Cade's Property 4: Alpha Billionaire Romance Read online

  Cade’s Property

  Book 4

  Emery Cross

  Cade’s Property 4

  Copyright© 2015 by Emery Cross

  Cover Design by: Avanti Graphics

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Other books in the series:

  Cade’s Property 1 (Available)

  Cade’s Property 2 (Available)

  Cade’s Property 3 (Available)

  Cade’s Propery 4 (Available)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  CHAPTER ONE

  REMI

  Fitch kept his face blank as he held the door for me, yet I sensed his disapproval. I climbed the rickety stairs to get Jace. He greeted me with a bottle in each fist. The eyeliner around his eyes was so smudged, it looked like he’d slept in it for days. He wore a harness belt around his waist and a cartridge belt slung at an angle over his hips.

  “Hello, Rems.” He landed a kiss on my cheek. “I’m still so jealous of that t-shirt. I can’t believe you spotted it first.”

  Jace’s boots had brass plates in the heels that clinked as he stomped down the asphalt drive. He jangled like a spurred cowboy.

  We collected Hannah next, but it took a good twenty minutes before she stepped out the front door. We sampled Jace’s liquor selections while we waited.

  We could hear Hannah’s high-pitched hellos before we actually saw her. She was nearly busting out of her leather corset. Her breasts were bouncing as she hurried toward us on her stiletto heels. She stopped midway to the car.

  “Honey Mouse,” she scolded and snatched up the Chihuahua that had followed her out. It took another five minutes for her to lock the dog in the apartment.

  When she returned, I stepped out of the sedan, gave her a hug, and was instantly enveloped in a cloud of floral scent.

  “Holy, shit,” she said as she climbed into the sleek sedan.

  She flipped open the refrigerated compartment and then fiddled with the climate control. “I’d like to be someone’s sugar baby.”

  “He hardly qualifies as a sugar daddy. He’s only six years older than I am.”

  Hannah smiled vaguely as if she wasn’t really listening to me. “Did you hear? Victor’s out. He got his charges reduced.”

  A visible shudder ran through me. The snake had managed to slither out of his cage. It made sense considering he catered to an elite group of men. Men who didn’t want their secrets aired during a trial.

  As Fitch maneuvered the sedan through crowded downtown streets, we passed around the whiskey. I opened the window and let the cool air whip through my hair.

  I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I let it go to voicemail. My pulse rate ratcheted up rapidly as I played back Rafferty’s message, expecting to be told I was right and that Veronica was now back in his life. Instead, his gorgeous deep voice told me he’d changed his mind and wanted me home. I shoved the phone back into my pocket. I wasn’t ready to forgive.

  I rolled down the partition and gave Fitch directions to a club I used to frequent with Sam. It was a dive located down an alley. It smelled of popcorn and old carpet. But the drinks were cheap and strong. They barely splashed any Coke in a rum and Coke. Classic rock tunes were playing on the jukebox. Guys, who’d probably been around when the place was a hangout for famous writers, lined the bar and sat at the scattered tables. But it turned out nostalgia wasn’t enough to make me want to stay for long.

  Next we hit the post-punk club three blocks down. We got lucky. It was open. The Cold Collective had unpredictable hours. It would often be closed for months at a time. The building used to house a strip club, and no one had bothered to redo the decor. The walls were mirrored, and there were still a few stripper poles. Usually punk bands played the venue, but tonight the deejay was spinning obscure post-punk, goth, and no wave.

  The crowd was mixed, young punks, washed-up Goths, record-collecting types with big black-rimmed glasses, and the salt and pepper set who had probably been around when the best punk music was being produced.

  I got up, mixing with the dance crowd, and started moving, hoping to work off my frustration. After a few dances my t-shirt was sticking to my body with sweat. Everybody on the floor was just doing their own thing, when the guy next to me started invading my space. I just figured he was getting carried away, but his hand was suddenly on my bottom. I shoved him off me. Just a short while ago, he would have been my type. Now my ideal male was a hard-ass conservative sporting an MP tattoo on his bicep.

  I took a seat at the bar and ordered another rum and Coke. The phone buzzed in my pocket again. I hadn’t responded to his voicemails, so he’d switched to text messages.

  “I fucked up. I want you here with me,” the text read.

  “Sorry, your dirty little secret is having too much fun,” I replied.

  “Forgive me, I’m an asshole.”

  Hannah climbed onto the barstool next to me and glanced at the screen. “Ooh. I like a man who knows how to grovel.”

  Rafferty was starting to break through my defenses. I shut the phone off.

  “Tomorrow is your last day, right?” Hannah pouted her lips at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “Do you think he likes brunettes?”

  “You googled him,” I accused.

  “Sure did,” she said with a laugh. “I told Ceci about your arrangement and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. So I had to get a look for myself. He’s all sorts of gorgeous.”

