The Billion Dollar Pact

About the Author

SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, bestselling author. She writes a variety of romance novels for Mills & Boon and is known for incorporating Native American elements into her stories. She has two grown children who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She lives in California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. Sheri loves to hear from her readers at www.sheriwhitefeather.com

The Billion Dollar Pact

Waking Up with the Boss

Single Mum, Billionaire Boss

Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09592-1

THE BILLION DOLLAR PACT

Waking Up With The Boss © 2016 Sheree Henry-WhiteFeather Single Mum, Billionaire Boss © 2017 Sheree Henry-WhiteFeather Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride © 2017 Sheree Henry-WhiteFeather

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Waking Up with the Boss

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Single Mum, Billionaire Boss

Back Cover Text

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride

Back Cover Text

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

About the Publisher

Waking Up with the Boss

Sheri WhiteFeather

One

Carol Lawrence stood in her boss’s luxurious high-rise office, with a zillion things running through her mind. Being Jake Waters’s personal assistant was a demanding job, with most of her duties centered on organizing his social life. No doubt about it, the jet-setting real estate mogul kept her on her toes. Not only did he travel for work, purchasing properties all over the globe, he was the consummate party boy, dashing off to exotic locations with models and actresses and whoever else struck his rich-guy fancy.

Jake sat on the corner of his desk and flung his jacket over his unused chair. As always, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing the colorful tattoos on his arms, and his dark brown hair was in sexy disarray. With his disheveled good looks and need for speed, he reminded her of James Dean, except that Jake was half-Choctaw, his mixed-blood heritage lending his features an uncommon beauty.

He certainly wasn’t the type of man she should be attracted to. He was too wild for a practical girl like her. Carol spent her free time on a nice, quiet quilting hobby, whereas Jake raced sports cars as his outlet. To her that seemed like an especially reckless thing for him to do, given that his entire family had been killed in a car crash, sending him into foster care as a child. Carol had also lost her family and become a foster kid, as well. But they didn’t know each other back then, and the tragedies they’d both suffered didn’t make for good bedfellows.

Still, she often wondered what taming a man like Jake would involve. Yeah, right. If the glamorous beauties he dated couldn’t pin him down, then a simple gal with tidy blond hair and a sensible nature would never fit the bill. Jake was a thirty-one-year-old billionaire who’d even made some crazy internet “Beefcake Bachelor” list as one of the sexiest single men in Southern California. Women chased him with a vengeance. Of course, some of them kept trying to fix him, with the assumption that he was damaged from the loss of his family, using his free-spirited lifestyle to hide the pain. Carol didn’t doubt that was true. She knew the anguish that being orphaned could cause. But her coping mechanism was much gentler than his. Someday she longed to get married and have children of her own, recapturing the home and hearth she’d lost.

Jake glanced up and caught her gaze, and a fluttery sensation erupted in her stomach, something that happened far too often when she was in his presence.

Determined to maintain her composure, Carol focused on her job. “So,” she said, “are you going to attend Lena’s birthday celebration?” Lena was a pop star with a penchant for partying who ran in the same live-for-the-moment circle as Jake.

“Damn straight I’m going to go. She’s my bud. I wouldn’t miss her thirtieth bash.” He laughed a little. “She’ll probably be half-naked and dancing on tabletops.”

“No doubt.” Lena was known for her antics. Carol was the same age as Lena, but she couldn’t imagine behaving that way. “Who will be attending the party with you?”

“Now that’s where I’m having a bit of a problem. I don’t have a date.”

“I thought you were seeing Susanne Monroe.” A long, leggy brunette who was recently divorced from a famous baseball player. Carol had seen her strutting around the office a few times in her tight-as-sin dresses, her stilettos clicking as she walked.

“We’re not together anymore.”

It was over already? “Who ended it?”

“She did.” He shrugged off the breakup. “But I was just a rebound for her, anyway.”

