by Lily LaVae
Billionaire Bachelor: Morgan
Lily LaVae
Copyright © 2018 by Lily LaVae
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.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Also by Lily LaVae
1
The crowd screamed and waved like one giant mass as Morgan Turner stood, soaking it all in. His band might have been behind him, but all those came to see and hear his voice. He lived for the attention, his heart pumping in time to their chants. They wanted more, and it was all up to him if they got their wish…or not. He rested his guitar in a nearby stand and waved as he walked off the stage, the crowd still roaring. Some nights he caved, but most, he gave them exactly what they paid for and not a second more. It wasn’t his job to give them extra.
As he descended the stairs of the stage he met Amanda, his current personal assistant. She flicked her red hair over her shoulder in annoyance. She turned abruptly, leading him back behind the stage, through the crowds of people. Once they’d reached the edge of the field, she led him down a hallway to a suite of connected rooms. As she shoved open the door, she glared at him but still held it open and stepped aside. He entered the big, open room. couches lined one endo of the room. A man stood behind a bar, thankfully provided by the venue.
“What’s this?” He thumbed at the huge spread of cut fruits, cheese, water, and assorted food and drink on the tables along the back wall. If it were just for he and the band as a thank you, there wouldn’t be posters hanging all over the walls. No, this was exactly what he hated, personal contact with the fans. He was ready for a rest, not more work.
“There’s a meet and greet after the concert. You have back stage pass holders coming any minute—about twenty of them. I told you before you went on, but again, you weren’t listening to me.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be over in the bus, so don’t bring any of your little friends back after.” She bit off the words and flicked her fingers as if his fans were clinging to her. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”
“I’ll bring whoever I damn well please to my bus.” She wasn’t going to stop him from doing whatever he wanted, no matter how much she wanted to talk. He had to live his life in front of everyone else, be just who they expected him to be. If he wanted a little downtime with a willing lady, who was she to stop him? She was just jealous over the fact that he’d lost interest in her so quickly.
“Then expect to have our conversation in front of other ears.” She tried to shove him farther into the room, but he refused to budge.
“I’m not in the mood for this.” he said as Kent pushed past him, forcing Morgan further into the room. He glared at his base player.
Kent shrugged. “Tough. You’re not leaving. We’re a band and we stick together. Just because you lead and your name is on everything doesn’t mean you get to duck out whenever you want. In fact, it means you should be here more.” Kent picked up a cube of cheese and chucked it at him.
Morgan caught it and did his best to control the tide of anger, but Kent never knew when to quit. He knew how to run this band as a business and that meant they needed time to themselves once in a while. If they didn’t, they’d burn out just as much as he had. He felt it. They had to as well.
Kent opened a bottle of water. “You always leave the fan meet ups to us. If you want this party to last, you’d better start treating the fans as if they matter. You’re getting old. There’s only so long they’ll put up with you acting like an ass.”
He ignored Kent’s jab. He’d given plenty to the fans. “Amanda, I told you not to set any more of these up. I hate them. I’m tired. We just gave them two hours.”
“Yeah.” She cocked her hip and pretended to look at her phone, scrolling with one impossibly long finger nail. “You told me that two weeks ago. From that point on, I stopped. That means you won’t have to do this anymore in about a year. In the meantime…” She gave him the finger and walked out.
Kent snorted. “Well, isn’t that precious. She’s—what—the sixth PA you’ve had in about as many weeks?”
She was, and everything about her made him want to punch a wall. “We don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“You won’t see eye-to-eye with anyone when you put yourself on a pedestal. She was doing her best. There isn’t a PA alive who could keep you happy, because you never will be. Not when you think you’re better and know everything.”
A group of fans burst through the door. At least he didn’t have to smile and pretend he wanted to be there. His rough edges were all part of the persona. They would stay back a bit. He’d take a few pictures, sign a few tickets, and leave.
A woman with bright white hair, tightly curled, brought in an older teen, tripping over herself in her excitement. The woman ambled over to the couch and pulled a newspaper out of her gargantuan purse, then flicked it open as the teen pestered him to sign her shirt. He did as he was asked, careful to keep the signature on her shoulder since he couldn’t tell her age and granny could practically pack a rifle in that bag. He’d have to ask his security detail about purses allowed into his venues.
“I’ve been following you for practically years!” The teen gushed, her pale blue eyes wide.
In teen speak, practically years was a big deal. They never seemed to like any artist for the long haul anymore. “Thanks. I hope you keep listening.”
“Oh, I will. Pretending Hearts…just spoke to me!” She clutched her chest.
