by Violet Paige
“Got you a tire.” He beamed as he stepped out of the truck.
“Good. I was starting to worry about you, Frank.”
He walked to the back of his truck and retrieved a tire, slung it to the ground, and began rolling it toward me.
“This was the only one we had left in that trailer size.” He pointed to the flat. “Why don’t you scoot, and let me git this on here?”
I hopped from the ledge and watched as he began the process. Sally must have seen this a hundred times. She pulled her head in from the window and folded herself in the front seat.
After twenty minutes, Frank had finished and stepped back to admire his work. “That oughtta do ya.” He smiled widely, and I noticed he had several teeth missing.
“Thank you. I really appreciate the help.”
“Sure thing.” He tipped his hat and walked to the truck. “Be careful out there.”
“I will.” I almost jogged to the driver side. I was ready to get the last part of the trip underway. Nine hours and I would be in Cole’s arms.
Cole
I never liked the plan.
There was no way in hell I would have agreed to it if I had an option for Grayson. But Amber had just left Texas. I couldn’t leave my son when his mother had left him behind. How was I supposed to explain to him she was studying poetry and not tucking him in at night? That I had custody because she was more like a gypsy and less like a mother? And Kaitlyn was right—it was too much driving and sitting for him.
He would be restless and go through all the snacks before I even crossed over the Texas state line.
It didn’t mean I liked it her idea. I hated it. It didn’t feel right.
Kaitlyn shouldn’t be moving herself here. Alone.
I pressed my palms into the wooden railing. The waves beat the shore.
I knew what Ryan would think before he said it—I was failing her. How could I keep her safe when she was on the road without me? I promised him she’d always be taken care of. And look what she had talked me into doing. Fuck.
I shook my head and walked back inside. Grayson was curled on the couch. His favorite blanket was tucked in his fist. I scooped him in my arms and walked to his room. The toddler bed was close to the floor. I lowered him to the mattress and pulled his favorite train quilt to his shoulders.
It didn’t seem real that I had full custody now. But he was mine. No more back and forth on the weekends. No more two-hour playdates. Grayson had a room in our house.
There were books and crayons scattered on the floor. I had tried to convince him we had to clean up before Kaitlyn arrived, but he didn’t understand. It was a battle just to get him in the bathtub tonight. I choose to wrestle him in pajamas and worry about the floor tomorrow.
I turned off the light and closed the door.
The only thing I could do now was wait for her.
Wait for the girl I loved to come home.
Don’t Lie is Available NOW
Not Husband Material
Billionaire’s Contract Series
Copyright © 2018 by Violet Paige
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Not Husband Material
She wants a baby.
I want my billions.
Together, we can have everything we want.
I’ve inherited the family fortune.
Only there’s ONE hell of a catch.
I need to find a girl. Put a ring on her finger.
And here’s the most important part—knock her up.
Sounds easy, right?
After all, finding a woman to suck my c*ck has never been an issue.
It’s not like I have to fall in love.
Seems like a lucky break when I run into Evie after twelve years.
She’s all grown up now with gorgeous seductive curves that can take a man to his knees.
After one night together we can’t deny our chemistry could burn down the city.
I’ll make Evie my wife and she’ll have my baby.
But I’m in for an unexpected surprise… what if it isn’t fake?
What if Jeremy Hartwell has finally found The One?
The stakes are higher now. If anyone finds out our marriage isn’t real, I’ll lose everything, including Evie.
But I’m a fighter. I’m the man who will do whatever it takes to make sure she will always be mine.
Not Husband Material is the first in the Billionaire Contract Trilogy. Evie and Jeremy’s story continues in Not Daddy Material.
*If you like steamy alpha male billionaire stories, you’ll love Not Husband Material. It’s so hot, you’ll need a glass of ice water by your side. No cheating, a HEA and special bonus books for your reading pleasure.*
One
Jeremy
There were three things I was certain of in my life. I’d never play baseball again. My millions were almost gone. And my father’s reach extended beyond the grave.
The snow fell, gathering in the corners of the window. The glass was frosted. I couldn’t make out anything happening on the street below the Law Offices of Lancaster & Hudson.
“Did you hear what I said, Mr. Hartwell?”
“What was that?” I turned to face him.
My father’s attorney cleared his throat. “Your father’s wishes. The final part of the will. Do I need to repeat it for you?”
My mother ran a finger over the base of her throat, skimming her pearls. “Jeremy,” she whispered. “Let’s not drag this out.”
My tie was too restrictive. I attempted to pry it from my neck. “No, I think I missed it. Why don’t you read it again?”
I needed to take the damn thing off. I loosened the knot enough to take a solid breath. My ribcage filled with air, stretching the seams on my suit. My shoulders were too broad for this damn thing. Why did my father think I wanted to trade in the life I had for one like this? Stuffy rooms with stuffy attorneys. Board meetings. Fitted designer suits that suffocated my biceps.
