The Secret Billionaire, page 1
THE SECRET BILLIONAIRE
THE BALTIMORE BOYS
BOOK 4
SAMANTHA SKYE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Samantha Skye
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
ISBN 978-0-6457144-7-0 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-6457144-8-7 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-0-6459897-8-6 (Alternative Paperback)
Cover Design: Angela Haddon
Editor: Nice Girl Naughty Edits
Proofreading: Kimberly Dawn
Created with Vellum
CONTENT WARNING
My stories contain spice and suspense and as such they can contain scenes and information that maybe triggering to some people.
This book contains scenes that include;
Foster Care
Blackmail/Assault/Violence
CONTENTS
Chapter One - Katie Taylor
Chapter Two - Edward Rothschild
Chapter Three - Katie
Chapter Four - Eddie
Chapter Five - Katie
Chapter Six - Eddie
Chapter Seven - Katie
Chapter Eight - Eddie
Chapter Nine - Katie
Chapter Ten - Eddie
Chapter Eleven - Katie
Chapter Twelve - Eddie
Chapter Thirteen - Katie
Chapter Fourteen - Eddie
Chapter Fifteen - Katie
Chapter Sixteen - Eddie
Chapter Seventeen - Katie
Chapter Eighteen - Eddie
Chapter Nineteen - Katie
Chapter Twenty - Eddie
Chapter Twenty One - Katie
Chapter Twenty Two - Katie
Chapter Twenty Three - Katie
Chapter Twenty Four - Eddie
Chapter Twenty Five - Eddie
Chapter Twenty Six - Katie
Chapter Twenty Seven - Eddie
Chapter Twenty Eight - Katie
Chapter Twenty Nine - Eddie
Chapter Thirty - Katie
Chapter Thirty One - Eddie
Chapter Thirty Two - Katie
Chapter Thirty Three - Eddie
Chapter Thirty Four - Katie
Chapter Thirty Five - Eddie
Chapter Thirty Six - Katie
Chapter Thirty Seven - Eddie
Chapter Thirty Eight - Katie
Chapter Thirty Nine - Eddie
Chapter Forty - Katie
Chapter Forty One - Eddie
Chapter Forty Two - Katie
Chapter Forty Three - Eddie
Chapter Forty Four - Katie
Chapter Forty Five - Eddie
Chapter Forty Six - Katie
Chapter Forty Seven - Eddie
Epilogue - Katie
Also by Samantha Skye
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE - KATIE TAYLOR
Is this real? I must be dreaming. I pinch the skin on my inner forearm just to be sure.
“You have the bathroom right through here. Two large bedrooms and one with its own bathroom in here. The walls are soundproof, by the way…” Brian, my new building super and winner of friendliest person I have ever met award, murmurs to me, his eyebrows wiggling in a way that makes it hard not to laugh.
“There is a full kitchen and living room, and this island counter is fantastic for dinner parties.” He continues, and I try to remain serious, looking like I am used to this type of environment. Though I’m sure my awe is evident all over my face.
“Do you live on-site?” I ask, proud of myself for showing an interest. I usually keep to myself. It is safer that way. But I made a pact that when I moved, I would start fresh. A new Katie would be reborn. No one knows me here. I can be whoever I want to be.
“Ahh, I wish, babe,” he says, flopping on the sofa like this is his apartment. Is it unprofessional? I dare say yes, but I kind of like him already, so I sit on the armchair and take his tour as it comes.
“So, you know Doctor Wakeford?” My shoulders stiffen at the question. I’m not in the habit of sharing my life with outsiders. But I take a breath and step into the new me.
“Yes. We worked together,” I tell him honestly, my smile soft. That wasn’t so hard. Opening up a little at a time will hopefully make it easier. I touch my cell that sits in my pocket, eager to send a text to Dr. Wakeford, letting her know I have arrived and that her apartment is amazing.
My chest feels heavy, knowing that she did all this for me. A letter of recommendation. An apartment to live in for a year. All because she could see the ER in our busy Philadelphia hospital was not where I could shine my brightest. She wanted to give me a lift to try something she thought I would excel at. Who does that? She has literally been my guardian angel, and I don’t think I will ever be able to repay her. Not only for the apartment and career development opportunity, but for getting me out of Philly. She, of all people, knows what it is like when you are running from something. And unbeknownst to her, she has helped me run a little farther.
“Nice to have friends in high places. Keep her on your good side. All my friends are raving bitches half the time, but I love them nonetheless. Isn’t this view ah-mazing?” He jumps up from where he sits, continuing his tour as I try, once again, to keep from gaping at my surroundings. This is, without a doubt, the nicest place I have ever been in. Not just lived in, but actually stepped into. Fancy is not my life, and this apartment is Fancy with a capital F. To be honest, if my former boss, Dr. Wakeford, had told me this was how luxurious her apartment was, I wouldn’t have taken her up on the offer of letting me stay here. I am too scared to even sit on the sofa.
