The Billionaire's Duty: Secret Billionaire’s Club Read online

  The Billionaire's Duty

  Secret Billionaire’s Club

  Tracey Pedersen

  Daring Online Adventures

  The Billionaire’s Duty

  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 Duty 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 - Cross

  Chapter Two - Jessa

  Chapter Three - Jessa

  Chapter Four - Cross

  Chapter Five - Jessa

  Chapter Six - Cross

  Chapter Seven - Jessa

  Chapter Eight - Cross

  Chapter Nine - Jessa

  Chapter Ten - Jessa/Cross

  Chapter Eleven - Cross/JESSA

  Chapter Twelve - Jessa/Cross

  Chapter Thirteen - Cross

  Chapter Fourteen - Cross/Jessa

  Chapter Fifteen - Cross

  Chapter Sixteen - Jessa

  Chapter Seventeen - Cross

  The Billionaire’s Spark

  The Steamy Sensations Books

  Also by Tracey Pedersen

  About the Author

  Before you go…

  Chapter One - Cross

  “Right. Let’s keep this as short as possible.” I give my business accountant, Frank L. Busey, a bit of side-eye. He’s flustered this morning, and kind of sweaty. I haven’t seen him like this before and it irritates me. A tax audit shouldn’t be anything that gets him ruffled. I pay him good money to take care of situations like this. “Let this guy set out what he wants, we’ll counter, I’ll offer you up as the point of contact, and I can get back to work while you cover the details. What’s his name again?”

  Frank pulls a wad of dog-eared papers from his briefcase and drops the pile on the table. He shuffles through it, his heavy breathing like a tornado in the quiet office. I turn in my chair and focus my attention on him. He’s not kind of sweaty as I previously thought—he’s drenched. Dark marks stain his business shirt and his flushed cheeks compound the effect of the wheezing.

  Stress is not treating Frank kindly today.

  He frees a sheet of paper and squints at the typewritten page. “Doesn’t have a name, just an initial. J. Collins.” He shrugs and collapses back against his seat. “I don’t know why we couldn’t do this in our office.”

  “As much as I hate the tax office, Frank, when they tell you your business is being audited, it pays to meet their terms. He asked for the appointment here, so here we are.”

  “Still…” He doesn’t finish the thought, just grumbles under his breath as he checks his watch. “How long do you think this will take?”

  I shrug. “No idea. I’m guessing this meeting is the initial contact to set out what we can expect, that kind of thing. It should be simple.”

  “Should.”

  “Well, I won’t roll over too much. As I said, I want to nominate you as the main contact. I don’t intend to spend my days knee deep in filing cabinets digging out invoices. Let’s be good cop,” I point at myself, and then at Frank, “and bad cop. You can keep me updated, but I’m having nothing to do with this guy after today.”

  “Uggh. I think I need a holiday.” He’s turned a sickly shade of green.

  “Since when does this stuff bother you? I’m the one who loathes red tape.” Frank laughs, but it’s not his usual laugh. This one is awkward. To compound his weirdness his hands are clenched into fists on the table. “Scratch that. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Because you look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

  He laughs, again, the ragged sound bouncing off the walls of the tiny office where we wait. I frown and pull out my phone, opening my email to send a message to myself. I’ll be sending Frank for a medical before the week is out.

  As I press send, the door opens and closes. I don’t give J. Collins the courtesy of my immediate attention, instead taking a few seconds to scan another email and then close my app. I might be here with Frank, fulfilling my obligations, but I fully intend to wage my own personal war against the imposition of an audit from my least favourite government department.

  When I look up—in the middle of a thought about how J. Collins needs to rethink his favourite scent—it takes me a moment to work out why the big blue eyes I’m staring into are ringed with long lashes and a hint of blue glitter. I blink and my mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Frank’s strangled sound next to me jolts me into action and I stand up, my hand extended. Before I can speak, she does.

  “I’m Jessa Collins.” She glances from Frank to me, then places her hand in mine with a firm grip. “I assume you are Mr. Ronstein?”

  “I am. You can call me Cross.” We shake hands and I have a moment of internal hysteria as I watch her lip curl when her eyes settle on Frank, again. “This is my head of accounting, Frank Busey.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” She sits down without shaking Frank’s hand, and I want to laugh out loud. I’m not the only one who can see Frank is in a lather. I wouldn’t want to shake his hand either.

