Also by Jessica Lemmon
The Love in the Balance series
Tempting the Billionaire
Can’t Let Go (novella)
Hard to Handle
The Millionaire Affair
The Second Chance series
Bringing Home the Bad Boy
Rescuing the Bad Boy
A Bad Boy for Christmas
Return of the Bad Boy
Billionaire Bad Boys
The Billionaire Bachelor
The Billionaire Next Door
ACCLAIM FOR
JESSICA LEMMON’S NOVELS
THE BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR
“4 stars! Easygoing, confident Tag Crane will warm readers’ hearts from the start with his bold sexiness—as will the chemistry that sizzles between Tag and Rachel.”
—RT Book Reviews
THE BILLIONAIRE BACHELOR
“Lemmon hits the right emotional buttons with this lavish, indulgence-fueled romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Wonderfully entertaining storytelling filled with sharp, sassy banter…Reese and Merina’s strong sexual tension and fiery chemistry will have readers hooked.”
—RT Book Reviews
RETURN OF THE BAD BOY
“Love, friends, family, sweet & steamy romance, and so much more, Jessica Lemmon is an auto-buy for me! Her Bad Boys are just sooo good!”
—Erin Nicholas, New York Times and
USA Today bestselling author
“In Lemmon’s latest her signature style of storytelling laced with emotion and grit will engage readers with each turn of the page.”
—RT Book Reviews
A BAD BOY FOR CHRISTMAS
“Shopping for a hot holiday read? Look no further than A Bad Boy for Christmas…With charismatic characters, stirring situations, and enough sexy to fill an entire town’s worth of stockings, this latest in Lemmon’s Second Chance series is 400-plus pages of Christmas magic.”
—USA Today, “Happy Ever After” blog
“Connor and Faith are strong and complement each other, and their chemistry is explosive. Lemmon is an expert at the modern-day romance.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Sexy and well-constructed…Likable and realistic characters with believable emotions, and the right balance of fantasy fulfillment, make for some good holiday heat.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
RESCUING THE BAD BOY
“An amazing read and I can’t wait for the next installment.”
—TheBookNympho.com
“Nobody does a bad boy like Jessica Lemmon.”
—HarlequinJunkie.com
BRINGING HOME THE BAD BOY
“Everything I love in a romance.”
—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author
“Clever, romantic, and utterly unforgettable.”
—Lauren Layne, USA Today bestselling author
“4 ½ stars! A sexy gem of a read that will tug at the heartstrings…A heartfelt plot infused with both emotionally tender and raw moments makes this a story that readers will savor.”
—RT Book Reviews
THE MILLIONAIRE AFFAIR
“Fast-paced, well-written, and impossible to put down…Jessica writes with humor infused generously throughout in a realistic, entertaining way that really helps to make her characters realistic people you’ll want to know.”
—HarlequinJunkie.com
“Landon and Kimber’s banter is infectious as their chemistry sizzles. Smartly written with a narrative infused with humor and snark, this modern-day romance is a keeper.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Magnificent writing and characters.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
HARD TO HANDLE
“[Aiden is] a fantastic character. He is a motorcycle-riding, tattooed, rebel kind of guy with a huge heart. What’s not to love?…Entertaining and heartfelt.”
—RomanceRewind.blogspot.com
CAN’T LET GO
“This novella was long enough to get me hooked on Aiden and Sadie and short enough to leave me wanting more…The chemistry between the characters is fan worthy and the banter is a great addition. The writing style draws readers in.”
—BSReviewers.blogspot.com
TEMPTING THE BILLIONAIRE
“A smashing debut! Charming, sexy, and brimming with wit—you’ll be adding Jessica Lemmon to your bookshelves for years to come!”
—Heidi Betts, USA Today bestselling author
“Lemmon’s characters are believable and flawed. Her writing is engaging and witty. If I had been reading this book out in public, everyone would have seen the huge grin on my face. I had so much fun reading this and adore it immensely.”
—LiteraryEtc.wordpress.com
Playboy Reese Crane will do anything to become CEO of Crane Hotels…even propose a marriage of convenience to Merina Van Heusen…
Merina will do anything to get her parents’ boutique hotel back—even marry cold-as-ice-but-sexy-as-hell Reese Crane.
It’s a simple business contract: six months of marriage, total secrecy, and they both get what they want. But when the sparks fly between them, suddenly this façade of a marriage starts to feel very, very real…
An excerpt from
The Billionaire Bachelor follows.
Chapter 1
The Van Heusen Hotel was the love of Merina Van Heusen’s life. The historical building dominated the corner of Rush and East Chicago Avenue, regal and beautiful, a living work of art.
Her parents’ hotel had once been the Bell Terrace, home away from home to celebrities such as Audrey Hepburn, Sammy Davis Jr., and, more recently, Lady Gaga and the late Robin Williams. The original structure had perished in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, only to be resurrected bigger, better, and more beautiful.
There was a life lesson in there.
Latte in hand, Merina breathed in the air in the lobby, a mix of vanilla and cinnamon. Faint but reminiscent of the famed dessert invented in the hotel’s kitchen: the snickerdoodle. On her way past Arnold, who stood checking a guest into the hotel, she snagged one of the fresh-baked cookies off a plate and winked at him.