“It’s a beautiful apartment. How long have you worked here?” I ask, standing and walking to the window, positioning myself next to him. My eyes flick down, noticing the window locks and my shoulders automatically lower a little.
“Oh, a few years now. I love this building. I get to use the facilities, and the owner is great. Most of the tenants are nice. Although…” he says, leaning closer to me, his voice lowering. “The old guy in 2B can be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. You didn’t hear that from me.” He gives me a knowing smile, and I nod in understanding. I like that he seems to trust me.
“So, you moved here from Philly?” he asks as he spins around and heads toward the kitchen. The stiffness in my neck comes back, and I roll my shoulders to ease the ever-present tension.
I took the bus from Philly this morning, and although the trip was fine, finding my way from the bus depot downtown to this luxurious apartment on the waterside at Harbor East proved more challenging. Getting turned around multiple times and having to ask a stranger for directions did absolutely nothing to ease my anxiety. I clear my throat, feeling out of step again as I prepare to share more about myself.
“Yep. I needed a change of scenery… I wanted something new,” I tell him the truth. Well, most of it.
“I know all about that, honey. Bad breakup? Crazy boss? I lived in New York for years after a damaged heart had me sprinting here with my tail between my legs. So, I know all about fresh starts. You have come to the right place. Baltimore just feels good… Plus, I’m here, and I already know we are going to be best friends in no time.” He looks back out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the amazing view, missing my brows hitting my hairline.
“We are?” I have never had a best friend before. Not in the way most girls do. I never could.
“Absolutely. I can already tell. Your pink hair and tattoos are really my vibe. You give off this don’t-fuck-with-me energy, but you are a softie underneath it all.” My chest warms at that assessment, just as his cell phone chimes. “Hmmm, I need to run, the old guy in 2B has an issue. What did I tell you…” He taps my shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes. His tone and expression have a laugh bubbling up my throat.
“Well, I like your vibe as well,” I say, trying not to sound too awkward. How the hell does anyone make friends when you are an adult? I even had trouble as a kid, so my skills in this area are sadly lacking.
“Good. We need to do a movie night soon. This TV in here is huge. Here are the keys. As you know, there is no payment required. There is a welcome basket from the building owner on the kitchen counter for you as well.” Pausing for a second, his lips purse, like he might be forgetting something. “Oh! And here’s my card. Program my cell number into your phone so we can text later.” He hands over his business card, stopping his quick last glance around the space to look back at me.
“Keys, program your number into my cell, and welcome basket. Got it,” I say quickly, trying to tamp down the nervous energy strumming through my body. I feel like I have won the lottery. A new friend and a new apartment on day one. This is not like me at all.
“Do you have any other bags downstairs? We have this really old doorman working today, and my nails aren’t really the kind that can lift heavy suitcases, if you know what I mean?” Brian asks, flashing his very well-manicured fingers in my direction. I have never had a manicure, but now I really, really want one.
“No. That’s it,” I say with a smile, my eyes flicking to my bag near the front door. The only dirty thing in this entire apartment
“Seriously, when I left New York, I literally had the clothes on my back and that was it. Don’t worry, babe. I see a shopping trip in our future.” Giving me a wink, the tension yet again leaves my shoulders as my body starts to fill with more confidence. I might as well start acting like I deserve this level of luxury. I am going to be living here for the next twelve months.
“Okay then, I will let you get settled. I am downstairs most days at the concierge desk, so don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything, and… welcome to Baltimore!” he says, throwing his arms out wide like a game show host, showcasing the amazing view just outside the large wall of windows. His smile stretches a little wider before he gives me a nod and then walks out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
I blow out a breath and check the lock on the door, ensuring it works and it is securely locked. Then I tentatively sit on the edge of the sofa, taking it all in. A fully furnished, city high-rise apartment that screams high end, with every amenity I could possibly need and then some. In my entire twenty-four years on this earth, I have never seen such opulence.
With everything I need and more, it is a simple move in and move out kind of place. Somewhat similar to my life. But you can tell it is unlived in. While aesthetically stunning, it has that smell about it. It is a mix of cleaning products and emptiness. A smell I know too well.
My eyes rest on an art print on the wall. It is of the heart. An old-school doctor's drawing of sorts. Maybe something you would ordinarily see in a vintage textbook for an anatomy class. It is stunning. It highlights all the different parts of the organ, all of which I know by name. I have always been fascinated with the heart. The muscle that does so much work, gives so much life and love, yet it’s so easy to break.
Baltimore Hospital is known as one of the best for cardiology and is now my new place of employment starting Monday. I may not be able to mend a broken heart like a heart surgeon can, but as one of the best ward nurses around, I am highly skilled and ready for a challenge.
