Baby and the Billionaire, page 1
Baby and the Billionaire
Beverly Evans
Copyright © 2019 by Beverly Evans
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Description
A knight in shining armor?
Yeah, that only exists in fairy tales.
That is til the unexpected happened…
Tall, dark, beautiful, and beyond intense.
Gavin Hall, the sexy hunk that kept me safe.
I gave him my v-card for Valentine's.
He left the next day.
I thought I'd never see him again.
But then I found out some big NEWS!
Scandals, mystery, and a baby brought us back together.
But the dangers from the past threaten to destroy us.
Will we be able to solve the mystery behind it all?
Or will we be forever haunted by that one night?
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Prologue
Scarlett
I can’t breathe.
No matter how much I try to convince my lungs to draw in enough air, it won’t go in.
My throat aches. The tension moves down through my chest and into my stomach. A sharp stinging in my eyes makes it harder to focus on what short distance in front of me I can see. I don’t know if it’s tears or the cold wind beating against them.
The wind smells like October. Dry cornstalks and rain-dampened earth richen breaths made sharp by the edge of leaves burning somewhere in the distance. That smell is getting stronger. It sparks panic in my heart. That means I’m running toward the open land, not closer to town. It’s too dark to see much around me. Thin gray clouds stretch across the sky, blotting out the starlight and most of the moon, making it hard to see even a few feet in front of me. It doesn’t matter. I have to keep running.
Whoever is behind me is getting closer. The soft ground under my feet is slippery. I’m struggling to stay on my feet. When I darted into the darkness away from the maze, I thought it was in the direction of the town. It should have brought me to the other people still lingering around the haunted houses and hayrides. If I could have just gotten to them, I’d be safe.
Instead, I’m running into nothingness. The man behind me has better control over the slippery grass. I don’t know how much time has passed exactly since I saw the knife. It’s like I’ve been running for hours. By now, I’ve left the farmland and have gone beyond the barrier to the Ferris land that surrounds all of Shadow Creek. That isn’t comforting. If anything, it means I’m more alone.
There are only three houses on the Ferris land, and they aren’t anywhere near this section. I’m running into pitch blackness across sprawling land. All around me is nothing but trees, ancient broken-down fences in overgrown corrals, and winding paths. People other than the Ferris family rarely go on this land. It’s been owned by the family for generations and isn’t used by the public.
Which means I don’t know where I am. Or where I’m going. But I can hear ragged breath behind me. All I can do is run.
The man saw me. He looked up right at me. He was hovering over the other man crumpled on the ground. The dim light from sparse bare Edison bulbs, strung from unfinished wooden beams, was still enough illumination for me to see the blood. So much blood. That means he could see me. He knows my face. My eyes. He can see me now as I try to get away from him.
Another sound breaks through the hammering of my heart beating in my ears. It’s faint, but it’s there. Music. There’s someone in the distance. The promise of getting to other people is enough to make me run faster. I can’t tell exactly where the music is, but ahead of me, I see the black outline of a cluster of trees. It’s not much, but it’s a place to hide.
I make a break for it, ducking into the trees, hiding behind a towering oak. My entire body is shaking with terror. I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop from screaming and crouch down into the shadows. The man follows behind. His footsteps come to within feet of me. I fight to keep my breath quiet, so he doesn’t hear me. With every step, he gets closer. With every step, I see a flash of him. The shadows. The knife. The blood.
So much blood.
When the crunching of leaves under his feet gets softer and disappears back into the grass, I break away from the tree. Weaving through the trunks and willing my feet not to catch on any roots, I take off at a run, pushing toward the other side of the trees. As soon as I break through into the open field beyond, my scream bursts out of my lungs again.
My heart is hammering in my chest as sheer panic overtakes me. I have to get out of here. I have to.
I’ve gone a few more yards when a dark figure appears in the corner of my vision. Trying to weave out of the way does nothing. His hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me toward him. My body crashes into a hard, muscular chest. Strong arms wrap around me. I look up and see intense dark eyes staring back.
Chapter One
Scarlett
Two days earlier…
In a pinch, a fun size Twix bar makes a fantastic projectile. Sylvia presses her hand against her temple and stares down at the offending candy bar with an open mouth.
“What the hell is that?” she asks.
