ROOK (Billionaire Buck Boys Book 6), page 1
ROOK
BILLIONAIRE BUCK BOYS
DEBORAH BLADON
FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, 2024
Copyright © 2024 by Deborah Bladon
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-926440-77-4
ISBN: 9798320509563
Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media
deborahbladon.com
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Epilogue
Coming Soon
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Chapter One of RISK
Thank You
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Also by Deborah Bladon
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Carrie
As soon as I turn around, my gaze drops to the man on one knee in front of me.
“Not now, Telford,” I scold him. “We’re on a tight deadline.”
He ignores everything I just said. “Love Bug, you own the key to my heart, so go ahead and use it to open our wedlock.”
I flash him two thumbs down. “Epic fail, Tel.”
His nose scrunches, causing his eyeglasses to wiggle. “What? An epic fail? Why?”
I motion for him to stand. “Get up.”
He darts to both feet, straightening the employee ID badge hanging from the lanyard around his neck. “Will I ever get it right?”
I can’t promise he will, so I do the next best thing and offer the reassurance I know he needs. “Stop searching online for proposal scripts. You’ve got this. All you need to do is speak from the heart.”
“From the heart?” A look of horror flashes over his expression. “How? What? Why?”
I hold in a grin. “Yes, from the heart.”
He taps his chest before his hand jumps to his forehead, pushing a few strands of his blond hair aside. “This heart and this mind don’t communicate.”
“They communicate non-stop.” I glance at the clock hanging on the wall in our lab. “You’re a scientist. You know this.”
“I’m not talking about my subconscious mind.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about my conscious mind and its inability to come up with even one original romantic thought. Do I need to remind you about what happened last Valentine’s Day?”
Shaking my head, I shudder. “Please, no. Don’t do that.”
Ignoring my wishes yet again, Telford Harpin sighs. “I ordered what I thought was a singing telegram. It was actually a strip-o-gram, Carrie. A strip-o-gram.”
Even though I’m well aware of what went down on February fourteenth, since it happened right in front of me, I stay silent.
Telford has brought up that mistake at least a dozen times since.
I admit, I’ve replayed the moment in my mind more than that because the stripper was all kinds of hot. Telford stood in shock in the corner of the lab with his mouth hanging open until the stripper was down to his tighty whities. That’s when Tel decided to step in and pull the plug on his elaborate Valentine’s gift. It was in the nick of time because one of the executives of the company we work for showed up just as the stripper finished putting his clothes back on.
Crew Benton, the COO of Matiz Cosmetics, greeted the stripper with a hearty “hello” before he strolled over to Telford and me to discuss the project we were working on at the time.
It was a close call that could have ended horribly.
Telford glances toward the door of our lab. “I need guidance here. Your sister got engaged recently. What was her proposal like?”
“Her fiancé was naked.” I smile. “My sister was, too.”
“Naked?” The look of horror reappears on Tel’s face. “I’m not proposing naked. No damn way.”
I glance at his perfectly pressed white button-down shirt before my gaze drops to his brown pants and beyond to his sensible shoes. “Just because it worked for them doesn’t mean it will for everyone.”
“Their proposal wasn’t in public, was it?”
I bark out a laugh. “No. Abby told me that Declan dropped to one knee after they… you know. It all sounded very romantic. He gave her the ring that her late mom wore.”
My stepsister’s face lit up when she told me her engagement story. I’ve never seen her happier, but I suspect I will a week and a half from now when she gets married.
Telford clicks the pen in his hand. “It’s not my style, but I guess it’s a proposal Abby will never forget.”
“She won’t.” I smile. “We need to work. We have to turn in our samples by the end of the day.”
Telford glances at the long counter that holds all of the vials that contain small amounts of the concoctions we’ve spent the past two months working on. Matiz is one of the world’s most successful cosmetic brands. When I landed a position as a fragrance chemist with the company, it was like winning the lottery. The job is everything I’ve ever wanted, but if we don’t get these samples submitted now, we’ll have a lot of explaining to do.
“Let’s get to work.” He looks into my green eyes. “My next proposal will be the one. I can feel it.”
I’m not convinced, but I give him an A for effort.
“That dress could not be more perfect.” My sister stands back and stares at me. “Look at your waist, Carrie.”
I adjust my black-rimmed eyeglasses and peer into the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the middle of this bridal boutique. Katie Rose Bridal is the go-to destination in Manhattan if you need a wedding gown in record time and a gorgeous deep green maid-of-honor dress.