“Really, Byron. I think we can handle this as a family matter from here. Your service is appreciated, however I should talk to Jeremy,” my mother protested. She could pretend to be humiliated. I didn’t buy it. Sylvia Hartwell did everything by design. Every word was chosen for a purpose.
“No. I’d like to hear it again. I just want to make sure I have my instructions. The final words from my father.” I glared in her direction. Like hell, if I wasn’t going to make this uncomfortable for her too. “Dad’s most parental moment. Right here. On the record for that cute little stenographer to preserve for us.”
I winked at the girl sitting in the corner furiously translating every word we spoke into the legal record.
Byron Lancaster had worked for my father since I was a kid. If he was shocked by the contents of the will, he didn’t let on that it bothered him. He was used to doing the dirty work. It’s why he made more than anyone else who worked in this building.
“Very well.” The older man pulled gold reading glasses to the brim of his nose. “My sole heir, Jeremy Hartwell, will receive his inheritance in its entirety, totaling half a billion dollars, the Malibu property, the vineyard in Napa, and the hunting lodge in Aspen, upon completion of the following.” Byron continued quickly. “The Hartwell family line will be extended with the addition of a spouse and a child bearing the Hartwell name. Under no circumstances will this marriage be dissolved without a full retraction of the inheritance, to be withdrawn and placed in a trust.”
“And there you have it.” I slapped the mahogany desk. Byron and my mother flinched. The stenographer temporarily stopped typing. “I’ve been called a stud before, but not quite in this manner.” I pushed off from the leather chair.
“Jeremy,” my mother hissed. “Where are you going? Sit back down.�
�
I reached for my overcoat. It was February, and cold as hell in Newton Hills. “Where do you think I’m going, Mother? I need to get drunk and knock someone up. I just got my walking papers to fuck every girl in this town if necessary. Some girl out there wants to be a part of this fun and happy family, don’t you think?”
Her mouth fell open. “Come back here. We haven’t discussed this. We need to have a conversation in private. You make it sound so vulgar. So tasteless.”
I huffed. “I’d love to hear your spin, but I have women to fuck. Thank you, Byron, for your time.”
“I will send a certified copy of the reading of the will to your address, Mr. Hartwell.” His voice remained monotone as if I had inherited a collection of rare books, instead of a command to sire a child.
“I don’t know that I need it. The directive seems pretty clear to me. I don’t get the money until I have a wife and an heir. Got it.”
“It’s my responsibility to make sure you have official copies of all correspondence from the late Mr. Hartwell. It is my duty.”
“Fine.” I didn’t care if I never heard the words again. I knew I wasn’t getting my inheritance. My father had made sure of that. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t and never would be husband material. And no one wanted me as a father.
I nodded and closed the door behind me.
I ducked into the first taxi I could find in front of the law firm. Uber hadn’t reached Newton Hills yet.
“Airport, sir?” the driver asked.
I looked at my watch. I still had a lot of time to kill before my red eye back to New York.
“No. What bars are still around here?”
I was downtown, but other than a coffee shop and a deli there wasn’t much open on the small street. Newton Hills wasn’t doing well when I was in high school, and the past twelve years hadn’t done the town any favors. Nestled in the hillside of the Georgia mountains, it wasn’t a Mecca for industry. It wasn’t a Mecca for anything.
“Bella’s is open,” he reported.
“The Italian place?”
He nodded. “It’s about five minutes from here. They have the best chicken parm.”
I considered my options. I could feast on vending machine snacks in the small airport until my flight, or I could try a bottle of wine at the old Italian restaurant. I used to know the owner’s daughter.
“Bella’s it is,” I decided.
He pulled away from the curb. “Hey, I know who you are. Didn’t know if I could say anything.”
“Oh really?”
“You’re the Hartwell’s kid. You played Major League Baseball, didn’t you?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. His eyes were on me. “Yes. For a few years. I was on the Ravens then traded to the Hawks. Then injured.” Three years in the majors was better than most guys did. It was a ticket to my own fortune. But I fucked up. I wiggled my fingers, staring at my palm. I hadn’t been a baseball player in a long time.
“Sorry to hear about your dad. I had a friend who worked at one of his stations. It was a real shock here.”
I gritted my teeth together. “Thanks.”
The sympathy was lost on me, but I had been trained to be a Hartwell. I was gracious even when I was angry as hell.
“I’ve never had anyone famous in my car before,” he sputtered.
I stared out the window as we passed empty storefronts that used to be businesses. Family-owned and run. The Radio Shack was gone. So was the drugstore, and the ice cream parlor. Newton Hills was almost unrecognizable.
A red neon light blinked in the front of Bella’s.
“Here you are,” the driver announced. “Do you think… ” His words drifted. “Could I ask for your autograph? I’d like to show my son I had a real-life pro athlete in my car.”
“Sure thing.”
I waited while he fidgeted for a piece of paper in the glovebox. He handed it to me along with a felt tip pen.
“What’s the name?” I asked.
“His name is Jordan.”
