The Billionaire Duke
A Jet City Billionaire Romance
Gina Robinson
Gina Robinson
Contents
Copyright
GinaRobinson.com
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Also by Gina Robinson
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Gina Robinson
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.
Gina Robinson
http://www.ginarobinson.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design: Jeff Robinson
The Billionaire Duke/Gina Robinson. — 1st ed.
GinaRobinson.com
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The Switched at Marriage Series
Part 1—A Wedding to Remember
Part 2—The Virgin Billionaire
Part 3—To Have and To Hold
Part 4—From This Day Forward
Part 5—For Richer, For Richest
Part 6—In Sickness and In Wealth
Part 7—To Love and To Cherish
The Billionaire’s Christmas Vows
Gina Robinson’s Contemporary New Adult Romance Series
The Rushed Series
These standalone romances can be read in any order. But it’s more fun to read them all!
Book 1—Rushed, Zach and Alexis’ story
Book 2—Crushed, Dakota and Morgan’s story
Book 3—Hushed, Seth and Maddie’s story
The Reckless Series
Ellie and Logan’s love story begins one hot August night. This series should be read in order.
Book 1—Reckless Longing—FREE
Book 2—Reckless Secrets
Book 3—Reckless Together
Chapter 1
Seattle, Washington
Riggins Feldhem
Beauty. Fashion. Stylish women who knew how to wear clothes. I loved them in every size and shape. I know. I sounded like a damn designer fashion commercial—fashion is my passion. But I founded Flashionista so every woman could look and feel her most beautiful. On a budget. While fashion and fulfilling dreams was satisfying, business was my passion.
How did I become so successful? Through hard work and determination. And a little bit of luck. Where did I come up with my business ideas, like Flashionista? Easy. From needs I saw in real life. Wasn't that where all good ideas came from?
Flashionista was my way of paying homage to my mom. A nod to the woman who'd sacrificed so much to make sure I had a decent life that she'd never had a dime to spare for herself. She'd been beautiful. Everyone who'd known her would tell you that. But after my father abandoned us, something inside her had withered. She never had time to think about herself or money for stylish things to make her feel beautiful again. If Flashionista had been around for her maybe things would have been different.
Necessity was not only the mother of invention, but of innovative new business models. I saw a hole in the market and stepped in to fill it with online fashion flash sales. Thanks to Mom's lack of money, I now had plenty. If she were still alive, she'd be proud of me.
Mom had taught me something else—beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. Stylish, sexy clothes weren't just for the tall and gaunt. The pregnant mother-to-be with her beautiful, taut baby bump wanted to feel gorgeous, too. And the curvy woman who wasn't afraid to show off her assets. The new mom just getting her figure back. The tall, boy-figured girl who could wear full pleats or a peplum.
Give me a confident woman. A woman who knew she looked good in her skin was the ultimate turn-on.
It was my mission to make fashionable clothes, jewelry, and accessories affordable to every woman, man, and child. Beautifying America one flash sale at a time. That was me. If that sounded arrogant, I'm sorry. I laugh at myself and my "lofty" ideals all the time. I was just passionate about what I did.
I'd founded Flashionista with programming prodigy Justin Green. Together we'd built a thriving business.
Never one to miss an opportunity to plug my company, I had said all of this in my interview with Seattle's most popular magazine for their annual "most beautiful people" issue. Laying it on thick to make my point. Dressed properly, anyone could be attractive.
No one at the magazine had come right out and said it, but being interviewed implied I was in the running again for Seattle's hottest bachelor. I'd seized the opportunity to promote Flash, as we affectionately called the company.
As I sat in my office and stared at the cover of the advance copy that had been delivered a few minutes earlier by bicycle courier, I shook my head. Lazer Grayson's ugly mug stared back at me as he leaned against one of his vast collection of exotic cars.
I rolled my eyes. Lazer was such a damn showoff.
Lazer was both friend and nemesis. We had a friendly, ongoing, unspoken competition over just about everything. He only thought he was suave. He could bullshit his way into convincing others of his brilliance. That was his real genius.
We both belonged to the local billionaire's club, the Entrepreneurs, Inventors, and Engineers International Organization, EIEIO, which was a joke of an acronym on purpose. Yeah, like we were all just local farmers growing money on trees.
Lazer was also a mentor to my young business partner Justin. If Lazer ever got the chance, I was certain he would do his damnedest to entice Justin into one of his ventures. He was always poaching.
I didn't understand Justin's friendship with Lazer. Lazer had tried to steal Justin's new wife last year. On the heels of their wedding night. As I said, always poaching. I didn't have a wife. But if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't let another guy get away with hitting on her.
Justin's marriage had been strange. Sudden and unexpected. People had been skeptical it would last. But damn, trying to steal the bride while the honeymoon bed was still warm?
I'd made my views on Lazer known. The rest was Justin's business. That tech-geek-gamer acing me out of the top spot as Seattle's hottest bachelor was both amusing and irritating. Lazer would never let me hear the end of it.
