Mr. Big Read online

  Mr. Big is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Delancey Stewart

  Excerpt from Mr. Rich by Virna DePaul copyright © 2017 by Virna DePaul

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399181801

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: AS Inc/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue: Oliver

  Chapter 1: Oliver

  Chapter 2: Holland

  Chapter 3: Oliver

  Chapter 4: Holland

  Chapter 5: Oliver

  Chapter 6: Holland

  Chapter 7: Oliver

  Chapter 8: Holland

  Chapter 9: Oliver

  Chapter 10: Holland

  Chapter 11 Oliver

  Chapter 12: Holland

  Chapter 13: Oliver

  Chapter 14: Holland

  Chapter 15: Oliver

  Chapter 16: Holland

  Chapter 17: Oliver

  Chapter 18: Holland

  Chapter 19: Oliver

  Chapter 20: Holland

  Chapter 21: Oliver

  Chapter 22: Holland

  Chapter 23: Oliver

  Chapter 24: Holland

  Chapter 25: Oliver

  Chapter 26: Holland

  Chapter 27: Oliver

  Epilogue: Holland

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Delancey Stewart

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Mr. Rich

  Prologue

  Oliver

  A year ago, my life was perfect. I was the guy every guy wanted to be, and the man every woman wanted to fuck. I had the face, the body, the position, and the kind of self-assured confidence that came from knowing exactly where I fit in the world.

  Let me be clear: I wasn’t an asshole. Right now I probably sound like an asshole, and maybe now I am. But a year ago? I was entitled, that’s all. I didn’t have to think about much. Life was good. It was fucking amazing, actually, and I was just riding the wave.

  I’d had every privilege. I grew up with the ideal family, raised by a self-made man and a hardworking woman. I’d gone to a prestigious college, been star of the swim team, and kicked ass in my classes. Believe it or not, I chose to go to school near home. That’s how close I was to the people who raised me. I actually liked them and wanted to see them. Often. I took that for granted. I took a lot of things for granted.

  While I was still in high school, I told my genius dad about an idea I had. We found a way to apply technology to sports, to deliver statistics to the people who made bets and built pro teams. We made them rich, basically, and it made us rich. Dad ran the company until I got out of college. Then I was CEO, and Dad chaired the board. Mom tended roses and took the time she’d never had before to enjoy what she’d missed while working and raising me.

  I even had the perfect girl. I was on the brink of marrying her.

  Everything was fucking perfect.

  Until it wasn’t.

  It turns out that when you have everything you need in life, it’s still possible to wake up and realize you have no clue what you want.

  I left the company, left my girlfriend, left everything behind.

  I was surfing in South Africa when Dad’s lawyer called. Everything I’d taken for granted was shattered in a single moment. The news and the paperwork that came with it obliterated all traces of the guy I’d once thought I was, the guy I’d spent years trying to be, and the guy I’d been trying to become.

  That phone call was six weeks ago. Before that I might have been confused about who I wanted to be, but I still wasn’t an asshole.

  Today? Yeah. Today I probably am an asshole.

  Chapter 1

  Oliver

  Maybe coming back to the company had been part of my plan all along. When I’d left, it felt like there was no plan, like for the first time in my life I was doing something spontaneous, something that surprised even me. As I had prostrated myself to the triple deities of sun, surf, and utter irresponsibility, I’d envisioned coming to some definitive understanding of myself. It would be like a bright light, a certainty about who I was meant to be, what I was really meant to do.

  I imagined I’d be standing on my surfboard, riding that razor-thin edge between exhilaration and disaster—the water about to crash over my head, my board always milliseconds from toppling off the crest. It would be at that impossible moment, hanging between ecstasy and utter destruction, when something would come to me. I believed that my subconscious mind had been busy, even while I propelled myself through clubs and bars, drinking and dancing, surfing during the day and flirting as the sun fell and came up again. I honestly thought my psyche would assemble every past experience, every inkling of who I’d ever been, into a logical map to show me where I needed to go. Where I wanted to go. Because up until then, I’d never wanted anything I’d been aware of. My life had been perfect. So perfect I’d had to rip it away in order to step back and evaluate it.

  “You’re doing what?” my dad had asked, incredulous, as I’d handed him my letter of resignation. “Oliver, the CEO doesn’t just resign.”

  “Most CEOs aren’t born into their positions, Dad. I need to know I have the option.”

  “Okay, you have the option. But right now? We need you here, son.” Dad had looked confused, distraught.

  “I’m not sure you do.” Dad had made me CEO, with the board’s approval, as soon as I’d graduated from college. I’d known that was the plan since I’d graduated from high school. I’d never had the option, and since I’d been CEO of Cody Technology, I wasn’t sure I’d actually done a damned thing. I hadn’t done anything myself, anyway. Dad was always there to help, to steer, to guide.

  I’d walked away because I’d needed time to float. Time to be lost.

