by Chelsea Hale
The Undercover Resort Billionaire
A Falling for You Billionaire Romance
Chelsea Hale
For those who have gone through tough times, have found themselves at the bottom, and rebuilt their dreams
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue - One year later
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Acknowledgments
About Chelsea
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Chapter 1
“There has to be some mistake,” Callie said, looking at the big zero on the screen. “I had $40,000 left in the account just last week.”
The teller’s badge said Katie. Staring at the monitor, her eyes widened as she looked back to Callie. “I apologize, miss. Could you wait here?” She cleared her throat. “It looks like … we might have a … glitch in our system.”
“Okay,” Callie said, glancing down at her watch. Work had been busy today, but she’d made it to the bank just in time to send her first payment to a supplier for imported leather. After years of working on her luxury purse designs and saving up the money, she was finally ready to make the leap and figure out her entrepreneurial dream.
She glanced around the bank. Only one other customer was being helped. Callie bounced on her toes, wishing that there was a line of people behind her that she could tell exactly what this moment in the bank meant to her. It was a culmination of years.
Once the money was wired to the supplier, the leather would be shipped to her within forty-eight hours. And she would make her first ever prototype. She ran her hand across the purse she used. It was nice, but Callie knew she could make something amazing. The color, the texture, the functionality. It was all going to be exactly what she needed, and what she hoped everyone else wanted.
“Ms. Hayes?” A man with a comb-over and large spectacles came to the teller stand in place of Katie.
“That’s me,” Callie said.
“Ms. Hayes, I’m the bank manager, Mr. Walters.” He extended his hand. “Your account has been flagged, and I wanted to come talk to you personally about it.”
“Thank you,” she said, grateful he was there to help. Callie glanced at the clock behind him. There were ten minutes before the close of business. Plenty of time to work this out with the bank manager handling it. “I’m actually in kind of a hurry to get this money wired by the close of business today.” She knew she probably looked ridiculous, but she couldn’t keep herself from grinning at him. She could practically smell the leather shipment arriving already.
Mr. Walters studied her for a moment, before glancing at the screen. “In a hurry, you say?” he asked, his expression ponderous.
“I received word today my supplier has my shipment ready to go. They’re just waiting for payment. It’s been weeks of waiting for them to get what I need in stock.” And they wouldn’t give her a final price on the Italian leather until they’d received their own supplies.
Mr. Walters nodded. “Do you know a Michael Polten?”
“He’s my fiancé.”
“Did you give him permission to pull money out of your account?” Mr. Walters watched her closely.
Dread sank through her, finally settling around a pit in her stomach. Something was wrong. “Yes, he was doing some investment banking for me.”
And over the last two years he’d made her a lot of money. It was easier to streamline the process and let him withdraw as he needed to. Within thirty days, she always received a return on her investment. But he wasn’t allowed to touch the $40,000 base in her account. Now the $75,000 that he’d said would be in her account, as well as the $40,000 that should have always been there, were gone.
“My suggestion is you get a hold of Mr. Polten. He is the one you need to talk to.” The words felt final as Mr. Walters pushed the withdrawal slip across the dark wood counters toward Callie.
Callie rubbed her temples, panic rising in her chest. She pulled her phone from her purse, pushing the favorite icon and dialing Michael’s number. He traveled internationally and sometimes the time zones didn’t line up, but she was amazed at how often he picked up to talk to her anyway, even if it was in the middle of his night.
The phone rang only once before the dial tone made an ugly beep. An automated voice said, “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again.” Callie ended the call, pulling the phone away from her ear.
Panic rose in her chest. What did this mean? She looked up at Mr. Walters. “His cell phone has been disconnected.”
“The last two withdrawals from this account were transferred to a dummy account in another state that has been linked to money laundering. Do you know anything about that?”
“No … Michael did some investing for me. I haven’t been involved in the particulars.” Her cheeks heated.
“We take the privacy of our clients very seriously.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. Her brain felt scrambled as she took in her situation.
Mr. Walters nodded and began droning on, asking her questions about fraud and the misuse of funds. He said something about her mortgage and withdrawing all of her equity. It all felt confusing.
He put a file folder on the counter between them. “Does this look familiar to you?”
She opened the folder, revealing papers showing her signature—actually not her signature, but something that looked super close to her signature. There was only one explanation that ran through her mind. Michael must have forged the documents. How did this happen? Numbness spread through her body. “I-I—”
The ringing of a bell announced a customer coming into the branch. Mr. Walters broke eye contact with Callie for the first time. Relief seemed to wash over him as he took in the person who’d just come in. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his brow.