  Once I’m seated, Jessa Collins has my full attention, even though her head is down, and we’re left to stare at the top of her hair. I take the opportunity to examine her. She seems rude, but I didn’t expect to be welcomed with a red carpet.

  She’s dressed for the office, in a grey business suit, with a white shirt that hangs perfectly on her slight frame. The material is soft and flowy. She has jet black hair which would give her a sharp look, if not for her soft features. She has a pouty mouth, and full cheeks, from what I saw in the moment of introductions. Her blue eyes are vivid, like something out of a magazine or an advertising banner. Blue eyes that I can’t see right now as she keeps her head down, going over the document in front of her.

  When she raises her head and meets my gaze I almost recoil at the animosity I see there. She confirms that look when she says, “We have a lot to get through. I need to advise you at the outset that you should not leave the country during the audit, Mr. Ronstein.” Her tone is clipped and devoid of warmth.

  Oh, it’s like that?

  For a moment I forgot all the things I disliked about the taxation code, tax department staff, and the general superior air this particular division gives off. Her curt words remind me that I intended to declare war.

  I won’t make that mistake ag
ain.

  “That’s not going to work for me. I’m travelling to the US on Friday.”

  “You’ll need to cancel.”

  She doesn’t break eye contact and a flush of anger speeds across my chest. No one tells me what to do. “No. I won’t.”

  “Mr. Ronstein, I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation. I intend to dig into your business affairs at length. That may extend into your personal finances to ensure we don’t miss anything.” She doesn’t blink as she delivers her speech.

  “You won’t be missing anything, I assure you.” I press my lips together as she glances down at her paperwork. “Frank knows to give you full access to anything you want to see. There’s nothing for you to find, and no need to postpone my trip.” My trip to California has been planned for months. I’m not cancelling.

  “In my experience,” she glances at Frank who appears to have been rendered speechless, “the people who are adamant that all will be well are the ones with something to hide. You need to know that bending over backward shows all the signs that you are actually trying to appear cooperative in the hope that we’ll go easy when we find whatever it is that you’re hiding.”

  “So, we’re assumed guilty if we’re helpful, but also assumed guilty if we refuse to cooperate?”

  She shrugs. “It worked in Salem.”

  I grit my teeth and try to take a breath between my teeth. Who does this woman think she is?

  “I agree this is a witch-hunt.” She bristles and I continue, “Why are you so convinced that we’re hiding something?” I narrow my eyes. “Is this routine or did something trigger an audit?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.” She sits upright, almost prim in her refusal to provide the information.

  “You can share it, or you can expect a court visit before we proceed any further.”

  “Australian law gives us the right to conduct a financial audit if we—”

  “I can still tie it up in court and you know it, Ms. Collins.”

  It’s her turn to narrow her eyes at me. I feel like we’re circling each other, trying to find a weakness.

  “Now.” I pause for effect, glad I chose to wear a suit and tie, and not an open collar shirt. “I’d like to know why you think there’s something to hide?”

  She purses her lips and glances at Frank for the third time. I don’t know why—he’s been completely useless since the moment she entered the room. He can’t be that much under her spell, can he? I was prepared to play nice, but she ruined it for me when she started throwing accusations around.

  “Could you give us a private moment, Mr. Busey?”

  Frank glances at me and I give a short nod. He looks both relieved and horrified as he picks up his pile of paper, and his briefcase, and moves to the door. When it clicks behind him, I turn back to find Ms. Collins laying something on the table between us.

  “This photo is what led to our interest.”

  Chapter Two - Jessa

  A deep frown settles on Mr. Ronstein’s features as he stares at the picture.

  It’s a recent photo, taken at a fundraising event on Easter weekend. He’s in the photo, along with several other men. They’re laughing, their arms around each other. Each of them holds a drink and they’re wearing suits and bow ties. One of the men holds a sign with the number three on it.

  He sits back and raises an eyebrow. “And?”

  I mimic his stance, something I learned long ago at a course on how to handle conflict. I’m unable to hide a smirk as I think about the conflict I’m about to start. “And. That dinner was ten thousand dollars a head.”

  “So?” He shrugs and looks at me as though he wants to say more. His mouth opens but he coughs to hide the gesture. My interest is piqued. What was he going to say?

  “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that a group of men with very different business interests have their finances woven together so tightly? That they own property, shares, and other assets in trusts that are co-owned by various people in this friend group? That they take lavish holidays together and that money seems to flow between them, with very little paperwork?”

