by Unknown
Hunt’s Desire, Vol. 1
(A Billionaire Romance)
By
Lily Knight
www.AuthorLilyKnight.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Book Description
Hunt’s Desire Release Schedule
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
More from Lily Knight
About The Author
Copyright First Original Edition, October 2015
Copyright © 2015 by Lily Knight This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
License
This book is available exclusively on Amazon.com. If you found this book for free or from a site other than Amazon.com country specific Amazon websites it means the author was not compensated for this book and you have likely obtained this book through an unapproved distribution channel.
Book Description
Caleb Hunt had it all. A luxury condo in the city, fast cars, millions in the bank and no job. He didn’t need one, the son of a billionaire has it’s perks. That is until he got cut off for no apparent reason and was force to pay his estranged father a visit. A trip he will never forget.
Skye O’Keefe worked hard for everything she had and her mother did everything to see that her only child had everything she could ever want, but when her path crosses with the spoiled Caleb, the one thing she wants, she can’t have.
Hunt’s Desire Release Schedule
Hunt’s Desire Vol. 1 - This Book
Hunt’s DesireVol. 2 - November 10
Hunt’s Desire Vol. 3 - November 17
Chapter One
Caleb
Rolling over in bed, the intense and sudden urge to vomit swept over me. Holy shit, how much did I drink last night?
I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to let the light in, I tried to remember all the things that had happened the night before. Unfortunately, nothing seemed readily available in my brain. When I finally peeked out at the world around me, the room started to spin. I knew I was in trouble, lurching to the bathroom to release the meager contents of my stomach. I just barely made it before everything I had consumed 12 hours earlier spilled out. Good times.
I stayed there for a while, allowing things to settle. Eventually, I wiped my mouth and went to the sink to brush my teeth. As I brushed, my head continued to swim. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be eating anything for the rest of the day.
Slowly, I made my way back to the bed and curled up under the sheets once more. Damn, that was one hell of a night. What had I been thinking, drinking so much? Sure, the booze had been flowing and the ladies were sexy, but it wasn’t like I didn’t know how to handle either.
Which reminded me, how was it that I had woken up alone? That wasn’t like me at all. I had a knack for bringing women home without even trying. Then again, maybe that was the problem. Maybe I had tried too hard last night, after drinking myself into oblivion.
I’ll go ahead and blame Megan for that one. If I hadn’t run into her…
I considered going back to sleep, only to be hit by another wave of nausea. Was it possible to feel too awful to stay in bed?
Rolling over, I caught a glimpse of the clock. One in the afternoon? Fantastic. I could totally hear my dad’s voice in my head. “Success starts at 6am. Sharp.”
Well, Pop, here I am. Doing you proud like always.
In an attempt to motivate myself, I looked at my phone and noticed several missed calls. The one from my father’s house stood out immediately.
Speak of the devil. What does he want?
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had spoken to my father. If this was about some family barbecue, or some attempt at once again getting me to join the family business, he could forget about it.
As I scrolled down in an effort to avoid listening to his voicemail, I realized I also had about 35 missed calls from Megan, the ex-girlfriend I’d had the displeasure of seeing the night before. I wasn’t sure what was more concerning; the fact that she appeared to have been calling me every 15 minutes or so since about 2 in the morning, or that I had somehow slept through all those calls.
Our brief tete-a-tete the night before had resulted in nothing more than awkwardness. It was the first time we had seen each other in six weeks; ever since I walked in on her fucking someone else in our bed. I had no interest in reliving our past together and no desire to talk to her ever again. What the hell did she want?
Only one way to find out. I had to listen to my messages.
As it turned out, the first message was actually from Rosie, my father’s cook. I should have known it would have been her calling from the house. After all, what could my father possibly have to say to me?
Rosie had been my nanny growing up. I always thought of her as a mother, especially after my own mother passed away. Which made her plea that I return to Newport, Rhode Island to visit my father harder to ignore. I sighed. Visiting home wasn’t exactly high on my priority list, and I was in no mood to discuss him. But I always had an impossible time refusing Rosie. I would just have to avoid returning her call for a while.
The next three messages were from Megan. I listened as she spoke softly into the phone, even crying at times. She sounded apologetic, frantic that I forgive her.
Did she really think I had nothing better to do than listen to her whining all day? The girl had basically ripped my heart in two, trampling the pieces that were tossed aside. What made her think tears and apologies would make me simply forget the fact that she had betrayed everything we had?
My stomach rolled once more.
The worst part was, I actually hated to hear her cry. Which only made me angrier. This was all on her. She fucked us up, and yet her tears had me feeling guilty. It pissed me off to no end. She didn’t deserve my sympathy.
