The Problem With Billionaires (Billionaire Club Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Problem With Billionaires

  Copyright

  Thank You!

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  More Billionaires?

  About the Author

  Books by Brynn Paulin

  The Problem With Billionaires

  Billionaire Club

  By Brynn Paulin

  Supernova Indie Publishing Services, LLC

  www.supernovaindie.com

  Powered by Your Imagination

  The Problem With Billionaires

  by

  Brynn Paulin

  But if a prince and a waif fall in love, where will they live?

  Booker, The American Prince

  That’s how tabloids refer to me. I hate it. Yes, my mother married the monarch of a small European principality, but it doesn’t define me. Still, every time I step outside, the cameras are flashing. I’ve thrown myself into my work, built my own empire, and avoided any relationships. If you don’t give fuel for the fire, they’ll leave you alone… Right. Hasn’t worked so far.

  Then I find her. Literally…I trip over her in the street. And she’s mine. Finders keepers and all that.

  Marigold, The Waif

  My life is a disaster. When my stepmother moves away with no warning, leaving me homeless, I’m left on the street with nothing but the clothes on my back. Scared and alone, I’m facing my first night on the street. In the pouring rain.

  That’s when he falls over me. That’s when he decides I’m his.

  It should all be happily ever after. But this is my life, and things never quite work out that way.

  Copyright

  © 2019, Brynn Paulin

  The Problem With Billionaires

  Cover Art by Supernova Indie Publishing Services, LLC

  Edited by Liza Green

  Electronic Format ISBN: 978-1-62344-301-6

  Published by: Supernova Indie Publishing Services, LLC

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Thank You!

  Thank you for your purchase of The Problem With Billionaires.

  I hope you enjoy the story and will consider leaving a review or telling a friend about the book.

  I love hearing from readers! To keep in touch and follow my news, please visit me on my website at www.brynnpaulin.com.

  Dedication

  To Amy, I believe I owe you a book boyfriend.

  How about a prince?

  Prologue

  ~ Marigold ~

  “What the…” This key had never worked well, but at least, I’d always been able to slide it into the lock. I was tired from my first day of college but not so tired I couldn’t unlock a door.

  Closing my eyes, I tipped my head forward and took a deep breath. Apparently, I’d have to face the wrath of my evil stepmother, Gloria, when I interrupted her soap opera or reality TV show. Since my father died, she hadn’t done anything but live on the couch, sucking down coffee and vaping her coffee-flavored e-cigarettes. Linzey, my half-sister, and I ran around keeping her happy. I’d been really glad to start school today, just to get away. Without asking, I knew Linz felt the same way about going back to her high school classes in a week.

  Eyes still closed, I banged my fist on the door.

  “C’mon,” I muttered when there was no response.

  I rapped again, harder this time.

  A door opened, but it wasn’t mine.

  “They’re gone,” the skeevy guy from across the hall said around a wad of chew.

  Rod. How I wished I didn’t remember how he’d introduced himself when he’d moved in, announcing he was Rod—Hot Rod, to the ladies—while he rubbed his crotch for emphasis. I threw up in my mouth a little whenever I recalled it.

  I turned toward him. “What?”

  “The old lady moved out this morning. Super came and changed the locks. Guess she didn’t tell you, eh, babe?”

  “Don’t call me babe.”

  “You know, you could stay here with me—but you’d have to let me call you a lot more than that. You bitches like the filthy talk though, don’t ya?”

  My whole body went hot from panic—not from what asshole Rod offered, but from the realization I was homeless, with nothing but my clothes and what I had in my purse and school bag. My bank account echoed with cavernous emptiness, everything I’d saved over the years going to support my little sister after my dad had killed himself four months ago. My stepmother had covered basic bills, like rent and utilities, from the money my father had left behind, but nothing else. That had fallen on me.

  I probably would have been better off on my own. I would have moved out the day I graduated high school, but I’d needed to take care of my little sister. Anything I’d done, I’d done for her. Now everything was gone—all my savings, my home and even my sister herself.

  Now, I had a couple weeks looming before me without cash. Sure, I’d be starting work at a daycare next week, but I had no idea what I’d do until I got my first couple paychecks and could afford someplace. I didn’t even have cash for a cheap hotel room for the night. Panic clawed at me, but worse was the inkling of the fear my poor sixteen-year-old sibling was going through.

  What was I going to do? I couldn’t afford to take care of myself or track them down. Even if I did, I couldn’t just take Linz from Gloria.

  I stared at Rod. I knew what he was offering—stay with him. Sleep with him. Give him my virginity in exchange for a place to stay. I hadn’t even kissed a guy, not ever, and he wanted me to fuck him.

  Live on the street for God knew how long or sleep with Rod?

