The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) (28 page)

Tempting the Billionaire

Can’t Let Go
(novella)

Hard to Handle

The Millionaire Affair

Bringing Home the Bad Boy

Rescuing the Bad Boy

A Bad Boy for Christmas

Return of the Bad Boy

“Shopping for a hot holiday read? Look no further than
A Bad Boy for Christmas
. Actually, it’s a terrific read for any time of the year. With charismatic characters, stirring situations, and enough sexy to fill an entire town’s worth of stockings, this latest in Lemmon’s Second Chance series is 400-plus pages of Christmas magic.”

—
USA Today

“4 stars! Lemmon’s contemporary style of storytelling and down-to-earth characters shine through. Lemmon will draw readers into this story because she writes characters whom readers can connect with. Connor and Faith are strong and complement each other, and their chemistry is explosive. Lemmon is an expert at the modern-day romance.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Lemmon’s sexy and well-constructed third Second Chance romance uses a nice reversal: the man wants marriage and the woman is commitment-shy…Likable and realistic characters with believable emotions, and the right balance of fantasy fulfillment, make for some good holiday heat.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“An amazing read and I can’t wait for the next installment.”

—TheBookNympho.com

“Nobody does a bad boy like Jessica Lemmon.”

—HarlequinJunkie.com

“Lemmon’s style of storytelling, coupled with a strong plot, makes this story an amazing read.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Clever, romantic, and utterly unforgettable.”

—Lauren Layne,
USA Today
bestselling author

“4 ½ stars! A sexy gem of a read that will tug at the heartstrings…A heartfelt plot infused with both emotionally tender and raw moments makes this a story that readers will savor.”

—
RT Book Reviews
 
 

“Fast-paced, well-written, and impossible to put down…Jessica writes with humor infused generously throughout in a realistic, entertaining way that really helps to make her characters realistic people you’ll want to know…You won’t be disappointed!”

—HarlequinJunkie.com

“Landon and Kimber’s banter is infectious as their chemistry sizzles. Smartly written with a narrative infused with humor and snark, this modern-day romance is a keeper.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“I have always loved Jessica Lemmon’s books and have enjoyed reading this series. She has again captured me with her magnificent writing and characters.”

—NightOwlReviews.com

“[Aiden is] a perfect balance of sensitive, heart-on-his-sleeve guy who is as sexy and ‘alpha’ as they come…A rare treat.”

—PolishedBookworm.com

“[Aiden is] a fantastic character. He is a motorcycle-riding, tattooed, rebel kind of guy with a huge heart. What’s not to love?…I really enjoyed this book and I think readers will find it entertaining and heartfelt.”

—RomanceRewind.blogspot.com

“I smiled through a lot of it, but seeing Aiden and Sadie deal with all of their hurdles was also incredibly moving and had me tearing up more than once as well…I can’t wait to see what Lemmon will bring to the table next.”

—HerdingCats-BurningSoup.com

“Aiden has all the characteristics of a bad boy but with the heart of that perfect hero…Their gradual spark leads to some well-written steamier scenes.”

—RosieReadsRomance.blogspot.com

“This novella was long enough to get me hooked on Aiden and Sadie and short enough to leave me wanting more…The chemistry between the characters is fan worthy and the banter is a great addition. The writing style draws readers in.”

—BSReviewers.blogspot.com

“A smashing debut! Charming, sexy, and brimming with wit—you’ll be adding Jessica Lemmon to your bookshelves for years to come!”

—Heidi Betts,
USA Today
bestselling author

“Lemmon’s characters are believable and flawed. Her writing is engaging and witty. If I had been reading this book out in public, everyone would have seen the
huge
grin on my face. I had so much fun reading this and adore it immensely.”

—LiteraryEtc.wordpress.com

“The awesome cover opened to even more awesome things inside. It was realistic! Funny! Charming! Sweet!”

—AbigailMumford.com

E
yes closed, Rachel Foster drew in a steeling breath, shut out the din of voices at the surrounding tables in the bar, and said these words aloud for the first time ever: “Mom, Dad, I resigned from my position at the design firm after Shaun took credit for my work, moved out of our shared apartment, and took a job as a bartender instead.”

She held her breath for a few seconds before opening her eyes. “Should I start with my ex taking credit for my work, then move to the resignation? Or is it best to open with the bartender bit?”

“I think they’ll love you no matter what.” The fiftysomething-year-old man in front of her, who was playing the role of “Mom and Dad” chuckled and shook his head.

Oliver something. He had kind green eyes, a plain face, and a head full of hair dyed a shade too dark for his age and skin tone. He was a regular at the bar where she worked, enjoying the same exact meal (turkey club, no mayo) each and every weeknight. He always ate, but never drank alcohol, only soda. And he had a big, beautiful Great Dane, a dog she would soon be in charge of while living in his gorgeous apartment. She really needed to learn Oliver’s last name.

“You say that because you’ve never met them,” she said, grabbing the soda gun from behind the bar and refilling his Diet Coke.