“I think it was the right one,” I tell her. “But I don't really have a sophisticated enough palate to be able to differentiate between the left and the right Twix.”
“Well, it most certainly hit me in the right temple.”
“If you would put down your phone and help me get this place ready, I wouldn't have to resort to such appalling violence,” I shrug. “What are you looking at, anyway?”
I've been trying to prepare a house that just hit the market for its first showing for the last 2 hours. Despite the fact that she is supposed to be helping, Sylvia has been absorbed in her sleek lavender phone since she arrived. The most she's managed is to poke a plastic spider around on the kitchen counter a few inches. Part of that probably came from thinking it was real.
“This new dating app I've been trying,” she sighs.
I roll my eyes, straightening a pumpkin themed hand towel over the bar of the oven door.
“Not again, Sylvia. Didn't you learn your lesson last time?”
“What do you mean by that?” she asks.
I gape at her.
“He showed up with his mother.” I can’t believe I have to say it out loud.
“So, his mother gave him a ride. What's the big deal about that?”
“She asked if she could join you, and then you shared the dinner-for-two with her,” I point out. “Then she wouldn't let him stay for dessert because it was too late but promised she would make him an ice cream sundae when they got home.”
Sylvia shifts around on the stool at the breakfast bar and goes back to flipping through the images on her screen.
“I'm just not as judgmental of people as you are,” she finally says. “Multi-generational living is perfectly normal in most cultures. I find it charming.”
“I don't have an issue with multi-generational living.” I throw up my hands in frustration. “I have an issue with a grown man who rides in the center of the back seat because his mother says it’s the safest place for children. But let’s not even talk about him. Why don’t we talk about the one who showed up for your first date with a wedding dress in his car? Or maybe the one who introduced you to his brother, and said if things didn’t work out between the two of you, the brother would like to try you on for size? How about the one who asked you to wear specific clothes so just in case somebody saw you while you were out, they would mistake you for his wife?”
Sylvia lets out a sigh.
“You’ve made your point,” she says.
She flips through a few more images.
“Did I?” I ask.
“Just look at this guy,” she says, almost desperately. “He's perfect.”
“Which means there's at least seventy-five things wrong with him,” I tell her. “Come on. Shut it down. You don't need an e-mail-order boyfriend.”
“Because Shadow Creek has such a hip and happ
“Because you're a catch and you'll find somebody who's lucky to have you. Though, you might want to reconsider your use of the phrase ‘hip and happening’ in the first few dates.”
She lobs the candy bar back at me, and I laugh, swatting it away.
“Yeah, you call me a catch, but you're over here continuing on with your ‘Scarlett's catch and release’ program.”
Adjusting the position of a cream-colored teapot with hand-painted details that match the hand towel hanging from the oven, I shake my head.
“We're not talking about me,” I say. “I'm not the one with a somewhat disconcerting attachment to my cell phone.”
“You don't have to have one,” Sylvia points out. “Men creep out of the woodwork at you, and you go through them like paper plates. How long did this most recent one last?”
“Three… weeks?” I guess, with a half shrug.
The kitchen is finished, so I move on to the living room. A box of decorations sits on the area rug beneath a dark mahogany finished coffee table. Settling onto my knees beside it, I take out a garland of artificial autumn leaves.
“And what was it about this one that didn't even warrant a whole month?” she asks.
“All he was interested in was a thorough personal tour of my bedroom,” I told her.
The gold, red, and orange of the leaves stand out beautifully against the high shine of the wood as I drape them along the table. A large curved glass hurricane with a flickering battery-operated candle finishes the centerpiece.
“Have you ever considered allowing any of them that particular add-on experience?”
Letting out a heavy sigh, I cross the room to the large French doors that lead out onto an impressive Greystone patio. Standing on the tips of my toes gets me just tall enough to take down the curtain rod over the doors. The second part swings down toward me, and Sylvia rushes up to catch it before it hits me.
“No,” I answer simply. But I know that's not good enough to satisfy her. “I'm looking for adventure and excitement. I want to actually get out there and live my life.”
“You know, most people consider having a sex life part of living.”
I flash a glare at her as I sit on the couch positioned across from the coffee table and unscrew the cap from the end of the curtain rod.
