Stalking the Billionaire Celebrity (Sweet Bay Billionaires Book 2)

by Rachel Taylor

  It was the most heartfelt, inspiring thing I’d ever read, and it was all about me. No one had ever said those kinds of things about me before. It made me feel things about myself I’d never felt before. And while she didn’t say it in so many words, Cara’s love for me was woven through every paragraph.

  I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as tears ran down my cheeks and soaked my pillow. Cara had lied to me, tricked me, all in an attempt to take advantage of me for her own gain. But she’d also changed her mind about me, apologized, and tried to make it up to me. Because she’d fallen for me. And I’d fallen for her, too.

  The question was, could I forgive her? I’d made so many mistakes myself, so many bad choices. I couldn’t expect other people to be perfect when I certainly wasn’t. Did I love her enough to look past what she’d done?

  If I held onto my grudge, I’d be left with nothing but that. But if I let go, I might have a chance at so much more. For once in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted.

  Chapter 18

  Cara

  I stared at the screen in a daze, watching the view count click up and up. The post already had a million views and several hundred comments, most of which were positive. I couldn’t believe my article about Beau had gone viral. There was no doubt that he would see it eventually. But what would he think of it?

  I forced myself not to think about it. While I hoped he’d read it, see my sincerity, and consider it an apology, I had no expectations beyond that. I’d already burned the bridge between us, ruining any relationship we might have had. My goal wasn’t to win him back but to improve his reputation, help the rest of the world see the Beau that I saw. The best I could hope for was that my article would soften the hate and betrayal he felt.

  My cell phone rang, and I tore my eyes away from the computer for a moment to look at it. The number was local, but I didn’t recognize it, so I didn’t answer it. It seemed like everyone in town had something to say to me about my article, either shaming me for what I’d done, praising me for what I’d written, or wanting to know more gossip about Beau. I never knew what I’d get, though, so it set me on edge whenever anyone approached me or called me. I’d taken to hiding out in my room and not answering the phone for the last few days.

  A few moments later, my phone chirped a notification that I had a new voicemail. I wanted to delete it without listening in case it was someone calling to ball me out, but curiosity got the best of me. When I hit the play button and heard who was calling, an icy chunk of dread landed in my stomach, sending shivers up and down my body.

  Calvin Montgomery.

  He had to have heard about what I’d done by now. Was he calling to harangue me for sneaking into his resort and impersonating one of his staff? If he were so inclined, he could probably press charges against me. I hadn’t considered that when I did it, but the possibility loomed over me now. My only hope was that Layla would talk him out of it. She’d seemed sympathetic towards me earlier.

  I scrunched my eyes and gritted my teeth as I listened to Calvin’s message, his serious, all-business tone grating my nerves like screeching metal. But after only a few seconds, I let out a relieved breath when I realized he was calling for a totally different reason.

  He had another celebrity who wished to remain anonymous staying at his resort who wanted to meet with me.

  Elation quickly took the place of anxiety, bubbling up inside me, making me feel lightheaded and giddy. I’d done it! I’d made a name for myself in the world of celebrity journalism without having to denigrate the very people my career depended upon.

  Who was it that wanted to meet me? My mind raced with possibilities that made my heart flutter with excitement but also thud with nervousness. I fantasized about the biggest names first, of course. Maybe it was AJ Jennings or his on-again-off-again love interest, Tamara. Could I find something good to say about either of them? I doubted it was anyone that famous. It was probably some B-list actor who needed some free publicity. What if it was someone who really was a jerk and needed to improve their reputation? Making a bad person look good was just as wrong as doing the opposite.

  I had to remind myself that I was in charge of my website, and I didn’t have to publish anything I didn’t feel right about. I could meet the celebrity, do the interview, and then decide if I wanted to write about them. My fears assuaged for the moment, I hit the redial button and made arrangements with Calvin to meet his mystery guest the next day, which gave me way too many hours to fret about it.

  The next afternoon, I stood in front of my closet, agonizing over what to wear. Why hadn’t I thought about that earlier? I could’ve gone shopping or borrowed something from someone. But now there was no time.

  Since I didn’t spend much time in the newsroom, my wardrobe consisted mostly of tee shirts, shorts, and jeans. And one lone dress that I’d worn to Calvin’s party. It seemed too fancy for an interview, even with a celebrity, but it was the only halfway decent thing I owned. If I made any money off this interview, I was going to have to invest in a better wardrobe. I figured it was better to be overdressed than underdressed, so I pulled the dress off the hanger and slipped it on, reminding myself not to do anything that might wrinkle it.

  My usual braid didn’t seem appropriate, either, so I left my hair loose and curled it into soft waves. I put on a little makeup — not much, but enough to look like a grown woman instead of a kid. The person staring back at me in the mirror looked like a professional even though I felt like a fraud. I forced myself to smile confidently.

  My mom had already left for work, so I had no choice but to drive my scooter to the resort, dress or no dress. Hopefully, my helmet wouldn’t make a weird dent in my hairdo. I stuck a comb in my purse, just in case.

