The Billionaires and The Book Nerd: A MFM Billionaire Menage Romance

by Harper West

  Cooper shot up from my belly. “Jack! That should be the last thing on your mind!”

  “First thing is first: I need to go to the doctor and get an ultrasound.”

  “Oh, wow. We get to see our baby.”

  “Well, the baby probably won't show up just yet,” I said with a giggle. “But eventually, yes. We'll get to see our baby.”

  “I'll set up an appointment immediately,” Jack offered.

  “And we can go together,” Cooper suggested.

  “Like a family,” I added. “We'll go as a family.”

  “A family,” Cooper repeated. “I still can't believe we're saying that.”

  “Honestly, I can't believe it either and I knew before you two.”

  “When did you find out?” Jack inquired.

  “A few days ago. I had to make sure the timing was right. I wanted to surprise you two.”

  “Oh, we're surprised,” Cooper said with a chuckle. “We're very surprised.”

  “And very happy,” Jack chimed in.

  “I'm happy, too,” I whispered while tugging them close. “I'm so happy that I could die right now.”

  “Oh, darling, don't die,” Jack begged. “We can't live without you.”

  “We could never live without you,” Cooper added.

  “And I can't live without you,” I replied. “I don't think I could stand a day without you.”

  “And you don't have to,” Cooper assured.

  “We're always going to be here for you.”

  “Always.”

  I sniffled and smiled, kissing them each in turn. “You promise?”

  Cooper grinned. “We promise.”

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  Prologue

  The classroom door swung open, and I watched as Ms. Hawthorne, assistant to the Dean of Students, walked inside. Her usually cheerful face looked unhappy and pale, and we all fell quiet as her heels clicked against the tiled floor.

  "Jack Cooper, Holden Paulson, and Carter Mann," she began, looking at my friends and me. "Please come with me."

  My heart lurched to the side, and I looked over at my two best friends. Holden and Carter and I had been at Lytchfield Academy for over three years and despite sometimes ... well, not exactly following the rules, we'd never gotten caught doing anything and sent to the Dean's office.

  “What did I do?” Carter asked. He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows.

  Ms. Hawthorne didn’t reply. Instead, she looked to our Language Arts teacher, Miss Sally.

  “Is it okay if I borrow them for a while?”

  Miss Sally nodded. Pursing her lips, she looked at me and motioned for me to get up.

  Why do I have to go first, I thought. It took me a minute to realize that when Holden, Carter, and I were concerned, I always went first. We were the same age, but I was six months older, and they’d always treated me as de facto leader ever since we’d first become friends. I was the bossiest, the one who came up with all of our schemes.

  It wasn’t fair that they’d be getting into trouble, too, for whatever it was that we’d done.

  I got to my feet, and Holden and Carter followed seconds later. We followed Ms. Hawthorne down the dark, wood-paneled hallway, and into the Dean's office. The carpeting was thick and red and plush, nothing like the old, threadbare carpeting of the dorms, and the furniture was wooden and carved and somehow intimidating.

  “In here, boys,” Ms. Hawthorne said as she opened the door to the Dean’s private study. We followed her inside, one by one with me leading the procession, and she closed the door.

  Dean Norris sat behind a large desk with a grave expression on his face.

  “I swear, whatever I did, Carter and Holden didn’t have anything to do with it,” I said quickly. “Don’t get them in trouble, please.”

  A strange parade of emotions crossed the Dean’s face, and my stomach twisted with anxiety as I realized that whatever it was that we’d done must have been really, really bad.

  “Boys,” Dean Norris said slowly. “I’m afraid that I have to give you all some very bad news.”

  I looked at Holden and Carter. Holden, as always, looked stoic and calm. His big eyes were alert. Carter, for once, didn't have the expressive, playful smirk on his face and it made him look almost like a different kid.

  “Are we going to be expelled?” I asked.

  The Dean narrowed his eyes. "No," he said. "Although ... you may choose to go elsewhere if you wish."

  I blinked at him.

  "All six of your parents were on Juvian Airlines Flight B-860," the Dean continued. "There was an ... aviation incident and all six of your parents have been killed."

  The room fell silent except for the sound of the fan slowly turning overhead.

  “I am sorry to be the one to tell you,” the Dean said. “It appears that your families left you each a great deal of money, to be inherited when you each turn eighteen. And a great deal of money was left to Lytchfield Academy, as well.”

  I didn’t know what to think or feel or say. I had loved my parents, but I hadn’t known them at all. And although I rarely talked about sissy stuff with Holden and Carter, I had a feeling that they felt the same way. Our parents had all dropped us off here at the age of five years old, but even before then I’d been closer to my nanny than my mother. Now that I was almost nine, I could barely remember what my parents looked like.

  Still, the thought of losing them made my stomach actually hurt.

  “I’ll stay,” I said quietly. It was true that after so long, Lytchfield Academy felt like my home.

  And Holden and Carter felt like my brothers.

  “I’ll stay, too,” Holden and Carter said in unison. They looked at me, and I slowly nodded at them.

  Life was going to be a lot harder for us now that we were all technically orphans, but as long as we were together, I had a feeling that somehow, everything would manage to be all right.

