Vagrant: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Read online

  Vagrant

  A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Deja Voss

  Copyright © 2018 by Deja Voss

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Epilogue

  Thank You For Reading!

  Also by Deja Voss

  Chapter One

  Jesse:

  I pull back my bow, suck in my breath, and let it all out on the target down the field. There’s nothing more majestic than that combination of trajectory, velocity, and kinetic energy flowing through that arrow as it glides away. The twang of the bow and the thwack of the target the only sounds I hear other than my own breath. Head empty. Focused on that glide.

  Anymore, this is about the closest to peace I can find. Every day for the last two years has been some sort of epic grind filled with people, cities, deals, dinners, conference calls and handshakes. Even tucked away in my basement office, working on architectural designs, my true passion is tainted by looming deadlines and clients who don’t want to see my vision. Clients who think they know better than I do.

  Sure, I’m the best at what I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in the position I am in today.

  My design skills plus Max’s sales skills thrust us to the height of commercial real estate. Everyone wants to work with us. Everyone wants a little piece of what we have to offer. When we started this business though, Max was supposed to be the one doing the wining and dining, and I was supposed to be the introverted designer who got to hide out and make beautiful blueprints.

  Unfortunately, as the stakes got higher, so did the demands of these clients. Now they expect to see my smiling face too. And it stresses me the hell out.

  What good is it being a young billionaire if you can’t live the life you want to live?

  “The fuck are you doing, Jesse?” I hear his voice boom across the field. “We’re supposed to be in Miami in an hour.”

  “Do you really need me to go?” I ask, lining up my arrow for another shot. “Can’t you just video call me in if you need me?”

  “Yes, I need you to go. You’re my business partner. What if Rich wants to make some changes in the design?”

  “He won’t,” I assure him. I let go of the arrow and watch, rapt, as it glides down the field. The wind catches it, tossing it off course for a moment, but it still hits the outer ring of the bull’s-eye.

  “But what if he does?” he pleads. “Come on, dude; you know people admire us because we’re the package deal. You have the brains, I have the looks and the big fucking mouth. All you have to do is stand there and nod. Be there just in case. We can go gator fishing afterwards, tonight, if you want. I’ll set it up.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving him off. I pull another arrow from my quiver and line up my sights. The air around me begins to vibrate, the tops of the trees thrashing around.

  “Looks like our ride is here,” Max says as the helicopter touches down on the landing pad on top of the mansion. “I’m not asking for much, Jess. One day. One night. Let’s get this deal locked and loaded and then you can go off-grid for as long as you feel like. I know you’re itching to get out in the woods. Humor me for the next twenty-four hours and I promise I will leave you alone for the next month.”

  He’s absolutely right. I’ve been dying to get out of Dodge for ages now. I haven’t gone on an adventure in over a year, unless you count the tourist trap excursions Max is constantly trying to surprise me with. It’s fun and all, but it’s nothing like the real thing: A real off-the-grid adventure. Out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a hand-drawn map from some guy you meet at the local dive bar. Hunting, hiking, camping. That kind of real thing.

  He wouldn’t get it though. His entire life has been buying whatever experience you feel like having at that moment. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but for some reason the guy latched onto me like glue when we met in college. He’s a generous person. He always saw something in me that no one from my hometown would’ve ever dreamed of for my life. Nothing I could’ve imagined, that’s for sure.

  I came up dirt-poor. Hunting wasn’t a pastime, it was a necessity. Gardening wasn’t because we didn’t trust GMOs; it was because we couldn’t afford GMOs. The only way I got into college was on a football scholarship. The only way I stayed in college after blowing out my ACL was doing side jobs for Max’s father, mostly drafting and blueprints for his real estate company. He saw something in me, too. Something he didn’t see in his own son. I didn’t realize how fast the world was moving around me until I graduated one day, and the next I moved into the mansion.

  The last ten years have been nothing but extreme overindulgence, and for a while there, I loved everything about the fancy cars, the kind of girls who don’t ask any questions, the fact that I don’t have to cook for myself, do my own laundry, or even think about paying my bills on time. I have a guy for that. I have a guy or a girl to literally do every day-to-day task for me and I can focus all my energy on architectural design and living the good life.

