The Billionaire’s Promise (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance) Read online

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S PROMISE

  A SCANDALS OF THE BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES NOVEL

  IVY LAYNE

  CONTENTS

  About

  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

  Your Free Books!

  Thank You

  Also by Ivy Layne

  About Ivy Layne

  ABOUT

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S PROMISE

  For two years I held Vance Winters off… Right up until the day my fiancé dumped me for his mistress and Vance kissed me senseless.

  * * *

  Vance Winters was six feet of dangerously beautiful mayhem. Wicked blue eyes, tousled blond hair, and golden skin covered in tattoos. Trouble. I should have taken one look and run in the other direction. I should have told him to take his job offer and shove it up his tight, perfect ass. I should have done a lot of things.

  * * *

  I won’t lie. One touch of Vance’s mouth to mine was better than all four years with my ex. I was tempted. So very tempted. Tempted, but not stupid. How many women had I escorted from his bed in the two years I’d worked for him? Vance didn’t do commitment and I’d been tossed aside one time too many. There was no way I was going to throw my broken heart at his feet, even if I suspected the orgasms might be worth it.

  * * *

  Then she showed up. Rosalie. Only three months old, and she changed both of our lives in an instant. I could resist Vance when he was just my billionaire playboy boss. But could I keep my heart safe as I watched him fall in love with his daughter?

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAGNOLIA

  * * *

  T-MINUS TWO YEARS

  * * *

  I couldn’t breathe. He opened the door, and my breath was sucked from my lungs in one big whoosh. If you’d been there, you’d understand. One second, I was standing in the hallway, waiting impatiently to be interviewed for a job I wasn’t sure I wanted. The next second, the door was swinging open, and he was there, filling the door frame, six and a half feet of panty-melting hotness. A towel slung loosely around his waist, barely clinging to his lean hips, and drops of water slid down his broad, defined chest. He leaned against the door and looked down at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. Was it too late to run?

  There was no way I could work for this man. Vance Winters. Heir to billions, renowned artist at the young age of twenty-eight, and secret angel investor in up and coming tech companies. All of that was intimidating enough. I hadn’t taken into account the impact he would have in person. I’d seen pictures in the society section of the paper and in glossy magazines. They didn’t scratch the surface.

  First, he was tall. I’m right in the middle, neither tall nor short, and he towered over me, all of him sculpted muscle and smooth, golden skin decorated with elaborate, inky black tattoos. From the way the towel dipped across his abs, showing every inch of the cut V of muscle between his hips, as well as a stark tan line, I knew the golden skin came from the sun. He must spend a lot of time outdoors. I tried not to imagine him jogging without his shirt. Or swimming, that too-long dark blond hair pulled back, powerful legs propelling him through the water. I definitely didn’t imagine tugging on the towel to get a better look at the white skin below the tan. Absolutely not.

  I blinked hard. What was wrong with me? I had a boyfriend. He was a good guy, a med student, and we’d been together for years. He wasn’t in Vance’s league, but he was very attractive. Brayden. I had to think of Brayden. I was quiet, but not easily intimidated. Not usually. There was something about the way Vance lounged in the door, his blue eyes lazily hooded as they studied me. He threw me off balance. Then he grinned and said, “Are you coming in?”

  My knees went weak. That grin. Holy crap. With his blond hair, vivid blue eyes, and all those golden muscles, he reminded me of a Viking. A debauched Viking with a killer grin. I don’t know where it came from, but in a crisp, cool voice, I said, “I don’t know. Are you going to get out of the way?”

  Another grin, and a wink. Vance Winters was trouble. Fighting the weakness in my knees, I straightened my spine and followed him into his loft, ready to get this over with.

  “Can you make coffee?” he asked, gesturing to his ultra-modern kitchen. “Consider it part of your interview.”

  Again, not sure where the attitude was coming from, I said, “Are you planning on getting dressed?”

  He looked down at his lack of attire and shrugged. “Do you want me to?” His tone suggested I’d be crazy to cover up all that gorgeous. He was right. Telling Vance Winters to put on clothes was a crime against nature. A man with a body like that should be naked all the time.

  But I was there for a job interview. I wasn’t looking to get laid. Brayden. I had Brayden. I wasn’t into casual hookups anyway, even if I were single. Vance Winters was known for many things, and sleeping his way through Atlanta was one of them.

