The Game: A Billionaire Romance Read online

  Table of 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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  EPILOGUE

  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

  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 One

  Chapter Two

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Description

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Untamed

  Thank you!

  Billionaire's Protest

  Billionaire Bad Boys

  Caught Off Guard

  EXCLUSIVE "BIG DADDY" (((NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED)))

  Beauty and the Billionaire Sample

  Copyright

  About the Author

  The Game

  A BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

  KIRA BLAKELY

  It started as a game.

  A wager between business partners. I had to make someone truly fall in love with me.

  Abigail Gomez thinks she’s just my personal assistant, but she’s more than that. She’s an important part of my plans for my company’s success, an indispensable pawn in the billion-dollar game I’m about to play.

  But first, I have to make her fall in love with me.

  It’s easy. A sweet word here. A caress there.

  At least, I think it will be until I see her coming down the stairs dressed like a goddess. Who knew she was hiding such perfect curves and confidence?

  Well, she's not a pawn anymore; she's the queen and I’ve been put in check.

  It started as a game, but now I’m playing for keeps!

  The Game is a full length stand alone novel and is the second book of the Untamed Series. They are loosly tied together. I have included Untamed after this novel. You don’t have to read Untamed first, but it’s there just for you!

  Chapter 1

  My New Boss

  Abby

  What will my new boss be like?

  The question runs through my head as I drive to Harrison, twenty-five miles out from bustling Manhattan, my fingers tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of “Seasons of Love” from Rent drifting from my four-year-old speakers at almost full volume.

  Given the light traffic, I should get to Mr. Herbert’s address in less than fifteen minutes. Already, the sky-rise buildings are far behind me and the less imposing trees taking their place to give me a better view of blue skies and windswept clouds. I’m early, and that’s how I like to be. Better to have enough time to floss and clean my keyboard than to run late and risk leaving an important document behind. Or worse: go to work without brushing my teeth.

  But what if Mr. Herbert doesn’t like me appearing ahead of schedule?

  I try to remember what I’ve learned about him on the Internet.

  Grant Ainsworth Herbert, aged thirty-one. American father; long deceased. British mother; died of cancer a year ago. Born in New York. Raised in his grandparents’ home in London. Went to MIT. Got his MBA from Oxford four years ago.

  Well, there was nothing to indicate punctuality or a dislike for it. There wasn’t a lot of information regarding his preferences, in fact, except for one – women.

  Grant Herbert likes women – a lot.

  I even read that he slept with the British ambassador’s ex-wife and an actress, whose engagement to the lead singer of a band was called off as a result.

  Are the rumors true? I don’t know. I don’t believe everything I read. But if they are, no problem. Thanks to my former employer, Nathan Landers, I’m an expert at dealing with egotistical playboys. Let them play, and don’t get in their way. And if Grant Herbert tries to make a move on me? I’
ll leave my palm print on his cheek. Boss or no boss, I don’t take shit from any man.

  Not that I’m expecting Mr. Herbert to make any move on me, of course. Based on what I’ve read, he goes after either the stunning ones or the wealthy ones. I’m neither. I’m plain, which is exactly how I choose to be. And while I have a bit saved up in my bank account thanks to Mr. Landers’ generosity, I’m by no means a millionaire. Well, I plan to be, but right now, I’m just an ordinary, hard-working glorified secretary.

  So, no problem.

  Unless…

  I glance at the penny-sized face of my silver watch. What if I’m too early and he’s still in bed because he was with a woman all night? I don’t want to catch him in a bad mood.

  Hmm. I lower the volume of the music so I can hear myself think.

  Should I call ahead? No. Waking him up will put me in an even worse spot. Should I turn back? Stop my car at the side of the road and waste an hour?

  In the end, I decide to just go to Mr. Herbert’s house as planned. If he’s asleep, then I’ll simply wait in the living room. And if I wake him up? Well, it’s his fault for asking me to come to his house. But just in case he’s grumpy, I’ll get him coffee.

