Dragon's Fake Bride
Scarlett Grove
Dragon’s Fake Bride
Billionaire Mate-Maker
Scarlett Grove
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Also by Scarlett Grove
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Copyright © 2018 by Scarlett Grove
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Chapter 1
Billionaire dragon, Spencer Camden, strode down the halls of Camden International, flanked by half a dozen assistants, two executives, and his tailor. His ever-present Bluetooth was pinned to his ear as he spoke with the project manager overseeing the new luxury Camden Resort soon to open in Tahiti.
“Do you want your new suit in navy, silver, or blue?” the tailor asked.
“All of them. I need three new suits for the Tahiti heat.” Spencer briefly muted his phone call. “Yes. Yes, everything is on schedule,” he said to his project manager. “I will be in Tahiti to oversee the grand opening personally.”
Spencer disconnected the call and strode into his office. A Picasso hung behind his large, modern desk, and Ivy League diplomas lined the walls. A stack of sleek bookshelves stood across from a wall of windows, full of business books, legal volumes, and professional periodicals. He sat behind his desk and pulled up the project analysis for his next deal.
“Sir.” His head administrative assistant, Olivia Preston, followed him in. “Your grandfather’s funeral is today.”
“Of course.” He drummed his fingers on his glass-topped desk. He checked his watch and swore under his breath. “What time was it again?”
“It starts in fifteen minutes, sir. I have the car waiting downstairs.”
In his haste to continue his grandfather’s work, Spencer had forgotten all about the old man’s funeral. Luckily, due to Olivia’s planning, he was properly attired in a black suit. He stood and made his way to the elevator.
Olivia pressed the down button for him, and he waited, checking his cell phone for updates on the resort opening. He stepped inside, followed only by Olivia.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Olivia murmured as the elevator door slid open.
“Emmett Camden was an old dragon who lived a full life. He’s out of pain and in a better place.”
“Still…” Olivia followed him through the lobby of Camden International’s headquarters and out the front doors to the waiting limousine.
The doorman opened the car door, and Spencer slipped inside, followed by his assistant. She told the driver where to take them as Spencer continued getting updates from his COO, Douglas Byers, and his project manager about the Tahiti resort.
“The pool is behind schedule.” He clenched his fist. “My project manager didn’t say anything about that while we were on the phone.”
He dialed the on-site project manager in Tahiti and argued about the main pool construction. Apparently, they had to special order replacement tiles from India, and they hadn’t arrived yet.
“I don’t care what it takes,” Spencer barked. “The pool will be ready by opening day. And if it’s not, you’ll never work in this industry again.”
He tapped off his Bluetooth as the limousine rolled up at the cemetery. His driver opened his door, and Spencer stepped into the warm spring day. Mourners already gathered at the gravesite. He buttoned his jacket and hurried to take his place at his mother’s side.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. His grandfather, Emmett Camden, was of course not her father. His mother, Tisha, was from the Henley dragon clan. The family had made their fortune in railroads some generations back.
Spencer’s own father, Pierce Camden, had passed away several years ago, leaving Spencer in line to not only lead the company but to inherit it all. He’d run Camden International as head shareholder and CEO since his father’s death.
And he intended to continue running it well and efficiently. Revenues were up ten percent since he had taken the reins. He’d opened three new, lucrative resorts in tropical locations with Tahiti being his fourth
The minister began the funeral service as soon as Spencer arrived. There were many tears and sniffles among the mourners, none of which came from Spencer. Not that he didn’t love and respect the old dragon. He did. But Spencer was not one to show such emotions.
Emmett had lived ninety-nine years. Everyone died, even dragons. It was the way of things and not something that could be prevented, so Spencer saw no use in crying about it.
As the minister brought the service to an end, Spencer and his mother were invited to throw the first handfuls of soil on top of the casket. His mother threw a bouquet of flowers onto the oak box. Spencer knelt, grasped a handful of dirt in his manicured hand, and scattered the soil onto the highly polished funerary box.
