The Billionaire's Double Take

By J.M Griffin

Art gallery owner Erin Cameron has a problem. Not only has she lost her way after the death of her parents, she lost a bit of herself as well. Her only solace, is the constant, loving care of her housekeeper, Mrs. Hardy and the beloved family art gallery that she inherited from her father. In order to side-step the limelight and still get her work done, Erin creates an alter-ego named “Penny Boucher” as her assistant. Each day, the beautiful, violet-eyed brunette transforms herself into a brown-eyed, blonde and heads off to work. Her disguise works so well, that her own staff prefers having Penny around rather than Erin.
But a double life has a way of creating double trouble. Especially when a tall, dark, and gorgeous art collector named Tristan Forsyth arrives from Scotland, determined to buy Cameron Gallery. At first, Erin uses “Penny” as a way for her to “avoid” the billionaire and his all-knowing, sexy, green eyes. Until Erin realizes, that not only does she not want to avoid Tristan, she can’t stop thinking about him.
When a valuable painting is stolen, and Erin becomes the prime suspect, can she turn to the handsome, Scottish billionaire for help? And more importantly, can she tell him the truth about her double life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lachesis Publishing Inc
• Release date: Aug 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773590004

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Rain pelted the ground. It beat down on her fast and furious as she hurried up the road. Soaked to her skin, Erin swore under her breath. Why had she believed the mechanic when he said the car was now in tip-top shape? What the hell was she thinking by trusting that he’d done his job correctly? After all, her receptionist, Meredith, had complained about him just the other day.

Dad thought he would be a perfect fit for my car repairs, but if this is how he runs his business, then Dad was wrong, she grumbled and wiped the raindrops from her face. To make things worse, her cell phone was deader than dead. Not that it mattered. There was no one to rescue her anyway.

Angered by her stupidity, Erin slogged up the driveway in full temper. The drive home from the gallery had been fine until the dashboard lights faltered. That was an instant before the car suffered a seizure and abruptly died. She’d contact the repairman and give him a piece of her mind. The miserable twit.

She stamped up the front stairs and had just reached the door when it flew open. Mrs. Hardy ushered her inside as a clap of thunder rolled over the hills.

My dear girl, you’re drenched. At least you’re home now. I was so worried. I’ve been watching for you. Come inside, before you catch pneumonia. Go get changed and come into the kitchen, I’ll have a nice hot cup of tea for you, Mrs. Hardy ordered as she draped a heavy knit shawl around Erin’s shoulders.

Mollified by the care given to her by the woman who’d been with the Cameron family for more than twenty years, Erin’s temper abated.

It’s cold for early June. Of course, my car broke down a quarter mile from here, and I had to walk. Then the rain started. I hurried as fast as I could, but by the time I reached the gates I was sopping wet, Erin complained as she peeled off the dripping coat and handed it to Mrs. Hardy. Glancing down at her Kate Spade shoes, she knew they were ruined. The only part of the outfit that had survived the ravages of Mother Nature was her handbag. Even her suit was drenched beneath her coat.

Miss Erin, you know the weather is unpredictable at this time of year, especially so near the coast, Mrs. Hardy said. She hung the coat to dry and followed Erin upstairs to her bedroom. While Erin showered, Mrs. Hardy took the dripping clothes away. After Erin donned a robe, she took the back stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Hardy’s eyes lit up when Erin entered the room and she motioned toward the table set for supper.

Dry and warm, Erin slipped into the seat across from Mrs. Hardy’s place setting. A steaming cup of Earl Grey awaited her. Most evenings the two of them dined together as a family. No fancy dining room with a table that seemed to stretch for miles and certainly no company to entertain. Guests were rarely invited to Cameron House. Not since her parents had passed away, that is.

There was a call for you earlier, Mrs. Hardy remarked while she ladled supper onto Erin’s plate. Tristan Forsyth will call on you at the gallery tomorrow. He said he wishes to speak with you face to face about purchasing the gallery. I told him you’d be unavailable, but he was quite adamant. Mrs. Hardy passed Erin a serving of steaming hot, chicken pot pie.

He insisted, did he? Erin remarked in her husky voice followed by a throaty laugh. I’m sure he thinks he can waltz into my gallery and order me around like he does his little minions in Scotland and other parts of the world. She snorted. He’s in for a rude awakening now that he’s on American soil.

Mrs. Hardy pointed to the food on Erin’s plate and said, Eat your dinner before it gets cold. I made strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert.

With enthusiasm, Erin wolfed down the delicious fare while she wondered if she could best the man who thought he could take over her business. There was no time like the present to find out. Erin had been happy to send others like him packing, and Tristan Forsyth wouldn’t be any different.

Interested to see how he would approach her with an offer, she chuckled, finished her meal and sipped the tea as she waited for pie.

With her eyes twinkling, Mrs. Hardy asked, "Will Penny be handling Mr. Forsyth?"