Carol shook her head, then glanced out the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, where a view of Wilshire Boulevard, with its busy Los Angeles cityscape, was spread out before them. She’d worked for Jake for two years, but she still hadn’t gotten used to the parade of women who came in and out of his life.

She turned back to face him. “I’m sure you’ll find a date for Lena’s soiree. But for now, do you want me to RSVP for you and a plus-one? And notify your pilot to be on standby for that weekend?” The party was being held on a private island in the southeastern Caribbean Sea. Lena was pulling out all the stops, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

“Yeah. Thanks. It’s a couples-only theme, so I’m going to have to bring someone. Lena’s latest song is called ‘Couples Only,’ and she always creates parties around her songs.” Jake paused, then looked at Carol as if he’d just solved a strange little puzzle. “Here’s an idea. You can be my plus-one. That would save me the trouble of finding another companion, and it would give you a great getaway.”

Oh, my God. Carol white-knuckled her iPad, holding it against her chest. He was suggesting that she fly off to a tropical island to drink and dance and be merry with him? Sure, she traveled with him when it was necessary, but she’d never been expected to fill in as one of his dates. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am. Or I wouldn’t have said it.”

“But I’m not part of your crowd. I wouldn’t fit in.”

“Yes, you would. You already know a lot of them.”

“I know them in a professional sense.”

“So now you can socialize with them, too.”

The nervous sensation in her stomach swirled. “I can’t.” There was no way she could spend a weekend with Jake and his friends. “And with you being my employer, it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Really, Carol? You’re going to use that as an excuse? I’m not proposing that we have a mad, passionate affair. The couples-only theme doesn’t mean that we have to be a real couple. It’s just a party.”

“On a private island,” she defended herself. “And I didn’t think you were proposing anything.” She knew better than to assume he was interested in her, and even if by some off chance he was, she wasn’t foolish enough to jeopardize her job over it. “It doesn’t seem right for us to go away together. It would be different if it was a business trip.”

“So we’ll call it a business trip.”

Who was he trying to kid? “A party hosted by Lena Kent is more like monkey business.”

He laughed. “That’s true. But Lena isn’t that bad. She donates a lot of money to my charity.”

“I know how generous she is.” Carol also knew how important the nonprofit organization he and his foster brothers had founded was to him. “But this isn’t a charity gig. It’s one of her nutty parties.”

“Yeah, but just think of what a smashing time you’ll have, sipping the most expensive champagne in the world and eating the most delicious food imaginable. Not to mention lounging around in your bathing suit, with the sea at your beck and call. We’ll probably go crabbing, too. I’ll bet you’ve never done that before.” He stood, coming to his full height. “This would give you the opportunity to expand your horizons and experience new things. It’s crazy how reluctant you are to let down your guard and have a good time.”

“I’m not afraid of enjoying myself.” She wasn’t the bore he was making her out to be. “I hang out with my girlfriends. I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while, but I go on online dates.” So far none of them had worked out, but she was still trying to meet someone. “I’m just cautious, that’s all.”

“Of what? People like me? Come on, Miss Proper Employee, spend a recreational weekend with your big, bad boss and his spoiled band of misfits.”

“Are you actually daring me?”

“Hell, yes.” He poured on the charm, being as insistent as ever. “So what do you say? Are you game?”

She wished that his foster brothers were going to be there. She felt safe around Garrett and Max, with how cautious they always seemed, preferring to lead more private lives. They’d grown up with Jake in the same foster home and remained as close to him as anyone could be. But they didn’t socialize with Jake’s party crowd.

He moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, just do it. Jump headfirst and see where you land.”

Carol squeezed her eyes shut, as if she really were diving off a cliff. One...two...three. She counted the breaths that left her lungs, then opened her eyes and looked straight into his, intending to decline the invitation. But somewhere in the insanity of the moment, of standing just inches from him, of absorbing the warmth of his touch, she heard herself say, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll go with you.”

