THE EXECUTIVE’S SECRET
A Secret Billionaire Romance
Kimberley Montpetit
Contents
The Executive’s Secret
Copyright
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
23. Dear Romance Lover
About the Author
Other Books by Kimberley Montpetit
The Executive’s Secret
A Secret Billionaire Romance
by
Kimberley Montpetit
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
THE EXECUTIVE’S SECRET: A Secret Billionaire Romance
COPYRIGHT 2017 by Kimberley Montpetit
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Spellbound Books
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my husband, the perfect secret executive
Chapter 1
Caleb Davenport gripped his briefcase, sliding out of the hired car paid for by the company account. After a transatlantic flight it was a relief not having to worry about throwing a few twenty-dollar bills at the driver, or digging out his credit card. He strode toward the double glass doors of the high-rise club in downtown Denver.
Breathing in the crisp fall air, Caleb finally relaxed, even though he was jet-lagged after making the transfer from Hong Kong via Los Angeles.
He was home, and the Rocky Mountains exuded their own sweet, familiar scent. The high altitude was bracing, clean and fresh. No more stifling hot, crowded streets with a hundred different scents of food vendors, perfumes, and body odor.
Eager to meet up with the rest of the owners of DREAMS, Caleb punched the elevator button for the ninth floor. His stomach grumbled demanding food. Maybe he and his partners should have met over dinner. It was later than he’d thought and the small sandwich on the plane hours ago hadn’t exactly been filling.
Waiting for his luggage had taken longer than expected, too, and on this particular Friday night Denver’s downtown streets were packed with taxis, rental cars, the 16th Street mall shuttle, as well as the Light Rail commuter train coming in and out of the convention center tracks. A couple of busses rumbled past, filled with name-tag wearing folks. Must be some big conventions going on this weekend.
Personally, Caleb was convention-ed out. Three of them back-to-back overseas with more than a dozen companies signing onto the hot new app. His baby, DREAMS; the computer site and app he’d spent years working on.
All in all, the past week had been a resounding success. His little company had grown by leaps and bounds over the past three years, serving thousands of consumers with insanely inexpensive products around the world.
It was mind-blowing to think he was going to bank close to a billion dollars by the end of the year—and it all started with his group of high school computer geek friends.
Caleb’s pace turned brisk when he pushed through the glass doors into the posh vestibule of the bar. The five of them; Troy, Brandon, Ryan, Adam, and himself, sent each other a deluge of text messages while overseas—but they often didn’t convey many details. Even more often were missing text messages. As if they disappeared traveling through long distance phone lines in third world countries.
The one message that had managed to get through to everyone was his invitation to celebrate at their favorite bar.
“Meet me at The 54,” he’d texted and, like a ten-thousand-mile miracle from across the Pacific Ocean, he’d received four thumbs up from his partners.
At the end of the plush carpeted vestibule, Caleb opened the second glass door that spelled out The 54 in swirly gold letters. He was greeted by the hostess, a woman of about twenty-five dressed in a black dress that shimmered from a luminescent fabric. Sleeveless, plunging neckline, the woman had a terrific figure, and toned arms as if she had an exercise trainer.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The 54,” she purred in a cultured voice with a slight accent. Italian? English? He couldn’t quite detect her country of origin, although he should, he’d been to London and Rome often enough the past few years on business. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”
“Reservation’s under Caleb Davenport.”
The hostess placed a red manicured finger on her wait list. A small lamp on the tall desk illuminating the ledger with a golden glow.
“I have you right here, Mr. Davenport,” she said. “Please follow me.”
When she sashayed Caleb to his reserved table in the back, he noted the shapely legs in five-inch high stilettos. With the heels, she was still much shorter than Caleb, who, at six feet four often came across as a big, lumbering bear, even while keeping in shape by running five miles every day. She couldn’t be more than five feet two. Despite the attractive women he ran into making business deals and traveling, most women were too short for his taste. He’d love a girl who was closer to five foot ten or taller, actually. Someone he could dance cheek-to-cheek with. A woman he could kiss without breaking his back.
Of course, Caleb wasn’t planning to hit on The 54’s hostess, despite her beauty and lovely accent. But once again, whenever he saw a woman he admired, Caleb instantly found himself thinking about the woman he did want. The woman he wanted for his wife and the mother of his children. Someone to share all this—this crazy life—the money—the travel. And yes, the burden.
Having DREAMS thrive so quickly was often disorienting. When he returned home, Caleb had to purposely ground himself by spending time with his best friends. He’d eat at his favorite restaurants, kick back at home with a Jason Bourne flick, sit outdoors at the Red Rocks Amphitheater for a concert, or take a hike in the pine forests.
