The Executive Read online

  THE EXECUTIVE’S SECRET

  A Secret Billionaire Romance

  Kimberley Montpetit

  Contents

  Copyright

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Romance Lover

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kimberley Montpetit

  THE NEIGHBOR’S SECRET: A Secret Billionaire Romance by Kimberley Montpetit

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

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  THE EXECUTIVE’S SECRET: A Secret Billionaire Romance

  * * *

  COPYRIGHT 2018 by Kimberley Montpetit

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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  Spellbound Books

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my husband, the perfect Secret Executive

  Chapter 1

  Caleb Davenport gripped his briefcase, sliding out of the hired car paid for by the company account so he didn't have to worry about throwing a few twenty-dollar bills at the driver, or digging out his credit card. He strode toward the double glass doors of the high-rise club in downtown Denver.

  Breathing in the crisp fall air, Caleb finally relaxed, even though he was jet-lagged after getting off the plane from Hong Kong via Los Angeles.

  He was home, and the Rocky Mountains had its own sweet, familiar scent. The high altitude was bracing, clean and fresh. No more stifling, crowded streets with a hundred different scents of food, perfumes, or body odor.

  Eager to meet up with the rest of the owners of DREAMS, Caleb punched the elevator button for the ninth floor. His stomach grumbled demanding food. Maybe he and his partners should have planned dinner together. It was later than he'd thought and the small sandwich on the plane hours ago hadn't exactly been filling.

  Waiting for his luggage had taken longer than expected, too, and on this particular Friday night Denver's downtown streets were packed with taxis, rental cars, the 16th Street mall shuttle, as well as the Light Rail commuter train coming in and out of the convention center tracks. A couple of busses rumbled past, filled with convention attendees wearing name tags.

  Personally, Caleb was convention-ed out. Three of them back-to-back overseas with more than a dozen companies signing onto the hot new app. His baby, DREAMS; the computer site and app he'd spent years working on.

  All in all, the past week had been a resounding success. His little company had grown by leaps and bounds over the past three years, serving thousands of consumers with insanely inexpensive products around the world.

  It was mind-blowing to think he was going to bank close to a billion dollars by the end of the year—and it all started with his group of high school computer geek friends.

  Caleb's pace turned brisk when he pushed through the glass doors into the posh vestibule of the bar. The five of them; Troy, Brandon, Ryan, Adam, and himself, sent each other a deluge of text messages while overseas on business.

  "Meet me at The 54," was the last text he’d sent out before boarding his flight. And, like a ten-thousand-mile miracle from across the Pacific Ocean, he'd received four thumbs up from his partners.

  At the end of the plush carpeted vestibule, Caleb opened the second glass door that spelled out The 54 in swirly gold letters. He was greeted by the hostess, a young woman dressed in a black dress that shimmered from a luminescent fabric. Sleeveless, plunging neckline, the woman had a terrific figure and toned arms as if she had an exercise trainer.

  "Good evening, sir," she purred in a cultured voice with a slight accent. Italian? English? He couldn't quite detect her country of origin, although he'd been to London and Rome often enough the past few years on business. “Welcome to The 54. Do you have a reservation with us tonight?"

  "Reservation's under Caleb Davenport."

  The hostess placed a red-manicured finger on her wait list. A small lamp on the tall desk illuminating the ledger with a golden glow.

  "I have you right here, Mr. Davenport," she said. "Please follow me."

  When she sashayed Caleb to his reserved table in the back, he noted the shapely legs in five-inch high stilettos. With the heels, she was still much shorter than Caleb, who, at six feet four often came across as a big, lumbering bear, even while keeping in shape by running five miles every day. She couldn't be more than five feet two. Despite the attractive women he ran into making business deals and traveling, most women were too short for his taste. He'd love a girl who was closer to five foot ten or taller, actually. Someone he could dance cheek-to-cheek with. A woman he could kiss without breaking his back.

  Of course, Caleb wasn't planning to hit on The 54's hostess, despite her beauty and lovely accent. But once again, whenever he saw a woman he admired, Caleb instantly found himself thinking about the woman he did want. The woman he wanted for his wife and the mother of his children. Someone to share all this—this crazy life—the money—the travel. And yes, the burden.

  Having DREAMS thrive so quickly was often disorienting. When he returned home, Caleb had to purposely ground himself by spending time with his best friends. He'd eat at his favorite restaurants, kick back at home with a Jason Bourne flick, sit outdoors at the Red Rock Amphitheater for a concert, or take a hike in the pine forests.

  And, of course, make a visit to his parents. Despite the pain that visits brought. Tonight he was feeling guilty, knowing he hadn't visited them in nearly a year. It was too difficult, emotionally distracting, and exhausting, but his mother's birthday was coming up and he'd never be forgiven if he didn't arrive bearing a gift.