He brushed his hands on a paper napkin and shook his head. “I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Uncle,” she corrected, being generous.

“
Older
uncle,” he reiterated. “Either way, I have longer perspective than you and I’m advising you to tell your folks what’s going on.”

“I will.” Eventually. Right now, she couldn’t call her family in Ohio and drop in their lap that their successful city-dwelling daughter was
not
watching the gold nameplate go up on her office door. Instead, she was stacking dirty dishes in a bus tub and cleaning that sticky, disgusting stuff out of the rubber mat over which she poured libations for eight hours a night, five days a week.

She took Oliver’s plate as he reached for his wallet. He extracted a credit card, which he used to pay everything and get miles for his many business trips, and set a gold key next to it.

“Front desk knows to expect you tomorrow,” he said, then brought up the Great Dane with whom he shared a life. “Adonis has been asking about you since you stopped by last week.”

She pocketed the key with a smile and settled the bill, swiping the card on the machine a few feet down the bar.

“The front desk was incredibly thorough and scares me a little.” Last week when she was there, they required two forms of ID, then took a photo of her to put in their database. “I’m surprised they didn’t ask for fingerprints.” She tore off the receipts and handed them over with a pen. “And Adonis is gorgeous, and only loves me because you gave me liver treats to feed him.”

Oliver laughed as he signed the receipt. “His loyalty is easily bought,” he said of his dog. “He’s a gentle giant.”

“That he is.” She accepted the pen and the receipt, glancing at the tip line to see that Oliver had once again tipped the amount of his meal, which she used to yell at him for, but now accepted that he wasn’t going to listen to her no matter what.

“Thank you for doing this, Rachel,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be in Japan an entire month.”

“You’re welcome.” She’d confided in Oliver one late night how her roommate situation wasn’t working and she needed to find a new place, never imagining he’d offer to solve her problem for her. As it turned out, he was due to go away on business and his house sitter had another job lined up. He asked Rachel if she’d take the gig, saying he couldn’t stomach the idea of Adonis in a kennel. Then he told her his address and Rachel nearly drooled all over the bar in front of him.

Crane Tower.
Ooh la la
.

Not only would she get to live in his glorious fifteen-hundred-square-foot apartment, but he was paying her.
Generously
. She could add the money Oliver was paying her to her savings and find her own place. It was either that or move back home, and she wasn’t willing to concede that battle yet.

She’d find a better gig than bartending. Something professional and brag-worthy. Not because bragging about her job was important for her, but for her parents. They were ones who were so proud of their daughter the “city girl.”

Once Oliver left, her roommate-slash-coworker Breanna sidled up next to her.

“Soooo. How’s Daddy Warbucks?” she asked with a grin.

“Bree.” Rachel laughed as she washed a beer glass in the double sink. The roommate situation that wasn’t working had nothing to do with Bree or her significant other, Dean. Rachel adored Bree, and vice versa. They’d become close in the two months since Rachel moved in with her, and really Rachel thought they’d be roomies much longer than this. So did Bree. But then Bree’s boyfriend, Dean, proposed and she said yes and he moved in and well…Rachel was now a third wheel.

She didn’t want to be in the way of what her friends had, and she could tell what they had was really special. She could tell because she knew what a relationship looked like when it wasn’t right. What Bree and Dean had was right.

“I’m going to miss you.” Bree pouted, pushing her full lips out. Her chin-length brown hair was smooth tonight, her eyes sparkling thanks to glittery eye shadow.

“No, you won’t. You and Dean will probably run around naked the moment I leave.”

She grinned. Rachel was so happy for her friend. They’d bonded almost instantly, which she did with almost no one. Not men, not women. No one. She was an island, and leaving Ohio for Chicago was the scariest thing she’d ever done in her life. But she’d succeeded.

Sort of.

Breaking up with her boyfriend of two years, being homeless, and losing the job for which she attained her degree were minor setbacks.

At least she hoped so.

“The term ‘acceptable losses’ isn’t bad news, Tag.” Reese Crane, CEO of Crane Hotels and Tag Crane’s oldest brother, arched an eyebrow.

“It should be,” Tag growled. Loss should never be “acceptable.”

The board had started talking about wanting to increase profits in the hotel bars last year, but they’d downgraded their assessment since Tag brought up the idea of upgrading the bars nationwide.

Ever the underestimated brother, he shouldn’t be surprised at the board’s reaction to his move. He’d stepped up with an announcement that he was going to fix the bar issue, and the board had shrugged, stated it was not necessary, and then moved forth with their agenda. By the time they’d adjourned, Tag had nearly snapped his pencil in half.

He dropped the unused No. 2 to push a hand through his hair and then remembered it was pulled back. Long, nearly to his elbows, he preferred wearing it down, but for board meetings he wrangled it into a low-hanging pony-man-bun. He also wedged his wide shoulders into an uncomfortable button-down and wrapped his bulky thighs in trousers.

