Richard, p.1
Richard, page 1
Richard
Billionaire Boys Club
Ellie Masters
JEM Publishing
Copyright © 2018 Ellie Masters
Richard
Billionaire Boys Club
All rights reserved.
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All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this ebook ONLY. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted, or distributed in any printed, mechanical, or electronic form without prior written permission from Ellie Masters or JEM Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
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Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
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Editor: Erin Toland
Proofreader: Roxane Leblanc
Published in the United States of America
JEM Publishing
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This is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-952625-50-3
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my one and only—my amazing and wonderful husband.
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Without your care and support, my writing would not have made it this far.
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You pushed me when I needed to be pushed.
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You supported me when I felt discouraged.
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You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
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If it weren’t for you, this book never would have come to life.
Also by Ellie Masters
The LIGHTER SIDE
Ellie Masters is the lighter side of the Jet & Ellie Masters writing duo! You will find Contemporary Romance, Military Romance, Romantic Suspense, Billionaire Romance, and Rock Star Romance in Ellie’s Works.
YOU CAN FIND ELLIE’S BOOKS HERE:
ELLIEMASTERS.COM/BOOKS
* * *
Military Romance
Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists
Rescuing Melissa
(Get a FREE copy of Rescuing Melissa
when you join Ellie’s Newsletter
https://elliemasters.com/RescuingMelissa)
Rescuing Zoe
Rescuing Moira
Rescuing Eve
Rescuing Lily
Rescuing Jinx
Rescuing Maria
* * *
Military Romance
Guardian Personal Protection Specialists
Sybil’s Protector
* * *
The One I Want Series
(Small Town, Military Heroes)
By Jet & Ellie Masters
each book in this series can be read as a standalone and is about a different couple with an HEA.
Saving Ariel
Saving Brie
Saving Cate
Saving Dani
Saving Jen
Saving Abby
* * *
Rockstar Romance
The Angel Fire Rock Romance Series
each book in this series can be read as a standalone and is about a different couple with an HEA. It is recommended they are read in order.
Ashes to New (prequel)
Heart’s Insanity (book 1)
Heart’s Desire (book 2)
Heart’s Collide (book 3)
Hearts Divided (book 4)
Hearts Entwined (book5)
Forest’s FALL (book 6)
Hearts The Last Beat (book7)
* * *
Contemporary Romance
Firestorm
(Kristy Bromberg’s Everyday Heroes World)
* * *
Billionaire Romance
Billionaire Boys Club
Hawke
Richard
Brody
* * *
Contemporary Romance
Cocky Captain
(Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward’s Cocky Hero World)
* * *
Romantic Suspense
each book is a standalone novel.
The Starling
* * *
~AND~
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Science Fiction
* * *
Ellie Masters writing as L.A. Warren
Vendel Rising: a Science Fiction Serialized Novel
Contents
Part I
1. Legacy
2. Privilege
3. Pratt
4. Lunch
5. Hrh
6. Opportunity
7. Interview
8. Infinity
9. Whiskey Neat
10. Slipper
11. Client
12. Employee
13. Compliance
14. Meeting
15. Game
16. Push
17. Mile-High
18. Nothing
19. Consequences
20. Freddy
21. Termination
22. Tower
23. Dais
24. Kneel
25. Charter
26. Hospital
27. Home
28. Heir
29. One Week
30. Papers
31. Trust
32. Wait
33. Sponsor
34. Library
35. To-Do
36. Downstairs
37. Union
38. Game Room
39. Decisions
40. Departure
41. Tea
42. Conversation
43. King
44. The Rules
45. Last Month
46. Contract
47. Tea
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ELLZ BELLZ
Also by Ellie Masters
About the Author
Connect with Ellie Masters
Final Thoughts
The End
Part One
One
Legacy
Rowan
“Rowan, there’s nothing more we can do,” Henry Porter said with a weary sigh.
