The Billionaire Escape Plan E-Book

Ember Casey

• Herausgeber: Ember Casey
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Most girls dream of marrying a billionaire.

Me? I’d rather make fun of one. Especially if the billionaire in question is Alexander Grant.

Excuse me— Xander Grant. That’s right—the mega-hot entrepreneur who seems to top every magazine’s “Rich Eligible Bachelors” list these days.

To me, he’ll always be Alex—my childhood best friend. The guy who joined me on all sorts of wild teenage misadventures. The only person in our small town who understood me.

It’s been four years since I’ve seen Alex. But suddenly he’s back in our town at the exact same time my life is imploding around me.

We’ve both changed so much—I mean, the guy used to live in ripped jeans, and now he wears nothing but designer suits—but when I need it most, he offers me exactly the escape I need. A chance to run away from my life, if only for a few days.

I only hope my heart is prepared.

Leseprobe

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Books by Ember

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

Epilogue

Excerpt

Books by Ember

About the Author

THE BILLIONAIRE

ESCAPE PLAN

A Romantic Comedy

EMBER CASEY

Copyright ©2016 Ember Casey

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover images used under license from Depositphotos, Inc.

You can contact Ember at [email protected].

Website: http://embercasey.com.

BOOKS BY EMBER CASEY

STANDALONE NOVELS

The Billionaire Escape Plan

THE FONTAINES

The Secret to Seduction

The Sweet Taste of Sin

The Lies Between the Lines

The Mystery of You

The Thrill of Temptation

THE CUNNINGHAM FAMILY

His Wicked Games

Truth or Dare

Sweet Victory

Her Wicked Heart

Take You Away

Lost and Found

Completely (short story)

Their Wicked Wedding

A Cunningham Christmas

Their Wicked Forever

ROYAL HEARTBREAKERS

Royal HeartbreakerRoyal Mistake

Royal Arrangement

Royal Disaster

Royal Escape

THE DEVIL’S SET

Claiming His Treasure

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CHAPTER ONE

Most girls dream of marrying a billionaire.

Me? I’d rather make fun of one. Especially if the billionaire in question is Alexander Grant.

Excuse me—Xander Grant. That’s right—the “mega-hot” entrepreneur who’s appeared on both Modern Startup Monthly’s “Richest Innovators Under 35” list and Celebrity Spark Magazine’s “Hottest Eligible Bachelors” list in the last year.

To me? He’s still the guy who once ran naked down Main Street with “Free the Goats!” painted across his butt cheeks. My partner in crime until we went off to separate colleges and he and his buddy went on to sell the dating website they designed for a cool twenty-three million dollars. Practically overnight, he became known as one of the hottest young entrepreneurs in the country—a far cry from the guy I knew with the overlong hair and the weird obsession with dinosaurs.

Alex and I have seen each other a handful of times since his first big deal—his mom has always tried to badger him into coming home for holidays—but as the years have crept by, he’s come back to Haverton less often. Apparently being a big-shot billionaire keeps you busy. We’ve kept in touch by email and phone, of course—I mean, someone has to remind him how ridiculous he looks in those suits he wears now—but today will be the first time in almost four years that we’ll be face to face. I can’t friggin’ wait.

“Norah is about to throw a fit,” my mom says as she puts her famous potato salad on the picnic table. “Alexander is late.” She’s wearing her dress with the giant blue flowers, the one she always wears for our neighborhood gatherings because it matches her favorite hat with the silk roses.

“He’s driving in from New York,” I remind her. “He wouldn’t miss his mom’s birthday. He probably just hit some traffic.”

Norah Grant’s birthday party is always one of the biggest events of the year—Norah is a member of the town council, and her husband is principal of the local high school, which means they’re friends with everyone. Half the town shows up on their lawn whenever they have a party, and most people dress like it’s Easter Sunday or something, all bright dresses and pearls and ridiculous matching hats. If our little town of Haverton were big enough to have a society, then this would be one of the main events of the season. Honestly, Norah’s parties are just fancy, glorified barbecues that give all the town ladies the excuse to dress like rainbow-colored chickens—but damn, if her husband doesn’t make the best burgers I’ve ever tasted.

“Alex wanted to fly his parents into the city,” my mom continues. “But Norah insisted that he come here. He hasn’t been back home in almost four years, you know.”

