A Home for the Billionaire 1-9

A Home for the Billionaire 9-Book Boxed Set Bundle

Books 1-9 of the A Home for the Billionaire Serialized novel, the first arc of the Her Billionaire Boyfriend Series

A Billionaire Book Club BWWM Interracial Romance

by

Kiera Zane

This is Books 1-9 of the A Home for the Billionaire Serialized novel, the first arc of the Her Billionaire Boyfriend Series, the first arc of the Her Billionaire Bachelor Series. While each book can be read individually, it’s our belief that you will enjoy the series better if read in order.

Published by SF Buzz Press © 2015

Copyright © 2015 by Kiera Zane

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BOOKS 1-9

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

A BILLIONAIRE FAMILY DRAMA

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS 1-9

When hard-working real estate agent, Danika Marshall, finds herself falling in love with her mysterious client, Jordan Bradshaw, will she be able to find a home for this secret billionaire before she loses her heart to his games?

This book has sizzling sexual content and is meant for mature readers only.

As hard working real estate agent, Danika Marshall tries again and again to match her mysterious new client Jordan Bradshaw with the perfect home, she finds herself falling for a man she knows next to nothing about. Caught between business and pleasure, Danika crosses line after line as the passion between her and Jordan grows. But is Jordan's heart true even as he keeps his identity a secret? Or is he just another high roller playing games with Danika's head and heart?

Find out in the serialized novel, A Home for the Billionaire by Kiera Zane, Books 1-9, the first arc of the Her Billionaire Boyfriend series.

CHAPTER ONE

Their eyes lit up as I pulled up into the driveway.  I'd had Stan and Rhonda Saperstein meet me at the office so I could drive them around to a few different places. But I’d known from the beginning that this would be the one.

And I’d been right—again.

Their excitement filled up my rearview mirror.  To tell the truth, I hated chauffeuring my clients around. But it made them feel important.  And, although they’d never say this to me, for them, as white people being driven around by a black woman, something about it made them feel ... successful. Wealthy.

Spendy.

And if that little shift made my clients more willing to buy, then I was willing to suspend my private sense of subtle disgrace.

In any case, as a real estate agent, I’d learned to abandon my self-respect quite a while before. When you came right down to it, I was the one in the driver’s seat. And that’s always what counts.

I pulled the Prius up in front of the house, and we stepped out into the Florida spring. It’s by far the most merciful season of the year in our climate: not too humid, not too many hurricanes. Spring is always the best time of the year to sell a house in Boca Raton, or anywhere else in the Sunshine State.

It’s beautiful, Rhonda Saperstein said. She gazed up at the big colonial’s façade, looking dreamily at the white pillars and front-facing balcony that greeted her.

From the outside, Stan Saperstein said quickly. He shot a glance at his wife that was certainly meant to be subtle. I could read it as clearly as if he’d said aloud: Don’t show too much excitement; they’ll raise the cost!

But of course, that’s the old way of doing business, and that’s never been my style.  I simply smiled. I’d wanted to start here, I said; I thought I might save us some time. 

I led them up to the magnificent oak double doors, and then into the house.  It opened up and out before us: the magnificent foyer, the elegant staircase, the cathedral-like openness of the lower floor. 

I could tell by their wide eyes and slightly open mouths that they were as impressed as I’d known they’d be.  But that didn’t stop me from tossing a few tantalizing facts at them, just to sweeten the pot and help seal the deal.

Spacious entry and common quarters, I said, pointing up at the high ceilings and the second floor.

Stan nodded. His receding hairline clung to his spotty scalp as he craned his neck. 

It is lovely, he admitted. I’ll give you that.

"And it’s in Coconut Grove, I reminded them, a shot aimed mostly at Rhonda.  It’s the best school district in the state, as you know.  Two blocks over, you’d be sending your kids to... Well, no point in being mean about it.  Let’s just say that when college admissions time comes, you’ll be glad you bought where you did."

