The Billionaire's Secret Obsession

by J. M. Madden

  The Billionaire’s Secret Obsession

  By

  J.M. Madden

  Copyright © 2015 by J.M. Madden

  Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  Cover by Alexis Art Bookcovers

  Editing by Meg Edits

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Author Note

  Other Books by J.M. Madden

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Also by J.M. Madden

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  When I acknowledge people, I always have to mention my family. My husband goes with the flow of whatever I need to do for my career. Too much traveling, a messy house, sometimes (or not) dinner – he’s learned to roll with everything and be a star. And my kids have done the same.

  I also have to acknowledge all my readers. Without you guys I would not be doing what I’m doing.

  Madden Militia, you ladies rock! As always! Thank you Mayas and Sandie for pre-reading and Meg for pushing me to get the darn thing done, and making it so much better than it started.

  And I have to give a little shout out to Harlequin. Thank you for many awesome hours of reading!

  Dedication

  To my mother, my Aunt and my grandmother for feeding me all the Harlequins I could get my hands on!

  Author Note

  This book has been a long time in coming.

  I grew up reading Harlequins. Literally, there were paper bags full of books hidden in closets, stashed behind furniture, teetered on steps. Those ones you really had to be careful of because if you bumped the stack it would scatter all the way down the steps. Believe me, I know!

  Anyway, when I started my publishing journey, I dreamed of writing one of those Harlequins and publishing through New York. So, I started writing this story. At 55,000 words it was exactly the right length, there was angst and sensual tension. Everything Harlequin stipulated in their manuscript requirements.

  Then I read an article where a Harlequin editor was interviewed and in that article, she complained that the businessman and artist trope was played out.

  Damn. There went my plans of being pubbed through New York.

  I shelved the book and forgot about it.

  Fast forward four years. I found that manuscript on an old hard-drive and being the enterprising Indie that I try to be, I decided to publish it.

  Wow, it needed a lot of work. Now, my writing isn’t perfect by any means but there has been a vast improvement over four years. It’s taken months to revamp things. My writing still sounds very different in this piece. Nothing like my Lost and Found books. But at its core, I still love the story.

  I hope you do too!

  Jennifer

  If you would like to read about the ‘combat modified’ veterans of the Lost and Found Investigative Service, click on the covers below to learn more:

  If you’d like to connect with me on social media and keep updated on my releases, try these links:

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  And of course you can always email me at authorjmmadden@gmail.com

  Chapter One

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  Clayton Gallagher stared down at perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful woman he had ever seen. Not the most beautiful, certainly, but something about her drew his gaze, drew him, irresistibly.

  Standing at the window of his fourth floor office, he watched her stride up the long set of shallow marble steps leading to the front door of his house. Sarah Tyler was a woman who made people stop and stare. Many times over the last year and a half he had found himself lost in his own world as he gazed at her unique coloring. She probably had a small smile on her full lips and an eager expression on her mobile face. Her incredible, shamrock green eyes—the color so brilliant—would be dancing with humor and her up-tilted nose would be leading her into whatever the world handed her next. From this distance, he could only see that her long dark hair had been pulled back in some kind of loose, chic ponytail. It shone brilliantly in the early morning sunshine. Even as he watched, she tucked some hair behind her ear, then disappeared from view. She would make small talk with William, the butler, and gently work her way into his good graces. All of the executives he had spoken with concerning Ms. Tyler had sung her praises. If she actually worked for the company and not just as a private contractor, he would make sure she steadily moved up the corporate ladder, if for no other reason than her go-getter attitude and people skills.

  Clayton turned back to the desk and the file he left resting there. On top of the stack was an 8x10 glossy of Sarah Tyler laughing and playing in a park with a very large, tan colored dog. The dog was almost as large as she was.

  Leafing through the stack, he found his favorite, the one that kept him up nights. Again, it was in the park, but Sarah held a small baby with a black cap of fuzzy hair in her arms. At the time the photo was snapped, she was again tucking a long wing of her own dark hair behind her right ear. She looked down at the baby with such a look of longing on her face that it stunned him. He couldn’t remember his own mother looking at him with anything other than contempt or greed in her eyes, or more commonly, disinterest.

  The investigative company he used for his corporate hires had no problem finding out everything there was about Sarah Elizabeth Tyler from Freeport, Ohio. For three years prior to the Clarion contract, she had waited tables at a popular uptown eatery, apparently doing a good job and making decent tips. Every couple of weeks she had visited art galleries with her portfolio, trying to land a showing. Madison Elaine Gallery in lower Manhattan had finally given her a showing two years ago. She dated regularly, although not the same man more than twice since breaking off a six month relationship nearly two years ago.

