Bought for Marriage (Bought by the Billionaire Book 1)

by Fiona Davenport

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Fiona Davenport. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact authorkatyconnor@gmail.com.

  Edited by Liz Pelletier

  Cover design by Liz Pelletier

  Cover art from Getty Images, Light Field Studios, and iStock

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2018

  Kathy, we couldn’t have done this series without you!

  Chapter One

  SULLIVAN

  “Stag again, Sullivan? Really?”

  I sighed into my glass of scotch and silently wished I was drowning in it before turning to face my mother. She was a beautiful woman, with Grace Kelly features, ice-blond hair pulled into an elegant knot, and a dress that was probably custom-made by one of the top designers at Fashion Week. She was small; even in heels, she only came up to my shoulder. But with her shrewd hazel eyes that matched my own, her regal stature, and a never-take-no-for-an-answer attitude, she was intimidating as fuck.

  She could send every man in our company running away with their balls retreated into their stomach with just a look. Except my father—I had no idea how she didn’t scare the hell out of him.

  I was not a man to be trifled with and had a reputation for being lethal in the business arena. Yet she somehow managed to make me still feel like her little boy whenever the mood struck her.

  “How are you, Mother?” I asked while giving her a polite kiss on the cheek and hoping to change the subject. “I didn’t know you and Dad were planning to attend.”

  I’d even double-checked the guest list with the host since Miles Deveraux was a friend of mine. As of last night, my parents hadn’t RSVP’d, so I’d felt safe spending the evening dateless. I was going to wring Miles’s neck for not alerting me the minute they’d decided to make an appearance.

  My mother looked down her nose at me. Don’t ask me how she did that from below…but she did. “Yes, well, we had a last-minute cancellation and wanted to show our support to the Deveraux Foundation.” She glanced down at my half-full glass and grabbed it from my hand, placing it back on the bar before slipping her arm through mine. “Since you are here alone, I have some people I’d like you to meet.” A serene smile plastered itself on her face, and she began to walk into the thick of the mingling crowd, dragging me behind her like the dutiful son I was.

  “I’m not interested in your friends’ debutante daughters, Mother,” I protested softly. “I’m too busy to date, anyway.”

  This was not an exaggeration. As Vice President of Bradford Enterprises and Real Estate, I spent almost all of my waking hours working. I hadn’t even managed to find the time for a quick fuck in months.

  “Humor the woman who gave you life, Sullivan.”

  Another sigh escaped, and I resigned myself to watching the clock tick as she introduced me to airhead after airhead. Finally, after almost two hours, I felt I’d put in my dues and could bow out for the night and head back to the office. I had a teleconference at 5:00 a.m. with a company in Singapore that I needed to prep for.

  My mother looked none too happy with my excuse, but I hightailed it out of there before she could locate my father and double-team me.

  I had no idea why they were so fixated on marrying me off. I was only thirty-two years old and at the height of my career, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t have time to look for a wife, much less deal with the bullshit that came with dating in New York City.

  Particularly when I stood to inherit a company worth billions.

  My meeting wrapped up at around seven in the morning, and I was beyond ready to return to my penthouse apartment and crash for a few hours. Living in the same building as my office definitely had its perks. I yawned as I stood from my plush leather chair and reached for the jacket hanging on the back. As I slid it on, I went over a mental checklist of everything I needed to get done today and calculated how much time I could give myself to sleep.

  “Sullivan.”

  “What the fuck?” I shouted, then immediately wished I had better control over myself when I realized it was my parents standing just inside my office door. I’d been so focused on my goal to get out of the office that I hadn’t heard anyone enter, and the sound of their voices had startled me.

  “Watch your language in front of your mother, son,” my father scolded, his displeasure clear in the deep grooves of his furrowed brow, even though his frown was obscured by a thick, gray mustache and neatly trimmed beard.

  “Sorry,” I apologized grumpily, though sincerely. “I was just headed home for a few hours, can this wait?”

  My father shook his head and ushered my mom all the way inside and helped her into one of the brown leather wingback chairs that faced my desk. In many ways, they were an odd couple. I’d gotten my height from my father, and at six-four, we both loomed over her more petite frame. But no one could dispute their connection. Emotionally and professionally, they were a united front.

  At times like these, it was hard to remember that I was a grown man, a powerful VP in the company, and not a little boy about to be disciplined.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked dutifully.

  “Your mother and I are worried about you,” my father started, and I mentally banged my head against my desk. Here we go again…

  “You can’t keep working yourself into the ground, Sullivan. How will you ever find a wife and start a family? I want you to be happy, son.” My mother looked genuinely worried, and out of respect, I didn’t laugh at her old-fashioned notion that I needed a woman to be happy. I had hoped that when my younger sister, Frances, got married to a dentist and promptly produced two-point-five grandchildren, it would get my parents off my back about getting married. It wasn’t like I was their sole hope for grandchildren.