The dark-skinned older man slid her a smile and winked back. Having practically grown up here, Merina thought of the VH as a second home. Arnold had started out as a bellman and had worked here for as long she could remember. He was as good as family.
She dumped her purse in her office and finished her cookie, holding on to the latte while she meandered down the hallways, checking to make sure there were no trays outside the doors that needed collecting. At the end of the corridor on the first floor, she saw a man outside one of the rooms, drill whirring away.
“Excuse me,” she called. Then had to call again to be heard over the sound. When she came into view, he paused the drilling and looked up at her.
He wore a tool belt and navy uniform, and an antique doorknob was sitting on the floor at his feet along with a small pile of sawdust.
“What are you doing?” she asked, bending to pick up the heavy brass. Her parents had done away with “real keys” the moment they took over, installing the popular keycard entry hotels now used, but the antique doorknobs remained.
“Installing the fingerprint entry.” From his pocket, the uniformed man pulled out a small silver pad with a black opening, then went back to drilling.
“No, no, no.” She placed the doorknob back on the ground and dusted her hand on her skirt. “We’re not doing any fingerprint entry.” She offered a patient smile. “You need to double-check your work order.”
He gave her a confused look. “Ma’am?” He was looking at Merina, but his voice was raised.
Merina’s mother, Jolie, appeared from behind the hotel room door, her eyebrows raising into hair that used to be the same honeyed shade of blond as Merina’s but now was more blond to hide the gray.
“Oh, Merina!” Her mother smiled, but her expression looked a
little pained.
“Can you give me a minute with my daughter, Gary?” Like she was Gary’s mother, Jolie fished a five-dollar bill from her pocket and pressed it into his palm. “Go to the restaurant and have Sharon make you a caramel macchiato. You won’t be sorry.”
Gary frowned but took the cash. Merina shook her head as he walked away.
“Sweetheart.” Jolie offered another smile. A tight-lipped one meaning there was bad news. Like when Merina’s cat, Sherwood, had been hit by a car and Jolie had to break it to her. “Come in. Sit.” She popped open the door and Merina entered the guest room.
White duvets and molded woodwork, modern flat-screen televisions and artwork. Red, gold, and deep orange accents added to the richness of the palette and were meant to show that a fire may have taken down the original building but couldn’t keep it down.
Jolie gestured to the chair by the desk. Merina refused to sit.
“Mom. What’s going on?”
On the end of a sigh that didn’t make Merina feel any better, her mother spoke.
“Several changes have been ordered for the Van Heusen in order to modernize it. Fingerprint entry is just one of them. Also, the elevators will be replaced.”
“Why?” Merina pictured the gold decorative doors with a Phoenix, the mythical bird that arose from the ashes of its predecessor, emblazoned on them. If there was a beating heart in the Van Heusen, it was that symbol. Her stomach turned.
Instead of answering, Jolie continued. “Then there’s the carpeting. The tapestry design won’t fit in with the new scheme. And probably the molding and ceiling medallions will all be replaced.” She sighed again. “It’s a new era.”
“When did you take to day-drinking?” Merina asked, only half kidding.
Her mother laughed, but it was brief and faded almost instantly. She touched Merina’s arm gently. “Sweetheart. We were going to tell you, but we wanted to make sure there really was no going back. I didn’t expect the locksmith to arrive today.” Her eyes strayed to the door.
Merina’s patience fizzled. “Tell me what?”
“Your father and I sold the Van Heusen to Alexander Crane six months ago. At the time, he had no plans on making any changes at all, but now that he’s retiring, the hotel has fallen to his oldest son. Evidently, Reese had different ideas.”
At that pronouncement, Jolie’s normally sunny attitude clouded over. Merina knew the Cranes. Crane Hotels was the biggest corporate hotel outfit in the city, the second biggest in the nation. Alexander (better known as “Big Crane”) and his sons ran it, local celebrities of sorts. She’d also read about Big Crane’s retirement and Reese’s likely ascension to CEO.
But none of that mattered. There was only one newly learned fact bouncing around in her brain. “You sold the Van Heusen?”
She needed that chair after all. She sank into it, mind blanking of everything except for one name: Reese Crane.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Merina stood up again. She couldn’t sit. She could not remain still while this was happening. Correction: This had happened. “Why didn’t you talk to me first?”
“You know we’d never include you in our financial difficulties, Merina.” Jolie clucked her tongue.
Financial difficulties?
“Bankruptcy was not an option,” her mom said. “Plus, selling gave us the best of both worlds. No financial responsibility and we keep our jobs.”
“With Reese Crane as your boss!” Her mind spun after she said it aloud. My God. They would be answering to that arrogant, idiotic…“No.” Merina shook her head as she strode past her mother. “This is a mistake.”
And there had to be a way to undo it.
“Merina!” her mother called after her as Merina bent and collected the discarded doorknob off the ground. She strode through the lobby, dumping the remainder of her latte in the wastebasket by the front desk, and then stomped outside.