She was too young to have a clue what that song was even about. As much as he could write a ballad or two, he hated mush and emotion. There was no good way to answer, so he just nodded. “Hope you enjoyed the show.” He moved on to the next few fans and after a minute, he noticed that granny and super-fan were gone.
The room cleared after about an hour and a half and he collapsed on the couch with Kent, letting his head fall back against the backrest. The personal meet ups were almost more work than the shows.
“Where did the rest of the band end up? How did they get out of this?” He closed his eyes for a minute, putting off the inevitable walk to his RV where he’d have to fire yet another PA, if she hadn’t already left. This one would be difficult. She had almost as much attitude as he did. He’d let himself get mixed up with her, then almost immediately realized his mistake and cut her out of his personal life. He wouldn’t make that error again.
“They met with fans on the stage as the crew tore down. Since you didn’t do any extra sets, they wanted to keep the regular attendees happy.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. He had the money to quit right then—had even considered it. Touring was hard work for the body and mind. He was ready for a break, a change of pace. “How many more shows?”
“Dallas is in a week. After that we have a few months off.” Kent sighed and shoved himself up off the couch. “I think you should consider keeping Amanda. She’s worked really hard.”
He’d watched Kent eyeing his PA since he’d let her go. “It’s one thing to have an attitude—I’m pretty proficient at it—it’s an
other to have an attitude where the public might see it. Unacceptable.”
“At least be nice about it.” Kent’s mouth flattened into a hard line.
Morgan wondered if the two of them had been engaging in extracurricular activities right under his nose. Not that he cared. “Do you need a minute to go get her number before I go talk to her?”
Kent turned and tore out the band holding his long dark hair. “No, I already have it. Just don’t blow this for me.”
If Amanda blew off a chance with a millionaire base player because of his boss, then she wasn’t worth keeping. However, Morgan kept his mouth shut for once. Kent was one of his oldest friends and band politics were difficult enough to navigate without adding fuel to the fire.
Morgan picked up the newspaper the grandmother had left behind and scanned it without really looking, giving Kent a moment to cool off. An ad was circled in red pen at the bottom.
WANTED
Women of all walks of life for important, life-changing positions. Background and health screening required. Inquire: 6257 Iglesias Street, Addison, TX 75001
Morgan squinted at the small print. It didn’t look like a typical classified ad. Most had phone numbers or web pages. What good was an address? The wording was strange too. It didn’t even give a clue to what they were really looking for. Even someone like him could use a woman like that. Or, at least someone who would listen to him tell her how. He tore the ad from the paper and set it aside. Kent had left, and it was time to fire another PA. No matter how much he didn’t want to do it.
Eloise slammed back her soda as the rest of the anger management group filed from the room. Ed, her counselor, leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. It was a move he used often to make her feel like she was on top of a situation, when she really wasn’t.
“Fontaine, you can’t return to work until I sign off, and I can’t. You still can’t control your temper. You’re going to have to find a new job. And just how do you plan to do that when you can’t even provide a resume? You’ve lost more jobs than most people have had in a lifetime.” Though his voice remained mild, he enunciated the words he really wanted to sink in.
“You’re not helping, doc.” She tipped the can back again and only got drips. Damn, they only gave one can per meeting.
“No, it’s you who isn’t helping. I’ve tried everything I know to give you good coping mechanisms. There’s something you’re not telling me, something deep that’s keeping you from living a healthy life. We need to talk about this. Or, you’re just going to have to keep coming to see me. But it’ll be on you to pay for it. Your last job will no longer cover the meetings without that signature.”
Damn again. Another failure. She was getting good at it.
It made no sense to keep coming. She’d never tell him her secret anyway. Certain skeletons were best left in the closet. Everyone she knew was broken in some way. It wasn’t like she was special or anything. “Well, you know I love our little chats.” She shoved herself out of the seat and strode over to the recycle bin, unable to keep herself from slamming it through the hole.
“I have an idea.”
He raised out of his seat and walked over to the table along the wall where he kept all his files and folders—the table where the “patients” weren’t allowed. He opened a beige folder and pulled out a slip of newspaper.
“I found this ad as I was looking through the Independent last Sunday.”
She turned and glared at him. “The Independent? I didn’t even know that was still in circulation.” Even her grandmother read everything on her eReader.
“Yes, well, as I said this ad seems to be perfect for you.” He handed it to her.
Eloise approached him and slid her pixie cut white-blonde hair behind her ear, a holdover motion she’d been unable to forget after cutting it all off. Ed made her a little nervous. He slipped the paper in her hand and closed his folder as he turned from her.
She read the ad over twice. It looked like a normal job placement service, but she couldn’t figure out why Ed would think this particular place would suit her. “Okay? So, why is this place any different from the ten other placement services I’ve used?”
