Page 3 of Three Suave Billionaires and a Fake Chauffeur

As I glance at myself in the mirror, I feel a gigantic panic attack coming along, but it's completely halted because I just remembered I have to find Dean's ID badge and the key fob that would take me into the staff entrance of the palatial mansion.

I haven't even started on the main event yet, and I've already messed this up so badly I should be put in cuffs for two felony mishaps.

Finally, I'm in possession of everything and on my way to commit yet another crime. Go me.

I’m in the plushest part of Manhattan, the Upper East Side, and suddenly there it is. The mansion rises from the hills like a king on its throne. As I near the entrance, I'm dumbfounded at the magnitude of it all. The uber-modern palace is striking, with a stone-curved driveway, glass and chrome detail, matte finish frames, and minimalist but absolutely gorgeous gardens.

Somehow the house goes exactly with the three billionaires who live here. Even before Dean landed a job as a chauffeur for the billionaires, I knew exactly who they were: Peter Mills, Warren Haynes, and Max McKenzie. How could I not when they are three of the youngest, hottest, richest men alive today?

It goes without saying that anyone with eyes would trip over their own two feet if they passed them by. They were over six feet three, with lean, muscle-ripped bodies, and an air of sophistication and danger mixed together.

After my run-in with the mustache man, I'd spent the entire night searching for the billionaires, and now their images are imprinted in my head forever, and nothing could erase them. I'm going to need so much therapy after all this.

From my car, I lift the ID badge up to the scanner, and instantly the gates are opened. My heart is pounding so loud I can't hear myself think, which is just as well, because my brain is telling me that my meltdown is long overdue and will hit any second now. I don't have the time.

To show my joy that my brother finally got a job, after months of being unsuccessful, I asked him to tell me all about it. Firstly, the pay is phenomenal; of course it would be. He was going to be driving around billionaires.

Dean's work schedule is very laid-back. For the most part, the billionaires drive themselves except for certain times, but he would still be paid a fixed salary. His first job was to drive the billionaires to a dinner at a very secluded mansion an hour's drive away, then back home again. After that, his next drive was to another dinner three weeks later, which worked out perfectly. Dean's wrist would be healed, and he could drive again.

Dear god, help me. I tried to kill my brother in the process of helping him not get caught up in this mess. Why can't I just be normal?

By this stage, I'm sure my heart has given up on me. I'm literally a dead woman walking. But I forge ahead. I park my car in the staff parking lot, then widen my step and try to walk like a man—I don't pull this off at all, but I can't stop now—I use the key fob against the magnetic keypad, and I enter the mansion through the staff entrance.

I dare not breathe as I look around. Thankfully, there's no one in sight, and it's so deathly quiet, I don't think there is anyone around at all. Also, is this really the area designated for staff? My goodness, the line of luxury does not end even here.

As silently as I can, I enter the main areas of the mansion, the billionaires' quarters. I'm simultaneously stupefied by the sheer level of wealth in my surroundings and petrified of being caught.

I just need to get to their study. Unseen. Then out. Where I'll find the limousine and wait for them outside, as if that's all I've ever done.

Crap. Can I even drive a limousine? I don't know, but I guess we'll all find out soon enough.

Chapter Three

––––––––

Max

"Can you smell that?" Warren Haynes asks as we meet at the landing of the staircase, freshly showered and wearing our signature tuxedos.

"Yes," Peter Mills nods.

"Is that a woman's perfume?" I ask, frowning.

As a rule, we don't bring women into our home. We each have plenty of other houses and penthouses for that exact activity. The Raven, an apt name for the mansion, is a place where we clear our heads, conduct intricate business deals, and rest.

It's a rule Peter Mills, Warren Haynes, and I follow without condition. The three of us grew up together and have been marked to take over our families' conglomerates. We decided to join forces, taking each of our multi-billion-dollar portfolios and turning them into multi-trillion-dollar industries. We work well together, a friendship born out of trust and like-minded thinking, even though we have different personalities.

Peter is the serious one. Warren, the reasonable one. And me, I'm the charmer.

"It's definitely a woman's perfume," Warren agrees. It's not even overpowering in the least; it just feels as if the person wearing it had strode through the foyer and left behind subtle notes of vanilla and lavender.

After a glance at each other, we silently agree that someone is in the house. Someone who shouldn't be there at all.

We immediately go into stealth mode. Years in the military and then dealing with heads of organized crime syndicates mean it's easy for us to take on that role.

We search the house and eventually come to the conclusion the perpetrator is in our study. Are they an armed assassin sent by our enemies, foolish enough to go up against us? Probably.

We're arrogant enough to take them on unarmed.