With a sense of morbid curiosity—what the hell did it matter, anyway?—I flipped open the magazine.
Number two. I was damned number two. Much smaller picture. Much smaller spread. Much less press for Flash than Lazer's company got. It was better than a swift kick in the butt, but not by much.
Lazer's net worth had inched above mine with the latest acquisition he'd made. As I skimmed the article, it became apparent that little bit of cash had thrown the competition in his favor. That was the only thing he had over me. That and the way he'd flirted with the female interviewer. Which was also obvious from the fawning coverage. Crap, they'd sent a guy to interview me.
<
br /> I grabbed my phone and texted my favorite florist with instructions to send Lazer a nice, girly bouquet of flowers. A spray of fifty pink roses wrapped in paper and tied with a white satin ribbon should do it. I dictated a note. Congratulations on your pageant win.
No one could say I was a sore loser.
I was gunning for Lazer. Next year.
I didn't plan to marry any time soon. I liked women. Loved them. I just wasn't high on the institution of marriage. Look what it had done for Mom.
Anyway, I hadn't found a woman I was willing to commit to, risk my heart for, and share my billions with. Most of the time I was too damn busy running Flash to have time for anything else.
Justin accused me of being cynical. Maybe I was. I certainly didn't deny it. My experiences with love had led to heartbreak, not happiness.
Maybe I hadn't ever found real love, whatever the hell that was. It didn't matter. There wasn't anything lacking in my life. Flash was my passion, my mistress, my love. She was a demanding little obsession at that.
Jennifer, my highly efficient office assistant, poked her head in the door. "Entertaining reading?"
I scowled for comic effect and held the magazine up. "Have you seen this piece of shit?"
"Would you like me to call the editor and complain?" The edges of her lips twitched.
"You're enjoying this too much." I slapped the magazine onto the desk and grinned to show her I was a good sport.
"Not at all, boss. You are the hottest bachelor in my book. Definitely the hottest boss." She laughed. "Especially when it comes to raise time. Just remember that!"
I rolled my eyes and laughed. "I'm not that obviously vain, am I?"
If I could find a single woman as organized, loyal, good-humored, and tolerant as Jennifer, I might be tempted to marry. But like all the good ones, Jennifer was taken.
"Put your fake scowl away." She stepped in, closed the door, and lowered her voice confidentially. "There's a British gentleman here to see you. And by gentleman, I mean gentleman.
"Says he's a solicitor and he has an important family matter to discuss with you." She stepped forward and handed me his card.
Colin Thorne, Senior Partner
Baily, Cragwell, and Thorne Solicitors
London
Shit. What had my black sheep British cousins done now? One of them probably wanted bail money for either herself or her latest loser boyfriend or husband. Or was trying to scam some out of me one way or another.
My dad's side of the family had always been an embarrassment. Including the old man himself. He ran off and abandoned Mom and me when I was just a baby. I'd been the man of the house since I was six months old.
Since I'd founded my first company, the online fashion accessory company before Flash, and made my first several hundred million, Feldhem family members had been coming out of the woodwork with their hands out. Generally obscure and distant British female cousins. As far as I knew, I had no male cousins. At least none had appeared. Cousins I wasn't convinced were really cousins and not fakes and con artists. Like those Nigerian princes.
"Would you like me to tell him you're tied up?" Jennifer said.
I raised an eyebrow at her phrasing. Since Fifty Shades, being tied up had a totally different meaning for Seattle billionaires.
Jennifer laughed. "I can send him away."
"How persistent is he?" I asked, trying to gauge what he was up to and what his intent was.
"He impresses me as determined to see you. He may be put off, but he won't be permanently deterred. I could buy you some time to check him out before you meet with him." She paused. "He seems…genuine. Quality. Like I said, a gentleman. Very upper-crust and stiff-upper-lip British."
I valued Jennifer's opinion. She was a good judge of character. She was telling me, in her subtle way, that I should hear this guy out. Which piqued my interest.
I sighed and shook my head. "I have a hole in my schedule right now. Better to get this over with. Send him in."
She put on her professional smile and nodded.
I didn't often take meetings with strangers. Every guy and his dog wanted to see me. Most with a story about why I should part with some of my billions.
I was intrigued and curious. Someone, presumably a family member, had gone to the trouble and expense to send a "quality" British lawyer across the pond to meet with me. That didn't happen every day.
I stood when Mr. Thorne entered the room and extended my hand for a shake as I sized him up. "Riggins Feldhem."
Thorne was exactly as Jennifer described him. Impeccably dressed and groomed. Carrying an expensive briefcase. Not hip, but certainly classic. Middle-aged. Gray at the temples. Tall and thin. A commanding presence. Regal. Gentlemanly.
He didn't look like some fly-by-night shyster with a law degree by mail. If appearances could be believed, he was the kind of lawyer you'd pay a hefty hourly fee to. Though I'd heard British solicitors were underpaid compared to their American counterparts.
