Fixer for the Billionaire: A Spicy Billionaire Romantic Comedy (Seattle's Anderson Family)

Chapter 1

CARMINA

”Oh, god. You”re pregnant, aren”t you? That”s why you dragged me here!”

My best friend”s hazel eyes go wide. ”What made you think that?”

”Because—” I lower my voice, eyeing the other patrons. ”You invite me to a fancy lunch, you”ve been MIA for weeks, avoiding booze, and you”re glowing.” I pause. ”Damn, I”m gonna be an aunt. I think I”m ready...I”ve been around babies. Well, when I was one, but that counts, right?”

I can”t seem to stop talking.

But hey, when your life”s a rollercoaster, you learn to roll with the punches.

I”m braced for whatever Jenny”s news might be.

Her glow could be the fancy lighting in ”Le Chic”—the kind of snooty place where mispronouncing ”Le” gets you side-eye but dropping $300 on wine doesn”t raise an eyebrow. Yet, I know my best friend Jennifer Forde, CIO of our billion-dollar publishing giant, is bursting with a secret.

I recognize that look.

”Oh, come on. You know me.” Her smile”s all warm, her caramel-brown cheeks rosy from the slight Seattle spring breeze. Her ginger curls shimmer as she leans in. ”What if I just wanted to catch up?”

”I”d believe you if you weren”t trying so hard.” My mock-serious look breaks into a grin. ”You”re newly engaged. I assumed you”d be...occupied.”

”Speaking in euphemisms now?” She leans back, light glinting off her engagement diamond. ”Come on, we”re thirty—grown-ups. It”s okay to say ”sex.””

I press my hands to my blouse. ”That”s off my radar lately.”

”You mean to tell me Carmina Sanchez—the PR queen of Hare Holeton—hasn”t dated since…?”

”Since that mess with Alex, yes. And save the shock for your wedding guests.”

”All work and no play...”

”Cut it. I like ”play.” Just haven”t found the right guy. Plus, we”re launching ”Love in Seattle.” It needs to be a hit, or I”m toast.”

”Perfect time for a distraction.” Jennifer scrolls through her phone. ”I”ll find you a date.”

”I don”t do blind dates.”

”He”s not a total stranger. A friend of a friend. And cute.”

”What”s ”cute” to you?”

”Think tall, dark, handsome, and slightly geeky.”

”Can he handle a workaholic PR Director responsible for raising her tween sisters?”

Jen winces. ”Maybe ”cute” was generous.”

”Thought so.” I wave off the negativity. ”So, what”s the big secret?”

”Fine, but don”t freak out.” She breathes in deep, just as the waiter sets down a carafe of water. ”I want you to be my maid of honor.”

My jaw drops. Me, the serial plant killer, her maid of honor?

I recover and squeal, drawing a few looks. ”Of course, I”ll say yes!” I grab her hands. ”I”m so happy for you, Jen. And just so you know, I”m already planning an epic bachelorette party.”

Jenny”s smile widens. ”I have no doubt about that. But first...” Her gaze drops to a rogue piece of spaghetti on my blouse, like an unwanted brooch. ”...maybe we should order food before diving into details. I mean, boob-spaghetti isn”t exactly a meal.”

I stick my tongue out at her, grabbing a napkin to wipe off the offending noodle. ”Blame it on the kids. Yesterday was spaghetti bolognese night, and they wanted it for breakfast too. I thought it”d be less messy indoors. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Jenny laughs, shaking her head. ”You”re the best big sister ever.” She pauses, then adds, ”And you”ll be an amazing maid of honor.”

Her words hit me with a mix of joy, excitement, and a twinge of fear.

Being a maid of honor is a big deal, and I”m determined to get it right. More than anything, I want to support my best friend in every possible way.

We order appetizers and champagne, then start planning her spur-of-the-moment wedding.

As Jenny and I dive into planning mode, my mind races through potential bridal party members faster than a squirrel on energy drinks. Jenny”s family is a given—her mom and sister will be bridesmaids, sparkling in whatever delightful or disastrous dresses Jenny chose. Then there are the Forde cousins, a lively bunch that would add a dash of unpredictability to the mix.

But the Seattle borne-and bred Anderson side of the family—that”s where Hollywood meets high society.

You”ve got the Anderson billionaires, co-founders of the wildly successful Hare Holeton. Leading the pack is Alton Anderson, the eldest at a dignified thirty-five, exuding the air of an old English lord who mistakenly ended up in the 21st century. Then comes Derek, the cool, collected one, with a gaze that could either thaw your heart or freeze it solid.

And of course, the twins, Quentin and Ryder, both thirty and like two sides of the same coin. Quentin, with his sun-kissed blond hair. Ryder, with his dark tresses.

Lastly, there”s their Chief Operating Officer cousin, Killian. Slightly older than the twins, he brings an extra dollop of charm to the mix. The man could out-smirk a cat and still look like your next-door knight in shining armor.

Imagining them all suited up for the wedding, my champagne-fueled ideas take on a life of their own.

My thoughts wander over to Quentin—the Anderson I know best. Or, rather, worst.

Of course, I push that aside.

No time to dwell on past mistakes, especially not when my best friend”s happiness is at stake.

On our second glass of the bubbly, I take a deep breath and smile. ”It”s an honor, Jen. And don”t worry, I won”t embarrass you too much.” We laugh and clink glasses. ”You made this lunch sound like a major announcement was coming.”

Jenny smirks. ”Some aspects of this wedding are quite major. Have you seen this ring?”

”Okay, you got me there.”

”But it”s not just you I wanted to chat with,” she continues, her tone turning serious. She takes a sip of her champagne. ”I, uh, invited someone else today. Hope that”s okay.”

My curiosity piques. ”Who?”

As she twirls her glass, a shadow looms over our table. I turn to see him.