  “Please,” I said, as coolly and professionally detached as I could manage. Not waiting for his response, I turned to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I heard him leave and let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

  What was I doing here? I didn’t need the job. Well, I did, and I didn’t. I had money. My grandmother had left me well provided for. I wasn’t wealthy, not like the Winters family, but I had a beautiful home—my grandmother’s—and enough money to live on if I was careful. Six months ago, I graduated from Emory with a degree in Business after staying an extra semester to complete dual concentrations in Finance and Accounting. I’d planned on working for a year or two, then going for my MBA. A month after I’d finished school, my grandmother had died.

  I should have seen it coming. She’d been almost eighty, and for the last few months of her life, she’d been unusually tired. She’d refused to go to the doctor, saying she was fine. She’d been wrong. Losing her had leeched every drop of vitality from my life. For as long as I could remember, my grandmother was the only adult I could depend on. She remembered my birthday. She gave me a home for summer vacations. That first year in boarding school, eight years old and terrified of being alone in England, she’d called me every night, the time difference be damned.

  Iris Henry had loved me like no one else, and then she’d died on me. I’d imagined I’d be able to return the favor one day, had envisioned caring for her as she aged. Instead, I was rattling around in her house, alone, losing my bearings more and more with each day that passed.

  I’d been drifting for months when I’d run into Rupert Stevens, an old bridge crony of my grandmother’s. I’d known him since I’d been a child, and if Rupert wasn’t family, he was the closest thing to it. It hadn’t taken him long to size up my situation. Two days after we spoke, his wife, Sloane, Vance’s manager, had called me with a job offer. I knew if I didn’
t at least drag myself out of the house and go see Vance, Rupert would call in the cavalry. I was having a hard enough time dealing with my grandmother’s death. I didn’t think I could take an intervention from her bridge club, no matter how well-meaning.

  So, I was here, willing to let Vance Winters interview me to see if I’d fit the role of his assistant. I hadn’t been sure I wanted the job when I’d knocked on his door. Now, after seeing him in the towel, I thought my best option might be to tell him ‘no thanks’ and go home. I remembered the ridges of his six pack and my mouth watered. I hadn’t had sex for over a month. Brayden was never home lately, and when he was, he said he was exhausted.

  I caught the scuff of a bare foot on hardwood and turned to see Vance prowling toward me, his magnificent body covered by a pair of jeans so old they were worn white at the knee and an equally threadbare t-shirt with the faded logo of a classic rock band. All that luscious tanned skin was covered, only the trailing vines of a tattoo visible on his left arm. His streaky dark blond hair was wet and loose around his face, his vivid blue eyes dancing as they took in the full mug of coffee in my hands.

  “That mine?” he asked, sliding onto a stool at the counter built into his kitchen island. I nodded and placed it in front of him. He took a sip and let out a low hum of approval. “Good coffee. You’re hired.”

  “That fast?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I took a sip of my own coffee. He was right. I did make good coffee. I’d worked as a barista in college, and I knew everything about coffee. It was my only addiction. “I haven’t agreed to take the job.”

  “True. Do you want it?”

  “I don’t know what it is,” I said. “Sloane said you needed help with your schedule and errands. I’m at loose ends right now, but I’m over-qualified if that’s all you need.”

  Vance shook his head. “Sloane has no idea what I need. But Rupert speaks highly of you. He said you have a business degree and a sharp mind.”

  “I do,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed on my face, and he said, “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother. I didn’t know her, but my brother, Aiden, did.”

  I nodded and choked out, “Thank you.”

  I still wasn’t used to the sharp stab of pain every time someone told me how sorry they were. I knew they meant it, but the kind platitudes were miles away from my own raw emotions and they always left me frustrated. I was bereft. Furious she’d abandoned me, guilty for being angry—a jumbled mess of pain and hurt I couldn’t quite hide from the world—hence my drifting through life.

  Vance must have sensed my mood, because he broke eye contact and went on, “Sloane told you I need an assistant. That’s accurate, but it doesn’t really cover the scope of what I have in mind. Do you know what I do?”

  “Some of it,” I said, glad to be back on familiar ground. “I know you’re a sculptor, working primarily in metal. Large pieces, mainly, a combination of your own inspiration and commissions. You also act as an investor on occasion, mostly for small tech companies, though last year, you branched out and went in with your cousins on a nightclub.”

  “You do your research,” he said. I sipped my coffee without responding. He went on, “I want help managing my life. I have a lot going on between my work and the investing and other things. I need someone who can keep track of mundane shit like my dry cleaning and dentist appointments, but who can also stay on top of my investments—vet proposals, keep an eye on the books, that kind of thing. You’d have to be flexible. Every day is different around here.”

  It sounded intriguing. I wanted to use my degree, but I couldn’t see myself in an office, even though that had been my plan while I’d been in college. I opened my mouth to ask more about the details when a toilet flushed on the other side of the loft. I sat up straighter. I’d thought we were alone. Vance slouched over his coffee and muttered, “Sorry about this.”

