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Authors: Emily Evans

Accidental Billionaire

BOOK: Accidental Billionaire
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Accidental Billionaire

 

 

 

by
Emily Evans

 

Accidental Billionaire

Copyright January 2016 by Emily Evans

 

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

 

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For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Emily Evans at
[email protected]
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visit
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[1. Fiction. 2. Romance. 3. Young Adult]

Book Description

Imagine looking at your bank balance and seeing one billion dollars. That’s what happens to eighteen-year-old Baylee this summer. And it really pisses her off.

The trouble starts with a guy. Logan. Picture the hottest eighteen-year-old billionaire in America: Prep school accent, tailored clothes, and polished loafers resting on the glass coffee table. That’s him. Logan is spoiled, has no clue about normal, and he’s hot. Stare at him while he sleeps hot.

Their first date takes them on a scavenger hunt across Las Vegas. Who’s their competition? Logan’s wealthy friends, who belong to an elite social club. Billionaires. Secret societies. A winner takes all prize.
How can that not end well?

Lies, money, and bliss merge as Baylee becomes the
Accidental Billionaire.

Standalone, fun, young adult romance — book 5 in the Accidental Series.

Chapter 1

Sheet music trailed from the hairdryer and clung to Baylee Steele’s damp arm. She’d been at her friend Tyler’s Las Vegas penthouse for two days, and she’d already removed sheet music from her toothbrush, her toothpaste, and the bathroom mirror. Her flute solo was ten freaking seconds long, and she’d practiced it an hour every day for the last month. She knew it. Tyler didn’t have to keep reminding her by plastering sheet music everywhere. She knew her piece, and she’d get to it when she got to it. She just wasn’t ready to record yet.

She blasted her wet hair and fumed until her mood was as heated as the steam coating the bathroom walls.

Even her lotion bottle had music stuck to it. Baylee blasted hot air at it. The edge flew up, revealing the hot pink apple on the label. She yanked the page free, squeezed a glob of the shimmering pink lotion on top of the music notes, and carefully folded it into a square weapon.

She marched into the living room.

The blinds were drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows and the only light came from the electronics, but she could see her target well enough. Tyler lay stretched out on the longest sofa, a fluffy blue comforter half covering him, a pillow over his head. Poor unsuspecting Tyler. She may not have any brothers or sisters, but she had enough cousins to know when to seize an advantage. She pounced.

She landed like Spiderman on a wall, palms above his shoulders, knees straddling his vital organs. She elbowed the pillow off his face and aimed for his mouth. “Eat it.” Baylee followed the demand with an obnoxious humming of the ten-second flute piece Tyler wanted her to play in his newest rock song.

She froze.

The humming died.

The guy she’d just landed on wasn’t Tyler.

This guy’s light brown hair waved and was cut short on the sides. Shorter and darker than her friend Tyler’s. His square jaw needed a shave. Moody, broody, handsome, not California rock star handsome like Tyler. The guy on the couch was definitely not her buddy.

She had jumped on a stranger like she was the clear film the lizard factory used to package stuffed animals back home. She was the film; he was the lizard.

Adrenalin rushed through her, a strangled sound left her mouth, and embarrassment pulled her back. Why? Why had she just leapt on one of Tyler’s friends? Tyler had even warned her that his friend Logan would be staying with them. Was Logan the lizard she now straddled? Why hadn’t she considered the possibility that he may have already arrived?

The stranger grabbed her arms and sat up, not allowing her to escape. “What?” He reached behind him and clicked on the end-table lamp, casting a forty-watt glow in their immediate area. His gaze was stormy blue — the color of bluebonnets in a rainstorm, remarkable, unforgettable, her favorite shade of blue. “Who?” He sounded half asleep. “A girl?”

“Logan?” She didn’t know why she asked, but it seemed the polite thing to do during this less-than-polite encounter.

He cocked his head and nodded with style, despite his sleepy confusion. Logan had to be one of Tyler’s movie star friends. He was too handsome not to be. Or a model, because put him in an open-collared tuxedo and he’d walk right off the glossy pages of a watch ad, a black-and-white watch ad, the ultimate in status. Watches said,
my time matters
. She’d like a fancy watch one day, a nice one, when plans for college weren’t jacking her savings. Logan wasn’t as fiscally challenged. He wore a silver watch. He probably liked how the blue face matched his eyes.

Logan checked her out, too. His gaze went from her mostly dried hair, over her lizard-patterned T-shirt and jean shorts, to her bare toes colored with chipped pink polish. His eyes narrowed.

What? Was he judging her? Like he wasn’t on the couch in last night’s clothes: wrinkled white-collared shirt, black slacks. She twisted around. Yep. Black socks. “Late night?” She drawled out the word, using her best Texas twang. “Hanging out ‘til last call in a Nevada honkytonk?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” He slid his hands down to her wrists, holding her in a loose grip. Baylee wiggled her fingers, and the lotion square fell free. The song landed in an embarrassed crumple on his white shirt and oozed out sparkle pink apple lotion. Logan glanced at the mess. His grip tightened and then loosened. “Who are you?”

“Who are
you
?”
I know who you are.

“Did you think I was Tyler?”

Duh. “Why are you on Tyler’s couch?” She put just enough accusation in her voice that he’d know she was condemning him for being a rock star stalker or a weird couch lover or both.

“Why are you in Tyler’s apartment?” His voice held suspicion.

