The Billionaire's Wife (A Steamy BWWM Marriage of Convenience Romance Novel) Read online

  The Billionaire’s Wife

  (BWWM Billionaire Steamy Romance)

  [email protected]

  www.amazon.com/author/miacaldwell

  Copyright Mia Caldwell 2015

  This book is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book are fictitious and any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidence.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Overview

  The impulsive employee, driven by opportunity.

  The introspective billionaire, harboring secrets.

  An entire empire hangs precariously in the balance. For the kingdom to last, they’ll have to face down a battlefield riddled with dangerous opponents near and far…and a horrible darkness that threatens to drive them apart forever.

  But to play the game, they’ll have to trust one another: the damaged woman who never lets herself look back, and the hardened man who never lets his walls down.

  The game is set. The players are assembled.

  And the next round begins with a proposal.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  ---

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  (Back to Table of Contents)

  Author’s Note

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  (Back to Table of Contents)

  Prologue

  Kiona

  My heels clicked on the pavement, my briefcase bouncing lightly with the motion. Suppressing any hesitation, I gave the quickest glance at my wristwatch – good, I’ll be right on time. This was the big one, and I couldn’t afford to screw this up.

  Two interviews down. I’m in the zone.

  Clinch this last one, Key, and you’re done.

  My eyes drifted to one of the store windows on my right. Impulsively, my gaze skated right over clothes I’d never been able to afford, instead catching my reflection. Tastefully, I’d chosen to wear a puff-sleeved, soft aquamarine frill blouse over a dark miniskirt that complimented the tones of my skin. I topped it off with pantyhose and a killer set of black heels. The clothes were courtesy of an apparel warehouse reseller, and the accent purse slung over a shoulder was a clever reproduction, giving me most of the image without the hit against my checking account.

  Looking the part was easy, provided sufficient resources. Like a chameleon, I could contort my appearance and demeanor to fit any environment, professional or not. It was the rigorous study that was difficult; learning just enough of the appropriate skills, knowing how to improvise professional answers out of smoke on the spot – that was where things got a little tougher.

  But I’d made it so far. The first interview had been with my tired, excitable would-be boss, Larry Higgins. I liked Larry for a number of reasons, primarily that he was on my team from the start. His mistake had been his enthusiasm and personable approach; I’d even managed to get him to talk about his wife and darling pair of kids for a few minutes. There were two questions that I’d fumbled, which should have been dead giveaways. Although ultimately endearing, Larry foolishly glazed over my missteps to get a feel for my personality, and to focus instead on the strengths of my resume.

  If you could call that complete and utter fiction a resume…

  My second interview had been a little tougher. A man who introduced himself to me only as Coppersmith, he was higher in the chain – the Director of Marketing. He was also an older, crotchety bastard with a harsh disdain for bullshit. Dealing with him had kept me more on my toes, because I couldn’t play a proper angle with him. Instead, I changed tactics, embracing a few illusionary weaknesses to show him how humble and responsible I was.

  Honestly, I didn’t think it worked – he looked not only perceptive, but also powerful within the company. If I were going to be a liability, he’d sniff it out at the start. Twenty minutes in I was ready to run and hide, but I forced myself to stay calm and demure, and that’s when I saw him crack just the slightest hint of a smile. His mistake was enjoying my humility, a card I kept on hand at all times. I’d won him over.

  Which left my third…

  I was at my destination with a few minutes to spare. The building was an impressive piece of architecture, and Andrews Enterprises took the prime real estate at the peak. During the longest elevator ride of my life, I took a deep breath, whipped out my contact mirror, and gave myself a quick, stern glance.

  Key, you’ve got this. You’ve spent a month preparing for this next thirty minutes. It’s in the bag.

  I slipped it back into my purse, straightened my shoulders, and kept a winning smile on stand-by. When the doors opened, I signed in, sat in reception, and waited with a wide-eyed, sincere grin on my face.

  One year here, and everything will fall into place. You can get yourself out of this godforsaken city and never look back. Just act the part and –

  “Hi, are you Kiona?” A chipper, lithe, young ginger woman asked politely, brushing her curls aside and extending her small hand.

  I stood up and graciously shook it.

