The Billon Dollar Catch: A BWWM Billionaire Romance Novel

by Kimmy Love

  Table of Contents

  Chapter1

  chapter 8

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  THE BILLION DOLLAR

  CATCH

  A BWWM BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE By..

  KIMMY LOVE

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  Summary

  Sierra Whittaker was willing to admit the the big city had chewed her up and spat her out as she began to make plans to leave New York City and go home.

  However, billionaire Benjamin Ericksson needed a favor.

  He needed a girlfriend to prove to his family that he was planning on settling down. He could pay Sierra thousands of dollars to play the role of his fake girlfriend and that way, everybody wins.

  There was only one catch, she had to break up with him in front of his family.

  And as Sierra began to fall for the cheeky billionaire, she realized it was something that might be impossible to do....

  Warning: This is a billionaire romance that is on the sexy side. Please only read if you are an adult and you can handle adult scenes. This is a complete novel, no cliffhangers and a surprise HEA ending. Get reading right away!

  Copyright Notice

  Billion Dollar Catch © 2017, Kimmy Love

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Contents

  Chapter1

  Chapter2

  Chapter3

  Chapter4

  Chapter5

  Chapter6

  Chapter7

  chapter 8

  chapter 9

  chapter 10

  chapter 11

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  chapter 14

  Chapter1

  Mist formed from her breathing as she leaned against the double-paned window, lost in deep thought—or, more likely, trying to lose herself in it. She was nervous and understandably so. At the age of twenty-two, she had finally left her quaint hometown of 4,586 residents, for the Big Apple. Sierra Whittaker was riding the 238 that had left the station at exactly 1:35 in the afternoon. She had left her father, her mother, and her two sisters behind for this once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something big that their small town couldn’t offer.

  “Now, you be careful,” her mother had told her as she embraced her tightly. “Watch out for those boys. Did you grab your father’s gun?” she joked.

  Sierra laughed and hugged her mother again, knowing full well her father kept a strict watch on his guns, being the town sheriff. “Got the sawed-off shotgun in my trench coat, Mama.”

  “Are you sure that place is safe?” Tasha Whittaker asked her eldest daughter.

  “Yes it is,” Sierra had assured her. “Tyrone booked it for me.”

  Her mother shook her head, remembering Tyrone Smith, the flamboyant homosexual schoolmate of Sierra, and their former neighbor. Tyrone had left the town of Rushport before their senior year to be a part of the glittering world of New York, aiming to be a celebrity. Tyrone had wanted Sierra to do the same.

  Tasha had suggested she take a plane to New York City, but Sierra wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted the whole experience; she had saved money for this trip, and a plane ride would take a large chunk of her money. Besides, she reasoned, Rochester was still in New York, and it would do her good to learn the ropes, traveling alone included.

  It was Sierra’s first time to venture out alone for a career opportunity, and the first trip she had taken in five years. The last time was to visit her mother’s sister who lived in Maryland. Her parents were highly hesitant, but she had convinced them by the time she had graduated from the local community college.

  It was serendipitous, actually.

  Just three months ago, she had been working part-time as a front desk officer at The Rushport Arms, the town’s oldest and finest inn (with high speed internet and a buffet breakfast). A middle-aged woman and her husband had checked in for two nights without a reservation, and they were very pleasant guests, obviously from the city judging by the way they talked. The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Chesterton, delighted in the handmade wooden key chain and brass key presented to them by Sierra, who looked amused by their reaction to it. Quaint was the word they had used, holding up the key to marvel at how hotels still had keys like these.

  They had asked to be placed in a quiet room, facing Lake Ontario. Sierra did her best to give them their request, even helping the chambermaid clean up the dual occupancy room to speed things up and not make them wait too long at Rushport Arms Pub, where they had finely crafted beer, a secret held for generations by the owners of Rushport Arms.

  The day they checked out, Mrs. Chesterton dropped her voice low. “My dear, have you ever modeled?”

  Sierra grinned. “I’ve had photos shot for Rushport’s quarterly magazine. It was for our spring festival, three months ago,” she told the lady.

  Mrs. Chesterton looked at the outdated town magazine and saw a two-page article about the importance of the festival and a beaming Sierra surrounded by a multitude of roses, sitting on a park bench. She gave a smile to the young woman with the wonderfully deep skin tone and luscious black hair. There was a sincerity in her that radiated outward, demanding attention, yet it was sweet and shy with the typical Rochester accent.

  “Well, you look especially lovely. Now, I handle a small modeling agency in New York City, and it would be an honor if you would join my agency.”

  Sierra looked flustered. “Why, I’ve never been out of Rushport—”

  “Isn’t it about time, then? You’re keeping yourself away from the world.” Mrs. Chesterton leaned in the counter as she assessed the young woman carefully.

