Sebastian: A Clean Billionaire Romance Read online

  Sebastian: A Clean Billionaire Romance

  Christina Benjamin

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Christina Benjamin

  About the Author

  Cooper: A Clean Billionaire Romance

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2019 by Christina Benjamin

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Crown Atlantic Publishing

  Version 1.1

  April 2019

  Chapter 1

  Sebastian

  When I close my eyes, I hear it—the sound of everything that I’ve built with my own fierce willpower, relentless charm, and encompassing intellect.

  The cheery voice of my secretary floats through my closed office door, muffled by the heavy mahogany wood. No doubt it’s yet another investor eager to jump in on my substantial profits. Behind me, the skyline of New York City rises, the other skyscrapers dwarfed by the one that I had built for my company. Our popularity has been steadily rising, as has our stock value and clientele.

  Most people assume that I've grown up with wealth or that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. They’re quick to believe that I had a rich father who passed along a huge bank account or trust fund accumulated from generation to generation, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. My mother was a nurse and my father an alcoholic. Now my mother is retired on the huge estate I purchased for her and God only knows where my father wound up.

  I'm not angry at him for the life he never provided for me or my sister, not anymore. If anything, I'm grateful.

  Spurred on by the conviction to be nothing like my father and to provide for my family in a way that he never did, at only twenty-eight I'm the CEO of one of the most profitable and promising technology firms in existence. Companies all over the nation—all over the world, even—sit with our tech on their desks.

  I worked myself to the bone to get where I am today. All throughout school, I studied and toiled away while my classmates goofed off. With their nuclear families and doting parents, they had no reason to dedicate themselves as heartily as I did to my schooling. Even as a child I knew that I had to get scholarships if I wanted to go anywhere in life. By the time I'd completed elementary school, winning science fairs and math leagues, I'd been granted a full ride scholarship to a renowned junior high school, which thrust me into an even more renowned high school, and finally to an ivy league college. I started my tech firm as a freshman in college, pairing with a local distributor and selling specialized calculators to my classmates. I've come a long way since then.

  My modesty prevents me from saying that I'm rolling in dough, but I'm rolling in serious dough.

  Abruptly, my cell vibrates in the breast pocket of my pressed black suit. With a sigh, I lean back and slide it out to inspect the bright LED screen.

  Clara, it announces. A photo of my little sister’s beaming face gazes up at me. She’d set the picture herself last summer when I took her and our mother on a cruise to the Caribbean. She said it was too impersonal for me not to have a photo of her as the caller ID.

  When I answer the call, I can hardly hear her over the commotion going on behind her.

  “—have to have a vegetarian option tonight, Mom. Graham’s whole family is vegetarian. We’ll just have to tell the caterer to figure something out.”

  “Clara?” I ask lightly, scooting my leather chair back to prop my freshly shined shoes up on the corner of my uncluttered desk. “What’s going on?”

  “Huh?” she mumbles, like she’s forgotten she was on the phone. “Oh! Hey, Bash! You’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Miss my baby sister’s rehearsal dinner? Are you crazy?” I tease, shrewd business heart melting at the sound of her delighted laugh.

  My whole life, all I've ever wanted is to make my mother and sister proud. They’re the only ones who mean anything to me, other than my tech firm.

  “I just know how hard you work. I'd understand if something came up. I heard on the news that you have some big merger going on?”

  “Not a chance. I can’t wait to celebrate with you and Graham.”

  I still can’t believe my little sister is getting married. When I close my eyes, I still see her with bobbing pigtails and a chocolate milk mustache.

  “And you know I can’t wait until I'm celebrating your wedding, too!” She laughs though her tone is deliberate.

  She’s been gunning for the day I’ll find a nice girl and settle down, but we both know that’s not my style. I'm married to my career. I don’t have time for anything else, though a one-night stand here and there is certainly not off limits. Besides, marrying or getting serious about someone would be dangerous. I have a lot of property and a lot of cash under my belt, and I've heard too many horror stories about my successful friends settling down with women who only have green in their eyes. A bitter divorce six months later and they’ve got nothing left to their name. That won’t happen to me. I won’t give anyone the chance to dig for my gold.

  “Is that all, Clara? I have to get back to work. I've got a meeting with my stockholders coming up that I need to prep for.”

  “Oh please,” she says, a smirk audible in her voice though I can’t see her face. “Everyone knows you’re a shark. All you have to do is grin at your board and they all get weak in the knees.”

  “I think you’re forgetting that you’re talking about sixty-year-old men here, not a flock of lonely housewives.”

  “Is there really that much of a difference?” she teases before suddenly gasping. “Bash! I remember now why I called you. The cupcakes. You’re bringing them tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Cupcakes?” I echo blankly, vaguely remembering some distant conversation she and I had over one too many glasses of Scotch where she explained that for the rehearsal dinner she and her husband-to-be had decided to go with the delicious little treats rather than an ornate rehearsal cake.

