Billionaire's Matchmaker (Titans)

  BILLIONAIRE’S MATCHMAKER

  BY SIERRA CARTWRIGHT

  BILLIONAIRE’S MATCHMAKER

  Copyright @ 2018 Sierra Cartwright

  First E-book Publication: June 2018

  Editor: Nicki Richards, What’s Your Story Editorial Services

  Line Editing by Jennifer Barker

  Proofing by MT, Bev Albin, ELF

  Layout Design by Riane Holt

  Cover Design by Scott Carpenter

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Thom Panto

  Photo provided by ©Wander Book Club

  Promotion by Once Upon An Alpha, Shannon Hunt

  All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Adult Reading Material

  Disclaimer: This work of fiction is for mature (18+) audiences only and contains strong sexual content and situations.

  It is a standalone with my guarantee of satisfying, happily ever after.

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  Producing a book takes a team. And I am profoundly grateful for the help I’ve received along the way.

  A very special thank-you to Lexi Blake and Cherise Sinclair, who encouraged me to go for it. Cherise, you’ve been encouraging me for years. Thank you. And Lexi, not only did you say go for it, you provided advice and resources for which I will always be grateful.

  Chloe Vale, YOU are spectacular and valued.

  Shannon Hunt, at Once Upon an Alpha, you’re amazing! Thank you for being on my team.

  Miss Whit—for everything. For you.

  Angie, you help keep it all glued together.

  Shari Slade—Hey, Girl, I don’t know what I would do without you.

  Skye Warren, you are valued more than you will ever know.

  Bev, every day, you’re there. Thanks for the insight, the support, the encouragement. You really are Bad Ass.

  And to my crack editorial team: Nicki, Jennifer, MT, BAB, ELF. Your hard work is valued.

  Julie and Ian Kirby, you are so inspiring. I love your love.

  Kallypso Masters, you are a heroine among heroines. Thank you!

  This also goes out to some special friends from KallyCon: Laura, Carmen, Kim, Alissa, Barb, Darlene, Shawn, Sandie and her wonderful hero John, Lilith, Chloe, Marion, Sue, Dawn, Jennifer and Noel, Melissa, April, Ilene and Jeff, Chayo, Lib, Saya, Sylvie, Deb, Marion, Angelique, Kimi.

  And for Crystal and Tony—I appreciate your endless patience with my questions, your great humor, and your kind perspective.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  EPILOGUE

  OTHER TITLES BY SIERRA CARTWRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rafe Sterling strode through the door of his downtown Houston office and into a Monday morning predawn ambush.

  To make matters worse, his shoulder hurt from where he’d landed on it during a bicycle race the previous day, he’d slept badly, and he hadn’t had a single cup of coffee.

  Three women stood with their backs to the window, a terrifying army in silk and stilettos.

  His mother, Rebecca, had her arms folded across her chest, wearing resolve like armor. His sister, Arianna, was in the middle, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. Good. At best, she was a reluctant accomplice.

  The third woman, all the way on the right, he’d never met.

  Her well-defined cheekbones were striking, and her lips were painted a wicked shade of fuck-me red. She wore her long brunette hair loose, the locks flowing around her shoulders. But it was the way she studied him, with total focus, that riveted his attention. Her eyes were a startling shade, not hazel but deeper, like gold. For a moment—a fascinating, unwanted, and mercifully brief flash of time—he imagined them swimming with tears of submission.

  He cleared his throat, and she broke their connection by glancing toward the floor.

  Fuck. Her gesture arrowed through his gut. For the first time in years—since Emma—he was captivated.

  Rafe shook his head. He had no patience for relationships, not even with a woman who wore a skirt that hugged her enticing curves.

  “Rafe, darling!” His mother broke ranks and took a couple of steps toward him.

  Galvanized, he closed his office door behind him. Better to meet the battle head-on so he could get on with his day. “Morning, ladies.”

  He crossed the room to drop an obligatory kiss on his mother’s cheek, then he noticed a pile of folders on his desk. Something to do with the visit from the unnamed woman, no doubt.

  With distrust, he flicked another glance in her direction. Who the hell was she? “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Rafe eased into his leather executive chair.

  His mother took a seat across from him and skipped any further pretense of pleasantries. “You need a wife.”

  “Ah.” He slid the manila menaces to the edge of the desk and resisted—barely—the urge to knock them into the waiting trash can. “Understood. Now this is the part of the confrontation where I tell you I will find a bride when I’m damn well ready. Thank you for your time and concern.” He attempted a smile. Judging by his mother’s wince, the curl of his lips was closer to a snarl. “I’m sure you can show yourselves out.”

  “Don’t be rude, Rafael Barron Sterling.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. His mother hadn’t used his full name since he was in college.

