by Violet Paige
Not Husband Material
Billionaire’s Contract Series
Violet Paige
Head Over Heels Press
Copyright © 2018 by Violet Paige
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.
Contents
Keep in touch with Violet
Not Husband Material
1. Jeremy
2. Evie
3. Jeremy
4. Evie
5. Jeremy
6. Evie
7. Jeremy
8. Evie
9. Jeremy
10. Evie
11. Jeremy
12. Evie
13. Jeremy
14. Evie
15. Jeremy
16. Evie
17. Jeremy
18. Evie
19. Jeremy
20. Evie
21. Jeremy
22. Evie
23. Jeremy
24. Evie
My Playboy Crush
Introduction
1. Bruin
2. Jillian
3. Bruin
4. Jillian
5. Bruin
6. Jillian
7. Bruin
8. Jillian
9. Bruin
10. Jillian
11. Bruin
12. Jillian
13. Bruin
14. Jillian
15. Bruin
16. Jillian
17. Bruin
18. Jillian
19. Bruin
20. Jillian
21. Bruin
22. Jillian
23. Bruin
24. Jillian
25. Bruin
26. Jillian
27. Bruin
28. Jillian
29. Bruin
Epilogue
My Playboy Fiance
Introduction
Prologue
1. Chase
2. Haley
3. Chase
4. Haley
5. Chase
6. Haley
7. Chase
8. Haley
9. Chase
10. Haley
11. Chase
12. Haley
13. Chase
14. Haley
15. Chase
16. Haley
17. Chase
18. Haley
19. Chase
20. Haley
21. Chase
22. Haley
23. Chase
24. Haley
25. Chase
26. Haley
27. Chase
Epilogue
Don’t Tell
Introduction
1. Kaitlyn
2. Cole
3. Kaitlyn
4. Kaitlyn
5. Kaitlyn
6. Cole
7. Kaitlyn
8. Cole
9. Kaitlyn
10. Kaitlyn
11. Cole
12. Kaitlyn
13. Cole
14. Kaitlyn
15. Kaitlyn
16. Kaitlyn
17. Kaitlyn
18. Cole
19. Kaitlyn
20. Cole
21. Kaitlyn
22. Kaitlyn
23. Kaitlyn
24. Kaitlyn
25. Cole
26. Kaitlyn
27. Cole
28. Kaitlyn
29. Cole
30. Kaitlyn
31. Cole
32. Kaitlyn
33. Cole
34. Kaitlyn
Excerpt from Don’t Lie
Cole
Keep in touch with Violet
Make sure you download the exclusive Violet Paige short, available here!
The Crown Short
Stay connected with Violet’s Vixens
www.violetpaigebooks.com
Not Husband Material
She wants a baby.
I want my billions.
Together, we can have everything we want.
I’ve inherited the family fortune.
Only there’s ONE hell of a catch.
I need to find a girl. Put a ring on her finger.
And here’s the most important part—knock her up.
Sounds easy, right?
After all, finding a woman to suck my c*ck has never been an issue.
It’s not like I have to fall in love.
Seems like a lucky break when I run into Evie after twelve years.
She’s all grown up now with gorgeous seductive curves that can take a man to his knees.
After one night together we can’t deny our chemistry could burn down the city.
I’ll make Evie my wife and she’ll have my baby.
But I’m in for an unexpected surprise… what if it isn’t fake?
What if Jeremy Hartwell has finally found The One?
The stakes are higher now. If anyone finds out our marriage isn’t real, I’ll lose everything, including Evie.
But I’m a fighter. I’m the man who will do whatever it takes to make sure she will always be mine.
Not Husband Material is the first in the Billionaire Contract Trilogy. Evie and Jeremy’s story continues in Not Daddy Material.
*If you like steamy alpha male billionaire stories, you’ll love Not Husband Material. It’s so hot, you’ll need a glass of ice water by your side. No cheating, a HEA and special bonus books for your reading pleasure.*
1
Jeremy
There were three things I was certain of in my life. I’d never play baseball again. My millions were almost gone. And my father’s reach extended beyond the grave.
The snow fell, gathering in the corners of the window. The glass was frosted. I couldn’t make out anything happening on the street below the Law Offices of Lancaster & Hudson.
“Did you hear what I said, Mr. Hartwell?”
