by Lexi Aurora
“My nephew carved that,” a gravelly voice said with pride. “His father would rather him be a lawyer, but it’s rare to see that kind of talent these days. If you’re interested, we can personalize the ship with a name of your choice.”
“Your nephew has a gift,” I said with a small smile. There was a time when I loved to be out on the water in a sailboat or kayak, but those days were long gone. “I’m actually here to pick up something that you’re holding for Darleen Mason?”
The hope vanished from the man’s face, and I immediately felt bad. The ship was out of place in a shop like this, and I gathered the man was having a hard time selling it. Moving slowly, the owner rounded the desk and reached under to pull out a box. When I opened it an peered inside, I immediately grimaced.
Nestled inside was the most god-awful looking statue I had ever seen. It was two lovers wrapped around each other and dipped in gold paint. If she gave that to Graham Porter, she might lose her job, and then I’d lose mine.
At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself when I made the order to have Porter Shipping personalized on the carved model ship and returned the statue. The truth was that Darleen would never know until it was too late, and then she’d never admit that the ship wasn’t her idea when she saw how happy it made her boss.
Maybe she’d even give me a raise.
I finished the errands and rearranging Mr. Porter’s schedule, and the gift was ready just before the store closed. I paid for the gift-wrap and headed home. Maybe tonight, the damn sign would be out completely, and I’d be able to get some sleep.
Chapter Two- Graham
I STARED IN FRUSTRATION at the computer in front of me and tried not to smash it to bits. There were a million things on my to-do list, and I couldn’t remember the first one of them because my personal assistant had called in sick and failed to email me my schedule like she normally did.
Miles, my cousin, lounged in the chair across from my desk and kicked up his feet. We looked similar enough with dark hair and green eyes that he could have been my brother, but as far as personality went, we were night and day. I was reminded of that as I eyed his polished sized-thirteen shoe on my clean desk. “Don’t you have something else to do other than bug me?” I snapped. “I thought you were leaving for New York today.”
He chuckled. “Who knew that the great Graham Porter would be defeated by a computer calendar? Why don’t you just call the damn woman and ask her to email it to you? Surely a cold wouldn’t keep her from that.”
“I tried,” I muttered darkly. “I’m fairly certain that she’s getting lipo or more Botox done. She was pretty much yelling at herself while she stared in the mirror yesterday.”
My cousin shuddered. “Is there anything natural about that woman?”
Everything about Darleen Mason, from her permed, bottle-blonde hair to her bejeweled toenails were fake. I still wasn’t sure why the hell she worked for me because I wasn’t paying her nearly enough for those Double-Ds or the calf implants that she’d gotten to make her legs look shapelier. “Her eyelashes fell off the other day,” I grunted. “Why the hell do women wear fake eyelashes?”
“She’s hoping a few more surgeries might finally make her pretty enough to land you as a husband,” Miles barked with laughter. “If only she knew how much you hated gold-diggers.”
It was part of the reason that I would never settle down. Women were fun, hell, women were a necessity, but they were only good for a night or two before they started dreaming about glittering diamonds and shiny new cars, and hell would freeze over before I trusted a woman enough to deck her out in jewels.
“I’ve got it,” I said with relief when I finally found the link to the calendar. I was about to click it when a notification for an email popped up on her computer.
Calendar Changes and Birthday Present.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “I think Darleen is getting me a birthday present.”
Miles’ feet hit the ground, and he sat up in the chair. “Is it naked pictures? I’m dying to see if those things look as fake as they feel.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I stared at my cousin. “And when exactly did you feel up my personal assistant?”
“When she accidentally fell into my lap the other day,” Miles said with a frown. “I almost let her fall to avoid touching her, but I guess I’m not as big of an asshole as I’d like to be.”
“Good. Maybe she’ll start planning on marrying you instead of me,” I said absently as I opened the email. It was addressed to Darleen from some woman named Julie, and it just confirmed that my present had been retrieved, and she’d made the changes to the calendar. Suddenly sick my ass . Darleen had clearly been making arrangements to have the next few days off.
When I closed the email, I realized that there was a long thread of messages between them.
Six-months long.
Scrolling through, I felt a wave of fury. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That stupid, lazy bitch.”
“Whoa. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Darleen has been paying someone to do her fucking work for six months. For six months, someone named Julie has been given private information about my life.” My eyes widened. “My God, Darleen gave her the notes from the investors meeting to type up.”
“You thinking its someone working on the other side or someone from the press?” Miles asked tightly. A plane accident from five years ago left Miles and me as the only two remaining Porters left, and he had as much interest in our money as I did.
“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.” Tension built in my shoulders as I composed an email from Darleen to Julie requesting that she meet me at the house so we could discuss some private details about what I wanted her to do next.
When she emailed me back and said that she wasn’t comfortable meeting me at the house, I knew that I had her. “She must be someone that we know. I’m going to kill Darleen. I’m going to sue her for breach of contract, and then I’m going to make sure that no one who makes over twenty-thousand a year will want to fuck her.”