  The Dean nodded. “Again, I am so very sorry for what must be a tremendous loss to each of you,” he said. “But know that you will always have a home at Lytchfield.”

  Chapter 1

  Hollie – 27 years later

  “Hollie, could I speak with you for a moment, please?”

  My head snaps up, and I look to see my advisor, Dr. Sardi, peering down at me. I flush immediately – Dr. Sardi's an older man who normally never leaves the confines of his book-filled office, and I can't imagine what could be so important that he deliberately sought me out.

  “Sure,” I say, practically leaping to my feet. “What’s it about?”

  Dr. Sardi smiled. “You might prefer a little privacy,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him out of the empty classroom and down the hall.

  My heart beats a little faster. Dr. Sardi, although a great advisor, doesn't always have the best reputation. Back when I'd asked him to take me through my MFA thesis in Creative Writing, I'd felt that I'd been making a good decision. Other girls had warned me that he was kind of a creeper and a letch, but I'd never seen that side of him. He'd always been polite if a touch distant.

  "Okay," I say. My mouth goes dry, and I follow Dr. Sardi down the hall and into his office. The English building at my school, Holyfield University, has always been kind of an embarrassment: it's at least thirty years older than the rest of the buildings on campus, and no one has voted to restore or refurbish it. Whereas the Science building gets new freaking computers every year, I think as I see the yellowed tile of the English faculty lounge and wince.

  It’s not fair, really. All I’ve ever wanted to do is be a writer, despite the ridicule and mockery that having such an ambition brought me.

  “You may as well get a degree in underwater basket-weaving,” my stepdad used to tease me before I set out for undergrad.

  “Harry,
please,” my mother had replied. She’d turned to me and cupped my chin in her lotion-softened hands. “Hollie, maybe you could think about something like History – a degree like that would still give you a lot of English classes, and maybe you could work for a museum.”

  But I’d held firm. Graduated at the top of my class with a BA in English. And now, I only have one more semester before I completed my MFA. I hope that it’s going to be worth it. Three years’ worth of eating ramen noodles and cheap instant soup hasn’t been fun, but I can’t wait until I’m the first one in my family to have gotten an advanced degree.

  Dr. Sardi's office doesn't look anything like the rest of the English building, which is one of the reasons why I've always liked it. His walls are fully lined with teak bookshelves stocked with the classics and criticism and theory, and he's got a lot of dark, leafy plants. He sits down behind his desk and gestures for me to sit down in the chair opposite.

  I do, and the leather squeaks uncomfortably under my ass.

  "Hollie, I have some bad news," Dr. Sardi says to me. He looks at me over the rims of his glasses, and my heart skips a beat.

  “What is it?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch.

  “Well, normally you’d be in a meeting with someone over at the Bursar’s Office,” Dr. Sardi says. “But I felt that as your advisor, I could at least do you’re the courtesy of speaking to you first.”

  My forehead crinkles with concern and I lean forward.

  “You owe a significant amount of money to the school, and until we receive that payment, you can continue to work on your thesis but you’re ineligible to TA for your last semester.”

  For a moment, I feel like I’m going to pass out. I grip the sides of my chair as my stomach plunges to the floor.

  “Um, I’m sorry, why not?” I ask. “Can’t that go towards my tuition if I’m not getting paid?”

  Dr. Sardi chuckles, and I feel an intense rush of dislike towards the man.

  “Unfortunately no,” Dr. Sardi replies. “This isn’t the STEM departments, you know. You were lucky – far luckier than most – to receive a paying TA gig in the first place. You really are an exceptional young woman, Hollie.”

  Something about his last sentence sends chills down my spine ... and not the good kind.

  “I see,” I say quietly.

  “But I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Dr. Sardi says breezily. His eyes slide down my body. “You’re a very resourceful person.”

  I swallow hard, suddenly wondering if I’ve found myself in the place with Dr. Sardi that everyone warned me about.

  “I don’t know what that means,” I say plainly.

  “We can always ... work something out,” my advisor continues. “If you’re willing, of course.”

  My stomach churns and I get to my feet. “I’m sure I can find a job,” I tell him.

  Dr. Sardi looks surprised, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “A job that will allow you to finish your thesis on time? You’re taking on a very complicated work, Hollie.”

  I smile tightly, wishing that I could slap him. “I’m sure I’ll find something,” I say. “As you just said, I’m ... very resourceful.”

  Dr. Sardi practically scowls. “Well, good luck,” he says sourly.

  My heart is in my throat as I get to my feet, nod goodbye to my advisor, and scurry out of his book-filled office as quickly as I can. My chest is tight and I can feel my jaw clenching and I want to scream, but I don’t. I rush back to the empty classroom where I’d been working, gather my things, and dart out of the English building.

  “He actually said that? That he wanted you to sleep with him?” My roommate, Sandy, looks at me in horror. “That’s so gross!”

  "He didn't actually come right out and say it," I admit to her, looking down into my mostly empty wine glass. Sandy pushes the wine bottle towards me, and I give myself a generous refill. "That's probably why he still has his job."

