The Billionaire's Lockdown Baby

  The Billionaire's Lockdown Baby

  Holly Rayner

  Contents

  The Billionaire's Lockdown Baby

  1. Aubrey

  2. Damon

  3. Aubrey

  4. Damon

  5. Aubrey

  6. Damon

  7. Aubrey

  8. Damon

  9. Aubrey

  10. Aubrey

  11. Damon

  12. Aubrey

  13. Damon

  14. Damon

  15. Aubrey

  16. Aubrey

  17. Damon

  18. Aubrey

  19. Aubrey

  20. Damon

  21. Damon

  22. Aubrey

  23. Damon

  24. Aubrey

  25. Aubrey

  26. Aubrey

  27. Damon

  28. Damon

  29. Aubrey

  30. Aubrey

  Epilogue

  Accidental Billionaire Daddy

  1. Ben

  Want More?

  Also by Holly Rayner

  The Billionaire's Lockdown Baby

  Copyright 2021 by Holly Rayner

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Aubrey

  I was already running late by the time I noticed that the sun was getting entirely too close to the horizon, the bottom tip of it starting to dip down into the ocean. And that meant I wasn’t just late—I was very late indeed.

  I hustled onto the beach, saltwater streaming down my body, and made directly for the area where I’d left my things, scanning the pile quickly to make sure it was all still there.

  Towel, check. Duffel bag with the usual necessities—contact solution, surf wax, my fins and mask in case I decided I wanted to dive rather than surf—check. Stuffing my hand into the pocket of the duffel bag, I fished around, my heart jumping as it always did when I was taking stock of my stuff after having been out on the water.

  Yeah, I’d lived in Hawaii all my life and been surfing—and therefore leaving my stuff on the beach unattended—basically since I could walk. Basically since my dad had followed through on his threat to make me the youngest surfing champion in Hawaii. At least at the competitions, though, there had been lockers to keep my stuff in. When I was practicing, or surfing just for the pure pleasure of it, I had to count on the goodwill of the other people on the beach.

  I mean, I always knew my stuff would be safe, especially when we were on a beach as remote as this one. But there was a part of my brain that never stopped worrying about it.

  Then I found what I was looking for. Phone and watch, check and check. Thank you, surfing gods of the great and mighty ocean.

  I snagged the phone and jerked it out of the bag, already knowing exactly what I was going to see. When I did, though, I groaned aloud.

  It was already five thirty. We’d stayed out a whole lot longer than we should have.

  “Crap,” I breathed, jumping to my feet and starting to hustle into my clothes. When the zip of the dress I’d brought didn’t want to cooperate, I gave it up as a lost cause and stuffed it into my bag, still cursing to myself.

  Then I grabbed the bag, slipped into my shoes, stuck my board under my arm, and started running for the parking lot.

  “Where are you going?” Kalani—my best friend and favorite surfing partner, and also the reason I’d stayed out a lot longer than I had planned to—shouted after me.

  “I’m late!” I shouted back, not even bothering to turn my head to make sure she heard me.

  She’d wanted to have that big chat while we were out there, and though I didn’t usually like to talk during a surf session, she’d looked so desperate that I hadn’t been able to turn her down.

  Of course then she’d just wanted to talk about the newest boy in her life and how she thought he might be the one. A story I’d heard at least five million times. Definitely not a story that had required interrupting a surf session.

  It hadn’t been how I’d wanted to spend the afternoon. But Kalani was my best friend. When she had boy problems, I was practically required to help her work through them. It was one of the top three rules in the Best Friend contract.

  Though I wasn’t sure that contract guaranteed that I would sit there and listen to her when it made me late. In the future, maybe I’d have to put a time limit on her stories. That would be within the contract, I thought.

  “Late for what?” I heard her call back.

  A date, I thought. Only that wasn’t quite right—and telling her it was a date would only make her ask more questions. Not now, when I was running away from her, but later, when she inevitably came knocking at the door of my little apartment on the beach and demanded to know exactly what was going on, and why it had meant that I needed to literally run out of the ocean and away from her and the surf.

  Kalani was my best friend, and in her world, that meant she didn’t need to pay attention to things like boundaries. She’d show up in the middle of the freaking night and wake me up for answers, if that was what it took.

  Besides, saying this was a date wasn’t strictly correct. I didn’t even know why I’d called it that in my head, actually. This wasn’t anything like a date. I was having dinner with my boss to celebrate five years of working together, and he was taking me to the fanciest restaurant in Honolulu. Which was why I couldn’t afford to be late. He was my freaking boss.

