together
Alpha Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Triology
Alpha Biker
Alpha Revenge
Alpha Outlaw
Alpha Purpose
BBW Romance Series
Capturing Her Beauty
Pursuing Her Dreams
Tracing Her Curves
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Making of Them
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Billionaire Rock - part 2
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First Love
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Managing the Bosses Box Set #1-3
Copyright 2018
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 above 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. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 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.
All rights reserved.
Façade
Billionaire in Disguise Series # 1
Copyright 2018 by Lexy Timms
Cover by: Book Cover by Design
Billionai
re in Disguise
Book 1: FAÇADE
Book 2: ILLUSION
Book 3: CHARADE
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Façade Blurb
THE LIGHT AT THE END of the tunnel is not an illusion. The tunnel is.
I didn't become a billionaire sitting on the couch.
Sure, I come from money, but I turned that money into millions and billions more.
Somehow though, I've landed myself in hot water and someone wants my money, or me dead. Probably both. I hired a bodyguard from an agency that assured me they only work with the best.
Their best is a pretty, dark haired girl with an amazing body?
I'm screwed.
Royally.
Literally.
Screwed.
Contents
Billionaire in Disguise
Find Lexy Timms:
Façade Blurb
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Derek
Chapter 4 Sam
Chapter 5 Derek
Chapter 6 Sam
Chapter 7 Derek
Chapter 8 Sam
Chapter 9 Derek
Chapter 10 Sam
Chapter 11 Derek
Chapter 12 Sam
Chapter 13 Derek
Chapter 14 Sam
Chapter 15 Derek
Chapter 16 Sam
Chapter 17 Derek
Chapter 18 Sam
Chapter 19 Derek A Few Days Later
Chapter 20 Sam
Chapter 21 Derek
Chapter 22 Sam A Few Days Later
Chapter 23 Derek
Chapter 24 Sam One Week Later
Illusion Blurb
Charade Blurb
Billionaire in Disguise
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Prologue
Derek
THE DAY WAS SO UNASSUMING. The sun was shining, and the windows of the house were opened. The rays of sun drenching my furniture in its wondrous glow, illuminating the dark corners of my home. Birds chirped, filling the silence of the compound I called home. I looked out along the rolling hills that made up my backyard, grinning as I stretched.
One of the wonderful things about being a billionaire was that I got to set my own schedule. Bringing a company to the top meant my days were mine, and work hours were set when I was available. If I wanted to sleep in, one well-timed email blasted out to all my colleagues meant a late start for me. If I wanted to move a meeting, one well-placed email to my personal assistant, Emma, moved any meeting or phone call to any other time I could take it. With money, came success, and with success, came freedom.
Unfortunately, success also bred enemies, silent enemies who lurked in the shadows threatening to destroy all I’d created.
Even though I was stretching my body in my own home, it wasn’t because I had switched a meeting. It wasn’t because I had pushed a phone call or wanted a late start. It wasn’t even because I’d jet lag from a business trip.
It was because someone wanted me dead.
And that, I took very seriously.
The death threats started in the mailroom. In my company. The one I’d built. At first, I thought they were cute. “Step down or else” messages. The words were spelled in cutout letters from magazines, and I had a grand time trying to figure out what newspapers and magazines they had come from. Cosmopolitan. The New York Times. The Miami Herald. Golf Weekly. It was kind of fun for me, trying to pinpoint all the magazines this asshole might have pulled out of dumpsters to try and wreak havoc on my life. I figured a teenage kid was trying to get popular on social media.
Or something like that.
Then, the letters became personal.
Soon, the cutout letters were exchanged for typed letters. Then, the typing got exchanged for handwriting. They became intimate, documenting moments in my day that should have otherwise been private affairs, pictures of me walking on the street with women on my arm, wining and dining them before bringing them back to my home for a night of passion they would never forget.
I was being stalked by someone who wanted me killed.