He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes softened just a bit. “This one is looking for women specifically who want to make a difference. I think once you have a job that means something, you’ll want to keep it. You’ll learn to control your temper if you have a reason to.”
She glanced at the paper clipping once again. “This gives an apply in person address. What do I wear to apply for a job when I don’t even know what they’re looking for?”
She hadn’t had a decent wardrobe in a long time. If the firm was looking for someone to change the world, her clothes wouldn’t even get her in the door.
“I know you feel your anger building, you want to hate me for making you think about this, for not signing your work return papers. But I think this place, more than your old job will be better for you. I think it will give you the push you need to make a change. Here’s my card. Call me if you need anything, but you’re officially out of my program unless you can afford to do it yourself. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”
He knew she couldn’t afford it, because she couldn’t keep a job. She accepted the card and stuffed it into her pocket. Though she hadn’t been angry before he’d said anything, the suggestion did the trick. “How can you just do this? Give up on me? I’m not fixed, and just because you gave me this place doesn’t mean they’ll hire me.”
“They may not. But you’ll never know until you try. Good luck, Fontaine.” He collected his folders and walked out, leaving her alone in the room with the circle of empty chairs. The lights were over-bright to her eyes and she felt a tension headache building. She flexed her hand to keep it from shaking. Her anger wouldn’t build. It was under control. Ed was right. It wouldn’t do any good.
The address on the paper was across town. She’d have to go from Dallas proper to Addison. If she didn’t find work soon, she’d lose her car and her apartment. “Crap. Another agency to take a cut of what’s mine.” She crumpled the ad and stuck it in her pocket with the already crumpled card. At least she wasn’t drinking anymore.
2
Morgan yanked open the door to his bus. Amanda waited for him just inside on one of the leather couches as she’d said she would. She practically pounced on him.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Do you even remember what you tell me, or do I need to start recording what you say with time stamps? I’m so sick and tired of trying to please a boss who just can’t be pleased! One minute you want one thing, the next you tell me something completely opposite. You tell me how to do something, then when I do it, you stand over me and yell that it’s not the way you showed me—even when it is.”
He tried to interrupt, to let her know her little speech was unnecessary. She could leave any time and he’d just forward her pay through the agency he’d hired her from…if he could remember which one he’d used that time.
“And this—” Amanda grabbed tongs off of the bar and picked up a pair of panties that had been left behind at some forgotten point. “—is disgusting. You don’t pay me enough to put up with your asshole behavior and the filth left behind by your little cling-ons.”
He crossed his arms. “Are you mad because those aren’t yours?” At least Amanda wasn’t a simpering nut like the first PA. Amanda had a mind of her own.
Her face flared red. “No. I quit. I’m finished.” She tossed the underwear at him and slammed the tongs down on the bar.
After she rocked the whole bus with the force of the slammed door, he picked up the discarded drawers and tossed them in the garbage. Did he really need another PA if the tour ended in a week? He could probably manage without one all on his own and then he’d have a little time off where he could focus on finding someone who really fit his crew.
Yeah, he had an attitude and working with him wasn’t easy, but this was
also the chance of a lifetime for some person. They could deal with a little attitude for that. It wasn’t easy being Morgan Turner.
He took the little slip of paper from his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pulling up the browser, he quickly typed in the address on the ad to see if anything would come up. They were looking for women to change the world and he needed one woman who wasn’t an asshole. Seemed like a match. If they were looking for flexible women, that was about perfect for him. Though not meek. He needed someone with a little backbone or they would just cry whenever he walked by.
Many of the pages he scrolled through had been shut down and all that remained was a bunch of one-line descriptions of what had once been pages. The address seemed to be for a bridal agency—a mail order bride agency. People still did that? He chuckled that some lonely jerk out there needed the help of an agency to find a willing woman. He took a deep breath and reclined on his leather sofa. A bridal agency wouldn’t help him find the perfect PA.
Morgan sat up straight in his chair. A bride. A bridal agency would do all the work for him in finding the perfect PA. He could put in an order for an assistant…trick them into thinking he wanted a bride when all he wanted was for an assistant to last at least one tour.
It was the perfect, fool proof idea. He would get a woman matched to him and wouldn’t have to marry her. She’d be just the right person for the job and he’d never have to go through another agency again. A smile cracked over his lips and he rubbed the unfamiliar feeling away. It was the best way to solve his PA problem, and they were headed right for Dallas. Perfect.
After applying for more jobs than she could remember and getting no call backs, Eloise searched for the jeans she wore to her last anger management meeting. She crawled around on the floor until she finally found them, stuffed under her bed in a wad.