He dusted off his hands, looking for a way to wash them properly. Olivia handed him a wet wipe. He used it and handed it back to her, glancing at her face and noticing the tears behind her pink, horned-rimmed glasses. Spencer shook his head in disbelief. Emmett wasn’t her grandfather. They weren’t even related.
He rode with his mother back to Emmett’s house. Friends, family, and business associates gathered in the dining hall and formal living ro
om, chatting softly about the great dragon’s life.
Olivia brought Spencer a plate of finger foods and a snifter of brandy. “I thought you might want this.” She dabbed her eyes.
“It’s the middle of the day.” He took the sandwich but handed her back the brandy. He had to get back to work. He had the resort to open. He nibbled on the sandwich and sat next to his mother.
“Oh, Spencer.” She sniffled. “Now it’s just you and me.”
“We’ll make do.”
“First your father, and now Emmett. I don’t know how much more my heart can take.”
His mother was as healthy as a horse, unlike his father, who had always been a small and sickly dragon. His mother was the powerhouse of the family. He knew for a fact that she could take a great deal more. But he didn’t bother telling her so.
“You can come to the next resort opening in Tahiti, Mother. Some time in the sun will do you good.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, dear.” She bit into a tiny quiche.
As the reception wound down, his grandfather’s lawyer, Winston Jacobs, walked into the living room, wearing a dark suit and a deep frown. He approached Spencer and his mother.
“Spencer, Tisha, I will be reading Emmett’s will in his office presently.”
“Here, now?” Tisha asked. “This is a bit inappropriate. You should show some respect.”
“I had instructions from Emmett himself, asking for Spencer to hear the will immediately after the funeral,” Wilson said.
Spencer rose and buttoned his suit jacket. “It’s perfectly fine. Come along, Mother.”
Spencer followed Winston into his late grandfather’s office. The walls were painted hunter green. Bookcases flanked a massive oak desk. Spencer liked more modern accommodations, but he appreciated the old dragon’s space.
It reminded him of his youth, learning the business at his grandfather’s knee. Spencer and Tisha sat in the high-backed leather chairs facing the desk as Winston sat behind it.
“First, I will read the part regarding Tisha’s inheritance,” Winston said.
“To my daughter-in-law, Tisha Henley Camden, I leave the Beverly Hills house and all its furnishings.”
“Oh, my.” She grasped hands over her heart. “I never expected…”
Spencer knew his mother had hoped to inherit the Beverly Hills house, where they now sat, since his father, Pierce, had passed away. Spencer shook his head, unsure why she put on such a show of disbelief.
“And to my grandson, Spencer Camden, I leave my title of clan alpha, majority share of Camden International, and the position of CEO.”
Spencer smiled, hearing exactly what he had expected. He looked over at his mother and patted her knee.
“On the condition that…” Winston continued.
Spencer looked back at Winston with wide eyes.
“He marries within thirty days of my death.”
“What?” Spencer barked.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” his mother said.
“Mother, this is preposterous,” Spencer objected. “That can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid it is. If you don’t marry within thirty days of grandfather’s death, your share of Camden International will be distributed to the other shareholders. And you will be forced to step down as CEO.”
“Why?” he stammered, at a loss for words.
Wilson pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, focusing his attention back on the will.
“Spencer, you are my greatest pride. You have learned everything I ever taught you, are accomplished beyond anyone’s expectations, and have been brilliantly successful in expanding our clan’s company. But I fear that your narrow-minded tunnel vision will eventually drive the clan into the ground. You have no balance in your life, nothing to soften your hard edges. Therefore, if you wish to continue as the majority shareholder and CEO of the company I built from the ground up, I require you to have a woman at your side to teach you the importance of love and affection.”
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. His ears buzzed. He must be dreaming. Emmett Camden had taught Spencer everything he knew about business. His grandfather had been a cutthroat, driven, hyper-focused individual who worked seven days a week three hundred and sixty-five days a year. He’d taught his son, Pierce, to do the same, and both had passed that tradition to Spencer.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. That can’t possibly be right.”
“Your father worked himself to death.” His mother sniffled again. “I can completely understand why your grandfather wants you to have a wife. If your father had listened to me, he might still be here today.”
