Billionaire on the Loose

Billionaires and Bridesmaids

The Billionaire and the Virgin

The Taming of the Billionaire

The Billionaire Takes a Bride

The Billionaire's Favorite Mistake

Billionaire on the Loose

The Billionaire Boys Club

Stranded with a Billionaire

Beauty and the Billionaire

The Wrong Billionaire's Bed

Once Upon a Billionaire

Romancing the Billionaire

One Night with a Billionaire

His Royal Princess

The Bluebonnet Novels

The Girl's Guide to (Man) Hunting

The Care and Feeding of an Alpha Male

The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild

The Virgin's Guide to Misbehaving

The Billionaire of Bluebonnet

Billionaire on the Loose

Jessica Clare

INTERMIX

NEW YORK

INTERMIX

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Clare

Excerpt from
The Billionaire's Favorite Mistake
© 2016 by Jessica Clare

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INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

ISBN: 9781101989210

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Loch knew something was wrong when he walked into his great-aunt's private study and found the queen, the crown princess, and her new American husband all seated there, along with the queen's most trusted advisor.

This was bad. If there was a state holiday, perhaps he could understand it. But ten at night on a Tuesday? Not good.

Loch ran a hand through his messy hair, wishing he'd had time to shower prior to appearing at the palace. “Sorry. Just got out of a polo match not too long ago.” Well, polo and then a few hours down at the local tavern with a few buddies. He was a fan of celebrating wins, though, and they'd won. He moved in and kissed the old queen on the cheek. “Aunt. How are you?”

“Concerned,” she said, and patted his shoulder. “Sit down, Loch. This is not going to be an easy conversation.”

Hell. He went and greeted Alex with a kiss to the cheek and nodded at her husband, Luke, before taking a seat in the empty chair across from the queen. He hadn't greeted the minister, but he didn't know the damn man and all of this mystery was starting to make him a hair nervous. “What's going on?”

The queen looked to the minister and nodded. “You may speak.”

The little man adjusted his glasses and studied Loch for a moment. “You're aware that you are fifth in line for the throne, correct?”

“Thought it was sixth, actually.” He hadn't given things much thought since he had no plans of using his title other than to get free drinks and to occasionally impress women. It was perfectly fine for him if he never moved up the food chain—look at how serious it made his cousin Alex. She never had a bit of fun.

Him? He was all about fun and enjoying himself.

“Well, there was the recent issue with George.” The man adjusted his glasses again and shot a nervous look at the queen. When she nodded, he continued. “I'm sure you're aware that George recently abdicated from the line of succession?”

Loch rubbed the side of his nose. “Would have to be under a rock to be unaware of it.”

George had been caught with not one but two of the palace maids—both married—and had been pressured by the queen to give up his spot as second in line to the throne. He'd been compensated with a hefty stipend, though only family knew about that. To the rest of the world, George was a cheater who was truly chagrined at being caught with his pants down. Family knew better. George had always been a bit of a letch. Loch felt sorry for his poor wife, though. She seemed nice enough.

“Do be serious, Loch,” Alex said, her tone steel.

He shifted in his seat. “Sorry. Yes. Aware. George is no longer second in line to the throne.”

“That moves everyone up in the succession list,” the minister went on. He pulled out a chart. “After Princess Alex, George's son Peter is next. Then his daughter Alma. Then it is your cousin Griffin. After him comes you.”

Loch nodded. They weren't telling him much that he hadn't heard before.

“The problem is that there is a large growing faction that is unhappy. A very vocal faction. They are not pleased with Her Grace Alexandra's marriage to an American. They're looking for someone new to put on the throne once the queen passes on.”

Loch's brows drew together in a frown. He looked at his regal great-aunt, startled. She looked a little frailer this year than last year, but she was strong and still in control of her faculties. The British queen was even older than Great-Aunt Alexandra, wasn't she? No one was jockeying for her spot. Why all the goings-on over his great-aunt's throne? “I don't understand. Why are we talking about succession?”

“Because I am old,” the queen said bluntly. “People want new blood on the throne. I will be stepping down in the next year or two in favor of Alex.”

“And the faction that is unhappy does not like that she is married to an American, so they're looking for someone new to place on the throne.”

Loch thought for a moment. “Not Peter?” His cousin's son was barely seven or so.

“Not Peter,” the queen agreed. “Too young. Not Alma, either. Same reason.”

Loch started to sweat. “Then Griffin?”

“Griffin is also marrying an American in the next few months,” Princess Alex pointed out gently. “A very infamous American with no fortune. He is very much in love with her and is willing to give up his place in line of succession if pressured.”

Damn. This was getting very uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair. “Surely not me?”