  I have more things and more spare time than anyone I’ve ever known aside from Edward and his family. But all that spare time means nothing when you feel like you’re trapped in a cage. I am the kind of man who values his independence. The kind of guy who likes the idea of going out in the woods and not coming back until I have a deer strapped to my back so I can feed my family for the winter ahead. The kind of guy who wants to find a woman who isn’t made of plastic and wants more from life than just champagne and diamond rings.

  “I’m only going if you promise,” I warn him. “I need to hit the reset button. I’m going fucking nuts. I got Rich’s job on lock. We have nothing coming up until September. I’m going rogue as soon as we touch down back here.”

  “That’s fine. Put on a shirt and get in the helicopter. I don’t think Rich is really into the dirty mountain man vibe you’re throwing off right now. I know the maids appreciate your efforts to always show off those abs of yours, but I’m thinking Rich probably doesn’t want his new luxury casino full of shoeless hillbillies.”

  Sure, I feel kin
d of like a petulant teenager arguing with him about stuff like this, but he knew what he was getting into with me from day one. You can dress me up, but underneath the money, I’m really a man who appreciates the simple things in life.

  “Come on, boys,” Patty, our assistant shouts from across the field. She’s struggling to walk through the grass in her stilettos and rips them off and slings them over her shoulder. “I have your suit in the helicopter, Jesse. You’re gonna have to change on the fly.”

  I shrug it off and follow them to the landing pad. I need to knock this pitch out of the park because, in less than twenty-four hours, I want to be off the grid.

  No cellphones. No suits. No handshakes over Balvenie or dragging Max out of the strip clubs kicking and screaming as the sun is coming up over the beach. Just me and the mountains. Silence and simplicity.

  We board the helicopter and I pop in my headphones and watch out the window while Max rambles on and on about what we’re going to do once we hit Miami. I’m assuming by the gestures he’s making it’s going to involve a curvaceous woman sitting on his face.

  All I have to offer is a dramatic eye-roll. I turn my music up and watch the scenery from the sky, mapping out my escape in graphic detail. Drawing a blueprint of my freedom. Trying to figure out where exactly I can go that no one will know me, that no one will come looking for me, somewhere far away from anything shiny or sexy that will make Max want to come along for the ride. I need a month of solitude and then I’ll be able to just slip back into this life, refreshed and ready to hit our next billion.

  Chapter Two

  Molly:

  “Fifteen products your hairdresser does NOT want you to know about,” I sigh, kicking my feet up on the cooler next to my foldout camping chair.

  I run my fingers through my long, curly, dirty blonde hair. I don’t remember the last time I even went to a hairdresser. Long and wild is about the most conducive thing to my lifestyle. Ponytails and braids have been my go-to style since I started freelancing.

  I don’t mind writing for the occasional content mill. It pays the bills and gives me a little bit of stability in between writing things that are more important to my heart. Humanitarian stories will always be the ones I chase, but I will happily take any work I can get in the meanwhile. As long as I have my bus, my freedom, my dog, and the ability to travel wherever I feel like on any given day, I’m a happy girl.

  “Spring water tonic, huh?” I giggle, looking at the list of items I need to include in my story. Where I’m parked right now is surrounded by natural springs. I can stick my head in the water for zero dollars and these suckers are paying $19.99 a pop.

  My Mini Pinscher, Dolly, drags a stick through the grass and curls up next to me, chewing away contentedly. I love summers in Colorado, and being able to work from outside is a dream come true. This campground is my office, my lap is my desk, and when I’m finished with the thing I have to do, I have a whole day to do whatever I feel like doing.

  My parents and my friends back at home are constantly asking me “what are you running away from?” I’ve always had a relatively good life. No hardships. A great family. Good grades. I had a decent job lined up at our local newspaper when I graduated college. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering but it would’ve paid my bills and let me settle into the kind of life I was raised to strive for: White picket fences and a cute little cottage on the hill. Steady pay. Steady hours. Perfect setup to find myself a decent man and live the blue-collar dream.

  When I used all my college graduation money to buy this minibus and spent the summer ripping out the seats and turning it into a practical living space, my parents thought I was just going through a phase. When I sold half my stuff so I could invest in a decent laptop, camera, and a wireless hotspot that could follow me anywhere I went, they thought I lost my damn mind. My dad even followed me around in his pickup truck the whole first month I was gone. I didn’t mind his company, and if it gave him some peace of mind that I could do this, then it was the least I could do for him.