  When I got to the resort, I pulled up to the front entrance since I wasn’t sneaking in this time. The valet held in his laugh when he saw me but couldn’t control the smirk that curled his lips. I pulled off my helmet, shook out my hair, then checked my reflection in the side mirror. The dress had a few creases from sitting down, but that couldn’t be helped. Otherwise, I looked pretty good. I sucked in my breath and held my head up as I walked in and approached the check-in desk.

  “Hi, I’m Cara Lawson. I have an appointment with… Calvin?”

  The woman behind the desk handed me a keycard and pointed down a hallway. “There’s an elevator at the end of this hall that goes to the penthouse. This card will give you access.”

  I grinned and took the card. It was so much easier when you were invited. I headed down the hall and swiped my card at the elevator. There was no guard posted; neither was there one at the door to the penthouse suite. I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face then gave a few quick knocks on the door, dying to know who was on the other side of it.

  “Come in,” a muffled voice called from the other side. It sounded familiar, and my brain instantly conjured up an image, but I knew it couldn’t be true.

  I swiped my keycard then slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. I heard my name said, and I gasped as I whipped my head towards the voice. I blinked a couple times and wanted to rub my eyes. I had to be seeing things.

  “Beau?” My heart seized up in my chest. What did he want? Why all the subterfuge? Was he there to slap me with a lawsuit or something?

  His serious expression softened, his mouth spreading in a smile that reminded me of the one he’d given me the last day I saw him, before he learned the truth about me, only this one was strained with a hint of pain. I hated that I’d caused that.

  He stepped closer and reached out to touch me. I flinched before his fingers landed on my hair. He stroked it, letting his eyes drop down to take in my outfit. “You look… different.”

  “I was trying to look professional.” My voice cracked.

  “You look beautiful, but I’d rather you be yourself.”

  I dropped my eyes to the floor between us. “I’m so sorry, Beau. I never should’ve done what I did. I’m sorry
I lied to you, hurt you.”

  “I read your article. Thank you for that. It was really nice.”

  “It was the least I could do.”

  “What we had between us, was any of it real, Cara?” His voice wavered with insecurity.

  I lifted my head to look him in the eye. “It was all real. From the very beginning, I knew I couldn’t write anything bad about you. All the time I spent with you was because I wanted to be with you. But I knew you wouldn’t want me around if you knew the truth.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder and slid it down my arm then took my sweaty hand. His voice grew husky. “I want you around, Cara. I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

  “You do?” I squeaked.

  He put his other hand around my waist and pulled me close till his face was only inches from mine. I felt his warm breath tickling me as he murmured, “I do. But the question is, how do you feel about me?”

  “I think I’m in love with you,” I whispered, admitting the truth to him and myself at the same time.

  Beau’s lips claimed mine as soon as the words left my mouth. His breath was hot, sweet, and rich, like flavored coffee, and I dissolved into him like sugar.

  He slid both hands around my body, drawing me into his. His firm muscles tightened around me, his masculine scent surrounding me. His heat enveloped me, and my body melted against him. I slipped my own hands up his back, exploring the smooth expanse, wishing I could slide my fingers under his tee shirt to feel his hot skin. His fingers stroked the satin fabric along my sides, making me tingle.

  We kissed till he pulled away from me, gasping, his broad chest heaving. Then he raked a hand through his hair and grinned at me. “If you couldn’t tell by that, I’m in love with you, too.”

  A lock of his hair flopped in his eyes, and I couldn’t resist smoothing it back into place the way he always did. Then I let my fingers trail down his stubble and along the sharp line of his jaw. When he gave me that smile he reserved just for me, the pain was gone, and all that was left was happiness. It made him look more incredible than ever.

  “Beau Bennett, you are the most gorgeous man I’d ever met, and also the richest and most famous. But none of those are why I love you. I love who you are in here.” I poked a finger at his chest.

  He lifted my finger to his lips and kissed it. “A lot of people have claimed to love me, but you’re the only one I ever believed. I’m going to try my best to be worthy of that love.”

  I looped my hands behind his neck, ruffling the hair there, and pressed my forehead to his. “And I’m going to be honest with you from here on out so you’ll never doubt it.”

  He squeezed my waist again. “I want to give you the world, Cara, to show you how much I love you.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t need anything but you.”

  He took a step back, running his eyes up and down my dress again. “You’re all dressed up, at least let me take you out for a nice meal.”

  All I wanted to do was stay there and kiss him, but his stomach rumbled, strengthening his case. I sighed and nodded, grinning, then held up my fuzzy keychain with the key to my scooter. “Okay, but only if I get to drive.”

  He threw his head back, laughing. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  The End.

  Liked this book? You’ll love the next in series:

  Lindsey’s lifelong goal is finally in reach, if her bossy, billionaire business partner doesn’t ruin everything first.

  When budding sous chef Lindsey inherits half of an old restaurant, her dream of running her own kitchen might finally come true. There’s just one small problem. Billionaire business tycoon Alex Pennington inherited the other half.