“That’s my girl.” Jake removed his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, leaving a silent gap between them.

Heaven help her. Had she actually agreed to this?

A sense of panic hit her, in more ways than one. Not only was she going to be stranded on a tropical island with her big, bad boss and his spoiled band of misfits, she was going to have to fuss over her clothes.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear to the party,” she said. She wore professional ensembles to work and comfy threads on her days off, but this was a whole other ball game.

He waved away her concern. “Just call Millie and have her bring a bunch of stuff to your house. Then pick whatever you want and have her bill me for it.”

Millie was his stylist, a woman who also worked with celebrity clients. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to afford this type of couture on your own.” He shot her a playful grin. “I’d have to give you a ridiculously huge raise.”

She returned his smile. “Heaven forbid.” In actuality, he already paid her a generous salary. But if he said the clothes were out of her price range, then she believed him. “I’ll call her later today and see what her schedule is like.” The party was less than a month away, and Carol wanted to be prepared. She never did anything last minute. “At least Millie already knows that I’m not a model or actress or Beverly Hills type. I could never wear anything straight off the runway. I have too much meat on my bones.”

Automatically, his gaze traveled the length of her. “There’s nothing wrong with having curves.”

She could have kicked herself for drawing his attention to her shape. “I didn’t mean it that way.” She’d already learned to accept her fuller figure and stop trying to be skinnier than her body type allowed.

He kept checking her out, not overtly, but still looking, still being a guy. “Be sure to tell Millie to include beachwear,” he said. “Just so you’ll have a complete weekend wardrobe.”

“That’s fine.” At this point, Carol wanted to hightail it out of his office. But she couldn’t run off without wrapping things up. She hurriedly asked, “What sort of accommodations do they have on the island?”

“It’s a mansion that Lena is renting. There are caretakers who live on the property, but she’ll be hiring a full staff to run it like a hotel while we’re there. When you RSVP, make sure to let her assistant know that we need two rooms. Otherwise, he’ll assume that my plus-one will be staying with me.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll take care of it.” After a beat of anxious energy, she said, “I better get back to work.”

“You are working.”

“I meant on something other than the arrangements for Lena’s party. You have other commitments besides that.” His calendar was filled with business dinners and charity events and city council meetings.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re good at keeping me organized.”

“I’m just doing my job.” But even so, this discussion seemed oddly personal. She hoped that she wasn’t making a mistake by going to the Caribbean with him. How was she going sit beside him on the beach, wearing nothing but a swimsuit?

Just as she thought about the part of their trip when they’d be scantily clad, the sun shifted in the sky and the light from the windows spilled into the room, brighter than before.

He stood there for a moment, in the afternoon glare, looking as gorgeous as ever, before he picked up the remote from his desk and closed the blinds.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said, telling herself not to worry, even if she could feel him watching her, much too closely, as she walked out the door.

* * *

Jake pulled his Gullwing Mercedes coupe, one of the many classic sports cars in his collection, into a guest parking spot at Carol’s apartment. He didn’t believe in letting his cars sit around, all pretty and polished and untouched. It didn’t matter how rare or pricey they were, he drove the hell out of them. He treated women with the same reverence and vigor. But Carol wasn’t his lover, and he had no business being here. Still, he’d decided to stop by because he knew that she was meeting with the stylist today. He figured the appointment was over by now. Of course, he’d timed it that way on purpose. He was curious to see what Carol had chosen.

He was curious about all sorts of things about her. Jake had been having some crazy fantasies about his assistant.

Carol was a fascinating woman, with a sinful body and modest values. An enigma, if there ever was one. And damn if her good-girl nature didn’t turn him on. It was weird, too, because proper girls weren’t his usual type. He’d never had the urge to pull someone into the fray, not the way he was doing with her.