Callie turned to see the patron. It was a police officer. The uniformed man walked toward them, surveying the rest of the branch as he walked through it.
The police officer nodded to Mr. Walters, and Mr. Walters looked more at ease than he had a few minutes before.
“Ms. Hayes, I’m Officer Green, and I have a few questions for you.” Then he turned to Mr. Walters and said, “Thank you for your help. I can handle this from here. Do you have an office we can use?”
Mr. Walters nodded. “Of course. Right this way.”
Mr. Green gestured for Callie to walk in front of him as Mr. Walters escorted them to his office. Callie’s head began to spin. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears.
“We have reason to believe that Michael Polten is involved in a Ponzi scheme. He leaves few tracks, but the FBI caught one of his accomplices in another state. As part of her plea bargain, she gave us your name and the information about your account that was used for money laundering.”
When the ba
nk manager had mentioned that her account had been flagged, it hadn’t been an understatement. And then it was thirty minutes of interrogations to find out if she was part of the fraud. Officer Green asked her question after question about Michael. She racked her brain to remember all of the places Michael had traveled, what their wedding plans were, and where they liked to eat out.
Two hours later she was allowed to leave, but not without her house being repossessed to cover the bank’s damages while they investigated the fraud of Michael Polten. She was almost positive the police didn’t suspect her of being an accomplice in the crimes the fake guy named Michael Polten had done, but that didn’t stop the bank from taking her house anyway. She had given him willing access to her accounts and there was nothing that she could do about it.
* * *
Callie pushed through her front door, swinging the door hard. It crashed back into the door frame, the slam echoing through her house.
She walked from room to room, taking in the beautiful furnishings. The small two-bedroom home was modest and bright. On the kitchen table she saw the scatted designs of her purses. This morning she’d woken up early and had a few more designs to sketch out before she had to go to work. Morning was when her creativity flowed. She pulled a sticky note off of one of her drawings. In her giddy state this morning she’d written herself a note, “You’ve got this. Today is the day! Countdown until the leather arrives: two days.”
She pursed her lips. How much had changed in a matter of hours. She closed her eyes slowly, hoping the gesture would help her control the tears that began to well up inside as reality came crashing down on her.
Callie looked around the small kitchen. With any luck, the police would catch Polten and then she’d get everything back. Once that happened, her money would be returned, but until then, she needed to start over. Her dream of building up and owning her own business was now dashed with all of her seed money gone.
She had thought she’d found a way to make a lot of investment money quickly so she could start her business without a business loan, but with the bank’s notice and her social security number compromised, she wasn’t going to be accepted for a bank loan anywhere else anytime soon.
She was given forty-eight hours to clear her house of anything sentimental. Everything else would be held or sold to pay for the damages. Callie packed up four boxes of pictures and family heirlooms and her suitcase stuffed with her clothes. Lastly, she pulled all of her hard copies of her purse designs and put them in her portfolio. With all of her money gone, she was going to have to get creative on how she was going to make her idea for a purse business successful. But right now, with the news of the day, the only thing she wanted to do was punch something. Stupid Michael. Or whatever his name really was. Stupid her. Ugh.
Chapter 2
Liam Summers looked up from his glass top desk where he’d signed and approved the transfer of all the Summers Resorts to the Summers Corporation. His uncle, Dale, had been sick for a while, but his death still felt too soon. Liam put the metallic fountain pen down on the stack of paperwork the lawyer had presented him over two hours ago.
Outside, the May rain poured, streaming down his windows and blocking his view of the Seattle skyline his corner office afforded him on clear days. The somber gray setting fit his mood.
He’d been acting CEO for the last three years as his uncle’s health had continued to decline. He’d gotten used to the traveling and being the face of the company when a public appearance was needed, but with his final signature he felt the weight of the one hundred and four properties on his shoulders. He was only thirty. He’d worked with his uncle since high school, but it hadn’t been enough time. He was now officially the one in charge of it all, not just acting in his uncle’s behalf. It was a different feeling altogether.
Though mentally spent, he smiled at his uncle’s lawyer. “Thanks for handling all of this, Richard,” Liam said to him.
“We’re not done yet,” Richard said. “There’s one more personal matter, sir.”
Liam nodded. “Go ahead.”