  Before I could respond, my father chimed in. “We think you should take a vacation.”

  “And—” My mother stopped abruptly when my dad suddenly squeezed her shoulder and shook his head.

  “Don’t, Lynn.”

  She glared at him and continued. “And, I want you to seek help.”

  Dad sighed in resignation and held up in his hands in surrender. “I had nothing to do with this part. I just think you need a vacation. Somewhere tropical with lots of scantily—oof!”

  “Malcolm!” I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped this time when my mother dug her elbow into his side. Then she dropped her hands into her lap and folded them primly, smiling pleasantly as though she hadn’t done anything at all.

  “You think I need to see a shrink?” I asked incredulously.

  “Heavens, no,” she scoffed. “I’m talking about a matchmaker.”

  I didn’t think my jaw could have hit the ground any faster or harder. “A what?” I sputtered as I dropped heavily into my chair. I had to have heard her wrong.

  She reached into the pocket of her lavender pantsuit and produced a card, which she laid on the desk and
slowly pushed in my direction. I was at a loss for words, so I simply lifted the card and stared at it.

  Luxe Connections.

  Discreet matchmaking services.

  Julia Connor, Founder, CEO.

  “Julia and I went to college together,” my mother informed me. “Her track record is stellar, and she caters to the wealthy and other clientele who are in need of the utmost discretion.”

  “Mother, I don’t need help finding a woman,” I grumbled, not sure whether this was funny or insulting.

  She snorted derisively, somehow managing to do it elegantly. “I beg to differ, Sullivan. Clearly, you…what is it they say these days? You…suck at this?” My father stifled a chuckle, and I mumbled more curses.

  “Anyway,” she powered on. “I made an appointment for you at seven tonight and made sure Kline cleared your schedule.” My assistant and I clearly needed to have a talk about who was in charge around here.

  I opened my mouth to argue, but my mother didn’t let me get a word in edgewise as she lectured and cajoled me until I agreed just to escape. She smiled triumphantly and stood. “Good boy.”

  With that, she turned and marched from my office, my father following behind and laughing all the way.

  I glanced warily around the room as I waited for the receptionist to call me back to Mrs. Connor’s office. It wasn’t what I had expected. I’d been prepared for red and pink walls, hearts and cupids, cheesy wedding announcements, et cetera. But instead, the space was sophisticated and stylish. The colors were muted beiges and blues, with expensive but comfortable furniture and beautiful landscapes adorning the walls. It was welcoming and a little soothing.

  “Sullivan?” I looked up from the report I’d been pretending to read to find a tall black woman in a perfectly tailored white suit and matching high heels. Her hair was a waterfall of beautifully curled thin braids hanging down her back, and her sculpted face was highlighted with minimal makeup. She didn’t remotely look her age, but she had an air of experience and intelligence that was hard to ignore. It was clear she wasn’t a woman to be messed with, but at the same time, she exuded a soft femininity that I imagined put many men at ease. I was impressed and could see why she was so successful.

  “Mrs. Connor?” I asked as I walked forward.

  “Julia, please,” she responded with a genuine smile, holding out her hand. Her shake was firm and confident, making me like her even more. “Please follow me.”

  We stepped through from the reception area into a short hallway that ended at a large office with a wall of windows overlooking Central Park. She indicated for me to take a seat, and I settled in one of the matching padded chairs that faced a glass desk and the spectacular view.

  Julia rounded the desk and sat in her own chair before folding her hands on the tabletop and taking a moment to eye me up and down. I returned the perusal openly, and that seemed to amuse her.

  “Your mother and I go back a long time, and I’m afraid it’s hard for me to reconcile the man before me with all the stories she’s told me about her darling boy.” Julia smiled and relaxed back into her seat.

  “I can only imagine,” I replied drily.

  “So, let’s leave all of our previous notions at the door and get to know each other with a fresh start. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for?”

  I mirrored her relaxed pose but steepled my fingers in front of me, watching her thoughtfully. I’d spent the day wrestling with the notion of cancelling, but in the end, I had decided that maybe my mother and I could come to a compromise. And Julia was just the person to make that happen.

  “I’ll be honest, I have no desire to get married and settle down. A wife and kids aren’t in my plans. I intend to take our business and build an empire. That doesn’t leave time for other pursuits.” Julia raised a brow but didn’t interject. “However, I love and respect my mother and when I look at things objectively, I can see the merit in her suggestion. A wife would keep away the gold diggers and other unwanted female attention. It would allow me to find a release when needed without the fear of leading a woman on and getting into an uncomfortable situation. This would be a contracted relationship in which both parties would be aware of what they were getting going in, and in the event that it came to an end. A business transaction.”

  I stopped and waited for a reaction, but Julia’s face remained impassive. “Go on,” she encouraged.