Rhonda was nodding, gazing out the triple windows at the expansive back yard.  Plenty of room for the kids to play, she said, almost dreamily.

Stan looked at me, forcing a smile.  When we can drag ‘em away from those video games, he said.

I smiled.  Well, with five bedrooms, they’ll have plenty of privacy.  And so will you two, I added, with a sly grin.  Rhonda and Stan exchanged another glance, but this time the meaningful look implied more than just a buyer’s strategy.

I toured them around the upstairs. I showed them the master bedroom, with the Jacuzzi, bath, and rainfall shower head.  I walked them up to the balconies of three of the five bedrooms, and the walk-in linen closet.

We stood in the kitchen, sunlight pouring in through the windows. Stan turned to me, shrugged, and gave a little grin.  Do you have the sheet? he said.

I just looked at him, as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. 

Y’know, he said, with the figures and the pictures and everything.

Well, no, I said. Actually, I don’t.

Now Stan looked at me with surprise, raising his eyebrows. He turned his head, his double chin folding under his jaw.  There wasn’t any real estate sign out front, either, he realized.  What gives?

I couldn’t help but smile, as he played right into my hand.  There’s no sheet and no sign, because this house isn’t for sale.

Now they were looking at me as if I were insane—or perhaps a criminal. 

They didn’t need to demand that I explain.  And I didn’t need to keep them on the hook any longer. After all, I knew I already had them.

This house, I said, with great dignity, won’t go on the market for another two weeks.  But I have a special in with the owners, and I knew this would be the perfect house for you.  Make an offer. We can get the deal done right away.

Wait, Rhonda said. You’re selling a house that’s not on the market?  Can you do that?

Rhonda, houses like this often don’t make it to the market, I told her.  "When they do, offers get made in minutes.  This house wouldn’t last even five minutes on the market at the price they’re asking.  That is, it wouldn’t if it ever made it to the market—which it won’t."

And why’s that? said Stan, bristling a little.

Because if you don’t make an offer today, I told him, I’ve got two other clients who will.

Stan scowled. I don’t like the hard sell.

No hard sell at all, I said. My tone was light, friendly, casual, almost uninterested.  I’m making this opportunity available to you—that’s my job.  If you don’t want to buy it, that’s OK.  You asked, I explained; that’s all.

How did you get the private line on this house? Rhonda said.

The owners came to us, I explained, the same way any other real estate agent gets a client. I paused, then frowned slightly.  I just don’t see the benefit of waiting.  If you’d like to see some other houses, we can go ahead.  I’ve got inventory —

We’ve seen those, Stan said.

Exactly, I responded.  And now you’ve seen this one. I shrugged a little. The ball’s in your court. I’m happy to accommodate you, either way.

Stan and Rhonda looked at each other.  Rhonda’s face looked determined, framed by her long, lifeless black hair.

I don’t think so, Stan said.

But at exactly the same moment, Rhonda said, We’ll take it. 

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Rhonda smiled at me, and excused both herself and Stan into the next room. 

I stepped out into the front yard to give them even more privacy. Standing out there, taking in the fresh spring air, I turned to look about, taking in the quiet street, the air of suburban perfection that surrounded the place. 

People worked all their lives to buy homes like these. A lot of people worked in vain, too, because, even after lifetimes of work, they still couldn’t afford such luxury.

I’d found a niche buying and selling these houses for other people. At moments like this, I always had to wonder what kind of home I’d be living in, where I’d be myself in five years.  At just twenty-four, I was currently the youngest agent in the office; one of only four women, and one of only two African Americans. 

And I was the number-one agent—for the moment, at least.

So, when I heard the Sapersteins step out of the house behind me, I could turn around with confidence.  Whatever choice they made, this house would still sell.  These people would all keep right on living their lives, and so would I.

But if they’d decided no, it was possible that I might not be number one in the office any more.  And, with all the other things, I had working against me, I understood that I couldn’t afford to lose a single advantage. 

