Hot Jerk (Alphalicious Billionaires Book 12) Read online

  Hot Jerk

  Alphalicious Billionaires

  Lindsey Hart

  CONTENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOK 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

  EPILOGUE

  HOT NEW NEIGHBOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands.

  Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2020

  All rights reserved.

  Graphics used inside the book are from Depositphotos.

  Edits by Charmaine Tan. Cover by Cosmic Letterz.

  You can contact Lindsey Hart at:

  [email protected]

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  I was hired to find the cocky A-hole THE perfect wife.

  What was not in this job description was kissing the future groom.

  Much less have a one-night stand with him.

  But guess what, he made me break all those rules... freaking one by one.

  He made me forget what was on the line if I fail this job.

  How much I stand to lose if anyone finds out I slept with the client.

  Cliff

  Why should I get married and tie myself down to only one woman when I could have them all.

  Who wants to get burned all over again in this stupid game of love.

  But of course, my parents had other ideas.

  It's either follow their wishes or lose the company I have worked my ass off to expand.

  When I am introduced to my little curvy very off-limits miss matchmaker,

  The process to find my unicorn of a future wife does not seem so bad after all.

  Especially when I am on the way to perfecting my art of pissing her off with each one of my failed dates.

  I know I'm probably well on the way to getting kicked in the nuts,

  And disowned by my parents,

  But I just can't seem to behave when she is around.

  CHAPTER 1

  Cliff

  “You’re disowned, Cliff. Disowned! D-I-S-OWNED.”

  For the record, I’ve heard this before. Always from my mom, never from my dad. Usually, when she has the disinherited conversations with me, my dad isn’t around. Not because he doesn’t know what’s going on or that she’s doing it, but because her threats are always idle. She doesn’t mean it. My mom has a heart of pure frickin’ gold, and she’d never cut off her only son. Sure, I’ve pissed her off a fair number of times in the past, and shit got real, real fast, but this is just another tantrum.

  Or so I thought until my dad stepped into the room and quietly took a seat on the Italian leather sofa beside my mom. I thought he’d crack a smile at me or give me some encouragement, but so far, all I’m staring at is a brick wall of grim-faced finality.

  “Do you hear me, Cliff? You’ve denied me grandbabies for far too long! You’re thirty-three years old. Thirty-three. Thirty-three!” Mom’s tone gets high pitched at the end. She’s the queen of repeating stuff, as though if she does, she’s magically going to get through to me. Mom sniffs dramatically and reaches up to wipe at her eyes. I stiffen because I might be a thirty-three-year-old man but there’s no way I like to see my mom cry. Ever. “We have both come to the conclusion that we are going to have to take drastic measures for you to listen to us. Nothing we’ve done in the past has worked. The only thing that motivates you is money, so we’re cracking down unless you do exactly as we say.”

  This has been an ongoing battle since the time my nuts dropped. My mom is frantic about grandbabies, and my dad, though he never shows it, is pretty frantic about the family name dying off. I guess the whole inheritance thing is an issue for them because they’re seriously loaded. Old money, straight up. They both came from large families and from generations of people who protected their money and turned it into more money to pass down to their hardworking offspring who proved themselves worthy of carrying the damn torch.

  “You have only had one serious relationship in your life. One! And that was twelve years ago!” Mom is working herself up to her normal theatrics.

  All I can do is sit back and wince and try not to think about Amy. If only Mom knew how things ended—mainly with a real shit pile’s worth of pain and heartache for me—maybe she’d understand why casual encounters had become more my thing. Getting burned is one thing. Getting burned like Amy did to me pretty much incinerates a guy’s heart.

  “If I hadn’t—that is—if things hadn’t gone wrong when you were born, I would have given you brothers and sisters. You would have had playmates!” Mom says morosely. “As it was, we could only have you, and we have loved you with our whole hearts.”

  That is true. My mom and dad loved the crap out of me. It never mattered how busy my dad was with business or how stressed my mom was with trying to help him out while raising me; they always made time for me. They played with me. Like, really played. They got right down to it and played all my silly little kid games. They were the brother and sister I never had. They made sure I had a regular life and went to a regular school and had regular friends. Most people didn’t even know they have oodles of money hidden away.

  To the tune of a few billion dollars, but who’s counting?

  Long story short, my parents are awesome. They’re the best. I love them to death, and I appreciate all they’ve done for me, including paying for a prestigious college and ensuring I got my Bachelor’s Degree in Business instead of just handing me a position at the company that I wasn’t ready for. I’ve worked alongside my parents for ten years now. We design garden supplies and sell seeds. No, not the gold ones. Just regular ones. It is kind of a fun business to be in as we’re always trying to source and find new seeds, even down to having our own farm laboratories to develop new varieties of flowers and vegetables.

