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  God. I’m angry, so, so angry right now, and yet I feel so much sorrow for her that I wish I didn’t want her dead. I have this sneaky suspicion that she was quite sane before this, that her life with her husband Jonathan had been just fine.

  If left alone, I’m sure she would have been content to spend his money and foist her kid off on a nanny while she flits from one event to the next.

  Now she is…crazy.

  “He did the same thing to me, you know. He made me promises, so many, told me everything I wanted to hear till—”

  “Shut up, you stupid bitch!”

  Oookay. Zipping it, I think, frantically scanning the room for a place to seek cover, when her gun starts waving more rapidly.

  “What we have is true love. I just, I need to prove to him that I…I’m not a monster. He said I’m a monster. All I did was give you a tiny little shove. It was so easy to mess with that camera, and then I slipped out and, you know it was pure luck that you were just going down the stairs when I came out of Griffin’s room.”

  God. Her voice is getting all sing-songy, like that Joker dude from Batman. I’m pretty sure that means she’s about to O.D. on Gummy Berry juice and plaster me full of holes.

  I glance at the door again, this time through the mirror behind Letitia, praying that the thing will open. That’s when I realize that if the door opens she’s likely to pop one of my people in the chest before they can get to her.

  I need to move. I need—

  “Stop fucking moving! Stay right where you are.”

  Uh oh, Gummy Berry meltdown.

  She smiles, like a switch flipped or something, and raises the gun—and I know that I am about to die.

  “Stop, Lettie.”

  I raise my eyes as she whirls and stares in horror as the wall beside my closet creaks open and the man of the hour walks in, his golden blonde head and blue eyes so like those in my dream that I’m as shocked as I am relieved to know that I was right.

  “Robert Stone.”

  He inclines his head, a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth before his eyes close and open to land on Letitia.

  “Lettie, darling, what are you doing?”

  She starts shaking, so nervous and eager and fucking happy that I want to slap his face for doing this to her.

  “I…I’m fixing it, darling. I’ll get her out of the way and then marry Cameron and, and we can do everything just as we planned. We can have his money and live, live just as we wanted to. All I have to do is—”

  “You know that will never happen now Lettie,” he says sternly, making her cringe. “He has an heir.”

  “But she’s yours!”

  “No!” I yell, feeling my hackles rise. “Angelica is Cameron’s daughter. She is nothing of his.”

  If I’m dying, I will die yelling those words at them both. I refuse to let this monster have any claim to Cameron’s precious angel, not ever. Memory or not, I could freaking kick myself for ever being attracted to that oily snake.

  “Yes, she is his. I saw that the day he brought you both home. The man is quite smitten, isn’t he? So, you see, Lettie, the game is up. We have nothing here anymore. Let Shaw go and we can leave.”

  “But the money!”

  “Is no longer possible, darling,” he drawls, flicking his eyes to me and then again to the door.

  Is he? Oh Lord, he’s keeping her distracted so I can make a break for it. Not daring to breathe, I kick my shoes off, gather my dress and bolt for the door, coming up short, freezing when a loud boom cracks the air and the door beside my head splinters, tiny wooden shards hitting my left cheek.

  “Turn around now.”

  I obey and almost collapse when she comes directly at me, her face a mask of unfettered fury.

  “This is all your doing! You fat little nobody.”

  I close my eyes when she stops about ten paces away and points the gun. The next shot is as loud as a canon boom, and for a moment, one brief period in time, I feel every cell in my body stop and then start screaming as adrenalin bombards my bloodstream.

  My eyes crack open slowly, and I gasp, almost retching at the sight of Robert, lying over her, pinning her struggling body to the floor. Blood, blood pouring, gushing from a wound, a wide, gaping hole over the top left section of his back.

  I’m gasping, crying, frozen in shock when he struggles up, using what little strength he has left to punch Letitia, knocking her out cold. That done, he falls to the side, his blue eyes meeting mine.

  I scamper over, pressing my hands over his wound, frantic when I feel his blood pump over my fingers.

  “I didn’t push you. I…swear it. I…reaching to grab you.” He gasps, struggling for breath. “Never hurt little Angelica. Never.”

  “I know,” I whisper, hardly hearing the commotion outside before the door bursts open and a frantic Cameron is trying to tug me away.

  “You fucking bastard!”

  “No Cam! Wait. Just wait. Robert, why did you do it?”

  My face is ravaged with tears, my eyes swimming, as he takes my hand and smiles softly, a smile I wish I remember but don’t.

  “You…don’t deserve…never wanted to hurt…so sorry.”

  Strong arms pull me away when his eyes go blank, letting me know that Robert, my enemy, my savior in those last seconds, is dead, truly dead.

  “He saved me.”

  It’s all I get out before Cameron is kissing me and holding me so tightly that I feel every shudder and tremor that wracks his body.

  “I love you, Cameron.”

  “And I you, Shaw Stone. I love you, too.”

  With his arms holding me up, I finally let the last tear fall and allow him to drag me from the room, my hand securely fitted in his larger one. It’s funny. This all started with Robert, my life changed by his one careless act. Now it’s ending with him finally doing the right thing, giving me back to the man I was destined to love.

