Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Cove Book 5)

  Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire

  Billionaire Bachelor Cove

  Erica Penrod

  Copyright © 2019 by Erica Penrod

  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.

  Contents

  Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire

  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

  Also by Erica Penrod

  About the Author

  Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire

  Jamon West is out of his element in the neighborhood full of old-money billionaires and tech geniuses. Can Gemma Stone transform him into a respectable Seattle billionaire without losing her heart to this Texas cowboy in the process?

  Welcome to The Cove

  With heavy iron gates, two security stations, and a groundskeeper's cottage, The Cove has everything a billionaire could ask for in a home. Dubbed Billionaire Bachelor Cove because of the resident's single status and income portfolios, The Cove is the perfect place to hide away from the world. But, as the residents soon find out, they can't hide from love.

  Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire

  Gemma Stonewall considers her new position as a public relations/personal assistant for Jamon West two rungs down on the career ladder. At the request of her former employer, the prestigious billionaire, Adam Moreau, she accepts her assignment to transform West into a respectable billionaire with apprehension. This rags-to-riches cowboy wears boots to breakfast and anywhere in between and his Texan terminology requires translation. Gemma’s first day on the job leaves her feeling as though she’s brought an itinerary and organizational skills to a gun fight.

  Jamon West never intended to be a billionaire. When his college chemistry project turned him into an instant millionaire and two years later a billionaire, he wasn’t prepared to leave his ranching way of life behind. Orphaned as a teenager along with his older brother, Jamon’s known hard times, but nothing prepared him for life as a billionaire bachelor. Distant relatives appeared out of nowhere, gold-digging women snuck into his bedroom, his brother wanted his money and he’d never felt more alone.

  Jamon needed a change and The Cove called like a haven in the storm. Seattle is the perfect place to build his research facility and gain respect among the scientific community. To do that, Jamon has to dress the part—even if the idea of a new wardrobe is as painful as a burr in his boot. In short, he needs Gemma’s professional help and soon finds that he also needs her love.

  But, Jamon’s already lost many of the people who mattered most to him and if he allows himself to love Gemma only to lose her, he’d never survive. All the money in the world can’t stop a heart from breaking. He’s got a choice to make and he’s about to find out just what being a real cowboy is all about.

  Chapter One

  The weather wasn’t its usual self today. The Seattle sun split the clouds and beamed regardless of how dreary Gemma Stonewall felt inside. Rain didn’t fall from the sky, not even a drizzle, and the warm temperature taunted her. Her life was one unsolicited event after another. Without any hint of an early spring chill, even the weather was happy without her permission.

  She drew in a breath and pressed the doorbell to the huge house located on Lot 21 in The Cove. There was no use stewing over her situation. She had a job to do, even if it meant doing an unpleasant task. She glanced around, taking in the elaborate teakwood arched door with beveled leaded glass and the intricately laid stone walls of this rambling mansion. She could think of worse places to work.

  The door opened. “Hello.” A woman with a Spanish accent, wearing a black dress and a white apron, greeted her.

  Gemma had to stoop down to meet the petite lady’s eyes. “I’m Gemma Stonewall. Mr. West is expecting me.”

  The woman nodded, and soft lines appeared around her mouth and at the edges of her eyes.

  She stepped forward, but the woman stopped her. “No, no.” The housekeeper pointed to the east. “He is waiting for you out back. Follow the walk and you can’t miss him.”

  “Okay.” Gemma furrowed her brow in concern as she adjusted the heavy laptop bag on her shoulder. She’d imagined sitting at a desk across from Jamon West as they discussed and prioritized what his expectations were for her as his personal assistant and public relations specialist. “Thank you.” She offered a cordial smile. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Sophia.”

  “Thank you, Sophia.”

  “You’re welcome.” The door closed swiftly.

  “Well, alright, then.” Gemma wasn’t one to waste time either. She spun around and moved in the direction Sophia indicated. The herringbone-patterned brick walkway skirted along the landscaping. Mounds of soil with rich green foliage and ferns ran parallel to the walk and went on for what seemed like a mile. For a moment, she considered herself lost in Oz before she found an archway covered in greenery. The small leaves grew tightly together, fighting for sunlight. In fact, they’d grown so tightly together that she was forced to push her way through. Panting, she pulled her fitted jacket back into place. With all the new plants around, you’d think this shrub would be less bulky. She huffed at it before

  refocusing on her goal.

  The path continued to wind around the house before finally opening up to the back yard. A loud engine noise and the beeping sound of heavy equipment in reverse greeted her as she left the tranquil peace of the completed front yard and entered a construction zone. She lifted her eyebrows at the sight. The homes and landscaping were supposed to be finished before the residents moved in. How Jamon had gotten this mess past Adam Moreau, AKA the Beast and owner of the development nicknamed Billionaire Bachelor Cove, she’d like to know. One of the reasons she’d enjoyed working for Mr. Moreau was his strict attention to detail and expectation for perfection. His office was a study in order, and it soothed her soul.