I threw my phone across the room, shattering it into pieces. It was oddly liberating. At least I wouldn’t have to listen to any new messages for a while.
Rolling out of bed, I took on the task of getting dressed, mentally adding “Get a New Phone” to my to-do list for the day. Suddenly, my earlier fears about not being able to eat were washed away; I was starving.
I went to the intercom on the wall and pressed a button to call the chef. “Hey, Margaret, could you make me something? Anything? I just need food.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Something greasy.” I added abruptly.
There was a chuckle on the other end. “Of course, sir.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I said, before lifting my finger from the intercom button and taking one last glance at myself in the mirror.
What? Don’t all unemployed men in their late twenties have their own personal live-in chef?
Okay, so it turns out, my life is no ordinary life. And my home is no ordinary home. It may or may not be one of the premiere condos on the Upper East Side. Five bedrooms, three bathrooms, 6,000 square feet and a rooftop garden; all for me and Margaret, who doubles as my cook and housekeeper. The doorman graciously packed up all of Megan’s shit for me the day I kicked her out.
I bought the place right out of college, using the trust fund that awaited me upon graduation. My dad had
been fuming when he found out I planned to live in New York without working. But between that trust fund, and my quarterly share payouts from the business, I had no reason to do anything other than finally relax away from the pressure the old man had been putting on me my entire life.
For a moment, I cringed, remembering Megan in tears the day it all blew up. “You just… have no motivation.” She had sobbed. “You don’t care about anything but drinking and spending money.” Of course, she had been right, but it wasn’t like anything had changed since we met at Harvard. She knew even then that the only reason I was working to graduate was to claim my trust fund. I certainly didn’t care about the business degree my dad had forced me to pursue. And, yeah, she had been the exact opposite; working hard to break the glass ceiling and make a name for herself. But it wasn’t like she had ever hated the clout being attached to my name brought her.
Now that we were done, this condo was basically a revolving door of tall, thin, model-esque women who had no idea how limited their chances of anything real with me were. I forgot most of their names as soon as they walked out the door… assuming I even knew their names in the first place.
Exactly as it should be, I laughed to myself as I walked out of the master bedroom. My journey to the kitchen took me down the hallway and a flight of stairs, finally entering the room where a bacon and egg breakfast sandwich was waiting for me, sitting in a pool of grease. “Thank you, Margaret.”
She just smiled, before asking, “What do you have planned for the day, Caleb?”
“I need to head into town to get a new phone.” I replied between bites.
“Oh? Did yours break?” She asked innocently.
“Yeah, something like that.” I murmured.
*
As nice as it was to be momentarily disconnected, I knew I needed a phone, so I headed out into the city with that goal in mind. I also knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid Rosie for long. For a moment, I wondered why she seemed so insistent I come for a visit. I couldn’t imagine anything was seriously wrong with my father. She would have said so on the message if that was the case. But why else would it have sounded so important to her?
I hated driving into the city. Actually, I hated parking in the city more than I hated driving in it, but I needed an escape and something to take my mind of off things. Even the short ride in my expensive sports car didn’t seem to help. I felt the stress overtake me as I neared the store. I opted to take my chances and pulled into the loading zone in front and parked there. I hopped out of the car and darted towards the door.
Holy shit. I stared at the guy walking out of the store. It had been years since I seen Roger, an old college friend. Before I could say anything, or even have been sure it was him, that distinctive call came from his mouth.
“Caleb Hunt!” He said my name long and slow, shifting his inflection at the end like he was announcing a diplomat.
“Roger? How are you doing? Long time, no see.” I reached out to shake his hand, realizing it had been a few years since we had seen each other.
“No kidding, man! What are you up to?” He gripped my hand in his.
“Oh man, so much has changed, but it’s all good. I have no complaints.” I boasted.
“Is that business degree working out for you?” He asked, returning his hand to his side.
“Eh, you know me. I was never in it for the job prospects.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “Living the dream, aren’t you? Wish I had a little bit of that extra pocket change.” I was reminded of how Roger had always seemed to resent me a bit. We had been friends, but… there was always an edge there. A difference between his need to succeed, and my lack of interest in playing the game.
“Yeah, well, you know.” I tried not to rub it in.
“So, are you still seeing that girl, Megan?” Roger asked, changing the subject. “I heard something about you guys thinking about getting married?”
My stomach flipped at the mention of her name. And my face must have betrayed my change in mood, because Roger immediately added, “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Yeah… whatever.” I said, trying to regain my composure. “We aren’t together anymore.”
“Oh shit, man, sorry. I had no idea.” Roger chuckled, which seemed oddly timed. I wondered if he was enjoying himself a little bit; basking in the spoiled rich kid having something not go his way.
