Billionaire on the Loose
Jessica Clare
Titles by Jessica Clare
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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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.
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Contents
Titles by Jessica Clare
Title Page
Copyright
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Billionaire’s Favorite Mistake
About the Author
Chapter One
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 d
id 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.”
Chapter Two
“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.
