Maid for the Billionaire
Emma St. Clair
Copyright © 2020 by Emma St. Clair
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For permissions, email: [email protected]
Originally published in the Sweet Kisses Box Set as “If You Want to Kiss a Billionaire.”
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
What to Read Next
About the Author
Author’s Note
This story was originally published as If You Want to Kiss a Billionaire, as a part of the Sweet Kiss USA Today bestselling box set.
The story is almost completely unchanged from that version, though there are teaser chapters from the book that follows this one, The Billionaire Love Match.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy.
-Emma
1
Hamilton
I should never have come. I would be better off single than stuck on this island trying to form “authentic” connections.
Even in his thoughts, Hamilton put air quotes around the word authentic. He also did not stutter in his mind. But he wasn’t being fully honest. He hadn’t reserved a ridiculously expensive package at La Vida Island Resort to simply form connections, but to find a wife.
Tossing the third suit jacket onto his bed, Hamilton paced the spacious room in just his undershirt and slacks. The discard pile of shirts, ties, and jackets covered the comforter completely at this point.
Picking out clothes was his kryptonite. When the colors in your world consisted only of black, white, and gray, that’s how it worked. Which was why his assistant, Michelle, had paired everything together for this week, complete with labels. She had even offered to come to the resort with him, which would have been beyond awkward. He could just picture Michelle, hovering just behind his elbow as he struggled to make small talk with strangers. Nope. It was humiliating enough on his own.
But somehow, between his private jet and the welcome lunch, everything had gotten bungled. He returned to his room, head still spinning from meeting so many women, only to find that whatever staff member unpacked and hung up his clothes had thrown away all of the labels.
It wasn’t like Hamilton was completely helpless, even if in this moment, that’s how he felt. He had been a CEO at twenty-six, running his family’s billion-dollar investment firm ever since his father’s death ten years ago. Fortunes were made and lost at his fingertips. But he couldn’t pick out his clothes.
Maybe he should just skip dinner.
Maybe he should summon the private jet and fly back home.
Maybe he should finally accept the fact that there was no woman who wanted him. Unless it was for his money.
The mechanical lock on the door whirred, and Hamilton spun around just as it swung open. A woman dressed in the resort polo and slacks entered the room carrying folded towels in her arms. Her big eyes went wide seeing him, and she almost dropped the towels.
She dipped her chin to her chest, breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brevard. I assumed you would be at dinner. I’ll come back.”
He nodded, then turned away. It only took another second for him to realize that she could help him.
“W-wait!”
He hadn’t meant to shout. Really, he hadn’t. When she flinched, he wanted a sinkhole to open up right there in the middle of the room and swallow him whole.
Not only had he yelled at her, but he had stuttered. Hamilton ran a hand through his dark hair, tugging lightly at the ends. The tiny bite of pain always calmed him down, reminding him to focus.
It was Hamilton’s turn to flinch. He stepped away from her quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m doing this all … wrong. I w-wondered if you could help me.”
Not only did he stutter that time, but his other speech affectation kicked in: the long pauses between words. Hamilton had been blessed with both the repeated syllables and the blocks.
When he did something in life, whether that was stuttering, making money, or making a fool of himself, he really went all in.
The woman hugged the towels tightly to her chest and glanced at the mess on the bed behind him. The back of Hamilton’s neck heated up. He hated anyone seeing him in this state. Normally, no one did.
“N-never mind.”
He sank down on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He would go home. Forget all about finding a woman to marry. He couldn’t put on clothes or carry on normal conversation with an employee.
A hand on his back startled him. Not only because he wasn’t expecting the touch, but because of the way Hamilton felt it in his whole body, even through the fabric of his T-shirt. That didn’t seem to dampen the reaction at all, as the cells in his body all seemed to wake up at once.
Her touch was comforting and exhilarating at once as she began to stroke her palm up and down his back.
“Hey,” she said, her voice as soothing as her touch. “Are you all right?”
“N-n-ot … really.”
Hamilton sighed. He should pull away from her. He should pull himself together. He should do a lot of things. Instead, he sat, letting this stranger pet him like he was a small child. Or a dog.
Was this how desperate he was for affection? For kindness? He’d let a maid whose name he didn’t even know see him break down like this?
“How can I help you, Mr. Brevard?”
“Call me H-h-h-h-h …”
With an irritated growl, Hamilton gave up, letting his hands sink deeper into his hair. He couldn’t even get out his own name.
If this woman hadn’t been there to witness it, he might be tempted to tear apart the room. Tossing paintings, breaking lamps, and breaking whatever else he could throw. Once after a particularly humiliating business meeting, he had put a chair through a door. He’d been as impressed with his own strength as he had been disgusted with his inability to control his temper. The bill had also been impressive. It was surprising to see how much hotels spent on doors.