“Well, how would you?” I offered.
“I just assumed.” He continued, his smile fading. “I’m sorry. You guys have been together for years.”
“Yeah… I’m not totally convinced she wasn’t always just in it for the money. And the name.” I shrugged.
Roger shook his head, and although I had been happy to see an old friend, I now wanted nothing more than to end this conversation. But he just kept going.
“Shit, man, that’s terrible. She was a beautiful woman.”
“Yep.” Seriously?
“How’s your old man?” He asked.
Jesus, Roger really knew how to pull out the big guns. “Same old shit. Haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“He was always one tough old bird.” Roger reminisced.
“Yeah, still is.”
We stood there in silence for a moment, each presumably searching for something more to say. Finally, Roger offered the out. “Well, I gotta get going, so I’ll let you get back to your easy life there, Caleb.”
I just smiled and shook his hand again. “Take care, Roger.”
Trying to shake off the bitter taste that conversation had left in my mouth, I headed into the store and browsed for a bit, already knowing which phone I wanted—top of the line, like I’d always had.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?”
I turned to see a saleswoman behind me. Pointing to the phone I wanted, I said, “I’ll take that one.”
She collected the phone and moved to behind the counter. I followed, pulling my credit card out as she rang everything up. My head was still pounding from the hangover, and Roger had done absolutely nothing to make me feel better.
I swiped my card and waited, feeling distracted.
“Sir, your card was declined.”
Staring at her blankly, I said. “That would be impossible. Please try it again.”
The girl set the machine up, and I swiped my card once more.
“Sorry, sir, declined again.”
What the fuck! This made zero sense; that was a no-limit card.
Annoyed, I pulled out my debit card and swiped it instead. My to-do list was growing by the minute; I would have to call the credit card company and find out what was going on.
“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “But that one seems to be declined as well.”
“Again, that’s impossible.”
She shrugged her shoulders and stared at me blankly.
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t even going to attempt to explain my massive wealth to a girl who worked in a mobile phone store. But I was embarrassed, and frustrated that my cards weren’t working. I received a regular, and impressive, payment every three months from shares in my father’s company. I had plenty of money, more than enough. So why were my cards getting declined?
“Well, this is just great.” I walked away from the desk in a huff. I had to get to the bank and find out what the hell was going on.
*
I pushed through the bank doors and I approached the first clerk I saw. A combination of frustration and fear filled my body, unsure of what answers I was about to get. “I need to speak with a manager about my accounts.” I demanded.
“Yes, Mr. Hunt, right away.” They always recognized me when I came in.
It wasn’t long before a manager came out of the office. “Follow me, Caleb.”
I did as I was told, sitting down across from him at the expansive desk.
“How can I help you?” He asked.
“None of my cards are working.” I explained. “I need to get them checked.”
&nbs
p; “I can do that for you.” He started typing into his computer. When his eyebrows shot up, I started to get worried.
“What’s going on? I have a ton of money in there. What’s wrong with the cards?”
The manager cleared his throat and stared at me. He hesitated as the words escaped his lips. “It’s not the cards, Caleb. I’m afraid your accounts are frozen.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? That’s impossible.” I barked back while straining to see what he was looking at.
“I’m afraid not.” He looked me dead in the eye with those words.
“Where is my money?” I demanded, anger rising in my voice.
Again, he hesitated, looking around the bank before saying anything else. “Give me a second. I think we should get Michael in on this conversation.”
As he walked out the door, my heart sank. Michael was the money manager employed by my father to keep my accounts in check and pay my bills. This couldn’t be good.
I knew that technically, my dad couldn’t just shut my accounts off. I had followed all the stipulations to get control of my trust fund, and I learned that my mother had insisted I have shares in the company the year I was born. Those couldn’t be taken away.
I suddenly remembered tuning out more than a few conversations with Michael about just how much money was actually accessible to me…my stomach turned as if my hangover had returned, but this was a different kind of nausea.
“Caleb,” I heard him walk in the office from behind me, and heat rose to face.
“Michael,” I said, turning around. “Do you mind telling me what the hell going on?”
“With all due respect, Caleb, exactly what I’ve been telling you was bound to happen for the last year. You have had a lot of money at your disposal, but it was never infinite. You received access to 25 percent of your trust fund with your college graduation. That was approximately seventy-five million dollars; more than most people would need to live off of happily for several lifetimes. But between your condo purchase, and your spending over the last few years; you’ve blown through a lot of it. Private jets, expensive vacations; you spent over $50,000 in one night on VIP service in Vegas just last month. And do you realize you pay Margaret $15,000 a month?”