  I decide to make a quick stop at the next coffee shop I pass by and have an internal struggle over the type of coffee my new boss might prefer… or even if he prefers coffee at all. He is half-British, after all. Regardless, I head to the address feeling a little more confident. Some of that confidence evaporates, however, when I find myself in front of a huge, black, cast iron gate.

  It looks just like the one in The Sound of Music . And, with a lump forming in my throat, I feel like Maria did when she first saw it.

  How could Maria sing at a time like this?

  A man appears behind the gate. Late forties by my estimate. Tall. Crew cut. Dimpled chin. Huge biceps. Ex-military or ex-con? I’m not sure. But right now, he sure makes an intimidating guard.

  As I get out of my car and walk up to the gate, I wonder if Mr. Herbert has a bodyguard as well. Mr. Landers didn’t have one. Does this mean Mr. Herbert is richer? I read that he’s supposed to be descended from nobility. Or maybe he’s just more defenseless. Mr. Landers used to be in the military, after all, so he’s perfectly capable of defending himself.

  Still, I’m not sure Mr. Landers can stand up to this guy.

  “I’m Abigail Gomez,” I inform him, handing over the driver’s license from my purse. “Mr. Herbert’s expecting me.”

  He looks at my ID then at me. Then he stares at my ID again.

  I take a step forward, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

  He touches his chin as a puzzled look spreads across his face. “Good question.”

  Huh? I’m sure I look exactly like my picture on my license so that can’t be the problem. What then? Does he think I’m not like the women his boss usually expects? Well, I’m sorry if my nose isn’t sharp enough or my cheekbones aren’t well-defined, but I didn’t realize those were in the job qualifications.

  “Look. I’m not here to sleep with Mr. Herbert, all right? I’m his personal assistant.”

  “I see.”

  “If he’s still asleep, I can wait…”

  “Oh, he’s awake.” The man gives me back my ID. “You said he’s expecting you?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Then I guess it’s all right.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mumbling, he walks away. I can’t hear the words so I just go back to my car. Seconds later, the gate opens and I enter.

  The guard gives me a salute – yup, he’s probably a veteran. Then as I drive away, I get a glimpse of him smiling from my side view mirror.

  No, not a smile. A grin. So he finds me amusing, does he?

  As for me, I’m more than amused as I drive up to the house. I’m in awe.

  The front lawn is immaculate, dotted by large trees hedged by trimmed shrubs. There’s a fountain on one side and a gazebo on the other, both elegantly carved out of marble. And the house? Its stone façade and tiled roof make it seem like a remnant of a bygone age, but it’s by no means on the verge of collapse. Not even close. In fact, there isn’t a single vine crawling in between the French windows, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it lasted a hundred more years.

  A grand mansion.

  I’m beginning to think my new boss has class, in which case I’m glad I got the most expensive cappuccino blend. It’s either class or he’s just a snob.

  Well, I’ll find out soon enough.

  I park my silver Toyota Camry behind the red Ford Escape in the driveway, turn off the engine, and glance at the rearview mirror where my anxious black eyes stare back at me. I close them as I take a deep breath.

  Relax, Abby. You’re going to be fine. Mr. Herbert would be a fool not to see how lucky he is to have you.

  Grabbing the coffee, I step out of the car and walk up the front steps, my heels clacking against the stone. In front of the wooden double doors, I stop, searching for a doorbell. None. I guess the house is as old-fashioned as it looks.

  I try the iron door knocker, half-expecting a middle-aged butler to come to the door in his crisp tailcoat and pristine, white gloves. No one comes, though, and so after a few more knocks, I try opening the door.

  It opens with a creak, and I reluctantly step forward.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Strange. I thought Mr. Herbert would be here, and the guard did say he was awake. Then again, the house is huge so maybe he didn’t hear me. I guess I have no choice but to look for him.

  The search proves to be slow as I find myself distracted at every turn, pausing to admire something – a painting, a sculpture, a vase, a piece of furniture – every other minute. The house is stocked with the best of the old and new – antique crafts and the most expensive appliances. It’s two worlds seamlessly merged into one, and the result is simply fascinating.

  I almost forget what I’m there for but when I remember, I hurry, especially as I realize the cup of coffee in my hand is getting cold.