  “That’s me!”

  Out comes the smile. I know how to play this game.

  “Fantastic,” she returned my expression warmly. “You were scheduled to have a dual-interview with our hiring manager and training coordinator, but there’s been a change of plans. I’m Kylie, the executive assistant for Cole Andrews. I’ve been asked to personally interview you for his review myself.”

  My smile didn’t falter, but my core withered. Cole Andrews was the man in charge, and one of the richest men in the city – if not the richest. This wasn’t part of the plan. I hadn’t prepared for this.

  Fuck.

  (Back to Table of Contents)

  Chapter 1

  Kiona

  Four Months Later

  Anyone else would have been too intimidated to step foot into the fully staffed conference room during the quarterly corporate meeting, especially with Cole Andrews sitting at the helm. But that’s my trick: I’m not just anyone else. I’m anyone I need to be at any time. Right now, that meant that I was Kiona Walker, the secret weapon of the Andrews Enterprises marketing department. Fearless, adaptable, and quick on my feet, I perform borderline magic for these people on the regular.

  That’s wh
at I made them all believe, anyway. Backing it up took a little work, and a couple of Saturdays here and there, but it was such an easy persona to slip into while temporarily embracing the atmosphere.

  It’s no wonder that it was me who Larry asked to infiltrate the board meeting. Overworked and underappreciated, Larry helmed our merry little band of miracle-workers. Ever since I’d started working here and had to pay attention, I’d pictured Larry as a startlingly thin former frat boy. Standing six foot four, with a perpetual smile on his face and bags beneath his merry eyes, he looked more in place behind a smoking grill with beer in hand than leading the marketing team for one of the most exclusive e-commerce developers in the world.

  “You called for me, Boss?” I asked, leaning through the doorway to his enclosed office. While we all had our cubicles, Larry’s office was some sort of constructed, homey chamber that he inherited from the office’s previous leasers.

  Larry was already standing, reaching into the inner pocket of his hanging windbreaker – my eyes immediately slid to his motorcycle helmet, in its usual spot atop his bookcase. When I first interviewed with Larry, I hadn’t imagined that he was such a motorcycle aficionado as he wound up being, but it only added to his charm.

  But that charm was presently gone. As Larry turned to face me, his characteristically warm expression was stonily grave. “We’ve got a problem. I ran the numbers again, and Coppersmith is about to give Andrews the wrong reporting figures…and I’ve got to run downstairs and put out a fire.”

  “Must be a hell of a fire,” I remarked calmly, holding my elbows with arms crossed. That was his polite way of saying Somebody fucked up, and I’ve gotta go fix this shit.

  “Little bit.” The faintest glimmer of a smile tugged at his lips. Larry looked absolutely exhausted. I realized that he’d still been behind his dual monitors when I left the previous night. How long was he working last night? “I don’t know how long this is going to take – can I trust you to run the revised report to the conference room?”

  I glanced down at the red binder on the edge of the desk. “You’ve got it. I’ll head straight there.”

  “Lifesaver,” he chuckled, darting out the door around me.

  “Damn right,” I chuckled, watching him give a quick wave of recognition before disappearing down a corridor.

  Clutching the report against my chest, I briskly strolled past the small sea of cubicles and offices towards the far door. The conference room wasn’t far – I merely needed to stroll along the edge of the call center, then the programmers’ grotto, and finally down a private hallway to the closed door at the end.

  I smiled politely at several of my coworkers in different departments as they glanced up from their work and waved. Although I’d only been here four months, I’d already made some waves with my professional output. It might have put me on the outs with my co-workers, but I got lucky. The company was fond of throwing lavish quarterly company parties, and the timing of my employment meant that the second one was due relatively shortly. To my surprise, the Facility Manager wheeling out the karaoke machine had given me the chance to solidify some casual friendships with the rest of the staff.

  Fitting in was always one of my strong suits…

  Few of my coworkers dared to step into the Corporate Corridor, our colloquial name for the hallway of private offices to most of the on-site upper management. However, the place virtually nobody dared to go was the conference room, situated behind the door at the very end. Protocol dictated that one does not simply enter the conference room when the door is closed, and to my complete lack of surprise it was already shut. However, I wasn’t about to make the next two rungs up the ladder look like complete idiots in front of the company founder, so I broke the rule and went for it.