I smooth both hands over the sleek skirt of the dress. “I look hot, don’t I?”
Abby grins from ear to ear. “I’ll say. The color complements your eyes and your hair. Have you decided if you’re wearing it up or down for my big day?”
I tuck a lock of my brown hair behind my right ear. “Up, I think. I’ll get Joanie to twist it into something sophisticated.”
Joanie has become my stylist over the past few months. She works at a salon in the lobby of the Bishop Hotel. I met her when Abby sent me to the hotel for a self-care weekend. I indulged in everything I hadn’t in years, including a manicure, pedicure, and haircut.
Abby’s hand glides over my shoulder. “I love that idea. I’m going to wear mine down.”
I glance past her to the fitting room area. “You should put your dress on now. Let’s see how we look side-by-side.”
Her gaze drops. “I will, but I’m nervous.”
“Nervous?” I step down from the slightly raised pedestal I’ve been standing on. “Why? You’re not having second thoughts, are you? I happen to know that Declan loves you bunches. I’m talking a million or two bunches. The man is crazy about you.”
A soft smile glides over her lips. “I know he does. I love him a lot, too. It’s not that, Carrie. It’s something else.”
I step closer to her so I can lower my voice. It’s evening, and the boutique will close in less than an hour, but at least half a dozen customers are still milling about, trying on dresses and veils. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything.”
Drawing a deep breath, tears well in the corners of her hazel eyes. “Carrie, I’m…”
“Missing your mom?” I interrupt because I know how hard it is for her to express that vocally.
Her mom’s death hit her as hard as my dad’s hit me. We were both kids when it happened, but through all that grief, a new love was born when our widowed parents met at a baseball game. They got married a year later when Abby and I were fourteen.
She nods. “Yes, but that’s not it.”
Stumped but still w
Holding tightly to me, she whispers words I’m not expecting, “I’m pregnant, Carrie. I’m going to have a baby.”
I jump back, giddy with excitement. “Are you being serious?”
“Very serious.” Her entire face glows with a smile. “I’m due on my dad’s birthday.”
“What?” I shriek, not caring that heads are turning in our direction. “You are serious.”
She pats her stomach beneath the red dress she’s wearing. “I’ve gained a few pounds since I bought my wedding dress. I hope it fits.”
“We’ll make sure it does.” The boutique’s owner, Kate Burke, smiles as she approaches us. “I wasn’t trying to overhear, but I did. Congratulations, Abby.”
Abby’s smile widens even more. “Do you really think you can get the dress to work?”
“I know our seamstress can.” Kate glances at me. “Wow, Carrie! You look like a dream.”
I take another look at myself in the mirror. “I may need to wear this dress every single day after the wedding.”
“Or you might be planning your wedding after you wear that to mine.” Abby laughs.
I shake my head. “You said it’s going to be an intimate gathering. Exactly how many single men will be there?”
She wiggles two fingers in the air. “Declan’s friend, Holden, and, of course, Rook will be there. He RSVP’d yesterday, and he’s not bringing a guest.”
Rook Thorsen is not only close friends with my future brother-in-law, but he’s also my sister’s boss. I met him once in Abby’s office months ago. The man is the hottest that’s ever lived, but the fact that he’s in a long-term relationship with the mother of his daughter makes him completely off-limits.
I can’t say I’m shocked that his girlfriend isn’t accompanying him to the wedding. She’s a supermodel. She must be recognized every time she rounds a corner.
“He’s taken,” I remind Abby. “He’s in love with Chesca, remember?”
“They’re not together,” she stresses each word because she believes it’s true.
She’s not the one who stalks his social media profiles. I am, and I’ve seen him in enough pictures with his daughter’s mom to know they’re still going strong.
I keep promising myself I’ll stop looking at his posts, but with his black hair and striking blue eyes, it’s hard not to sneak a peek whenever I can.
“Maybe I’ll bring a date,” I tease. “I think Telford is free.”
Kate laughs. “As much as I love listening to this drama, we need to start your fitting, Abby.”
My sister glances in my direction. “You can bring whoever you want. All I want is for you to have fun at my wedding. Promise me you will.”
“Sure,” I say with a weak smile.
If her definition of fun is me staring at Rook Thorsen all night, I’ll have the time of my life.
CHAPTER TWO
Rook
“I’m looking at the Empress and her snakes building,” my daughter announces as we make our way home from the library.
“Empire State Building,” I correct her gently. “That’s the Chrysler Building, though, Kirby.”