“On paper, you look very good to the people of Bellissime,” the minister said, glancing at the queen. He pulled out a sheet. “You're very well liked amongst the younger populace and you did two years in the royal army despite having the money to do otherwise. You're very wealthy on your own and won't put a burden on the populace. You're good-looking and sporty. You have no immediate scandal. If you were to marry a Bellissime lady—or even a princess from Saxe-Gallia—you would be the natural choice of the people for the next king.”

Loch gave Alex an alarmed look. “I don't want to be king.”

“I don't want you to be king, either,” she said in a cool voice. He noticed that she reached for her husband's hand and laced her fingers in his. “We're trying to have a baby to cement the line of succession, but until then, there are unhappy vocal dissidents who are not pleased with my marriage to Luke.”

“They'd be less happy with me on the throne,” Loch exclaimed. “I went to school in Britain. I'm a cock-up. The only reason I have money is because of Griffin's investments and because I sold the family estate to that movie producer. I don't do anything worthwhile except show my face at a few events. Truly, I'm the wrong man for the job.”

“We agree,” the queen said, her expression bland. “You would be a poor choice.”

Well, at least they agreed on that. Damn if it didn't make him feel like an ass, though.

“That is why you're here tonight, Loch. You're going to leave the country.”

“I am?”

Alex looked over at her grandmother, then back to Loch. “It's for the best if you fall out of the public eye for a while.”

He rubbed his jaw. He didn't like the idea—Bellissime was his home. But if it was a choice between taking the throne or heading to a nice sunny island for a few months, then he'd do that. “All right. I'll go on vacation—”

“Actually,” his great-aunt interrupted. “You are going to America.”

He frowned. “I am?” America just seemed so very . . . well, American. He was sure it was nice and all, but didn't see the fascination for it that his cousins had. “Can't I just go to Thailand or some such for a few months?”

“You're going to America for the next year or two,” the queen emphasized.

Year or two? “But my polo team—”

“Will find a new captain.”

“My estates—”

“Can run themselves.” The queen gave him a stern look. “I am not asking you, Loch. I am telling you.”

Blast. He rubbed his face, feeling defeated. “Fine, I'll go play with the Americans for a bit. Any place in particular, since you seem to be deciding everything for me?”

“Yes, actually.” Princess Alex smiled and pushed a cream-colored envelope toward him. “You're going to be a groomsman in a wedding.”

“Ma'am, have you tried cycling your modem?” Taylor asked politely as she maneuvered her character into position. It wasn't easy trying to work remotely and play
Excelsior
at the same time, but Taylor had become a pro at multitasking. “Cycling the modem can often fix a variety of simple issues.”

“What's a modem?” the ancient woman asked on the other end of the phone.

Oh, boy. This was going to take a moment. She quickly typed to her guild,
Wait a moment, guys. I need a quick AFK.

Again?
complained Rowsdower.
You're always away from keyboard. We should change it from AFK to Tay-FK.

Then you lead the raid!
she shot back.

Sigh. Fine.

We'll wait,
wrote Sigmund.

Turning in her swivel chair, she pulled up the client's account on her other computer. “I'm going to make a few notes on your account, and as I do, let me walk you through the steps.” She began to explain slowly and in great detail the process of turning off and on the client's modem, and as she did, she could hear chat-pings on her other computer that told her people were talking in-game. She glanced over at the screen.

I was thinking about you
, Sigmund wrote in a private message.
I think we should marry in-game. I really care for you.

Oh, no. Taylor's stomach clenched hard. She forced herself to concentrate on her client, to ignore the constant pinging in the other window. Sigmund was getting clingy again, and that was never good. Letting him cool for a few minutes would be the best thing to do.

By the time she got off the phone, she had a full window full of chat-pings, all private messages from Sigmund.

Sigmund: I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I hope that's okay.

Sigmund: You're the only bright spot in my life.

Sigmund: I don't know what I'd do if you left me.

Sigmund: Are you there? Am I making you uncomfortable?

Sigmund: I hope not. I'm just telling you how I feel.

Sigmund: I looked you up on Facebook, by the way. You're beautiful. And it says you're single. Score for me!

Sigmund: And you live in NY. Me, too. :)

Sigmund: You coming back, ever?

Sigmund: I hope your clients aren't giving you too hard of a time.

Sigmund: Ping me when you return.

Sigmund: Hugs, beautiful.

Jesus. The longer she was away, the more he just kept sending her messages. Taylor jumped out of her chair and went to the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. She dumped the entire box into a mixing bowl, threw in some milk, and then returned to her chair. How to deal with Sigmund?

One of the reasons she played
Excelsior
in the daytime instead of
World of Warcraft
was simply because there was no chat program like Ventrilo.
Excelsior
was kind of “old school” in that if you wanted to talk to someone, you didn't use a microphone, you typed. It was perfect to noodle on when she was on a boring call or on hold. Problem was, it had stopped being fun months ago, and she couldn't quit.

