The Triplet Scandal (Book Two): The Triplet Scandal, #2

By Layla Valentine

I thought it would be so simple,
Marry the boss I hate, and watch my money problems melt away,
But now I've got one big billionaire problem,
And three tiny triplets on the way!

HER:

I made a deal with the devil.
Half a million to fake-marry my jerk of a boss?
Sure, what's the worst that could happen?
I only realized my mistake when he walked into my life,
Leon Knight, the gorgeous billionaire who happens to be my fiancé's biggest rival.
For one night only, I followed my heart…
And make the biggest mistake of my life.
Six weeks later and the wedding's going ahead,
And I'm pregnant with three of his sworn enemy's babies!

HIM:

This is no fairy tale, but she looks like a princess to me,
A damsel in distress, betrothed to a beast.
What's a gorgeous, smart woman like Grace doing with a guy like Sebastian?
She doesn't strike me as the gold-digger type,
And she certainly doesn't look at him the way she's looking at me…
I'm thinking it's time we both got one over on him,
And I think I just worked out how…

This is the second book in the Triplet Scandal series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Layla Valentine
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201541811

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

GRACE

My brief flash of confidence vanishes by the time we reach the surface. In the relative privacy of the subway, my conversation with Leon seemed insignificant. But now, under the setting New York sun, I have to wonder if I’m not being reckless.

Sebastian and I haven’t spoken since I ran from his limo, so I don’t know where we stand in terms of engagement and marriage. Could being spotted with Leon damage any chances of us reconciling and moving forward as business partners? And do I care?

I don’t have any answers, and every step I take next to Leon down the sidewalk, dodging people on their evening commute, seems to only create more questions.

Second thoughts?

Leon’s voice pulls me from my thought spiral, and I look up to see him eyeing me, a knowing smile on his lips. In total, I’ve known Leon for ninety minutes maximum, and yet he acts as though he can read me like a book. And annoyingly, he actually can. I’m having serious second thoughts. Third and fourth thoughts, even.

No. I pucker my lips and shake my head as though the idea is ridiculous. I’m fine.

Leon claps his hands in front of him. Great. Because there is an amazing Italian place close to my apartment, and you haven’t lived until you’ve had their ravioli.

You’re taking me for ravioli? Near your apartment?

I keep the other thought to myself, not wanting to read too much into the location. I got off the train at his stop, so of course we are close to his apartment. It doesn’t mean anything.

Do you oppose? he asks, eyebrows raised like the entire date is off if I don’t like ravioli.

I never oppose carbs.

Then why the tone of surprise? he asks, pressing a hand on my lower back as he directs me around a corner and towards a narrow one-way street.

I thought maybe you’d take me for sushi or lobster or—

Is that what you want to eat?

I shake my head. I hate sushi.

He groans. You’re a mystery, Grace. I don’t understand you at all.

Each time he says my name, something inside of me shivers. Like a finger curling down my spine or a soft breeze on the back of my neck. It is a delicate kind of discomfort that makes me smile. I shake my head to dispel the tingles my name on his lips brings and shrug.

Rich people like things like that.

You mean rich people like Sebastian?

He walks with a comfortable stride, and I can tell he is slowing down to keep pace with me in my heels. I usually trade my heels for sneakers on the train for the walk home, but I wasn’t about to wear my beat-up white tennis shoes to dinner with Leon.

I guess so, I admit.

My experience with the fabulously wealthy didn’t extend too far beyond Sebastian and his circle of close friends, and they loved price tags more than anything. If it was exclusive, rare, or expensive, it must be worth having.

He looks over at me, actual concern on his face. And I remind you of Sebastian?

Our eyes meet for a second, and I realize just how surreal this all is. I’m walking down the street next to Leon Knight, a man I didn’t know a week ago, but who has now broken up my fake engagement and become the star of all of my daydreams. Once again, I have to wonder, how on earth did I get here?

Not especially, I say, looking straight ahead.

He nods like this is good news. Then don’t be surprised when I don’t act like him.

Before I can agree, he stops short and gestures at a small shop front like he is a model selling a car on a daytime television show.

The restaurant is on a street corner in a red brick building beneath apartments. I wouldn’t have even known it was a restaurant except for the tiny chef cutout holding an open sign sitting by the front door. The street is deserted, and I peek through the large picture window and see nothing but empty tables.

It looks closed.

Leon points to the tiny chef sign I’ve already seen. It’s open.

"It doesn’t look open," I say.

He walks up to the door and holds it open, gesturing me inside. This restaurant is authentic Italian food, so it draws Italian clientele, and they don’t eat until after seven, at least.

I step inside, and the smell of olive oil and basil hits me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly I’m starving. The floors are original hardwood with plenty of wear and deep grooves in the high-traffic areas, and each table is covered with a plain white tablecloth. A waiter in all black steps from the back room holding a lighter. When he sees us, he smiles and starts walking towards us, stopping only to light a single candle at a table for two in front of a large picture window.

Two today? he asks.

Leon nods and once again presses a hand to my lower back. I never realized what a sensitive area of the body the lower back was before today. He leads me to the table, pulling out my chair for me.

Want to start with the usual or chef’s special? the waiter asks Leon.

Two of the usual, Leon says, gathering the menus and handing them back to him.

The waiter clicks his tongue. Chef won’t like that. He wants your opinion on his new dish.

Tell Marco I’ve done the chef special the last two weeks. This week, my lady and I want his ravioli. Leon winks at me as he says my lady, and I ignore the thrill that pulses through me.

When the waiter finally walks away, mumbling under his breath about killing the messenger, I turn to Leon.

Do you come here often? I ask.

He beams, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Are you hitting on me?

It takes me a second to understand, but then I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of me. That is so not what I meant. You just seem to really know that waiter.

I’m single, and I don’t care to cook, he says as way of explanation. And like I said, this place is close to my apartment.

I wonder how close because the street we walked down to get to the restaurant looked similar to Myla’s neighborhood—fine, but not great. Not anywhere I’d expect to find the CEO of a big bank living.

If I ate Italian food every day, I’d have to live at the gym, I say.

Well it sounds like you and Sebastian are dining on lobster and various kinds of seafood regularly, he says, unrolling his silverware and laying the napkin