Son of Ralph Porter, Henry might be young for a lawyer, but he led a team of eight lawyers and accountants from the Savannah law firm of Hamilton & Porter. He was being groomed for succession and sat across from me with a serious expression. His job was to deliver news I wasn’t prepared to hear. He didn’t want to give it. I didn’t want to listen to it. But neither of us could deny the truth of it.
Money didn’t lie.
The Porter’s had managed my family’s accounts for generations. Henry, and his father, Ralph, knew where all the bodies were buried, if there were any. My father never shared his business dealings with me, which left me to rely solely on Henry’s advice. Unfortunately, he had nothing good to say.
With me, a partnership spanning generations would die.
“Nothing?” I held my hands clasped tightly in my lap. It took every ounce of self-control not to fidget and twist my fingers.
The sadness in his expression spoke more to the truth than any of the numbers and figures printed on the reams of paper littering the desk. I barely glanced at the reports. I didn’t need to. I knew.
Heat pricked beneath my lids, but I’d been born and bred to privilege. I was a proud Southern lady, a blue blood of the great South. The women in my family didn’t cry—at least, not in public. I could faint. There was that option. A hundred years ago, that would have been acceptable behavior for a young lady of my standing, but I sat in a plush leather chair and had more respect for myself than that. Besides, I was over and done with drama.
No matter what I did, the legacy of my birthright couldn’t be erased, escaped, or ignored. I would always have my name—for what that was worth. The Cartwrights had built Georgia into what it was now. We stood proudly alongside the Montagues, Fitzgeralds, and other prominent Southern families. We owned land, companies, and banks. Lots of land and lots of banks. Our money made money. Most of the land was gone though, and there was precious left of the companies my father had run. As for our money? That was why I’d found myself in Henry’s office.
“How long?” I asked.
How far can I make our dwindling reserves last? I had a plan but needed more time. I wasn’t screwed. I was royally fucked.
There’d been a time when I held my head high and lifted my nose to look down on those beneath me. My family’s name might be steeped in the history of the South, but Savannah, Georgia, wanted nothing to do with my family anymore. Cutting stares and harsh whispers had brought crippling social distance until I became a pariah. I hadn’t even received an invitation to Adelaide Montague’s annual charity event. That hurt more than it should have.
I’d b een looking forward to seeing her daughter, Alexandria, and maybe even my old friend Patrick Fitzgerald. He’d been in the class above me at the academy. She’d been a year or two behind, but they were both ahead of me as far as life plans went. Patrick had finished his degree at Pratt, and Alexandria was well on her way to becoming a lawyer. They’d moved on, chasing their futures and pursuing their dreams, while I had taken several years off to travel the world.
Back then, money hadn’t been a problem.
Back then, there’d been no scandal.
We’d had more money than I could count, and I’d had my heart set on seeing the world. One year had turned into two, and two had become three. Patrick and I’d kept in contact after his graduation, and it was because of him I’d finally found my way to the Pratt Institute for Design. I had dreams, too.
My father’s sins weighed heavily on my shoulders, suffocating every breath. His crimes had stolen any joy I might have once thought to squander. The Cartwright name should have endured the scandal that had brought my father down, except it hadn’t. Not after he’d taken the coward’s way out. His actions had affected not only my future, but also the plight of my brother. What will become of Freddy?
I sat across from my lawyers, trying to salvage what I could.
No tears fell from my eyes. My smile met the sorrow weighted in Henry’s expression. A core of steel ran through me. I drew on that, even as my insides swirled in a blender. The only problem with steel was, it only bent so far before it shattered. I had met my breaking point.
Henry pushed the paper in front of him across the table. I refused to look at it. Instead, I kept my gaze level and fixed on his face. Maybe, if I didn’t see what was written in black and white, it wouldn’t be true.
“How long?” I repeated my question into the overwhelming silence.
His lips pursed, and those seated adjacent to him shifted in their seats, covering their unease with a cough. The oppressiveness of the conference room affected us all, but they would leave here and head to their fancy homes and fat bank accounts. The same could not be said for me.