All because of Sigmund.

He was worse every day. They'd started out as chatty friends, simply joking around during the daytime when not many other people were on. He seemed nice and funny, and so she'd talked to him. But as the months went on, Sigmund got . . . clingier. And that was when the problems started.

Now, every day he was sending her messages like,
If you leave, I'm going to end it all
or
You're the only thing worth living for, Taylor
or
I love you, Taylor—how do you feel about me
?

Way to put a girl on the spot.

She wanted to quit the game. She wanted to quit so damn badly. It was fun and all, but it wasn't worth the stress. The problem was, if she didn't log on for a single day, Sigmund spiraled and started flooding her character with all kinds of depressing messages.

She felt a little like she was being held hostage.

Taylor ate her marshmallow-filled cereal slowly, watching as more messages from Sigmund rolled across the screen.

Sigmund: I'm just imagining the heck those clients are giving you.

Sigmund: You're too nice!

Sigmund: I should call your boss and tell him you need a raise.

Sigmund: Boy, it must be a long call.

Sigmund: I'm looking at your Facebook again. You're so pretty. Is that a Doctor Who scarf? I love the 4th doctor.

Sigmund: I could marry a girl like you.

Sigmund: I hope that wasn't too forward of me. I just . . . really like you.

Sigmund: Taylor?

She moaned in frustration into her cereal. Why had she ever told the guy her name? This was what happened. Now everywhere she went online, he was bothering her. Now that he had her Facebook, she had no doubt he was going to start sending her messages there. The trapped feeling continued.

Taylor put down her bowl of cereal and thought for a moment, then began to type.

HaveAGoodTay: Back. And, Sig, you know we're friends but I'm not looking for a relationship. Can't we just stay buddies?

There was a long pause. Taylor bit her lip, worried that this was going to cause him to wig out, and then she'd be fielding suicide threats for the rest of the night and trying to convince him that no, he shouldn't kill himself and yes, he was worth it, and please don't hurt yourself. That had happened too many times in the last few months, and just thinking about it made Taylor reach for her Xanax prescription.

Sigmund: I know. I'm coming on too strong. I just . . . You're the only good thing in my life.

HaveAGoodTay: Nonsense! You have the game!

Sigmund: No, there's only you.

HaveAGoodTay: And the guild.

Sigmund: They all hate me. I'm just here for you.

HaveAGoodTay: That's not true. And we should really get back to raiding!

Before he could respond, she typed in the main chat,
Hey guys! I'm back. Let's get this show on the road.
Around her, the characters emoted cheers and dancing, and then everyone got into position, ready to pull the boss. They wanted to raid, and since she was guild leader, she'd lead them on a raid, darn it.

Just as someone let loose the first arrow, her phone rang. Shit. She let it ring three times, hammering buttons as the screen lit up with explosions. When she'd unloaded her character's arsenal, she clicked over. “Tech support, this is Taylor.”

“Tay? It's me, Gretchen!”

“Oh, dang, hey, Gretchen. Now's not a great time.” Trash mobs started to flood into the room, and Taylor clicked on her character's Area of Effect spell.

“Oh, god, are you playing that damn game again?”

“Uh, which one? I play three of them.” Well, she had. Now it seemed to be all
Excelsior
, all the time, because of Sigmund. Ugh.

“The one with the thingies and the dragons. Whatever. Hey, I need you to pry your geek self away on Saturday afternoon.”

The boss lit up with a damage shield, and she automatically clicked on her own character's shield.
Put on the brakes!
she called out in-game. If they hit the boss right now, they'd wipe. Everyone paused except one noob, and she made a mental note to give him some coaching after the raid. She watched as the boss smacked the guy down and he went splat. Well, that was what happened when you didn't listen to the raid leader.

“Yeah, so on Saturday there's a friend coming over and I want you to come hang out. He's new to town and needs someone to show him around.”

Taylor groaned. “Can't someone that's good with, you know,
people
do that? I'm only good with video games.” The boss's shield dropped and she typed
CHARGE
in all caps. Her guild surged forward, and the fight was on again.

“Well, that's the thing. Greer's in Vegas right now, Audrey's baby is due any moment, Edie's out of town at some sort of convention with Magnus, Chelsea has a roller derby bout, and Bron's got charity shit. You're the only bridesmaid I have left. I realize Gollum doesn't like to leave his cave and all, but can you abandon your precious for like, two hours and come hang with my guest? Please?”

“I have a raid,” she said automatically.

“You said you would be able to squeeze me in if I gave you advance notice! This is advance notice!”

She was right, darn it. Taylor sighed even as the boss went down and gold showered her screen. Success.

Sigmund: We did it, sweetie!