  Rather than satisfying his curiosity, the information only fed his fascination with her. Hence, the call he’d had Meredith place requesting Sarah’s presence here today, in his house.

  The intercom system on his desk chimed. “Sir, Ms. Tyler is in the drawing room.”

  “Thank you, William.”

  Clayton closed the file on his desk, taking a deep breath. Straightening his silk tie, he chastised himself. He ran a multi-billion dollar company every day, but suddenly his heart was pounding as if he had just run a two-minute mile. Settle down, she’s just a woman like any other. But Clayton knew those words were a lie as soon
as he thought them. He admitted to himself that he was, in fact, going to face the object of his obsession.

  *

  Sarah desperately tried to keep her mouth shut and her hands clasped as she went through the doorway and into the foyer, smiling at the stereotypical staid, English butler. The outside of Hillcroft House had been absolutely breathtaking, built of native gray granite with flecks of black and white that glowed subtly in the morning sun, ornate iron scrollwork and reaching for three stories. There was an actual tower at the northeast corner of the house that climbed to four stories. Even by Greenwich standards, the mansion boggled the mind.

  The house sprawled enough that a person could not stand in front of it and see both ends without a turn of the head, if not taking a few steps back to get perspective. The grounds were perfectly sculpted and blended in with the rest of the exclusive Connecticut neighborhood, but the house itself held a touch of whimsy, being fashioned after a castle. A nymph stood in the center of a huge marble fountain in the loop of the paved driveway, peeking shyly at visitors. A gardener was stooped over a flowerbed at the front of the house, replacing shrubs.

  Sarah thought affectionately of the modest house she had grown up in. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, no spare privacy. On her lonely days in the city surrounded by millions of nameless people, she actually missed that old house, warm with family affection.

  The inside of the mansion was as incredible as the outside. Built of cold stone and antiques, and a strong sense of old-fashioned stalwart reserve. Sarah had never been into antique furniture, but she did recognize several Louis the Fourteenth pieces and several Ming Dynasty pieces, obviously priceless. Inevitably, she found herself drawn to the walls, which were covered with a dazzling array of art. There were works by several well-known Impressionists and at least one Rembrandt, one Renoir and one Franz Marc she immediately identified from college textbooks before the butler urged her into an audaciously ornate sitting area. Motioning to a settee, he advised her, “Mr. Gallagher will be in directly.”

  The fireplace to her right was big enough she could probably climb inside it without ducking her head. There was a small remote on top of the mantle that she assumed lit the very lifelike looking logs. Her eyes drifted to the walls. There weren’t as many portraits in here. Really, there was only the one above the mantle of a good-looking, fortyish man in a gray suit seated in a leather chair. There was enough resemblance to Mr. Gallagher she felt safe in assuming he had been a relative.

  Sarah folded her clean hands and crossed her legs. It had taken her the better part of an hour and a gallon of turpentine to get her fingernails so clean, but hopefully it had been worth the effort. The redness was finally going away too. Surreptitiously, she adjusted the fit of her hose, cursing her inability to find a pair that fit her correctly. The ones she could find that would actually fit her hips were always too long. She took a deep breath and consciously tried to stop fidgeting, but the settee was terribly uncomfortable. No wonder the ancestors on the foyer walls looked so dour. And it didn’t help that there were butterflies in her stomach, either. She smoothed the skirt of her lemon yellow business suit and adjusted the shirt a little better over her breasts. Finally, she was going to meet the Clayton Gallagher, face to face, in person. Her heart pounded at the mere notion.

  Just as the thought entered her head, the man himself entered the room. All six feet plus of scowling hotness. Her breath caught in her lungs and stayed there. Oh hell, I may just pass out. She rose as gracefully as her heels would allow and took a few steps to meet him, extending her hand. She prayed he wouldn’t feel it shaking.

  “Mr. Gallagher. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Finally.”

  He must have heard the slight rebuke in her voice. He tipped his head to the side in agreement and a tight smile stretched his lips. “Ms. Tyler. It is a pleasure for me as well.”

  Sarah’s gaze was drawn to Gallagher’s lips. Were they really as soft as they looked? Her palm actually tingled, and she realized it was still held in his much larger hand. They were simply standing in the middle of the room regarding each other.

  “I know we’ve just missed each other several times,” she told him. “I’m glad to finally put a face to the name.”