  “Bash . . .” she murmurs warningly, “you told me that you were going to order them weeks ago. We have to have cupcakes—and we need that vegetarian option tonight for dinner too, Pierre!” she added desperately to the caterer who must be nearby, obvious stress cracking her voice.

  “I've got it,” I answer smoothly despite my blood running cold. “I was just teasing you. Of course I ordered them.”

  “You don’t tease a bride the day before her wedding, Bash!” Clara groans as the phone suddenly gives a faint whine, a strong clattering echoes through the speaker as it passed hands.

  I grimace, holding it slightly back from my ear.

  “Did I hear you saying you’re teasing your sister?” Mom accuses, her voice as melodic and playfully biting as Clara’s. “She has enough stress on her plate. Getti
ng married is a big deal, not that you’ll ever have to deal with that I suppose.”

  Those two were like peas in a pod, all big blue eyes and light hair, hung up on romance. I'm the opposite, taking much more after my father to my own disdain. I share his cold metal eyes, dark hair and distrust. In all the pictures of my sister, myself, and our mother, I stick out like a sore thumb. Even as a young teen I towered over both of their petite figures. I guess I'd been born to be their protector.

  The phone rustles as my mother travels further away from Clara and the business of the rehearsal dinner setup. A door swings open and slams shut, faint music and voices melting away.

  “You didn’t forget the cupcakes, did you?” Mom asks, “You know how important this is to Clara. She’s been dreaming about this day since . . . well, since we realized that if we wanted to wait for you to get married we’d have to wait until hell freezes over.”

  “I didn’t forget,” I answer, consciously ignoring her jab at my relationship status as a perpetual bachelor. “I'm on my way to go get them right now from the best bakery in town. She’ll love them.”

  The line is quiet for a moment before Mom sighs wistfully, giving a little sniffle.

  “Are you all right?” I ask softly, bracing myself for her to poke again at the fact that her only son may never take a wife.

  “It’s just both of my kids, they’re all grown up now. My little girl is getting married, my little boy is such a hard worker. I'm proud of you, Bash. I hope you know that.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Which is why I'm going to kill you if you show up without those cupcakes.”

  Laughing, I wish her goodbye before hanging up my phone and dropping my head into my hands with a groan so heavy it could’ve come from my toes.

  Dammit!

  With all the craziness of my company’s looming merger, I'd completely forgotten that I was in charge of the cupcakes. It was the only thing Clara asked me do and there was no way I was going to let her down. She knew I was too busy with my career to offer much else despite being willing to do anything she wanted. I'd even offered to foot the bill for the entire wedding—not that she’d allow me to. Pride ran in our veins.

  Ah, hell. What am I going to do?

  The thought of letting Clara down, even over something like cupcakes, was horrible. All her life I've been there to help her in any way that I could, and I'm not about to fail now. Her rehearsal dinner is going to be perfect, no matter what I have to do to get these damn cupcakes.

  “Rosa?” I call into the speaker on my desk.

  My secretary instantly gives a greeting in response. “Good afternoon, sir! Have you heard the phone ringing off the hook? Thank God Friday is coming up, am I right? Ah . . . Um . . . Not that I don’t love being here. Oh my, do I love working. Here, I mean.”

  I rub a tired finger in a circle against my temple, a headache blooming as the woman rambles on. When she finally takes a breath, I make my request. “This is going to sound odd, but what’s the best place in town for cupcakes? I'm talking high-end, beautiful, obscenely expensive cupcakes.”

  The prim older woman cleared her throat in response, the sound garbled over the speaker. “If you want obscenely expensive cupcakes, sir, then you’re going to have to go to Holly Cakes. It’s on Fifth Ave. It’s real busy though. Sarah Jessica Parker just posted a video of herself there and the cupcakes looked so delicious! It was like a real-life Sex and the City episode—”

  “Thanks, Rosa,” I answer before she can go into one of her famous monologues. I quickly shut off the speaker and turn to my computer. “Holly Cakes . . .” I mutter aloud as my fingers clack against the keys.

  A bright pink and ivory website loads quickly. A woman with red hair stares out from behind the glassy screen, her smile huge and head thrown back in laughter. In her hands is a tray of the most gorgeous looking cupcakes I've ever seen. My mouth instantly starts watering, and I'm not even a dessert guy. News stories scroll by, highlighting the young woman’s skill with flavor and decorations. A recent article in the Times heralds her bakery as potentially the best up-and-coming confectionery in the city.

  “Bingo,” I mutter under my breath, squinting at the screen as I dial her number.

  Holly Cakes might be busy, but no place has ever struggled to find a spot for a name as well-known as mine or a wallet as loaded.

