Billion Dollar Enemy (Seattle Billionaires Book 1)

I swirl the whiskey around in my glass. It’s my second of the evening, and it’s only a Wednesday. “You’re losing it,” I say. There’s no one around to listen.

On my computer in front of me, my emails seem to swim in and out of focus, and it’s not because I’m drunk. I just can’t seem to bring myself to care about them.

Demolition of the bookstore starts in less than fifteen hours.

Have Karli and Skye finished emptying the store? Have they taken down the memorabilia, the plants, the framed pictures? Have they stowed away all the inventory? I want to know. I want to call Skye and ask, to hear her voice on the phone. To see if she’d taken the old ratty armchair home to her already too cluttered apartment.

But I doubt she’d pick up. In the story of her and me, of Between the Pages and Porter Development, I’m the bad guy. The ones in the movies always seems to enjoy their evilness, somehow. I can’t relate to that.

I could still stop it.

Sure, the plans are drawn up. The investors are happy. My building team is excited to get started, and just today, someone congratulated me on the new build.

But there’s still time, if I decided to change the plans.

My team would think I’m insane. There’d be internal disagreements. Questions regarding my leadership, and perhaps even my sanity. It feels like a small price to pay. What do I have to lose?

Skye.

She might hate me for stopping the demolition for her just as much as she hates me for going ahead. Pride is an emotion both of us share. From the very beginning, she made it clear that our relationship wasn’t quid pro quo. That she didn’t want to earn anything, not that way.

If I stopped the demolition for her… While I’d never ask for anything in return, it would put her in an awkward position. If there’s one thing I don’t want her to feel, it’s shame, especially not over anything we’ve done together.

I glance at the framed picture of my family on my desk. My dad is in it, a couple of years before he passed. He’s tall and suit-clad, a hand on my shoulder as I graduate college. My sister is beaming beside me, braces on her teeth.

For years my dad had loved to listen to my business dealings. Wanted me to run through them so he could listen and give comments. What would he say about this one? He was always the one who instilled in me the importance of making sound financial decisions, of trusting experts. Doing things by the book.

There’s never only one option, he often said. Find the third way. That’s where success lies.

Maybe his advice isn’t applicable here, but I have to try. Find the third way.

Skye had mentioned that their numbers were still up; they might be profitable in a few months’ time. Incorporating their store would help appease the project’s protestors, not that they were many.

Could I make the decision for the business itself, and not for Skye?

I search through the shared company drive on my laptop until I find the project. And there, in a little folder titled “Between the Pages Financial Records,” is the accounting report they submitted to my company.

I click it open. I’m immediately assailed by colorful graphics. On closer inspection, one is duplicated, the numbers just inverted. Why would their accountant do that? To make it look fancier?

I scroll through the numbers, searching for sales and inventories. Assets and debt. Instead, I fall down a financial rabbit hole.

Their numbers are confusingly displayed. It’s a beautiful document, sure, if you aimed for style over substance. But the meat is sorely lacking. I parse through the pretty phrasing and the artfully created tables to scour the numbers. And that’s when I find it.

The error.

At first, it’s small enough that my eyes dart over it, but on the second pass it stands out like a sore thumb. It’s a deliberate error, too. Their accountant has incorrectly classified a whole section of sales. Income is described as expenses.

It’s embezzlement 101.

The blood begins to pound in my temples. How did my accountants not catch this? Bryan said he would run the store’s numbers past our in-house financial department.

Ice sets in my stomach when I realize the reason. Of course, Cole. If Porter Development’s accountants are worth their name, they saw it, and they didn’t call it out. Why would they? We have no incentive to. Because the truth, hidden beneath this fraudulent document, is clear.

Between the Pages was profitable.

And someone submitted a forged document to our company in the hope that we’d let it slide.

Skye had succeeded. She managed to turn it around, damn it, and their accountant and my own damn company are trying to cheat her out of it.

My hand is nearly trembling with cold fury when I reach for the phone. Bryan is my first call.

“Sir?”

“The bookstore’s numbers are falsified. Did you know?”

A delicate pause. “Sir…”

“Answer the question.”