Erin dipped her head in assent as she gobbled the scrumptious dessert. She swallowed a mouthful and then said, "She’ll give Mr. Tristan Forsyth just what he has coming to him. Make no mistake about it, Mrs. Hardy—we’ll win out. People who think they can buy my gallery for a mere pittance are quick to find out they can’t. Penny will make short work of him."

I read a more recent newspaper article about him than the last one we had. From the way he answered the interviewer’s questions, I’d say Mr. Forsyth is a bit of a rake. He’s a handsome fellow too, Mrs. Hardy remarked with an unreadable expression on her face.

Erin had also seen pictures and agreed, but wasn’t about to admit that. It wouldn’t be the first time the older woman had played matchmaker when she thought a man met the standards she alone had set for Erin’s love life.

Mr. Forsyth is filthy rich, wealthier than rich, and enjoys persuading others to sell to him when they should know better. He owns famous galleries all over the world and exhibits what’s hot in the latest and greatest artwork available. By all accounts, he’s very aggressive in his pursuits. Erin grimaced as she considered how her alter ego, Penny, would handle him.

Penny Boucher had come into being when Erin returned to Greenwich, Connecticut, straight from studying at Oxford University.

An only child of artistically inclined parents, Erin had learned the gallery business from the ground up. As soon as she was old enough to wander the gallery, watched over by her father and management, she’d found her calling. Erin’s relentless questions, one after another, had delighted her father. She’d wanted to learn the process behind setting up art exhibits and gaging authenticity of individual pieces, and he’d taught her. Confident in her knowledge of the best way to present artists at openings, along with procedures for the ultimate promotion of their work, Erin had often insisted on accompanying her father when he’d met with famed, worldwide gallery promoters, and had absorbed a great deal.

Your father would be proud of the way you represent the gallery. Your mother, well, she’d want you to marry, have children and taste that side of life, Mrs. Hardy said wistfully. How can you have a full life when you refuse to face what drove you to act as Penny?

We’ve had this discussion before. As Penny, I handle the business end of things, and as myself, I show up for gallery openings and such. This way, Penny is aware of what’s happening in the day-to-day business and my employees seem more at ease with her. We were devastated after mom died, but when dad went, his death was more difficult to bear. It left you and me alone. The media hounded us, or have you forgotten they insinuated dad had committed suicide? At the stressful memory of that period in her life, Erin rubbed her temples with her fingertips to relieve the tension it brought. 

"And, I only have to wine, dine and smile at people like Tristan Forsyth, about whom I could not care less." Erin plucked her napkin from her lap and began to clear their place settings.

I haven’t forgotten; I simply believe this act is unhealthy for you. Here, here, let me do that. I’ll take this away while you catch up on Mr. Forsyth’s latest interview, Mrs. Hardy insisted, her short, gray-haired curls bobbing all over the place. Besides, she said with a chuckle, Penny will need to be on her toes tomorrow if she’s going to take this man on. Mrs. Hardy stacked the dishes and gathered the remaining food.

On her way toward the door, Erin glanced back and asked, What time did he say he was coming to the office? Meredith never mentioned anything specific when I was there earlier.

Mrs. Hardy, lifted a bony shoulder, she was a petite woman, but had always guided Erin, at least, when she allowed it. Mrs. Hardy could be tough as nails and Erin adored her for it. Mr. Forsyth wasn’t specific. He said he’d drop in later in the day. Maybe he wants to catch you off guard.

Mm, I’m sure, Erin remarked, and left Mrs. Hardy busily loading the dishwasher. As a housekeeper, there was no one better. As a longtime family friend and confidante, Erin couldn’t have asked for more. In the beginning, Mrs. Hardy had encouraged Erin to keep Penny’s character in place, which was a surprise. As of late, she had advised Erin to drop Penny and take her rightful place as director of the gallery. The woman might be on the right track.

Lost in thought, Erin climbed the stairs and idly made her way to her bedroom. Bold-colored drapes and bedding accented the softer hues of hard wood flooring and warm oak furniture. She lounged on the bottom of her bed and considered the upcoming challenge Forsyth presented.

Mesmerized by his green-eyed handsomeness in the magazine articles presented to her by Mrs. Hardy, Erin remembered how his rough good looks had caught her immediate attention. And the shape of his lips made her appreciate him even more. She’d absorbed every detail of his features. Tristan Forsyth was just too good looking and rich, for his own good. That hadn’t stopped the rush of excitement she’d felt as she’d studied his photo and read about his life. He’d be a challenge, and by the reaction she’d had to his photo, the man would be a dangerous adversary.

Why did he want the Cameron Gallery so badly? Why would he, the owner of so many famous galleries all over the world, want hers? By modern standards, her gallery was successful, and was weathering the economy’s issues better than most businesses. She wasn’t desperate for money, even though there had been a poor return on her recent investments. Had Forsyth found out and thought he could use that as leverage? Erin’s personal finances hadn’t been an issue until the stock market took a nosedive a few months earlier. The market hadn’t fully recovered. Thank goodness she still had the trust fund her father had set up for her at birth that she could utilize if necessary.

Getting off her bed and settling in a soft wingback chair,