And, of course, make a visit to his parents. Despite the pain that visit brought. Tonight he was feeling guilty, knowing he hadn’t visited them in nearly a year. It was too difficult, emotionally distracting, and exhausting, but his mother’s birthday was coming up and she’d never forgive him if he didn’t bring himself bearing a gift.
It might be crazy to make a list of what he wanted in a woman, but when the hostess showed him their table for five and laid out their menus, Caleb realized he could practically reach down and pat her on the head like she was twelve-years-old. Girls who could wear heels and look him in the eye were hard to find, but a definite priority for his “list”. Harder to find in the Asian countries he was currently visiting setting up accounts for DREAMS. Idly, Caleb wondered if women were taller in London where Troy usually traveled. He’d have to ask, he thought, and then grinned to himself.
Pushing thirty, Caleb was ready to find the woman. A woman he could spend the rest of his life with. His business and travel didn’t leave much time for dating. Let alone women he could talk to without an interpreter. E
ven if they spoke English and he loved their accent, it wasn’t the same. Whether it was books or music or movies or favorite foods, they had little in common.
Caleb gave a sigh and dropped his briefcase to the floor by the table, glancing about for any sign of his team.
The 54 was quieter than most upscale Denver hang-outs for the rich citizens of this city. And for him, having a membership here was an oxymoron.
When Caleb stared at the art deco on the walls, the polished 1920s furnishings, and the painted ceilings, he felt like an outsider.
Heck, he’d grown up in a poor neighborhood, attended a passable elementary school, but fortunate that it fed into a better high school. His father had been a drunken mechanic working odd jobs at home, his mother a part-time school aide who kept her husband company at night with the bottle.
At ten years old, he used to dream of buying them a new house one day. A house that wasn’t hanging together with duct tape. Mostly because he was the one who wanted to escape his depressing life. He never had friends over. Never told anyone where he lived.
Sitting here now in a posh bar was so diametrically opposite how he’d grown up that his life felt surreal. As if he could blink his eyes and it would all disappear like a dream.
“Hey, buddy, what are you doing here?” a voice came from behind, echoing his thoughts uncannily.
He whipped around to see Troy Thurlow, his best friend since high school, barreling toward him. “Hey yourself.”
“They let riffraff in these places now?” Troy teased.
“Nope, I sneaked in. Like usual.”
“That’s what I figured.” Troy plopped into a seat and grabbed the drink menu.
Caleb still had moments where Troy’s friendship and their partnership in DREAMS felt bizarre. But the two of them discovered they had a talent for calculus and computers so they’d end up at the Thurlow home doing math homework while watching Breaking Bad, and surreptitiously studied the cheerleaders during lunch in the quad.
Caleb was the greasy geek of the school. A loner who purposely stayed under the radar in the computer lab, except for moments with Troy—when he was virtually invisible next to the vastly more popular football player. There were times during high school that Caleb had wondered if he was Troy’s pity project, or a dare. Now he didn’t know what he was. Still a geek? Finally grown up when he turned twenty-nine in January?
“Looks like you’re over-thinking things as usual,” Troy said, slapping him on the shoulder.
Caleb gave a snort. “What makes you say that?”
“Your expression was very studious. Bad flight home?”
“Nope, completely uneventful. Just . . . thinking, like you always say.”
“It’s a woman, isn’t it?” Troy gave a grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Who’d you meet in Hong Kong?”
“Nobody,” Caleb burst out with a laugh.
“The airline attendant must have been hot then.”
Without warning, Brandon appeared and slid into a chair. “You met a babe flight attendant? Tell us more.”
Caleb let out a longer laugh. “I couldn’t even tell you what the flight attendants looked like. Short? Dark hair? Polite? Served food and drinks. End of story.”
Brandon flipped open a menu. “Here I was all ready for a juicy story.”
“You mean you didn’t meet the woman of your dreams in Brazil, Brandon?” Troy kicked back in his seat and placed his hands behind his head after signaling to the waitress.
“Next time please send me to Rio during Mardi Gras,” Brandon told Caleb.
“Nothin’ doin’. You’d never come home again.”
“There are perks to this job, right?” Troy went on. “But, no, our boss is all work, work, work. I spend the other half of my life sitting on planes.”
“Welcome to the real world,” Ryan Argyle said, coming up to the table and bumping fists with the rest of the men. Right on his heels was the last member of the DREAMS team, Adam Caldwell, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning the top button of a crisp blue shirt.
“Good, we’re finally all here,” Caleb said. “Now we can order.”
“Hey, I came as soon as I shut down the office,” Adam said. “I work longer hours than all of you put together, flying around the world, dancing with luscious foreign women at night.”