  But there was another very big reason that I was going out of my way to get there in time. I wanted to be early. I wanted to have a chance to get settled at the restaurant, figure out my surroundings… have at least one margarita before he arrived.

  Because Damon Parker and I had been working together for five years now. I’d known for four of them that I was in love with him, but I’d never said anything, too scared to ruin the job or make it uncomfortable or destroy whatever reference I was going to get if I ever left the company, or even get myself fired. I knew I’d never find another job like the one I had with him.

  Damon owned the largest media company on the island—which didn’t boast that many corporate jobs—and as a marketing major, I’d found it to be the ideal fit. If I lost the job, I didn’t know where I’d go or what I’d do.

  If I got fired, I also wouldn’t be able to spend ninety percent of my time around Damon. And though he didn’t know how I felt about him, and I always had to be on my best behavior, getting to work with him was still a huge plus—and one that I didn’t want to throw away.

  It was one of the biggest perks of the job. One of the only perks, if I was being honest. Because the pay certainly wasn’t doing it for me.

  So why was I currently sprinting toward my car, blood running hot about going on a non-date with the boss who didn’t pay me enough and who I had a huge—and very conflicting—crush on?

  Well. The thing was, my little sister had just gotten engaged and called me screaming with excitement over the prospect of marrying her best friend and all that jazz. And though I was happy for her—really, I was, though I was nervous at the thought of all the work I was going to have to do as maid of honor—it had brought my situation into very clear, very sharp, and very sudden perspective.

 
I was keeping a sucky job for the simple reason of getting to be around my boss—who I was in love with. Who I’d been in love with for four freaking years.

  And because I’d been such a chicken that entire time, I’d never even put a thought toward moving things forward with him.

  Now my little sister, a full five years younger than me, was getting married… while I kept my mouth shut about my feelings so I could move forward with my career. I mean, theoretically move forward with my career. And that realization right there? It had made everything extremely clear.

  I was a hamster on a wheel, running my butt off and not getting anywhere. And I didn’t feel like I’d even had a hamster treat in years. I was getting tired and frustrated, and I definitely wasn’t moving forward in my career.

  The only thing I had was a crush. A crush that was holding me down.

  Which was exactly why I was going to tell him how I felt. Tonight. At dinner. During our five-year work anniversary celebration. I figured there would be alcohol and good food and congratulations and plenty of good juju going around. It would be the perfect time.

  Right?

  I got to my car and threw my bag into the passenger seat, revving the engine and then squealing out of the parking lot before I could rethink what I was doing—or turn around and run right back into the water, my safe place.

  Chapter 2

  Damon

  I walked into the restaurant talking away on my phone, but that wasn’t my fault. I was the CEO of one of the most successful companies on the island, which meant that I logged a lot of time—like, way more than I wanted to—on the phone. The time difference between Hawaii and the rest of the world meant that I had to be available at odd hours, conducting business outside a normal nine-to-five kind of deal.

  Of course, at that moment, I was actually on the phone with a girl I’d met last week. But who’s really paying attention to details like that?

  The moment I saw Aubrey, though, I made an excuse to hang up and put the phone away. The sight of her made me grin with amusement—and not only because it was so obvious that she didn’t belong in this sort of restaurant.

  I’d pulled out all the stops and gotten last-minute reservations at the swankiest place in town. Not that it had been hard; owning and running Pacific Broadcasting Company, which was the only provider on the island when it came to media, meant that I had cornered the market on all things broadcasting—and that I was, against all odds, one of the richest people in Hawaii.

  No, not the richest. I might own a large company and get reservations at the drop of a hat, but I was a long way away from being the biggest wig in town. And I was man enough to admit that. I didn’t even feel bad about it.

  There were way too many Hollywood stars in residence for me to think I was the richest. Too many trust-fund babies who had found their way to the islands, saying that they wanted to decompress or hide from the real world. That one made me laugh, because it was a whole lot more likely that they just wanted the publicity that came with ‘retiring’ to Hawaii—where they would continue to put themselves in the spotlight through social media, as often as the possibly could.

  Which was great for me. Because I owned the rights to all of the lovely cable lines and wireless networks they used to do just that. And that meant that the more they were out there exposing themselves, the more money my company made.

  Maybe one day, I’d be closer to being the richest. But not yet.

  Still, I was a big enough deal that I could easily get last-minute reservations at the fanciest place in town—which was exactly what I’d wanted for tonight. It was exactly what I’d wanted the moment Aubrey reminded me—this morning—that it was her five-year anniversary with the company.