  I was swirling the ice around with my straw feeling sorry for myself, when someone gave my shoulder a tentative tap. I turned, expecting to find the guy from the dance floor behind me. But it was Fitch, his face looking even gaunter than usual in the shadowy lighting.

  “Mr. Cade asked me to bring you home.”

  “Could you please tell Mr. Cade that it’s only—what time is it, Hannah?”

  Hannah, who was probably on her fourth gin and tonic, smiled goofily and held up her wristwatch for me to read.

  “That it’s barely ten o’clock.” I patted the empty stool on my other side. “Fitch, why don’t you join us?”

  “I don’t drink on the job, Miss.”

  “I know that, but you could have a soda.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll wait in the car.” His shoulders slumped as he walked away. Rafferty had only tasked him with bringing me home, a specific time had never been mentioned, and I was determined to stay out late enough to avoid the party altogether.

  Rafferty sent in the big gun next. When I saw Brian’s broad form part the crowd as he moved toward me, I realized it was time to face defeat. Brian chucked me under the chin.

  “You work for him, now?” I asked.

  “Yeah, security on a couple of his projects.”

  I wasn’t going to jeopardize two men’s jobs for a lackluster night on the town. Defeated, I finished my drink. I hea
ded to the restroom and used damp paper towels and pump soap to freshen-up.

  Hannah was flirting with some guy in a corner booth and wanted to stay. I managed to talk Jace into coming back to the mansion with me.

  Brian escorted me to the sedan, extolling the virtues of his new employer. Cade was a man who won loyalties for life, I imagined.

  Luxury vehicles lined the mansion’s drive. Fitch opened the sedan door for me. Lines of weariness creased his face. I felt a twinge of guilt. My little escapade had worn him out. I noticed Brian had followed us in his car. Was he afraid I’d make a run for it?

  “Mr. Cade asked that you meet him poolside as soon as you’ve changed,” Fitch said.

  “Did he?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. I remembered how I’d glammed myself up for the cocktail party only to have him take me against a wall.

  As we approached the house, I could hear voices and laughter. I glanced up to see Max leaning on the railing of the veranda smoking a cigarette. I could feel his curious stare following me as I headed around to the back gate. Fueled by too much rum and angry at Rafferty’s imperious ways, I took a deep breath and walked up the path leading to the pool.

  The lights were sparkling, reflecting off the pool water. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket as we walked past the women in their chic dresses and the men in slacks and cashmere sweaters or polo shirts. The blonde woman who’d cornered me in the bathroom and a thin, pinch-faced brunette were giving me the evil eye. I scanned the area for Rafferty but didn’t find him.

  The pastry cart attracted me. There were miniature cream puffs and éclairs and a rainbow selection of French macarons. If I hadn’t felt so self-conscious, I would have sampled every flavor. Jace had no qualms about piling a napkin full of treats.

  Max sidled up to me. “Hello, Diamond.” So Max had had the eureka moment.

  He leaned in close enough for me to smell the cigarettes on his breath.

  “Hey, Max, meet my friend, Jace.”

  Max reached across me and shook Jace’s hand.

  Heels clacked importantly on the granite tiles. The blonde stopped and faced me across the dessert tray. It registered suddenly that this was a different woman from the one who’d confronted me. This one was prettier with softer features.

  “Diamond? Is that your stripper name?” she asked.

  I half expected Max to let her know what I really was, instead he chided her. “Not nice, Veronica,” he said.

  She slanted a quelling look at him.

  We were joined by a big, sloppy looking guy with hair that flopped in his face. He wore a wrinkled button-down beneath a rumpled corduroy sport coat. He grabbed an éclair and polished it off in two bites.

  “So who’s this?” the man asked. He was examining me as if I were an exotic creature, as if he’d never seen anyone in leathers and boots before.

  “Rafferty’s cousin, apparently,” the brunette said with a snort.

  Max rattled off the introductions. “Remi, Jace, Veronica, Trevor, and Pepper.”

  Trevor acknowledged me with an amused smile and a lift of his glass. “How was Europe?” he asked Veronica while still checking me out.

  “Cold and wet and considerably more crowded than I last remembered.” Veronica laughed. “Or maybe it’s just because I’m getting older and have no tolerance for crowds or traffic or waiting in lines.”

  Veronica took a sip from her fluted champagne glass. “I did happen upon a charming beachfront villa when I was in France. I sent my father pictures, and he offered to lease it for my honeymoon.”

  I could sense everybody trying hard not to look at me, the interloper.

  A brittle smile curved Veronica’s lips. “Raff’s just trying to make me suffer a little for leaving.”

  Another snort from Pepper.

  “Why don’t you have another drink, Pepper. Might help that sinus problem you’re having,” Max suggested.

  Pepper skewered him with a harsh glare.

  I felt the moment called for a drink. I scanned the area and then without excusing myself, made a beeline for the heavily-laden bar trolley. Jace and Max followed.

  Max set a shooter glass next to mine, and I filled them with tequila.

