The Billion Heir (Billionaire Book Club 1)

By: Nikky Kaye

Billionaire Book Club #1

Chapter One


“So this is the woman who’s supposed to make me into a new man?” I asked my new lawyer. I’d gone for a coffee and came back to find a tall blonde waiting for me in Michael Cohen’s midtown Manhattan office.

It was probably rude to imagine peeling the clothes off a woman you just met, but I’d never claimed to be a gentleman. At the moment she was covered up by slim black pants and a short black motorcycle jacket, but if she’d ever sat on a bike before I’d eat my left cowboy boot.

She looked like the kind of girl that I’d avoided in college—the kind that wore dumbass fuzzy boots in the blazing summertime and who spent an hour putting her face on before class. Except her full parted lips didn’t even have a lick of gloss on them at the moment…

“Kappa Kappa Gamma?”

A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Maybe she wasn’t a sorority girl after all, or she wouldn’t look so confused. At least she hadn’t been Botoxed to death, like every other woman I’d met in New York so far.

“Lucas Knox, this is Miss Kincaid.” Cohen waved his hand between us then gestured to the two black leather couches in the corner of his office.

I tipped my head in acknowledgment. “Miss Kincaid.” It came out of my mouth sounding more like Miz, but I couldn’t help that. You could take the boy outta Texas, but you couldn’t take the Texas outta the boy.

She flattened her expression like a Barbie doll. Cohen was already sitting on the couch, waiting for us to join him.

“After you,” I said.

Her gaze fell to my outstretched hand before wandering up the sleeve tattoo that was hidden by my jacket on the train. As she briefly examined me, my palms itched like I’d waved my hand over the tops of tall, wild grasses.

I resisted the urge to make a fist until after she whirled around. When she did, I noticed two things—her ass was round and high, and my palms began sweating.

“Mister Knox here has a bit of an unusual situation,” the lawyer began.

Miss Kincaid and I sat on opposite couches. Where I sprawled out a bit, she sat up straight and stiff, like she was being threatened by a cattle prod.

“Get to the point, Cohen.” Damn lawyers talked too much.

“Owing to a tragic accident, Lucas here has come into a great deal of money.” He made it sound so simple, when it was anything but. Cohen continued, “And as you know, with great power comes great responsibility.”

I snorted, propping my worn boots up on the glass coffee table. “I’m not Spiderman.”

“How much money?” she asked. Her eyes were hazel, I decided. It was easier to examine her while all her attention seemed to be focused on my legs. She seemed familiar for some reason, but I knew we hadn’t met before.

“Two billion and change. Less a couple of bucks for the coffee I got earlier.”

Her gaze flew to my face, the color draining out of her cheeks. Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes widening to reveal a green tinge in her iris.

“We’re not nickel and diming you, Lucas,” Cohen said.

“I don’t understand,” she interjected. “How can I help?”

“Mr. Knox is having some, er, adjustment issues, and we feel he would benefit greatly from optimizing his image.”

Fucking lawyers, always talking around shit.

“Miss Kincaid—” I dropped my feet back to the floor and leaned forward. Cohen sighed in relief. “You have a first name?”

“Alexis,” she said stiffly.

“Alexis,” I repeated, equally formal, then paused to connect some dots in my head. “Let me boil down the sugar for you here so we can make some hard candy. I am the bastard son of Charles Knox.”

“Well really, Lucas, I think that term—”

Alexis blinked at me. “The Charles Knox that is all over the news right now?”

I nodded.

“The one that died in a small plane crash with his family?”

I jabbed my thumb into my chest. “Well, not his whole family.”

Her cheeks pinked up again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” She broke off, looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Knox.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Truth is, I barely knew the man. He sure as shit didn’t make an effort to know me.”

I knew what his signature on a check looked like, but I didn’t know his real smile or his favorite color. When I was younger I’d imagined being a real family, making up details about him to friends at school until I got called into the principal’s office for being a liar. After that, I kept my musings to myself, like if he took cream in his coffee or drank it black to make him as bitter as I was.

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