  No one likes a cold cup of coffee.

  Finally, I hear sounds coming from a room at the end of a hall. Mr. Herbert’s office, maybe? As I approach, I notice that the door is ajar. Even so, I decide to knock, only to stop with my raised fist an inch from the wood when I hear a whimper.

  Or is it a moan?

  Against my better judgment, I take a peek, my eyes growing wide as I see Mr. Herbert standing behind his desk or, more accurately, behind a brunette bent over his desk.

  I should have known he’d be with a woman.

  And I should leave. It’s the proper thing to do. I can’t, though. My body seems frozen and rooted to the spot, my heart the only part of me moving, beating wildly as heat courses through my veins.

  I can’t see the woman’s face, her brown hair having come loose to form a curtain over her cheeks. I can see Mr. Herbert’s face clearly, though, and I can’t help but watch. Right now, his blue eyes are half lidded, his nostrils are flaring and his square jaw is tightly clenched. As he moves, rocking the body beneath him and the desk in turn, golden strands of hair dance above his eyebrows and a bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face to land on one flushed cheek.

  I swallow. My throat, bra, and panties are all feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

  What the…?

  “Fuck!” The crisp curse escapes his thin lips just before his features grow taut, his eyelids falling shut as he throws his head back.

  With every shudder that goes through him, a wave of delicious heat washes over me, leaving my palms, nape, breasts, and sex tingling. As he goes still, my heart comes to a stop as well, my breath stolen. It’s over, but the damage has already been done. My skin is flushed, my panties wet.

  I didn’t just have an orgasm, did I?

  Suddenly, he opens his blue eyes and gazes directly into mine.

  Shit.

  The spell broken, I step back quickly only to bump into the table against
the wall, causing the vase on it to wobble. I manage to keep the vase from falling – whew! – but it’s too late. I’ve already made my presence known.

  “Hey.” Mr. Herbert steps out of the room, a smile on his face. “You’re Abby, right?”

  Impulsively, I look at his crotch, relieved to find his pants zipped.

  Wait. Why am I looking at my boss’ crotch? And why is he grinning? Isn’t he mad at me?

  “Mr. Herbert, I…”

  He offers me his hand. “Please call me—”

  “Call me, Grant,” the brunette interrupts as she appears behind Grant, touching his arm. Casting a spiteful glance in my direction, she gives Grant a lingering kiss on the cheek then leaves, her heels clacking down the hall.

  “Like she said, call me Grant.” Mr. Herbert extends his hand further.

  I look at it, blinking. Why is he pretending nothing happened?

  “It’s clean, I promise.”

  I blush, shaking his hand. “Grant, I’m sorry I—”

  “Please come inside,” he cuts me off, heading back inside his office.

  I follow, stopping in the middle of the room. He goes behind his desk, the same desk he was fucking that brunette on.

  I shake off the image.

  Focus, Abby.

  “So, you like coffee?” he asks as he sits down on the black leather chair.

  I look at the cup I still have in my hand. “Actually, I brought this for you. I thought you might—”

  I take a step forward to hand him the coffee but my shoe gets caught on the edge of the rug. I stumble, the cup falling out of my hand and hitting the desk, splattering on its surface and onto Grant’s shirt.

  “Oh, shit.” I clasp a hand over my gaping mouth as I look at the disaster I’ve caused then quickly take the box of tissues out of my purse to undo it, straightening the cup and wiping the growing puddle on the desk. “I’m so sorry.”

  What have I done? What’s wrong with me? I’ve never made mistakes like this before.

  “It’s fine,” Grant tells me, standing up. “No harm done.”

  No harm done? How can he say that when this desk is probably decades old? Not to mention I’ve stained his expensive shirt. I grab another tissue to wipe it.

  He grabs my wrist. “Really, you don’t have to worry about it.”

  I look into his eyes. Now that they’re not half-lidded, I can see just how blue they are – dark blue like the Atlantic. He is far more handsome than his pictures on the Internet, the combination of his eyes with his straight-edged nose and chiseled cheekbones enough to make my heart skip a beat.