“If you make certain adjustments”—he rubbed at his chin—“we can wait to foreclose—”
“How long?” I didn’t want the details.
“Rowan, it’s not that simple.”
“How difficult can it be?”
How long until I’m broke? How long until I have to move Freddy out of the long-term care facility he calls home? How long until we’re destitute and on the streets? All these questions flitted through my head, but I held my tongue and waited for an answer.
I needed more time—two and a half years to be precise.
My degree in design wouldn’t make much money to start. I had to have enough to cover Freddy’s needs until then. Where I slept or what I ate didn’t matter, and I had closets of designer clothes to last at least that long.
Henry swiped at his mouth, and he pulled a face, glancing down at the paper. “I can buy you six months.”
“Six months!” I slammed my hand down on the tabletop and stood as my anger and frustration rose. “I need more than six months.” I needed two and a half years.
Sara Donaldson, the only other woman in the room, cleared her throat. “What about quitting school? The tuition is steep—”
“I can’t afford to quit school.” I needed the career it would bring. Besides, no one in New York gave a rat’s ass about some washed-up Southern belle.
Sara arched a brow. “You can’t afford to remain either. You should look into scholarships.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course I had. I’d exhausted all my options, but even though I would be bankrupt within six months, I didn’t qualify for scholarships, grants, or loans, not enough to cover my tuition, let alone pay rent on my apartment or cover other necessities like food. With the mess of my finances, no bank would extend a student loan.
“I’ve considered everything,” I said, sinking back into my chair with defeat.
Henry rolled his pen over the table. “Rowan, I’m sorry, but there is another option. Have you considered—”
“No,” I said, feeling the heat rising. I was going to blow a gasket if someone mentioned that again. I wasn’t a whore, and I’d be damned if I sold myself to any man.
I needed a drink and the oblivion of a good fuck. Alcohol to numb the pain and a man who could fuck me until I forgot my name.
Two
Privilege
Richard
No matter what I did or didn’t do, the privilege of birth couldn’t be erased, escaped, or ignored. There were moments when my birthright smothered me with the weight of expectations I didn’t care to meet.
“Richard…” My mother’s voice came out smooth as silk and covered in cream.
She had been blessed with an angelic voice, and when lifted in song, it made angels weep. When filled with ire, kings fell to their knees, queens trembled in their shoes, and the leaders of nations took notice. I did none of those things. I met my mother’s iron will with the strength she’d instilled in me from my very first breath.
“Yes, Mum?” I said, trying my best to look apologetic.
The fake smile plastered to her face didn’t fool me. Her crystalline-blue eyes sparked with anger, and I braced for the harshness that would follow. She, however, wasn’t in a rush to lay down her condemnation and seemed content to take her time in dispensing judgment. When pushed past her tolerance of what was right and proper, Her Majesty Mary Margaret Windsor could be a cruel-hearted bitch, but she loved her younger son with the whole of her heart. Of that, I had no doubt. It was how I got away with so much, whereas my brother did not. She was about to attempt to whip me into shape, only I was no longer a six-year-old boy, and she’d never once been successful in the past.
“Are you incapable of self-control?” Her left brow lifted, challenging me to deny the truth.
We knew how this dance would play out. She would be stern. I would be remorseful. I would behave for a time, but we both knew I’d be damned if I ever bowed to the court of public opinion, and she didn’t have it in her heart to force me to do anything I truly hated.
“Mum, it’s wasn’t like that,” I tried to explain, but it had been exactly like that. There were photographs speeding through the Web that attested to that fact.
My brother, Edmund, gave a snort. “Oh, brother, you have stepped deep in shite with this one.”
With a narrowing of my eyes, I shot daggers at my elder brother. Edmund had no place in judging my actions. He was worse than me. Unlike me, he’d perfected the art of discretion. He was everything I was not—proud, regal, in control, and ready to take the reins of our country. More power to him. I didn’t want that job, the pressure of marriage, or the need to produce heirs as quickly as possible.
