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Swept Into The Tycoon's World
Cara Colter
He may be Prince Charming. But does she still believe in fairytales?The last six years of Bree Evans’ personal life have been such a disaster that she’s decided to refocus on her successful cookie business. Until her gorgeous former crush, Brand Wallace – now a dashing internet tycoon –sweeps her into his world…
He may still be Prince Charming...
But does she still believe in fairy tales?
The last six years of Bree Evans’s personal life have been such a disaster that she’s determined to stick to what she’s good at—her blossoming cookie business. But when her gorgeous teenage crush, Brand Wallace—now a sleek internet tycoon—crosses her path again and sweeps her into his world, Bree’s forced to ask herself...what really is a life without love?
CARA COLTER shares her life in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, with her husband, nine horses and one small Pomeranian with a large attitude. She loves to hear from readers, and you can learn more about her and contact her through Facebook.
Also by Melissa Senate (#u34effac5-3676-551f-8ab6-dba33b344547)
How to Melt a Frozen Heart
Snowflakes and Silver Linings
Rescued by the Millionaire
The Millionaire’s Homecoming
Interview with a Tycoon
Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
The Pregnancy Secret
Soldier, Hero…Husband?
Housekeeper Under the Mistletoe
The Wedding Planner’s Big Day
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Swept into the Tycoon’s World
Cara Colter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07796-5
SWEPT INTO THE TYCOON’S WORLD
© 2018 Cara Colter
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Kymber,
the man my daughter has given her heart to.
Contents
Cover (#ub805d185-c189-521a-b4af-002425effe88)
Back Cover Text (#uefe8cbeb-5a10-54d8-b123-6f24e8b16802)
About the Author (#ufbc0f278-77be-585c-8675-3ab5df9d284f)
Booklist (#u4750de78-7d79-5606-8152-4e46b64955d0)
Title Page (#ua0f22ee8-fb77-5a3b-be71-67d229f03d4c)
Copyright (#ub1eaf368-7a1c-5e17-b4cb-429c8181312b)
Dedication (#ua0daee49-bf14-562b-afc9-e4e7fa9191f4)
CHAPTER ONE (#u85c7a9ac-f777-5828-b962-893040efc977)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4e28b94f-f994-5fa0-8831-b8fa2e85ee04)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2c529c73-6ad1-54ea-8044-593db0a5af9c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u34effac5-3676-551f-8ab6-dba33b344547)
“WHO IS THAT?” Chelsea’s whisper was breathless.
Bree Evans shot her young assistant an exasperated look. “You’ve got to stop it. We were asked at the briefing not to gawk at the celebrities. It’s part of our agreement to provide sample products and a display for this event. To be strictly professional. No staring. No autographs. No—”
Chelsea, unaware, or uncaring, that she was jeopardizing Bree’s big break, was not paying the least bit of attention to her boss. Instead she was standing completely frozen, a neatly gift-wrapped box of Kookies for All Occasions’ Love Bites in her hand. Bree followed her gaze, looking toward the outside door that led into the foyer area of the concert hall, where they were setting up.
Oh, no.
“Who is that?” Chelsea whispered again.
Oh, no. Had she said it out loud?
He was everything Bree remembered, only more. She had not seen him, in person, anyway, for six years. Though it hardly seemed possible, in that time his presence had multiplied. He had lost any hint of boyish slenderness, and the gorgeous lines of his face had settled into maturity. His dark brown hair, which she remembered as untamed, touching his collar and sweeping across his forehead, was now cut short and neatly groomed, as befit his position.
“It’s Brand Wallace,” Bree said carefully. She positioned herself with her back to the doorway he was coming through. Her heart was beating way too fast. Good grief. Her palms were sweating.
“Like in Braveheart?” Chelsea gasped.
“That was Mel Gibson,” Bree explained with what was left of her patience. “Gibson played the part of William Wallace—he wasn’t William Wallace.”
Still, even though she didn’t want to, Bree understood why Brand would make her young assistant think of brave hearts. There was something about him, and always had been—a way of moving with supreme grace and confidence that suggested a warrior, a man who was certain in his own strength and courage and capabilities.
Chelsea was still totally distracted. “I have never seen a more stunning example of the male of the species. Never.”
Despite ordering herself not to, Bree slid another careful look at the doorway. She had to give Chelsea that. Brand Wallace was a stunning example of the male species!
