My Fake Billionaire

by Ana Ashley

  My Fake Billionaire

  A Braxton Boys Short Story

  Ana Ashley

  Rhys Everly

  My Fake Billionaire © 2019 by Ana Ashley and Rhys Everly

  First Edition: October 2019

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopy, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  My Fake Billionaire is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Cover design: Rhys, Ethereal Designs

  Editing: Alphabitz Editing

  Contents

  Blurb

  1. Will

  2. Denver

  3. Will

  4. Denver

  5. Will

  6. Denver

  7. Will

  8. Denver

  9. Will

  10. Denver

  11. Will

  About Ana

  About Rhys

  Blurb

  “How had I ended up with a billionaire as my fake boyfriend?”

  Denver Scott escaped New York after his break-up and got himself the dream job. Running the blog and book store at the Barefoot Beach Resort can only lead to good things. Even an acquaintance with a handsome hottie with a heart of gold.

  * * *

  Billionaire William Knowles is looking forward to escaping to the little tropical island of Saint Louis and everything it has to offer. What he didn’t think he’d find there, was the cute Barefoot Librarian that makes his insides melt with need.

  * * *

  When Denver’s ex-boyfriend turns up on the island with his sugar daddy and his toxic attitude, the two men pretend to be in a fake relationship to get back at him. But even if their affair is not real, their feelings might be.

  * * *

  My Fake Billionaire is a 15k short story with a sexy billionaire, a sweet barefoot librarian, a hot exclusive island resort and lots of fun situations.

  1

  Will

  “Mr. Knowles,” someone said behind me, and I turned to look at the stewardess, Denise.

  “How many times have I told you to call me just Will, Denise?” I asked her, crossing both legs and arms sternly.

  She’d been working for us for almost two years and she still refused to drop the formalities, even in the privacy of our jet, forty thousand feet above ground.

  She smiled. “Just Will, would you like a drink?”

  Who wouldn’t after last night? I pulled my sleeve to check my Vacheron Konstantin for the time.

  “Is it twelve yet?” I asked.

  Man, I couldn’t wait to leave my parents behind. As soon as the pilot had hit the clouds and switched the seatbelt sign off, I'd unbuckled and breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a get-together with my parents that hadn’t ended in disaster. I couldn’t remember the last time they didn’t put me in the middle like I was a prized possession instead of a son.

  This trip to L’ile de Saint Louis was much needed and long overdue. I couldn’t wait until landing when I could walk away from Mom and Dad’s warfare and enjoy some alone time by the beach or the pool and reconnect with myself.

  I just needed to erase last night’s gala from my brain and I’d be set. I still couldn’t believe they’d caused such a scene on a night meant for charity. But, that was the Knowles way. Always the center of attention no matter what. If I was being honest with myself, I was surprised they’d managed to keep civil for as long as they had.

  My parents had always been a match made in hell. As far back as I could remember, Mom and Dad had always been bitter towards each other. When I was young and naïve, I’d thought it was because I’d done something wrong, or that the things I’d done hadn't been good enough. It had messed with my young mind more than a child’s deserved to be. Whether I spent time with one, the other, or neither, the vitriol was always present, center stage, like their personalities.

  When I became old enough, I knew it wasn’t my fault—not that it made a difference to the tormented, traumatised kid I’d once been. My parents had never loved each other. Their marriage was simply one of convenience. It was a business decision that had resulted in both of them making it onto the billionaires’ list. But as impressive as the numbers sounded, no amount of money or success could buy love.

  I knew it shouldn’t bother or phase me. I was a full grown adult with my own career and ambitions. But a part of me still wanted to be loved by my parents and for them to love each other. Because if they did, that would mean I wasn’t born out of necessity to continue the family line, but out of love.

  * * *

  I wasn’t even half hopeful that I’d find love myself anytime soon, but God, did I want to. Just so I could prove my family wrong and myself right. So I could prove that love was real and it did make a difference.

  Being gay, a billionaire, and not into grandads, the choice pool was limited as fuck, and not because I felt the need to date someone whose net worth was similar to mine, but simply because no one—and I mean no one—who wasn’t at least a millionaire would ever want to be with me.

  Money was powerful, but it was also scary for a lot of people. I wasn’t clueless. I might have grown up pampered and spoiled, but I knew how the world worked and the part I played in it.

  Myself and those in my circle were seen as “those people who don’t care and who do nothing about it”. I’d gone on dates with enough men from different backgrounds to know all that from experience. And the high-end matchmaking services I’d tried had been an effort in futility, to say the least.

  “Do you want me to be cliché and tell you it’s twelve o’clock somewhere or should I just bring the champagne?” She raised an eyebrow.

  I laughed.

