Cruel Billionaire

  Cruel Billionaire

  Luma Rose

  Copyright © 2020 by Luma Rose

  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.

  Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Model: Thiago

  Line Editor: Clio Editing

  Proofreader: Shayla James

  Contents

  About Cruel Billionaire

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-one

  22. Chapter Twenty-two

  23. Chapter Twenty-three

  24. Chapter Twenty-four

  25. Chapter Twenty-five

  26. Chapter Twenty-six

  27. Chapter Twenty-seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-one

  32. Chapter Thirty-two

  33. Chapter Thirty-three

  34. Chapter Thirty-four

  35. Chapter Thirty-five

  36. Chapter Thirty-six

  37. Chapter Thirty-seven

  38. Chapter Thirty-eight

  39. Chapter Thirty-nine

  40. Chapter Forty

  41. Chapter Forty-one

  42. Chapter Forty-two

  43. Chapter Forty-three

  44. Chapter Forty-four

  45. Chapter Forty-five

  46. Chapter Forty-six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Me

  Also by Luma Rose

  ABOUT CRUEL BILLIONAIRE

  Unbeknownst to her, Isla Flores returned to town with more than just her suitcases in hand. She dragged a shitload of baggage from the past into my present.

  Her reappearance spurs my father’s twisted mind into overdrive. He devises a plan for me to marry the woman I love to hate. I want to tell him to go to hell, but he knows my secrets. Our secrets.

  The Classholes.

  We never speak of what happened on our prom night, but Isla Flores’ arrival threatens to bring that night to the surface and reopen the cold case file.

  Doing my father’s bidding will not only make me more like him, it will destroy Isla in the process.

  Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

  1

  Chapter One

  Garrin

  Most people never see the catastrophic event on its way to detour their life’s path. They don’t see the black ice on the pavement that’s ready to send their car careening off the road. Nor do they see the microscopic germ infiltrating their body that will land them in a hospital.

  This happened once in my life. Prom night of my senior year changed my life’s course—and not in a good way. It wasn’t like I lost my virginity. Don’t mistake disastrous as monumental. To be certain I’m not caught by surprise again, I’ve vowed to know everything that could touch me. And there isn’t a lot when you’re twenty-eight, and a billionaire.

  But even money can’t buy you psychic abilities. Which is why the universe is about to bend me over and stick it in without lube just to show me who’s in charge.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I set my mug down on the marble counter.

  Richard Stone

  “Not a chance, old man,” I mumble, hitting the ignore button and pocketing my phone. That asshole isn’t going to ruin my day at six a.m. on a Monday. He has all week to fuck with me.

  “Which woman you dodging now?”

  Ryker strolls into our common area wearing a pair of pajama pants, scratching his chest like a fucking teenager, not a twenty-seven-year-old VP of operations.

  “No one.” I sip my coffee and straighten my tie.

  “Oh, that’s right.” He raises his finger in the air. “When you pay to bang them, they leave the same night.” He walks past me toward the coffeepot, laughing.

  I flip him off on the way to the couch.

  “Relax. I could give a shit what and who you do.”

  “Who’s Stone doing?” Ford steps into the Titans’ Den, his pants open, still tucking in his shirt. At least one other person besides me is dressed to start his day.

  “Oh, come on. You know Stone doesn’t do names,” Ryker says, looking over his shoulder with his typical smirk while pouring himself a coffee.

  Sometimes I wonder how I let my friends convince me to live in the same building as them. And when I say building, I mean a high-rise. We were young and naïve, but it seemed like a good idea at the time when Ford thought of it. Each of us having our own private floor, and one communal floor to meet and hang out, throw parties, get laid, or whatever. It’s like when chicks dream of marrying best friends and living next door to each other for the rest of their lives.

  When you’re heirs to billions, there isn’t much you can’t get away with. The reality of living in one building is awesome—that is, until my friends get up in my shit.

  “Probably doesn’t remember her name, considering she was my date,” Ford says. He leans against the counter with his mug in one hand and the other hand in his pocket.

  He can act like he gives a shit, but we both know he doesn’t. The woman he escorted to the hospital fundraiser last night was just another in a long line of preapproved political princesses who look good on his arm. That’s why she found her way into my bed instead of his.

  I tilt my mug up to take another sip. “I did you a favor. She gave shitty head, and she sounded like a hyena when she came. Pick better next time.”

  Ryker laughs, almost spitting out his coffee. “That’s Stone Cold.”

