Secret Billionaire Protector

SECRET BILLIONAIRE PROTECTOR A FORCED PROXIMITY SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE ANNE MARTIN Copyright © 2023 by Anne Martin 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. Cover design by GetCovers. CONTENTS 1. Amira 2. Amira 3. Cohen 4. Cohen 5. Amira 6. Cohen 7. Amira 8. Cohen 9. Amira 10. Cohen 11. Amira 12. Cohen 13. Amira 14. Cohen 15. Amira 16. Cohen 17. Amira 18. Cohen 19. Amira 20. Cohen 21. Amira 22. Cohen 23. Amira Epilogue CHAPTER ONE AMIRA "Mir!" Karl with a K, my favorite barista, called out my nickname in the busy coffee shop just outside of the San Diego State University campus. My heart leaped, knowing I was seconds away from my morning addiction hitting my throat and making me come alive for the day. "Thanks, Karl, you're a dream." I hugged the warm cup to my chest and inhaled the sweet smell of chai spices. "And here's Mel's and that hottie Grayson's," he said with a wink. My two college besties took turns with me making coffee runs to kick off our mornings doing clinical caseloads for our physical therapy program. We'd been inseparable for the last three years, and in just two weeks, we'd be done and graduated. Each of us moving on to pursue our long-awaited careers. The thought of it was bittersweet. I couldn't imagine a life without their antics keeping me on my toes. I took a quick swig of my dirty chai latte and put it with the others in the drink carrier. The coffee shop was just a short walk away from the clinic, and as I approached the entrance, I had to look twice when I saw who was standing near the door. I was either seeing a ghost or the man I thought I'd never see again was actually standing in front of me. As I approached, he towered over me in what was a black hoodie, which he pulled back to reveal a head of jet-black, curly waves. It was a stark contrast to the jeans and cowboy hat I used to see him in when we were younger. Words had come out of his mouth, but I didn't register what they were. He repeated himself with an amused smile, "I said you look good, Amira." He lowered his sunglasses this time, dropping his arm down to his side and assessing me. His piercing blue eyes held me captive. The San Diego sun was high above us, and the crowded sidewalk outside my clinic was a less-than-ideal place for a conversation like this. I'd imagined this moment. How I would react when I saw him again. In my daydreams, the words would fly out of me, filled with the rage I had carried for the past however many years it would've been. I'd lay it on him tough as nails and then turn with the confidence and swagger of Lizzo, tossing my hair over my shoulder like the queen that I was, and never look back. But instead, in real life, I sounded shrill and mousy—the complete opposite of my mental image. "Y-you do too, Cohen." It came out in an almost whisper. To say the man looked good was an extreme understatement. But that was all he would be getting out of me. He was built like a Greek god. My once teenage crush now stood before me, all pheromones and radiating sex appeal. The softness of his youthful cheeks was replaced with a chiseled jawline and a scruffy beard that did nothing to hide the dimples that used to drive me wild. He smiled, and as his striking blue eyes traveled down my figure, I felt an uncontrollable heat rise in my cheeks. It could've been from the intense way he was looking at me or maybe it was because I was pissed that he still made me feel this way. "How's..." he paused and rubbed the back of his neck. I noticed the way his biceps stretched the fabric of his hoodie and the outline of his broad shoulders. I quickly shifted my gaze away, not wanting him to catch me staring. Nope, he didn't get to have my admiration. Instead, I looked down at my shoes noticing one of my laces was coming undone. How very timely. "Eva?" I finished for him. "She's good, yeah. She's—" He cut me off. "Engaged? Yeah, I heard. A match made in heaven," he said with an unexpected smile. Oh no, those damn dimples. "But I was actually going to ask, how's life? For you?" My screaming brain went silent for a split second. I found it hard to believe he cared at all about me, considering Cohen and my sister, Eva, had been high school sweethearts. I assumed he wanted to know all about how she was doing. Everybody did these days. My older and only sister, Eva Preston, was America's sweetheart with a voice that would give you goosebumps. It won her the title of America's Got Talent All-star in the last season of the show with her rendition of Adele's "Rolling in the Deep." She was kind of a big deal to everybody. Everybody that didn't actually know her, that is. Because if you really got to know Eva, you know, behind the sob story of her growing up with a giant hole in her heart, like a literal hole in the heart, and how that never held her back from achieving her dreams—well, you'd know that deep down Eva was just your run of the mill, totally unpalatable...epic bitch. It had been almost a decade since he and my sister had ended their relationship. But I was still bound by the unwritten code of loyalty that said he was off-limits for life. So no matter how