  Around five feet and eight inches, with a good complexion and evenly spaced teeth, she had high cheekbones and wonderful deep-set eyes with thick lashes. The makeup artists certainly wouldn’t have a problem with those, Mrs. Chesterton thought.

  Sierra gave an embarrassed laugh. “I really don’t know much about it.”

  “Do you plan to stay here forever?”

  Sierra shook her head. “I want to start a master’s course in New York. It’s just the matter of affording it.”

  “And you think you can afford it while working here?” Mrs. Chesterton pressed on.

  Sierra gave another embarrassed guffaw, and she saw Mrs. Chesterton’s eyes narrow. She quickly stopped. “I’m working on it.”

  “Well, this is an opportunity you might like,” Mrs. Chesterton said, giving her a card.

  Sierra said her thanks, her grip on the card’s edges tightening. She could hardly believe she wa
s hearing this; she didn’t even bother looking at the card.

  “I hope to see you soon,” Mrs. Chesterton said.

  She bid the nice lady goodbye and saw the bellboy (a varsity football high school senior) carefully put their luggage in the private sedan the inn owned. The moment the car drove off, she looked at the card in her hand carefully. It said:

  Vanessa Dee Chesterton

  Ramp Agency

  www.ramp.com | +1 212-500-RAMP

  599 Broadway, New York, NY 10012, United States

  The serif font in gold lettering screamed classy against the thick, white paper. Sierra found herself smiling, unable to believe her luck. Sure, people had told her she was beautiful, especially her mother, but to hear someone with distinct connections to the modeling world was heaven to her ears. Vanessa Chesterton actually thought that she had the makings of a model, a model who could stand out in a sea of attractive people.

  As soon as her shift ended that day, she walked the short distance from the hotel to her home. She arrived in front of an old but well-maintained house. It had narrow windows with wooden shutters, and the house’s wooden pallets were done in blue. It had a gray slate roof that Sierra’s father had personally repaired after a freak snowstorm a few years back. She smiled, hearing her mother call out for her younger sister.

  “Ma, I’m home,” she said as she walked into the kitchen backdoor.

  “Why’d you pass through there?” Tasha asked.

  “I thought I’d catch Ayesha sneaking out again,” Sierra said with a grin.

  The late afternoon at home started out fine, until she brought the topic up over a good dinner of chicken and beans. Her father had been adamant that it was a ruse, some human trafficking ring posing as a modeling agency.

  “I checked the website. She’s legit,” Sierra reasoned.

  “Era,” Sheriff Don Whittaker began, using her nickname, “people do all sorts of crazy things to get attention, to fool people.”

  “Her agency’s been in the news for years. Vanessa Chesterton is a real representative.”

  Her mother took a deep breath. “I thought you wanted to work here.”

  “I told you I wanted to get my master’s,” Sierra reasoned, trying to sound convincing. “This agency is in New York. I’d be able to support myself without taking up a loan.”

  “Modeling?” her mother sighed, suddenly remembering some distant memory of her walking down the city streets sporting what was fashionable back then in the 80s. She had been approached twice by modeling scouts as a young woman, turning down both opportunities to finish a secretarial course.

  “I just happen to have gotten your genes,” Sierra joked to her mother. But it was true; Sierra was the spitting image of her mother, albeit younger. They had the same cheekbones and alluring light brown eyes. Sierra was just blessed with height, as her mother towered at five feet and four inches only.

  Her father’s face ended in a scowl. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

  “How’d she get discovered?” Ayesha groaned, eyeing her older sister with just a tinge of envy. She looked more like her father with his large build. Ayesha did get her mother’s eyes, though.

  “Because she was working,” her father replied, “and you were supposed to be studying for finals today, right? Except you kept sneaking out to join your friends at the mall.”

  “It’s not even a mall,” Ayesha complained. “It doesn’t even have a second floor. Besides, it’s where my friends and I hangout to exchange notes.”

  They all burst out laughing, knowing full well how Ayesha behaved. As soon as the laughter died down, Sierra tried to talk her parents into allowing her to go to New York again.

  “Let’s discuss this some other time,” Don told his daughter, trying to buy some time. She might just change her mind, marry some local boy, work in public office—she could even become the first female mayor of the town if she wanted. Just not New York City and modeling.

  Sierra sighed and finished her dinner, knowing full well Don was hesitant about the sudden opportunity that had come for her. She hadn’t even contemplated modeling. She was probably a late bloomer at twenty-one for the modeling world. Sierra had seen an episode of some runway reality show where the host stated one was geriatric by the time she reached twenty-nine. Well, bluff or not, she had eight years to prove her worth as a model, however it went.

  Sierra approached the same topic at least once a week until after she graduated, and that was when her mother relented first.

  “Look, Don,” Tasha began, “I think our daughter here is on to something big.”