  Even Ford can’t hide his smile.

  I shrug and sit down on the oversized leather couch, flicking on the television.

  Ryker joins me and puts his feet up on the table. “Awesome, right?”

  I look at him, baffled over what he’s talking about. “The TV? Yeah.”

  “It won’t even hit the US market for two months.” He smiles proudly.

  “Cool.” I turn up the volume.

  “Ford doesn’t even get a sorry?” Ryker asks. I was willing to let this conversation die.

  “He deserved it for the joke he made about my sister.” My teeth gnash together at Ford’s chuckle and smug look.

  “What’d you say?” Ryker asks, looking over his shoulder at Ford.

  “I might’ve made some comment about how good she’s looking and how one of us could end up being the father of his nieces and nephews one day if she doesn’t stop showing off her assets.”

  Ryker blows out a long breath. He, Ford, Asher, and Lincoln all know my little sister is off-limits. Even the joke isn’t funny. The five of us have been through our share of shit, but one of them banging my sister is not something I’d ever get over. She deserves better than them, better than us.

  “You must not value your life,” Ryker says to Ford.

  “It was just a joke. Jesus, try and find a sense of humor, Stone.”

  I ignore him. I don�
�t want to talk about my sister. It’ll just result in him sprawled out on the pool table, and we just re-felted the fucker after Linc’s blood got on it during the last fight that got out of hand.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out again to see my dad’s name on the screen for the second time. I don’t even bother hitting ignore this time. Instead I just slide it back into my suit jacket and wait for it to finish ringing.

  “How’s Dick the Prick?” Ford asks.

  “How’d you know it was my dad?” I slug back the remaining contents in my cup.

  “You always get that look on your face whenever it has something to do with your dad,” he says.

  “What look?”

  “Murderous,” Ryker says, leaning back into the chair.

  “For good reason,” I say, and they nod in agreement. I don’t want to talk about my father any more than I wanted to talk about my sister, so I change the subject. “Where’s Asher and Lincoln?”

  “Asher’s probably still passed out in bed,” Ryker grumbles. Ryker’s usually a where’s-the-party kind of guy. Hell, he initiates most of the parties, but over the past months, he’s made his displeasure about Asher’s excessive alcohol use abundantly clear. He’s turned into a sloppy drunk.

  “What about Lincoln?” I stand and walk over to the kitchenette, placing my coffee cup in the sink.

  “You can’t put it in the dishwasher and help Margaret out?” Ford eyes the cup in the sink.

  “I guess I thought that’s what her paycheck was for.” I leave the mug where it is on principle. Margaret is a concierge, housekeeper, and doorman for all of us. And she’s paid generously. She can put my cup in the dishwasher.

  “I heard a lot of noise coming from his place last night,” Ford says, changing the topic back to Lincoln. We’re all wise about where we pick our battles. “Don’t think he’ll be down.”

  The three of us all share a look, and though we know what the others are thinking, none of us will say it out loud.

  I button my suit jacket closed. “Have a good day, assholes,” I murmur, walking out of the Titans’ Den.

  2

  Chapter Two

  Isla

  I park my dad’s Maserati in the parking lot of a nondescript building on the outskirts of downtown. My stomach feels like it’s throwing a party from my nerves at seeing Ford again. Ford is a reminder of his friends and my senior year. A date night gone bad that spurred me to leave Cherry Creek, promising never to return.

  Colorado is different than it was a decade ago. I’ve been back a few times after my life imploded, but never to stay longer than a few days. I pretty much left the airport and headed straight to my parents’ house, barely setting foot outside until it was time to head back to the airport.

  Few things could have brought me back to my childhood town, my mom and dad being two of them. Truth is, I should have confronted my past a long time ago. It shouldn’t have taken my father’s sickness, because now I’ve lost too much time with him when he was healthy.

  But first things first. I need a job.

  Which is why I’m currently a tad creeped out at the building where my childhood friend, Ford Masterson, asked to meet him to talk about becoming a part of his campaign team for the mayoral race.

  Ford’s parents live next to my parents and he’s always been a stand-up guy and good friend to me. Even though he was part of the stupid group called the Classholes in high school and we didn’t run in the same circles, to me he was always just Ford, the kid who liked to go out on rainy days and move worms from the concrete to the grass before the sun came out and killed them.

  I grab my leather bag off the passenger seat and step out of the SUV. The sun warms my face even though it’s colder than normal this January according to the weather guy. Tightening my coat, I steel myself against the brisk wind and walk into the building.

