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Julie
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Hot playboy billionaires? Definitely not my type. Until one offers me a ride to California—with some dangerously irresistible “lessons” thrown in ... and he somehow starts to change my mind about what dreams are actually made of.
Making it as a fashion designer in New York City feels a lot like trying to fly to the moon with homemade wings. My Instagram is slowly gaining traction, but the grind is exhausting. So when my best friend asks me to be the maid of honor at her shotgun wedding in Malibu, I’m tempted to head back to L.A. for good. Especially since my unrequited crush is also on the guest list.
The night before my road trip, my friend Sloane drags me along to a swanky Hamptons party where I happen to meet her drop-dead gorgeous billionaire boss, Colton Maddox—also known as the King of Heartbreak. Definitely one to steer well and truly clear of.
But the next morning, I open the door to find Colton standing there with coffee in one hand and the keys to a luxury tour bus in the other. In my tequila haze, I must have told him about my road trip—andmy unrequited crush. Now he’s insisting we had a deal.
Did I really agree to travel across the country with a hot, cocky devil? Even worse, did I also agree to let him give me “lessons” on how to seduce a man, after I admitted I have zero experience? How mortifying.
Turns out, Colton Maddox is maddeningly persuasive. He’s also anexceptionallygood teacher. He showers me with luxurious gifts and takes me to all the hot spots on my wish list. Including Vegas.
As we get closer to L.A., the insufferably sexy billionaire is starting to convince me that maybe, all along, I’ve been holding out for the wrong man…especially since the cocky devil is now my husband.
Sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t end up staying in Vegas after all…
Billionaire Devil is a steamy billionaire romance in the New York Billionaires series, starring the four Maddox brothers. Each book in the series is a complete standalone with a sexy fairy tale HEA.
New York Billionaires
Wednesday
Southampton, New York
“I wish I could help you, Miss Bailey, I really do,” says the woman on the phone. “But I can’t forward your information to my boss for the simple reason that she doesn’t take unsolicited phone calls. At all. You’ll have to go through the usual application process just like everyone else.”
“I have,” I tell her. “I never heard back.”
“That means you weren’t selected. They only get in touch with people they’re interested in meeting with.”
“But if she could take a quick look at my Insta?—”
“There’s nothing else I can do,” the woman interrupts sharply. “You’ll just have to wait until another position is advertised and try again. Have a nice afternoon.” She hangs up on me.
Damn it.
I sigh, putting my phone face down on the tiny kitchen table in my postage-stamp-sized studio apartment, gazing out the window at my neighbor’s rusty air conditioning unit in the back alley of what most people would consider a very beautiful town. Southamptonisbeautiful, of course. Once you get out of the back alleys and away from the air conditioning units that happen to whir very loudly at all hours of the day and night.
Not that I’m complaining. I chose to be here and I’m doing my best to make the most of it. I moved to the east coast from L.A. almost a year ago, leaving the only home I’ve ever known, because I desperately needed a change. The place never felt thesame after my mom passed away suddenly, two and a half years ago. Once I graduated from UCLA with a degree in fashion, I figured the best thing to do was to dream big and try my luck in the fashion mecca of New York City.
I also wanted to get away from the love of my life, who—and yes, I’m aware of how pathetic this sounds—I’ve only actually spoken to a handful of times. Usually when he was being drooled over by other women. Even so, I hold onto those rare moments of charged eye contact—which are etched into my memories like they’ve been lasered there with a sadistically red-hot blowtorch—like little gems.
Troy Beckett. Star hockey player. Center for the Bruins and record-holder for the most goals scored in one season. Playboy of the highest order. Gorgeous, in a tousled, just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way that was basically the equivalent of crack to every woman with a heartbeat during all four years of my college experience.
I never really even got close to him.