  “Well, I want a woman who will look sophisticated on my arm at events, someone who isn’t expecting love, romance, or, most especially, children. She should have her own interests so that she is content with my inattention, but still be available when the occasion calls for it. I expect her to be faithful and will allow her the same consideration in return. However, that does mean that she will be required to fulfil her wifely duties in the bedroom”—I couldn’t help the small smirk on my face when I added—“Of course, I have no doubt that she will find the experience satisfying.”

  After I finished, Julia studied me for a moment more. Then asked, “And you have no problem with the woman marrying you for your money and power?”

  I shrugged, not the least concerned with what the woman wanted from me. “On the contrary, it seems even more beneficial to our relationship if we’ll both be going in with the knowledge that we’re each getting something out of it. Like I said, a business arrangement. No messy emotions to get tangled up in.”

  Julia nodded and looked at her computer, typing a few things before returning her attention to me. “I can accommodate your requirements. I have a few candidates in mind for you, so let’s set an appointment for next week for you to meet with them.”

  I nodded and stood, holding out my hand. “Thank you. I’ll have my assistant contact you with my availability.”

  She unfolded herself from her chair and we shook. “Perfect.” Her face was still unreadable, and for some reason it made me a little uncomfortable. But I ignored the niggling feeling and turned to leave. Then a thought occurred, and I did an about-face.

  “One more thing. This is all confidential, right?”

  “Of course,” she agreed with a nod. “Everyone is required to sign an NDA.”

  “Good.” I didn’t need her blabbing any of this to my mother, especially considering the last stipulation I was about to give her. “I have one more requirement.”

  She cocked her head and looked at me curiously. It was the first time since she brought me back to the office that I was able to read her expression. “Go on.”

  “I want it stipulated in the contract that my parents are never to know that this isn’t a love match. When we’re in their presence, she’ll have to act out the part of a loving wife. Is this doable?”

  Something sparked in her eyes, but her expression once again smoothed out, and I thought maybe I’d imagined the cunning gleam. “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you next week, then.”

  As I exited the building, I took a deep breath in and reviewed everything that had just happened. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d lost my fucking mind. But I decided not to second-guess my decision. Instead, I chose to enjoy the beautiful fall day in New York City and walked the twenty or so blocks back to my midtown office.

  Chapter Two

  KINSLEY

  “Hello?” I didn’t normally answer calls on my cell when I didn’t recognize the number, but I couldn’t afford to miss anything related to my brother. So even though I was in a rush to make it out of my car and up to my brother’s room, I picked it up. If the call wasn’t urgent, I’d just have to tell them to call me back later.

  “Kinsley Taylor?”

  The feminine voice was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place from where I recognized it. “Yes?”

  “This is Julia Connor with Luxe Connections. We met at Jack and Sylvia Hawthorne’s wedding.”

  Considering the offer she’d made me during the reception, that encounter was quite memorable. “Now’s not really a great time for me, Julia. Could I ca
ll you back this afternoon?”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “But please make sure it isn’t later than today. The matter I’d like to discuss with you is time sensitive.”

  “Will do,” I promised, disconnecting the call and tucking my phone back into my purse. Although she’d piqued my curiosity, my focus immediately shifted to more important matters as I rode the elevator up to Graham’s floor and walked down the long hallway to his room. Taking a deep breath, I forced a smile onto my face before I pushed the door open and called out with as much cheer as I could muster, “Candygram!”

  “Too funny,” he chuckled, but it quickly turned into a groan of pain.

  I rushed to his bedside and put the box of his favorite candy on the nearby table. Carefully, I fussed with his pillows and pressed my lips against his forehead. “Your temperature seems good.”

  “It was the same as it always is when the nurse last came in to do a vitals check.”

  “That’s good news, right?” I asked.

  His normally bright blue eyes, so similar to the ones I saw each time I looked in a mirror, were dulled by pain. “I don’t know, sis. This is probably the only time in my life I wished I had a fever.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” I disagreed, dropping onto the chair next to his bed. “There was that one time when you took the thermometer and held it up to a lightbulb for so long that it registered one hundred and seven degrees, and mom freaked out. She had you just about bundled into the car for a trip to the emergency room before you fessed up about trying to skip school.”

  “True,” he conceded. “But this time a fever would get me a hell of a lot more than an excused absence.”

  “What do you mean?”

  When he reached out and took hold of my hand, I braced myself for bad news. “My insurance denied the appeal for my surgery.”

  “What?” I shrieked. “No! That’s not possible. You need it.”

  “I know, but apparently they still think that the surgery isn’t medically necessary for my diagnosis. And if they eventually budge on that point, they also made it clear that they consider the specific surgery I need to be experimental in nature because it hasn’t been performed on enough patients to be considered the usual standard of care needed.”