  “Well, that, and never underestimate the power of a tenured department head,” Sandy replies.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I even went to the Bursar, just to make sure that he wasn’t full of shit. I owe almost ten thousand dollars, Sandy. If I can’t come up with it in time, I won’t be able to submit my thesis and graduate.”

  Sandy bites her lip. “I’m sure you can come up with something,” she says.

  “But I’ve barely even started,” I tell her helplessly. “Part of me wonders if he’s known about this for a long time and he just now sprung it on me because he thought that I’d be more likely to agree.”

  “Maybe,” Sandy says. She pours herself more wine and takes a long sip. Even though we’ve been living together for four months, we’re not really what I’d call friends. She’s nice enough, sure, but we’re so different that sometimes I feel awkward just making the most basic kinds of conversation with her. While I’m still in grad school, Sandy works in finance and drinks a lot. She comes home at crazy hours in the morning only to get up three hours later and go to the gym – a feat that I honestly can’t help but marvel at. I wish that we were closer, especially now, when I really need a friend, but sometimes it just seems impossible.

  “Well, either way, I’ve got to start looking for a job soon,” I tell her. “I need something kind of low stress, you know? Like, something that’ll give me enough time to work on my thesis.”

  Sandy gives me a critical look. “You’re just writing poems, like, based on an existing book though, right? How much time do you really need for something like that?”

  And this is why we won’t ever be super close, I think as I look down into my wine glass.

  “It’s ... well, it’s kind of more than that,” I tell her. “If they’re good enough, it’ll be enough to get me an adjunct teaching job.”

  "Professors don't make very much," Sandy adds. "I could probably get you a job at my firm if you wanted. We always need admins ... they quit so fast!"

  “Um, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t think I could handle the atmosphere,” I tell her honestly. “It always seems really stressful to me.”

  “It is,” Sandy says. She grins at me. “That’s what makes it so great.”

  The next day, I spend hours at my computer looking for jobs – mostly stuff I can do from home. There’s a great listing for an online guestbook editor, but when the company gets back to me, they tell me that they can only hire employees in Montana for some kind of tax purpose thing.

  I also apply to be an online customer service rep for three different companies, spending over an hour on a typing test just to prove how quickly I can type. The results come in less than five minutes later.

  Rejected.

  Rejected.

  Rejected.

  Although I consider myself a mostly optimistic person, it’s frustrating to be rejected for things that I know I could do well, or at least competently enough to stay employed. Even more frustrating is that none of these jobs would pay nearly enough money for what I want.

  And it’s not like I can ask my parents for help – they already paid for my entire undergrad education, and I have a feeling that this would only prove my father’s point.

  At the end of the day, I'm about to give up when I get an interview request for a company the following day. It looks kind of seedy – a law office, looking for a secretary in some weird neighborhood in Brooklyn – but it still fills me with hope, and I reply with enthusiasm that I'd love to come in for an interview.

  In the morning, I'm getting ready and having coffee in an attempt to calm my nerves. Sandy comes downstairs, freshly showered, and dressed for work.

  “I got an interview,” I tell her, sipping my coffee and looking up at her slicked-back ponytail and black suit. “At a law office.”

  “Good for you,” Sandy says, and I wonder if there’s a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Just a warning, though, the pay will be shit.”

  Great, I think. Thanks for the encouragement.

  “Well, it’s something, at least,�
�� I tell her. “And who knows? Maybe it’ll be good just to have a chance at practicing interview skills.”

  “They don’t have a career center at your school?” Sandy asks.

  I bite my lip so I don’t say anything bitchy back. She gives me a smile and then goes out the front door of the apartment, leaving me alone with my coffee and my thoughts. Sometimes, I think it must be frustrating for people on the outside world to look at academics – back when I was in undergrad, I used to agonize over papers instead of going to parties, longing for the day in the future when someone would offer me a tenured job.

  But things have changed a lot, even in the last few years. Now, that’s basically a pipe dream.

  I wish I could give it up, but it’s what I’ve always wanted, more than anything else in the world.

  After rinsing out my mug in the sink, I take one last look in the mirror before heading out. The subway is emptier than I thought it would be – even though it’s insanely early for me, it’s still after rush hour, and that makes me feel strangely inconspicuous as I ride into Brooklyn from our apartment in Queens. The building is even sketchier than Google Earth promised, and I take a deep breath before heading inside.

  “I’m Hollie Parson,” I tell the receptionist with a smile. “I have an interview with Mr. Bridger at ten-thirty.”

  She doesn’t reply for a long moment, then jerks her head to the side. “He’s waiting,” she said, still looking down at her keyboard and typing as she talks. “Go on in.”

  I blink, wondering if this is the usual job-interview welcome. From all the stuff I read online, I wasn’t expecting anything like it, but maybe that’s par for the course. After all, I tell myself, rolling my eyes. It’s not like you can learn everything you’ll ever need to know by reading.

  The thought is honestly a scary one. Books and the internet have long been my safe place, the place that taught me about the world and the way it works. But even just from spending four months living with Sandy, I’m starting to realize that I'm a lot more sheltered than I previously thought. I'm twenty-three and still spend every day wishing that I could stay in college for the rest of my life.