“Why are
you
in Tyler’s apartment?” She doubled the suspicion in her question.

“Tyler has a girlfriend,” Logan said.

She knew that. She’d helped them get together, two music freaks who were equally passionate about each other.

Logan’s gaze changed from guarded to full-on accusing — accusing her of unwholesome intentions. She squirmed. Tyler was her friend, like a brother. She wasn’t hitting on him. She didn’t want a future with a musician. Not one who practiced musical instruments twenty-four/seven like Tyler did. No way. She didn’t even want a future with a guy who practiced musical instruments half-an-hour every other month, not if she had to listen. And musicians always made someone listen. She knew because she’d been in band since junior high. She’d set Logan straight. “Whatever you’re thinking…it’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.” Logan had a low voice with modulated, rounded tones. Very articulate and even, but still tired, like he’d pulled an all-nighter. “Unless you’re a psychic?”

He must be from California like Tyler. He probably wanted a reading on the odds of his getting a role he was up for, or his Oscar chances. So acting school. She had his number; she didn’t need to be a psychic. “Your thoughts are all over your face. You actors show all your emotions. You let it all hang out. No shame. As if you have no clue what stuff should be hidden.” He actually wasn’t emoting, but she could read his eyes and his micro expressions. That’s probably what psychics did, after they took your money.

“I’m
not
an actor.” The words came out more formal. “And I didn’t catch your name?”

“That’s because I didn’t throw it out there.”

“Look. It’s late.” He checked the clock on the wall. “Or rather, it’s early. Does Tyler know you’re here?”

Annoyance replaced any lingering embarrassment. Tyler may let his friends walk around his digs like they owned the ranch, but they didn’t own her. “Let me go.”

Logan blinked as if he hadn’t realized he’d been holding her. He released her and his fingers curled in on themselves. As odd as it was, she missed their strength. His big, guy-hands were solid, rougher, and different from hers.
Hello.

“I’m Baylee.” Putting her name out there, like a proper introduction, made everything about this moment hit her in the most minute detail. Her knees dug into the fluffy throw. Her thighs straddled his hips. He was braced back on his palms, and with his rumpled clothes and stubbled jaw, this position probably looked pretty compromising, and pretty hot. She breathed in the hint of his cologne. Really hot. In fact, she was straddling the hottest guy she’d ever met. Now this moment would make a great song.

“What’s your last name, Baylee?” His demanding, unromantic tone ruined the intimacy of the moment, though she did like the way her name sounded on his lips.

Baylee crawled free and stood beside the couch. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing down the wet ends, wishing she’d bothered to finish drying it before coming in here. He probably thought she was one of Tyler’s crazed stalker fans.

Logan swung around and rested his black, sock-covered feet on the floor. He removed the glob of lotion-soaked sheet music from his shirt, dropping it to the blanket, and then he leaned against the back of the couch with his arms draped across the top. The carefully slouched pose tried to come across as decadent and relaxed, but he couldn’t pull it off. He seemed tense and watchful. “Your last name?”

“None ya.”
None of your business
wasn’t her most mature response, but nothing about this morning was going to make her the pride of the Leithville High alumni. The carpet was warm under her bare feet, but her toes were cold so she edged closer and slipped them under the blanket, which had half slid to the floor.

Logan grabbed his smart phone, touched something on screen and spoke into the speaker. “Baylee. Approximately five feet, four inches. Dark blonde hair. Green eyes. Beautiful. Run background check.”

Run background check? Outrage bubbled from her knees to her face, widening her eyes. Her body tensed. Why didn’t he ask Tyler if he wanted to know about her? Beautiful…that part she liked.

He rose. Tall, lanky. Intimidating, if it weren’t for the pink lotion on his shirt. The sparkle announced she’d won this encounter. “I’m just looking out for Tyler.”

Baylee reached up a hand, flattened it over the lotion smear and spread the remainder across and down to the middle of his shirt.

Logan’s mouth dropped open a bit, and he stared at her hand with glittery eyes.

The shine wasn’t angry though, it was…attraction. She had her hand on the middle of his abdomen. This couldn’t be okay, but she couldn’t drop her hand.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, a confident easy stride. Tyler.

That broke the moment. Baylee took a step back.

Overhead lights came on, brightening the room. Logan blinked and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Dude. No way.” Tyler bounded over, delight in his voice. He embraced the guy in one of those one-armed, back-pounding, man-hugs. “Logan. What are you doing here, man?” He didn’t wait for answer. “When did you get in? How long are you in town for? You’re staying, right? Tell me you can stay for a bit?”

“Absolutely.”

Heat hit Baylee’s face. This wasn’t going to work. She should probably go to her cousin’s house and stay there. “Uh. I guess I can go to Marissa’s early.”

“No way.” Tyler leaned over and dropped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her up to his side, his other arm still around Logan’s shoulders. “Two of my best friends here for the summer? After such a shitty last year. We’re going to have a blast.”

Mom was okay with her staying with Tyler. She knew him. She would not be chill with some random guy being here, too. And Logan irritated her already. It wouldn’t work. She looked from Tyler’s glee to Logan. Logan could be the one to break the news. She didn’t want to douse Tyler’s joy, ‘cause he’d had a crap year. She arched her eyebrows and gave Logan a look that said,
Get out. Tell Tyler you’ll stay with another friend instead.

BOOK: Accidental Billionaire
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