  And now she was forced to work here.

  A massive deck fanned out from the center of the house with stairs like a ruffled hem along the bottom. The sod was a patchwork quilt done in greens, and the young trees, staked to the ground, were prepared to battle the elements. Flats of perennial plants waited to be planted, and heaps of landscape bark gave off a woodsy scent, something the city girl in her appreciated. Back home, in New York, the gas fireplace kept the winter nights at bay, but there was something about the scent of fresh-cut wood she found intoxicating. Several men pounded posts into the ground at the edge of the lawn, and just beyond that, a large yellow tractor with a massive bucket on the front end moved the earth around, pushing and dumping the rich black soil into piles.

  Gemma surveyed the scene, scouting for any sign of Jamon West. She’d seen him once at a welcome ball hosted by her former boss. Mr. Moreau had pointed out Mr. West as one of the newcomers to the gated community for the über-wealthy. Each lot was over twenty acres of prime Seattle real estate. Protected by a full-time security team with a stellar reputation, the Cove was the perfect place for billionaires
to live out their dreams with as much or as little privacy as they preferred. The party was where Mr. Moreau had also announced he no longer required her services and had secured her a position with Mr. West, who, as he put it, “was in dire need of direction and sophistication in the public eye.” He’d assured her that her talents would be put to good use, but Gemma felt as though she’d been demoted. Mr. Moreau was a prestigious lawyer and businessman, known throughout the world. Though a career as a PR specialist wasn’t what she’d set out to accomplish, she’d been pleased to be employed by Moreau Enterprises.

  “Excuse me.” Gemma approached a man packing a wooden post over his shoulder. “Do you know where I might find Mr. West?”

  “Over there.” He lifted his chin and motioned to the machine shoving the dirt around.

  Gemma gazed in the same direction but couldn’t see anyone who resembled the handsome man in a tuxedo.

  The man chuckled. “He’s driving the excavator.”

  “Um … thank you.” Unsure what to do—a feeling she rankled at like a hair out of place—she looked around for a way to get back to Mr. West. Without a marked path in the direction of her new employer, she took out her phone and sent him a text. While she waited for his reply, she mentally reviewed the points she planned to argue in order to get her old job back. Her fingernail had chipped, probably as she’d clawed her way through the archway. She made a note in her phone to move up her manicure appointment.

  After a couple of minutes, she decided to make her own way. She straightened her shoulders, marched past the crewmen working on the fence line, and stepped into the dirt. The heel of her Louboutin sank two inches into the soil, leaving her flat-footed. Gemma pulled up, and while her foot sprouted wings, her shoe remained firmly planted in the ground. Frustration and embarrassment heated her cheeks as she balanced on one leg. She refused to look back to see if she had an audience or not. She stuffed her toes back into the shoe and tried again, this time with a little more exertion. Again, her foot took flight, but the taupe leather heel was rooted to the ground.

  “Need some help, miss?” a deep voice called to her.

  Gemma looked up as a man climbed down from the machine. He wore a white T-shirt with black smudges that clung to his chest, and jeans that were threadbare in the places and had holes everywhere else—nothing she’d ever imagined a man of his wealth wearing. However, when he smiled at her, she recognized Mr. West, billionaire. Wisps of dark hair escaped his ball cap, and his face was covered in stubble. Her investigation of her potential rescuer led her to his eyes, and it was there, in the black pools beneath thick forests of lashes, that she got lost. Mysterious yet warm, intoxicating but clear, his eyes were a part of him she hadn’t been close enough to observe at the party. Her breath hitched, and that was reason enough for her to not like him. Men with eyes like that ruined hearts and careers.

  “No thank you, I’m fine.” She tried to regain her composure on one leg, but her knee shook.

  Mr. West stopped in front of her, knelt, and tugged her shoe free like some knight in shining armor saving the damsel in distress. “Here you are, my lady.” He continued to kneel and offered the shoe so she easily slid her foot back into place. “For safety purposes and so we don’t risk any more of your attire, why don’t we head back to the deck?” His eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

  “Thank you.” She smoothed her navy-blue pencil skirt and noticed the dust settling on the fabric. Gemma brushed over the material with her fingers. “Yes, I think that would be appropriate—or perhaps you’d prefer to go into your office. There are a number of items to be addressed, and I’ll need to see your calendar. We’ll need to schedule your upcoming appointments, charity, and social obligations. I’ll need an itemized list of your wardrobe to coordinate which suit will be appropriate for each function, and I’ll need the names of your staff. I will also—”

  “Whoa, hold your horses. Why don’t we sit down and catch our breath and get acquainted with one another?” He gestured for her to lead the way. “I prefer to know a little about a woman before I tell her what color my boxers are.”

