One Night With a Billionaire

  Copyright © 2015 Jessica Clare

  Cover image © Sandra Cunningham/Shutterstock.com

  The right of Jessica Clare to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Published by arrangement with Berkley Publishing Group,

  A member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  A Penguin Random House Company

  First published in this Ebook edition in 2015

  by HEADLINE ETERNAL

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN 978 1 4722 1870 4

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.headlineeternal.com

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise for Jessica Clare

  By Jessica Clare

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Welcome to the Billionaire Boys Club

  Meet the Billionaires and the Bridesmaids

  Find Out More About Headline Eternal

  About the Author

  Jessica Clare is the New York Times bestselling author of the Bluebonnet series, and the Billionaire Boys Club and the Billionaires And Bridesmaids novels. She also writes under the names Jill Myles and Jessica Sims, and has a day job in finance. Jessica lives in Texas with her husband and cats, spending her time writing, reading, writing, playing video games, and doing even more writing. Follow her on Twitter @_JessicaClare or join her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AuthorJessicaClare.

  Be dazzled by Jessica Clare’s passionate love stories …

  ‘Just thinking about it puts a smile on my face … In short, this is a really fun, entertaining, engaging book, and I can’t wait to read (and reread) the other billionaires’ stories’ Heroes and Heartbreakers

  ‘Saucy, blistering and emotionally endearing … sizzling good fun. With broad strokes and wry detail, Clare creates characters who are unapologetically individual and wonderfully unpredictable’ Romantic Times

  ‘An awesome quick read that touched my heart and stirred my spirit. Buckle up and take the ride – you’ll enjoy every peak, valley, twist, and turn’ Cocktails and Books

  ‘Fun and sexy and flirty … Stranded with a Billionaire has reignited my love of the billionaire hero’ The Book Pushers

  ‘Sizzling! Jessica Clare gets everything right in this erotic and sexy romance … You need to read this book!’ Romance Junkies

  ‘A cute, sweet romance … A fast, sexy read that transports you to the land of the rich and famous’ Fiction Vixen

  ‘Fast paced, passionate, very sexy … A unique, modern-day fairy-tale that’s as steamy as it is entertaining’ Harlequin Junkie

  ‘A fun, flirty, and sexy read … an emotionally rich love story’ Fresh Fiction

  By Jessica Clare

  Billionaire Boys Club Series

  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

  Billionaires And Bridesmaids Series

  The Billionaire And The Virgin

  The Taming Of The Billionaire

  The Billionaire Takes A Bride

  About the Book

  The Billionaire Boys Club is a secret society of six incredibly wealthy men who have vowed success in business — at any cost. But success when it comes to love is a different matter …

  Kylie may be a makeup artist to the stars, but she knows what it feels like to be overshadowed. Especially by her famous boss, the pop star Daphne. That’s why she’s stunned — and delighted — when one night at a party, she attracts the attention of a gorgeous stranger. But when Daphne decides she wants the handsome billionaire for herself, Cade Archer is suddenly off-limits for Kylie …

  Cade has known Daphne for years, and always wondered if she might be the right woman for him — even though she never gave him the time of day. But one sizzling night with Kylie has changed everything. So why is she suddenly avoiding him? Fortunately Cade is determined to get what he wants, and he’ll do anything to show Kylie she can get everything she wants too …

  Want more irresistible romance? Look for the Billionaire Boys Club titles, Stranded With A Billionaire, Beauty And The Billionaire, The Wrong Billionaire’s Bed, Once Upon A Billionaire and Romancing The Billionaire. And don’t miss Jessica’s sizzling-hot and ultra-glamorous Billionaires And Bridesmaids series.

  For all the fans who have been following along with my billionaires and can’t wait to read Cade’s book. This one’s for you!

  Also, for Mel aka Mistress M, who recommends my books to everyone and always makes me feel like the world’s best writer. Everyone should have fans like you.

  ONE

  If there was a gift Kylie Daniels wished she could gift to the world, it would be the ability to pencil in a great pair of brows. The woman sitting across from her? Her brow game was terrible. She looked as if she’d Sharpied her thin black brows on in the dark while intoxicated and it overwhelmed her narrow face. And what were those little comma things she’d drawn at the end? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

  Not that Kylie was an expert on makeup, but . . . well, okay, she was. An expert on makeup, that is. She was a licensed cosmetologist, had worked with several singers and stage productions, and could make even the most heinous pores disappear with the right brushes.

  And that was why she was sitting in the office of Dirty Dollar Records this lovely July afternoon, sweltering her large ass off as she waited to be called in for an audition. A friend who styled hair for several celebrities had mentioned a record manager who was looking for a makeup artist who was discreet, inventive, and ready to tour with his client. Through a friend of a friend, Kylie had gotten the job interview and now sat, waiting, and hoped that her own makeup didn’t sweat off by the time she got in there.