  Epilogue

  “Ducky?”

  I lift my head from the toilet seat and glare at Cameron, my mouth sour as I take another long look at him before turning back and hurling my guts out into the freaking toilet. After what feels like the loss of a few necessary organs and part of my throat lining, I rise shakily from my knees and lean against the counter.

  He brings me a glass of water and a washcloth, tenderly wiping at my tear-stained cheeks and whatever is left on my mouth.

  “I swear to God; this is the last one, Cameron Stone,” I mutter, swallowing another round of bile and hoping that I don’t start up again.

  He smiles, as he does every time he’s found me this way and realized he’s knocked me up. Again.

  This is the third and hopefully last since my nursery is full with Angelica, Robbie, and Victoria.

  “This is so not funny! How do I always get knocked up three months to the freaking day after giving birth?”

  Seriously, is his sperm on a freaking schedule!

  My surly moping only makes the ass laugh harder before he pulls me in for a kiss that rocks me to my toes, swiftly making me forget everything but the feel of his strong body and his oh so skillful tongue.

  “Ew, Cam. I haven’t brushed my pukey teeth yet,” I mutter, trying to push away.

  “Don’t care, Ducky. Need to love on you,” he says with a purr, kissing me even harder.

  By the time I’ve regained my hussy senses, I’m on my back with Mr. Super-Sperm looming over me, his blue eyes gleaming wetly as he gazes into my eyes.

  “I love you so much, baby.”

  “Yeah, and everyone freaking knows it since you keep knocking me up.”

  I’m smiling though because despite the terrible time I have of it at first, I still love knowing how happy he gets with every kid. Doesn’t hurt that he goes nuts the bigger I get.

  The guy really has a thing for my swollen pregnant belly.

  “You’re irresistible.”

  “Huh! You’re so lucky I’m easy for flattery, mister.”

  “Yeah
, I really am,” he whispers, kissing me again, this time slowly, showing me his appreciation, his utter joy that he and only he can do this to me.

  I never got my memory back, and these days I’m not stressing about it anymore. I got my fairytale story to tell the kids. After Robert’s funeral—don’t get me started on the field day the press had with that story—Cameron had surprised me with a fairytale wedding complete with my Big Ben cake, my carriage, and every other insane thing my mind could dream up.

  Tackiest, coolest wedding ever! He’d stood at the altar, smiling brightly as I waddled toward him that I’d literally cried like sap by the time I said, “I do” and accepted his ring.

  We’d discussed hypnotherapy, something that could maybe get me some of those missing months back, but I’d declined. I have all the memories I need—and I’d said so.

  Now I’m completely content to spend my days waddling around with one in the oven while Cameron’s other terrors do their utmost to run poor Marge and Vic ragged.

  I visit Molly and coo over her baby, Libby, and tease the cousins mercilessly about Fanny and her eagle eyes.

  Now mostly I spend my days loving Cameron and thanking God for the disaster that brought us together.

  That’s two things I have to thank Robert for—so I guess I can forgive him. Maybe.

  “Love you, Ducky,” he whispers again, his eyes so bright I feel myself tearing up. Damned hormones.

  “Love you too, Stone.”

  CHASED

  Chapter 1

  Chase

  I’ve finally done it. I’ve acquired the last company I set my sights on eight years ago. And now that I have it, I’ve added one of the last—not quite the last, but one of the last—pieces to my plan.

  “You must be very proud of yourself, Marshall, stealing an old man’s company right out from under him.”

  I smile, lift an eyebrow and wait for Gareth Knox to wind down and stop embarrassing himself. When he finally stops talking, I turn to the board members who are anxiously waiting, and I sigh deeply, letting them see my rueful expression.

  “Knox Communications has been a well-established leader in the field for years. However, and I say this with the utmost respect to Mr. Knox Sr., the company has lost half its total earnings the last five years and with the way the economy is going at the moment, the decline will only get worse unless some drastic steps are taken. Knox Jr. doesn’t agree—mores the pity—or I rather suspect something would have been done before a company of such high standing hit so close to bankruptcy.”

  I take a deep breath and take my time meeting all ten sets of eyes. I want them to know I mean business, my only interest here is the bottom line and I will not tolerate outbursts like the one Gareth Knox couldn’t withhold.

  “I haven’t, nor have I ever, stolen a thing in my life. This ship is sinking, and without the buy-out I closed on with Sr. this morning, half of your workforce would have been jobless a month from now. Now, that aside, I will not tolerate mutiny on one of my ships. If you don’t want to work for Knox as a subsidiary of Marshall Holdings, please, leave now and save us all any further unpleasantness.”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “And on that note, I am accepting your resignation as CEO—effective immediately.”

  I walk out to the sounds of cursing and Gareth’s yelling, my step light as that penultimate piece—before the most important one—falls into place.

  I love my job: the wheeling and dealing and the thrill of intense and intricate negotiations. I have since I walked away from college on the dream that I could take the ten grand my great-uncle left me and make something big happen.