“Yes, I'm aware. It's not that I have anything against it. I just haven't found anyone that I've had that kind of connection with. I don't want to just hop into bed with somebody because it's something to do. Once I find somebody I feel that way about, it'll happen. Until then, I keep finding adventures and selling houses, which is exactly what I'm supposed to be getting ready for now.”
Sylvia nods and rolls her eyes.
“I've got it, I've got it,” she says. She grabs another bag of decorations and heads to another corner of the room to start hanging them. “We'll call a moratorium on the dating talk for now.”
"Agreed. I have a showing at that other house across town in less than two hours, so I've got to get this one finished." I dig through the box at the end of the table but don't see the bag I need. "Can you look and see if you have a big zipper bag with your decorations?"
My best friend digs through the decorations at her feet and comes up with the bag. She tosses it to me, and I snatch it out of the air.
"Thanks," I say.
"What is that?" she asks, winding another leaf garland around the banister.
"Cinnamon and cloves," I explain, opening the bag. "I put them in the curtain rod. It puts just a tiny bit of scent out into the air. Not enough to be overwhelming, but enough to create the impression of fall."
Sylvia shakes her head.
"You are amazing, you know?"
"Just good at my job. I know how to make people come into a house and see their future home."
I finish adjusting the ceramic jack o’ lantern onto the mantle and subtly shift the logs in the fireplace below, so it looks ready to burst into a cheery fire. I grin, pleased with myself.
"That's true, but don't you think the Halloween decorations are a little ambitious?"
I look around at the jack o’ lantern on the mantle, the fake cobwebs adorning the corners, and the cauldron of candy perched on the kitchen counter.
"Maybe for other real estate agents, but not for me. I've already had calls about this place. It will be snatched up by Halloween." Sylvia rolls her eyes at the massive grin that stretches across my face. "Speaking of which. Are you getting excited?"
"Yes, but not as excited as you." She finishes twisting tiny clear fairy lights into the leaves on the bannister and flips the switch on the wire to test them. "Of course, no one is ever as excited about Halloween as you are."
My grin creeps a little wider. It's true. I live for Halloween. Rudolph, Cupid, and all the others can go suck a sugarplum. October is the most wonderful time of the year.
"And this year is going to be particularly spooktacular," I announce.
"Did you just use the word 'spooktacular' in a conversation?"
"I stand by it. The haunted houses open in two days. I can't wait."
"And I'm sure you're going to want to go through every one of them," Sylvia mutters.
I treasure her, and she does her best to be enthusiastic, but my best friend doesn't quite share my devotion to Halloween. That won't stop her from trying to do all the attractions. They're her personal Everest.
"Absolutely. And the new corn maze."
She groans.
"I forgot about that. Do you think it's going to be one of those ones with the people who jump out at you with chainsaws?"
"Isn't that the point?" I laugh. "Come on. Let's finish this and get a fast lunch. I'm starving."
We put the final touches on the house, and I lock it up. Hanging a Halloween flag just outside the door, I sigh and look into the distance where a dark shape looms over the town. The massive old mansion sits on the only elevated area near Shadow Creek.
"Still lusting after the McVey mansion?" Sylvia asks.
"Always," I nod. "That's my dream. I want to be the agent who sells that house. But in order for that to happen, it has to actually be put on the market. And that's not happening."
"The owner still hasn't shown up?"
"No," I tell her as we make our way down the sidewalk toward my car. "It's been years since anyone's seen him or heard from him. Maybe next year."
"Why do you say that?"
I dip into my car and slip on sunglasses to block out the intense October sunlight.
"Fun little trick of Shadow Creek law," I say. "A throwback from early settlement days. If a house goes unused and the owner is unaccounted for, for more than three years, the property reverts to the town and can be sold. That three years is up next year."
"The McVeys were here three years ago? I thought it had been longer than that," Sylvia says incredulously.
"I don't think any of them were actually here," I explain, "but the owner arranged for a new company to manage upkeep on the property. That was apparently enough to count, but they haven't made any other personal contact since."
"And the second that three-year mark hits, you're going to jump on the listing."
"Faster than a Mexican jumping bean eager to be a burrito," I reply.
Sylvia gives a slow nod as she hooks her seatbelt.
"Tasteless and inaccurate. That's a good combination," she chuckles.
I pull away from the curb and head into the town.
"I try. What do you want for lunch?" I ask.
"Tacos," she replies before the question is all the way out of my mouth.
