The Lucky Billionaire
Jeanette Lewis
Contents
Introduction
Foreword
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
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About the Author
Introduction
Dear Reader,
Have you ever been to a dinner party and, at the end, tasted the decadent dessert you knew you shouldn’t have? And then called the host of the dinner party two days later, asking … begging for the recipe?
The Destination Billionaire books are like that dessert. Beautifully packaged, they taste amazing, and after, you’re begging for the recipe . . . or, in this case, another book.
I know you’re going to love this series, because I love this series. The books have fresh writing and characters that capture your attention and leave you holding your breath as you watch them fall in love.
Sit back, relax, and enjoy the magic.
Taylor Hart
Author of The Last Play Series
Foreword
Authors need authors—people who “get” them, and who understand what it feels like to have characters living in their heads. The Destination Billionaires Romance Series has created a sweet writing community, and meeting Jeanette Lewis has been one of the joys of this experience.
Jeanette Lewis loves to write, and she approaches her craft with passion and a plan. As characters and storylines formulate in her mind, she turns to pen and paper, fleshing out the details in longhand, connecting to her story in a personal, corporeal way. You’ll see the payoff for her method when you dive into The Lucky Billionaire. Idaho farmer Ty Epperson is the kind of man men want to be and women want to be loved by. PR agent Holland Morrissey is beautiful, smart, and charismatic. Both of them are falling fast, but Lewis has packed The Lucky Billionaire with obstacles aplenty that threaten any hope of a happy ending.
Jeanette Lewis’s The Lucky Billionaire, delivers delicious characters wrapped in an engaging story you’re going to love. This book goes down like country butter, and then Lewis turns up the heat, and things really sizzle. Enjoy!
Addison Tayte, author
1
The screens mounted around the room flashed to commercial, and the spotlights dimmed. Ty Epperson ground his teeth.
“Thanks, Ty.” Host Janelle Beckett turned her dazzling white smile on him. “We appreciate you coming all this way.”
“No problem.” Ty tried to return her smile. The interview had been a disaster; he didn’t need to see Janelle’s strained expression or read the trepidation in the camera operator’s eyes to know that.
He made his way off the raised platform, across the black painted floor, and between the huge cameras that perched like a couple of prehistoric birds on spindly legs, their oversized heads ready to strike. The rounded lenses stared at him accusingly.
The studio buzzed with people—directors, producers, lighting and sound techs, camera operators, and a bunch of others who were there for reasons he didn’t know. An upcoming guest was surrounded by an entourage in one corner. It looked like she was reciting some kind of tongue twister, while a short woman with bright pink hair swabbed makeup on her cheekbones with an enormous black brush.
Ty hadn’t thought to bring a makeup person—he didn’t even have a makeup person. He’d assumed the show would take care of that kind of stuff. Thank goodness his sister, Misty, had a small bottle of hairspray and a tiny pot of some kind of powder in her purse to take the shine off his face. He’d probably looked like a ghost up there next to Janelle, but at least his nose wasn’t reflecting the bright studio lights like a Christmas ornament.
Ty glanced back at the set for Wake Up LA, a homey-looking arrangement of easy chairs, end tables stacked with books, and tall fake plants. He supposed the decor was designed to make viewers feel comfortable, but it’d done the exact opposite for him. Janelle was still in her seat, eyes focused on her tablet—probably prepping for her next guest.
“We’re back in two,” someone yelled, and the noise level in the room decreased considerably.
Ty dodged a tangle of extension cords behind the cameras as a producer shuffled the woman with the entourage forward. She smiled as she settled into the easy chair he’d just vacated. She looked a heck of a lot more comfortable than he’d felt.
He reached the line of folding chairs at the back of the studio and extended his hand to help Misty stand up. At eight months pregnant, his little sister wasn’t looking so little at the moment. “That was great,” she said, keeping an iron grip on his hand as he pulled her to her feet.
“Yeah, right. Were we at the same show?”
“It was fine.” Misty rolled her eyes. “You worry too much.”
Ty knew better. The studio crew hurried about their jobs, but he wasn’t imagining their sideways glances, a discreet look of pity mixed with antipathy. In this world, he’d committed the ultimate sin: not being good on camera.
“Hey, Ty, thanks for coming.” Rudy, one of the producers, came toward him with his hand outstretched.
“Thanks for having me,” Ty muttered as they shook hands. “Sorry it wasn’t a great interview.”
He waited for Rudy’s meaningless assurances, but instead the producer gave a helpless shrug. “Well, not everyone’s cut out for TV.”
Ouch.
Ty leaned in, keeping his voice low. “Hey, I’ve got two more of these booked. Do you have any tips that could help me do a little better?”
Rudy’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? When?”
Ty nodded bitterly. “One on Friday and one next week.” He should cancel them, he knew it, but he couldn’t. For the first time in his life, he had a chance to do something that really mattered to him. And he was blowing it.