Her fiancé. Ryder Anderson. One of the Anderson men behind Hare Holeton, and its CTO.

I place a hand over my heart, feigning shock. ”Oh, I didn’t realize we were inviting grooms to this girls-only party.” I smile at Ryder. ”Guess one boy”s allowed.”

Jenny looks up. ”Um, Car, he”s not here alone.”

My eyes widen as another figure appears. Ryder”s twin. Quentin Anderson. The greener-eyed, blonder version and the CMO at Hare Holeton.

And the bane of my existence.

I scoff, reaching for my champagne. ”Well, there goes my appetite.”

Quentin grins. ”Hey, Sanchez.”

Suddenly, this isn”t a casual catch-up. It”s an ambush.

”Hello,” I glance at Quentin”s brother, ”...Ryder. Did I miss something?”

Jenny sighs, turning to her fiancé. ”We thought it”d be good to have you two clear the air before the wedding.”

I raise an eyebrow. ””You two”?”

Ryder, taking a seat, gestures for Quentin to do the same. ”There”s some tension we thought should be addressed.”

Quentin stays standing, the restaurant”s buzz growing louder around us.

Ryder leans back. ”So, let”s talk.”

I straighten up.

This lunch was turning out far different than expected. Yet, nothing with Quentin ever went as planned.

With a smirk, I begin, ”First off, your timing sucks.” I arch an eyebrow. ”Quentin, last time we ”cleared the air,” you commandeered the office coffee machine for a week because I mistakenly called your date—what was her name? Ah, yes, Delilah—the copier repair girl. My bad for not recognizing the love of your Wednesday afternoon.”

Quentin”s mouth twitches. ”Classic ”Sanchez” move, forgetting Delilah”s name. For your information, we had a deep, meaningful connection during her copier fix visits.”

”Deep and meaningful, right. Guess I missed the memo on office romance.”

Quentin finally sits. ”Seems like you were jealous. Still are. Delilah did bring me coffee every morning.”

I snort. ”Jealous? Please, Quentin. The only thing I envied was Delilah”s ability not to hurl around you. Kudos to her.”

Ryder chuckles. ”Looks like we”re off to a great start.” He scans us both. ”Ready to dive into the main issue? Or should I get you two boxing gloves?”

I flash a grin, catching the flash of annoyance on Quentin”s face. ”Nope, I”m all set. Let”s talk business.” I glance at Jen. ”So, what”s with the cloak-and-dagger lunch invite? Please don”t say we”re debating the fate of the broken copier again, or worse, planning another office party with DJ Quentin. If that”s the case, I need to book my ear-nose-and-throat doctor, like, yesterday.”

”Actually,” Quentin says, his tone as dry as sandpaper, ”surprise ruined, but the gist is, we”ve got to play nice till the wedding in two months.”

I raise an eyebrow. ”Play nice? Us sitting here without going for each other”s throats seemed like a miracle already.”

Quentin”s laugh, deep and booming, cuts through the lunchtime noise. ”Not quite. The bride and groom want us on better terms.” He gestures to me. ”Given you”re the Maid of Honor,” then points to himself, ”...and I”m the Best Man.” His eyes flick to Jen. ”I think you get the picture.”

My jaw hits the floor.

Of all the Anderson men at Hare Holeton, I”m stuck with my least favorite as the best man at my best friend”s wedding.

I blink. ”This is a joke, right?”

”It”s not,” Jen says, her smile sympathetic. ”Ryder and I picked who we trust most for our big day. And that includes both of you.”

Ryder rubs his neck, laughing awkwardly. ”Look, if you”re planning to turn the aisle into ”The Hunger Games,” we might need to rethink this—no offense. We didn”t even want a big wedding, but then Jen”s mom stepped in...” He clears his throat. ”We”re hoping for a ”coming together” vibe, not a ”last one standing.” Let”s skip any duels during the bouquet toss, okay?” His grin carries a trace of genuine worry. ”I hope you two can bury the hatchet—and not in each other.”

Jen looks from Quentin to me, expectant. ”Think you can handle that?”

Oh boy.

As much as I want to roll my eyes and crack a sarcastic remark, I know Jen”s right.

What kind of pre-wedding chaos would ensue if Quentin and I can”t stand each other for two months? And what kind of Maid of Honor would I be if I couldn”t get over my issues with the groom”s brother for my best friend”s sake?

After a moment, I sigh, conceding. ”Fine. I”ll keep my snarky comments about his music taste to myself.”

”I”ll try not to take offense at her lack of appreciation for real talent,” Quentin shoots back with a smirk.

Jen claps her hands, her eyes sparkling. ”That”s a start. Now, about that bottle of champagne on the table. Ryder and I have cleared both your schedules for the day.”

I gasp. ”Jen, seriously? You can”t just?—”

She stands up. ”Not another word. We”re celebrating our engagement, and you two are joining in, like it or not. Finish that bottle. Ryder and I will handle things at the office.” She grabs her fiancé”s hand, leading him out. ”Enjoy!”

As the door shuts behind them, Quentin turns to me, his smirk more mischievous. ”Looks like we”re stuck together.” He winks as I order something stronger.

”Believe me, Quentin: there”s nowhere I”d rather not be.”

I sip my drink, trying to ignore the thrill from his teasing.

Quentin”s gaze drops to my blouse, his grin widening. ”Looks like you brought a plus-one. Got a little hitchhiker in your cleavage.”

Glancing down, I spot it: remnants of this morning”s spaghetti.

I groan, attempting to remove it discreetly, but Quentin”s amused look makes it impossible.

He hands me his napkin, leaning in. ”Interesting choice for food storage, Sanchez.”

Great. Just great.

One down, eight weeks to go.

I reach for the champagne.

So much for the bright side of today.