“The financial team made me aware, on the down-low, that their accounting report seemed… amateurish. Riddled with errors. I decided not to press the issue.” He lets the words hang for a few moments. “Why would we, sir?”

“Because we made a business deal with them. Because I gave my word.” My voice hardens. “We halt tomorrow’s demolition. Nothing proceeds until our accountants have double-checked the whole thing.”

Shocked silence. And then, just as I’d expected, his outraged voice. “Things are already in motion. Pausing it now will cost you money. Sir.”

“So be it. I’m calling Sam next to let him know the exact same thing.”

“Well. All right, I’ll make the arrangements, too.”

“I expect you to.” My hand tightens around my cell phone. “I don’t appreciate you deciding what information I will or will not have access to regarding my own business deals, Bryan.”

“Understood.”

I hang up, my anger no less sated. Bryan might have been a snake, but he’s a snake I hired and promoted. I should have asked to see the numbers myself and not simply trusted.

Sam takes longer to answer, and when I glance at the time, I realize why. It’s late—far too late for his boss’s boss to be calling.

“Sir?”

“Sorry to bother you at this time, Sam, but it’s regarding demolition tomorrow. We’re going to have to halt it.”

He takes it in stride, uncomplicated and competent. “Okay. Will do. Anything I need to know about?”

“Internal politics, you know the drill. We might end up keeping the structure. Possibly incorporating it.”

There’s silence on the other line, just like from Bryan. Sam’s, at least, is just shocked—there’s no dismay in his pause. “All righty. I’ll let my crew know.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Running as a current beneath my skin is the need to tell Skye. She’s the one who’s been duped—by who, I don’t know. There’s no doubt in my mind where their profit has disappeared, though. That accountant of theirs has made a killing.

I grab my laptop and phone, striding for the elevator. It’s late. She hates me. And yet, there’s nowhere else I can be right now and nothing else I can do. I have to set this right. Having given Charles the night off, not to mention downed two whiskeys, I’m left with no other option than to hail a cab. I dial Skye’s number when I’m nearly at her apartment.

There’s fierce purpose in my voice when she picks up. “Skye, it’s Cole. We need to talk. I’m coming over.”

Her silence is absolute. And then, quiet and surprised. “What?”

“There’s something I need to show you.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. It’s about the bookstore. You guys did it. You were profitable, Skye. The numbers are wrong.”

Her breath is shaky, and I don’t know if it’s with relief or pain. “We were?”

“Yes. Let me prove it to you.”

“When do you get here?”

“I’m parking outside right now,” I say, pulling onto her street.

“Good,” she says, fire in her own voice. “I’ll leave the door open for you.”

My patience is stretched too thin to wait for change, and the cab drivers grins at the obscenely large tip. I take the steps to her apartment in two. She’s waiting by her front door. At first, the shock of seeing her after nearly two weeks apart drives all thoughts of embezzlement from my mind. Her thick brown hair is in a braid down her back, an oversized sweater loose on her frame. There’s not a stitch of makeup on her skin. She’s painfully beautiful.

“If you’re joking about this,” she warns, “Cole, I swear I’ll—”

“I’m not.”

Maybe she sees it in my eyes, or maybe she’s shocked that I walk straight past her into her apartment, but for some reason Skye doesn’t protest. She just locks the door behind me instead. “But the numbers didn’t add up,” she says. “We were told the store wasn’t profitable. How…?”

“Your accountant lied.” I open my laptop and pull up Between the Pages’ documents, sitting down at her kitchen table. She takes a seat next to me. The scent of her shampoo, as floral as ever, washes over me.

“How?”

“Look.” I point at my screen, at the error, at the numbers that don’t add up. “She didn’t try to hide it particularly well.” My voice grows hard. “I’m guessing she gambled that neither you or Karli would figure it out, and what’s more, that Porter Development would let it slide.”

Skye’s voice is shaky. “Could it be a mistake? It’s not… it can’t be deliberate.”

“It’s a hundred percent deliberate.” I’m harsh, but this is too important, and I’m too angry on Skye’s behalf. “She must have funneled your profit into her own accounts.”