  “One-time offer.” He smirked. I was backed into a corner with zero good options, and he knew it. “I’ll make sure you have a warm bed and food to eat.” His eyes raked over me. “’Cause obviously you like to eat.”

  Homeless, panicked and now he was calling me fat.

  I fought back tears as my breath grew choppy.

  I didn’t have any choice.

  Chapter One

  ~ Booker ~

  “Mother…” I tried to interrupt. It started to rain harder, the drops pummeling my umbrella, the noise deafening. But I heard her voice loud and clear.

  “Stop fooling around playing doctor and come home,” my mother, Queen Alexia of Zenderland, went on as if I hadn’t said a word.

  “I’m not playing,” I growled back even though protocol dictated that I be more diplomatic in dealing with the queen. She might be my mom, but rules were rules, even for princes who were third in line for the throne. Truth be told, I’d step out of that line for the offer of a hot dog from a stre
et vendor; that’s how much I didn’t want to be royal. I just wanted to be normal. A regular guy who didn’t always have a couple protection officers on his heels.

  “You need to return and take your rightful place.”

  My rightful place? I was Prince Booker, third son of King Tiberius and Queen Alexia of Zenderland. Basically, it was a useless title with no purpose. What did a third son do? Travel, support charities, play polo, smile for the camera, do walkabouts, live in the lap of luxury on Zenderland funds, and exude mysterious royal glamor. No, thank you. I much preferred my life as an inventor and doctor, even if I’d yet to shake the need for bodyguards.

  “I am in my rightful place.”

  “In New York City, giving shots and vitamins to brats?”

  Sometimes, she was such a bitch.

  “Mother,” I sighed. “Just because they’re not your loyal subjects, it doesn’t make them brats. And actually, the nurses who work for me administer the shots to our young patients. I quite like being in charge—the king of my own office, you might say.”

  I was young to have my own practice, but I was also pretty fucking smart. I’d graduated years earlier than normal after working my ass off, and thankfully, I had the bankroll to support opening my own office. It wasn’t Zenderland money, which fried my mum, since it diminished her control over me. It was my own funding.

  In college, I’d invented a device hospitals around the country now used for early detection of cancer. Ironically, I’d created it to combat juvenile asthma. With a few tweaks, that device was also all over the market.

  Being self-supporting and not needing the parents’ allowance was a spectacular thing. Being a billionaire… Well, it was good to be king.

  I grinned even while my mother annoyed the hell out of me and rain splashed all over my pant legs as I cut through the park.

  That is until her next words registered. “But Princess Athena will be here.”

  “What?” I guess I shouldn’t have tuned out of the conversation.

  “Princess Athena. She’s coming for your homecoming. We’ve made an arrangement with her father, and the wedding—”

  “I’m not coming home, so there can’t be a homecoming.”

  “But your wedding…”

  A haze of red colored the dreary day around me. No one could enrage me like the queen.

  “I’m not getting married.”

  “You have to. It’s a royal order,” she replied, her tone harder than any she’d used so far. Queen Alexia meant business, and she expected me to comply.

  I went still and took a deep breath before I spoke. I never thought I’d do this while I stood in the middle of a fall rainstorm. I’d always thought I’d draft a letter if she pushed me this far.

  My gaze fell on a small figure hunched into a ball on a bench while rain soaked her. My brow furrowed as instant reaction zinged through me. She was a good thirty feet away, her face pushed into her knees and her legs bent up to her chest, but my whole body went on full alert.

  With long strides, I headed for her. I glanced behind me and waved off my protection officers.

  “Booker,” my mother snapped, apparently realizing I wasn’t listening to her.

  “Mother. I love you and Dad, but from this moment, I renounce my title and my citizenship to Zenderland. Thanks to you, I have American citizenship, as well, so I’m not without a country. I’ll draft an official letter for the council when I’m home. I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.”

  After disconnecting while she sputtered, I powered off the mobile and shoved it into my pocket. I was within a few paces of my future princess. I felt it to my bones. My long strides erased the distance between us.

  “Precious,” I whispered, crouching before her and bringing my umbrella to shield her, even though the downpour now drenched my back. “What are you doing out here?”

  It was obvious she wasn’t one of the homeless I was accustomed to seeing about the city. Her fragile yet voluptuous figure was clean, holding a delicate scent that had my cock going rock-hard despite her apparent turmoil.

  Her entire body shuddered from the cold, her lips blue tinged from the chilly air. Her thin T-shirt and jeans would have been perfect for earlier today when we’d had a warm, dry afternoon, but when the cold front had rolled over us, bringing this deluge, everyone had donned coats. Everyone but her.

  Without thinking, and definitely without permission, I slung her sodden bag and purse over my shoulder.

  “Hey,” she protested weakly. “You can’t—”

  But I could. And I lifted her up into my arms.