“Hmm. Ok. Got it.” I scribbled something more inspirational than my father had ever put in a birthday card, and handed it back to the man.
“He’s not going to believe it.” He glanced at the signature.
Seemed like a theme for the day. I didn’t believe what I had encountered either.
“Thanks for the ride.” I tossed a fifty in the front seat without bothering to hear the charge for the five-minute drive.
I pulled the collar up around my neck as the snow blew sideways. The bell jingled overhead as I walked into the restaurant.
Two
Evie
I used the heel of my hand to blot a tear in the corner of my eye. It was the best way to keep the mascara from smudging. I sniffed involuntarily. I didn’t have a tissue on me.
“I do understand. I just hoped that I could set up a second payment plan,” I explained. I worked to keep the pleading to a minimum.
“Miss Rossi, we don’t want our patients to go into unnecessary debt.”
My throat closed. This wasn’t unnecessary to me. Quite the opposite. It was completely necessary in every way.
“But I only need one more treatment. I have this feeling, you know? If I could set another appoint—”
The nurse cut me off. Her voice was soft but firm. “Not until you have a zero account balance. It’s against our policy. I’m happy to forward a copy of the paperwork you signed. This was outlined and explained to you in your initial exam. It’s standard for all patients.”
I leaned against the wall in the hallway to the kitchen. I could hear Leo screaming something to the dishwasher. I walked outside in my short-sleeve shirt despite the snow. I didn’t want the distractions from the kitchen to interfere with this call.
“Maybe if I could talk to Dr. Mickson again. She knows my case. She’s worked with me since the beginning. And really, she said I’m the perfect candidate to keep trying. If you’d just consider making an exception this once.”
Ok. I had given up on not begging. I was going into full-blown groveling mode if I had to. I just needed this nurse to understand what she was telling me. What she was denying me.
“Miss Rossi, no. Our accountant will be in touch. Until then I can’t schedule any more treatments for you. Call us back when you’re ready to move forward again. Best of luck to you.”
I stared at the blank screen on the phone. The snowflakes melted instantly when they touched the shiny surface. I wiped it against my shirt before stuffing it into the front pocket on my apron.
I heard my name through the screen door.
“Evelyn, you’ve got a guy at seven.”
“Coming,” I called. There was something calming about watching the snow fall. Even if it was only for a deceptive few seconds. It felt peaceful. Tranquil.
I straightened my spine and pulled my ponytail higher on my head. I had a way of dealing with a crisis—I didn’t. I’d pretend that phone call never happened. I’d march into the restaurant and serve the customer at table seven. It was as if I could pull a curtain down between my heart and my brain. It worked like a charm.
I would never admit that my last chance to have a baby had evaporated. I wasn’t going to face that I was in debt over ten thousand dollars to the fertility clinic, or that every in vitro I tried ended the same way. With a negative pregnancy test.
I wasn’t ready to look in the mirror and accept that I was only two weeks away from turning thirty, with no boyfriend, in a town with no single men to date.
“Where is she?” the head chef snapped.
“On my way.” I smiled at Leo. “I heard you, Leo. I’ve got him.” I patted the lumbering chef on the back as I walked past to the dining room. I was certain we had hired the grumpiest chef in the county. Nothing made him happy.
He huffed. “He’s been out there ten minutes waiting for you.”
“I know. I know.”
“And we’re out of the chicken parm until dinner,” he barked.
“Don’t even let him think that’s an option.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed through the swinging door that led to the dining area. It took a moment to adjust to the dimness. My parents had opened Bella’s long before I was born. They adhered to the Lady and the Tramp style for restaurant decor. Red and white checked tablecloths. Wax-dripped chianti bottles as centerpieces. They didn’t care about the fire hazards of open candle flames. It was dark other than the lights coming from the bar.
I walked toward seven. It was the corner booth farthest from the kitchen. It was odd to have a customer in between lunch and dinner. And it was Monday, our slowest day of the week. Cal looked up from polishing a beer stein and grinned at me as I walked by the old-fashioned bar. It was the last of its kind in the county.
“Hey, there. I’m Evelyn.” I placed a menu in front of the customer, along with the wine list. My parents were proud all the alcohol they served was authentic Italian. Not a single American wine on the menu.
He leaned back into the red vinyl cushion. His large frame made the booth seem small. I tried to make out his features.
He squinted at me. I looked at him again.
We both smiled.
“Evie Rossi.”
“Well hey there, Jeremy Hartwell.”
“I wondered if your parents still ran this place.” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s been at least twelve years since I was here last.”
He stood to pull me into a hug.
I would be completely lying if I tried to say he didn’t look hotter than sin. Because he was mister sex-on-a-stick. Always had been—even in high school. He was that guy. The one we all dreamed about. Tall, dark, handsome. A cut angular jaw that made him look brooding even when he wasn’t. Crystal blue eyes that melted the panties off every cheerleader in high school. And I had no idea what cologne he was wearing, but it was some incredible combination of masculine spice. I inhaled deeply before he let me go.
