The Billionaire's Spark: Secret Billionaire’s Club Book Five Read online

  The Billionaire's Spark

  Secret Billionaire’s Club Book Five

  Tracey Pedersen

  Daring Online Adventures

  The Billionaire’s Spark

  Copyright © 2019 Tracey Pedersen

  All Rights Reserved

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying, scanning or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author. This includes transmission by email.

  Reviewers are permitted to quote brief passages for the purpose of reviewing only.

  The Billionaire’s Spark is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  The entire Secret Billionaire’s Club series is dedicated to my fellow authors. Who knew such a fun, supportive community existed in an industry many consider to be ultra-competitive? For all the romance authors who gave guidance, shared their publishing secrets, let me into their Facebook groups, and laughed at my crappy jokes, these books are for you. To remind you that we really can go further together.

  Contents

  Chapter One - Cole

  Chapter Two - Cole

  Chapter Three - Melody

  Chapter Four - Cole

  Chapter Five - Cole

  Chapter Six - Melody

  Chapter Seven - Cole

  Chapter Eight - Melody

  Chapter Nine - Cole

  Chapter Ten - Melody

  Chapter Eleven - Cole

  Chapter Twelve - Melody/Cole

  Chapter Thirteen - Melody/Cole

  Chapter Fourteen - Melody

  The Billionaire’s Club

  The Steamy Sensations Books

  Also by Tracey Pedersen

  About the Author

  Before you go…

  Chapter One - Cole

  “Cross! A little bird tells me the state of Nevada is having trouble getting rid of you.”

  Cross laughs, his smile relaxed and his eyes crinkled. I peer at my laptop screen, seeing a man who looks genuinely happy for the first time in ages. I’m so confused by that look. From what Danny and Wyatt just told me about his recent problems, he should be anything but cheery.

  He also shouldn’t be shacked up in Vegas with the woman sent to pull his business to pieces for the amusement of the Australian government.

  “At this very second I feel like I never want to leave. Life sure is good when you don’t have to hide who you are.”

  Ahh. Mystery solved.

  Cross Ronstein, one of my best friends, has discovered what I already know. Travel outside of Australia means a degree of freedom for a secret billionaire. Fewer eyes to watch your spending behaviour, and less interest in why. Of course, when you’re an actor like I am, you’re in the public eye in any country, and excessive spending can always attract attention.

  “I feel you, brother,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what I think it is on your neck?”

  Cross blushes and that’s confusing, too. I’ve rarely seen this man embarrassed in the twelve years we’ve known each other.

  “No comment.” He raises his hand to his neck and rubs the exact spot where I’m staring. “Suffice to say I’m enjoying myself this week.”

  A woman crosses the room behind him, quickly disappearing through a doorway.

  “So I see. Not just this week, though. Weren’t you due home the week after Memorial Day?” Cross shrugs as I begin my lecture. “That was three weeks ago.”

  “Did Danny ask you to call me? He’s called me every day this week, asking when I’m going home.”

  “If he’s harassing you, it’s for a reason.”

  “So, he did call.” He frowns and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. Tension creeps into his posture and his eyes tighten. “Wyatt, too, I’d guess.”

  “I guess you don’t need me to tell you what they already have?” I laugh to myself and a moment later he smiles.

  “Not really. I’m ignoring any and all advice on this matter. Adding another voice to the mix won’t change my mind.”

  “Fair enough. How about we catch up on Friday, then? I’m staying at the Bellagio for a couple of nights while we shoot some scenes.”

  “That I can do.” His tone is serious, like he thinks my invitation is some kind of trap.

  “Bring your lady friend, yeah?”

  Now he doesn’t hide his frown. “Why do you want me to bring Jessa?”

  “Err, because I’d like to meet her, and why should she hang out alone on a Friday night in Vegas? You’re not hiding her from us, are you?”

  “Nope. Everyone will meet her soon enough.”

  “Great. Let’s choose a place later. I’ll pencil you in for Friday, unless you fly the coop to go home before then.”

  He groans. “Not gonna happen.”

  There’s a light knock on my hotel room door and I glance to the side. “I have to go but see you Friday, okay? Both of you.” I give him a last hard look and he laughs as we disconnect. There’s a second knock and I frown.

  Can’t the staff use the hotel phone?

  A courier in a cute pink cap, and a teensy tiny mini skirt stands at the door. Her eyes travel up from my waist to my face, and then widen. She quickly looks down, holding out her mobile phone and tugging her cap over her eyes. “Mr. Grant. I have a delivery that needs your signature, please.”

  “Sure. Why didn’t the desk accept it on my behalf?”

  “Special delivery. I’m under strict instructions that only the recipient should sign.” I can’t see her whole face, but I can see the grin she’s sporting under that cap.

  “Got it.”