I stand and walk over to the large stainless-steel refrigerator, pulling open the double doors. The lights are bright, the interior stark white, each shelf empty. My stomach grumbles at just the thought of food, the chocolate bar I had on the bus doing nothing to appease my hunger. I need to find a nearby grocery store, preferably a cheap one.
Closing the refrigerator, I walk back to the windows. The water’s calm and peaceful, especially from this high up. There are fancy boats docked in the jetty and a few people walking along the boardwalk.
Plunk, plunk, plunk…
What is that? My body jolts, and my fight-or-flight kicks in immediately. On edge, I spin around from the amazing view, my eyes darting from side to side. Now that I have heard it, I can’t unhear it. A slow, almost silent thumping. Soothing yet totally annoying at the same time, just like the second hand on a wall clock. As I look around, I’m half expecting the noise to jump out at me.
Plunk, plunk, plunk.
I tentatively walk around the apartment, my head snapping from left to right, looking for clues as to what it might be. I didn’t hear it earlier when Brian was here, although he was talking almost nonstop, so there was no way this would have stood out. Following the noise to the kitchen, I open cupboards, check out the refrigerator again, and then open the dishwasher.
Plunk, plunk, plunk.
Frustration starts to dig into me until I spot it. The kitchen sink. The tap drips in a constant rhythm. I turn the tap tighter, hoping to cease the noise, but it is already tight. Hopefully, I somehow fixed it. But just as I slowly pull my hand away, the drips keep coming.
“Shit,” I say to no one other than myself. My eyes flick across the counter, which is bare, except for the nice basket left from the building. I could ring Brian, but I don’t want to be that annoying person who finds something wrong with their apartment on the first day. We got off to a good start. Finding a kitchen cloth in the cupboard, I place it at the bottom of the sink, something to block the drip of water against the stainless steel. Silence greets me.
My eyes flick around the apartment once more. The quietness now is almost deafening, so I put on music, which always gives me the strength I need to get through my to-do lists. I make quick work of unpacking my bag, then settle in with a small box of artisan cookies I found in the welcome basket. Ease and excitement fill me at my first night in a new city.
CHAPTER TWO - EDWARD ROTHSCHILD
If only my mother could see me now. Jeans and a workman's shirt. Boots and tools. A far cry from the suit-wearing Baltimore billionaire poster boy I am portrayed as being in the public eye.
“How did this break again?” I ask as I drill into the cupboard, wondering how the older gentleman in 2b was able to break it again.
“These things are not made as good as they used to be,” the man grumbles from beside me where he positioned himself the moment I arrived, directing me where to drill and how to fix the cupboard he broke. I am sure he will start to tell me all about how he had to walk to work in the snow because he had no fancy car back in his day, or how he had to handwrite letters instead of email or text messages because cell phones were not yet invented when he was young.
“They sure aren’t, sir,” I reply through gritted teeth as I test the door. It now moves perfectly and closes snugly. There is no question that it broke under stress. These things are European, and they don’t break so easily. Our whole building is made of high-quality fittings and fixtures, everything of the highest standard. From our staff to our amenities to our fit-out and our location. This building is one of the best in the entire city. And it's mine.
My eyes flick to the tenant, who now moves across the kitchen as I pack up my tools, and I see him lean against the cupboard door that is open on the other side of the space. The penny drops.
“Maybe don’t lean on the door like that. They may be tough, but I don’t think that they’re made to hold our weight,” I offer, hoping I don’t offend, but seriously, this old guy should know better.
“Oh,” is all he says as he waves me off before closing the door and moving around to wipe down the counter.
As I clean up the mess I made and start packing my tools away, I huff a small laugh. My parents paid thousands of dollars in private school fees and sent me to one of the top universities in the country, and while I did graduate with a degree in International Relations, I prefer to work with my hands over my brain whenever I can.
“Don’t forget to tell the super that this is the third time this thing has broken. If it breaks again, I will have to contact the building owner to complain.”
“I will be sure to let him know.” I nod and smile tightly, keeping my head low so he doesn’t get a good look at me. Not that he would expect a Rothschild to be fixing his cupboard, but my poor disguise hides very little.
“Tell him I know Edward Rothschild personally. I have his number, and I will call him if the maintenance you provide is not professionally done.” He continues with his light threat, pointing a finger at me. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent the laugh from slipping as I pull my cap down on my head. He doesn’t know me, nor does he have my number. I don’t give my number to anyone. My brothers and my assistant, but that's about it.
Privacy for us Rothschild brothers is paramount. Our lives are played out so publicly most of the time that anything we can scurry away for ourselves, we do. I am happiest when we are just hanging out, or on the golf course, away from prying eyes. Because that’s where I get to just be me. That’s maybe why I enjoy secretly working with tools on the weekends. Teaching myself a trade. It allows me to just be, without the weight of Baltimore society on my shoulders, along with the heaped expectations from my mother.
