Selling Out to the Billionaire Read online

  Selling Out to the Billionaire

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Excerpt of CAUGHT TOGETHER

  Excerpt of GET ME OFF

  SELLING OUT TO THE BILLIONAIRE

  PENNY WYLDER

  Copyright © 2016 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  1

  The minute I hear the mailman leave I’m pouncing on the mailbox. I had enough dignity to not actually be standing outside waiting for him—barely. My real estate license should be here today. That means I can call Jeremy and start working right away, and I can’t start working soon enough. That’s what the numbers in my bank account are telling me anyway. I carry the mail into the kitchen, ignoring the fact that there is more than one envelope with large threatening red letters.

  Yes! There it is. I tear open the envelope and pull out the little laminated card and stare at it. My picture isn’t great—but what ID picture is ever great? Who cares? I’m licensed. I can finally say I sell homes for a living, and finally actually have something to live off. This is L.A., everyone wants to live here. In the meantime, the last of my savings will cover me until I can get my first house sold and the paperwork signed.

  I pop a frozen meal in the microwave, running to grab the clothes I’ve set aside for today. Hopefully I’ll be able to use them. Jeremy—my cousin—agreed to let me start at his company Sunset Realty. I think it was his mother that talked him into it honestly, but I’m not going to argue with it. I need a place to hang my license, and his company has a great reputation.

  Slipping on the heels and dress I ironed earlier, I grab my cell phone and dial Jeremy’s office number. It rings a couple of times before he picks up. “Jeremy Nelson.”

  “Hey Jeremy, it’s Penelope.”

  His voice warms a bit from his usual business tone. “Hey Pen, what’s up?”

  “My license came today.” I can’t keep the smile out of my voice.

  “Really? That’s great.” He sounds distracted, but when he’s at work Jeremy is usually distracted.

  “Yeah,” I say, “so I’m available whenever.”

  I hear papers shuffling around. “This is actually perfect timing. I didn’t think I was going to have anything for you for a while, but I had someone quit today.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.” I feel like a terrible person at the bubble of excitement that floats up through me.

  “It happens,” he says. “How soon can you get here? Sam had a showing for a new client at four.”

  I look at the clock. It’s one-thirty. I calculate the distance in my head—the office isn’t too far. “I can be there by two. Two-fifteen at the latest.”

  “Great. See you then.” He hangs up before I can say goodbye.

  I race through my make-up routine, trying to be as fast and accurate as possible. I count myself lucky that I honed my getting ready speed so well in college. The food is done when I get back to the kitchen, and I eat it quickly while holding it over the sink so I don’t spill something on myself. I used to get jokes that I couldn’t make it through a meal without some kind of spill. Today’s not the day to prove those people right.

  I leave my dishes in the sink and unplug the microwave. These days I don’t leave anything plugged in if I don’t have to. Not powering that little LCD display may only save me five cents this month, but this month five cents might be all I have to spare. Grabbing my purse and my new license, I’m out the door. Not as fast as I wanted, but I’ll still make it to the office by two-fifteen.

  Twenty minutes later I’m pulling into the parking lot and thanking the traffic gods for clear roads and the fact that I wasn’t pulled over for my less-than-legal speed. I head on in, and Jeremy is on the phone when I get to his office. He gestures for me to sit while he finishes the call, and hands me a folder. Inside is the information for an absolutely gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills. Perfect swimming pool and view overlooking the valley.

  Jeremy finishes the call. “Hey, Penelope.”

  “Hi.” I can’t keep the smile off my face.

  “I forgot to say congratulations when we talked earlier. I know it’s been a long time coming.”

  “Thanks.”

  He points to the folder in my hands. “That’s the house Sam set up a showing for. It’s at four o’clock. Take care of this first, meet the client, show him the house. Might as well jump straight in with your first client, right? Nothing teaches like experience. Tomorrow we’ll get you more up to speed on things in the office and we can assign you some properties.”

  “Sounds good.” I nod. “Who’s the client?”

  Jeremy waves his hand, “He calls himself Mr. Corduroy. He’s one of these incredibly wealthy people who wants his real name kept out of things until the last minute.”

  “Okay,” I say, laughing.

  “Don’t worry,” Jeremy says, “he was a referral from one of our existing clients—one of mine actually. I’m not sending you off to meet a crazy person.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, standing. “Actually, if that’s all you want for today, I’ll head over to the house now. I’d like to do a walk through so I’m more familiar with it before I do a showing.”

  “Thinking like a realtor already,” Jeremy says, handing me a card. “Here. This is your new login to our website. In case you need to access a listing or schedule a showing while you’re not here.”

  I take the card and tuck it into my wallet. “Thanks. See you tomorrow?”

  “Good luck.”

