Mister Billions: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  He leans in. His stubbly cheek grazes my skin as he brings his mouth to my ear. There’s soft laughter in his gritty voice. "I can see that."

  His playfulness twists me up. I wasn't expecting it. I'm not sure how to react.

  “Tell me, what date works best for you?” His mouth is in my ear.

  “For what?”

  His lips curve up into a dangerous smirk, following the rise of his eyebrow. He doesn’t answer me with words, but his expression does. Damn him.

  “I am not marrying you, Mr. Billions.” This guy is a pigheaded, persistent asshole who only cares about himself.

  He's also sexy as hell. But that's beside the point.

  My refusal only makes him grin wider. “You’re just scared to marry me because you know you’d fall head over heels in love with me.”

  I bark out a short puff of laughter. “You're delusional.”

  “Your body tells me otherwise, Stormy.” His caramel eyes twinkle.

  I try to give him my dirtiest hate glare, but who the hell am I kidding? He does things to my body without even physically touching me. The alcohol and his mind-bending touch must be short-circuiting my brain.

  He trails his fingertips down my sides and lightly grips my hips while we shift, rock and sway to the heavy beat. “I’d pay you for marrying me—y’know—for your trouble,” he says, and I struggle to read his eyes under the dim lights. I think he absolutely means what he tells me, but I’m not sure he’s one hundred percent comfortable with the idea.

  I know I’m not.

  “You can’t just buy your way out of every problem, King. That's not the way life works.”

  His hands shift, sending icy heat down my forearms as his touch moves along them. Then he intertwines his fingers in mine. It’s too much. It’s too close. My focus is such a frigging mess, it’s hard to concentrate on his next words. “I’m not asking you to throw your life away, Alexia. The marriage would just be short-term. Just a month or two. Three tops, for the lawyers to transfer the business into my name.”

  My pulse thuds. Well, that doesn’t sound quite so horrible. A couple month’s time to save my business? To save my friends? To save this town?

  His breath tickles the top of my lip. “We’d have to live together after we get married, to hold up appearances, of course. But you could have your own separate bedroom. My estate is big enough that we’d hardly have to see each other..." He grinds against me. "...if that’s what you wish.”

  My body throbs when he says that. I know his words should be sending up red flags. Big wavy, neon ones. Because this arrangement he's proposing is not purely business. Sex drips from every syllable that leaves his plush mouth. But none of what he’s telling me sounds like torture.

  Could I do all of that? Could I go through with a fake marriage and live in his big fancy 'estate' for a few weeks?

  And could we maybe throw in a few orgasms for good measure?

  Shut up, brain…

  Narrowing my gaze on him, I speak the first thing that comes to mind. “If I agree to this, you have to immediately remove the threat of shutting down my bridal boutique.”

  He nods without hesitating. “That was the deal.”

  “And you have to give Iris her shop back, too.”

  “Who’s Iris?”

  I growl. “My best friend. The woman who ran the sandwich shop.”

  He hesitates. “She was months behind, Alexia.”

  “I don’t care. Those are my terms. Wait.” I hold a finger in his devastatingly beautiful face. “Actually, you have to ‘un-evict’ everyone you’ve kicked out so far.”

  Cannon’s head rears back, and I already miss his closeness. “I don’t know...You’re asking a lot. We’re talking thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands. Kingston Realties needs cashflow to survive.”

  I level him with a look that says I don’t give a shit. Because I don’t. He's a fucking billionaire. He can afford to bailout his family business. We’re talking about people’s lives here, their futures. “Do you even know the lives you ruined with those eviction notices?”

  His lips form a tight line. He glares.

  I carry on my tirade. “Let me give you a little background. The owner of the record shop you shut down was saving up to take his wife to Greece for their thirty-year wedding anniversary. The woman from the little craft store just got custody of her sister’s three kids. And my friend Iris—the one from the sandwich shop—she got served with divorce papers just days before you hit her with the eviction.” My stomach twists. My voice goes soft. “I care about those people. Deeply. Do you know what it’s like to care about someone other than yourself?”