  On impulse, I grabbed a bottle of Tabasco. Jace and I always did TNT shots when we wanted to get truly blitzed. There was something about the competition, of seeing who could bear the heat, that made us gulp them back at a furious pace.

  Jace took a bite of a purple macaron. “Not for me, Rem. Don’t want to be throwing up violet.”

  I waved the bottle of hot sauce. “Eight drops,” I told Max. “Twelve if you are feeling really brave.”

  A tall, thick-necked guy with brilliant blue irises made even more so because the whites of his eyes were bloodshot strode up to the trolley. I wondered if he’d been smoking weed. “Introduce us, Max.”

  “This is Rafferty’s—” Max said.

  “Remi Shay, and you?” I interrupted and extended my hand.

  “Tommy Johnson.” I noticed the tattooed eagle on his arm.

  “Do you know Cade from the army?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch threw me in the guardhouse for drunkenness.”

  I laughed and held up the bottle. “Doing TNT shots. Interested?”

  “I’m game.”

  A girl with a head full of long ringlets snuggled up to his beefy arm and joined in on the fun.

  We’d just knocked back our second lineup when Rafferty exited the house through the French doors. He was in conversation with an older guy with salt and pepper hair.

  I tensed as Rafferty noticed me, his eyes narrowing in appraisal of my clothes. Tingles ran up my spine as I sensed his approach. We all threw back the drinks and quickly followed it with a lime wedge.

  “Your little jewel has been mixing us shooters,” Max said.

  “Hi,” I said shyly as Rafferty came up beside me, suddenly feeling like a jackass for being inappropriately dressed.

  Jace and Rafferty shook hands.

  “Excuse us for a second.” He tugged me off to the side. “Defiant brat, I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

  “Yes, please,” I replied, my voice breathy.

  He gave me a roguish half-smile, leaned in, and kissed me. My heart rate quickened at the unexpected public display of affection. “Spicy,” he said and then rested his forehead against mine. “Don’t drink anymore, baby.”

  “Fine,” I said but without the usual sass. I took his hand and pulled him toward the architectural model of the theater which dominated the center table. “I thought you only built skyscrapers and sprawling developments.”

  His hand slid under my hair to the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking my earlobe. “A pet project.” He was staring at me and not the theater model as he spoke.

  Jace joined us. He crouched to peer into the interior of the miniature theater. Rafferty lifted the roof so we could better see the seating and stage layout. “Amazing,” Jace gushed. “I took some set design classes at the community college.”

  “There may be a paid internship available. If you’re interested.”

  I was suspicious that the paid internship had been invented on the spot and that Rafferty would not only see that it was created but fund it as well.

  “And give up my part-time at the big box store? God, yes, I’m interested!” Jace looked like he wanted to kiss him.

  There was a tablet propped beside the model that looped a time lapse video of the renovation project. The tequila shots were starting to take their toll. It was easier to stare at the video than take part in their conversation about the intricacies of theater management. I caught snippets of their discussion, but when I heard Jace say, “Old Suicide Sam,” my head shot up.

  “
Found Rem trying to keep out of the rain outside the bar he owned,” Jace continued. I realized then, why Rafferty had made the generous offer of an internship. He’d wanted information.

  I signaled Jace to zip it, but he just threw me an annoyed glance and kept spilling it, about how Sam had taken care of me, sheltering me from the streets. How he’d pressured me into agreeing to marry him when I turned eighteen.

  “The day Rem broke off the engagement, he jumped his motorcycle off an overpass.” Jace made a plummeting motion with his hand that made me flinch. “Poor bastard. But she wasn’t in love with him. He fucking well knew it, but he just kept pushing.”

  I glanced at Rafferty but couldn’t hold his penetrating gaze.

  “Jace, please,” I begged.

  “Christ, Rem, when will you stop blaming yourself? You were just a kid. Sam should never have put that burden on your young shoulders.”

  Jace had said that to me before, but the guilt never seemed to lessen.

  Rafferty reached for me, but I avoided his outstretched hand and strode unsteadily toward the house.

  Max stepped away from the drink trolley and followed me. “Christ, I’ve never seen Cade like this,” he said. “You must be unbelievable.” He held the door open for me and actually followed me into the living room. “When your time is up, I’d like to hire you.”

  The night had officially turned to shit. It felt as if my insides were crumbling. So I wasn’t such a secret after all. Rafferty had probably discussed my assets like he would a new wine or restaurant he’d discovered. I have a whore you might want to try. She excels at sucking. Tie her up and she’ll cry for sweet mercy.

  “What’s the matter?” Max seemed genuinely concerned. I figured I must have looked as hellish as I felt.

  “Too much tequila.” I shook his hand off my arm and hurried through the living room before I was sick all over the priceless rugs. I cursed my heavy boots as I clunked up the stairs, my hand pressed tight to my mouth. What had I been thinking mixing all those liquors?