As luck would have it, the light drizzle turned into steady rain the second she marched through the crosswalk. Angry as she was, she’d bet that steam rose off her body where the raindrops pelted her.
“That stupid, smarmy jackass!” she said as she pushed through a small crowd of people hustling through the crosswalk. Because seriously, who in their right mind would reconstruct the Van Heusen? Fingerprint entry? This wasn’t a James Bond movie! She caught a few sideways glances, but it was hard to tell if they were because she was muttering to herself like a loopy homeless person or because she was carrying a disembodied doorknob around with her.
Could be both.
Her parents had sold the Van Heusen to the biggest, most ostentatious hotel chain in the world. And without telling their own daughter, who also happened to be the hotel’s manager! How close to bankruptcy had they been? Couldn’t Merina have helped? She’d never know now that they’d sneaked behind her back.
How could they do this to me?
Merina was as much a part of that hotel as they were. Her mother acted as if selling it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Focus. You’re pissed at Crane.
Right. Big Crane may have done her parents a favor buying it, but now that he was about to “peace out,” it sounded like Reese had decided to flex his corporate muscle.
“Shit!” She didn’t just do that. She did not just drown her Louboutin pumps in a deep puddle by the curb. She didn’t splurge on much, but her shoes were an indulgence. She shook the rainwater from one pump as best she could and sloshed up Rush Street to Superior, her sights set squarely on the Crane Hotel.
Seventy floors of mirrored glass and as invasive as a visit to the ob-gyn. Given the choice between this monstrosity and the Van Heusen, with its warm cookies and cozy design, she couldn’t believe anyone would set foot in the clinical, whitewashed Crane Hotels let alone sleep there.
At the top of that ivory tower, Reese Crane perched like an evil overlord. The oldest Crane son wasn’t royalty, but according to the social media and newspaper attention he sure as hell thought he was.
Halfway down Superior, she folded her arms over her shirt, shuddering against the intensifying wind. She really should have grabbed her coat on her way out, but there hadn’t been a lot of decision-making going into her process. She’d made it this far, fists balled and steam billowing out of her ears, her ire having kept her warm for the relatively short walk. She should have known better. In Chicago, spring didn’t show up until summer.
Finally, she stood face-to-face with the gargantuan, seventy-floor home base. The Crane was not only the premier hotel for the visiting wealthy (and possibly uncultured, given that they stayed here), but it was also where Reese slept, in his very own suite on the top floor, instead of his sprawling Lake Shore Drive mansion. She wouldn’t be surprised if he slept right at his desk, snuggling his cell phone in one hand and a wad of money in the other.
Stupid billionaires.
Inside, she sucked in a generous breath and shook off her chill. At least there was no wind, and despite the chilling whitewash of furniture, rugs, and modern lighting, it was warm. But only in temperature. The Crane represented everything she hated about modern hotels. And she should know, because she’d worked diligently alongside her parents to keep the integrity of their boutique hotel since she started running it. Her hotel was a place of rich history, beauty, and passion. This place was a tower of glass, made so that the lower echelon of the city could see in but never touch.
Perfect for the likes of Reese Crane.
She walked through the lobby, filled to overflowing with businesspeople of every color, shape, and size. Flashes of suits—black, gray, white—passed in a monochrome blur, as if the Crane Hotel had a dress code and each and every guest here had received the memo. Merina, in her plum silk shirt and dark gray pencil skirt and nude heels, didn’t stand out…except for the fact that she resembled a drowned rat.
A few surly glances and cocked brows were her reward for rushing out into the storm. Well. Whatever.
She spotted the el
evator leading to Crane’s office, catching the door as an older woman was reaching for the button. The woman with coiffed gray hair widened her eyes in alarm, a tiny dog held snugly in her arms. Merina skated a hand down her skirt and over her hair, wiping the hollows below her eyes to ensure she didn’t go to Reese’s office with panda eyes.
“Good morning,” she greeted.
The older woman frowned. Here was the other problem with the Crane. Its guests were as snooty as the building.
Attitude reflects leadership.
The doors opened only once, to deliver the woman and her dog to the forty-second floor, and then Merina rode the car to the top floor without interruption. She used the time to straighten herself in the blurry, reflective gold doors. No keys or security codes were needed to reach the top of the building. Reese Crane was probably far too smug to believe anyone would dare come up here without an appointment. She’d heard his secretary was more like a bulldog that guarded his office.
The elevator doors slid aside to reveal a woman wearing all black, her grim expression better suited for a funeral home than a hotel.
“May I help you?” the woman asked, her words measured, curt, and not the least bit friendly.
“You can’t,” Merina said, pleased the rain hadn’t completely drowned out her rage. “I need to speak with Mr. Crane.”
“Do you have an appoin—”
“No.” She supposed she could have made an appointment, could have called ahead, but no sense in robbing Reese Crane of the full effect of her face-to-face fury.
The phone rang and the woman slid her acerbic glare away from Merina. She waited as the other woman answered a call, spoke as slowly as humanly possible, and then returned the receiver to the cradle. The woman folded her hands, waiting.
The Bastard Billionaire Page 28
