The Construction Worker & the Billionaire: Swapping Lives: Taming The Bad Boy Billionaire, #11

By Sierra Rose

Get to know the playboy construction worker, Dylan, upclose and personal.

What will happen when he falls in love with a girl he can never have?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Shadows Publishing
• Release date: Jan 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386383390

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dylan Stone headed from a dive bar in Cleveland, into a custom limousine, straight to the airstrip and onto a private plane. Dressed in the finest designer clothes, he waited anxiously on the red carpet as the stairs to his brother’s G5 lowered slowly to the tarmac. He’d been impressed enough with the limo. The only other time he’d ever been inside one was at his senior prom.

The second the stairs came down, a stunning flight attendant was soon to follow. She held out a silver tray with both a cup of coffee and a flute of champagne, depending on what ‘Logan’ was in the mood for. Another attendant appeared soon after with a tray of her own. This one was lined with newspapers. The kind of newspapers that Dylan would never read.

Financial Times, from the United Kingdom. Business Standard, from India. Handelsblatt, from Germany. And even Nihon Keizai Shimbun, from Japan. All that as well as a printed summary of the New York Stock Exchange.

Dylan’s eyes widened slightly as they swept over the pile.

Does Logan speak Japanese?

Good morning, sir. The attendant with the drinks stepped forward with a pearly smile. Would you prefer champagne for the flight, or your regular cappuccino?

Dylan was about to reach for the champagne, but his ears perked up at the word ‘regular.’ His brother might have sent away the staff in Miami, but Dylan still had to play the part until he got there. If Logan tended to prefer coffee instead of champagne, then he would too.

Cappuccino. He took the steaming cup with a smile. Thank you...Capris.

His eyes flickered over her name tag, before making a quick sweep of the rest of her. She was dressed conservatively, showing not an extra inch of unnecessary skin, but it was clear there was a fine body beneath her cotton dress. He wondered if it was also on the menu.

NOT what Logan wanted. You’re going to be flying to an entire city of hot, half-naked girls. No need to hook up with the ones on his payroll.

Instead of offering out one of his usual lines, he stepped back with a polite smile, resisting the urge to stick his hands into his pockets lest they start to wander. The second he did so, the other attendant stepped forward—the one with the papers.

I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I brought you a wide selection, sir. She appeared quite pleased with having made her collection on such short notice. Would you prefer to start with the Asian markets today? Or shall we dive into Eastern Europe?

Dylan froze where he stood, his fingers clenching defensively around his scalding mug, before his face melted into an easy smile. The kind that never failed to get him out of trouble.

Actually, I’m a little tired this morning. Think I might just close my eyes for a while.

The women blinked at the same time, as if he’d spoken in some alien tongue. The one holding the papers was temporarily frozen, while Capris stepped forward with a look of concern.

Shall I call for the doctor, sir? she asked with wide, worried eyes. Or perhaps you’d prefer a massage? Both Angelica and I would be happy to—

No, that’s perfectly fine, Dylan said quickly. He wasn’t sure if his newfound restraint would survive something like a three-way massage with some of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. I just need a little sleep, that’s all. Wake me up when we land?

The women stood there uncertainly for another moment, before nodding quickly.

Yes, sir.

Of course.

Before they could say another word or bat those beautiful eyes at him a second time, he bypassed the both of them—shimmying up the steps of the plane.

At first, he didn’t know what to expect. Was there going to be some sort of Jacuzzi in the middle of the aisle? A built-in bar and DJ set up beside one of the wings?

But even after having spent only twenty-four hours with his brother, he should have known better. Logan was classy. It made sense that his plane would be classy too.

There wasn’t an extra ounce of frill or ornamentation as far as the eye could see. Pristine white carpet. Cream-colored leather seats. Enough crystal stemware to set out for a dinner with the Queen. The entire thing was completely over the top, yet somehow modest at the same time.

Is everything alright, sir?

It was Capris again. She and Angelica had made their way onto the plane as well, and were preparing to settle in for the flight in the lower cabin. She slid her suitcase quickly out of sight and stood expectantly in front of him—like at any moment, he might break down and start reciting corporate sonnets in Mandarin after all.

It’s fine, Dylan replied swiftly. He made a conscious effort to stop gawking at the plane, and settled quickly into one of the back seats—farthest from the cockpit. Truth be told, he was always a bit afraid to fly. Maybe he should have gone with the champagne after all. Thanks.

The women disappeared, and before he knew it, the plane was taking off. There were no ‘fasten your seatbelt’ warnings. No lengthy diatribe about finding the nearest exit, or the expected head winds, or how long they might be taxiing out onto the runway. A private flight turned out to be a different experience altogether.

The second Dylan said he was ready, the plane took off without another word. No preambles. No delays. Unless he was mistaken, peering out the little circular window, he could have sworn that his pilot actually cut in front of a commercial flight—just to get off the ground.

Dylan leaned back in his leather chair as they took to the sky, lifting slowly into the heavens until they were gliding over the morning clouds. The plane around him filled with golden light as he took a sip of cappuccino, making a silent toast in his head.

Let the adventure begin...

Chapter 2

The flight from Cleveland to Miami was a little over five hours, and Florida was already three hours ahead. By the time Dylan touched down, it was already mid-afternoon. The stairs lowered down again, and he was rushed from the plane into another limo—one that was even fancier than the first. He was still marveling at the tiny bottles of aged Scotch, when the partition rolled down and a young man in a driver’s cap bid him a respectful hello.