“Father had a weak constitution. Don’t blame yourself, Mother.”
“I don’t blame myself. I blame him for working so hard and not taking time to be with his family. If he had listened, he would still be here. I believe that in my heart of hearts.”
“Hard work is what built this clan,” Spencer objected.
“Hard work has to be balanced by love and family.” She touched his arm. “That’s what your grandfather believed.”
“I never heard the man say that once in his life.”
“He must have figured it out toward the end.” His mother dabbed at the tears in her eyes.
“How am I supposed to find a wife in thirty days?” Spencer barked.
“Technically, its only twenty-five days,” Winston said. “Your grandfather passed away five days ago.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous.”
“I might know something that could help,” his mother said.
“You’re going to find me a wife in twenty-five days?”
“I can’t. But the Billionaire Mate-Maker probably can.”
Chapter 2
Mina L’Amour scribbled down the order from table twenty-two and trudged on tired feet back to the kitchen window. She slipped the order sheet into the window and tapped the bell, alerting the cook.
“Order up.” The cook slid an order of Denver omelet and Belgian waffles onto the stainless-steel counter. Mina slipped the orders onto a tray and hurried back to table nineteen.
“One order of Denver omelet, light on the ham with a side of hash browns.” Mina set the white porcelain plate in front of the portly man in the LA Lakers T-shirt. “And one order of Belgian waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream with a side of bacon.” She placed the waffle in front of the woman with the blond bouffant hairstyle and thick layer of pink lipstick.
“Thank you,” they both said.
“Can I get you anything else? Coffee?”
“I’ll have another cup.” The woman sliced into her waffle.
“Coming right up.” Mina spun on her heel and strode back behind the counter. She grabbed the coffee pot and hurried to the table, filling the woman’s cup and the man’s without thinking.
“I didn’t want any coffee,” he barked, his mouth full of omelet.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, unsure why he was so angry.
She turned away from his glaring face and checked table twenty-two, asking them if they wanted coffee refills. She topped their porcelain cups and headed back to the counter to grab their orders.
“Did the man at nineteen just yell at you for filling up his coffee cup?” her friend Kayla asked.
“Yes. I’ve never had anyone do that before.”
“I have,” Kayla said. “I don’t know why. But every once in a while, somebody gets really bent out of shape when I fill their coffee cup.”
“Maybe it’s because they have the perfect proportion of sugar, cream, and coffee at exactly the right lukewarm temperature,” Mina posited.
“That must be it,” Kayla teased. “You’re a genius.”
“Tell that to all of the publishers who’ve rejected every single novel submission I’ve made since graduating,” Mina grumbled, pulling table nineteen’s plates onto a tray.
“It’s going to happen, Mina,” Kayla said. “You’re the best roma
nce writer I’ve ever read.”
“I’m the only romance writer you’ve ever read.”
“That doesn’t make any difference.” Kayla grabbed the coffee pot.
Mina snorted and rolled her eyes at her best friend and roommate. They had been working together at the café since Mina’s sophomore year. Kayla was a veterinary student with one year left in school, who spent her free time reading pet therapy manuals and volunteering at the Humane Society. As lovely, free-spirited, and fun as Kayla was, she wasn’t much of a romantic.
Kayla had read several of Mina’s manuscripts after pestering Mina to let her see what she was writing at night and on weekends instead of going out on dates. Kayla had wanted to know how Mina knew anything about romance when she’d never had any boyfriends.
Mina informed her best friend that she didn’t need to have boyfriends to understand love. It was more important to find that one special person. And she’d been waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for him until it became a bit embarrassing to wait anymore.
At twenty-two years old, Mina was convinced she was the only virgin to graduate from the University of Los Angeles in the last forty years. Not even Kayla knew that little tidbit, even though they shared everything else.
Mina took table twenty-two’s order to the booth in the corner by the window and slid the eggs sunny side up, hash browns, whole-wheat toast, and bacon breakfast in front of the mom and the orders of pancakes in front of her three young boys. The boys fought with the crayons the café provided for children, narrowly missing their water glasses.