  It might be crazy to make a list of what he wanted in a woman, but when the hostess showed him their table for five and laid out their menus, Caleb realized he could practically reach down and pat her on the head like she was twelve-years-old.

  Girls who could wear heels and look him in the eye were hard to find, but a definite priority for his "list". Harder to find in the Asian countries he was currently visiting setting up accounts for DREAMS.

  Idly, Caleb wondered if women were taller in London where Troy usually traveled. He'd have to ask, he thought, and then grinned to himself.

  Pushing thirty, Caleb was ready to find the woman. A woman he could spend the rest of his life with. His business and travel didn't leave much time for dating. Let alone women he could talk to without an interpreter.

  Even if they spoke English and he loved their accent, it wasn't the same. Whether it was books or music or movies or favorite foods, they had little in common.

  Caleb gave a sigh and dropped his briefcase to the floor by the table, glancing about for any sign of his team.

  The 54 was quieter than most upscale Denver hang-outs for the rich citizens of this city. And for him, having a membership here was an oxymoron.

  When Caleb stared at the art deco on the
walls, the polished 1920s furnishings, and the painted ceilings, he felt like an outsider.

  Heck, he'd grown up in the poorest part of Denver. Attended the worst elementary school, but fortunate that it fed into a better high school. His father had been a drunken mechanic, his mother a part-time school aide. At least when he was in elementary school.

  At ten years old, he'd dream of buying them a new house. Mostly because he was the one who wanted to escape his depressing life.

  Sitting here now in a posh bar was so completely opposite how he'd grown up that his life felt surreal. As if he could blink his eyes and it would all disappear like a dream.

  "Hey, buddy, what are you doing here?" a voice came from behind, echoing his thoughts uncannily.

  He whipped around to see Troy Thurlow, his best friend since high school, barreling toward him. They'd joined the wrestling team, did math homework while watching Breaking Bad, and surreptitiously studied the cheerleaders during lunch in the quad. While Caleb was the geek of the school. A geek to the max. Now he didn't know what he was. Still a geek? Finally grown up when he turned twenty-nine in January?

  "Looks like you're over-thinking things as usual," Troy said, slapping him on the shoulder.

  "What makes you say that?" Caleb asked with a small snort.

  "Your expression was very studious. Bad flight home?"

  "Nope, completely uneventful. Just . . . thinking, like you always say."

  "It's a woman, isn't it?" Troy gave a grin, waggling his eyebrows. "Who'd you meet in Hong Kong?"

  "Nobody," Caleb burst out with a laugh.

  "The airline attendant must have been hot then."

  Without warning, Brandon appeared and slid into a chair. "You met a babe flight attendant? Tell us more."

  Caleb let out a long laugh. "I couldn't even tell you what the flight attendants looked like. Short? Dark hair? Polite? Served food and drinks. End of story."

  Brandon flipped open a menu. "Here I was all ready for a juicy story."

  "You mean you didn't meet the woman of your dreams in Brazil, Brandon?" Troy kicked back in his seat and placed his hands behind his head after signaling to the waitress.

  "Next time please send me to Rio during Mardi Gras," Brandon told Caleb.

  "Nothin' doin'. You'd never come home again."

  "There are perks to this job, right?" Troy went on. "But, no, our boss is all work, work, work. I spend the other half of my life sitting on planes."

  "Welcome to the real world," Ryan Argyle said, coming up to the table and bumping fists with the rest of the men. Right on his heels was the last member of the DREAMS team, Adam Caldwell, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning the top button of a crisp blue shirt.

  "Good, we're finally all here," Caleb said. "Now we can order."

  "Hey, I came as soon as I shut down the office," Adam said. "I work longer hours than all of you put together, flying around the world, dancing with luscious foreign women at night."

  "Hardly," Troy said with a glance upward at the waitress, a thin woman of about thirty-five wearing black slacks, a black blouse and thick black eyeliner. "I'll have a ginger ale."

  The other guys laughed and Caleb held up his hands to ward off their teasing. "A Coke with vanilla," he said. "And keep the nachos coming, please. Mini sliders, too."

  "What's with all the fizzy drinks, guys?" Ryan said. "I know Caleb doesn't touch anything hard, but what about the rest of you guys?"

  "A headache," Troy said. "Jet-lag is getting to me. I can't even remember what time zone I'm in."

  "Mountain Time, poor baby," Adam interjected. "Try sitting at a desk for twelve hours a day logging orders and shipments until your eyes go numb. I'll have a cold beer, please."

  "Didn't know eyes could turn numb," Caleb laughed, giving the youngest member of their crew a teasing grin. Adam Caldwell had been in the class a year behind them in high school. But his computer skills were ferocious so Caleb had hired him two years ago. "That's a new one."