He’d stopped just inside the double glass doors, his head tilted toward Shelley Grove, organizer of the Stars Come Out at Night, a charity gala to help fund the construction of a new wing for Children’s Hospital.
Shelley had her hand cozily on his arm and was beaming up at him. He was steel, and women were magnets drawn to him.
Though the room was beginning to fill with well-known celebrities, many of whom were in Vancouver—“Hollywood North,” as it was sometimes called—filming television series and movies, he stood out from all of them.
Even surrounded by some of the world’s most dazzling people, there was something about him that was electric. It sizzled in the air around him, sensual and compelling.
He was in a sports jacket that, by the cut, hang and fit, was obviously designer. It showed the breadth of his shoulders, the power in him. White shirt—no doubt silk—and no tie. The shirt was tucked into dark jeans that clung to the hard lines of his thighs.
He was as fit and muscular, as outdoorsy-looking, as he had been when he’d worked as a summer student for her dad’s landscaping company.
Brand made the extremely famous actor, who was standing a short distance away from him, look small and very, very ordinary.
“I’m sure I know who he is,” Chelsea said, her tone mulling. “I’ve seen him in something. Warriors of the New Age? No, I know all of them. Maybe that new series. You know the one? Where the lady time-travels and the gorgeous guy—”
“He’s not an actor,” Bree said. “Chelsea, please put the cookies out. We only have twenty minutes until the official start time and I—”
She had to what? Leave, obviously. Before he saw her.
“But I know who he is,” Chelsea said. “I’m sure of it.” She unwillingly turned back to emptying the cookie-filled boxes, her body angled sideways so she could keep casting glances his way.
“You probably saw him on the cover of City magazine,” Bree said. “That’s why you feel as if you know who he is. Could you put a row of Devilishly Decadent at the end of the display?”
“Brand Wallace,” Chelsea announced, way too loudly. “The billionaire! You’re right! City had him on the cover. I couldn’t turn around without seeing that glorious face on every newsstand! I don’t usually buy it, but I did. He founded an internet start-up company that went insane with success—”
Bree shot a look to the doorway. Apparently he had heard Chelsea yelling his name like a teenager who had spotted her rock-star idol. He was casting a curious look in their direction.
Bree did not want him to see her. She particularly did not want him to see her in her Kookies outfit. She and Chelsea were both wearing the uniforms she had designed, and Chelsea had sewn. Until precisely three minutes ago, she had been proud of how she had branded her company.
Kookies sold deliciously old-fashioned cookies with a twist: unexpected flavors inside them, and each different type claimed to hold its own spells.
And so the outfits she and Chelsea wore were part sexy witch, part trustworthy grandmother. They both had on granny glasses, berets shaped like giant cookies, and their aprons—over short black skirts and plain white blouses—had photos of her cookies printed on them, quilted to make them look three-dimensional. It was all so darn cute.
Somehow she did not want the man her father had convinced to escort her to her senior prom to see her as cute. Or kooky. She certainly did not want him to see her with a giant cookie on her head!
In fact, she did not want Brand Wallace to see her at all. He belonged to another time and another place. A time when she had still believed in magic. A place that had felt as if her world would always be safe.
She shot another glance at the doorway. He was still looking in their direction—she could see he was trying to extricate himself from the conversation with Shelley.
“He’s coming this way,” Chelsea sighed. “How’s my hair?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Bree saw Chelsea flicking her hair. She also saw there was an emergency exit just a little behind and to the left of their table. For some reason, it felt imperative to get out of there. And out of the apron. And the beret. Especially the beret.
It was trying to remove both at once that proved dangerous. She was twisting the apron over her head and taking off the beret with it, when, too late, she saw the corner of a box of Little Surprise cookies that was jutting out from under her display table. At the last second she tried to get her foot over it and failed.
The toe of her shoe caught on the box, and it caught the leg of the table, which folded. Apron and beret twisted around her neck, she had to make a split-second decision whether to save the cookies or herself. The cookies, which represented so much hard work, and her future—being invited to participate in this event was a huge coup for her company—won.
She dove under a cascade of Spells Gone Wrong boxes, which fell on her, one by one, until she was very nearly buried in them.
Really, it was a slow-motion and silent disaster, except for the fact she had managed to break the fall of the delicate cookies.
