The Billionaire’s False Fiancée: The Beaumont Brothers Book Two
The Beaumont Brothers
The Billionaire’s Sham Girlfriend
The Billionaire’s False Fiancée
The Billionaire’s Last Chance
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, NOVEMBER 2018
Copyright © 2018 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
Jess Green has had to fight for everything she has. When she sees her future about to slide into an abyss thanks to an offhand comment made by her sexy but oblivious boss, Alistair Beaumont, she decides to take things into her own hands. Everyone in the financial world knows the Beaumont brothers need to settle down else the company that Jess depends upon will go under. So when Alistair is overheard discussing his disbelief in love and marriage the company stock price plunges. When Alistair suffers a bout of amnesia on a skiing trip, Jess sees a way to save the company and decides to tell him one teeny, tiny lie: she’s his fiancé.
Alistair loves one thing and one thing only—his freedom—and certainly not the girl he finds in his bed, claiming to be his future wife. Amnesia or not, something’s not right. Sure, she’s got that girl-next-door sexiness about her, and his attraction to her is powerful, but deep in his gut he’s rebelling against the idea of being tied down. However, snowed in and isolated from the world in an exclusive lodge, Alistair begins to believe they are a couple and against all odds, he actually finds himself falling in love.
But when Alistair gets his memories back, will he choose to stay with Jess who he can’t get out of his mind—or out of his heart—or will he choose to take back the freedom he’s always craved?
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
End of The Billionaire’s False Fiancée
Thank you!
About Leslie
Sneak Peek: The Billionaire’s Last Chance
Also by Leslie
1
“You’re pretty. You’re slim. You’re outgoing. You don’t want anything serious.” Jessica Green shifted in her seat, referencing the clipboard in her lap. This interview process had been hell, but maybe she’d finally found the light at the end of the tunnel. The proverbial angel descending from the heavens to rescue her from this never-ending work task. “You seem like the ideal candidate, to be honest.”
The perfectly painted blonde in front of her grinned from ear to ear. That was one of the requirements—pretty enough to be a celebrity, vapid enough to agree to a fake relationship, and bubbly enough to convince the world. Jess’s boss, Alistair Beaumont, needed to find a girlfriend and fast. The man himself was too disinterested and too busy for the task, so Jess herself was forced to wade into the dating pool on his behalf.
Each woman signed a confidentiality agreement even before being interviewed. Most of them were lured to the Seattle offices of B3 Motors under vague enough pretenses that word wouldn’t leak. But even so, rumors had begun circulating. Alistair’s older brother Gregor had recently married for love, which Jess wished Alistair would just shut up and do already. It would make the process—and her job security—so much easier if he could just find a girlfriend, fall in love, and settle down a little already.
But instead, I’m here micromanaging his love life. Just like every other aspect of his life.
“Something that you’ll be required to do,” Jess said, tapping her pen against the edge of the clipboard, “Is both go through with a marriage and then eventually divorce. Are you willing to go to these extremes for the position?”
The blonde, named Abby, gave an incredulous laugh. “Of course! I would give my left tit to be seen with Alistair even once. You have no idea how this is going to help my career.”
Jess smiled tightly, her gaze skating up and down Abby’s figure again. Her tits were nice, but would Alistair approve? She didn’t know what his sexual preferences were. All she knew was that Alistair had a rotating door of women in his calendar and dinner reservations, and almost none of them showed up twice.
It bothered her that she wondered. Of course he would be a playboy. Alistair’s good looks were off the charts; even her annoyance with his haphazard work ethic and irritating habits couldn’t dull her appreciation of them. But what did he like?
And would it be someone like me?
Jess frowned down at her clipboard. Alistair, however hot, was never going to be an option for her. Her path was clear: stay employed, stash away money, and avoid relationships like the plague.
Her job was her boyfriend, and it would stay that way for a long time.
“It’s very important that you play the part at all times,” Jess said. “No slips. No outside flings. This needs to be rock solid.”
Abby nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. “So is it a problem that people already know he’s against relationships?”
Jess blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Abby reached into her purse, swiping through her phone. “I saw something online yesterday. It was an interview, sort of.” She bit her bottom lip, then shoved the screen toward Jess’s face. “Here. Look.”
Jess’s mouth parted as she watched the clip, something short from a celebrity rag site. Alistair was there, standing outside a restaurant in Las Vegas, it looked like. His movie star jawline and side-swept dark hair made her chest tighten for a moment, until he opened his mouth.