  He'd known these guys for so long, but what most of them forgot—except for Troy—was the fact that Caleb never drank.

  He had grown up with alcoholic parents and after binge-drinking at a party his senior year, thinking he was being totally cool, he'd gotten so sick he'd passed out and wouldn't wake up. Terrified, Troy had called an ambulance, afraid Caleb was going to die from alcohol poisoning.

  Caleb would never forget his mother speaking at his hospital bedside in a soft voice. "Isn't it bad enough that your father does this?"

  She'd been so hurt, her tired face so full of despair, that Caleb hadn't touched a drink since. Despite the teasing during college, the parties going on at his dorm, he just didn't. It wasn't worth it. Besides, he wanted to live rather than get a buzz. And avoid liver damage like his father was now suffering with.

  Troy ran his hands through his thick dark hair, slouching back in his chair. He was a big man, wide-shouldered, with a chest as broad as a football field. Played wide receiver during high school at their alma mater, Southfield High School, but loved the intricacies of computer hardware. He was the guy that could trouble-shoot anything. "Man, it's good to be home."

  "Homesick, buddy?" Adam teased.

  Troy gave a half smile, shrugging. "There's something about the fall mountain air of Denver that clears your head. South America is just hot and sticky, no matter what time of year you visit."

  "Speaking of autumn, what month are we in?" Ryan said, scrolling a thumb across his phone screen. "I've been in too many time zones to remember."

  “Months—times zones—it's all the same, oh brainy one," Caleb said, and then added, "Just turned October. We have to hit the office tomorrow, guys. It's only Tuesday and we've got a boatload of data to enter and organize and get on the app."

  "Yeah, yeah, we know boss," Troy said, stuffing a burger slider into his mouth now. "You don't have to remind us."

  September had proven to be a grueling month and the guys were just doing their usual complaining when they put in an eighty-hour work week during travel but some days he hated being the CEO. They'd grown up together and often hated being the boss and cracking the whip with his high school friends.

  Ryan dipped a tortilla chip into the nacho cheese dip. "Only asking because I just remembered that we have our ten-year high school reunion later this month."

  "No, it was only last June when we graduated," Troy chimed in, picking up his second slider in under sixty seconds.

  Ryan gave Troy an eye roll. "Oh, wise one, thank you for that. Did your invitations arrive in the mail? I think it's being held at the Hotel Monaco on Champa Street. Dinner and a DJ, of course. No host bar."

  "Ooh, fancy," Adam said. "They must think we're rich."

  Low chuckles erupted around the table while Troy said, "Hopefully they don't make us play any stupid games. I'll never forget our senior picnic. Getting dragged in the mud during the tug of war."

  "You should have hung on," Caleb teased him.

  "If I recall the food was good," Brandon added. "Never-ending barbecue and pie."

  "To you, the food is always good," Troy told him. "You have a bottomless pit for a stomach. Your travel reimbursement for restaurants is astronomical."

  "Have we made a pact to go—or not?" Ryan asked. "Don't want to show up alone and make small talk with people I don't recognize."

  Caleb had forgotten about the reunion, actually. It wasn't in his planner. He shook the hair out of his eyes and stared around the table. All the guys were gazing at him. Like he was the boss of the high school reunion, too. "We could draw straws," he said with a half-smile.

  "Better than tossing a coin," Adam said, pulling out his calculator to figure out the odds.

  An odd shiver ran through Caleb. Recalling the insane stuff that had happened with his parents during high school still felt surreal. He'd basically been on his own since seventeen, but instead of a fierce independence without having to care about anybody but himself, the opposite had happened.

  Trave
ling the world, making bigger bucks than he could ever have dreamed, had produced a lonely, un-tethered life. Sure, he could do whatever he wanted, but running a company on which hundreds of employees relied on you in twenty different countries, including a team of accountants and lawyers watching your every move created stress that was also far greater than he could have imagined.

  He relied on the men sitting around the dinner table very much. Not just for business, but for friendship and support, saving him from total loneliness. They'd certainly become his surrogate family, and having the support of his friends meant that he avoided obsessing about the past and his derelict parents—except for one person that had never left his memory.

  The girl he'd had a crush on since he was a freshman. English class. Staring at the back of her head like a dunce. Caleb sat two desks behind her, fantasizing about running his hands through the silky strands of her shiny hair that swept across her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall. Yeah, typical teenage boy stuff.

  But that girl was untouchable. Far above his low-class life. She was soft-spoken and gentle with a laugh that used to make him smile. She wasn't annoying or loud like most girls in high school, vying for attention or queen bee status. She was perfect.

  The kind of girl you could fall in love with and live happily ever after—if there was such a thing. Unfortunately, he didn't know many happily ever after's. None of his friends were married. A few of his international clients were happily divorced or living up the bachelor life.