  “Like what? A drug bust?” Don snapped. He scowled. “I don’t like the idea of you being all alone; I mean you live in the same house as we do, even if you have finished college.”

  “I would have moved out on my own if you’d allowed it. I was only gonna rent a room that was three blocks away,” Sierra said, rolling her eyes.

  “Don’t sass me, young woman,” Don told his eldest daughter.

  “Pa, don’t you think it’s high time I do something on my own? Live on my own? Survive on my own?”

  Don Whittaker remained silent, a million thoughts running through his mind. The probability that she would get mugged, the probability that someone would exploit her—she could get leered at by unruly men; he knew his daughter was tremendously lovely,

  “I hope you aren’t overthinking what might happen to me,” Sierra told him, shaking his shoulder.

  He blinked and shook his head. “Course I’m not.”

  “Then why won’t you allow this? I mean, no offense to Tyrone who ran away, but I’m here asking for your approval because it means a lot to me that you approve of my dreams.”

  “But modeling? You could have just told me you’d gotten a regular desk job in New York. I mean, you graduated top five in your class, you’re a cheerleader, in the journalist’s club, and now you want to be a model?”

  “It might pay for my master’s.”

  “Might,” Don repeated slowly.

  “It will,” Sierra corrected with much conviction. She took a deep breath. “Dad, you know I’m a good, upstanding citizen. I won’t do drugs or shoot anyone.”

  Don tried to hide his smile. “Damn right, you won’t.”

  Sierra knew she had convinced him the moment she saw his grin. Her mother tried to hide hers, too, trying to concentrate on chewing her meal, but the dimple forming on Tasha’s cheek was a dead giveaway. Tasha had given her full support as well.

  Fast forward to the first week of August. Sierra was on a train, bound for New York City. The journey would take a few hours, but she didn’t mind. It would give her time to collect herself. Those six hours would give her time to plan out her life alone in the big city. It was a hell of a lot bigger than Rochester and, in Ayesha’s words, “heavily infested with rats bigger than our Bichon Friese.”

  Of course, Sierra had been to New York City, say, ten years ago. It had been that long ago? She couldn’t believe how busy she had been in their small town. No matter how small it was, there had been a lot of things to do, even as a high schooler. Most of the townspeople lived and died in Rushport. She hadn’t really thought about moving out and venturing into a different world just hours away until she had met Mrs. Chesterton.

  She’d had dreams even before the whole modeling offer, but she hadn’t taken them too seriously. She’d thought of working in Rushport for a few years, getting a recommendation and then a scholarship for her master’s. A degree that could benefit Rushport and her happiness. Funny how things can change in just a few minutes of conversation with a total stranger, she mused.

  The trees rushed by her in a haze. She suddenly felt anxious about being alone. Could she do it? She would, she told herself. She had always been a go-getter, always the positive thinker. She would do fine in New York. She would make new friends and get the master’s degree she had been planning on since community college. Getting her master’s this way would be quicker th
an the four years she had projected it would take.

  Being alone would mean loneliness, too. Was she ready for it? She had to brace herself for lonely times. While she was a friendly character, not everyone was. She was a bit shy, but her mother had claimed she was an introvert masquerading as an extrovert.

  It had even taken her first boyfriend years to actually tell her he liked her because she had looked reserved and disinterested in anything that wasn’t cheerleading, academics, or helping out at the local animal shelter. While her town was small, Sierra knew it had a big heart and a big impact on her personality. She wondered if her career in New York would make her feel the same.

  ***

  “Would you care for some more champagne, sir?” a voice interrupted his reverie. Benjamin Eriksson forced a smile and politely declined, telling the attractive stewardess the bubbly was giving him a headache.

  “Would you care for some medication, sir? Are you allergic to—”

  He waved her off before she could finish. “I’m fine, really. Thank you.”

  She smiled at him and left, her thoughts on the VIP and his distinctly god-like features. He looked like a Norse god with his blond hair and blue eyes. The other flight attendants weren’t kidding about him being a drop-dead gorgeous passenger. They talked about him in the cabin crew area every chance they could, even going so far as to Googling him to know tidbits about his personal life.

  Ben wanted some peace and quiet during the remainder of the flight. Of course, it wasn’t the flight attendants’ fault that they had to interrupt his rest every now and then. Or maybe they wanted to interrupt him on purpose. He scoffed at the thought of it. Women. Typical.

  There were many reasons why he wanted peace and quiet. The first was to enjoy the success of one of the new prototypes the company had produced. He smiled, remembering what a perfect sight the Orion 7 Iris was. It was probably the most beautiful car he had seen in years, and he was getting amped up about the company releasing another prototype car in twenty-four months, at most. With its full-width tail amps and touch-sensitive LED dashboard, the model also came with a 4.0-liter V-8 and eight-speed torque converter; he had pushed for this feature to be maintained, no matter the cost and the effort it took.