Mr big, p.1
Mr. Big, page 1
Mr. Big
A Billionaire Romance
Jagger Cole
Contents
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Mr. Big
By Jagger Cole
www.jaggercolewrites.com
Copyright © 2020 by Jagger Cole
All rights reserved.
Cover by Mayhem Cover Design
* * *
This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. And similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.
All characters in this work are eighteen years of age or older, and all relations of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
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.
The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US Copyright law.
Created with Vellum
Synopsis
I’ve planned for everything, but I never anticipated her.
I’ve fought like hell to get to where I am. As New York City’s youngest and richest financial tycoon, I run my empire on rules, control, and an iron discipline.
But then Olivia falls into my world, and turns it upside down. The gorgeous young production lead for my newly acquired advertising firm makes me lose control and forget my rules.
When I muscle in on her first shoot, for a lingerie company—also mine—she gives me lip like no one ever has, and one taste of that sass has me hooked. With pressure from my board to make this ad campaign a win to justify the new acquisitions, I throw up a hail mary: I make Olivia the new face of the lingerie campaign.
Now, we’re working hard on this together. I’m rolling up sleeves, she’s stripping down and making my head spin. I know she’s off-limits, and that I need to keep my distance. Except the longer I’m near her, the harder it is to stay away.
Keeping away isn’t the only thing she makes harder, either. There’s a reason they call me Mr. Big behind my back, and it’s not just my ego.
Time is running out, and so is my control. I want her, I need her, and I’ll give up my I have to make her mine.
* * *
Mr. Big is a novella length standalone contemporary billionaire romance. Extra hot, with no cliffhanger and a perfect happy ever after. Intended for 18+ adult audience only.
1
Olivia
“Work it. Work it, girl!”
The camera flashes, light refracting off the silvery reflectors held by assistants and interns. I shiver, skin prickling into little bumps as the wind machine kicks on, sending cool air across the set.
“Now the shirt. No, leave the last two buttons—the last two, goddamnit!” Pascal, the very renowned, very expensive photographer we’ve managed to book for the shoot sighs and drops the camera from his face. Now, granted, Pascal Patise is a notoriously bitchy, demanding photographer in the industry. But so is our model, Selena. As in Selena Roy. Yeah, that Selena Roy.
Scoring the modeling and photography talents of both of these drama-queens is a feat in and of itself, especially with this being my first time heading up a project. And believe me, as great as it’s felt to glow in the praise from coworkers and superiors alike for managing to scoop them up, there’s the other side of the coin. Behind the praise and the smiles, there’s the unspoken flip side: “don’t fuck this up.” And right now, things are starting to fuck up.
“Okay, Selena, honey,” Pascal sighs heavily. “You can count, yes?”
“I don’t know, can you?” The stunning, willowy blonde tosses back, holding up two middle fingers at our photographer.
“Oh, honey, cunty is so your look!”
“Fuck you.”
“Not unless you’re somehow hiding eight inches in that thong, sweetheart.”
Fuck me sideways. This is falling apart at the freaking seams, and fast. The set director glances at me, slowly shaking his head. Behind him, Melissa, our lead wardrobe director rolls her eyes at me as if to say, “I told you you’d fuck this up.” And to be fair, she did.
Actually, a lot of people basically told me that. It’s what I’ve been telling myself for God’s sake, ever since the job landed in my lap. I’ve been with Luminous Creative Agency for four years now. First, as an intern my freshman year of college, then up to a director’s assistant last year, and a production coordinator earlier this year. And then, a month ago just after the start of my senior year, I got the chance of a lifetime—full production lead on a nationwide campaign for Luxe lingerie. It’s an enormous foot in the door. It’s a huge opportunity. It also might be so stressful it kills me before I’m twenty-three.
And if the insanely stressful job wasn’t enough, there’s also that small matter of finals and graduating college. And the abysmal state of my bank account. Oh, and lest we forget, Jake suddenly deciding to try and “patch things up” six months after I dumped his cheating ass for the final—the final-final—time. Suffice it to say, with everything else taking up space in my mind, a slap-fight between my star photographer and my star supermodel is the last thing I need right now.
Behind me, Cassie—my makeup lead and best friend—clears her throat.
“Hey Liv? I think maybe you should—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I grumble as I toss my clipboard into my chair and stride forward to stop the shenanigans before Selena puts a stiletto through Pascal’s throat.
“Listen, you tacky little queen—”
“Oh, you did not just go there!” Pascal hisses back at Selena. “Tacky? Girl, come at me with that fucking butterfly tramp-stamp on your ass and let’s talk tacky, okay?”
“Guys stop it.
“What’s the matter, Pascal? Sad you couldn’t blow your way into a higher rate for this shoot since the production lead has a pussy?”