I shot off another email insisting that I had private financial papers that needed drafting, and I couldn’t have her do it in public. She emailed me back almost immediately agreeing.
The trap was set, and I was eager to see who I was about to catch.
“I guess I’m going to need another assistant,” I growled as I slammed the laptop closed. The fake rhinestones glued to the top sparkled in the sunlight, and I had an urge to throw it out the window.
“Maybe make sure this one isn’t going to pay someone else to do the job for them,” Miles laughed.
“You think this is funny?” I demanded. “We’ve got millions tied up in this online banking company. If this Julie person really is a corporate spy, we could lose all that money.”
“That would suck,” Miles agreed. “But it’s just a few million. I think we’ll still get by. Have you made a decision about tonight?”
“You mean am I going to go out with you so you can have a shot with the triplets?” I asked as I stood and stretched. I was about to turn him down; the truth was that it had been too long since I’d had someone in my bed, their lips locked around my cock. This whole situation with Darleen had me desperate to blow off some steam.
Still, there was work that needed to be done. Regretfully, I shook my head. I needed to make sure my head was clear when I met this Julie person tomorrow, and I didn’t need another woman in my bed aiming for holy matrimony.
K EEP READING THE REST of Keeping Secrets from the Billionaire for free by joining Lexi Aurora’s readers group, Lexi’s Sexies online .
Dear Readers,
As a gift to you, I have included three bonus short stories and one bonus novella with this book. I love helping other authors by sharing their work – particularly those that are new and up-and-coming. This gives them a good start and gives you, the reader the chance to discover the hottest new author before others.
As always, I welc
ome letters from readers, so if you have feedback on the main novella or any of the bonus short stories, I’d love to hear from you—-what did you love? What did you not love? What do you want to read more of?
Let me know at [email protected] Enjoy your day and remember: sexy is a state of mind.
Love,
Lexi
Bonus Stories
History with the Billionaire – Contemporary Romance
Sugar for the Billionaire – Contemporary Romance
Assisting the Billionaire – Contemporary Romance
The Shifters – Paranormal Romance
Bonus: History with the Billionaire
Chapter One
S CARLETT
In one morning, I’d heard enough about the Oliver family to last a lifetime, and it wasn’t even ten o’clock. The “East Coast Emperors”, some people called them – the kind of business-savvy tycoons who came from generations of old money and gave just enough of their riches to charity to seem altruistic, at least to the short-sighted viewer. But on that unseasonably hot April morning, they were being talked about for a very different reason.
At first, I figured the matriarch, Tamara, had announced a surprise engagement or wedding, or maybe her daughter Alison had released a surprise collection in one of her many lifestyle, jewelry, or fashion empires. I knew the fuss couldn’t be about Adrian. Adrian Oliver was the youngest member of the family at twenty-eight years old, and he was a sensationalist media darling as well as a prominent feature in every trashy tabloid. He was talked about so much already that there was no way anything he could have done would make CNN, MSNBC, and CBS News talk about the Oliver family at such length... that morning, there had been no escaping them.
Starting from the time I turned on the news to check the weather at my apartment to scanning the radio on my drive into work to entering the university, all I heard were snippets of the name Oliver buzzing around my ears. I hoped no one I worked with was vapid enough to be invested in the family, but I soon found that I was sorely mistaken. Not only did the people at work appear to care about the Olivers, but that morning, they were enraptured by them.
I said my good-mornings and made excuses to get to my office as quickly as possible, eager to remove myself from the frivolities of the modern world and get swept up in the Spanish Inquisition; my current field of expertise. Within thirty minutes of being granted my reprieve and sitting down comfortably, one of the library assistants hurried up to my desk, looking frazzled and overly-excited.
“Line three for you, Dr. Quinnes,” she said, her stage whisper louder than normal. “Dr. Quinnes, the call... it’s not a, uh, normal call.”
“Cassie, it’s not personal, is it? I’ve specifically said I don’t allow personal calls to my work number-”
“No, no, nothing like that, it’s work related.” Cassie, a student of twenty-two, shook her head emphatically and looked around to make sure no one else could hear her. Of course, no one could – I worked in relative isolation, as I liked it.
“Oh. Well, alright, thank you.”
Cassie seemed rooted to her spot in front of my desk, and I tilted my head in concern when she made no move to walk away.
“Something wrong?” I asked, hesitantly reaching for the phone on my desk.
“Uhhh...”
I was vaguely aware of a few other coworkers mulling about outside my door, but I failed to make a connection between them and Cassie’s odd behavior.
“Good morning,” I greeted the person on the other line. “This is Dr. Scarlett Quinnes. How can I help you?”
“Scarlett. Pretty name.”
I frowned. The voice sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I knew it wasn’t any of the other university historians; they would never say something like that. They were all far too shy, with their noses in their books and minds stuck hundreds of years in the past.
“And, um, may I ask who is calling?” I ignored the compliment and got to business.
“Sure you can. This is Adrian Oliver. You might have heard of me,” the voice said, sounding cocky and languid.