  A door shut, and a woman appeared, her micro mini and strappy top straight from a club. So was her big hair and smoky eye makeup. I’m sure she’d been stunning the night before. With smeared mascara under her bloodshot eyes and badly in need of a comb, she wasn’t that appealing. I knew her type. When she stumbled on her spike heels on the way to Vance, I looked away. She ignored me, didn’t even bother to ask who I was or why I was there, her focus all on Vance.

  She slipped her arms around his torso from behind, leaning forward to nip his earlobe, saying, “Vance, baby, come back to bed.” She eyed me with vacant disdain. “Get rid of her. Or bring her with you. Whatever, it’s cool with me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hand slide into Vance’s lap. I swallowed and stood. I wasn’t a prude, but this was just weird and uncomfortable. I had no interest in being the third wheel in another woman’s awkward morning after.

  As if he had a lot of practice—and I imagined he did—Vance twisted from her embrace and stood, turning the woman to face me.

  “Not now. I have a full day. Ms. Henry will show you out.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him, caught between annoyance and reluctant amusement. Vance had balls, I’d give him that. Taking in his expectant look, I understood. My job description would include managing his morning-afters. Ugh. If rumor was half accurate, this happened a lot. I thought about walking out. I didn’t need this. I didn’t much like his one-night stand, but I didn’t want to humiliate her either.

  My irritation let me see through the mask of Vance’s beauty to the red lines dulling his eyes, the faint circles beneath. He was as hungover as she was. Vance had the looks and talent of a god, but he was really just like every other party boy I knew. Thinking over my options, I got to my feet and took the confused woman’s arm in a gentle grip, steering her to the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at Vance, almost losing her balance in her high heels, and I got the feeling she was going to plead her case. I shook my head, nudging her through the door.

  “Do you need me to call you a ride?” I asked gently. She snatched her arm from my hand and stalked to the stairs. Guess not. Locking the door behind her, I turned back to finish my interview.

  “Thanks,” Vance said from across the kitchen. He refilled his coffee and held out the pot. I shook my head. We had more to talk about before I decided if I was staying for a second cup.

  “Does that happen often?” I asked, again in a crisp tone. I realized I sounded exactly like my boarding school headmistress, minus the posh English accent.

  Vance shrugged. “Often enough,” he said with unashamed honesty. “Why? Interested in taking her place?” His electric blue gaze caressed my body with indolent interest. “I don’t usually mix business and the bedroom, but I could make an exception for you.” He raised one eyebrow as if daring me. For a second, I thought about slapping him.

  “Are you kidding?”

  He shrugged. “Not really, but I’m getting the idea sex isn’t in your job description.”

  “Sex is absolutely not part of my job description.” I was both offended and flattered. Yes, flattered. I know, I know. I should have given him a good smack and walked out. My only excuse is that no man who looked like Vance had ever hit on me. Granted, Vance’s standards weren’t that high, but still, the sex-deprived woman in me appreciated the offer. There was no way I’d ever sleep with him, but it was nice to be asked.

  “I figured you’d say that.” Vance shrugged again, amusement glinting in his red-rimmed eyes. “It was worth a try. Now that we’ve gotten my obligatory pass out of the way, here’s how I see this working. You’ll show up by ten every day, evict any guests, make me breakfast, and get my lazy ass out of bed. Once I get rolling, we’ll go over business, then I’ll head down to my studio and you’ll do whatever you've got on for the day.”

  “So you need a combination babysitter, errand girl, and business manager,” I said, disarmed by his upfront explanation.

  “Something like that,” he admitted. “Interested?” He named a salary that wasn’t outrageous, but it was more than generous. I was tempted. It
wasn’t a long-term plan, but it would get me out of the house and force me to move forward with my life. I couldn’t keep going as I was.

  “Can I bring my dog?” I asked. I’d gotten Scout a month after my grandmother had died, and I didn’t want to leave him alone at home all day.

  “What kind of dog?

  “A mutt. A boxer-corgi mix.” At the look on his face, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was impossible to describe Scout unless you could see his absurd cuteness for yourself. He had the face, ears, and long, low body of a corgi, with the stance and fur of a boxer. He wasn’t the brightest dog, but he was all love. We were a perfect fit. He’d needed a home, and I’d needed someone to hold on to.

  Vance took my phone and flipped through the pictures of Scout, smiling down at my adorable dog. He stopped on a picture and held my phone up. On it was a shot I’d taken of Brayden, backing up as Scout went for his bagel. Brayden didn’t like dogs, and Scout returned his lack of affection.