"Colin Thorne." He shook my hand heartily, with deference that I appreciated.
"Please. Have a seat." I gestured toward a dark leather armchair at the end of the sofa table, taking the opposite one myself. "If you're here on behalf of one of my distant family members, I can spare you the trouble. I'm not bailing another one out of whatever jam they've gotten into again." I laughed, but I was serious.
"I am here about a distant member of your family, actually. But it's more of what they have done for you…sir." His accent was upper crust. That kind of accent that made American women weak in the knees.
There were times when I wished I'd inherited a touch of a British accent. Too bad Dad hadn't stuck around until I could speak.
It may have been my imagination, but Thorne hesitated a fraction of a second before calling me "sir." Almost tripped on it. Like it wasn't quite the right way to address me. Odd.
"How's that?" I sat and leaned back in my chair, studying him. "Most people come to me for favors. Pardon my skepticism, but my family has never done shit for me. They usually want money. Especially my cousin Maggie."
Mr. Thorne's expression was sympathetic. To be honest, he didn't look like the class of lawyer Maggie could afford. Not unless she'd gotten involved in a high-profile class action suit and someone else was paying the tab.
"Let me reassure you, I'm not here to ask you for money. I represent the estate of a late relative of yours. I'm charged with fulfilling the terms of his will and honoring his last wishes." He took a deep breath. "Your father was Basil Julian Feldhem, Junior?"
I nodded, intrigued again by mention of a late relative.
"And he's deceased, is that correct?"
I shrugged. "Is he?" I paused. "You know more than I do. I haven't heard from him since I was a baby. It wouldn't surprise me."
I couldn't decide whether I was relieved by the news or not. If Mom had still been alive, I would have been relieved. Definitely. In the back of my mind I'd always worried she would take him back if he ever showed up on our doorstep again. And he would break her heart irrevocably. But hadn't he done that already?
"I regret to say he was declared dead some years ago, yes." Thorne, again, looked sympathetic.
"Declared dead?" I studied Thorne closely, on alert. "That's an odd way to put it."
"He was in a boating accident. Went overboard and never resurfaced. His body was never recovered."
"Huh."
Thorne looked surprised by my reaction. "You aren't curious?"
I held his gaze. "Should I be? He was a stranger to me. No more a dad than an anonymous sperm donor from a sperm bank. Any curiosity I had about him was satisfied by my mom. I know what he looked like, what kind of character he had, and what she felt for him. So, no, I'm not. If that makes me seem cold, I'm sorry."
"Not at all." Thorne cleared his throat. "Your father was British. Your mum, American. At one point, you had dual British and American citizenship. Are you still a British citizen?"
It was
an odd question. I had no knowledge of British law. Did I have to be a British citizen to inherit whatever the hell it was this late relative had left me? Assuming he, or she, had left me something besides instructions on how to spread the ashes.
"I am, yes. I've maintained my dual citizenship. Mostly because of my mom's wishes. It made her happy, so what the hell? She felt that it could someday be beneficial to me. At the very least, it gives me mystique and appeals to the ladies." I laughed.
Thorne didn't.
"Mom never elaborated. I think she had a thing for British men until the end. She was a complicated and mysterious woman."
Mr. Thorne smiled very slightly and looked almost relieved. Probably not by the idea of my mother being mysterious.
"Brilliant." He paused, put on a serious, lawyerly face, and pulled out an envelope with an official-looking seal. "As His Grace's official emissary and solicitor, I regret to inform you that your cousin, the fourth Duke of Witham, Rans Basil Feldhem the Fourth, passed away Sunday last. Peacefully. In his bed. As was his wish."
Basil must have been a family name for the greater family-at-large.
"I had a cousin who was a duke?" I raised an eyebrow, expecting Thorne to crack and admit he was pranking me.
This was one of the elaborate jokes the EIEIO guys would think up. We were always pranking each other. Because of his latest win as hottest bachelor, Lazer should have been their target. Maybe I should have been flattered that they were expecting me to take the title. In any case, I'd be damned if I was going to fall for this and be the butt of their jokes for the next decade.
Thorne was watching me closely. If he expected me to dissolve into tears of grief and renting of my designer suit, he was going to be disappointed.
And so we sat, staring at each other to see who would blink first.
A duke? Wait. Weren't all of the princes dukes? Wasn't a duke, a duke who wasn't also a prince, just a step down from royalty? The top rank of the British aristocracy?
Mom hadn't drilled much Britishness or British history into me. But she had taught me the old memory trick to remember the aristocratic ranks—do men ever visit Boston? Dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, barons. Though what Boston had to do with it, I couldn't say. It seemed like an American joke. But then, "great big ducks fear antelopes" neither made sense nor had much to do with music, either. And yet it described the scales of the bass clef and my music teacher, and later my vocal coach, had drilled it into me.
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