  Smiling her prettiest smile, Sarah hoped Mr. Gallagher did not suspect the lie. She had noticed him before, had actually even sought out his form in crowds, but had never before been introduced. Up close, the man was even more beautiful than from afar. Sarah had always preferred tall, dark haired men, and Clayton Gallagher fit her ideal perfectly. His mahogany brown hair was cut close to his head, but had begun to grow out because she could see a few waves coming through. Slightly bushy eyebrows sat heavily over his pale blue-gray eyes, which regarded her sharply and a little dispassionately. A shade large, his slightly crooked nose attested that he had not always been in the boardroom, and had at some point been in some altercation where his nose was broken. Rather than being turned off, she found that it added character to his already strong face. A brisk cologne came to her attention and she realized he had just recently shaved. Unable to help herself, she took a deeper breath, pulling him in.

  Almost immediately, she realized that had been a mistake. Whether he knew it or not, this man was just oozing pheromones.

  Removing her hand, Sarah turned and sat back down on the settee, trying to regain control of her raging emotions. Clayton Gallagher was known in the business world as a shark, and when he scented blood, he moved in for the kill. Word was that the company had been floundering when he took over, but he had taken it beyond what his father had imagined it would be simply by not accepting ‘no’ in any negotiation. Sarah tried to be as confident as she knew how to be. She had no idea at all what he wanted, but she had to keep her wits about her.

  Mr. Gallagher moved to sit in a matching leather chair, to her left.

  “Ms. Tyler, you must be wondering why I have asked you here today.” Settling back, he elegantly crossed his legs. Brown leather wingtips gleamed in the diffused light from the window directly across from her.

  “Oh yes, definitely. When Meredith called me, she said she couldn’t give me any details.” Her eyes drifted over his long shape. Even though it was a Saturday afternoon, he was in a business suit. Perhaps he planned on going in to the office later. “I have to say, your house is simply stunning.”

  “Thank you. Hillcroft has been in the family for generations. It was originally built by my great-great-grandfather when he emigrated from Scotland to Connecticut in the eighteen-hundreds. He built the main part of the house for his bride, and one of the sons later continued with the construction as you now see it.”

  Sarah wondered if he knew how bored he sounded when he related the details like that.

  Abruptly, he switched topic. “I was very impressed with the work you did in my executives’ offices. It was exactly what I wanted for the company.” Steepling his fingers, he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “I would now like to offer you a private commission, since your Clarion contract is completed.”

  Sarah’s brows lifted in surprise. The Clarion contract itself had come out of the blue. She had had a small showing at a fairly obscure gallery in lower Manhattan and a few days later was approached by a middle-aged executive with a lucrative contract and a trustworthy handshake to create exclusive artwork for the company. And in no time, it seemed the growing technology and electronics firm was taking up every minute of her waking day. During the planning process she met with representatives of each department to get a feel for the responsibilities as well as the culture of each department, the “personalities” of R&D, Finance, Supply Chain and the rest. As she looked back, Sarah believed she had done a better than respectable job representing them. Each of the top three floors of the Clarion Corporate building and each department on those floors managed to maintain their individuality but still meshed well with the others.

  Sarah had hammered out her contract with Mr. Paulino, the corporate lawy
er, who advised her that although the company was several generations old, the current CEO wanted to convey a sense of energy and youthfulness, and homey warmth to go along with their innovative new technological products. Some of the products were cutting edge, so they had wanted a sense of familiarity to balance it out. That was why they were gutting the old office art and décor to bring in new.

  The contract was lucrative enough that she quit her waitressing job that day, without any regrets. She had worked that job and two others off and on as she tried to develop her art; she’d finally gotten a break when a gallery owner, who was a lunchtime regular, had reluctantly offered to see her work. Sarah couldn’t even remember how many owners and managers she had pestered for a chance to show them her pieces, and the crushing disappointment when they waved her away. The café where she’d waitressed had a regular spot against the wall for her very large portfolio.

  Sarah had jumped directly from waitressing to working non-stop with Janice Newton, the interior designer also working on the renovation project. While Janice concentrated on colors, carpet and window coverings, Sarah was busy creating pieces of artwork that she felt conveyed the energy and youthful attributes Mr. Paulino had described and she was extremely proud of what they had done together. Some of the pieces were older ones she had already created which seemed to fit into the scheme, but most of the eighteen pieces were produced during the eighteen-month commitment. The contract had stipulated that she was the only artist to be used for the contract and that each of the pieces were to be original. So, original Sarah Tyler paintings were everywhere from the bathrooms to the boardrooms of the Clarion building. The exclusivity of the contract was unheard of in today’s marketplace, and had leap-frogged her name to the forefront of the New York art world. In addition to the contract making her a wealthy woman in her own right, she now had offers and requests for showings from all across the country. There was even a magazine article coming out next week chronicling the project she and Janice had completed for the popular company. It was all very over the top. Luckily, Janice had taken the lead on the article and Sarah was only a minor contributor, which suited her just fine.