  Five years later, and I only hear from them about once a week. They finally came around to the fact that this nomad lifestyle is a good one for me. I know when I show up on their doorstep for holidays, they hope in the back of their mind that I’m home for good, but these days, home to me is wherever I feel like parking my bus. Right now, it’s in the Rocky Mountains.

  I just pulled into this spot yesterday afternoon and haven’t had much time to explore the town of Creede. Maybe that’s what I’ll get into this afternoon. My fridge is looking a little sad, and breakfast today was coffee and my last granola bar. I’m going to need groceries, and I could probably use a little human interaction too.

  It’s easy for me to go days without talking to anyone. Easy for me to get wrapped up in my work, hiking, and reading, but even my introverted self gets lonely sometimes. Plus, it’s nice to make friends wherever you go. People are an important part of all these new places I’m exploring, and I love digging into local culture.

  “How fast do you think we can knock this out, Dolly?” I ask the little dog, who has the stick about completely obliterated into a million splinters.

  “Holy shit, do I need some human interaction.” I laugh to myself. “I just asked you for career advice.”

  I finish the last of my coffee and hurry up and write the best hair care article I can conjure up, using mostly my imagination. I send it to my agent with a smile on my face. Grocery money. Wine money. Gas money. Fun money.

  I slide into my favorite floral maxi dress and do my very minimal make-up routine. I hook Dolly up to her leash and pop the batteries into my Nikon camera.

  “Let’s go find a story,” I say to her, and she wags her little nub of a tail and follows me down the trail. “And a sandwich.”

  Chapter Three

  Jesse:

  Good decision-making is hard to do when you’re desperate to go incognito. I’m already on the other side of the country, but it’s not good enough. I’m sure my personal assistant caught Max up on all the logistics of my fishing trip in Washington. What neither of them know is that that’s just a cover-up for my real plans.

  My real plans involve a week of hunting in Montana with an old-timer of a guide who I met a long time ago. He promised to be extremely discreet for the right price, and discretion is definitely not something I mind spending a couple bucks on. I have enough cash on me to get me from Washington to Montana without anyone being able to trace me. I’m gonna ditch my phone in the hotel room I have booked in Washington and carry a burner with me so that when I feel like my soul is revived and I’m ready to go back to the grind, I can just call Max and have him pick me up.

  The last time I tried to disappear, I barely made it twenty-four hours before he tracked me down and showed up and turned my relaxing off-grid adventure into a red carpet event. I understand that’s how he likes to blow off steam, partying and drugs and girls, but for me, I want quiet.

  The waitress at the diner looks like she’s put in a solid thirty-year shift here. Her legs are splattered with spider veins and her hairstyle looks like something straight out of the 80s, but these are the kinds of people I want to know. These are the kinds of people that I can trust, because they don’t really know any better.

  “You having coffee today, sweetie?” she asks me.

  I flash my perfect smile at her and nod. “Thanks, Betsy.”

  I’ve been coming to this little diner every day for the last week, hoping I can find what I’m looking for while doing my best to blend in.

  “You in town much longer?” she asks me, filling my mug to the top.

  “I hope not,” I sigh. “No offense to Snohomish. It’s really nice here. I just have somewhere I have to go.”

  Honestly, it is a really beautiful place and I’ve been spending some time exploring the Cascade Mountains every day. I’d probably stay longer if I didn’t have to worry about being found. I just need to get out of the state before Max is hot on my heels.
/>   “You waiting for a ride or something?” she asks.

  Bingo. My mission is starting to come together exactly like I envisioned it.

  “I am. I need to get to Montana.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Son, do you know how far away that is?”

  I know exactly how far away that is.

  “I just need to get east. As far as I can. I can figure out what to do from there. You know anyone who wants to make some cash?” I’m taking a chance here, putting all my cards on the table. Betsy is not a moron. Waitresses are the best at reading people and I’m sure she knows I’m hiding from something. She probably thinks I’m a serial killer or a drug dealer on the run, but if I’ve learned anything in my years on earth it’s that there’s a lot of people out there willing to turn their head from something they don’t necessarily advocate to make a little bit of money.

  I pull a hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and tuck it into her hand.

  “Finder’s fee,” I say, closing it in her fist.

  “My nephew,” she half whispers. “He just got laid off from the factory. Good kid.”

  “I need to leave by tonight,” I tell her.