  No one wanted to hire a fat makeup artist in L.A., but they really, really didn’t want to hire one if she looked like hell. Makeup was Kylie’s calling card, after all. She had to look damn good at all times or people questioned her ability. So instead of going for low-key and demure as one normally would for a job interview, she went all out. Kylie wore a tight nav
y dress with a square sailor top and clinging black mermaid skirt, along with bright red heels. The entire look was retro, and she’d curled half of her dyed blond hair into two fat sausage rolls that perched atop her head like a forties movie star, letting the rest dance on her shoulders. Her makeup was bold, too. Her brows had been penciled into a sweeping line above eyes that were lined with a deep black eyeliner extended to a dramatic point, and the rest of her eyes highlighted with a bright white to make her cat’s eyes pop. Her lashes had been stacked with fake ones to create a thick fan. She’d gone light on the blush to highlight the porcelain look of her skin and picked a dark, cherry red for her lips. Two cherry earrings and a cherry-decorated necklace completed the ensemble.

  It was a little kitschy, but she was interviewing to be the makeup artist for Daphne Petty, and Daphne Petty wasn’t exactly demure herself. Known in music circles for her wild lyrics, her nutty stage costumes, and her party-girl attitude, she looked like she’d be a lot of fun to go on tour with.

  Kylie hoped so, anyhow. Anything had to be better than the diva she’d recently toured Asia with. Chanteuse had insisted that her crew wear all white and not speak unless spoken to. Kylie couldn’t wait to get away from that job. She’d gotten the boot when she’d returned to the States because, as it had been explained, Chanteuse didn’t like that Kylie “didn’t take care with her appearance” and she felt it reflected poorly on her to have someone like that in her staff.

  AKA, your fat butt embarrasses me. It still stung, but Kylie was doing her best to get over it. After all, she questioned the sanity of someone who had a diamond-encrusted toilet seat that she took with her on tour.

  So here Kylie was, unemployed once more and hoping for the best.

  “Miss Daniels?” a voice called, and Kylie got to her feet, her old-fashioned circular hatbox suitcase in hand.

  She sucked up her nervousness and straightened her clothing as she strode forward, then offered her hand to the frowning man waiting for her. “Kylie Daniels,” she told him, keeping her voice cool and confident despite the look he was giving her. This man was clearly conservative, but hopefully his client wouldn’t be.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said, and led her back into the office. “I’m Mr. Powers. Please follow me.”

  She hefted her case of cosmetics and trailed after him, biting back her annoyance when he passed by the elevator and headed for the stairs instead. Oh sure, take the fat chick in high heels carrying thirty pounds of makeup up the stairs. She hoped he wouldn’t mind her being a little sweaty when they got to the top, then.

  Mr. Powers’s office was on the fourth floor, so by the time they arrived, Kylie was breathless and perspiring. Not the look she wanted for her interview, but too late to do anything about it now. Mr. Powers hadn’t said a thing as he led her upstairs, but pointed her into a conference room and smiled politely.

  She entered it, set her case down on the table, and sat down on a chair, waiting. Powers left and returned a minute later with a stack of papers and a pen. “We ask that you please sign these non-disclosure agreements, Miss Daniels, as the label is extremely concerned about public image.”

  “Of course,” Kylie murmured, taking the pen. She’d had to sign something similar when she’d worked for the diva Chanteuse. She quickly signed and handed the papers back with a smile. See how accommodating I am?

  Mr. Powers didn’t sit down at one of the eight empty chairs next to her. Instead, he hesitated, then tucked the paperwork under his arm. “Before you meet Miss Petty, you should know a few things.”

  “All right.” Kylie clasped her hands in her lap and kept the smile on her face. She was ready for anything they could throw at her after working in Hollywood for a while. The client doesn’t like for her right side to show up in photographs. This client feels the color green offends her chi so doesn’t wear it. Don’t look this client straight in the eye. Always ask this client open-ended questions as she feels that her staff should challenge her. This client is in character at all times, so please play along.

  “Miss Petty fired her last makeup artist due to personality conflicts.” He double-checked the signatures on the paperwork and then gazed down at her, though she got the impression he was fidgety. Uncomfortable. Weird. “The label is quite concerned that Miss Petty is happy. You understand this, yes?”

  “Of course.” Where was he going with this?

  “However, the label also likes to maintain Miss Petty’s image. In fact, we are concerned with that above all things. Miss Petty’s image must be maintained. That is where you come in.”

  “O-okay?” What was the answer he was looking for?

  “In short, people pay lots of money to see a vibrant, beautiful Daphne Petty on tour. I expect you to do your part, of course.”

  “Of course,” she repeated. This entire conversation was bewildering.

  “Which is not to say that Miss Petty has the liberty of firing you. That will be at the label’s discretion.”