  Celia had been even less pleased than my father. “Ollie, wait. What?” Her perfect face had formed into a mask of utter shock, and the tears had been immediate, almost theatric. “But…the wedding?”

  We’d been engaged less than a month. Maybe that had been the catalyst that had launched me toward this journey. How could I get married if I didn’t even know who I was? Celia had been a setup, the daughter of a board member, one of my dad’s best friends. She was gorgeous, had all the right credentials, and was perfect in every way. But maybe not perfect for me.

  “I’ll be back,” I told her. But I didn’t tell her where I was going or ask her to keep in touch. And I hadn’t spoken to her in the six months I’d spent crossing the beaches of the world.

  A shadow had fallen across my face as I’d lain dozing in the sand, my board plunged into the white grit next to me and the waves crashing ceaselessly at my feet. A masculine voice pulled me back to consciousness, the now-familiar South African slang for “bro” directed at me. “Ag, boet. Phone call.”

  I’d squinted my eyes open to find Bergie from the resort standing above me with a cellphone. I hadn’t brought my own phone overseas. Only my mom knew where I was, and she’d promised to give me time and space. My dad might have known, but since he wasn’t speaking to me, I didn’t need to worry about him calling. I was twenty-s
ix years old, but I still felt obligated to let Mom know I was safe. I owed my parents that much at least.

  “Thanks,” I said, sitting up and reaching a hand out as I steeled myself to speak to my mother, Sonja. She had called only once so far. I smiled as I lifted the phone to my ear, shaking my head. I still felt lucky, and that feeling flooded me as I thought of my parents that day. Even if I felt an inkling of itchy annoyance that Mom needed to check in from halfway around the world, I was lucky she cared enough to do it.

  I’d been smiling as I’d said hello, staring out at the vast open ocean and wishing in some strange way that Mom were actually here. Maybe just for a couple days. Maybe I’d suggest they come visit. The time away from everything hadn’t gotten me closer to figuring out what it was I was supposed to be doing with my life, but it had made me realize what a rare gift I had in my relationship with my parents, and I regretted the way I’d left things with my father.

  Now that I’d hoisted off the weight of their expectations and made them understand I couldn’t stay in the mold we’d each had a hand in creating for me, I missed them.

  “Hey,” I said, anticipating my mother’s calm lilt across the endless miles between us.

  It wasn’t my mother’s voice that came through the phone, though. “This is Andrew Token, Adam and Sonja Cody’s attorney. You’d better head home, son. There’s been an accident.”

  If I hadn’t known who I was before that day, I sure as hell didn’t know who I was after.

  SIX WEEKS LATER

  I stepped out of the elevator and accidentally made eye contact with the receptionist.

  She popped up from behind the tall lobby desk on the executive floor like a perky whack-a-mole. She hesitated, as if for a second she thought she’d made a mistake about who I was—I wore a ball cap low over my eyes and my hair was a long mess hanging around my neck. I didn’t look the part of CEO. But then she stepped out, clearly having confirmed my identity somehow. “Sir, there are a few messages,” she said, her fist full of pink message slips. It seemed she had a knack for understatement.

  “No.” I strode past her, ignoring the hurt look on her face and instantly regretting the terse bark of my own voice.

  The top floor of Cody Technology was made up of the CEO’s and CFO’s offices, along with the office of our lead counsel. Three secretaries were positioned around the circular interior, one in front of each door, sentinels guarding their respective power players.

  “Is Rob in?” I stood in front of the center desk, before the CFO’s secretary.

  She took her time looking up from her screen, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they took in the ripped jeans, faded T-shirt, and Dodgers cap pulled low over my face, which sported three days’ worth of stubble.

  “You have an appointment with Mr. Eastburn?” she asked, adding emphasis on the “Mr.” part, sending me a message about his importance.

  I stood silently and watched recognition clear the uppity smirk from her features. A cold apologetic fear replaced her smug smile and she sat up straighter, raising her hands in an apology. “Oh God, Mr. Cody! I didn’t recognize you, I…uh…”

  I didn’t have the energy for this. I stepped around the desk and walked into Rob’s office as the woman continued apologizing outside.

  “Rob,” I barked. My best friend and CFO of Cody Technology jumped up from his desk, and I watched his face run through several expressions back-to-back. Surprise, sympathy, irritation, back to sympathy. “You left a message?”

  He came around the desk and reached out his arms as if he were going to pull me into a hug, but then seemed to think better of it. He crossed his arms and ran a hand across his jaw. “Ollie, I’m so sorry, man.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want his sympathy. I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. It was part of why I’d avoided seeing anyone I knew after the funeral. They didn’t know me, anyway. How could they, when I didn’t even know myself? The lawyer had confirmed that. “What’s going on?” I asked, my voice sharp as I stood tense in the center of his office.