I smile as I straighten the punch bowl. “Don’t worry. He’ll be here, Mom.” I hope. As much as I love the food at the Grants’ parties—the only thing that comes close in deliciousness to Luke Grant’s burgers are those cream-filled donuts down at the diner, the ones with the fudgy glaze—this isn’t exactly my crowd. I mean, I don’t even own a fancy hat, despite my mom’s many attempts to buy me one. I’m afraid that the moment I give in, the moment I put one of those ribboned and bedazzled monstrosities on my head, I’ve committed myself to a future as a Haverton busybody. I swear—the moment a Haverton woman puts on a big hat, she’s suddenly convinced that everyone else’s business is her own.

My mom seems to take my word about Alex, at least. She nods and glances over her shoulder, back toward the street. “Speaking of late arrivals, Mae—where’s Wes? I told you Norah said you should invite him, didn’t I?”

“I…” Shit. I was secretly hoping she would magically forget about Wes—God knows I’m trying to. But while I’m desperately trying to think of a believable excuse, my mom has already switched gears again.

“Oh, did I tell you I saw Alexander on TV again earlier this week?” she says, her eyes bright as she turns back to me. “I just can’t get over how dashing he looks now!”

I snort a laugh. “I think the word you’re looking for is goofy. Or maybe stuffy.”

She bats at my arm with mock admonishment. “Maebel! That’s a terrible thing to say. I think he looks quite striking. You know, Norah says he gets all of his suits custom made. Can you imagine?” You can tell she thinks I’m being ridiculous because she’s called me by my full name—a name that, in my opinion, should never be used on anyone under the age of approximately ninety-seven.

I grin and bite my tongue. I remember asking Alex once how much one of those suits cost—my mom would have an aneurysm if I told her the price. I still have trouble believing the Alex I knew would ever spend that much on business wear. The Alex I knew once wore the same pair of socks for twenty-two days because he thought they were lucky. And he complained for weeks when he had to wear a tux in his cousin’s wedding. But fancy-pants Xander has a reputation to protect, apparently.

“He’s so well-spoken,” my mom goes on. “He was talking about some company he’s building or something. I wish I’d thought to record it for you.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell me all about it,” I say. Back when Alex first sold that dating website, I used to watch all of his interviews. It’s not often that someone from Haverton gets national fame. I’m not going to lie—it was weird seeing him up there on the TV with his shirt tucked in and his caramel-colored hair cut short. Even though he was twenty-three at the time, he looked like a kid dressed up in his dad’s clothes. I spent so much time giggling at him that I’m pretty sure I missed half his answers.

I dip the ladle in the punch and scoop myself a nice serving. Part of me wonders if things will be different between us now. Alex was my best friend for most of my childhood—and even afterward, when we were living in different places, that’s still what I called him to everyone. I mean, sometimes someone just plays a role in your life for so long that it’s hard to imagine them as anything else. And honestly, Alex and I seem to have the sort of friendship where we can go months without speaking and then pick up exactly where we left off. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that our parents live right next door to each other and our moms are gossip buddies.

“Did you hear about that Harris girl?” my mom asks. “What’s her name—Madison?”

My stomach clenches. I take a sip of punch and run my free hand down the front of my sun dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. “No. What happened?”

“I heard she was back in town,” my mom says. “I ran into Phoebe Jane at the grocery and she said that Madison has been having trouble finding work. I can’t imagine why—she’s so beautiful, isn’t she? Did you ever see that kitty litter commercial she was in?”

Way too many times, I think, trying to decide whether it would be worse to throw up on the potato salad or the deviled eggs.

“Mm-hm,” I tell her with a nod. Madison is the last person in the world I want to talk about right now.

“She was always so talented,” my mom goes on, oblivious to my plight as she fiddles with the vase of daisies in the center of the table. “I always told her mom she was destined for great things. I was sure she’d end up in movies eventually. She has the face for it, doesn’t she? And she was always so good in your little high school plays.”

If I have to listen to any more of this I really am going to hurl all over this table. Definitely aim for the deviled eggs, I think. I’m pretty sure Collette brought those, which means they’re going to be over-seasoned anyway. And besides, your mom will kill you if you ruin her potato salad.

“I’m going to go see if Norah or Luke need any help,” I say, backing slowly away from the table. But I only make it a few steps before I hear the car coming down the street.

Maple Avenue is usually fairly quiet—let’s be real, all the streets in Haverton are usually fairly quiet—and since most of the town’s population is already here, it’s not hard to guess who might be pulling down the street right now. Especially when the car in question turns out to be a black Lamborghini.

That’s new, I think as the luxury car comes to a stop next to the mailbox. In high school, Alex drove a teal pickup truck with his name spray-painted on the side—and yeah, that was exactly as classy as it sounds. In the years after he sold his first website, he upgraded to a more reliable sedan—an expensive sedan, but something practical. I guess it was only a matter of time before he decided he needed something more stylish and sporty. Every billionaire bachelor needs an obnoxious car, doesn’t he? I’m pretty sure that’s in the rich dudes’ handbook somewhere.

