Her Billionaire Stalker

HER BILLIONAIRE STALKER EMMA BRAY Copyright © 2023 by Emma Bray 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 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Epilogue CHAPTER ONE Devon My frown deepens as I glance down at my Rolex and note the time. Fifteen minutes late. My secretary is fifteen minutes late again, which means that not only is she not here to get her ass to work, but I also don't have my coffee yet either. One of my number one stipulations, one of the most essential aspects of working for me, is that she have my coffee waiting for me when I get in to the office. Is that so much to ask? Apparently so because I can count on one hand the number of times the bitch has managed to actually have my coffee waiting for me when I arrived, and even then, the shit was cold. I sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of my nose. I don't have time for this shit. But I won't be able to function as an even halfway decent human being until I have my caffeine. With a growl, I push back from my desk and head out the door. I swear to God, the chick is fired today. She can't handle even the simplest tasks. I shudder to think of the mess she's probably made in my filing system. I hit a contact on my phone and then bring the device up to my ear. My man from HR answers on the first ring. I quickly apprise him of the situation before ordering him to put out an ad for a replacement stat. I storm into the first coffee joint I see, the one closest to my office, and step in line. I work through emails on my phone as I wait for my turn to order. After five minutes of the line slowly moving, I look up, my scowl deepening. God Almighty, it's going to take me all morning just to get one motherfucking cup of coffee. I go back to business, firing off emails to several members of my team. I finally realize I'm next up in line when a sweet voice says, "Sir? What can I get for you?" I look up from my phone, and all the breath whooshes out of my lungs. The tiny girl behind the counter is staring at me from behind thick lashes. Her eyes are the lightest blue I've ever seen—like the sky. They're so mesmerizing all I can do is stare back at them for a moment. When I finally pull my eyes from her luminescent orbs, I take in her little heart-shaped face topped off with perfect, puffy pink lips. Jesus, those lips are sinful. They're the kind of lips men fantasize about, the kind of lips you'd see in a porn film. But they're on the most innocent-looking little angel I've ever seen. Her blonde hair is so light she almost glows like there's a halo around her. And it's not that fake platinum blonde coloring either. No, this is this girl's natural look. I just know it. "Sir?" she prompts again uncertainly, her big blue eyes blinking up at me questioningly. "Americano, dark, black." My voice comes out gruffer than I intend, and she blinks again, obviously taken aback by my tone. She doesn't comment on it, though. She just turns to go fill my order. All the while, I can't tear my eyes away from her. She's dressed simply in a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans, but fuck if she's not the most erotic thing I've ever seen. She's not overly curvy. She's actually a little slip of a thing, but her hips flare out gently, and I can't help staring at the way they sway as she moves. She hands me my cup of coffee and recites off the total. I wordlessly hand her my American Express card and watch her delicate fingers as she swipes the card. I'm captivated by every move she makes. Everything she does is beautiful and graceful—like she's poetry in motion. When I move out of line to allow her to serve the next customer, I don't immediately take my leave. No, I sit at one of the little coffee tables that gives me a direct view of the captivating barista. I place another call on my phone, this one to the head of my security team. "Yeah, I've got a new assignment for you," I tell him gruffly. I suddenly need to know everything there is to know about this tiny angel that fluttered across my path. * * * Lacey I hurry down the street, completely beat after a long day of work at the coffee shop. I know I shouldn't complain. I'm lucky the manager took pity on me and hired me full-time. So many of my coworkers are only working part time. Of course, most of them are in college too, and as much as I've always wanted to go to university, that's just not in the cards for me. I mean, sure, I always got good grades in school, and my teachers always encouraged me to go the college route. When I was younger, I used to dream about being a doctor or lawyer—the typical big-money careers. The older I got, the more I realized that I really want to be a child psychologist. I want to help other kids like me who've lost their parents or who've been through some sort of trauma. Of course, that was until I realized the price tag a college education costs. I'm an orphan, and as a child of the foster care system, I don't exactly have parental figures lining