  “I just…” Rob struggled, and I watched us from somewhere above, totally removed. I’d known Rob since we were kids. I could read him like a book, and he looked like a kid now—confused and uncertain. “Do you wanna go get a drink, man? Talk a bit?”

  “Let me make this easy,” I said. “Adam’s gone. I’m gone. I’m going to sell my shares as soon as I can, and you can do whatever you want with what’s left.”

  Rob’s face slackened, his dark eyes widening. “What? You can’t do that, Oliver. I mean…why would you do that?”

  “Things have changed.”

  “I know you were searching before the accident, trying to figure some things out,” he said. “But…” He shook his head, his eyes falling to the plush carpet as if he might find the answers there in the complex weave. “This place is your legacy, man.”

  His words felt like a punch to the gut and I realized how much I wanted a drink. Just not with Rob. Not with anyone who believed they knew exactly who Oliver Cody was.

  “Like I said,” I told him, turning to go. “Things have changed. I’ll make a formal offer to you and Tony first, and then I’ll offer my shares to the board. After that…” I pushed through the office door into the center area where Rob’s secretary still sat looking flustered.

  “Mr. Cody, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  I glared at her and watched her shrink from my gaze and then pretend to be busy arranging Post-it notes in her desk drawer.

  “Oliver,” Rob said, following me out. His suit was slate gray and perfectly tailored, his tie in place as always. This place might have been in upheaval since my parents were killed, but Rob seemed to be cut out for the job.

  “You’ve got this,” I told him, ignoring his protests and finding my way out to the elevators.

  I went to a bar on Wilshire and stayed there for a couple hours, taking a shot every time my mind began to form a coherent thought. I had a fleeting urge to call Celia—I’d seen her just once since I’d been back, at the funeral. She’d given up being angry with me for leaving and breaking off our engagement, and given me the wide-eyed pity I was beginning to dread. Still, she’d suggested I call her.

  In the end, I found it easier to be alone. Celia knew the version of me who’d thought going to travel was some kind of bold choice, a way to ferret out some cosmic truth about life. What I hadn’t known then, what Celia still didn’t know, was how little truth my life had been composed of in the first place. Adam and Sonja had lied to me my whole life. They’d lied, and then they’d died.

  Chapter 2

  Holland

  I was a girl with a plan. And I mean that literally. I’d had it sketched out in my Powerpuff Girls notebook since I was ten years old. It was focused and specific, because in my mind, that was where my long-lost mother had got it all wrong. She didn’t plan. She failed to plan and therefore she planned to fail. I didn’t intend to repeat her mistakes. I liked to be prepared for anything, and that’s why I had a plan.

  Last year my plan involved graduating at the top of my master’s program and scoring a high-paying gig in applied statistics at a world-stomping sports analytics company here in Los Angeles called Cody Technology. My plan had changed slightly due to the fact that the guys in charge of hiring for those high-paying gigs failed to mention one tiny requirement I couldn’t meet: evidently these jobs all required a penis.

  Not to worry, I told myself as I climbed down from my tower of feminist rage when John Adler, a guy who barely scraped out of my program with his degree, got the job I was after. I’d just have to prove myself. That was nothing new to me. I could handle it. So I took the best job they’d give me at Cody…in sales. It was like buying the worst house in the best neighborhood. Nowhere to go but up.

  “Here,” Pamela said, sliding a tube across my desk and looking around suspiciously to see if anyone was watching.

  I smiled up at her. “You found them?”

  She nodde
d. “No one cares much about these, there’s so much insanity going on in the executive tower since the accident and everything. But you better give ’em back before too long, okay? I’m sure at some point someone will notice they’re gone.”

  I took the long tube of schematics and shoved it into my shoulder bag, tucking it back beneath my desk and doing the same glance-around that Pamela had done. The floor where I worked at Cody Technology wasn’t exactly known for people minding their own business. “Thanks, Pamela. I’ll get them right back to you, okay?”

  “You wanna go get lunch?” she asked, leaning against the low cubicle wall next to my desk.

  I shouldn’t go. I’d been distracted lately as it was, but she was right—there was so much gossip and random wandering since Adam Cody’s sudden death that no one would probably miss me. “Sure.” I grabbed my bag, locked my computer and followed her out to the elevators. “Seen your playboy boss lately?” I asked as we headed out into the warm sunshine.

  “Yeah, right after everything happened. He was at the funeral.”

  “Oh, right. I guess he would be,” I said. “It’s all so sad, isn’t it? He must be a mess.”

  She shook her head, and for a moment she looked like she might cry. “Adam Cody was a great man,” she said. “He did a lot for me. His wife was lovely, too.”

  “I didn’t know you knew him well. I’m sorry, Pamela.”

  We crossed the quad and found our way down the Wilshire corridor and off a side street to our favorite lunch spot, a bright little café with turquoise awnings and wrought-iron chairs and bistro tables out front.

  Sandwiches in hand, we sat and watched the traffic slide by in the sunlight and continued our conversation.