Groaning, I raked my hands through my hair. Thinking about it all dimmed the beauty of the property I called my home. Even with all the security measures I had taken, I still didn’t feel safe. Even with the electronic gate and the security system that ran throughout the house and the well-placed cameras on my property, there was still something lurking. Something was in the shadows I could feel but not see. I didn’t enjoy not knowing all the pieces in play. Having all the information at my disposal helped me to be the best businessman I could be.
And right now, I was working with only half the intel.
I shuffled to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. Today was going to be a day of working from home. I had a to do a video conference call with the stockholders of the company, and there were also two very important phone calls I’d already rescheduled twice. Work didn’t stop because I wasn’t in the office building. I took the time to shave my face and wash myself down in the shower. I went through the ritual of putting on my suit as if I was going to work. Feeling my best meant looking my best, even if I wasn’t leaving the confines of my property today.
A knock at my door halted me in my tracks.
I raced down the stairs, my heels clicking on the marble staircase as I made my way to the front door. I stood behind it, listening for anyone who could be standing behind it and waiting for me to open. I peeked through the windows and saw no one standing there, but I did see something lying on my welcome mat.
A pearly white envelope.
Feeling my heart leap in my chest, I ripped open my door. I picked the letter up and looked around, trying to spot anyone running away from my property. The mail wasn’t supposed to run for another hour, and the mailman always called at the gate for me to let him in. There was no way in hell he would’ve come early, and there was no way for him to get through that gate without my letting him in first.
Who the fuck had left this letter?
I stepped back into the house and closed the door. With anxious hands and a knowing mind, I ripped the letter open and found the handwriting I’d become so familiar with. I clenched my jaw, wondering how the hell the letter had gotten past the gate.
My house was locked down for a reason. There was no way someone had gotten past my front gates and made it up my driveway.
And yet, they had.
Mr. Steele,
By now, I believe we have come to know one another very well. You know me as the eye in the sky, and I know you as the pompous Hollywood billionaire. You have sins in your past. Sins that should be reckoned with. There are many more people who deserve that money other than yourself. People you have ruined and trampled on to get where you are currently standing. So now that I have done my research and we have come to the dinner table, I am ready to make you an offer.
Step down from your company and donate your wealth to the charities listed on the back of this letter. If you do, you will not be killed. But if you don’t—should you choose to call my bluff—then I will finally be able to see whether or not your brain matter matches the drapes you so delicately hung in your home.
Forever yours,
Eye
Who the fuck was this psychopath? If he thought he was going to scare me into giving away the company I built with my own two fucking hands instead of going to college, h
e was sorely mistaken. If he thought, for one second, he could breach the security of my home, get into my house, and hold a gun to my head, he had another thing coming. I wasn’t sure how anyone dropped this letter at my doorstep, but I knew one thing was for certain.
If my security had been breached, someone would have come to get me.
I crumpled the letter up and stuck it in my pocket. I had work that needed to get done today, and I needed to get started. I made my way back up to my office and opened my door, turning on the light so my eyes could adjust. Fluorescent lighting was so different from natural light, and it always took some time for my eyes to adjust.
But then, the front door slammed open.
“Mr. Steele! Mr. Steele!”
It was my security guard, and I groaned as I rolled my eyes.
Shit. Someone had penetrated the security of my compound.
“Mr. Steele, you have to come with us. Your bags and spare electronics are already in the limo.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Where was the breach?”
“On the south side of the compound.”
“The one that backs up to the highway? But that’s the most heavily-guarded area. How the hell did they get past it to get in here in the first place?” I asked.
“Don’t know, and don’t care. Right now, we gotta get you out of here. Whoever this is, they just made a statement.”
“And what statement is that?”.
“That they have the resources to get to you, sir.”
A chill ran up my back as I headed out with my security guard. We raced down the stairs, and he practically threw me into the limo. I was shaking with anger as my house receded in the rearview mirror. I had built my home piece by piece, just like my damn company. This asshole was proving to me that he could make me run from my own home. From my own creation.