Her small sneakers edge forward on the sidewalk. “Are you sure?”
Squeezing her hand, I nod. “I’m pretty sure.”
“You have been alive forever,” she reasons. “I’ve only been on earth for five years, so maybe you know buildings better.”
“I know a few,” I tell her gently. “Where should we head next?”
She sighs deeply before pushing a hand through her blonde hair. “Ice cream?”
I glance at the watch on my wrist. “It’s not even noon.”
“So?” she shoots back with one of her signature smirks. “If I eat ice cream now and skip it for dessert later, it’s even, right?”
That’s hard to argue with, but I need to give it a shot. “If you eat ice cream now, you won’t be hungry for lunch.”
“Don’t be a lawyer right now, Dad.”
I work to keep a straight face because those words come from the lips of her mother. Chesca Mills was never a fan of my profession, even though she threw legal questions at me left and right when we were together.
That all stopped just over a year ago when we broke up. I’d say it was one of the best days of my life, but it was hard on Kirby. She’s come to accept that even if her mom and I aren’t together anymore, that doesn’t change how much we love her.
“I’m your dad first,” I point out as we slow to wait for a crossing light. “I’m an attorney second.”
Her big brown eyes lock on my face. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich and then ice cream?”
That’s a compromise I can live with since I plan on sneaking spinach and tomato into the grilled cheese. Kirby’s never had it any other way, and she’s always eaten every last bite.
“Deal.” I squeeze her hand.
“Daddy?” She tugs on one of the sleeves of her light blue hoodie. “Are you sure I can’t go to the wedding?”
I reach down to pat her cheek. “You’re going to Boston with your mom for four days, Kirby. It’s your grandmother’s birthday, remember?”
“Grams told me she doesn’t celebrate birthdays.” She takes the opportunity to smooth her palm over my hand as it’s pressed against her cheek. “I want to wear a pretty dress for the wedding.”
“How about if we go out to dinner one night before you leave with Uncle Declan and Abby?” I suggest a compromise. “You can wear a pretty dress then.”
“She’s going to be my Auntie Abby after the wedding,” she reminds me.
Declan Wells may not be my brother by blood, but I consider him family. Our mutual friend, Holden Sheppard, holds the same place of distinction in my life. They both rank as high as my younger brother.
I tug on her hand when it’s safe to cross the street. She happily skips along beside me. “I like the dinner idea, Daddy.”
That solves this mini-crisis, so as soon as we’re across the street and safely on the sidewalk, I scoop my little girl up and into my arms.
Her fingers tap against my shoulder. “You should wear this blue sweater every day. Lots of people look at you when you do.”
I laugh. “What people?”
Her lips part into a wide smile. “Pretty people like that lady over there.”
Without warning, Kirby’s hand darts into the air with her index finger pointing straight at a blonde woman wearing a red pencil skirt and a black blouse. A leather briefcase is in her hand. It may be Saturday, but business doesn’t take a back seat to a calendar in Manhattan.
I’ve afforded myself the luxury of taking an entire weekend off from the law firm that my great-grandfather founded. I wanted to devote my time to my daughter before she jets off with her mom again.
Next weekend is all mine, too, but for a very different reason. I’ll watch Declan marry the love of his life before I spend Sunday recovering from that since it’s an open bar, and I suspect it’ll be a party for the ages.
“She’s staring at us, Daddy,” Kirby attempts to whisper, but it’s a fail.
I slide her back down to her feet. “She’s not, sunshine. It’s time for us to head home for lunch.”
“She is,” she argues. “I think she likes you, and you must like her, so say hi.”
The last thing I need is my five-year-old playing matchmaker, so I toss the woman a cordial smile and a nod of my chin before I tug on Kirby’s hand. “It’s time to go.”
“Rook?” The woman approaches. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Kirby answers for me. “Rook Thorsen is his name. I’m Kirby Thorsen.”
It seems that I need to have another chat with my daughter about stranger danger and keeping our personal details to ourselves.
“It’s me. Michelle.”
I run through my memory bank, trying to place this woman. I interact with dozens of people every day. Corporate law is not the right career path if one seeks solace.
“We dated for a hot minute in college.” She laughs. “It was during freshman year.”
That was fifteen years ago. I was eighteen and likely living it up. A lot of that year is a blur.
“You’ve changed,” she blurts out.
“So have you,” I shoot the hollow words back, wishing that my daughter wasn’t bearing witness to this exchange.