  The sun momentarily blinds me as I step out of the building and I take a breath, trying to calm my nerves. My first client. A very rich client. This is going to be great. It’s going to be easy. Easier than easy. I take another deep breath and force my body to relax. Then I get into my car and head toward the hills, fully ready to impress my new mystery client.

  2

  The house is just as gorgeous as the pictures. A sprawling tangle of hardwood floors and creamy walls. It’s very sleek, with a lot of natural light and open spaces. It also has a large surrounding property—rare in L.A.—and a nice privacy fence. I can see why someone who changes his name for something like this might value the addition of the fence. I think anyone would like to live here. Hell, I would love to live here. But I'm not a millionaire, so I must make due.

  I make some notes in the file of the house, ways I can pitch and highlight the various features. Between the drive over and my walk through, four o’clock comes way too soon. I head outside to wait for the client. It’s nice outside, cooler than a normal summer day with a slow breeze coming across the valley. I don’t mind standing outside.

  Then four-fifteen comes around.

  Four-thirty.

  Four-Forty-Five.

  My frustration has been building for the last forty-five minutes, and I’m practically seething. Did Sam even confirm this appointment?
Is it possible that the client isn’t coming at all? I’m about to give up and call Jeremy when a car pulls into the driveway. Damn it’s a nice car. A silver sports car that looks like it would be more at home on the Autobahn than the clogged streets of L.A. It pulls to a smooth stop next to my car, making my sedan look like it’s fresh from the junkyard.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to smile, not letting my irritation show. The door of the car opens, and Derek Conway steps out of the car. The. Derek. Conway.

  Yeah, okay. Now I know why he gave a fake name. If he had given his real name we’d be swarmed with about a thousand paparazzi right now. There's no way that wouldn't have leaked. I'd never call them, but who knows if someone at the office wouldn't do it. Derek Conway is L.A.’s favorite billionaire playboy. The most eligible bachelor. The guy consistently photographed in illicit trysts with supermodels. Super-rich, super-hot, and standing right in front of me.

  I watch him straighten his suit and see his head nod, and I almost feel his eyes run along my body from head to toe and back. I don't blame him, because my eyes are definitely running up and down his body—totally worth any professional points it may have lost me. I ignore that sudden tingle in my stomach that looking at each other seems to give me, and take a step forward.

  “Mr. Conway,” I say, extending a hand, “I’m Penelope Swanson. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be my client.”

  He gives me a little smirk. “You’re not Sam.”

  “No, I'm not. Sam decided to leave Sunset Realty. But don’t worry, I'm here to help you with whatever you need.”

  “Are you sure?” he says, that smirk deepening as he looks me up and down again. "I can be very demanding."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Well, then I guess it's my job to make your demands come true. Usually it's dreams, but I'll make an exception in this case."

  Derek laughs. “My apologies for being late. My prior engagement ran long.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I say. My mind is spinning. Derek Conway! This is so much better than I imagined. He has the ability to buy any house he wants, and I get to spend time looking at him while I work. My best friend Anna would say I'm eye-fucking him. Looking at the back of him as he walks past me, I can't say that I disagree. This commission will take care of me for a year. I don’t know what I did to finally catch some luck, but I’m not going to complain.

  Derek walks up the drive to the door, taking in the outside of the house. He stops before the door, and I miss a step, almost crashing into him. “Would you like to see inside?” I ask. “It’s got some beautiful hardwood floors, and the back—”

  “No.”

  “What?” I don’t think I’ve heard him right.

  “This isn’t the one.”

  My mouth drops open, and I’m glad he’s facing away from me. All my dreams of an amazing and easy commission evaporate. Is that it? “How can you be sure?” I say. “Maybe you should see inside before you make a decision.”

  “I’m sure,” he says simply, turning to face me, “because I always know what I want the second I see it.” I swear that he’s looking at me... through me... but he’s still wearing those dark sunglasses and I can't be sure. Regardless, my stomach reacts to his words, exploding with butterflies. This is ridiculous. I need to get it together. He’s my client even if he looks like he stepped out of one of those insanely hot cologne ads.

  I plaster a cheery smile on my face. “I can put together something else for you if you like. I can do some research and find you something you’ll like the second you see it.”

  He has his phone out, scrolling through something. “Tonight,” he says. “I’d like to see two more places tonight. If that’s a problem, I can find someone else to do it.”

  It’s his casual tone that frustrates me. Of course he can find someone else to do it. He’s one of the richest men in the world, people would fall over themselves to be this close to him. But this is my first client—I’m not going to have him walk away after the first house I show him, and not even going inside. So it’s going to be more challenging than I thought. Fine. I can still do this. “It shouldn’t be a problem,” I say, turning away from him and pulling my phone out and that card Jeremy handed to me.