He felt…wrong. Not himself. When confronted with the news a few months back that the board wasn’t happy about the bars, he’d prepared for his job to become a lot harder. He sent his effective but blasé behavior on vacation. Readied himself to step up and make Guest and Restaurant Services shine by taking home the bound report they’d slapped onto the table that day.

As a rule, he liked easy. He thrived on easy. Rules were not his favorite things, unlike Reese, who loved rules. He was a rule
maker
. In fact, Reese had landed his wife—now ex-wife, and soon to be his wife again (long story)—thanks to a carefully drawn-up prenup and a penchant for outlining everything with bullet points.

Tag did his job, was damn good at his job, but didn’t like too much structure. The bound report before him, the one he’d received months ago, complete with spreadsheets, numbers, and projected targets, was seriously structured. And seriously pissing him off.

“Why the fuck did they give me this if they weren’t going to follow through?” He lifted the report. The cover read “Fiscal Projections for Food & Alcohol”. The word
fiscal
was enough to give Tag hives, but he’d pored over those sheets, those numbers, until his eyes bled. He’d come in here ready to throw down, then they just…brushed him off.

“It’s your department,” Reese said with a shrug. “You know what’s best.”

“I’m going to make the profits sing.
Acceptable loss
doesn’t factor into my plans for Crane Hotels.”

Reese’s lip curved, an almost proud expression that reminded Tag of their father.

“I’ll do things my way,” Tag stated. “This”—he held up the report then dropped it into the wastebasket by the door—“is bullshit.”

Reese followed him to the door and flipped off the light. They walked silently through the hall and out into the reception area where Reese’s secretary, Bobbie, was typing, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Look forward to hearing more.” Reese slapped Tag’s shoulder, then turned and vanished into his office, where he was most of the time. The Cranes—Reese, Tag, Eli, who was still overseas serving in the Marines, and their father, Alex—were in this battle together. They’d never bail on each other.

Tag preferred his home office, where he could focus on something other than the purring of the receptionist’s phone and the pompous chatter of the suits occasionally prowling the floors. When he wasn’t there, he was traveling to one of the Crane hotels to oversee a grand opening or cut the ribbon on a new restaurant.

He said good-bye to Bobbie, collecting his coat and scarf from the coatrack next to the elevator, then rode down to the lobby.

The Chicago home base for Crane Hotels was regal. Tall and shining, white and glass. The Crane was their great-grandfather’s very first new build, and that made Tag proud. Over the years, Tag had risen in the ranks and learned how to invest. He worked for Crane not because he needed to, but because it was his purpose. Each of his father’s sons felt they had a part to play in preserving their family’s legacy.

Typically, he’d take a car, but he looked forward to the chill. It was a rare day that the Windy City had no wind, but the cold air was crisp and calm when he strode out onto Superior. He pulled up his collar and plunged his hands into his black coat’s pockets and, head down, marched home.

Crane Tower stood exactly three blocks west of the Crane, and was Tag’s proudest accomplishment. His brother may have purchased a mansion, but Tag had purchased an entire damn building. He’d done so quietly, buying it from his father so as not to get too much attention for the sale about a year ago. His penthouse was at the top floor, forty-nine, and overlooked a sea of buildings. He liked the vantage point. He loved being on top. Ask any of his past girlfriends. Well, dates.
Girlfriends
was a strong word.

Crane Tower’s doorman, a middle-aged guy whose name Tag did not remember, pulled open the door as Tag angled to get inside. The respite from wind was brief, and kicked up now, blowing his hair over his face and temporarily blotting out the vision exiting the luxury apartment building.

She was blond. He swept his hair behind his ear and stopped dead in his tracks. Petite, which put her on his “no” list since he was six-and-a-half feet tall, and wearing high-heeled, knee-high boots that met the edge of a long dark coat, belted at the waist. The wind chose that moment to bless him, parting her coat and revealing her legs, covered in gray leggings, beneath a short, short black skirt. He followed up to where she was closing the coat over her like Marilyn Monroe trying to push down her dress, and then she caught him looking.

And looked back.

Shiny lipstick. Thick, black lashes. A pair of black leather gloves came to her mouth where she pulled her hair away from her lips and Tag felt a definite stir of interest in his pressed-for-work pants.

Then she was gone, hoofing it to a car waiting on the curb. He watched the maroon sedan pull away from the curb, a woman in the front seat, and blinked as the taillights dwindled in the distance. Then to the doorman, he smiled.

“Mr. Crane,” the man greeted.

“Hey…uh. Man. Who was that?”

A brief look of panic colored the doorman’s features like Tag might fire him for not knowing. “I don’t know, sir. Would you like me to find out?”

“No.” Tag looked in the direction of where the car vanished. He liked not knowing. Liked the idea of running into the blonde again by chance.

Maybe in the gym or the lobby. Or the elevator. Yeah, he’d rather stumble across her.

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.” He nodded to the doorman and strode in, stepping onto the elevator a few minutes later. On the ride up, he realized he was leaning in the corner, smiling like a dope, the bar upgrade issue the furthest thing from his mind.