  Knock, knock.

  I hear a dampened speaking voice behind the door pause, and the room became eerily silent. I gave it a few seconds, waiting to see if anyone would spare me the trouble and simply pop open the door for me. Naturally, that didn’t happen, and I was aware that they were a second or two away from resuming...

  Knock, knock.

  The silence hung for a moment, but then there was the sound of a separate female voice – an aggravated trill that I could barely hear. No chairs shuffled or footsteps approached, so I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and twisted the doorknob.

  If you’ve ever seen a conference room in some Wall Street film or television drama, you’ve got the right starting point. The board table was a large, finely polished, wooden surface of chestnut cherry, situated atop three cubed pedestal bases. This gave the table the illusion of floating in mid-air between the twelve confused men and women – facing me from their chairs in various states of annoyance. The room itself featured tasteful light mocha walls and strong, mahogany bookcases, all lined with ledgers and binders. The exception was that every top shelf of every bookcase was empty, save for numerous awards, framed certificates, and trophies that the company had won over the last eight years. The far wall was an expensive solid sheet of glass, offering an unremarkable view of the buildings across the street – unless you were the founder, seated at the end, who could glance down the curved street towards the beautiful, sprawling park in the distance.

  Speaking of the founder, Cole Andrews was the only person at the table without some variation of an angry grimace or confused stare plastered across his face. Relaxing comfortably in his executive chair, he merely tilted his face in my direction, his stony stare lazily falling upon me.

  My breath caught in my throat for a moment – startlingly handsome, relatively young Cole Andrews had never really paid me any notice. Whenever I’d see him, he was moving through the office with singular purpose. Now he was staring right at me with his characteristically cool glance, and all I could do was marvel at his beautiful eyes.

  God, he’s fucking sexy.

  His professional detachment was legendary in these offices. Privately, a number of the marketing people referred to him as Cold King Cole, regardless of a complete lack of relation to the old British nursery rhyme. For one, Cole Andrews wasn’t British. Additionally, he was the furthest thing from a merry old soul that I could imagine – his expression was locked into perpetual stoicism, and his posture was downright statuesque. Don’t even get me started on the rest of it…I think he’d burst into indomitable fury if a gaggle of fiddlers burst into his office.

  Brushing my flushed thoughts aside, I walked over to Coppersmith, handing him the binder. My confidence was briefly rattled when I realized that he was sitting just two chairs down from Mr. Andrews, separated only by the executive assistant – a chirpy, young woman with thick curls and glistening eyes.

  “Pardon the intrusion, sir, but I’m afraid there’s a mistake with your figures. These are the corrected numbers.”

  Coppersmith had apparently been promoted, not long after he interviewed me. This meant that he was the most junior corporate leader at the table, and would have to show the others how capable he really was. By extension of his stuffy, self-serving personality, he would clearly choose to preen his reputation for accepting zero bullshit.

  Lashing out was the inevitable conclusion. His withering glance drooped to the binder I held out, then to the one already open in front of him.

  “Impossible. Larry Higgins already gave me this one personally. Take that and get out.”

  Repressing the urge to smack him upside the head with the delivery in my hand, I converted my irritation into a winning smile. “Understood, sir. However, Larry was working so hard last night that I offered to compile the numbers for him. With my history for perfectionism, he trusted me. I’m afraid that the mistake is mine. Here are the corrected figures.”

  Coppersmith glowered at me, contemplating my words. Finally, he begrudgingly took it from my hand. “I am going to have a word with Larry.”

  “Understood, sir. My apologies for the intrusion.”

  I glanced up, and Cole was already gazing away, his stare lost down th
e street. He probably wants to be here as little as I do, I thought to myself as I noticed a hint of sadness in his gaze.

  “Run along now,” Coppersmith grumbled, waving me away with a brisk, wrinkled hand.

  I nodded cordially, turning back towards the door and avoiding the aggravation of the other corporate members. Before I could leave, my eyes fell upon some of the information on the projected screen – and I stopped in my tracks.