Rudy’s black curls bounced against his forehead as he blew out his breath in thought. “Well, you could hire someone to represent you. Los Angeles is full of actors.”
“Do I have to use a talent agent or something for that?” Ty felt a headache coming on. He massaged the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I can email you a couple of agencies we use,” Rudy said. “Or, if you want to do it yourself, I’ve got some referrals to a couple of image consultants. They could coach you a bit, help you get more comfortable on camera.”
Yeah right. Like Ty would ever feel comfortable staring into that big, gaping lens.
Rudy was obviously anxious to get back to work. “That sounds great,” Ty said. “Can you send me names for agents and also a couple of those image consultant people?”
“Sure, I’ll email them to you when the show wraps.” Rudy clapped him on the shoulder as he turned back toward the set. “Good luck, man.”
“Thanks,” Ty said.
He’d need it.
* * *
Holland Morrissey leaned toward the mirrored panels of the elevator and examined her eyes. Still red, but not too puffy, thanks to a freezing cold washcloth and some artfully applied concealer.
The elevator dinged as it reached the floor where Enlighten Images had its offices. Holland stepped away from the wall and adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder.
“Where have you been?” Angela d
emanded from her seat behind the curved glass and wood reception desk.
“Sorry,” Holland replied. “Lost track of the time.” No need to let the world know she was late for work because she’d spent the morning in tears.
Angela wasn’t fooled and gave her a sympathetic look. “There’s a client waiting in your office, a guy named Ty Epperson,” she said.
“I don’t have anyone until eleven,” Holland objected. “I checked my schedule this morning.” She’d planned on the extra hour to get herself back into a working frame of mind.
“It’s a last-minute. He said it was urgent, and you were the only one with an opening.”
Holland bit the inside of her cheek. Unless they asked for someone specific, new clients were assigned to whoever was available. Since she’d never been very good at networking and selling her skills, cold clients were always a blessing. “Okay, thanks,” she told Angela. “Did they get a beverage?”
Angela gave her a look. Of course they got a beverage. Angela was a professional and did not appreciate the challenge.
“Sorry, forget it,” Holland backpedaled. She hurried down the hall and pushed open the door to her office.
As a mere associate image consultant, Holland’s office was tiny; barely room for a desk, two chairs, and a small filing cabinet. But it was a huge improvement from the cubicle where she’d spent her first seven months at Enlighten, doing everything from marketing to ordering lunch. At least now she had a window . . . and a door.
A man and a woman sat in the client chairs, and Holland noticed immediately that the man’s knees were almost bumping against her desk. Yeah, the space was small, but how tall was this guy anyway?
He turned, and Holland stopped in the doorway. Ty Epperson had . . . well, there was no other word for it: he had bedroom eyes. Deep and smooth, like a dark roast coffee, shining with a promise of adventure. Somehow managing to look innocent and seductive at the same time. Holland’s stomach flipped, like she’d just missed the bottom step.
“Uh . . . hi,” she managed. “I’m Holland.”
“Ty,” he said, his voice deep and a little hesitant. “This is my sister, Misty.”
Which one needed the makeover? With her creamy skin and pale blue eyes, Misty could be a stunner. But with minimal makeup and her strawberry blond hair scraped into a ponytail, she certainly wasn’t taking advantage of her looks. She was very obviously pregnant, and her blue maternity top stretched tightly over her protruding stomach and heavy breasts, paired with dated denim capris and worn black flats.
Ty’s hair was darker than Misty’s and almost brown but with a glint of red. Freshly trimmed, but in definite need of some product. Long sideburns gave way to a somewhat untrimmed beard that was coming in a touch redder than his hair and framed a pair of full, nicely formed lips. Holland’s experienced eye took in his casual T-shirt, beat-up shoes, and off-brand jeans. He could definitely use some polish, but there was a lot of potential.
Holland started toward her desk with a brisk, confident stride, but stopped again when Ty shot to his feet, completely blocking her path in the narrow space. She was in four-inch heels, and he still towered over her. All it would take was one step, and she could rest her cheek against the contour of his chest. She tilted her head up to look into his mocha eyes.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice,” he said, sticking out his hand.
Holland put her hand in his, and a dart of warmth shot up her arm. “No problem,” she said in what she hoped was a professional voice. “Please make yourself comfortable.” She withdrew her hand from Ty’s and moved to her seat, feeling much more in control of the situation with her desk between them.
“Ty Epperson. That name sounds so familiar,” she mused. Come to think of it, he looked kind of familiar too, in a weird, do we ride the same bus kind of way.
Ty ducked his head. “I won the Idaho state lottery a few months ago,” he said softly. “Maybe that’s where you heard of me.”