  Alex recognizes a prime location when he sees it, and the land sitting right next to the Sweet Bay Resort definitely has potential. Alex wants to buy out Lindsey, tear down the dilapidated building, and build a fancy new restaurant catering to the wealthy resort clientele. But Lindsey isn’t interested in selling her half of the family legacy, no matter how much he offers her, and she’s certainly not willing to let him tear it down.

  When things heat up in the kitchen, can these two bullheaded business partners cook up something special together, or are they bound to get burned?

  GET YOUR COPY NOW!

  FALLING FOR HER BILLIONAIRE ENEMY

  CHAPTER 1

  Chef Ribauld sneered at the plate I set under the warmer and rotated it like it might look better from another angle. He scraped away some of the sauce on top, then he jabbed a knife into the center of the chicken parmesan and sliced it open, ruining the presentation and revealing a blackened crust and a too-pink center.

  “What is this slop? The outside is burnt, the inside is undercooked, and the sauce is smeared on the plate like a toddler’s art project! The guest will die from salmonella poisoning if they don’t choke first on the mushy pasta!” He dumped the food into the trash can then slapped the plate on the counter so hard it vibrated for a moment before rattling to a rest. My heart skittered along with it.

  I wanted to drop my eyes to the floor to avoid his fiery gaze, but I didn’t dare. “I’m sorry, Chef. I’m a little distracted, but it won’t happen again.”

  He didn’t bother to ask what was on my mind, just put a fist on his hip and jabbed a finger at me. “Make sure it doesn’t, or get out of my kitchen!”

  I wanted to pull off my chef’s coat and walk out. I had bigger worries on my mind that burnt chicken, but I knew that would tick him off even worse. Instead, I scurried away, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants and furiously blinking away the tears that pooled in my eyes as I called out into the kitchen, “We need a re-fire on the chicken parm!”

  “He’s been watching too much Hell’s Kitchen. He thinks he’s Gordon Ramsey,” my sister, Abby, grumbled as she glared at him over my shoulder. He did kind of look like the abrasive chef with a face that was permanently red and wrinkled from scowling and yelling.

  “He’s right. That plate was unacceptable. I never should’ve let it get through to the pass,” I said, but inside I was thinking that when I was head chef, I’d never treat my staff that way.

  Of course, I’d never get to be a head chef if I made mistakes like that. It didn’t matter that I was distracted by personal problems. You had to leave those at the door when you entered the kitchen. The kitchen was like a machine, every part had to work in sync. If one part faltered, the whole operation failed. And as the sous chef, it was my job to make sure every dish that left the kitchen was perfect.

  I moved from station to station, following the food as it was cooked to ensure each chef got their part right. When I was satisfied that everything was perfect, I carried the plate to the pass and set it down carefully, turning it to present the best angle to Chef Ribauld. “Chicken parm, Chef.”

  He sneered at it again, turning it this way and that, but didn’t dissect it. Instead, he nodded and called out, “Order up!”

  That was as close to praise as I ever got from him. I didn’t like working for him, but I didn’t have much choice unless I wanted to leave Sweet Bay. The Sweet Bay Table was the only restaurant in town with a true kitchen. I didn’t want to flip burgers at the diner, I wanted to be a real chef.

  The dining room was slow that night, leaving me more time than usual to contemplate my future. Thoughts of leaving Sweet Bay flitted through my mind like they did every so often. I’d have so many more opportunities if I did. But Sweet Bay was my home, and I didn’t want to leave my family or the community that I loved.

  The other fantasy was to open my own restaurant, but I didn’t have the capital or the business experience, so that was nothing but a pipe dream. I’d just have to put up with Chef Ribauld’s grating personality and hope that someday he’d retire and I could be promoted. Too bad he was barely 50 and wouldn’t think about retiring for at least another decade.

  When there were no orders on the rack and most everyone was standing around, looking bored, I sucked up the nerve to approach
him. “Chef, would it be alright if I left early tonight? My grandmother is really sick, and—”

  He shooed me away with a wave of his hand before I had a chance to finish speaking. He didn’t care, anyway. He’d probably fire his own grandma if she ever burnt the chicken.

  “You’re leaving?” Abby stuck out her lip pitifully as I walked by, unbuttoning my marinara-spattered chef’s coat.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna go see Grandma. Mom texted me earlier and said she was asking for me.” I tossed my coat in the hamper then headed out to my car.

  It only took a few minutes to drive to my grandma’s house on the other side of town. Like her, the old bungalow was showing its age, but its charm and history made it way more valuable than any monetary appraisal would reflect. I parked in the cracked driveway behind my mother’s car and climbed the crumbly, cement stairs up to the porch. A path had been worn through the paint by a lifetime of visitors.

  I didn’t bother knocking, just pulled open the squeaky screen door then carefully pushed open the heavy, wooden front door. The familiar, musty scent of the old house, laced with my grandmother’s rose perfume, enveloped me. Normally, the scent was overridden by the smell of simmering tomato sauce and baking meatballs, but Grandma hadn’t been well enough to cook for the last several months. I tiptoed across the creaking floor, trying not to make too much noise in case Grandma was sleeping, but she heard me anyway.