I’m sorry for the state of the cab, sir, he apologized sincerely. We weren’t sure when you were getting back, and Millard had sent out all the regulars to be cleaned...

He trailed off uncertainly, his eyes growing wide in the rear view mirror. It was only after a few seconds of staring, that Dylan realized the poor man was waiting on him. Waiting for either a censure or a dismissal—after which he could breathe freely once again.

Oh, it’s perfectly fine! he said quickly, wondering again at the young man’s words. The ‘state of the cab?’ Was it in some kind of state? Thank you for picking me up.

The man shot him a strange look, oddly similar to the furtive glances he’d been getting from the attendants on the plane, before flashing a quick grin.

It’s my pleasure, sir. Where to? The office?

Dylan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course the driver would expect his workaholic brother to head straight to the office after getting off a plane.

No. He glanced out the window as they pulled away from the tarmac, straightening up in surprise. They were much closer to downtown than he would have thought was possible. Logan must have purchased a private strip just a few minutes off the beaten trail. Actually, could I—

The house, then? the driver interrupted without thinking and began to make an automatic turn, taking them away from hustle and bustle of the city and up into the trees. Dylan was quick to stop him.

Actually...can you drop me off at the beach?

The man swerved abruptly, narrowly avoiding hitting a passing car as he hastened to get back in the correct lane. Again, his eyes flickered curiously back in the rear view mirror, but this time, Dylan was distracted by other things.

Like the golden beach rolling out in front of him. Like the girls on that beach.

Private or public?

Dylan tore his eyes away from the string bikinis long enough to cast a swift glance at his driver. Sorry...what?

Would you prefer a private beach or a public one? I can head to the gated shoreline up by the estate—

No, uh, right here is fine.

I’ve been living in the Pacific Northwest. Let me out of this damn limo.

He wrapped his fingers around the handle, and the driver was quick to pull out of traffic and onto the curb. By now, they were right in the heart of downtown. Idling on the frontage road that separated all the bars and little tiki diners from the rolling waves of sand beyond. Dylan’s eyes lit up as they fixed upon the sparkling turquoise water, but much to his extreme surprise, when he pulled on the handle of the door, the thing wouldn’t budge.

Is it locked? How do I get this thing—

Let me just call Jerry, the driver said quickly, pulling out his phone as his eyes nervously monitored his boss’ attempted escape. I’m sure he’ll want to set up some sort of—

Jerry?

Dylan asked the question before he could help himself, then instantly regretted it. That’s right—Jerry. Logan had mentioned something about a man named Jerry last night at the bar. The guy was some sort of bodyguard. In charge of the estate’s security.

Oh right, he corrected himself quickly, Jerry.

This is crazy! How many people have to sign off before my little brother can walk to the damn mailbox?! That’s right—little brother. He’s definitely the younger twin.

Actually, he tugged on the handle again, giving the driver a pointed stare, everyone at the estate is supposed to be on vacation. Including you. Another tug, and the door locks clicked up—allowing a gust of fresh salty air to pour into the limo. Take the next two weeks off, Dylan said cheerfully, as his feet planted in the sand. I’ll catch a cab home.

Thank goodness I wrote the address on my hand.

Ignoring the utterly scandalized look on his driver’s face, Dylan slammed the door shut and took off in the opposite direction—leaving the limo idling nervously on the curb behind him.

If he’d been impressed by the car and the plane, it was nothing compared to how he felt now that he was looking out at the water. It was everything he could have wanted and then so much more. Bikinis. Sunshine. Tropical drinks with little umbrellas in them.

They didn’t have beaches like this in Ohio, he decided as he strolled leisurely along the sand. His shoes had already been discarded and were dangling by the laces from his wrist. The kind of beaches where the sand felt hot against your toes, and the sun sparkled against warm, aquamarine water. The beaches in Cleveland were nice, but different. Grey and dreary. Pebbles on the shoreline. Dark, freezing water. Little discarded cups of hot chocolate strewn along in the bushes.

But this...? This was like a dream come true!

Hey, sexy! a woman with long blonde hair shouted.

Dylan whirled around just as two girls sailed past him, their long naked legs ending in a pair of impossible heels. Where’s the meeting, gorgeous?

Meeting?

Dylan glanced down, then flushed when he realized he was still wearing Logan’s business clothes. (Or should he say, Logan’s clothes. At this point, he seriously doubted the man knew the meaning of casual.) They had agreed that until Dylan got to the estate and was left to his own devices, he would have to keep up the façade and play the part of his billionaire twin. That meant dressing to impress—which left Dylan flushed and fidgeting in a three-piece suit in the middle of one of the world’s hottest beaches for the first time in his life.

The girls breezed away, still giggling, as Dylan turned away from the water, and started making his way towards the line of shops on the other side of the street.

Mission accomplished, little brother. I got in without anyone being the wiser. But now it’s time for the training wheels to come off. You blend in over there, I’ll blend in over here.

As Dylan was quick to learn, blending in Miami didn’t mean more clothes, it meant less.

He was delighted to find that not only was every shop he ducked into more than up to the task of equipping him as a casual Miami beach walker, but the salesgirls turned out to be more than eager to help.

Before he knew what was happening, he was pressed up against one of the changing room stalls. His