“What was that?” I turned to face him.
My father’s attorney cleared his throat. “Your father’s wishes. The final part of the will. Do I need to repeat it for you?”
My mother ran a finger over the base of her throat, skimming her pearls. “Jeremy,” she whispered. “Let’s not drag this out.”
My tie was too restrictive. I attempted to pry it from my neck. “No, I think I missed it. Why don’t you read it again?”
I needed to take the damn thing off. I loosened the knot enough to take a solid breath. My ribcage filled with air, stretching the seams on my suit. My shoulders were too broad for this damn thing. Why did my father think I wanted to trade in the life I had for one like this? Stuffy rooms with stuffy attorneys. Board meetings. Fitted designer suits that suffocated my biceps.
“Really, Byron. I think we can handle this as a family matter from here. Your service is appreciated, however I should talk to Jeremy,” my mother protested. She could pretend to be humiliated. I didn’t buy it. Sylvia Hartwell did everything by design. Every word was chosen for a purpose.
“No. I’d like to hear it again. I just want to make sure I have my instructions. The final words from my father.” I glared in her direction. Like hell, if I wasn’t going to make this uncomfortable for her too. “Dad’s most parental moment. Right here. On the record for that cute little stenographer to preserve for us.”
I winked at the girl sitting in the corner furiously translating every word we spoke into the legal record.
Byron
Lancaster had worked for my father since I was a kid. If he was shocked by the contents of the will, he didn’t let on that it bothered him. He was used to doing the dirty work. It’s why he made more than anyone else who worked in this building.
“Very well.” The older man pulled gold reading glasses to the brim of his nose. “My sole heir, Jeremy Hartwell, will receive his inheritance in its entirety, totaling half a billion dollars, the Malibu property, the vineyard in Napa, and the hunting lodge in Aspen, upon completion of the following.” Byron continued quickly. “The Hartwell family line will be extended with the addition of a spouse and a child bearing the Hartwell name. Under no circumstances will this marriage be dissolved without a full retraction of the inheritance, to be withdrawn and placed in a trust.”
“And there you have it.” I slapped the mahogany desk. Byron and my mother flinched. The stenographer temporarily stopped typing. “I’ve been called a stud before, but not quite in this manner.” I pushed off from the leather chair.
“Jeremy,” my mother hissed. “Where are you going? Sit back down.”
I reached for my overcoat. It was February, and cold as hell in Newton Hills. “Where do you think I’m going, Mother? I need to get drunk and knock someone up. I just got my walking papers to fuck every girl in this town if necessary. Some girl out there wants to be a part of this fun and happy family, don’t you think?”
Her mouth fell open. “Come back here. We haven’t discussed this. We need to have a conversation in private. You make it sound so vulgar. So tasteless.”
I huffed. “I’d love to hear your spin, but I have women to fuck. Thank you, Byron, for your time.”
“I will send a certified copy of the reading of the will to your address, Mr. Hartwell.” His voice remained monotone as if I had inherited a collection of rare books, instead of a command to sire a child.
“I don’t know that I need it. The directive seems pretty clear to me. I don’t get the money until I have a wife and an heir. Got it.”
“It’s my responsibility to make sure you have official copies of all correspondence from the late Mr. Hartwell. It is my duty.”
“Fine.” I didn’t care if I never heard the words again. I knew I wasn’t getting my inheritance. My father had made sure of that. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t and never would be husband material. And no one wanted me as a father.
I nodded and closed the door behind me.
I ducked into the first taxi I could find in front of the law firm. Uber hadn’t reached Newton Hills yet.
“Airport, sir?” the driver asked.
I looked at my watch. I still had a lot of time to kill before my red eye back to New York.
“No. What bars are still around here?”
I was downtown, but other than a coffee shop and a deli there wasn’t much open on the small street. Newton Hills wasn’t doing well when I was in high school, and the past twelve years hadn’t done the town any favors. Nestled in the hillside of the Georgia mountains, it wasn’t a Mecca for industry. It wasn’t a Mecca for anything.
“Bella’s is open,” he reported.
“The Italian place?”
He nodded. “It’s about five minutes from here. They have the best chicken parm.”
I considered my options. I could feast on vending machine snacks in the small airport until my flight, or I could try a bottle of wine at the old Italian restaurant. I used to know the owner’s daughter.