So when I saw the look of resolve on Stan’s face, and Rhonda’s satisfied, almost victorious grin, it was with a sincere sense of pleasure that I knew I could offer them a warm and congratulatory, Welcome home.

CHAPTER TWO

There she is, Richard Mulvaec said as I walked into the office.  How much did they offer?

Eight.

"Eight?  His excitement almost cracked his voice; his graying goatee curved on his chubby face as he grinned.  If it weren’t for the stringent sexual harassment laws in this state, I’d kiss you!"

Also, you’d be singing soprano, I said, friendly but firm. He chuckled, and I let it pass.

Keep selling houses like this, he said, and it’d be worth it.  I think I know who’s gonna win the sales contest this year.

I paused, and turned to look at him.  It’s not about that, I said.

An extra fifty grand bonus?  His voice almost cracked again, as if the sheer weight of the number was more than it could bear.  You’re smarter than that, Danika.

I’m not saying it wouldn’t help, Richard. It’s just not my main motivation.

He shook his head. Hey, he said, you’re doing well. And that’s great.  But, y’know, nobody stays hot forever.  You gotta be prepared for the lean times, kiddo.  We all do.

And the truth was, I knew he was right.  I’d been thinking the same thing.  I was on a hot streak, but no hot streak lasts forever.

My cell phone buzzed in my purse, giving me the excuse I needed to end my conversation with my boss... and turn my attention to the other authority figure in my life.

Mom, hi, I said into my Apple smartphone.  What’s up?

You tell me! How’d it go? Her voice was as enthusiastic as always.

Just fine, Mom. They made a good offer. I think Dr. Hodges will accept.  Thanks again for the tip-off.

Anything I can do, honey. You know that.  And I know he’ll appreciate it ... I could hear her shaking her head. He’s not the only one.  Good riddance.

I hope your next supervisor treats you better, I said, stepping into my office and closing the door behind me.  How’s Daddy?

Works too hard. But you know your father.  He loves the condo, though.  Thank you again, dear.

Glad I could help, I said.  We’ll do dinner next week?

Of course. There was a brief moment’s pause. Heard from your sisters?

Mom — I began.

What? she said, all innocence. I’m just asking.

But you already know the answer, Mom.

Don’t be silly. If I knew, why would I be asking?

Because you can’t stop going on about it, I said. I tried not to sigh. Things always went this way when this subject came up. We’re not close, Mom. We’re different people. That’s all there is to it.

You’re sisters, she said, her voice weak, almost whining.  I wish you’d get along...

"I tried, Mom. For years, I tried. Why don’t you tell them?"

There was a long silence.  "Well, if you’re determined to be a lone wolf, what are they supposed to do?"

I would hardly have been able to believe what I was hearing... except for the fact that I’d heard it so many times before.  They could call me every now and then, I said.  They could go out of their way not to treat me like a second-class citizen, like a ...   I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

Not the redheaded stepchild routine again, my mother said. As always, it hurt.

I glanced at the clock, for no particular reason.  I gotta go, I said.  Give my best to Daddy.

But, honey, I —

Okay, buh-bye!  I disconnected the call, with a sense of relief. Then I plopped myself down into my desk chair, and released a long, tired sigh.

The phone rang again. Annoyed, I glanced at the screen. I was hardly interested in getting involved in another long talk about how wonderful my sisters were and what a cretin I was. 

But the face that looked up at me from the little avatar wasn’t my mother’s.

It wasn’t even a woman’s.

Lambert, I said into the phone.  Just the man I wanted to see ... on my phone.  I chuckled.

He didn’t.  They make an offer? he said.

Sure did, I said.  And I’m just fine, thanks for asking.

Let’s go out tonight, he suggested. Celebrate.

My mood picked up. Dancing?

His voice was far from happy.  Danika, you know how I feel about that.

"But I like to... OK, y’know what?  Fine, whatever. Let’s have