  “Sir,” Adler, one of my officers, protested.

  “You can go. I just renounced my title, which means no more protection officers,” I answered, otherwise ignoring the pair.

  “With all due respect,” Adler started, but I disregarded him and realizing that, he trailed off. We’d been together long enough, we were friends of a sort and I really did trust him with my life. As such, he also knew me well enough to know when I had a burr under the saddle, there was no changing me. I knew the officers wouldn’t just sod off, but hopefully, they’d stay out of my way.

  It was awkward juggling my princess, her things and the umbrella, but I managed it as I headed toward my building faster than I’d moved before. I almost tossed the umbrella since we were both soaked to the skin and the cover was fairly useless at this point, but I didn’t want the stinging drops hitting her delicate, exposed flesh.

  As if sensing I wanted to protect her, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and buried her freezing face in my neck.

  “You’re safe. I promise,” I murmured, though she hadn’t asked for the reassurance.

  “Th-thank y-y-you,” she whispered in return. I wondered if she was half-delirious from exposure and the shock to her body. I held her tighter to me, trying to warm her. She was still shaking hard, and I heard her teeth clattering together.

  “What were you doing out there?” I asked, half to myself. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about twenty. Too young to be away from her family and on her own, in my opinion. She needed a protector, and I was resolved it would be me.

  “N-n-no w-w-w-where else t-to g-go,” she managed, her voice shaking as hard as her body.

  Horror shot through me, and I had to restrain myself from squeezing her tighter. This precious treasure…tossed out on the street? Why? I gritted my teeth. I’d sure as hell find out what happened and someone would pay for this travesty.

  “You do now,” I growled in determination. “You have someplace now.”

  My building came into view. The doorman saw me coming and hurried to hold open the door.

  “Dr. Grammer,” he greeted. I nodded at him, handing him the umbrella. He closed it as he hurried along beside me then rushed slightly ahead to summon the lift.

  “Thank you, Jonathon. This is my girl,” I told him. “She’ll be staying with me.”

  “Very good, sir. What name should I record?”

  I kissed the top of her head. “Precious, what name do you want?”

  “Mar-marigold G-grey.”

  “Marigold Grey. Very good. I’ll get that marked in. Welcome, Ms. Grey.”

  The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside with my precious cargo. My flower…Marigold. I thought it fit her well. Normally, I’d wait for my protection to join me. Today wasn’t that day. They had housing on my floor, so they could follow when the elevator returned for them. They wouldn’t like it, me alone with an unvetted stranger, but they could get over it. I’d pretty much fired them anyway. And if I knew Adler, he’d already procured Marigold’s name from the doorman and was running a background check that would make the CIA jealous.

  As the car rocketed to the building’s top level that housed my penthouse, my princess’ light scent filled my senses once more. Citrus and floral…sweet…

  I was struck by a strong need to taste her, so compelling I had trouble fighting it off. Not wanting to scare her, I drew on year
s of royal decorum—stiff upper lip and all that—and pushed back my urges. I didn’t fully school my features to the bland mask I often adopted, letting her see some of my interest, but not enough to send her running.

  “I-I can stand if you let me down,” she offered.

  “No.” Okay, maybe, my caveman side wouldn’t be suppressed.

  She pulled back, blinking at me in apparent surprise.

  Yeah, sweet flower, I’m surprised too.

  I had no idea where this growly, overbearing alpha had come from, but I had the feeling he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. “We’ll be there in a moment.”

  “Um…okay. Where are we going?”

  I noticed she was shivering less, and her words were less shaky. As she warmed—slightly at best—her brain was coming back online.

  “Home,” I announced. Done deal. It was hers now, too.

  “Home…? What?”

  “I’m taking you home. You said you have no place to go, and you’re sure as hell not staying out in that storm. So, I’m taking you home,” I repeated.

  “I’m not a stray puppy.”

  “Do you want a puppy?” I detoured, trying to sidetrack her argument. I’d give her anything she wanted.

  “Um… Who are you?” She stared at me as if I were crazy. Maybe, I was a little. I didn’t recognize this overprotective beast rising up in me. I’d never reacted like this before now, with anything or anyone.

  “Prince Booker Christian Edward Grammer of Zenderland—or as they call me here in America, Dr. Booker Grammer.”

  “Prince Booker?” she gasped in disbelief, obviously recognizing the name. “You should definitely let me down.”

  “Not yet,” I said as the elevator opened at our floor, and I marched to my door. This level was split into two identical, two-story penthouses, mine and one owned by Elijah Brixton and his wife, Cricket. In fact, I was supposed to go to their place for dinner tonight. Since neither had much in the way of family, Cricket was forming a new clan—one she’d insisted I belonged to since none of my family was in this country. And thank God for that. My relatives drove me bloody mad.