Hamilton’s shoulders tensed as her hand disappeared. And then her fingers touched his unshaven jaw, sliding around to his chin. Surprised at the intimacy of the touch, he let his eyes lift to hers.
The look of concern was gone, replaced with a soft smile that unfolded slowly. That smile and the brilliant light in her eyes had him captivated. Breathless and speechless.
He only wished he weren’t color blind so he could distinguish the color of her eyes. He imagined they would be even more striking. In his mind, they were the soft, sky blue of his mother’s eyes. He could still remember color, even if he didn’t see it now. The thought of his mother made his chest tighten.
“Would you like me to call you Hamilton?” she asked.
When he nodded, her smile grew. Hamilton thought that his heart might beat right out of his chest. She dropped her hand, and he fought the urge to hold it to his cheek.
“Only if you’ll call me Jane. And you don’t have to be embarrassed. Many men find themselves speechless in my presence.”
She batted her eyelashes at him and lifted her hand to her messy bun
. It took a moment for her words to hit him.
Hamilton blinked. “You’re teasing me?”
“Are you telling me that it wasn’t my beauty that made you speechless? I’m offended.”
She bit her bottom lip, holding back her grin. His eyes fell to her mouth, then back up to take her in. She didn’t look like she had on any makeup. Her hair, whose color was so light that it had to be blonde, was held in place by a pencil, he realized. The polo and slacks she wore did nothing for her figure, which was probably the point. He wasn’t supposed to notice the staff.
And yet, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off this woman. Hamilton had already noticed her full lips, high cheekbones, and nose with a distinct bump in the center, as though it had been broken and never properly set. He ached to know that story. To hear her tell it, her head tipped back in laughter, that light hair falling around her shoulders.
What is it about her? Hamilton felt like his ribs had closed in like a vise around his heart, forcing its rhythm to slow.
Was it the way she touched him? Or the fact that she teased him?
People had made fun of him all his life. Or they had made a show of trying not to notice. Sometimes he would catch a flash of irritation as people tried to be patient with his speech. But not one person had ever brushed it off lightly in this way. Playfully. It made his heart leap and his whole mood lighten.
Jane laughed. “I am teasing you. Of course. With all the beautiful women here, I fade right into the wallpaper. Except I think that the wallpaper is even a little out of my league.” Putting her hands on her hips, she made a show of examining the walls.
Hamilton glanced around the room. The wallpaper was a busy pattern with shimmers running through it. Frowning, he looked back at Jane. “Are you crazy?”
“Nope. Just Plain Jane, at your service.” She gave a small curtsy. “Nice to meet you, Hamilton. Before I get in trouble, let me replace your bathroom towels.” She picked them up from where she had set them on the edge of the bed. “Then maybe I can help with whatever you need?”
“No.”
Her brows shot up. “No, I can’t leave the towels? Or no, you don’t want me to clean up?”
“No, you are anything but … plain, Jane.” His lips quirked at the small rhyme.
Her cheeks flushed. He noted the darkening, even if he couldn’t see the soft pink he imagined there. For the first time since he had startled her at the door, Jane looked unsure.
She waved a hand. “You don’t have to make me feel better. I’m comfortable in my skin. I know that I’m not beautiful. It was a joke.”
“Well, I’m not joking. You are b-beautiful, Jane.”
She cast those beautiful eyes down to the floor. Hamilton wanted to tip her chin up gently until her gaze met his again.
“Thank you,” she whispered before she disappeared into the large bathroom.
You’ve done it again, genius. Turned a normal moment into something awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.
That was his specialty. That and keeping up the profits from the family business. Aside from his astute business mind, Hamilton had a host of negatives. It’s why he was here, on this stupid island. A high-end matchmaking event of sorts, designed to help wealthy men find a wife. None of the marketing materials spelled this out of course, but it was really for wealthy, flawed men. Ones who couldn’t lock down a woman on their own.
Hamilton didn’t know what the other men here struggled with, but he was color blind, stuttered, and was more often than not socially awkward.
“J-jane.” Sighing, he tugged at his hair again.
“Yes?” Her voice had a slight echo against the bathroom tile.
Hamilton stood and moved to the closet as she emerged from the bathroom. “I really do need your … help.”
That slow smile spread across her face again. “What do you need? It looks as though you’ve had a bit of a battle with your wardrobe. And you’re on the losing end. Can’t make up your mind?”
He found himself chuckling. “N-not quite. My personal … assistant packed up all my clothes, arranged by event type and c-color. They all had labels.”