  The foyer isn’t anything special. Standard beige walls with matching tiles and a board listing all the suite’s occupants. This building is so not up to the caliber of the Mastersons’ taste. Why would he ever start up his campaign here?

  I dig out my phone to reread his text. He said to meet him in suite 302. I opt to use the stairs over the elevator because I’ve been slack on my workouts. The stress and tension winds its way through my muscles, leaving me hunkered down in a dark room with a migraine when I don’t find a way to release it.

  By the time I reach the third floor, I’m a little winded, which means I need to fit in time for my workouts. I follow the signs to the left until I reach the door marked 302.

  With a deep breath, I turn the handle and step inside. It’s a large space with three doors at the far side facing the street. Completely empty, not one table or chair to be found. My adrenaline kicks in, and I’m ready to run back down the stairs and out to my SUV to reach safety.

  I suddenly wish Gretchen and I had attended those self-defense classes last year rather than ditching them for tapas and sangria.

  “Hello?” I call out, my shaking voice echoing through the large and vacant space.

  “Isla?” Ford pops out of the furthest office. “I was just mentally planning out my office space.”

  One look at Ford Masterson’s aqua eyes and charming smile and it’s like a fresh wound opening up all over again. High school. His friends. The enigma that a perfect life does exist for a select few.

  There were six Classholes altogether. They all came from wealthy and powerful families who allowed them to do whatever the hell they wanted without repercussions or concern for who got hurt in the process. Me included when I stupidly played into their hands senior year.

  “It’s good to see you.” I step forward as he draws nearer, lifting a hesitant hand out between us.

  He glances down and a crease forms between his eyebrows. “We’re past that, don’t you think?” His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him.

  My arms stay on my sides until he doesn’t release me. Raising them up, I pat him on the back a few times to increase the odds of his affection ending. It’s funny how you forget certain things about people when you’ve been away. With Ford, he’s a politician’s son turned politician himself. He was trained to make people, in and out of his social circle, believe he’s their best friend.

  “You look amazing.” He holds me at arm’s length as his eyes sweep up and down my body. Not a slow and easy sexual perusal, but like he’s cataloging all the changes since the last time we saw one another.

  “Thank you, you as well.”

  And he does. His straight nose and dusting of facial hair mixed with his blue eyes and brown hair give the appearance of royalty. It’s easy to see why he’s referred to as a political prince by the press.

  “I’d offer you a place to sit, but as you can see, I haven’t furnished the place yet.” He gestures to the stark space around us.

  “From what you said on the phone, you don’t have much time.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got people on it.” He smiles in that way only the uber-rich do, knowing that they have the means to make anything happen.

  “I’m sure they are.”

  It’s not like my family doesn’t have money. Ford and I weren’t neighbors because my family was gifted a mansion in Cherry Creek by Habitat for Humanity. But I didn’t grow up under the same pressures that Ford and his friends did. I wasn’t next in line to rule the throne of an awaiting dynasty. My father got lucky by investing in the right companies early in the 1970s and continued to use his profits to make more money.

  “Do you want to hang up your coat?” He gestures behind me to a series of iron hooks anchored to the wall, one of which holds his jacket.

  “Sure.” It might lack furniture, but the heat sure works because it’s hot in here.

  I hang up my coat and bag, quickly running my fingers through my wavy brown hair, hoping the wind didn’t turn it into a bird’s nest.

  “I have to admit, I was surprised to get your phone call,” I say.

  “My mothe
r ran into yours at a meeting for the hospital fundraiser and mentioned that you’re back in town.” He waves me into the office he came out of.

  “I’m not sure for how long, though.”

  He leans on the windowsill with his hands gripping either side of the ledge next to his hips, the mountains a beautiful backdrop from what I’m guessing is the office he’s claiming. “What brings you back?” he asks, tilting his head, assessing me.

  I blink to force the tears back that want to break free. My dad is a private man and he was clear that no one is to find out about his illness. He doesn’t want people to think he’s weak and vulnerable.

  “I recently finished law school and need to pass the bar, so I thought I’d come home while I study.”

  He nods. It wasn’t a complete lie. I do need to study and pass the bar if I’m ever going to practice law. “How did you like Washington? Is that where you’re going to practice once you pass?”

  I nod my head. “Yes.”

  Another lie. The last thing I’m worried about is passing any state bar exam. It can wait until my dad’s healthy again.