  I hold out my hand for a pen, but she wiggles her phone and says, “Just with your finger on the screen.” I do as she asks, then watch as she submits my signature online. She hands me an envelope but keeps her eyes down as she says in a voice full of that smile, “Have a nice day, Mr. Grant.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t look up, my eyes already on the envelope, but as she turns to leave her skirt flares out and that does catch my attention. I lean out the doorway and watch her move toward the elevator, her long bare legs moving quickly. There’s something vaguely familiar about her and I suddenly wish I’d paid more attention when she looked at me. She taps the button, then doubles over like she’s in pain. For a second, I think she might need help but then she stands straight and fans herself, letting out a giggle as she slips into the elevator.

  I duck back into my suite before she turns around. The last thing I need is a slightly-odd courier telling some magazine that Cole Grant ogled her.

  Her odd behaviour has me examining the envelope with a different type of interest. Can poisoning occur by courier? If there’s powder in this envelope wouldn’t it spill out the gaps and I’d notice? It wouldn’t be the first piece of hate mail I’ve received, but you can never be too careful when you’re famous. All of my mail goes to my registered business office to be screened. It’s not usually delivered by a smiling assassin with legs that go on forever.

  The paper is thick, the front embossed i
n gold foil print. The name of the hotel and my room number show in fancy script, but my name isn’t printed. I tap it against my hand as I let the door close behind me, all the while puzzling over who knows I’m staying here tonight. That’s a fancy envelope and even more fancy print. Someone went to a lot of trouble.

  There’s no sign of powder, and I tear the envelope open, the mystery quickly solved. I laugh out loud at the drama my over-active imagination tried to inject into a simple courier delivery. My day just improved more than I could have guessed when I was asked to run my finger over that mobile screen.

  In my hand is the most prized invitation in Hollywood this year—an invite to the annual Fourth of July Gala Ball, hosted by Jemima Chase of Chase Magazine.

  If anyone could track me down, it would be one of Jemima’s feisty assistants. In fact, if I needed any kind of detective work done on the rich and famous in Hollywood, I’d be inclined to ask her staff for help, before I’d seek out a private investigator.

  They’re that good.

  Chase Magazine prides itself on running down the biggest stories, and spilling the biggest secrets, all while keeping the celebrity who they’re outing, onside. It’s a fine art they’ve perfected over twenty years of publishing. Honestly, if I had a secret to reveal, I’d want to do it through them.

  That thought makes me laugh again. For now, no one suspects I have any big secrets. I’m an open book, as far as the press knows, sharing anything they ask. So far that’s kept prying eyes out of my business, but it’s only a matter of time before someone comes calling for the truth.

  The Fourth of July Ball is iconic. It’s the place to be seen. The place to make connections and rub shoulders with anyone who’s anyone in this crazy town. To receive an invite to the party of the year, you have to be at the top of your game or arrive on the arm of someone who is. You can’t buy an invitation, since it’s not a fundraiser, and you can’t bribe anyone to get you on the list.

  I should know.

  Three years ago, I gave it my best shot and didn’t make it. I wined and dined Jemima, name dropped her in at least two interviews in the six months prior, and even spent my own money to advertise my new film in her magazine. All for nothing. The fact that I hold this invitation in my hand means so much more than an invite to a party. It means I’m Hollywood royalty, and everyone, including Jemima Chase, finally knows it.

  My grin is wide as I prop the thick card against my computer screen and take a photo with my phone. My finger lingers over my screen as I decide who to send the photo to. The guys won’t be interested—besides Kent, or Danny, the rest of them don’t have many brushes with celebrity. They won’t appreciate what it means to be on the list. Sam will probably grumble for the hundredth time that he doesn’t ply his pyrotechnic trade outside Australia. If I have to listen to his dreams of Fourth of July celebrations taking off at home one more time, I’ll smack him. No, I don’t want to send him an invitation which specifically mentioned fireworks.

  I think of sending it to Mum, but that will lead to a Skype call and I’m not in the mood. My sister? Nah. A glance at the time tells me she’ll be fast asleep, recharging for another boisterous day with the twins.

  Finally, I choose my agent’s contact and send it to her. She’ll appreciate the magnitude. Hell, she’ll probably demand more commission, and claim the credit for making my dreams come true.

  I set the phone down and pull out my little black book—yes, I have an actual hand-written, old-fashioned, tiny book with contact numbers written in it. I start to flick through, wondering who I should take with me on the night. Who will be most likely to make me look good? Who’ll appreciate the kind of money-can’t-buy gift I’m bestowing on them? The publicity that no agent, PR Company, or movie promoter can promise.

  After twenty minutes of page turning, I put the book aside. It’s not that I don’t have a few names in mind. I just need to take my time and choose the right one.

