Trading Places: The Billionaire Swap, #1

By Sierra Rose

What happens when two identical twin brothers meet for the very first time? One is a serious, hardworking, billionaire CEO, and the other is a carefree, playboy construction worker. They look identical, but are completely different. 

The billionaire complains about his stressful, workaholic life…and that’s when a plan is hatched. His twin brother suggests that he should jump into his carefree life for two weeks. Live it up in Seattle, soak up the sun, hike in the mountains, bike, visit The Space Needle, or, most importantly…get laid. The CEO can finally take the time to stop and smell the roses while his gigolo brother enjoys the good life in Florida, sipping champagne and partying on Evan’s superyacht. 

Evan wants R&R. Jason wants to live the rich life. They decide to change lives and a two-week swap is planned. 

Rich boy, Evan, jumps into Jason's simple life, but he's not prepared to deal with all the chaos that surrounds him from Jason's playboy ways. He starts to drown when a pretty private detective has pictures of his infidelity. Technically, his brother's, but he can't tell her that. 

Evan can’t stop thinking about the pretty PI. Can he prove to her that he's really not the slime ball she thinks he is? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Shadows Publishing
• Release date: Apr 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386545156

Book preview

Preview:

Jason took a swig of his beer. Our story should be a Lifetime movie. Two identical twins separated at birth, one is a hot, gorgeous construction worker and the other is a billionaire CEO. They meet for the first time and hatch up a crazy plan. Switching lives for two weeks.

Hot and gorgeous? I should’ve known I had a conceited twin brother.

He smiled. Confident. Not conceited. We were both born with good looks. And you’ve got the look, especially with that designer haircut and Armani suit...but we definitely have work to do if you’re going to be me for two weeks. For starters, unbutton that top button and loosen up, Mr. CEO.

Don’t worry, I got this. I’m the CEO of a multinational corporation. I’m overseeing the engineering operation of countless resorts on three continents. So this should be a piece of cake.

Good. Jason clanked his beer. This is going to be one hell of a ride.

Think anyone will notice?

Jason smirked. Nah! There will never be a dull moment in your mansion, that’s for sure. Oh wait. That won’t work because it’s out of character for you. But that doesn’t matter, I’m going to play the part of billionaire so well, nobody will know you’re even missing.

Don’t get too comfortable. I want my life back.

He laughed. No, you won’t.

Why wouldn’t I?

Because you might be the billionaire, but I’m the playboy. I might be poor, but my life is never dull.

Are you saying mine is?

You work 100 hours a week. You tell me...

I’m not doing this because...

I know why you’re doing this. You’re tired of traveling around the globe for business meetings, never having five minutes to yourself, never getting a vacation or taking the time to smell the roses. You want to see what a normal life is like. I get it. He clapped his shoulder. And I want to see what it’s like to have the wind flow through my hair on a fancy superyacht drinking the most expensive bottle of Dom Pérignon. Now you said there’s an onboard collection of water toys that includes four small sailboats, two jet skis, and six sets of dive gear?

Please don’t mess up my life.

Your perfect life. No, I wouldn’t dream of it, dear brother.

Evan sighed as he contemplated. I can’t believe we’re trading lives.

Hey, sometimes a person wants to be someone else. I want to trade my rags in for riches. Even if it’s only for two weeks. And you know what brother? You’re going to love living my life. I’m a big, strong, handsome construction worker and the ladies line up at my door! Trust me. You’re going to have the time of your life! You’ll never want to go back. Jump into my life, and you’ll have all the time in the world to stop and smell the roses.

I hope nobody catches on.

C’mon. You might be a little more on the serious and uppity side, but all in all, just how different can we be?

Plenty! 

Chapter 1

CLAIRE MARTIN TUGGED her long brown hair into a ponytail in preparation. Okay, Emma, I’m ready. Lay it on me.

She cocked a brow. You have to pull your hair back to hear this?

Last time you told me a story like this I snorted Diet Coke from laughing so hard and it got in my hair. I don’t want to have to wash my hair tonight, she said with a grin.

Okay, so I went to the video gambling place the wife said he hangs out on Thursdays and in a few minutes, he showed up.

That is some classy shit, a dude who gambles on Thursday afternoons, I gotta say. I can see why she’s so anxious to prove he’s innocent...totally a keeper, Claire said sarcastically.

Right, well, I’m there in my daytime outfit—cutoff jeans and a tank top—and I’m flipping my hair and sort of whining that I can’t get my machine to work, and here he comes to rescue me. I’m not sure if it was the stink of Bud Light at eleven a.m. or the beer belly that goes with it that was supposed to be a turn on, but next thing I know, this loser is blowing on my neck. 

Blowing on your neck? Is that a thing now?

Not where I come from. If you want to have a chance with me, you’d have better luck sending over a tuna salad on wheat than buying me a drink, and you sure as hell don’t blow on my neck. If I want to be panted on, I’ll get a dog.

Is that some sexy come on move then?

It’s really the reason I don’t know what to put in my report, because sure, he tried to pick me up at the gaming place but I can’t imagine he’s very successful picking anyone up with those moves. Like, do I say, yeah, your husband is out cruising for chicks midday at a casino place, but I doubt he’s having much luck? He’s not exactly a hottie. And he sure doesn’t have the smooth moves either.

I don’t think telling her that her husband is repulsive will help us. We don’t want to piss off our clients. Remember, she’s married to the douchebag. Plus, aren’t all cheaters repulsive?

Pretty much. He offered to take me for a ride in his Camaro and said I could go to his house with him for a drink since his wife was at work.