As he spoke, Jane’s face fell. She twisted her hands in front of her. “I might have, um, caused the very problem you need help with. I thought the labels were dry-cleaning tags or something and I threw them away. I am so sorry.”
The last thing Hamilton wanted was for her to feel badly. Why would she have any reason to believe that a grown man would need his clothes put together in such a way?
“I’m color blind.” Grimacing, Hamilton continued. “Without my assistant, I can hardly pick out a t-tie.”
Jane nodded, stepping past him into the closet. A scent like fresh spring flowers reached him. Light and teasing. Not at all like the heady, expensive-smelling perfumes that followed the women here around like a cloud. He must have sneezed twenty-five times at the meet-and-greet earlier that afternoon.
“Huh.” Jane had her hands on her hips again, surveying his closet. Then she peeked her head out, looking at the pile on the bed. Her brow furrowed.
“What is it? Are the clothes … bad?”
“No. Your clothes are gorgeous. Probably enough to pay off my student loans.”
Student loans? Hamilton filed that information away for later.
Jane shook her head. “I’m just surprised. You said you’re color blind? Because there are so many various colors and shades here. Is it just certain colors you can’t distinguish?”
He shook his head. “I have cerebral achromatopsia—one of the rare and most extreme forms. I see everything in black, white, and shades of g-gray.”
Jane blinked. “Wow! No color? I can’t imagine!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That was completely insensitive.”
Hamilton chuckled. “This might surprise you, but I appreciate the way you speak your mind. It’s r-refreshing. Please, continue.”
“Were you always color blind?”
“No.” He paused, unsure of why he felt compelled to tell her more. “Usually it’s genetic. But I was in a car accident when I was eight. I had some t-trauma to my eyes. Very rare.”
His family’s driver had allowed him to sit in the front seat. Technically legal, and it probably would have been fine, except Hamilton had been leaning forward, getting something from his backpack when the other car struck them. The impact of the airbag left him with a concussion, some superficial burns, and damage to the optic nerve and retina. Hamilton hardly remembered the accident, only waking in the hospital to the color gone from his life.
Her features softened. “I’m so sorry. But you can still remember colors?”
“I can. I’m thankful for that too. It’s a … gift. Usually achromatopsia comes with other effects as well. Vision loss, sensitivity to l-light. I simply see a world of gray.”
Jane studied his face. “I have so many questions but feel too nosy.”
Hamilton found himself wishing that she would. He had as many that he would like to ask her. Maybe he should skip dinner and spend that time here with Jane. It certainly sounded a lot more pleasant than what lay ahead.
Jane shook her head again, as though dislodging the questions from her mind, and continued.
“Back to your clothes. I’m not surprised you’re having trouble with what you have here.” She gestured to what was left in the closet, then the pile on the bed. “It would be impossible for you to put these things together without help. Or labels. What you need is a wardrobe where everything went together. Similar colors where nothing clashed. Mix and match. No wrong choices. No need for notes. I think sometimes people call it a capsule wardrobe.”
Hamilton loved the idea. It would mean relying less on Michelle. More autonomy. Less feeling like an idiot who needed his hand held.
“That’s a brilliant … suggestion.”
“I’m surprised your assistant didn’t think of it.”
So was he. Now that Jane brought it up, the idea seemed totally obvio
us. “For tonight, can you help me? I n-need a shirt, tie, and jacket that go with these pants. I’ll p-pay you of course.”
“No payment required. The whole thing was my fault in the first place, so it’s the least I can do. I’ll have you set up in just a moment.”
“I’m going to just put in a quick call to my … assistant.”
Jane started with the bed, returning each suit jacket to its hanger. Hamilton cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from her as he pulled out his phone. He walked toward the seating area in the luxurious room, looking out over the Pacific Ocean.
“Everything okay?” Michelle’s voice came over the line after the second ring. She sounded out of breath. Almost as though she had run to the phone.
“N-nothing I can’t handle,” Hamilton said.
“If you need me, I can be out there tonight.”
Whenever Michelle finally met someone and settled down, he would be hard-pressed to find another assistant so dedicated. “Th-thank you. I’m fine. Look. The reason I called is that I wanted to see if you could do … something for me.”
She spoke quickly. “Anything. You name it.”
Hamilton walked back over to the windows, watching a yacht slowly slip away toward the horizon. “I want you to create a capsule wardrobe for me. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes. I know what that is.” Her voice sounded strangely high and tight.
Hamilton frowned. “What’s the problem?”
“A capsule wardrobe would mean paring down what you have. Way down. Are you ready to get rid of so much? I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Of course, it is. Imagine how much easier your life will be when you don’t have to help me figure out what to … wear every day or send elaborate notes when I go out of t-town.”
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