  “Business can’t be personal if you want to be successful.” He says it like a stubborn child but the tension in his shoulders tells me I'm slowly winning him over to my side.

  "Cannon..." I angle my head to the side. Somehow, I still have a little faith in him, in the idea that there's a heart beneath all his thorny layers of indifference.

  “In my world, feelings just slow you down,” he says roughly. “They get in your way.” His tone of voice leaves me wondering if there's a story there. Did someone hurt him?

  “Well, your world sounds miserable," I argue. "In my world, feelings are what make you human. They're what allow you to connect to the people you care about. They're the foundation of friendships..." I emphasize the word to convey its meaning. "...relationships."

  He shakes his head.

  “Take it or leave it, Mr. Billions. I’ll agree to marry you, if you give everyone their places back.”

  His caramel eyes bore into mine for a long, intimidating beat. “Fine,” Cannon grits out after an eternity. “Fine.”

  I feel a sweeping sense of relief. "We have a deal, then..." Saving my friends, saving this town, that's what matters to me.

  Victory glints in his smug expression.

  The music around us continues to thump, and from his grip on my body, I know he has no plans to end our dancing any time soon. And I’m okay with that. More than okay. I really shouldn’t be so blindly attracted to this man.

  From the way he's looking at me, I may not be alone in that attraction. His scrutinizing stare is fixed on my mouth, and somehow, it’s sucking all the oxygen out of the room.

  “Don’t!” My fingernails bite into his flesh through his shirt as I hiss the warning.

  He licks his lips. His gaze snaps back to mine. “Don’t what?”

  I swallow shakily. “You really, really look like you want to kiss me right now. And I swear to god, if you do, I will headbutt you right into a coma.”

  A slow, vulpine smile unwraps across his mouth. Those lips are succulent, plump, downright chewable. Lips made for ravishing. And for being ravished. I'm so mad at myself for noticing.

  "Enforcing the 'honor and obey' part of our vows is gonna be so much fun." He growls.

  With one fingertip, I poke him in the chest, forcing him to take a step back. Then I pivot on shaky feet and sashay away. When I’m a safe distance from him, I glance back. The hungry look on his face makes me fluttery in the belly.

  I'm gonna need a game plan to survive this man.

  16

  Cannon

  You’re engaged?” Walker is crouched down beside a mammoth of a tractor. He stares up at me.

  I toss a sharp glare at my oldest brother. “Yes," I declare, my tone as crisp and frosty as the beer in my hand. “I’m engaged.”

  Silence follows for a long beat. I already know where this is going.

  A thick, judgmental eyebrow gets lost beneath the brim of his straw hat. It looks goofy as hell, if you ask me. But that’s always been Walker…

  “You—” he points a big greasy wrench at my face. “—are engaged?”

  “Yes. I am engaged. Why's that so hard to believe?” I lean my weight against the thick wooden beam behind me and cross one ankle over the other. I hold eye contact, silently daring him to say what's on his damn mind. At this point, I wish he’d just ge
t on with it already.

  My brother leaves my question hanging in the air, taking his time to settle a five-gallon bucket beneath the vehicle’s engine. Slowly, he fiddles with a network of valves and plugs I won't even pretend to understand, and thick, dark oil begins to spill out of the tank. Finally, he rises and turns to me, the faintest smirk on his ever-brooding face.

  "You gonna say something?" I prod, my impatience flaring, my need-to-know pushing to the surface.

  Walker and I are both pretty much the same height with dark blond hair, light brown eyes and sturdy, muscular build. But Mom would always say we’re polar opposites in terms of temperament. He's guarded and introspective. A former military man who is fiercely protective with an impenetrable resolve when he sets his mind to something.

  Where I resort to ripping sarcasm and merciless jabs, my brother wields his silence as a weapon. Sometimes deliberately, sometimes not. It’s annoying as fuck.

  Needless to say, he drives the women he dates absolutely insane, and most days the only person who’ll even try to figure him out is his childhood best friend, Penny. She's gorgeous and funny and as patient as a saint. Walker has had her in the friend zone since preschool.