  My great, great, great grandparents started the company. It’s a family thing, and they want it to continue being a family thing. That’s also why they’re freaking out. My dad has two brothers, and both of them chose to dabble in the business for a while before going their own ways. His older brother is a lawyer while his younger brother cashed in early on his shares in the company and moved to the Caribbean. My mom, who married into the business, has a brother and a sister, and neither of them was interested in working with seeds even though the offer was made. Out of my six cousins, only one of them works at the company, and it looks like it’s going to be short-lived.

  “Your cousin, Kyle, met his wif
e only a few years ago, and now they’re having a baby!” Mom continues on.

  I start to fidget in my seat because, at this point, my ass was getting numb, but I also didn’t want to think about Kyle and Christine.

  “They met in Vegas, Mom. They got married the same weekend at one of those all-night chapel things.”

  “Well, they’re making it work! If they can do it, then anyone can do it.”

  “That’s the definition of insanity right there.”

  “Enough!” Mom wails, her eyes tearing up, and I knew I was in for it.

  There wasn’t any getting out of this storm. Mom’s tears are no joke. So I wisely fall silent. Dad sits beside her, as stoic as a cement pillar, but he’s giving me that look. That disappointed look he gives me when I screw up a seed order or piss off a customer, which I haven’t done in a very long time since I climbed up the ladder to now become the CEO of the company. But I remember the disappointed dad look quite well. He’s given it to me a few times while I was growing up too.

  “I’ve had enough, Cliff. This is getting serious. I want grandbabies, but that’s not the real issue. I can see how lonely you are and how you’re heading down a bad path.” So far, this is going the clichéd route of every conversation that no kid ever wants to have with their parents at any age. My mom is dead serious, though, so I sit there silently instead of commenting. “I’m done trying to keep track of your casual encounters. That is not how I raised you to be. I’m also done with hearing about you and your friends going to Vegas and—”

  “Mom. That was for a stag.”

  “Stag or not, it’s inappropriate.”

  “That was last year.”

  “But you still go out with your group of buddies every other weekend. It’s not a good image. You’re supposed to outgrow that once you’re done with your twenties. I waited patiently. Very. Patiently. But it’s time you grew up.”

  “I have never missed a day of work in ten years.”

  “Work isn’t all there is to life! I thought we raised you better than this. We raised you to respect other people. What you’re doing now, it’s not respectful to anyone. It’s not respectful to yourself.”

  If I said that everything I’ve ever done has definitely been consensual, would it dig me deeper into the shit pile I’m drowning in at the moment? Right, I know it would, so I bite down on the urge to insert snarky, immature comments. For the record, my mom is blowing this way out of proportion. I do have a good group of friends, and we do hang out. Some of them are married—a small number. Their wives or girlfriends often come out too. It’s not like I hang out with a bunch of guys who are on the bachelors-for-life bandwagon, and we go out and atrociously live it up every other weekend. That’s not what happens.

  We do normal things. Watch sports. Drink a few beers. Have BBQs. Hot tub. Go out for dinner and drinks. Go to live games. Normal guy things. It slightly picks my ass that my mom is using this as if I tear it up every weekend, getting so hammered I can’t remember my own name. And as for the dating thing, or rather, the one-night stand thing, I do casual encounters here and there. Sometimes two lonely people like to connect and go their separate ways. No strings. No expectations. It is not any more or less than that, and it does not happen chronically. I enjoy being single, and I’m in no hurry to mingle.

  My mom is just taking the proverbial molehill and turning it into a mountain of reasons as to why they should threaten to disinherit me for the millionth time.

  “Mom—”

  “I’m not finished!” Mom crosses her arms. She has this, I mean business and I seriously mean it, look on her face that actually does silence me, because that’s her don’t mess with me look, and she’s only brought it out a few times that I can ever remember.

  The first time I saw it, I was nine and had decided to try and drive my dad’s car. I ended up driving it right through the garage door. The second time was when, at thirteen, I thought dying the swimming pool neon pink might be fun. The third time, I was sixteen and threw a party while they were away on business for the weekend, and to say that things got out of hand is an understatement. The police were called, the swimming pool was dyed a few shades of colors, none of which were pink, and the inside of the house looked like I’d driven a horde of angry dad cars through it.

  So yeah. That look is not good.

  “Since you are never going to get around to actually changing your way of living and giving new experiences a try, I’ve taken things into my own hands. I’ve hired a dating service.”