  “Your father is planning to marry Elizabeth.”

  Rafe opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He didn’t need to state the obvious. His parents were still married.

  “It’s imperative we make you the CEO of Sterling Worldwide. This madness must stop at once,” Rebecca finished.

  “Mother—”

  “He bought her a forty-thousand-dollar ring. I saw a picture of it in his email. Gaudy. He has terrible judgment and even worse taste.” She shoved the manila folders back to the center of the desk.

  Because of Theodore’s unstable behavior, his mother suspected her husband had the early stages of dementia. His physician disagreed, saying that Theodore was at an age where he’d acquired vast wealth and wanted to enjoy it. The motorcycles he couldn’t ride and the yacht that needed a crew were proof of that, as were the classic Rolls Royce, a chauffeur, a château in France, and a twenty-three-year-old mistress to enjoy it with.

  Rafe suspected that both his mother and the doctor were partially correct. Theodore had never wanted any part in Sterling Worldwide. He’d been the unexpected and much pampered late-in-life and third-born child of Barron and Penelo
pe Sterling. His parents had believed Theodore to be nothing less than a gift from God, and they’d treated him as such, indulging his every whim, allowing him to travel the world from a young age, buying him gifts that had been denied to his siblings. He’d also bypassed the boarding schools that the other Sterling children had attended. But his parents had insisted on a college education. They’d made a sizable donation to the university’s foundation to ensure he received passing grades. Surprising everyone, including himself, he’d excelled in business school.

  When his older brother, Barron Sterling, Jr., had been killed in a hunting accident, Theodore had been thrust into the unwelcome role as heir and CEO of a worldwide hotel empire. He hadn’t known that his much more qualified sister couldn’t inherit the business. He’d hired attorneys, but in the end, the terms were absolute. Theodore had lost his freedom and his jet-setting lifestyle. Within weeks of his brother’s burial, he was married to the formidable Rebecca, a woman his mother had selected.

  Now that Rafe had proven himself competent as the conglomerate’s Chief Financial Officer, Theodore had run away from his day-to-day responsibilities in favor of living the life he’d imagined.

  Unaware or uncaring that her son hadn’t responded, Rebecca continued. “Ms. Malloy”—she pointed to the brunette—“has compiled a list of suitable candidates for your consideration.”

  “Candidates?”

  “To become your wife,” Ms. Malloy clarified, taking over the meeting. She crossed the room toward him, her hips swaying and her peep-toe shoes sounding a tattoo that did evil things to his libido.

  When she stopped near his desk, her scent reached him, lilacs and summer, a contrast to the darkness that hovered over his life.

  “The list has been narrowed to five finalists for your consideration.” Obviously she had no clue she was rearranging his brain cells. “Each of the ladies is qualified to be your wife. Of course, for your privacy, they only know certain things about you. A general description, the fact that you’re an executive, that you live in Houston. The women have been interviewed and prescreened. We have nondisclosures on record, so any exchange of information will be confidential. Because time is of the essence, a mixer on Thursday or Friday would be most expeditious. If you prefer, we can arrange casual meetings, coffee or breakfast, perhaps lunch as you narrow your selection to three. From there we will be happy to set up dinners. That way you can get to know her before actual social events. We can make it appear like a whirlwind romance and—”

  “Stop.” He held up a hand and trapped her gaze. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I didn’t realize that you weren’t aware…” She glanced toward his mother, but Rebecca looked down to pluck a piece of lint from her skirt

  Recovering, the brunette smiled. The gesture was quick, practiced, and polished—meant to impart confidence without being too familiar.

  Irrationally, it—she—irritated the hell out of him.

  “I beg your pardon. I’m Hope Malloy.” She extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”

  He ignored her gesture. “I asked you a question.”

  As she dropped her arm, her smile vanished. When she spoke, her tone was more formal. “I own The Prestige Group. Celeste Fallon recommended my team to your mother.”

  “Team of…what?”

  “We are an elite matchmaking service for the world’s wealthiest, most discerning individuals. We understand that it’s difficult for men such as yourself to meet appropriate—”

  “You’re a matchmaker? You stick your nose in other people’s business for a living?” Stunned, Rafe swung his gaze toward his mother. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Watch your tone.”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds before I throw all of you out.”

  “I know this is a shock, so I’ll forgive your bad manners. Prestige will be discreet on this search. No one needs to know it’s happening.”

  He stood and slammed his palms flat on the desk surface. “You hired them to find me a wife?” The killer-heeled woman was here to marry him off to some nameless woman to safeguard the Sterling empire?

  “Celeste has assured me that Ms. Malloy is the best.”