“No, it’s all rubbish.” Alistair flicked a cigarette into his mouth, something she knew he only did when drunk. “I don’t believe in any of that. Love, or any of its trappings.” He grinned at the camera, winking, that British accent dripping like warm honey. “I’m a bachelor for life.”
The video faded to black, and Abby pulled her phone back into her lap. “That won’t be a problem, right?”
Jess’s nostrils flared. A PR emergency already, and they’d barely started the ruse. What would happen once they actually hired a woman to be his girlfriend? Panic sliced through her. “I can’t answer that right now. I need to look into it more. But I will say that Alistair is heavily pursued. Your relationship with him will be called into question. And there will be gossip. Plenty of it.”
Abby nodded, tucking silky hair behind her ear. “I can handle it.”
“Great.” Jess checked her watch. She needed some time before the rest of her work day to investigate this pesky little soundbite. “Well, th
at wraps it up for now. We’ll be in touch soon, okay?”
The ladies stood, Jess shaking Abby’s cool, limp hand. Once she’d disappeared from the office, Jess sank back into the overstuffed chair, letting her mind spin out of control.
Holy hell, Alistair. What other messes have you created for yourself? She swiped open her own phone, nibbling at her lip as she launched a search to learn more. If the clip was old, she could spin it as a young, naïve, bachelor Alistair. But if it was recent—like only shortly before he and his brothers found out that his grandfather’s will carried the stipulation that they all must marry within eighteen months of his passing or else lose the business—then they were screwed.
Against her better judgement, Jess navigated to some of the other popular celebrity sites. Lo and behold—Alistair had top billing.
British Playboy Seeking Love: Apply Within
Single and Ready To Mingle? Try Marry
Beaumont Brother Seeking Wife Urgently
Her throat tightened as she scrolled through the articles, skimming them quickly as though that might soften the blow: Alistair’s secret had leaked, and now they ran the risk of his eventual relationship being doubted.
If the world doubted his relationship, it hardly mattered. The one they had to convince was his grandmother, that staunch matriarch she’d only glimpsed once in her life. Just the sight of her made Jess’s back straighten immediately. It had felt like glimpsing the Queen of England, somewhere between fear and awe—and panic that she’d offend her with a gross lack of etiquette.
If Grandma doubted the relationship, whenever it occurred, then Jess might as well jump ship now. Because if the company folded once Alistair’s grandfather’s shares were sold—as the outcome would surely be, according to Alistair—then Jess would lose the best job she’d never truly earned.
On the one hand, Alistair’s unorthodox approach to work and hiring processes were a total frustration to coexist with. On the other hand, they’d allowed her, a mere high-school graduate with an incredible knack for micromanaging and just enough smarts to fake a college degree, to slip through the cracks. There was no way in hell she could score this salary outside the confines of B3 Engines.
This business had to stay alive; not just that, it had to thrive.
It’s okay. We can spin this. We’ll deny, deny, deny. There is no fake marriage planned; this is just desperate tabloids looking for fodder. She repeated the line to herself as she scrolled the articles a second time, letting the news wash over her. Absolutely no reason for anything to change course.
But the reassurance didn’t allay the fears. If the company’s public image was hurt, then stocks could tank. If stocks tanked, she couldn’t get herself back to college. And if she didn’t get herself into college, to finally get her degree a full five years later than the rest of her peers…
Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t often wish Alistair were around to help with things, but in cases like these, his easygoing positivity would really come in handy.
Her phone rang then, a long string of numbers coming up, looking more like a joke number than anything. She listened to it ring a few times before bringing it to her ear hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Is this Jessica Green?” A man’s heavily accented voice made her brow furrow.
“This is. May I ask who’s calling?”
He rattled off a name that disappeared into an indecipherable swirl of vowels. And then he said, “I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Alistair Beaumont. He had you listed as primary contact.”
Jess squeezed her eyes shut. Oh God. Oh God. He’d left for Austria just a few days ago for a two-week ski trip. She’d bid him farewell, telling herself she was relieved, even though she secretly missed the annoying way he drew out her name whenever he had a question. “Is everything okay, sir?”
“He’s been in an accident. It would be best if someone could come soon.”
Jess’s heart thumped against her ribs as she listened to the hospital liaison explain: ski accident, head injury, unknown extent of trauma.