I looked up at Cassie, my eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. She must have been recruited by someone in another department to play a prank on me. I always hated the way the other departments – mostly the sciences – liked to harass the history “nerds”, as though they were somehow better.
“Listen, I don’t have time for this. Goodbye.”
“Wait.”
Against my better instinct, I paused. There was something so authoritative about that voice, something so strong and confident. It was almost arousing.
“Make this quick,” I said, trying to ignore the heat rising in my face.
“I really am Adrian Oliver, and I take it you do know who I am,” he said, not sounding any more urgent than he had before.
“I know a bit about your family, yes,” I told him.
“Well, it’s actually my family that wants to hire you. I’m calling on their behalf. We’re in need of someone with your... unique expertise.”
I didn’t like his tone; it almost sounded like he was poking fun at me and what I do. “And exactly what might the Oliver family want from me, a humble historian?”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call you that.” Adrian gave a low chuckle, and just like his command earlier, it was undeniably sexy. “I did my research on you, Miss Scarlet.”
“Doctor,” I corrected him, trying to remain professional.
“Miss Doctor Scarlett,” he amended, teasing me. “You are not exactly a ‘humble historian’. Let’s see... you were a violin prodigy as a child, finished high school at fifteen, graduated with a bachelor’s degree from Oxford at nineteen – magna cum laude , I might add – completed your master’s at Cambridge, and returned to Oxford for your doctorate. You’ve published very well-received articles, and a book that won several prizes. Now you’re considered one of the top experts in the country – hell, maybe the world – on seventeenth-century Europe, specializing in Spanish relations. Does that sound right, Doctor ?”
I hated the way he dragged out my title. I hated that he knew so much about me, including my childhood history... I tried to keep the prodigy bit out of my life. For whatever reason, when people find out one was an especially precocious child, they seem to expect far too much from that person, and I’d spent most of my adult life dodging that.
“Yes,” I said sharply. “Now exactly why are you calling me, Mr. Oliver?”
“We’ve got a bit of a situation over here.” Adrian’s voice lowered, and he sounded a little more serious now. “There’s a guy who’s been running around claiming that one of my ancestors robbed one of his ancestors blind, way back a few hundred years ago. Problem is, this guy claims he’s got proof, and it all looks kind of legit. He’s hired a lawyer, a damn good one, and he’s trying to take us to court. If what he’s saying is true, we’re gonna end up paying him a lot of money. I mean, a lot . I mean... listen, Doctor, I’m telling you this in confidence.” The way that Adrian’s voice dropped half an octave as he murmured conspiratorially sent a shiver down my spine.
“Of course.”
“We could lose most of our fortune. Even my sister, who runs her own multi-million-dollar business, would owe him a huge chunk of the profits, since she used her inheritance to start the company. It could ruin us, you know?”
I found myself sympathizing with him, mostly because of his voice, which was now very sincere. “Mr. Oliver, I’m very sorry you find yourself in this position, truly. But I am not a lawyer-”
“I know, we’ve already got some of those,” Adrian interrupted me, trying to sound flippant again. “But you’ve got the knowledge and background we need. You know how to get to the right resources and find out if this is real or not. You’re going to make or break our case, and we really need you.”
“I wish I could help, I really do. But I can’t just abandon my work here-”
“Listen, if you help us, we’ll pay you twenty-
five thousand dollars.”
I choked on my intake of breath.
Chapter Two
A DRIAN
My mother had instructed me to wait at the airport for the good Doctor, which I figured was inspired by courtesy but executed by punishment. I was hungover and my upper body ached. The girl I’d been with the night before was – I cannot make this up – a Russian acrobat. She was one martini in, and I was... farther gone. So, I was willing to try anything she suggested. Not that I’d take any of it back... what I remember much of it, anyway.
It was a birthday party for a friend; a guy I’d known for half my life. His twenty-ninth birthday. I almost felt bad that I was the one getting laid... almost. The other guys had been rooting for me – though maybe it was just because I’d paid for everything – so I couldn’t feel too bad. I’d taken care in my earlier years to surround myself with people who wouldn’t judge me for my hedonistic ways, like my family sometimes did. The press pretended to, but those trash magazines and TMZ-types thrived on my antics. And why shouldn’t they? It was all in the name of enjoying life. And hell, I’d experienced enough of life to know that you had to grab what you wanted when you could.
All of that came to a screeching, sobering halt when I encountered William Sarajevo. He shouldn’t have been a threat. He was a short, scrawny, simpering man worth about seventy-five thousand dollars... we’d had our lawyers look into that, of course. The guy claimed that in the 1500s, my great-to-the-fortieth-power-grandfather stole an entire shipment of rare goods from him, and the profits that went with it. Obviously I wasn’t going to read them, but the lawyers checked every detail of his 70-page claim, and they said he might have a legitimate case. His whole selling point was that Old Grandpa Oliver – Olivier back then – was responsible for the merchant Sarajevo’s bankruptcy, and the stolen goods were used to build up a family fortune that’s now fallen on us.