  I log onto our site and set the parameters based on this house. Approximately the same number of square footage, or higher. No limit on price. I glance through a couple of photos and choose the first one I see that reminds me of him in his fancy sports car. Plus one that has later showing hours tonight. Two and done. Obviously I could do better with more time, but if quick is what he wants, I’m not going to argue.

  I turn around to face him again. “All set,” I say. “We have showings at seven and seven thirty at two different houses here in the hills. Will that work for you?”

  He looks up from his phone so quickly that I get the sense he didn’t actually expect me to pull it off. It might have been some sort of test. He smiles a small smile that sets my heart racing even faster than it is; with the adrenaline I’ve already got flowing through me I could start running and never stop. “That will work fine. Please text me the addresses.” He heads back to his car, twisting to watch me with a cool smirk as he opens the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  I watch him drive that gorgeous car away, and those words repeat in my head. I’ll see you tonight.

  Damn it. Even with his brisk and walled off attitude, he’s still hotter than I ever imagined. I both love it and hate it. His words are seeping down into my skin and I feel my thighs warming in between.

  I’ll see you tonight.

  Yes, he will.

  3

  This next mansion is way better than the first one. I mean, the first house was gorgeous, but I’m almost glad Derek didn’t go inside that one now. This new one is much bigger, with everything someone like him could want.

  Built in the Spanish style, it features rounded architecture, golden wood, and a list of amenities as long as my arm. Everything from a built-in theater to the single most gorgeous hot tub I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t love it.

  Unlike this afternoon, Derek pulls into the driveway right at seven. My emotions are warring with each other. On the one hand, I can’t ignore how relieved I am that I don’t have to wait for him again. Or that I don’t have to reschedule the showing for the second house. But on the other hand, it's Derek-Freaking-Conway.

  He's sex on two legs, and my body knows it. I'm ten times more nervous and a million times more turned on than I have any right to be. It's a bad combo. One that makes me sure I'm going to say something stupid.

  My breath catches as he steps out of the car and I mentally slap myself. I mean, does he really have to look that good? It’s just not fair to us mere mortals.

  The sun is setting now, creating hard shadows that play along his square jaw. They highlight his cheekbones and the smoothness of his please-kiss-me-lips. His dark sunglasses from earlier are gone; I can see his bright green eyes, even when he barely gives me a glance, instead examining the house behind me.

  I’m holding my breath waiting for him to dismiss it out of hand, but he doesn’t. After about a minute of his staring, I dare to use my voice. “Would you like a tour?”

  He focuses on me again, almost like he had forgotten I was there for a moment. He nods. Relief crashes through me. At the very least I can get him inside. I lead the way, holding open the entryway door for him. “I think you’ll really like this,” I say. “The style is clean and modern, very customizable. Although it already has many of the amenities I’m sure you want.” I gesture to the large skylight above the entryway. “The house has great natural light, which I think is a huge plus.”

  I lead him through the entryway into the kitchen, pointing out the unique features and trying to ignore how close he is to me... how damn good he smells. Vaulted ceilings hover over a tiered room with a stunning view of the valley and a gorgeous balcony that leads to the surrounding property and pool. Derek fo
llows me, attentive but silent.

  The whole way through the house I talk, and he listens. Whenever I glance back at him he’s looking at me and not the house. It’s disconcerting. But I’m hoping that I’m at least making a good impression. I lead him upstairs and through the guest rooms and into the master suite. “This is really one of the best parts of the house,” I say, gesturing to the giant set of rooms. “There’s a connected office, a walk in closet that could fit your car inside it, and of course, this is beautiful.”

  We’re standing in the center of the master bedroom which is furnished with a bed the size of Texas. The room is clean and open with a balcony overlooking the property and beautiful casement windows spread throughout the room. With the curtains blowing in the breeze there's no doubt the room is grand—even magical. Maybe Derek thinks so too, because for the first time he actually looks interested.

  Then he opens his mouth. “I don’t like it.”

  I try to fight the falling sensation of disappointment in my stomach. “What is it that you don’t like so I can make a note?”

  He stares at the giant bed, his eyes narrowing. The way he studies it I can't help but imagine all sorts of perverse images. Him, bending me over the edge... me, squealing as he spreads my legs as wide as possible. I have to fight off the thoughts before I turn any redder.

  Derek glances towards the balcony. He smiles a little, a tiny motion that makes me ache to kiss the corner of his mouth. Ugh. “I prefer floor to ceiling windows. Especially in the master bedroom. When I’m in the middle of fucking a woman senseless, I like the idea that someone could be watching.”

  I go bright red, unable to stop myself from imagining that exact situation. Both of us in that massive bed, Derek moving over me and doing wicked things to my body. The image makes my face heat even more. I try to say something, but nothing comes out but breath. Derek smirks at me knowingly. Damn him for knowing the effect he has on people.