  Chapter 2

  Holly

  “Holly Cakes, this is Holly. How may I help you today?” I speak into the phone pressed against my shoulder, voice perky despite being elbow deep in bright blue fondant as I roll it out in front of me.

  My muscles already burn all the way up my arms. When I first started baking, I'd been worried that I was going to gain a ton of weight from tasting everything, but I had severely underestimated just how much physical work went into running a business like this.

  “Hi, Holly! This is Bob calling again from City Bank. We’re really hoping that you’ve considered our offer a bit more and—”

  “Bob, I've told you at least a dozen times already, I am not franchising. I can’t open a second store because there’s only one of me. So, unless you’ve discovered how to clone humans since our last conversation there’s not going to be another Holly Cakes.”

  “Don’t you ever daydream about rolling your BMW down Broadway and seeing another Holly Cakes crammed with people?” he asks, forcing enthusiasm into his pitch.

  I bite back a sigh and roll my eyes. With my surge in popularity after a featured spot in The New York Times, so had come a surge of people looking to give me advice or to take a piece of the profitable pie that I had so lovingly and carefully baked.

  Holly Cakes had been my dream since I was a kid. I used to draw pictures of what my future storefront would look like while my mother hummed and checked our cake in the oven. Fit with gossamer pink drapes and creamy white stools and tables, the bustling bakery that I stood in today is a near perfect replica of my childhood drawings.

  I'd grown up in the kitchen, helping my mother make cakes and pastries and muffins. I'd learned everything I know from her. The recipes I use are still based off of her own creations. She would be so proud of me if she could see how I'm doing now. There are times when I still expect to see her come strolling through the door to request a lavender cupcake, her favorite and the store specialty.

  Sighing deeply, I hang up the phone on the persistent banker. My nostrils flare as I suck in a breath to calm myself, focusing on the task at hand. I still have to finish the ganache for a customer’s fiftieth birthday cake, then I have to take inventory and make sure that the van is ready for my deliveries in the morning. Most days it feels like my to-do list is never ending, especially during this time of year. Everyone’s getting married or celebrating something, and while I'm grateful and happy to be working myself to the bone, it means that I don’t have a second to relax. If I wasn’t such a workaholic, I'd be miserable.

  “Holly!” my assistant says, pointing a flour-covered hand at the phone that’s ringing off the hook again. “The phone!”

  She grins and shakes her head while I grab it, tucking it against my ear and returning to my fondant. She would’ve answered had I not been insistent that I should always be the one to do so. There was something special to me about always being the one to greet a potential customer.

  “Holly Cakes, this is Holly. How may I help you today?”

  The voice on the other end is cool and silky smooth, like dark chocolate. “Hi, I'm calling to put in an order.” There’s a faint rumble to the deep tenor that makes my heart pick up its pace. He clears his throat impatiently when I dare take a breath before answering.

  “Fantastic, what are you looking to order, sir? Right now, we’re looking at a month-long waiting list—”

  “Oh, you don’t understand. I need this to be ready tonight. I'll be there at six sharp. I need six dozen cupcakes. What flavors do you offer?”

  I blink once, then twice, steadying the phone against my ear. My inf
atuation with the man’s deep voice has completely evaporated into thin air. Six sharp? Sure thing, let me just grow an extra pair of hands and get right on that!

  Though I’d rather speak my mind, I table my sarcasm and give a rehearsed response. “I'm sorry, I don’t do orders on such short notice. I have other customers who booked my services in advance waiting for their orders.”

  He laughs and I have to resist the urge to slam the phone back on the hook. I've gotten quite a bit of practice with my customer service voice lately, but this guy is pushing it.

  “I forgot to tell you who I am, Holly. This is Sebastian Titus, of Titus Tech, speaking. I can pay you anything you want for this order. Now, when can I expect to pick up the cupcakes?”

  This time, it’s my turn to laugh. “If you’re that Titus computer guy, then I'm Beyoncé. When you’re ready to put in a real order—which will be ready no sooner than a month from now—then you can call back, pal.”

  “Excuse me—” he starts with a gasp, but I've already hung up and dropped the phone lazily back onto the countertop.

  When it rings again, I ignore it, knowing it’s just him calling back. I don’t know what’s with people who call claiming to be someone famous. It’s so damn obvious every time they do it. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if it was Elvis calling right now to put in an order, I just don’t have the time. Actually, I take that back. Elvis is the only one I'd be able to squeeze in an express order for. Who can resist a man who moves his hips like that?

  Forgetting the annoying phone call and get back to work. Once the fondant is rolled out, I pass it on to my assistant so that she can add it to the waiting orangesicle buttercream cake and instruct her to put it in the huge walk-in fridge when she’s finished. Tomorrow is a very busy morning of orders that need to be delivered bright and early. And being the only one I trust with that duty, I need all the desserts to be together so I can just load them up quick and head out.