“Says the trashy slut whose lips have seen more dick than a men’s room urinal—”
“I said fucking stop!”
You can almost hear a record scratch as the whole set freezes and whips their gazes to me, Pascal and Selena included. Selena glares at me with daggers in her eyes, which I ignore. Pascal just smirks a little, like he’s impressed.
“Okay, Olivia, can you please manage your fucking people?”
I frown at Selena. “Listen—”
“No, you listen,” she sneers. “Since you’re clearly in over your head, I’m going to walk you through this. Fire this little poser queen, or else!”
“Or else, what, honey?” Pascal spits back. “Or else you’ll leave and finally make that jump from ‘art shoots’ to just sucking cock on camera?”
“Enough!” I roar the word out, and the room goes silent. “This little slap fight? It ends, right now. Okay?”
Selena shakes her head. “Olivia, I simply cannot work with him. If you don’t get someone else, I’m so out of here.”
“Your contact says otherwise,” I snap back without even thinking about my words first. Cassie gasps behind me. Selena looks aghast. Pascal giggles.
“Excuse me?” The leggy blonde half-whispers, like she’s just been slapped.
I take a deep breath. “What I mean is, we’re all here, and you’re both the best, okay? So, let’s just get this done, and let’s get it done right. Which means Selena, you need to listen to your photographer, okay?”
She starts to open her mouth to retort, and Pascal starts to giggle to himself, when I turn my look on him and snap my fingers hard. They both close their mouths.
“And Pascal? That means you need to show a little bit more respect for the talent. Please? Let’s leave the egos off set?”
The waifish photographer sucks on his teeth before he finally sighs heavily. “Fine, sweetie. I can try.”
“Thank you,” I sigh. “Now, can we start again? Everyone?”
There are murmurs around the room, and a small smile comes to my lips as I nod and head back behind the lights. Cassie grins at me.
“Dude, you just laid down the law back there.”
“Yeah, well, if they mess this up, they just go on to more gigs. If I screw it up…”
I frown, and Cassie puts a hand on my arm. “Hey, you know my place is always open to you.”
It’s an amazing gesture, but my face still falls at the implication. She means that I can stay on her couch in Silver Lake if I end up getting kicked out of my crazy-expensive downtown LA sky rise apartment I foolishly signed a year-long lease for. That was when I was still delusional enough to think Jake was going to grow up and move in with me. Because despite all the advancement within Luminous, I’m broke as a freaking joke. If I pull it off, this project could launch my career in the advertising world. But I have to actually pull it off. And if I don’t, I’m sunk.
“Okay guys, let’s go again!”
I clap my hands and nod
“Okay, good. Good. Better, girl, this is better. Now lose the shirt? Entirely, yeah. Shrug it off… perfect.”
His camera snaps as Selena Roy slowly disrobes down to the gorgeous and sexy purple Luxe matching bra and thong. I know she’s an internationally recognized professional model, but I can’t help but feel a pang of jealous as she bares that perfect body. I mean, I work out. I run, I squat, I try and keep my pizza cravings in check. But come-the-fuck-on. The woman is freaking flawless.
She turns, giving smoldering, sexy looks at the camera over one shoulder as Pascal clicks away. And suddenly, my stress starts to disappear. Because it honestly looks for one second like I might actually pull this off.
But it’s just for one second, because after that, there’s a loud bang as the doors to the set slam open. Pascal let’s out a stream of curses in French as he whirls with the rest of us to see a shadowy figure storming through the doorway from the lit hallway to the darkened set.
“Um, excuse me, bitch!” Pascal seethes. “What fucking part of ‘live set’ did you not fucking understand!”
“Hey!” I bark, jumping from my chair and quickly moving to intercept the shadowy figure. “You can’t just waltz in here!”
“Yeah, I can.”
My eyes widen as the man stops at the edges of the set, still in shadow.
“Uh, no, you can’t. Get the fuck out before I call—”
“This shoot isn’t going to work.”
The voice is gravely and yet polished. Hard and yet smooth. I glance back at Cassie who just shrugs and mouths, “Do you want me to call security?” But I wave her off.
“The shoot isn’t any of your business, asshole,” I toss back at him. “Now get the fuck off my set.”
He chuckles, and slowly, he steps forward. There’s a collective gasp from the crew, and my heart instantly drops through the floor along with my stomach. I freeze. I cringe. I want to melt away and disappear forever. Because when he steps into the light, I quickly realize that the “asshole” who I just told to fuck off isn’t some random guy at all.
It’s Mr. Big.