  Looking at her now, though, I wondered if it had been the right call. Because the girl didn’t fit into this sort of lifestyle. She wasn’t the dress-up-like-a-Malibu-Barbie sort of girl. Not even close.

  She was the sort of girl who was completely brilliant at all things marketing, and kept my life whirring along like a top with her organizational skills, but had also been born into the Island Girl lifestyle, and hadn’t ever tried to shake it. The sort of girl who had been excited to go to dinner in this restaurant… but also looked like she’d probably spent the entire afternoon surfing and hadn’t bothered to wash the salt out of her hair before she got dressed for dinner.

  Really, if her late-three-times-a-week schedule held true, I was betting that she’d surfed longer than she’d meant to and had come straight from the beach. She was probably still wearing her bathing suit.

  The thought made me smile even harder, and I looked more closely, trying to see whether I could tell if she was in fact sporting a bathing suit under the clothes she had on tonight. I saw a slight burn covering her fair, freckled nose, and noticed that her blond tresses were done up in a sort of messy updo that still somehow managed to complement the strapless top she was wearing.

  A strapless top that left her shoulders bare and her cleavage peeking out.

  I yanked my eyes up and away from that general area, horrified at myself and the thoughts that had just flashed through my brain, and found that she’d seen me come in and was actually watching me, now—and smiling.

  I grinned back and made my way toward her, my mind shifting quickly from how beautiful she looked to what I was going to order—the surf and turf? Territory that had nothing to do with the creamy skin of her chest, or the swelling of her cleavage over her blouse.

  Those were not thoughts one was supposed to have about one’s employees.

  * * *

  “You seriously go surfing every single day,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her—I’d seen her coming into the office with her hair still soaking wet often enough to know that she was telling the truth. I just couldn’t imagine having enough time to be able to do that.

  “Yes,” she responded. “Seriously. Every day.”

  She widened her eyes to make them even bigger than they usually were, and exaggerated her movements—the way people only did if they were one: drunk, or two: seriously questioning whether you had a brain in your head at all.

  In this case, it was definitely the latter. Yeah, we’d had a fair amount to drink—a full bottle of champagne between us—but Aubrey wasn’t drunk. Buzzed, maybe. But still sober enough to be making fun of me.

  “As opposed to you. You don’t do anything in your free time. At least, nothing that makes you happy,” she continued, looking down at her plate as she threw that line out.

  Well, I couldn’t argue with her there. Though that had never meant I didn’t at least try. It was the follow-through where I struggled.

  “Excuse me, I do plenty of things in my free time, and it all makes me happy,” I said quickly.

  Her brown eyes shot up to meet mine, one eyebrow raised an inch above the other. “Damon,” she said seriously. “You forget that I control your schedule. I see how you pack every day with work. You don’t leave time for anything fun. And no, working out in your home gym does not count, before you try using that one.”

  Okay, so she had me there. She did control my schedule. She knew every day down to the second—at least, as far as the office went.

  “You don’t know what I do once I get home,” I pointed out, the thought moving right from my brain to my mouth before I remembered that she did actually know a whole lot of what I did when I went home, too.

  Because she scheduled a lot of that for me, as well. She planned the nights I had to go out and meet clients, the dinners I had to attend with business associates. She even booked my dates most of the time, making the reservations and having flowers sent to girls afterward. She knew when I had social engagements that I felt were a waste of time—and she heard me complaining about them. She knew that I almost never took a day entirely for myself.

  Aubrey knew exactly what every second of my life was like.

  And at that moment, the air went out of her, her eyes going down to the ground and the f
lirty energy she’d been exhibiting fleeing. If she’d been a balloon, she had just deflated. If she’d been a puppy, she’d just been shouted at.

  She wasn’t either of those things. She was my trusted assistant, and one of my closest friends. She was my dose of humanity on the days when I had too much tech and business in my head.

  Okay, she was my dose of humanity every day. The only real consistent in my life. The sole and only person I could count on to treat me like any other person, rather than someone who needed to be handled with care. We saw each other more than we saw anyone else, and that meant that I noticed the sudden change in her mood. Something had taken the confident, sassy girl who had been talking to me a few minutes ago and brought her crashing right back down to earth.

  Without thinking about it, I reached out and brushed my fingertips along the back of her hand. “Aub, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes traveled back up to meet mine, her lower lip trembling a bit, and I watched her make a gargantuan effort to stop it and straighten her shoulders. She lifted her chin, tipped her head a bit, and gave me a smirk.

  It was a wobbly one, though. A smile that wasn’t quite a smile—and one that looked like it might dissolve into something else if I said the wrong thing.

  Weird.