“Bella’s it is,” I decided.
He pulled away from the curb. “Hey, I know who you are. Didn’t know if I could say anything.”
“Oh really?”
“You’re the Hartwell’s kid. You played Major League Baseball, didn’t you?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. His eyes were on me. “Yes. For a few years. I was on the Ravens then traded to the Hawks. Then injured.” Three years in the majors was better than most guys did. It was a ticket to my own fortune. But I fucked up. I wiggled my fingers, staring at my palm. I hadn’t been a baseball player in a long time.
“Sorry to hear about your dad. I had a friend who worked at one of his stations. It was a real shock here.”
I gritted my teeth together. “Thanks.”
The sympathy was lost on me, but I had been trained to be a Hartwell. I was gracious even when I was angry as hell.
“I’ve never had anyone famous in my car before,” he sputtered.
I stared out the window as we passed empty storefronts that used to be businesses. Family-owned and run. The Radio Shack was gone. So was the drugstore, and the ice cream parlor. Newton Hills was almost unrecognizable.
A red neon light blinked in the front of Bella’s.
“Here you are,” the driver announced. “Do you think… ” His words drifted. “Could I ask for your autograph? I’d like to show my son I had a real-life pro athlete in my car.”
“Sure thing.”
I waited while he fidgeted for a piece of paper in the glovebox. He handed it to me along with a felt tip pen.
“What’s the name?” I asked.
“His name is Jordan.”
“Hmm. Ok. Got it.” I scribbled something more inspirational than my father had ever put in a birthday card, and handed it back to the man.
“He’s not going to believe it.” He glanced at the signature.
Seemed like a theme for the day. I didn’t believe what I had encountered either.
“Thanks for the ride.” I tossed a fifty in the front seat without bothering to hear the charge for the five-minute drive.
I pulled the collar up around my neck as the snow blew sideways. The bell jingled overhead as I walked into the restaurant.
2
Evie
I used the heel of my hand to blot a tear in the corner of my eye. It was the best way to keep the mascara from smudging. I sniffed involuntarily. I didn’t have a tissue on me.
“I do understand. I just hoped that I could set up a second payment plan,” I explained. I worked to keep the pleading to a minimum.
“Miss Rossi, we don’t want our patients to go into unnecessary debt.”
My throat closed. This wasn’t unnecessary to me. Quite the opposite. It was completely necessary in every way.
“But I only need one more treatment. I have this feeling, you know? If I could set another appoint—”
The nurse cut me off. Her voice was soft but firm. “Not until you have a zero account balance. It’s against our policy. I’m happy to forward a copy of the paperwork you signed. This was outlined and explained to you in your initial exam. It’s standard for all patients.”
I leaned against the wall in the hallway to the kitchen. I could hear Leo screaming something to the dishwasher. I walked outside in my short-sleeve shirt despite the snow. I didn’t want the distractions from the kitchen to interfere with this call.
“Maybe if I could talk to Dr. Mickson again. She knows my case. She’s worked with me since the beginning. And really, she said I’m the perfect candidate to keep trying. If you’d just consider making an exception this once.”
Ok. I had given up on not begging. I was going into full-blown groveling mode if I had to. I just needed this nurse to understand what she was telling me. What she was denying me.
“Miss Rossi, no. Our accountant will be in touch. Until then I can’t schedule any more treatments for you. Call us back when you’re ready to move forward again. Best of luck to you.”
I stared at the blank screen on the phone. The snowflakes melted instantly when they touched the shiny surface. I wiped it against my shirt before stuffing it into the front pocket on my apron.
I heard my name through the screen door.
“Evelyn, you’ve got a guy at seven.”
“Coming,” I called. There was something calming about watching the snow fall. Even if it was only for a deceptive few seconds. It felt peaceful. Tranquil.
I straightened my spine and pulled my ponytail higher on my head. I had a way of dealing with a cri
sis—I didn’t. I’d pretend that phone call never happened. I’d march into the restaurant and serve the customer at table seven. It was as if I could pull a curtain down between my heart and my brain. It worked like a charm.
I would never admit that my last chance to have a baby had evaporated. I wasn’t going to face that I was in debt over ten thousand dollars to the fertility clinic, or that every in vitro I tried ended the same way. With a negative pregnancy test.
