Page 220 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

A Very Bossy Billionaire

A Very Fake Boyfriend

A Very Wicked Arrangement

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Billionaire Hotshot–Levi

Chapter 1

Jules

The doorbell rings and I step out of my bedroom.

Hillary, my stepmother, beats me to the door.

My best friend Sydney steps inside, smiling wide. “Good morning and happy Saturday!”

“Why are you here this early?” Hillary asks in lieu of a greeting.

“I’m here to see my bestie,” Sydney responds sweetly. She texted me an hour ago. Something about breaking news. “By the way, your hair color looks… freshly done,” she tells my stepmother. I stifle a laugh. It’s not exactly a compliment. “With that in-your-face—I mean, bright shade of blonde, and the heavy-handed—I mean, dramatic makeup—you could pass as Sarah Sanderson’s identical twin sister.” Sydney is referring to one of the main characters in the original Hocus Pocus movie. The comparison is eerily accurate.

“Was that a backhanded compliment, Sydney?”

If you have to ask…

From the mezzanine, I’m at a vantage point to get a great view of my friend’s fake angelic smile. She even bats her eyelashes for effect, but her mischievous blue eyes betray her.

“I was simply saying there’s a Hollywood resemblance, Ms. Twatt,” Sydney says.

Yes, you heard correctly. My stepmother’s real last name is Twatt. No joke. She refused to become Mrs. Salinger. Something about being able to trace her roots to British royalty. I’m very thankful she kept her name, but curiosity ate at me, so I did a Google search. The royal connection never came up—and trust me, I looked hard. That said, a not so flattering British meaning for her last name did. Quite fitting, if you ask me. She also wanted to keep her last name for her daughters’ sake—both are illegitimate, aka bastard babies. Until Daddy came along, Hillary was a career mistress.

“People say I look like a famous actress all the time,” Hillary throws her head back and gives that annoying, fake laugh that grates my nerves. I roll my eyes so hard, I’m certain they’ll be permanently lodged in the back of my head. “I got my hair colored yesterday,” she coos, fluffing her salon-blonde hair, “and I’ve been playing around with makeup palettes all morning. I want to look my best at tonight’s big charity ball.” Yeah, the charity ball you conveniently forgot to invite me to. “The girls are so excited to rub elbows with Hollywood’s finest.”

“This might be their big break into superstardom.” Syd is being facetious.

“Fingers and toes crossed,” Hillary says. “It’s a question of being in the right place at the right time.” The woman has blind faith in her girls. “What kind of stage mom would I be if I didn’t do my very best to ensure the right people were exposed to my girls’ incredible talent?”

Allow me to gag.

Hillary’s personality is an acquired taste, one I have yet to enjoy.

“There you go,” Sydney deadpans.

“Hey Syd,” I wave her up, putting an end to Hillary’s useless jabbering.

Hillary turns her stare icy on me, her dark brown eyes.

“Where are your manners, Jules?” She snaps.

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