I blush, instantly shaking the name from my head. His name—his actual name—is Damien Rook, and he’s LA’s newest and youngest power-player billionaire at thirty years old. And if that weren’t enough, he’s also a professional race-car driver and an actual model. That’s where the “Mr. Big” name comes from. After he got rich and famous, some model shoots he did when he was younger were published. Shoots of him wearing a tight, black bathing suit for a cologne ad. A tight black bathing suit that, shall we say, highlighted certain aspects of his anatomy.
What I mean is, Damien Rook is called “Mr. Big” because the bulge in those photoshoots was enormous. And as of a week ago when Rook Holdings bought out Luminous, “Mr. Big” is now my boss.
“Fuck.”
I actually say the word out loud, in a choked whisper as my eyes drink him in—all six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, lean-muscled inch of him. His haunting green eyes latch with my blue ones, and I shiver slightly as those gorgeous lips that’ve been on the cover of men’s fashion magazines pull back across a jaw straight off a Greek statue.
“Mr. Rook…” I mumble his name, my cheeks turning bright red as I cringe. “I didn’t know—”
“It’s fine.”
His response is quick and snappy, and he looks away as he strides further onto the set. His eyes land on Selena, and I sigh inside. Of course, the gorgeous billionaire has eyes for the gorgeous, leggy blonde supermodel.
“But she needs to go. Now.”
I startle from my thoughts, yanking my gaze away from Selena and back to Damien.
“Who?”
“Her,” he mutters, glaring at the blonde supermodel, who stiffens and purses her lips.
“Fuck you, Damien.”
He ignores her and turns back to me. “She’s not going to be on this campaign.”
There’s a fierce heat in those green eyes as they burn into me, like he’s looking through me, or at least through my clothes. I feel my cheeks blush at the thought before I take a breath.
“Sir—”
“Mr. Rook.”
I nod. “Okay, Mr. Rook, with all due respect to your input, we’re locked into this shoot, and Selena is absolutely perfect for the campaign.”
“I disagree.”
I frown. “Okay, well, we could bring in the Luxe team and—”
“No need. I can speak for them, and I’m telling you, that woman is off this shoot. Now.”
I wet my lips, my fingers tangling together.
“Mr. Rook, again, respectfully, I’m not sure we can just change things up without consulting them.”
“You are consulting them.”
A small smile plays across his face as my brow furrows in confusion.
“Mr. Rook—”
“Ms. Knowles, is it?”
I blink in surprise, and I want to roll my eyes at the way my heart flutters and my pulse quickens when he knows my name, but I restrain myself.
“Ms. Knowles, I can speak for the board at Luxe because as of this morning, I own Luxe Lingerie. And I’m telling you, Selena Roy is off this shoot, right now.”
Um, what?
I turn, my mouth dry as I glance at the tall blonde glaring at me with disdain in her eyes.
“It’s your set, Ms. Knowles,” Damien murmurs behind me.
I open my mouth, but when no words come out, he steps forward next to me.
“Ms. Roy, please leave. Your services are no longer needed for this campaign.”
Selena’s mouth falls open as she glares dangerously at him. “I have a contract, asshole.”
“Lovely,” he says dryly. “Then you’ll be paid for the shoot. Now for the last time, leave.”
The set is totally silent, and Selena stands there fuming for a minute before she finally snaps. She whirls, grabbing a robe and yanking it on. She looks back at Damian and gives him the finger.
“Choke on a dick, Damien.”
“No thanks.”
“Okay, Selena,” I start to interject.
“Get fucked, Olivia.”
Selena yanks the robe shut, turns sharply on a heeled foot, and storms out of the room. And with her goes my entire career. Because today was make or break. Between Selena and Pascal, I’m already over budget. I needed first deliverable shoots to finish today, and without my model talent…
“It would appear you need a new model.”
Damien’s dark, velvety-smooth voice teases into my ear, and I can’t help the shiver that tingles up my spine. I turn, and when his eyes hold mine, my breath catches. I’ve just lost my shoot. I’m probably going to get canned and lose my apartment and have to sleep on Cassie’s couch. But damn is his gorgeous gaze captivating.
“Uh, yeah,” I manage to mumble out. “But we’re out of time.”
“How so?”
I smile sadly. “Mr. Rook, the campaign is over budget already, and we needed to have something today to show the Luxe team.”
He nods. “So, you need a new face for the campaign.”
I croak out a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well…”
“I have someone in mind.”
My eyes snap back to his. “Oh?”
Slowly, his eyes piercing into me, he nods.
“Take off your sweatshirt.”
I frown, glancing down at the hoodie I’m wearing over my sleeveless blouse and knee-length pencil skirt.
“Excuse me?”
“Your sweatshirt,” he growls. “Take it off.”
My lips purse. I want to say something, or tell him off, or ask him what the hell this is for. But when I look up into those gorgeous green eyes and feel them bore into mine, there’s only one thing I do. I nod.