Maybe it was because they shared similar backgrounds. Maybe that was why he was daring her to let down her guard and have a good time. Whatever the reason, he needed to curb his desire. He couldn’t seduce her when they were on their trip. He absolutely, positively couldn’t, no matter how tempting the thought was. Jake knew better than to cross that line with a woman who worked for him. Besides, she prided herself on being well-behaved and corrupting her would be wrong.

He glanced toward Carol’s apartment. He’d never actually been inside her place before; he didn’t make a habit of visiting his employees at their homes. He did own this building, though. It was one of his favorite properties. He gave her a discount on the rent, a perk that came with her job. But regardless of the deal they’d worked out, he wasn’t her landlord, at least not directly. A management company ran the day-to-day operations and collected the rent.

Jake got out of the car and strode to Carol’s door. She lived in a unit on the ground floor surrounded by foliage. Built in the 1930s, the complex boasted Spanish-style architecture and was within walking distance to restaurants, shopping centers and farmers’ markets.

He rang the bell, and she answered the summons with a surprised expression.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

“I just thought I’d check on how the fashion meeting unfolded.” He gestured jokingly to his ensemble. “Not that I’m the epitome of style today.” He was attired in a plain white T-shirt, jeans and scuffed leather boots. “These are snazzy, though.” He removed his sunglasses. They were the pair she’d given him last Christmas, similar to the kind James Dean used to wear. They were even trademarked with the actor’s name.

She looked him over. “In that getup, you really could be him.”

“Oh, sure.” He mocked the comparison, even if he was flattered by it. “Maybe I should get a Porsche like his, the one he smashed himself up in.”

She sucked in her breath, as if the wind had just been knocked out of her. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I was just goofing around.” And being stupid, he supposed. He should’ve known that she wouldn’t think his comment was funny. “It was a great car, a 550 Spyder that he was driving on his way to a race. That’s a pretty good reason for me to get one.”

She stared at him, unmoving, unblinking. “I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, trying to ease the tension.

“Are you going to invite me in to see your clothes?” For now, she was wearing shorts and a loose-fitting khaki shirt, with her strawberry blond hair fastened into a ponytail at her nape. He imagined undoing the clip and running his hands through it. She had the silkiest-looking hair, with each piece always falling into place. Not that he should be thinking about messing up her hair. He was supposed to be keeping those types of thoughts in check.

“Yes, come on in.” She stepped back to allow him entrance. The brightly lit interior featured hardwood floors and attractive window treatments. She’d decorated with art deco furnishings from the era of the building, mixed with crafty doodads. He noticed a patchwork quilt draped over the sofa. He knew she liked to sew. Sometimes she gave the quilts she made to the other women in the office, for birthdays and whatnot.

“You’ve done a nice job with the place,” he said.

“Thank you.” She had yet to relax. She still seemed bothered by what he’d said earlier.

Now he wished he could take it back. Not his interest in the Porsche, but the way he’d joked about it. He hooked his sunglasses into the V of his shirt, and she frowned at him.

“Do you race cars because you have a death wish?” she asked, rather pointedly.

Cripes, he thought. She had it all wrong. “I do it to feel alive.” Everything he did was for that reason. “I don’t want to look back and regret anything.”

“I hope that’s the case.”

“Believe me, it is.” After waiting for the smoke to clear, he gestured to the quilt. “When I was a kid, we had one sort of like that hanging on our living room wall that my paternal grandmother made.”

Carol inched closer to him. “You did?”

He nodded. “She died before I was born, but the design was associated with her clan.”

“Do you still have it, tucked away somewhere?”

He shook his head. “It disappeared when I went into foster care. It was sold, I suppose. Or given away, or whatever else happened to my family’s belongings.” He glanced at the fireplace mantel, where he spotted a framed photograph of what he assumed was her family: three towheaded girls and a forty-something mom and dad, posing in a park.

He picked up the picture and quietly asked, “Are you in this?”

“Yes,” she replied, just as softly. “I’m the older sister. I was about ten there.”