But as much as I want to roll my eyes at his choice of wheels, I can’t help but grin as he gets out of the car. Alex will always be Alex, no matter what he drives or what he wears. No matter how many magazines or news sites claim he’s the hottest, richest thing ever or post torrid rumors about his sex life.

But geez, even the new Alex—excuse me, the new Xander—should know how ridiculous it is to wear a suit like that to a barbecue in Haverton. The dude striding across the lawn toward us is dressed for a board meeting, not one of his mom’s birthday parties. What a doofus. His entire getup probably cost more than some of the houses here.

I take another sip of punch as Norah and Luke head across the lawn toward their son. Alex’s younger brother, Levi, goes too, as does Sawyer, the family’s golden retriever. My mom and I hang back with the other guests. I notice Jimmy and Samantha Tyler whisper something to each other over by the side of the house.

It’s been a long, long time since any of us here in Haverton have seen Alex—outside of TV and magazines, at least—and I’m not surprised people are talking. He’s big news these days. Not to mention the fact that he looks like a completely different person—how could he have changed so much in just four years?

It’s not just the suit—though that certainly is part of the picture—or that he now wears his caramel-brown hair short, rather than long enough to tuck behind his ears. It’s not even about that perfectly manicured layer of stubble he seems to be sporting along his jaw. In fact, it’s not really about looks at all—it’s more about how he carries himself.

The Alex I knew looked silly in suits. Dopey. Like a kid playing dress-up. The Alex in front of me…doesn’t. He looks like he belongs in those clothes. When the hell did that happen? I close one eye and try to imagine him in that T-Rex T-shirt with the hole in the armpit that he wore all the time in high school, but I just can’t seem to do it.

No, it’s not his appearance that’s different. It’s his entire bearing. I know it’s impossible, but he looks taller. Broader. Distinguished and self-assured in a way he didn’t before.

This isn’t Alex, I realize with a start. This is Xander. He’s left his old self completely behind.

It’s a strange, almost unnerving realization.

My mom moves to stand beside me. “He looks so handsome, doesn’t he?”

Maybe. I have to admit, I don’t have the urge to laugh at him the way I usually do. From a purely objective standpoint, then yeah, he’s pretty attractive—I mean, Celebrity Spark Magazine devoted an entire spread to what they called his “perfect jawline”—but this whole thing just feels weird. It’s like I’m looking at a stranger, and I don’t like it one bit.

I pour myself another cup of punch. Somehow my first one is empty already. Why now? Why today of all days? Another time, I might have been able to deal with this, but not today. Today I’m barely holding it together.

“Be careful with that punch, Mae,” my mom says. “Norah said that’s her special adult recipe. There’s vodka in there.”

Good. I need all the alcohol I can get right now.

“I won’t have too much,” I promise her. I’m feeling sick again, and I find myself looking around for somewhere to run. The Grants are coming our way—except for Luke, who returns to the grill—and I’m beginning to think it would be easier to just flee.

I should have told them I was sick. Why did I think I’d be up for this today? Earlier, though, the thought of seeing Alex felt like the perfect distraction. It was honestly the only reason I didn’t fake the bubonic plague and stay curled up under my comforter all day with a sleeve of sandwich cookies and a bottle of cheap white wine. Now, I’m thinking I’ve made a terrible mistake.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I tell my mom.

“Right now? Alex just got here.”

“He’ll be here when I get back,” I tell her over my shoulder before dashing toward the house. I take the stairs up to the porch two at a time and don’t bother to look back as the screen door slams shut behind me.

Fortunately, I’ve been in the Grants’ house enough times to know exactly where the bathroom is. I barely manage to get there before the dry heaving starts. I bend over the sink, trying to pull myself together.

What the hell are you doing, Mae? I ask myself. Grow some fucking balls. You’re better off without Wes. If you let yourself have a breakdown, he wins.

And honestly, I’m not sure I’m sad about Wes at all. I know I should be. A normal person would be. But while I’d love to be at home with a tube of cookie dough right now, I’m still not sure how to process my feelings about all of this. If I’m not sad, then what is this knot in my stomach? Rage? Despair? Uncertainty? The sudden intense need to cut the balls off of the asshole who cheated on me?

I look up at myself in the bathroom mirror. Long days in the summer sun have brought out the gold and red tones in my otherwise light brown hair. They’ve also brought out the freckles on my cheeks and upper chest—the latter of which are on full display in my pale blue sun dress. Wes always liked my freckles—he always teased me that he was on a mission to kiss every single one—but now I can only picture him kissing Madison Harris. I wonder how many freckles he’s kissed on her.