  I think my brother might be afraid of his own dick. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. But I digress.

  He marches ahead of me across the farm’s cluttered workshop, checking gauges and dials on the various vehicles as we go. He half-glances at me over his back. "You were dating Maria for—what?—ten years?"

  “Margot. On and off. So?” I take another sip from my beer.

  “And marriage never came up?”

  “It did not.”

  “And now, out-of-the-blue, you’re head over heels in love with Lexi? Some woman you just met? You haven’t even been in town long enough to visit Mom, but you’ve fallen in love? There’s something hairy there, brother.”

  Feeling defensive, I ball up my fists and spit lies. Pure lies. “We met online. A while ago. And yes, we’re in love.” I rehearsed this line more than a few times.

  He doesn’t answer. He just keeps walking. Christ, Walker drives me mad.

  I press him. “What are you trying to say?”

  His muscle-bound shoulder juts up beneath his checkered flannel shirt. "Nothing…I mean, it just seems a little out-of-character for you. That's all.”

  Getting hitched had never been part of my life plan. With Margot, I dodged the topic for years. But now it's something I need to do. A means to an end. I have to save my grandfather's company because I’m quickly realizing that getting revenge on Carl and Margot isn’t enough. The idea of them flailing and squirming as I wreck their lives won’t be enough to fill the hollow ache inside my chest.

  I’m still grasping for...something. A sense of fulfillment to plug the throbbing hole beneath my ribs. Saving my grandfather’s legacy will give me the satisfaction I’m searching for. I’m sure of that.

  To be honest, all this revenge shit is fucking exhausting. I’m starting to wonder if maybe there’s more to life than money and retaliation and teaching assholes a lesson. What if life is supposed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum? Looking out for the people you love—the way Lexi does—might just be more important than sabotaging others.

  The woman is so damn loyal. And after the betrayal I just suffered with Margot, loyalty means more than ever in my book.

  There’s a worktable in the front room. I settle on a bench, and Walker snatches my empty beer can from me. I’m not a big beer drinker but when he offers me another, I grunt and accept it from his greasy hand.

  God knows I need it. Because obviously, I'm losing my mind.

  “You’re out here on the edge of the woods, dressed in a lumberjack shirt, like a frigging mountain man. I don’t see anybody judging you for your life choices.”

  My brother stops with his own beer halfway to his mouth and glances down at his shirt. A rare laugh shoots from his chest. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

  I grin mockingly. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own.”

  He continues to stare at his checkered flannel atrocity, with a perplexed look on his face. The poor guy was always clueless in the fashion department. Finally, he gives up, shaking his head and continuing his stroll through the barn.

  "You’re the most random fucker I’ve ever met," he tells me, his tone bewildered but amused.

  I chuckle and take a drink. "I prefer spontaneous, actually. Plus, I follow my instincts when I see an opportunity. That’s what makes me a rockstar business man."

  I’m not surprised he’d find me reckless. Unlike the rest of us Kingston boys, Walker never takes a step without careful consideration. Sometimes he goes overboard, in my opinion.

  He tosses his beer can onto a recycling heap, analyzing me in that careful, skeptical way he analyzes everything.

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Walker clips. “You, getting married? Just business as usual. Just another means to get ahead somehow.”

  I plunk my can down on the counter, spring out of my seat and head for the door. I’m over this.

  Walker calls out from behind me, and I hear some tools clatter against the floor. “Oh, come on!”

  I grind to a halt at the door and face him. “Carl fucked my girlfriend. In my own bed.” I remind him. “What was I supposed to do? Tuck them in and offer them a bucket of fried chicken and the TV remote? I moved on. Moving on is not a fucking crime.”

  I’ll tolerate a lot of things in a relationship—constant tardiness, post-argument vaguebooking, even halitosis—but disloyalty will never, ever be one of those things I overlook.

  “That’s not the point, Cannon.”

  “What is your point, then?” I challenge.

  “My point is that you’re impulsive.” His finger jabs me in the shoulder. Hard. “You’re ruthless. And you make everything about money.”