  It hadn’t been easy, not one step of the way, but I’d taken that ten grand, sunk it into a derelict shell in downtown Washington, D.C. and worked like a dog to get the thing up to code and looking like a million bucks.

  Then I flipped it, and more than doubled my money. I’d kept the ten aside, taken the profit and bought two more houses, and then the same thing again. Soon, I’d had enough cash to invest in apartment buildings, which again I totally overhauled.

  I didn’t sell those, choosing instead to keep them as a profit-making investment that is still, to this day, putting so much money in the bank that I’m so far over the black that everything I touch immediately turns green and starts spitting more money at me.

  I’ve diversified so much that my portfolio is a smorgasbord of options. Real estate, banking and investment, clothing, shipping—you name it, Marshall’s got it.

  I am obscenely rich—in the worst way. So rich that last year I dropped five-hundred million building a specialized facility for the study and research of Lou Gehrig’s disease, and I didn’t even dent my bank account.

  The only thing I enjoy more than making money is using it to do better for those who can’t afford it.

  And now that I have achieved not only my goals for financial freedom, but to take from those who tried to ruin me when I was a child, I can focus on the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, my ultimate prize.

  “Everything is on track. All we need to do now is slide Chris in as the acting VP and get rid of any pro-Knox board members.”

  I keep walking as Gabe, my right hand man, falls into step beside me. He easily keeps up with me as we make it to the bank of elevators and get on, ready to leave and tackle the next hurdle.

  “I want Knox and those three board members, Tyrone, Miller and Grahams, out by close of business today. Get Chris on that now before he proceeds with the restructure, and for God’s sake, do something about the fucking décor in this place. People can’t work properly in a place that looks like a prison.”

  Gabe chuckles and starts flipping through emails and messages, which are many for a man as busy as I am. I get at least forty emails a day, and if not for my PA Barb and Gabe, I’d never get through it all.

  “What’s happening with that Give Back Housing project?”

  We reach the lobby, and I stride out of the building as he gives me an on-the-fly report about one of the new housing projects I'm involved in.

  If things run on schedule, I should be cutting the ribbon on a three-block property that will house retirees and single mothers from low-income families.

  This has been my passion since the day I walked into one of the poorest neighborhoods in the District and witnessed the suffering of the children, mothers and the elderly living there.

  Those lives are ruled by poverty and fear of the gangs that run the place. It is appalling to think that a mother with three kids and no help is forced to support them all working seventy hours or more a week, just to get shaken down by some little punk who wields a gun.

  I’m not altogether altruistic though—never think that. I’d come to that neighborhood following Remy Harrow, a woman I have wanted since I was seventeen and invisible; a woman who probably doesn’t even remember me or even know I still exist.

  As a social worker, she travels all over the District, doing what she can for families in need. I understand that; I lived that life not too long ago myself, but I find it unacceptable to have my woman traipsing around in that shithole.

  So I’d bought the neighborhood bit by bit, greasing palms and calling in favors to get it, every last mile.

  And I’ve spent the last year and a half working my crews to the brink, rebuilding and turning the place into a gated community. All that’s left now is for the people to move from the cramped apartment building I’d moved them into, and ensure that the community gets adequate policing to keeps the gangs at bay.

  Now that that is done, and I can be somewhat assured of Remy’s safety while she does her job, I can move on to the real issue at hand, my Holy Grail. The one goal I’d set higher than all others and have done all of this for.

  I can move ahead with ruining Remy’s life so that the only option—the only person—she has to turn to is me.

  I’ve wanted her for years; I have worked tirelessly to get here, and now that I have, I have no inte
ntion of stopping. By this time next year, Remy will be mine.

  My lover.

  My wife.

  My slave.

  Chapter 2

  Remy

  God, what a freaking day!

  “Did you see that place Rem! It is freaking awesome. Mrs. Childers gave me a tour of the three-bedroom that was built on her old property, and I swear it’s bigger than my apartment.”

  I smile and listen to Liv as she starts rhapsodizing about a gated community that was sponsored by a billionaire mogul who’d seen the place and gone nuts about the elderly and single mothers having to live in unhealthy and dangerous conditions.

  I’d agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment since it was my job to go into that shit-pile everyday to check up on the families and report on the living conditions and welfare of all the kids under my care.

  I’d even bought a bottle of cheap wine and gotten drunk to celebrate when they’d temporarily moved them all to an apartment building and started bulldozing things to the ground.

  Having never lived in such circumstances, I’d been shocked—and remain so—at the lack of basic amenities that many people actually live with on a daily basis: things like hot water, a yard to play in, and above all else, safe streets.

  Just a week before, my husband, Brian, had asked me to quit after a gang member threatened me when he thought I’d report him for using little kids to run drugs.

  And then Mr. Chase Alexander Marshall had announced his intentions. It still boggles my mind to think that a man can be so rich that he bought three blocks of run-down and neglected real estate in Washington, and then tore it to the ground with the intention of not only rebuilding and giving the families quality homes, but that he’d struck a deal and started a campaign with the MPDC to add additional patrols to safeguard those who will live there.