“I’m to leave you with the folder, sir, per my instructions.” Richard handed him a thick manila folder that simply said, “For Liam” on it in a thick marker, and he gathered up the rest of the papers on the desk. Richard shook Liam’s hand. “Let me know if you have questions about anything in there. Dale Summers was one of the best people I’ve ever known.” Richard’s eyes were kind. It was the exact same look he’d seen from everyone over the last week since his uncle’s funeral.
Liam forced himself to breathe deeper. “Thanks, Richard. You’ve been a good friend to him.” Richard was more than his uncle’s lawyer. He and Dale had been friends since before Dale had come up with the idea to own luxury hotels.
Richard put a hand on Liam’s shoulder, somehow transferring comfort to him, and then left Liam alone in his office.
The door clicked shut and Liam slumped into his black leather swivel chair, taking in the picture of him and his uncle. Memories from five years ago swirled around him. Grins on their faces showed the pride of the moment as they cut a ribbon for a brand-new hotel. It was one of the countless distinct memories of building this business together before his uncle became sick. Over the last three years Liam had revolutionized the Summers Line. His marketing and attention to detail had launched the company into a higher level. But even with his uncle sick, he still checked with him on the decisions. Now, it was just him.
He pulled the manila envelope off his desk, unfastening the metal clasps. A handwritten note from his uncle was attached to the front of the papers. He read:
Liam—
By completing the previous paperwork, you’ve agreed to take on the responsibility of the Summers Resorts. It is no small thing, but you’ve been doing so well for so long that I have complete confidence in you. I have one final gift for you.
You asked me often how I got into the hotel business, but I’ve never told you the full story. This property, The Hideaway, was the first I ever owned. I want you to have it—for you, not for the corporation.
It is yours to do with as you choose, but before you make any decisions regarding it, you must spend two weeks working at the property.
Although you’ve signed all of the paperwork for the corporation, it is dependent upon you completing this last task. You must spend two full weeks at the resort within forty-five days of receiving this envelope, otherwise full control of the Summers Line is turned over to the Board.
Richard is under strict orders to watch your progress on this. Do not disregard it. Any plans you have must be rescheduled as I want this property to be taken care of immediately by you personally. Richard has all of the specifics and will arrange a job for you at the resort. Contact him when you are ready.
I found magic at this place. I want you to find magic too. I know you’ll make the right decision on what to do with this resort.
—Love, Uncle Dale
Liam flipped through the pages attached. Pictures of an unfamiliar resort were shown from different angles. Liam rubbed the sides of his temples. His uncle wanted him to go to a dump of a hotel for two weeks when he was at the critical transition time for the company. How could his uncle expect that? Didn’t he remember what it was like to be responsible for so many resorts?
A lump welled up in his throat. These were his uncle’s last wishes. Probably he’d only had the resort so he could get away. Liam was the best person to run Summers Resorts—not the Board. If he had to jump through his uncle’s hoops one last time, he’d do it. He could manage a small hotel in the middle of nowhere for a couple of weeks.
A knock sounded. “Come in,” he said, looking up at the door as his personal assistant, Sayler, came into the room.
Sayler frowned, worry etched on her face. “You look awful.” She shook a bottle of aspirin in her hand and set it on his desk before sitting down in front of it.
“I wouldn’t know.” Liam cracked a smile for the first time in a long time
. “You had a sense I needed this, did you?” he asked, taking the medicine bottle and pouring a few pills into his hand. He took a drink of water and swallowed them.
“Richard said to give you ten minutes and then come in. How did the paperwork signing go?” she asked.
He passed the manila folder packet over to her. “The signing went fine, but this … this is going to be harder.”
Sayler read the letter and her eyes widened. “You have to go to an island for two weeks? Like a banishment?”
“It feels that way right now.” Liam tried not to think about how it would look to the rest of the Board if he just simply took off right after the ownership transfer. Had his uncle even thought about that?
“Your uncle always did have a reason for everything. I’m sure this will be good for you. Would you like me to get Richard on the phone right now?”
“Oh, not so fast,” Liam said, “if I have to go, I’m bringing you with me.”
She looked through the pictures, her lips twitching when she placed them back on the desk. “Yeah, I don’t think so. What’s the thread count there? My boss has made it a point to only let me stay in these super fancy hotels. He’s turned me into a hotel snob.”
Liam rolled his eyes. Sayler was his personal assistant but she was more than that. She felt like family to him, like a sister. And right now, with his uncle gone, he needed her to help him navigate his uncle’s last request. “C’mon, Sayler, it’s two weeks. Help me?”