Holland did not normally keep tabs on the lottery, but now that he’d triggered her memory, she recalled seeing a picture of him standing in front of a splashy background holding one of those ridiculous, oversized checks. And the check had been for—
Holland gaped at Ty. That’s why she remembered: the lottery had been for a huge amount. The whole country had gone crazy with people flying into Idaho specifically to buy tickets in the weeks before the drawing. “That was over a billion dollars,” she finally said.
“Yes ma’am.” Ty flushed. “One point two billion.”
Holland sat back in her chair with a thump. Billion . . . with a B. This guy was in a much higher pay grade than her normal clientele of actors, news anchors, and young professionals hoping a new look would lead to a promotion.
“W—why are you here?” she managed. If she had that kind of money she would be on her own private island somewhere far away and most definitely not sitting in the office of an LA image consultant. Why did he need to worry about his image, anyway?
Ty’s eyes lit up. “I’ve started a nonprofit group that’s dedicated to land management in the western US,” he explained. “There’s a lot of politics behind it, and in many cases it’s hurting the land they claim they’re protecting. So I got invited to LA to do some TV interviews for a couple of regional stations. The first one was this morning, and it didn’t go so well. So a guy at the studio gave me your number.”
Holland’s experienced eye took in Ty’s casual shirt, beat-up shoes, and off-brand jeans. He could definitely use some polish.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Misty broke in. Her blue eyes flashed a challenge. “I mean, he needs to be himself, right?”
“That’s true,” Holland said carefully. “But I’m sure you know how important first impressions can be, especially on TV.”
“The studio guy recommended we hire an actor to do the rest of the interviews and call it good,” Misty said. “And that’s what I think. Why should Ty put himself through all this just for a five-minute interview?”
“Well, you do have a great angle.” Holland tapped her fingers on her desk. “As the lottery winner, people are going to want to see you, not a representative, no matter how good he or she might be.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Ty said with a sigh. He raised and lowered his shoulders in resignation. “So, how do we start?”
“Start now?” Holland asked in surprise. “Don’t you want to see my portfolio, maybe call my references?”
Ty shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of time. You’re a beautiful, well-dressed lady. That’s good enough for me.”
This was Los Angeles, and Holland worked in the image industry, where everyone was one of the beautiful people—so much so that beauty had almost lost its relevance. In a town where people purchased beauty from plastic surgeons as casually as they did their organic arugula from Whole Foods, Holland wasn’t special. She was pretty enough with her black hair, wide green eyes, and creamy skin, but no one ever told her that . . . at least, not with any degree of sincerity. But Ty’s words came from the heart, and they enfolded her like a blanket, spreading a warmth she hadn’t known she craved.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Their eyes locked for just a moment. Dropping her eyes, Holland swiped across the screen of her tablet to bring up her calendar. “When’s your next interview?”
Ty pulled a smartphone from his pocket and maneuvered through the icons to get to his own calendar. “Friday.”
“This Friday? As in three days?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Is that going to be a problem?”
She wasn’t that busy, and he wasn’t that rough. Sure, kind of disheveled and definitely in need of some new clothes, but he was clean, and from the contours of his chest under the T-shirt, he looked fit. He wasn’t one of those clients where a personal trainer and a trip to the dentist were her top priorities.
“I’m pretty booked for the rest of today, but tomorrow is open. How about we h
ave a brief interview now so I can get to know you. I’ll work on a strategy and we can hit it in the morning?” she suggested.
Misty struggled to her feet, her ponytail swinging. “Where’s the restroom, please?”
Holland pointed the way, and they waited while Misty left the room. She looked so young, much too young to be expecting a baby, and Holland had noticed she didn’t wear a wedding band. What was the story there?
“So . . . you had some questions for me?” Ty asked.
“Yes.” Holland’s attention snapped back to her job. She pulled up the beginning client questionnaire on her laptop and began firing questions at him. By the time Misty came back, they were halfway through page two, and Holland was beginning to make a plan. They finished up the interview, and she had Ty pose for a few pictures she could use as reference when building his look.
“That’s all the time I have for today,” she said as she put the camera away. “Could you be back here in the morning? We’ll work on some interview techniques and discuss your makeover.”
She couldn’t help grinning at the way Ty’s eyes widened in horror at the word makeover.
2
“Do you know who that was?” Holland asked Angela after the elevator doors had closed behind Ty and Misty. “Ty Epperson—as in billionaire lottery winner.”
“Good thing he found you; he sure doesn’t look like a billionaire.” Angela’s eyes lit up. “Did he give you carte blanche? With that build, he’d look fantastic in a Kiton.”
“Yeah, right.” Holland laughed. “Something tells me Kiton is way outside of his wheelhouse.”
“Armani?”
Holland frowned thoughtfully, thinking of the interview they’d just completed. “Maybe. He lives on a sheep farm in Idaho; that doesn’t really say Armani to me.”
“So a cowboy?” Angela suggested.
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