  “Just bring the champagne. Smarty-pants.”

  She wasted no time and returned with a glass on a tray, then proceeded to ask me if I wanted any canapés, but I knew nothing solid could go down right now.

  “Maybe later. Thanks,” I told her, and she returned to the seat at back of the jet with her latest issue of Stature, where she would probably swoon over all the latest designer clothes like I knew she loved to.

  It was high time she got another present from Catbird or Stella McCartney. She would have to put up with the Knowles seniors after they dropped me off, and the resilience to put up with them in the confines of a plane definitely needed to be rewarded .

  The most annoying part about my parents was that, since I was fourteen, they’d been in a constant state of divorce, yet they were still to officially separate, which meant they went everywhere together. And no, it wasn’t because they had come to love each other. It couldn’t be. As much as I’d hoped and wished for it growing up, that wasn’t the case. Both were way too attached to their combined net worth and power to separate.

  As soon as I took a sip of the sparkling wine, I realized I was doing exactly what I’d been trying to avoid—thinking about my family, New York, and all the crap I was trying to run away from.

  Deciding that I wouldn’t let anyone ruin my business trip—or as I liked to think of it in my head, a mental health break—I downed the glass and asked Denise for another one, and to apologise for interrupting her, I asked her,
no, actually commanded her to join me. With the help of booze, some gourmet food prepared by the chef on board, and the company of my charming stewardess, we flew across the world. Seventeen hours and a long beauty sleep later, we landed in the heavenly hot islands of Seychelles ready to seize the opportunity and begin operation relaxation.

  Of course, that meant I also had to forget about the actual reason for my visit here—buying this island so my tycoon of a father could add to his hotel portfolio. At least that had been my excuse for leaving on such short notice. Truth was, I had no interest in buying anything for my dad at the moment.. I just wanted to walk barefoot on the beach and pretend I was doing it with the love of my life even though they probably didn’t even exist.

  And if they did? Well, they would certainly not want anything to do with me.

  2

  Denver

  It had been sixteen days since I’d put all my belongings into a Brooklyn storage facility and handed over the keys to my apartment. Fifteen days since I’d arrived on the tiny Island of Saint Louis somewhere in the Indian Ocean, and fourteen days since I’d discovered the beauty of the sunrise.

  Granted, it hadn’t been intentional because if there was something I’d never been, it was a morning person, but I would happily spend a lifetime worshiping at the altar of the jetlag gods for keeping me awake long enough to experience the sunrise on that first day on the island.

  As a writer, I was good with words. I lived to capture the world around me using those words, but my inability to describe the Saint Louis sunrise had me both frustrated and captivated.

  I sipped the bitter, dark coffee from my flask as I buried my feet in the cool sand, staring at the changing colors in the sky. As on previous mornings, I’d walked over to the beach wearing a warm blanket over my shoulders, but I’d be leaving to work this morning in nothing but shorts, a resort branded shirt, and optional sandals.

  All of the staff on the island walked around barefoot. After all, this wasn’t called the Barefoot Beach Resort for nothing. But I was a city boy, and the island may get me to wake up early, but footwear was not optional as far as I was concerned.

  I took a deep breath to inhale the fresh scent of the morning. It was a mix of sea salt and the forest that covered most of the inner part of the island. I always hoped it would help me find my words, but they never came.

  Would I leave the island in seventy-four days still unable to accurately describe the sunrise? The thought scared me. How would I remember this feeling, the smells, and the sounds if it wasn’t written down?

  As soon as the sun warmed my face, it was time to get up and go to work. I laughed to myself. It still felt unreal that I’d landed the job as the resort’s library slash bookstore manager. Not that there was much to manage when I was the only member of staff.

  What had attracted me to the job, apart from location, obviously, was the chance to run the Barefoot Librarian blog. The blog had attracted some attention from the media in recent years, and my predecessor had even secured a book deal.

  My absolute dream job would be to write the travel feature in Stature magazine. After years of running blogs and doing freelance writing for a number of publications in New York, I had all the experience, but no one knew who I was, and if I wanted to work for Stature, or any luxury magazine for that matter, I would need to make a name for myself first.

  “Denver. Bonjour my friend.”

  The call came from Jacques, one of the resort staff who seemed to be responsible for bringing all new stock for the library arriving from the mainland. Two weeks and the strong French accent of my colleagues as they said my name still made me smile.

  “Hey, Jacques, what have you got for me today?” I asked, taking out the key to the small hut on the beach that was both library and bookstore.

  Jacques came through the door as soon as I opened it and set the box down on my desk.

  “Looks like ze paperbacks you wanted.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, opening the top box and picking one of the books, feeling the soft texture of the matte finish of the cover under my fingers. This was perfect. Just what I’d been waiting for.