  Chapter Two - Cole

  Day one on a film set is a notoriously awkward day. People run everywhere, trying to get things in order that should have been set up days ago. There’s always a last minute problem that some poor assistant is tasked with fixing. Something a director, or a producer, or even the star of the movie will insist needs to be changed or updated. Often, it’s a power play, as everyone tries to get the pecking order nailed down. In Australia we call this a pissing contest.

  I keep clear of any first day problems by showing up prepared. It’s rare for a problem to be of my making. Plus, I have my own assistant. She’ll fix anything I’ve stuffed up or forgotten. Right now, she’s throwing ideas at me for my date for the gala next week. Ideas I didn’t ask for and don’t need.

  “How about Holly Hobson?”

  “Nope. She has a stupid name.”

  She stops dead, piercing me with her stare when I turn back. “You’d not invite someone to a party because you don’t like their name?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sometimes I worry about you.”

  “Good. That’s your job.”

  “I worry you’re not right in the head. What do they teach you in Australia when you’re a young kid chasing kangaroos and learning to wrestle crocodiles? Or were you doing that while you should have been at etiquette lessons?”

  I chuckle. Patty always makes me laugh and right now I’m not sure if she’s serious or trying to take my mind off first-day jitters. “You need to stop watching Crocodile Dundee. It’s not a reflection of life in Australia, I’ve told you over and over.”

  “If only that was how I spent my leisure time.” She mutters the words to herself, but not quietly enough that I don’t hear them. After a few seconds of silence, she says, “What about Charlotte Shipton?”

  “That’d be Charlotte Shipton-Fawkner, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I hear they’re on a break.”

  “They aren’t.”

  “How do you know?” We’ve reached my dressing room and she hands me the script. “I just heard last night from a very reliable source that they’re done.”

  “I know her. They’re not done. They’ll never be done if the way she looks at him is any indication.” I throw the script onto a table and hold up my hand to ward off more random suggestions. “I’ll choose someone. Then I’ll invite them all by myself. No need for you to worry about it.”

  “I can’t believe they invite you to a party of this magnitude and only give you two weeks’ notice. You’ve wasted the better part of a week already. You need someone feisty. Someone new. Someone who’ll guarantee you coverage in the tabloids.”

  “Not someone I can have a fun time with? Someone I can laugh with as we point at all the outrageous outfits the guests are wearing?”

  “No. An event like this is business, not pleasure. You told me that three years ago.”

  “How about you be my date? Wouldn’t you like to see what all the fuss is about?”

  Patty snorts. Then she throws in an eye roll so I can’t mistake her message. “As much as I’d like you to buy me a sexy gown covered in glitter, I’m hardly perfect date material. How about you take me if every woman in Hollywood knocks you back. If I’m your absolute last choice, I’ll say yes.”

  I frown and stare at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be rejected by everyone.” I stop walking and she laughs at me. “What?”

  “Not that part.” I shake my head and touch her arm. “Why would you want to be anyone’s last choice?”

  She rolls her eyes again. “God, you’re annoying. I’m saying I’m not coming with you. Not that I’m inferior. You didn’t try to get an invite all this time just to take your assistant with you. This is big. The Fourth of July Ball is not the place for me this time. Maybe if you’re still on the guest list five years from now it can be my turn.”

  We start walking again. “You’d want me to pay for your dress if you went, eh?”

  “Of course. It’s a business expense so
it would be all on you, buddy. Now, let’s get back to working out who you’re really going to take. You need a bona fide star. Someone to complement who you are.”

  “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I want to hold someone’s hand and treat them to a romantic night out. Make it all about them for a change.”

  Patty stares at me, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as I challenge her gaze. After a beat I blink, and she laughs, then we both say, “Naaaah!”

  If there’s one thing my assistant and I agree on, it’s that every single public outing is work, no matter where you go or who you’re with. If it won’t help promote the current movie, or get you cast in the next one, you might as well just stay home. Patty even has that printed in a notebook somewhere.

  “Last one,” Patty says, pulling a moan from me. “What about Melody? She’s cute. She’s young. She’d love to go, and you two would be promoting the movie.”

  “Hmm.” My answer is non-committal on purpose. Melody’s name might not appear in my little black book, but I’ve already considered my co-star, and decided against her. She is cute, no argument there, but where Patty says she’s young, and means it as a plus, I see it as a negative. I won’t spend the night with a giggling blonde on my arm, not even to give this movie a boost. At thirty three I’m skirting around the edges of being jaded. I’m tired. Some days I’d describe myself as bone-weary. More and more I find myself drawn to older women with opinions of their own.

  The problem is, it’s been a while since I had a serious relationship. More than a while. Whether my next girlfriend is older or younger isn’t really the issue. I thought I’d have met my match by now. I planned to be married when I hit the pinnacle of my movie career and I never expected to be digging through a tiny book trying to choose a date.