  “A what?” Boom! My jaw hits the floor, comic book style balloon popping sound effect included.

  “A dating service.” Mom wipes at her eyes, which are starting to leak.

  My mom is just shy of sixty, and my dad is a few years older than she is. They tried for a long time to have me, and just when they thought things were going right, she went into labor two months early. She ended up having a whole bunch of complications after I was born and had to have a hysterectomy. I’ve always felt kind of bad about that, even though it wasn’t my fault. I know how much my mom loves kids, and she and my dad always wanted a big family. They’ve never made me feel like I had to live up to it or make up for it, but I’m getting some seriously disappointed, desperate vibes from her at the moment.

  “I met with a very nice lady. She is very good at what she does, as is her entire agency. They’re a discreet service for hire. They do all the work to find you a series of matches. It’s completely personalized, and there are a series of interviews that every single person follows, including you, so that they can find you the right match. I’ve already paid them in advance. If you don’t like the first match, or it’s not a good fit, they will find up to two more. You have three chances.”

  “The three-strikes system,” I bite out more than a little sarcastically. “I like it.”

  My mom starts biting down hard on her bottom lip, and I know it’s so she doesn’t say something she’s going to regret later. I’ve seen her do that a ton of times over the years. In my defense, I think my nuts just went on a little mom-induced vacay. Being a grown man and thinking about your mom being in charge of your love life, let alone your reproductive future, is a little, well… castrating, shall we say.

  I never thought it would come to this. How did it come to this?

  My mom knows me well because she takes a deep breath and hurries to inform me of one other tiny little detail. “If you refuse to give your interview or refuse to participate in this, then you are cut off. You are fired from your job, and you will make your own way. We will, of course, always be your parents, but as for the company or any financial help or inheritance, you’re on your own.”

  “You can’t fire me from my job!” Great, now I’m whining. This is not looking good for me in any way. “I’ve put in ten years there! I’m good at my job. I like my job! I’ve worked hard for it!”

  Mom crosses her arms. She gives me a look I’ve never seen from her. I’ll just classify it as something close to a death glare to end all death glares. “It might not be fair, but this is the way it’s going to be because I know you won’t go through with this unless there are consequences. I just want you to be happy. I’m not asking you to get married, or even force things to work out, because that’s not why I set this up. I’m asking that you give something new a try. Something you are apparently never going to do on your own. I want you to give it a genuine chance, and if it doesn’t work out, then that is what it is, but I do expect you to try, and to try with an open mind. You’re in a rut, and you need a shove out of it.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that some people like being single?”

  Mom’s face falls, and I can see how much I’ve disappointed her, and that’s yet another dagger straight to my shriveled-up heart area. “Cliff, you aren’t one of those people. I can tell you’re not happy, and you haven’t been for years. You’re burying yourself in work, and while we appreciate the effort and time you’ve put into the company over the years, you
need a not so subtle shove out of that rut.”

  “What rut?” I’m starting to think there’s a good chance my mom has lost her mind.

  “You know what rut I’m talking about. This is just a shove. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, but until those three strikes are up, consider yourself taking a two-week vacation.”

  “What? You’re telling me I can’t work?”

  Now my mom is nodding, and my dad is following suit. I stare at him in shock. I can’t believe he was in on this, or that, at the very least, he’s supporting it.

  “So, if I take two weeks and don’t go on your crazy dates and meet equally crazy people through some stupid crazy agency, then that’s it? Find another job. Sell my assets. Don’t bother coming home?”

  “You can always come home,” Mom says gently.

  Dad nods. “You can always come home,” he echoes. “Always, Cliff.” He smiles at me sadly, like he thinks this crazy plan has to be done and is the solution to all the world’s problems.

  The shit pile I sensed waiting for me the minute I walked in the door for my parent’s invite to ‘dinner’—and instead, got sat down here—is now more like a landslide. I can feel myself drowning in it. I can feel the crap avalanche filling up my nose, my mouth, my eyes…

  Death by crap.

  That’s what I’m going to write on my headstone because I’m sure as all heck that this is going to kill me. Hey, at least if I died trying, then I might not have to go through with all three dates. I suppose there is a silver lining to every shit cloud.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rowan

  Most days, I rock at my job. Most days, I actually like it too. I mean, what could be better, in a digital age, than helping people make meaningful and lasting connections. Sometimes that means romance. Sometimes it means friendship. Okay, so sometimes it doesn’t work out, but I have to admit, I have a pretty good track record as far as matching people go. Yeah, my job is actually pretty fun.