“Hardly,” Troy said with a glance upward at the waitress, a thin woman of about thirty-five wearing black slacks, a black blouse and thick black eyeliner. “I’ll have a ginger ale.”
The other guys laughed and Caleb held up his hands to ward off their teasing. “A Coke with vanilla,” he said. “And keep the nachos coming, please. Mini sliders, too.”
“What’s with all the fizzy drinks, guys?” Ryan said. “I know Caleb doesn’t touch anything hard, but what about the rest of you guys?”
“Headache,” Troy said. “Jet-lag is getting to me. I can’t even remember what time zone I’m in.”
“Mountain Time, poor baby,” Adam interjected. “Try sitting at a desk logging orders and shipments until your eyes go numb. I’ll have a cold beer, please.”
“Didn’t know eyes could turn numb,” Caleb laughed, giving the youngest member of their crew a teasing grin. Adam Caldwell had been in the class a year behind them in high school. But his computer skills were ferocious so Caleb had hired him two years ago. “That’s a new one.”
He’d known these guys for so long, but what most of them forgot—except for Troy—was the fact that Caleb never drank. He’d grown up with alcoholic parents and after binge-drinking at a party his senior year, he’d passed out and wouldn’t wake up. Terrified, Troy had called an ambulance, afraid Caleb was going to die from alcohol poisoning.
Caleb would never forget his mother speaking at his hospital bedside in a soft voice. “Isn’t it bad enough that your father does this?”
She’d been so hurt, her tired face so full of despair, that Caleb hadn’t touched a drink since. Despite the teasing during college, the parties going on at his dorm, he just didn’t. It wasn’t worth it. Besides, he wanted to live rather than get a buzz. And avoid liver damage like his father was now suffering with.
Troy ran his hands through his thick dark hair, slouching back in his chair. He was a big man, wide shouldered, with a chest as broad as a football field. Played wide receiver during high school at their alma mater, Southfield High School, but loved the intricacies of computer hardware. He was the guy that could trouble-shoot anything. “Man, it’s good to be home.”
“Homesick, buddy?” Adam teased.
Troy gave a half smile, shrugging. “There’s something about the fall mountain air of Denver that clears your head. South America is just hot and sticky, no matter what time of year you visit.”
“Speaking of autumn, what month are we in?” Ryan said, scrolling a thumb across his phone screen. “I’ve been in too many time zones to remember.”
“Months—times zones—it’s all the same, oh brainy one,” Caleb said, and then added, “Just turned October. We have to hit the office tomorrow, guys. It’s only Tuesday and we’ve got a boatload of data to enter and organize and get on the app.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know boss,” Troy said, stuffing a burger slider into his mouth now. “You don’t have to remind us.”
September had proven to be a grueling month and the guys were just doing their usual complaining when they put in an eighty-hour work week during travel but some days he hated being the CEO. They’d known each since their teens, and it often was uncomfortable to be their boss, having to crack the whip with his high school friends.
Ryan dipped a tortilla chip into the nacho cheese dip. “Only asking because I just remembered that we have our ten-year high school reunion later this month.”
“We couldn’t possibly be that old,” Troy quipped, picking up his second slider in under sixty seconds. “Wasn’t it only last June that we graduated?”
Ryan gave Troy an eye roll. “Oh, wise one, thank you for that. Did your invitations arriv
e in the mail? I think it’s being held at the Hotel Monaco on Champa Street. Dinner and a DJ, of course. No host bar.”
“Ooh, fancy,” Adam said. “They must think we’re rich.”
Low chuckles erupted around the table while Troy said, “Hopefully they don’t make us play any stupid games. I’ll never forget our senior picnic. Getting dragged in the mud during the tug of war.”
“You should have hung on,” Caleb teased him.
“If I recall the food was good,” Brandon added. “Never-ending barbecue and pie.”
“To you, the food is always good,” Troy told him. “You have a bottomless pit for a stomach. Your travel reimbursement for restaurants is astronomical.”
“Have we made a pact to go—or not?” Ryan asked. “Don’t want to show up alone and make small talk with people I don’t recognize.”
Caleb had forgotten about the reunion, actually. It wasn’t in his planner. He shook the hair out of his eyes and stared around the table. All the guys were gazing at him. Like he was the boss of the high school reunion, too. “We could draw straws,” he said with a half-smile.
“Better than tossing a coin,” Adam said, pulling out his calculator to figure out the odds.
An odd shiver ran through Caleb. Recalling the insane stuff that had happened with his parents during high school still felt surreal. He’d basically been on his own since seventeen, but instead of a fierce independence without having to care about anybody but himself, the opposite had happened.
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