“But… I’ve known her since college!”

“Yes, but that means nothing, really,” I say, thinking of Ben. “I’m sorry.”

Her hazel eyes are blazing. “So we’re profitable?”

“The numbers sure seem so, yes. But I’ll make sure my accountants run a thorough check on it.” And give me the correct information this time, I think.

Skye gets out of her chair, energy running through her body, and starts to pace in front of me. In her pajama shorts and slippers, she’s a glorious sight.

“I can’t believe this. I was the one who recommended her!”

“You had no way of knowing.”

“But I should’ve. We should’ve double-checked the numbers.” She wraps her arms around herself. “Damn it, if only I knew how bookkeeping works.”

I close my laptop. “You know now.”

“If we’re profitable…” she says, eyes boring into mine. There’s hope there, and confusion, and anger. All rolled into one.

“I’ve called off the demolition.”

Her eyes widen. “You have?”

“Of course. You made a deal with me, Skye, and I’m going to honor it.”

“We did it,” she whispers faintly. Her voice is dreamy. “We actually turned it around. The store is saved.”

“You did it.”

“I knew it! We had so many more customers. Our sale was working. Damn Chloe.” She sits down next to me again, her hand landing atop mine gently. “Karli and I need to take legal action against her, don’t we?”

I nod, wondering if I could grasp her hand in mine, or if that would be pushing it. “Yes. What she did was illegal.”

Skye gazes off into the distance, her face set in a mask of determination I recognize well. “I’m going to make sure the store gets every cent back.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

“Thank you, Cole,” she says, her hand tightening around mine. “You didn’t have to bring this to me. I appreciate that, you know.”

“I was already considering halting the demolition.” The admission spills out of me of its own accord, her nearness and warmth like a blanket of comfort.

Skye’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I couldn’t stand the idea of you hating me,” I say. My gaze travels across her face, noting the surprise in her eyes, the tendrils of hair escaping her loose braid. “But that’s a discussion for a different day. What are you going to do now?”

“I need to call Karli,” she says. “And I have to see Chloe. Our accountant,” she adds, seeing the confusion on my face.

“You want to confront her?”

“Yes. I have to know, to hear her say it.”

“It might make things harder for you, and not easier,” I caution. Confronting Ben hadn’t helped me in the least, especially not hearing him admit to what he’d done.

Her eyes soften. “You’re right. But I have to. I’ll… I’ll invite myself over tomorrow evening.”

“Anything you need, Skye.” I reluctantly pull my hand out from underneath hers. It’s late, and she has much to think about. She needs to call Karli. To process this. As much as I want to stay, it would be pushing things.

Skye reaches out to put a hand on my sleeve. “Wait. What happens next?”

And damn it, but I can’t help myself. I reach out and push a lock of her hair back behind her ears. Skye doesn’t seem to be breathing, looking up at me. “Invite Karli to my offices the day after tomorrow,” I say. “We’ll meet with my accountants and lawyers. Go over the bookkeeping in detail and work out a strategy for the bookstore going forward.”

Skye’s breath is shaky, and then she’s hugging me, her head against my neck. Slowly, I wrap my arms around her. She’s so warm. The scent of her hair is in my nostrils, the curve of her waist beneath my hands.

I don’t want to let her go.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

I touch my lips to her ear, unable to resist. “There’s no need to thank me, Skye. You did all of this yourself.”

My tone is warm. I wonder if she hears the truth, all the things I find myself wanting to say, and unable to bring myself to. Not yet.

“Not the plants,” she says, a smile in her voice.

She’s still in my arms. “Okay, so maybe I helped a little. But I’m the one who should apologize.”

She pulls away and I let her go reluctantly. There’s a smile on her lips. “I think we both should, but…”

“That’s for another day. I understand.” I take a step back, releasing her hand. “Call Karli. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She wraps her arms around herself again, the long sleeves covering her hands, and watches me as I open her front door. Despite the subject matter, despite the confusion between us, the look in her eyes makes my chest tighten with emotion. “Thanks, Porter.”

There’s a smile in my voice. “You’re welcome, Holland.”