  He shakes his head and keeps his frown in place. His eyes skate to the side and settle on the seat next to me. The silence stretches between us as I stare at him, patiently waiting for whatever lie he can think up.

  I’m lied to every single day in this job. I don’t expect to believe a thing he has to say.

  “I have no idea what you’re getting at. I haven’t done anything wrong. Every bit of income I make is included in my financial returns, whether private or to do with the companies I own.”

  “Well, that’s what we plan to find out, don’t we?”

  “A photograph of me with my friends really started this?” He seems more surprised than most people I meet. It’s one of my favourite things—springing facts on people that they thought were hidden.

  “No. Actually an audit of your accountant started this. The accountant used by everyone in this photo plus a few more of your close acquaintances. Nine people in fact.”

  “Daniel? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “Mr. Farraday has clients with significant assets that have been moved overseas. We’ve audited many of them and found discrepancies with each one. Your name came up as part of those enquiries.”

  He lets out a breath and I watch him relax. He even smiles, but we are not friends and I don’t smile back. We’re adversaries today, and every day, and no megawatt smile will change that.

  He’s confident when he says, “You have nothing to worry about. Or rather, I don’t. I can’t speak for the others, though I’m certain our answers would be similar. I don’t have any assets overseas, besides what’s documented on paper. I don’t have hidden bank accounts, or anything offshore that’s not part of a company.”

  It’s an old story. One I’ve heard a thousand times, but for some reason, today I want this man to know that I know he’s lying.

  “As I said, that’s what we’re going to find out.”

  “Good. Are we done?”

  “That depends. I need you to stay in the country until our investigation is complete.”

  “I told you, I can’t do that. I’ll be flying Friday morning.”

  “Flight details?” I bark the words and he glares at me.

  “I don’t have them on me.”

  I wave my hand toward his phone. “Call your secretary. Get them sent.”

  The grinding of his teeth is nearly audible. “My flights are not booked yet. I was supposed to fly with a friend, but we haven’t confirmed the day.”

  “You can cancel, then. No penalty to you.”

  “No. I can’t cancel. This is a trip that has been planned for months. I have obligations in the States, and I can’t miss them.”

  I tip my head to the side and widen my eyes, hoping I look sceptical. “You’ve planned it for months, but you don’t have firm bookings? Do you expect me to believe that Mr. Ronstein? Are you sure you’re not inventing an overseas engagement to get out of the country now that we have signalled our intention to look into your affairs?”

  That’s it. He’s hit his limit. Everyone has one and I enjoy being the one to tip them over the line. To poke and to prod, until they can’t bear the sight of me. It makes auditing at their offices a lot easier when these people realise I’m not their friend and I won’t be swayed by long lunches, or any other attempts to deflect my attention.

  He stands up, draws himself to his full height, and it’s impressive. He must be more than six feet tall, his dark hair cut short, a hint of stubble grazing his chin as we head into the afternoon. He buttons his navy suit, all the while glaring down at me. I lean back, keeping a pleasant expression on my face. Handsome men don’t intimidate me.

  “Ms. Collins. You’ve obviously done your homework. You’ll be aware of the resources I have at my disposal. I don’t need to book ahead to save a few dollars. I decide when I’m going, and I go. Now, if yo
u’ll excuse me, I have three companies, and several hundred employees that rely on me. You can send your list of demands to Frank. I trust you and I will not cross paths again, unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I need a court order to have his passport seized.”

  “You’re joking, right? You know what will happen if we find nothing.”

  Phil, my boss for the last three years, isn’t laughing, and neither am I.

  “I do know. I also know what would happen if he goes to the US on Friday and chooses not to return. He’s not the first man to escape our shores and refuse to come back. We need to prevent him leaving until we’ve completed the process and levelled any fines.”

  “We’re not taking his passport. He hasn’t done anything.”

  “That we know of.” I pull a chair away from the desk and drop into it. “Listen, the accountant is already somewhere in Greece and we have very little chance of getting him to return. We can’t risk such a high profile person making a joke of our tax system.”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Both, Jessa. I’ll never get sign off, and you’ll likely get a kick in the ass. Continue with the process and worry about him absconding when he actually does it. Most people don’t want to leave their friends and family to hide overseas.”

  “But he has access to massive funds. He could live out his days and never spend it all, from what I can tell. If any of those overseas accounts are his and he gets his hands on them, that’ll be the last we see of him.”

  “Drop it. I’m telling you.”