Yikes,
sweetie
? Taylor recoiled from the keyboard.
Sweetie?
“You know what, G? On second thought, I'll be there.”

“Yay! You won't regret it! My place at two, okay?”

“I'll be there. Bye, Gretchen!” She clicked off and another call started to roll in. Even as she picked up the new call, she typed a message to Sigmund.

HaveANiceTay: I need to go out on Saturday. Can you run the raid?

Sigmund: Well now my weekend is ruined. I was hoping to spend it with you.

Taylor gritted her teeth. A day away would be just what the doctor ordered for both of them.

***

Even though it made her anxious to leave her computer for the afternoon, Taylor went to Gretchen's house on Saturday, just as she'd promised. She'd given herself a pep talk all morning: Going out for the day would be good, the guild would be just fine without her, and she could use a few hours out of her tiny apartment.

Honestly, she just wanted to get away from Sigmund and his smothering messages he kept sending her all week. If she was spending a few hours away from the computer, he constantly buzzed her cell phone, because he'd managed to look up her phone number. If she logged on to Facebook, he sent her messages there. And of course, in-game, he was constantly pinging her with little notes about how pretty she was, and how much he liked her, and did she think they could spend some time together?

In-game, of course. Sigmund never once suggested they meet in person, or talk on the phone, or sent her his personal information. Not that she was interested, of course. But maybe if she could have had a real phone conversation she could have gently let him down. Not that she was good at that sort of thing, either. But it was getting to the point that she had to try something. Anything.

Her phone pinged in the taxi all the way to Buchanan Manor.

Sigmund: So I think I'm going to tank in the raid today. You cool with that?

Sigmund: I hate that we're raiding without you. It's not the same.

Sigmund: 20 on the raid ok? Or should we go 25 people and really murder things? Let me know.

Sigmund: You're not mad at me, are you? Tay?

Sigmund: Oh, god. I don't think I could stand it if you were mad at me. Please say you're not ignoring me, Taylor.

Sigmund: My world is over if you're not in it.

Her stomach knotted horribly, and she reached for her bottle of Xanax again. He was stressing her out. These stupid games were supposed to be a fun time-suck, not a duty that felt ten times more stressful than her job. Yesterday she'd called in “sick” to work because Sigmund had wanted to raid the Fire Boss of Driza. He'd gone in with a motley group, they'd wiped out at the bottom of the dungeon, and then he'd spent all day freaking out. She'd had to talk him down off the ledge several times and she hadn't been able to concentrate on her job. It was the third time she'd called in this month, and she knew her boss wasn't happy.

But she didn't know what else to do. With a frown, she picked up her phone and finally answered him.

HaveANiceTay: I'm here, but you know I'm going to be away for most of the afternoon, Sig. You can't keep messaging me. I won't be able to answer! I'm not mad, just busy.

Sigmund: Okay. Whew.

Sigmund: Kisses.

Sigmund: Just kidding.

Sigmund: Sort of.

Sigh. He sent all kinds of mixed messages; if he wasn't declaring love for her from afar, he was threatening to hurt himself or demanding she spend time in the game with him. He was a mess, and even Taylor's normally sunny outlook on life was getting bogged down by his neediness.

But if he needed a friend and was so on the edge, she couldn't
not
be there for him, could she? That seemed horribly selfish.

Sigmund: This raid isn't fun without you.

So much for
I'm busy and can't talk, don't message me
. She quickly sent him a text telling him she was away and then flicked her phone to silent. He'd just have to do without her for a few hours. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the car seat.

The rest of the ride to Buchanan Manor was peaceful, and Taylor's mood was recovered by the time she paid the cab driver and got out. She just wouldn't check her phone for the rest of the afternoon. Peace and quiet the hard way. She was supposed to be on call for work, but no one ever rang the tech hotline on weekends anyhow.

Buchanan Manor was huge and imposing, sort of like a big haunted mansion from an old-school video game. The interior was pretty modern compared to the outside, and that was disappointing for a nerd like Taylor, but it happened. Decent Wi-Fi despite being out in the country, too, so that was a plus. Taylor secured her backpack on her back and trotted up to the door, tucking her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She buzzed the doorbell, and then buzzed it several more times to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut.”

“That must be Taylor,” Gretchen bellowed from the other side of the door. Taylor heard feet slapping against the marble tile and then the door swung open. A disheveled Gretchen appeared, an apron on her front, her hair pulled into a wild, messy knot. “Dude, you only have to ring once, you know.”

“I know,” Taylor said, stepping inside. “Where's your butler?”

“Family emergency. I told him to take the weekend off. It's not like we can't answer the damn door ourselves, you know?” She closed it behind them and then pointed down a side hall. “I've got scones in the oven, so come hang out in the kitchen for a few, okay?”