Whoa, loud and proud, huh?

Yeah, no pretending to be separated or anything. Just straight up come on over and commit adultery with a gambling beer-bellied neck blower.

My, oh my! How could you possibly resist?

Oh, just barely. It took all my willpower. I totally wanted to tap that ass, Emma said, perfectly straight-faced.

Claire choked on her water and coughed. It’s a good thing you pulled your hair back. Although, I see you took the precaution of drinking water instead of Diet Coke this time.

Water doesn’t stain, and knowing the risk of a spit-take during one of your honey trap stories, I made the only decision I could. Diet Coke has to wait for a less riotous discussion.

Emma laughed. All discussions are riotous in this office. It’s why you made me your partner. Life was boring without me.

True, and there’s the added advantage of retiring my blonde wig.

Yeah, turns out that it isn’t gentlemen who prefer blonds. It’s douchebag husbands.

But no one would stay up late to watch a movie called Douchebags Prefer Blondes, Claire pointed out.

I would, but I’d be starring in it, too. So that’s just vain.

So we skip the movie business and stick to billing the client as soon as your report’s done.

Ugh. Do I have to add that he kept telling me over and over again how good I was going to taste and that every single one of my curves deserved to be worshipped?

She laughed. Yes. Hey, you get to tell the funny story but you have to write the cringeworthy report. It’s part of being an adult.

So is day drinking and I plan to start as soon as I’m done with this report. Do you ever just think men are the WORST? Emma moaned.

Yeah, pretty much every day.

Except Zac Efron. I love him.

The boy from High School Musical? You’re not over fourth grade yet.

He’s in the Baywatch movie, and it’s destined to be a classic in my DVD collection.

A classic. Oscar worthy. Destined for its spot on your shelf beside the Fifty Shades trilogy.

Hey, that man has incredible abs. And he’s so troubled. So brooding. I like my men broody. You know how much I love a troubled hero.

Well, go write your report and try to make Captain Neck Breather sound like a troubled hero then.

If I could do that, I’d make a fortune writing romance, and I wouldn’t be stuck flashing my cleavage in a tank top at noon in a gambling joint with a snack bar.

Did they have nachos?

No clue. I didn’t want to risk having him blow on those too. Ruin my cheese with all his germs, Emma shuddered and Claire left her to her work.

It was hard to trust men after all the cheating she caught on a daily basis. It was her job to trap the cheating spouse or clear his name. Even though it was her job, it still broke her heart to tell the wife the truth. Even when the signs were obvious, lipstick on his collar, perfume on his clothes, women still held out hope. She wanted to smack the lying, cheating husband right in the balls. Serves him right!

Before Emma came on board Claire had gone out on all the lures herself, often sporting an itchy, blond wig that made her sweat. But for some reason, long blond hair was like a dog whistle to philandering husbands, so she had worn it and written up the details of how some poor woman’s til-death-do-us-part had made a pass at her. The wives almost always knew the truth before they even hired her. The few that didn’t cry when they saw the video surveillance. The wives said they wanted proof but what they really wanted was someone to tell them that they were wrong and that everything was fine. That their beloved husbands were just taking tai chi in secret or studying glass blowing and that was why they never answered their phones, hid their text messages and weird charges on their credit cards. It had never once been secret glass blowing classes. In five years of this, Claire only found a few rare cases of innocent men.

There had been occasional women she caught cheating—about five or six a year at most because husbands were either less suspicious or less concerned than wives were about infidelity. She’d taken to videoing the proceedings on her hidden surveillance equipment disguised in her hat or clothes, while Emma preferred a detailed written account. Nothing, Claire thought, was better for driving away any inconvenient romantic attachments than seeing recorded footage of one’s husband kissing another woman. Sure, it was damning, but damning was the name of the game.

Martin’s Investigations had begun as a risky venture. She’d always loved reading mysteries, watching crime shows—prided herself on figuring out the culprit long before the end. So it made sense that she played around with acting the detective when she was in college. It turned out she was a lot better at figuring out what frat boys were up to than she was at passing her statistics class. But soon it didn’t matter because shiny-haired, West Coast girls were happy to hand her six hundred dollars cash to approach their boyfriends in a club and see if they took the bait. The refrain she heard was, I need to know if he loves me or just my daddy’s money. Sadly, the answer was always the same.

So Emma’s down to earth humor and practicality were exactly what Claire needed in her business to balance out her growing cynicism. Was it any wonder she expected most people to be liars with their own agenda when it was her job to prove as much on a daily basis? But Emma somehow kept that manageable, made it seem less looming and depressing. They made a good team, and Emma’s blonde bombshell status never failed to reel in the cheaters. She was beautiful and men flocked to her.

Are you ready for the latest? Emma messaged her.

I’m at my desk ten feet away, you can just yell, Claire said.

Fine. The Hampton guy emailed me to say that his wife had a sudden hair appointment at noon today, despite the fact she had her hair cut and colored two days ago.

Ah, emergency hairstyle? Sounds fishy. Where do we go?

We’re looking for a late model BMW, white, and it just stopped for gas near the Central Library according to their debit card.

I’ll go, Claire said. And I’m taking video.

Can’t you just be old fashioned and describe the snake tattoo she had put on as a tramp stamp? It’s so much juicier in story form.

Video isn’t subjective. The husband can’t argue with it, and he seems pretty upset about this whole thing.

Well, he’s tracking the debit card while he’s at work, so I’m guessing he’s a little obsessive about this. We’ll both go,