  I spent the morning working on a display for the books and making notes for the next Barefoot Librarian blog post. Resort guests came and went, some asking for recommendations of books to read and some to purchase their favorite beach reads. Not surprisingly, romance was topping the charts on the island, which was why I’d wanted these particular paperbacks in.

  The novel had apparently been written while the author had taken a vacation in Saint Louis the year before and inspired by a couple they’d met on the resort. While this wasn’t common knowledge, I’d been given clear instructions to let guests believe the rumours about the origin of the book without confirming it.

  A vision of a flowy, white dress and long, blonde, sun-bleached hair appeared in my line of sight without any warning. Damn all these barefoot people.

  “Helen, sweetie, one of these days I’m going to sew bells on your dresses.”

  She laughed. “I’ll get your some thread.”

  “What brings you to this side of the resort?”

  Helen was the events manager and kind of my boss, even though she was the most chilled boss in the world. I liked her a lot.

  “Denver, we have a special guest at the resort, so I’m going to need your help organizing an event.”

  I followed her back to the main part of the hotel, into the lobby, where she asked me to wait while she picked up some paperwork from her office.

  I didn’t venture often to this area of the resort. Since I was still learning the ropes of my job, I spent most of my time either in the library or on the beach trying to decipher that sunrise.

  Bellboys pushed luggage trolleys back and forth. I waved at a few of the faces I already knew until my eyes settled on one I definitely didn’t know.

  The guy was tall, gorgeous, extremely well dressed, and did I say gorgeous? He looked expensive, like a leather-bound, first edition, rare book. Not that he was old. Far from it. He looked about my age, but he was definitely more refined than I could ever be.

  I noticed the expensive looking watch as he rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt. My body coiled like a spring at the thought of what those long, strong fingers could do to me. When the guy bent over to remove his shoes and socks, I thought I was going to die and go to heaven.

  Our eyes met and a slow lazy smile graced his lips.

  “Denver.” I jumped at the sound of Helen’s voice, feeling my face heat up as I turned around to look at Helen and the man next to her. God, I hoped she hadn’t noticed me checking out a guest. “This is our VIP guest. He has kindly agreed to do a reading and book signing for us tomorrow.”

  I shook the man’s hand, my mind already going through ideas. This would be my first event, and I wanted to impress both Helen and the author.

  When I turned to leave, I noticed the handsome stranger was gone. I wondered if I’d see him again.

  3

  Will

  Admittedly, taking my shoes and socks off in public was not the most charming thing to be caught doing, and of course, I had to be doing that right at the moment when the sweetest, most alluring gaze met mine.

  The man staring at me was a sight for sore eyes, with his full lips that begged to be kissed and pupils that looked so deep and full of wisdom that felt as if they could read me like an open book. His hair was blond, short, and curly and framed his clean-shaven face perfectly like a halo.

  I wanted to walk over and introduce myself. Get his name and talk to him, find out what he did and who he was, but none of that was going to happen.

  “Mr. Knowles, what a pleasure to meet you,” a fleshy, older man said, approaching me and distracting me from the beauty in white.

  I turned to greet the man who introduced himself as the hotel manager, and shook his hand, but by the time I looked back, the blond man was engaged in a conversation with two other people and walked outside
, further away from the lobby and any chance of me getting to know him.

  “Your parents have talked so much about you, I feel like I already know you,” the manager said. “Would you like a tour of the resort or would you prefer to rest first?”

  I’d literally just got here and I had no interest in talking numbers with him just yet. What I did want was to find the attractive man and talk to him, but since that wasn’t an option currently, I would have to go for that much needed rest. There was infinite time for the tour and business meetings. Right now, I needed some alone time.

  “I’d rather have a few days to myself, if that’s okay. I’d like to see how everything is working from a guest’s perspective,” I told him, and I walked toward reception, but the manager stopped me and clicked his fingers at one of the bellhops.

  “Mathieu, please take Mr. Knowles to his suite,” he said to him and then turned to me. “You don’t need to worry about checking in. Everything is taken care of. Let us treat you like we treat all of our premium guests.”

  I let Mathieu take my suitcase and we walked away from the main lobby, outside into the scorching heat, and followed the sandy path to the villas that this particular resort consisted of. They were all spread out and each of them had its own leafy gardens to allow for privacy between the rooms. All of the huts had a beach view, as Mathieu explained to me in French, and once we arrived at the last villa by the edge of the small island, he opened the door for me and showed me where everything was. Even though I was fully capable of navigating the suite myself, Mathieu took great pride in showing me around, pointing out every little detail, and I couldn’t have expected anything less. After all, luxury was all about the service and experience.