  “And what the fuck does that mean?” I demand. Christ, kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you?

  “Cannon, do I look like a moron to you?”

  I glance at his stupid shirt. “That’s a rhetorical question, right?”

  His gaze narrows with annoyance. “Tell me what’s really going on here. Why are you suddenly engaged to the woman from the local bridal shop? ”

  Crap. I might be able to bullshit the rest of the family, but I certainly can’t bullshit Walker. I might as well tell him the truth. Who knows? Maybe I’ll gain an ally in this crazy plot.

  Hell, Dad clearly doesn’t buy my story, but oddly enough, he seems willing to play along. Maybe Walker will, too. He deserves to know what’s going on with the company in any case. His future is tied up in Kingston Realties, too.

  We walk up the farm’s dirt pathway. I break down and tell him everything. I tell him that our dad is planning to sell our family business and that I plan to fake-marry Lexi to save Gramps’ company. He listens quietly, letting me spill my guts.

  My rambling cuts off when a streak of a miniature person runs by, her long blonde hair and bright pink dress practically blurring behind her. “Is that Callie?” I ask.

  Walker nods.

  “Shit, she’s grown.” I feel a twinge of guilt for being away so long.

  The cute, tiny girl sprints toward us. Eli's four-year-old giggles and grabs onto my brother’s leg, hugging him tight. “Uncle Walker!”

  He whisks her off her feet and plants her on his side. "Hey there, Pumpkin."

  "It's not Pumpkin," she chides. "It's Princess Callie!"

  Walker smacks his forehead playfully. "Oh sorry. I keep forgetting."

  "Hey, Princess Callie." Hands stuffed into my pockets, I drop my trademark intimidating scowl. My mouth curls into a welcoming smile for the child's benefit.

  She says nothing to me, but eyes me with more skepticism than I’ve ever seen in one person’s face. Big or small. "Who's that guy?" she asks my brother, jerking a narrow shoulder my way.

  "That's your Uncle Cannon." Walker clearly finds
it amusing that my niece can't tell me apart from any other random asshole to stroll onto the family farm. He pokes her in the ribs. "You wanna say hi?"

  "No," she deadpans. I swear she glares at me before she squirms out of my brother's arms and takes off again.

  "Damn, that kid is savage," I say in disbelief as we continue our trek up the path toward my parents' guesthouse.

  Walker shrugs. "You never come back home to visit so that's what you get..."

  I toss back my head, frustrated. This guy is always busting my balls. "Can we not get into that right now?"

  Our mother spots us through the kitchen window as we walk past the house. She sticks her head out the backdoor and waves. “What are you boys up to?”

  “Just taking a walk, Ma,” I say, forcing a smile to the surface. I slide my aviators over my eyes. I don’t want Mom to pick up on any tension between my brother and me or she’ll open an FBI-level investigation to get the whole story. I’m not in the headspace for an interrogation today.

  Her eyes move between us, anyway. Mom takes that maternal instinct thing to a whole new level. “Everything okay with you two?”

  Walker flashes a tight half-smile. “Everything’s fine, Ma.” Shit, he lies just about as good as he dresses.

  The suspicious slash between her brows deepens. “Cut the crap. What are you two arguing about?”

  My brother and I share a knowing look. We’ve got to shut this down before she makes us sit on the tiny bench in the corner together. If any of us boys fought as kids, she’d force us to sit side-by-side until we made up.

  Forget the FBI. That was some CIA-level shit.

  Walker speaks up. “Cannon said my shirt was ugly, Ma. You wanna tell him he’s wrong?”

  Mom shoots a glare my way. Christ, thank you, Walker. “Get in here. Both of you,” she demands.

  I elbow my brother, as we head inside. The door hasn’t even slammed shut before I hear her holler, “Cannon William Kingston, why do I have to hear about your engagement from your father?!”

  I reach down, wrapping my arms around my mom before she can break down. I know she’s a sucker for hugs. “I’m sorry, Ma. You’ll love Lexi, I promise.”