  Of that, he had no doubt. Fallon and Associates was one of the world’s most exclusive crisis management firms. For more than a hundred and fifty years, they’d specialized in high-profile cases, restoring reputations, saving careers, ensuring people never talked. Like Sterling Worldwide, the Fallons had also kept the business private, and all owners had been related to the founder, Walter Fallon—who’d been part of a secret society at the University of Virginia with Rafe’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, John.

  Along with five other young men who’d been in the same organization, John and Walter had become lifelong friends. Over the years, the Sterlings and Fallons had helped each other numerous times, including earlier in the year when Theodore and Lillibet had been caught in the first-class toilet of a commercial aircraft.

  Thanks to Fallon and Associates, the investigation had gone away, and Celeste had managed to kill the story before a prominent East Coast newspaper could get anyone to verify the distasteful rumors.

  As it was, only one blog had run the story, under the headline, Little Girl and her Teddy Join the Mile High Club! The teaser, as vile as it was provocative, had been a clever play on his father’s name and the ridiculous age difference between the lovers.

  A week later, the website had vanished.

  “Ms. Malloy has done a fine job. At this rate, we can announce your engagement within a few weeks.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Undaunted, his mother went on. “It’s a matter of time before your father causes a disaster we can’t recover from.” Even though anger strung her words together, she didn’t raise her voice. As always, Rebecca was the picture of calm, focused resolve. “You’re over thirty. If you had done your duty years ago, we wouldn’t be facing this situation now.”

  He winced at the truth of the accusation. Ever since Rafe was a child, his mother had been clear about his obligations. But to him, love equaled drama, and he despised both.

  “You need to be sensible.” She brought her index fingers together and studied him.

  Arianna joined them. “I know you don’t like people meddling in your life, but—”

  “Meddling?” He’d had enough. “You call this meddling?”

  “Things are going to get worse, not better, with Dad and his—” Arianna caught her bottom lip with her teeth. “With Elizabeth.”

  Every day, Rafe hoped his father would return to Houston and his office, but since his dad and Lillibet, as he called her, had been ensconced in their St. Pete’s Beach love nest for two weeks, that didn’t seem imminent.

  Rafe sighed. “I know you’re concerned, and I understand it.” More than ready to get out of this mess, he said, “I’ll talk to him again.”

  “You’ve done so numerous times,” Rebecca pointed out.

  Dozens. Maybe more. “If necessary, I’ll fly out there.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Rebecca asked in a chilled tone. “This cannot continue. You’re a smart man, Rafe. You know how delicate this situation is. Let’s not make it any more complicated than it needs to be.”

  Possible scenarios lined up in his mind and fired across his brain in a burst of nightmares, each worse than the last. Theodore asking for a divorce. His mother being awarded half of the company and the courts being involved in the painstaking divisions. It could drag on for years while his father played with his mistress. In a worst-case situation, Theodore might, indeed, commit bigamy, which would create a public relations quagmire that Sterling Worldwide might not recover from.

  Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Noah stopped by the house Friday evening,” Rebecca said. “Your father isn’t returning calls. I understand from his assistant that Noah’s been dropping by the executive office every day. She’s been making excuses, but sh
e isn’t convinced he believes her.”

  Rafe struggled to hold his temper in check. His cousin, Noah Richardson, son of Rafe’s aunt, Victoria Sterling-Richardson, believed he had grounds to challenge Rafe’s position as heir apparent. According to the archaic terms of the trust, succession went to male descendants in birth order. Even then, the heir was required to be married.

  Noah ran one of the divisions, was a multimillionaire in his own right, and he believed he was the rightful heir since Rebecca and Theodore hadn’t been married when Barron, Jr., had been killed. Noah itched to break up the corporation and sell it off, a philosophy Rafe was against. Noah had threatened to see Rafe in court numerous times. Rafe had responded that any challenge should have come a generation ago. But because Noah was married with children, there was a chance, however slight, that he might prevail in a court case. Even if the decision was in Rafe’s favor, the litigation could drag on for months, even years. The financial cost could be devastating.

  “I’m sorry.” Arianna wrung her hands. “I hate this, and I didn’t want to be part of it. It’s awful that we have to coerce you into doing something you’re not ready to do.”

  He believed her. Unlike him, she was a romantic, a dreamer shattered by her second divorce.

  “Arianna and I will leave you to it.” Rebecca stood.

  “I haven’t agreed to anything.” He refused to be railroaded.

  “You’ll do what you need to.” His mother wasn’t backing down.

  She closed the door with a decisive click, sealing him in with the enemy. Hope was a beautiful, seductive temptress, but the enemy, nonetheless.

  “You’re a matchmaker.”

  “It’s an honorable profession.”

  “Is it? Much like operating an escort service. I hire you. I will end up paying to fuck a woman, one who’s interchangeable with any number of other candidates.”