Just make it through the party, I tell myself. Just get through the next hour. Make small talk with the friends and neighbors, say hello to Alex, and try to ignore the fact that something has changed about him. That you might not know him anymore. I think that’s what’s freaking me out the most—I thought that by coming here today I’d see a familiar face, find comfort with a friend who’s known me longer than anyone outside of my immediate family. Instead, seeing him has made me aware of how much time has passed since we’ve talked—I mean really talked. I thought we were the sort of friends who’d never grow apart, no matter where we were in life or how much time passed, but seeing him just now made me realize I was wrong. And the hollow punch of loneliness that’s followed that realization has hit me hard.

Just make it through the next hour. After that I can go home and slide into my pajamas and watch cute puppy videos on the internet until I can’t think straight anymore. Later, when I feel like a normal human being again, I’ll bribe my roommate Lucy with some ice cream to listen to me vent about how all men are scum. I’m just not ready to talk to anyone else about it yet.

A knock sounds on the bathroom door.

“Just a second!” I call. It’s probably Mom come to check on me. I flick on the faucet so I can lean over and splash some cold water on my face. I can do this. I can put on a smile and pretend that the world is all sparkles and rainbows. Especially if Norah’s “adult” punch is as potent as it usually is.

I dry my face and give myself one last look in the mirror. My eyes look normal, at least—I’m not really much of a crier—and my practice smiles look real enough. Most people will be focused on Norah, anyway, since it’s her birthday. Or Alex, of course, since he’s a sexy, big-shot celebrity now. I swear, the guy looks as if he just wandered off of some photo shoot for the cover of a romance novel or something.

Another knock sounds at the door.

“I’m almost done, Mom,” I say, silently cursing to myself. I know she means well, but can’t she give her daughter three minutes to have a mini-breakdown in the bathroom?

I throw open the door, ready to bound out and assure her that I’m perfectly fine, but instead I slam right into the person standing there—a person who most definitely is not my mom. Unless, of course, my mom has suddenly found herself in possession of a very expensive custom suit.

My hands are flat against his chest. I tilt my head back, looking up into the face of the guy I don’t particularly want to see right now.

“Hello, Mae,” Alex says, his voice deeper than I remember. “And here I thought you were avoiding me.”

CHAPTER TWO

I try to back away, but somehow his hands have closed around mine, holding them in place against his chest. Beneath the oh-so-smooth texture of whatever luxury material they use to make his thousand-dollar shirts, I can feel the hardness of his muscles under my palms. Those are definitely new.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I say. “I just really needed to use the bathroom.”

“You ran inside the minute you saw me,” he says, one side of his mouth curling up. “I know it’s been a few years, but I can still tell when you’re lying, Mae.”

God, when did his voice get so low? Everything about him is freaking me out. I straighten my shoulders, hoping I don’t look as sick as I still feel.

“I knew we’d have time to chat later,” I tell him. “I just wanted to give you a chance to greet your family first. If I was avoiding you I wouldn’t have come in the first place.” God, I wish I hadn’t come in the first place.

His blue eyes narrow as he looks at me, but that hint of a smile is still on his lips. Even his smile looks different—but that’s probably due to that straight-from-a-cologne-ad stubble he’s sporting now. He seems to be trying to figure out what to make of me. The old Alex would have laughed out loud at me for being ridiculous and then made a stupid joke—God, I could use one of those stupid jokes right now—but Xander has a certain seriousness about him that I don’t know how to process.

I try to pull my hands away again. “Your mom was freaking out about you being late. I’m surprised you didn’t get a lecture.”

“Oh, I did,” he says. “But she’ll forgive me when she sees her present. How have things been with you, Mae? It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to talk.”

“You’re a busy man,” I remind him. “I’m surprised you have time to sleep these days.” What between the endless business deals and the endless parade of hot chicks you’re photographed with. Seriously, dude—did some doctor-to-the-extremely-rich supply you with some miracle energy pill or something?

“I’ve learned how to survive on five hours a night. But I want to know how you have been.” His gaze falls down to my fingers—which he still holds against his hard, warm chest—and his mouth drops into a frown. I give my hands another tug, and this time he releases them.

“I’ve been fine,” I say, trying to sound cheerful as I tuck my hands behind my back. “Business is going great. I’m running two music camps this summer, and they’re both booked solid.”

“And what about your own music?” he asks.

“I’m still playing, if that’s what you mean.”