When she hung up, her fingers trembled, but she didn’t delay.
She needed to find a flight to Austria tonight.
2
Voices stirred Alistair to consciousness, muted conversation coming from the hallway. He blinked through the haze in his eyes, furrowing his brow as the splitting headache returned. How many days had he been here? How many rounds of painkillers had been injected to deal with these migraines? He swallowed a sour taste in his mouth, blinking as he looked around the dimly lit room.
Austria, they’d said. He was in Austria, originally from England, but living in the United States currently.
They could have made that up, for all he knew. Although, when he spoke, the accent was decidedly British. So there was that tiny piece of evidence, at least.
He fumbled for the wallet on his bedside table, desperate to touch his identification card. It was the only proof of his life, the only way they’d been able to haul him off the slopes and get in contact with his real life.
Real life.
The words hung strangely inside him, like foreign bits in a glass of water. Was that life real, or was it just a collection of memories he didn’t have? The doctors here at this hospital said that his memory could—should—recover. But when? Nobody knew that part. All he had was his name and his country of origin. More details would arrive soon. All he could do was rest and hydrate.
A soft knock at his door made him sit up. Nurses came in occasionally to check his vitals and scribble in charts. A blonde woman poked her head in, early twenties probably, rosy cheeks and a strong nose that made him clear his throat.
“Hello. Come in.” He swept his arm in front of him, as if this were any place other than a hospital room.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Beaumont?” Her thick accent was cute, and he immediately grinned.
“Better, now that you’re here.” He relaxed as she came to his bedside and slid a blood pressure cuff over his bicep. A waft of her perfume reached him.
“You say that to all the nurses,” she responded, grinning.
“Oh no. None have smelled as lovely as you.” He watched as she inflated the cuff, his gaze trekking over her crisp uniform.
Her grin widened. “Now you’re just being a flirt.”
“Maybe I am. Is it working?” The ease with which the words rolled off his tongue gave him hope that this was who he was, his true personality shining through. Sometimes, he felt like this was the key to regaining his memory—seeing where conversations led him, letting inclinations take over. “You should come on a date with me, once I’m out of here. Let me take you out somewhere.”
The nurse smirked, but he could tell she was amused. “Now, now. We have policies here about patients and nurses.”
“I’m not a man to abide by policy,” he said, hoping it was true.
The nurse clucked her tongue as she read the pressure reading, then released the cuff. “Maybe. We will see how you heal up. Maybe we could run into each other on accident?”
He nodded, the triumph of it thrilling through him. He might not remember his childhood, his career, or his future, but he could pick up a nurse in the middle of Austria. “Sounds like a date.”
She sent him a secret smile and then exited the room, leaving him bathed in dim quiet once more. Alistair settled back into his bed. They liked him to walk around and do things, but it was hard with the throbbing headache. Sometimes even the television screen could set off a new round of aching.
He lay back, listening to his breaths while his mind cycled with questions, as it always did. He wondered about his home, what it looked like, who would be there when he returned. The hospital staff told him they had called his emergency contact, but who knew what relationship that would be? They couldn’t tell him, his emergency information hadn’t given details, and it was the only number on him. His cell phone had been tossed somewhere over the side of a mountain. Apparently he’d been skiing solo; apparen
tly this whole trip had been solo.
Who are you to do such a thing? Not even a friend or a sibling?
He sighed, adjusting his position in bed. Maybe he was an only child—that could explain the lack of siblings on this trip. Were his parents dead? There was so much bloody information to find out still; the sheer number of questions felt like a mountain sitting directly on his chest.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed until a firm knock sounded on the door. He blinked rapidly, trying to ready himself for whoever might come through the door. One of the other nurses poked her head in—a relief that he could at least remember things that had happened to him since arriving here.
“Your emergency contact is here, Mr. Beaumont,” she said in a loud whisper.
His whole body perked up. Curiosity stole his voice for a moment. “P-please. Send them in.”
The nurse excused herself, and a moment later, soft steps fell, a woman rounding the corner into the room. Alistair’s throat tightened when he saw her—a gorgeous, mid-twenties brunette with impossibly plump lips and big, crystal blue eyes that widened when she saw him.
“Alistair,” she choked out, approaching him hesitantly. “Darling.”
He watched her eagerly, desperate for clues about his life. She’d called him “darling.” She had no British accent. She was too hot for words. Are you with this woman?