  Gemma’s mouth dropped, and her face flushed. “Mr. West, excuse me if I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

  He laughed. “Nah, don’t worry. The only thing you’ve stepped in was the dirt, which you’ll need to get used to around here. And please, call me Jamon.”

  This was uncharted territory for Gemma. While Mr. Moreau had always been fair and polite with her, he was also professional. The idea of calling her new boss by his first name only added to Gemma’s fear that her new job placement had her slipping down the ladder of success one rung after another. “If you prefer, I will obviously oblige.”

  She walked, and he kept up beside her. “So, you’d rather call me Mr. West?”

  “It seems more appropriate. You’re my employer.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and began to climb.

  “Let me tell you how I see it. I know I’m new to this money thing and this persona I’m supposed to keep up.” A grin tugged on the corner of his lip. “But if you’re going to work for me—quite closely, I might add, since you’ll be picking out my socks—I’d prefer we become friends as well as business associates.”

  Gemma’s stomach tightened. Rules, regulations, and strict adherence to schedules and propriety allowed her to close her eyes at night; that way she was at least in control of some part of her life. Mr. Moreau had explained in little details about Jamon West’s situation, that his was new money, a rags-to-riches story. She knew she was in for a challenge, but from what she gathered so far, from his language, his dress, and his overall aura, Jamon West was on the casual side of casual, something she’d always felt uncomfortable in.

  At the top of the stairs, Jamon led them to a set of chairs and gestured for her to take a seat. At least he had some basic manners. Gemma focused on her employer’s request. “All right, Jamon. You’ll have to be patient with me; I might slip up and call you Mr. West from time to time.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks.”

  Gemma’s eyes bulged, and her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

  Jamon laughed. “You know, it’s hard to break old habits?”

  Her brain tried to process his vernacular. “Oh, yes, I understand.” Along with comprehension came frustration. “Although I do believe I’m much more capable than a dog.” She narrowed her eyes and quickly rebuked her Irish temper. Gemma had learned to mask her feelings early on in life as she studied to become a professional ballerina, under constant supervision and reprimand by demanding instructors and directors. The only place she could convey her emotions was through her dancing, and yet, just like the dream of becoming a principal dancer no longer existed, her ability to contain her emotions seemed to disappear a little more each day.

  Jamon sat up in his chair, with a big smile across his face. “I’m sorry. I forget I’m not in Texas anymore. I didn’t mean to offend you, although I can promise you it won’t be the last time.”

  Gemma felt the knot tighten in her gut. “I’m not sure how to respond, Mr. West, I mean, Jamon.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve never met anyone who admitted they planned to offend me in the near future, but if you give me a list of your expectations for the job, so we’re both of the same understanding, I’m sure we can work together amicably.”

  Tiny lines creased the corners of his eyes as he chuckled. She wasn’t sure what he found so humorous. “Tell me, Gemma, are you always so serious?”

  “I take my job very seriously, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “No, that’s not what I asked, but I can see why Mr. Moreau recommended you.” Jamon’s eyes lingered on her face, like the spotlight on center stage. She dabbed at her brow. “I need someone dedicated to smooth out these rough edges.” His features softened. “I’m sure Mr. Moreau explained my situation to you.”

  “Not in detail.” Gemma reached for her leather
laptop bag, praying they’d get down to business sooner rather than later.

  “Let’s just say I never dreamed I’d be living this kind of lifestyle. When I patented my formula and became wealthy, I was bound and determined not to let it change me. But it turned out making billions didn’t affect me nearly as much as it affected people around me. A different person showed up on my doorstep every day. I was handing out money to the second cousin of my third cousin, and before I knew it, I’d already given away a small fortune. Not that I don’t want to help people, but I realized if I didn’t do something about the situation, there wouldn’t be anything left to help anyone.”

  Sophia stepped out onto the deck. “Can I bring you something to drink, Mr. West?”

  “I’d like a glass of sweet tea, please, Sophia.” He smiled warmly. “Gemma, would you like something to drink?”

  “A water, please.”

  Sophia nodded and left.

  Jamon turned back to Gemma. “Anyway, I decided I needed to hire a legal team and someone to help me manage my money. Luckily, one of my college buddies is a genius when it comes to investing, and with his help, I’ve been pretty successful in that aspect.”

  “And may I ask what brought you to Seattle?” Gemma had pondered this question before and was glad for the opportunity to ask. This didn’t seem like the place a Texan cowboy would want to put down roots.

  Jamon exhaled and his demeanor dimmed, like he stood beneath the shadow of a heavy rain cloud. “That is a story for another day. Maybe after you’ve successfully coordinated my cowboy boots with my wardrobe, I’ll fill you in.” He winked at her.