“At the coffee shop?”

“For myself, mostly,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I don’t really perform much these days.”

I can’t tell what he thinks of that—there’s an intensity in his eyes that suddenly makes me nervous.

“And the rest of your life?” he asks finally. “How’s Wes?”

Alive and well, unfortunately. Hm—I wonder how much it costs to take out a hit on someone?

“He’s good,” I say, a little too quickly. “He’s doing just fine. What about you? Got some hot new girlfriend?”

“Not currently, much to my mom’s disappointment.”

“Well,” I tease, trying to edge back down the hall, “you have to keep your eligible bachelor status, after all. Otherwise you’ll break the hearts of thousands of tabloid readers the world over. Didn’t you always tell me that relationships were overrated anyway?”

The old Alex would have laughed at that, but the new one just watches me closely with those intense blue eyes of his, a small wrinkle appearing between his brows.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” he asks me.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?” I’ve managed to progress a few steps backward down the hall, but he follows me, closing the distance between us again.

“Well, we’ve been speaking for about five minutes and you have yet to make a joke about my suit,” he says.

“I’ve made plenty in my head,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Tell me, did this suit cost more or less than your new car?”

He doesn’t even crack a smile. “Something’s wrong, Mae. I can tell.”

I don’t want to have this conversation—not right now, and certainly not with Mr. Suddenly Sexy. I mean, I know he means well—all the money in the world couldn’t change that—but the man I see in front of me now is so far from the guy I knew that I can’t imagine he’ll ever really understand.

I back another step down the hall. “We better get back out there before your brother drinks all the punch.”

He looks like he wants to say something else—the old Alex would have called me on my obvious bullshittery—but instead he just gives a nod of his head.

Before he can say another word, I turn and dash back outside.

I’m trying to think of an excuse to dip out of the party early when my mom calls out to me. “Honey, is everything all right?”

Seriously, I am the worst at this whole pretending-to-be-okay thing. I plaster on a smile as I walk over to her, but I’m sure she can see right through it.

“I just felt a little sick there for a moment,” I tell her. “But it passed. I’m fine now.”

She looks me up and down, then glances over her shoulder before leaning closer to me.

“Are you pregnant, honey?” she whispers.

“No!” I say quickly. “Definitely not.” Thank God Wes and I always used protection.

“It’s all right, honey, you can be honest with me,” my mom says. “You only have two months until the wedding—you won’t have to worry about showing, at least. It happens more often than you think. In fact, I was eight weeks along with your brother when your dad and I got married.”

My brother, Walker, and I figured that out back when we were teenagers—I think sometimes parents forget that their kids can do basic math—but I really don’t want to be talking about this now. Especially since I’m not having—nor will I ever have—Wes’s baby.

“I swear, Mom, I’m not pregnant. I probably just have a cold or something.”

Her lips purse. “In the middle of the summer?”

“Maybe I ate something that isn’t sitting right,” I say, grasping for anything that will get her off the subject. “Why don’t we get in line for food?” Luke has just brought over the burgers and chicken skewers from the grill, and the other guests are already forming a line next to the table.

“Fine, honey,” my mom says, but I still catch her looking at my belly with suspicion as we head over to the rapidly growing line.

There are always lines at the Grants’ parties. It’s inevitable, considering how many people are here. I pray that we aren’t stuck next to anyone too talkative, but my stomach sinks when Eliza Trencher and Collette Richmond get into line just behind us.

Just for some context—Eliza is nearly seventy and can still recall bits of gossip she heard fifty-five years ago. And Collette, her niece, is wearing the largest, gaudiest hat here today—seriously, the thing features little birds made out of orange feathers with rhinestones for eyes. I used to joke with Alex that the bigger the hat, the crazier the busybody—and unfortunately, in Collette’s case, that’s true. The main hobby of Collette and Eliza seems to be spreading rumors. There’s not a scandal in the recent history of Haverton that these two couldn’t account in perfect detail.

“Where’s James today?” Collette asks my mom. She’s wearing an orange dress with a sequined bird over the left breast, and her shoes have been dyed to match.

“He’s on shift, unfortunately,” my mom says. “One of the boys has been out sick all week.”

My dad works at the local fire station with Eliza’s son, and my mom and the three women immediately launch into a lively conversation about the firehouse. I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to be ignored for a minute, and glance around.

Alex and his family are at the back of the line. His parents are each chatting with someone—I can hear Norah’s bright laugh over the other voices—but Alex is just staring right at me. I can feel the energy of his gaze all the way from here.

I quickly turn back around. What’s his deal? Why can’t he just take my word that nothing’s wrong?