  Ooookay . . . Daphne wasn’t going to be allowed to fire her if they didn’t get along, but the last person was fired because they didn’t get along? It was all very confusing. She kept smiling, though she was starting to feel a little worried. “I think I can handle that?”

  “Good. I see you brought your tools with you?”

  She patted her bag. “Of course.”

  “We would like for you to do Miss Petty’s makeup for her. Think of it as a screen test.”

  It wasn’t the strangest request she’d gotten. “That’s fine. Any particular look you’re going for with Miss Petty on this new tour?”

  A strange look crossed Mr. Powers’s face. “Healthy. Just healthy will be fine.”

  Healthy? “I’m sure I can give her a natural glow.”

  “Great.” He gave her a tight little smile. “I’ll let Miss Petty know that you’re here.”

  “Thank you,” Kylie murmured, and Mr. Powers left her alone in the conference room. The air was on upstairs—thank goodness—and so it wasn’t quite so hot. Her sticky forehead dried, and as she waited for Daphne Petty, she eyed the posters on the walls of prior tours, the platinum and gold records. This was a big break and a good job, and she crossed her fingers under the table that Daphne wouldn’t have a problem with Kylie’s non-Hollywood-sized butt.

  Eventually, though, she got bored. Time ticked away and the clock showed she’d been sitting in the conference room for a full forty-five minutes without someone stopping in. She freshened her own makeup, and then dug through her kit, mentally trying to put together a look for Daphne Petty. From what she remembered, Daphne had bright eyes, so she could highlight those. Eye makeup and lip color would depend on the shade of Daphne’s hair, and from what she’d seen in tabloids, Daphne tended to dye it all kinds of strange colors. Unless she went for a totally nude palette? She dug through her tubes of glosses and shadows, thinking. Of course, if Daphne’s hair was pink again, the colors would have to be really subtle—

  Someone crashed into the door behind her, and Kylie jumped in her chair. She spun around, startled. A moment later, the door opened, and someone stumbled in. It was a woman with big round sunglasses that covered most of her face. Her platinum blond hair was cut into a short, messy bob that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in at least a week. She wore an old Ramones T-shirt over a pair of faded capri jeans and wobbled as she stood in the doorway. “You the makeup girl?”

  It was Daphne Petty.

  Her voice was slurred. Drunk. Lovely. “That’s me.” Kylie stood up and extended her hand. “My name is Kylie Daniels. It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Petty.”

  Daphne looked her up and down. “You look like a fat Marilyn Monroe. Or Bettie Page. You know they don’t like big butts here in L.A.,” she mock-whispered. “Careful that my trainer doesn’t see you. He won’t let me eat anything but lettuce.” She dropped into a seat next to Kylie and pulled her sunglasses off, rubbing her face. “All right. I’m here.” She waved a hand in the air. “Make me be
autiful.”

  Kylie just stared. The once-lovely Daphne Petty was skeletally thin. Track marks lined up one arm and down the other, along with scars at her wrists from cutting. Her skin was blotchy and broken in a few spots, a bright red patch on the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were sunken and her color was extremely unhealthy.

  She looked like hell.

  And now, Kylie understood all the corporate-speak that Mr. Powers had given her. Daphne couldn’t fire her because she was a mess. And the label didn’t want a “look” for Daphne for her tour. They wanted Kylie to hide Daphne’s ill health. They wanted her to paint her up and make her look normal.

  They didn’t need a cosmetologist—they needed a goddamn magician. Kylie gave Daphne a pitying look. Daphne, whose dilated eyes were glancing around the room but focusing on nothing. A magician, Kylie amended, or a miracle worker. She was neither, but she’d do what she could. She pulled out her airbrushing kit and plugged it in, then handed Daphne a face-cleansing wipe. “Once your face is clean, we’ll begin. Let’s start with a primer, shall we?”

  —

  An hour later, Daphne Petty’s thin face had been contoured to make her appear more robust. Her sharp cheekbones were disguised, her too-thin nose widened with a bit of shadowing, and then she’d pretty much airbrushed every possible inch of Daphne she could reach. The track marks on her arms were covered. The red spots on her face—dear lord, Kylie hoped they weren’t from meth—were concealed. Her eyes were artfully highlighted and emphasized to bring out their color, and Kylie picked out cheery, warm colors for her eyes and her mouth. When she was finished, she showed Daphne—who’d sat in a dazed high the entire time—the mirror.

  At the sight of her face, Daphne had smiled and seemed to notice Kylie again. “Wow. I really like this. You do good work, Fat Marilyn.”

  Wow. Was that nickname supposed to be a compliment? Kylie wasn’t sure. She snorted. “Thanks. I try.”

  She gave Kylie a shrewd look. “So can I ask why you want this job? Touring is hard and brutal, and I’m going to be a raging bitch pretty much ninety percent of the time.”