Her Starry Billionaire (Billionaires of Pleasure Valley #5)

Chapter 1

SUTTON

My stomach twisted itself into a sailor’s knot as I sat in the oversized conference room at North Star Ventures. Nothing good ever came from a four o’clock meeting on a Friday—especially one called by our elusive founder and CEO, Jameson McKnight, who usually didn’t materialize before ten-thirty.

Everyone knew what late-week meetings meant. Layoffs. Okay, maybe not everyone, but I’d read it somewhere. Companies loved “evaluating resources” at the end of the year, and lately, this company was struggling like a phone on one-percent battery.

If heads were about to roll, mine would be one of them. Last in, first out, right? I was the baby of the team, hired straight out of college mostly because I’d built a solid social media following.

Too bad my followers didn’t care about an app that used AI to plan your meals. They stuck around for my latte art and baking reels, not my thrilling life as a low-level peon at a tech firm in Pleasure Valley, Washington.

“Good morning, everyone,” Monique chirped, striding to the front of the room. “Thank you so much for coming out today. Mr. McKnight just needs a few minutes of your time, and then you can get back to work.”

The company vice president was wearing a Christmas sweater covered in fuzzy white pompoms the size of golf balls. Definitely not the outfit of a woman about to hand out pink slips…right?

Unless she didn’t know either. Which somehow made it worse.

I slumped lower in the cushioned chair, trying to become invisible while simultaneously calculating how many months of rent I had saved. Three, if I was lucky. Even less if Danika decided we needed to upgrade our internet package again.

The door opened, and every head in the room swiveled like we were watching a tennis match. Jameson McKnight walked in and the air pressure changed.

I’d seen him exactly four times since starting at North Star two months ago.

Once during my interview—where he’d asked me two questions, nodded, and disappeared.

Once in the hallway, when he was on his phone and didn’t even glance my way.

Once in the break room, where he’d microwaved something that smelled like expensive leftovers and walked out.

And once last week, when he’d actually stopped by my desk, looked at my screen for approximately three seconds, said “Good,” and walked away.

That “good” had sustained me for days.

He was tall—over six feet—with dark hair that looked like he’d been running his hands through it for hours, sharp cheekbones, and eyes so blue they seemed backlit.

He wore expensive jeans and a black henley that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget, and he moved with the kind of confidence that came from having sold a company for an obscene amount of money before he turned thirty.

Now, at thirty-five, he looked tired. Driven, yes. Intense, absolutely. But tired in a way that made me wonder when he’d last slept.

“I know it’s late in the day,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the room without him having to raise it. “I’ll keep this brief.”

My heart dropped into my knockoff designer boots.

“The Christmas campaign didn’t perform the way we hoped.”

Oh no.

I’d spearheaded that campaign. Well, “spearheaded” might be generous—I’d created all the content, managed the social media push, coordinated the influencer partnerships, and basically lived and breathed Stella for the past six weeks.

The idea had been to position our AI kitchen assistant as the ultimate holiday helper.

Meal planning for family gatherings, recipe scaling, dietary accommodations, and cost reduction.

It was a good campaign. A great campaign, even. But apparently, great wasn’t good enough.

“We need new ideas,” Jameson continued, leaning against the table at the front of the room. “We have two weeks left in the year. I want to hear what you’ve got.”

Monique jumped in first, because she always did. “What if we partnered with grocery stores? Like, in-store demonstrations?”

“Timeline’s too tight,” Jameson said. Not dismissive, just factual.

Lloyd from product development cleared his throat. “We could do a webinar series. ‘Cooking with Stella’ or something. Get some celebrity chefs involved.”

I barely suppressed an eye roll. Celebrity chefs? With what budget? And who was going to watch a webinar two days before Christmas?

“Maybe,” Jameson said, which was his polite way of saying absolutely not.

More suggestions flew around the table. A podcast sponsorship.

A social media challenge. A partnership with meal kit companies.

Each one more desperate than the last, and none of them addressing the real problem—we were marketing Stella like a tech product when we should have been marketing her like a friend.

“Sutton?”

My head snapped up so fast, I nearly gave myself whiplash. Jameson was looking directly at me, those blue eyes focused with an intensity that made my mouth go dry.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said. “What do you think?”

I glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at me now—some curious, some annoyed that the newest hire was getting called on.

“I think—” I cleared my throat. “I think we’re trying too hard to reach people where they’re not looking.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, people who want kitchen help during the holidays aren’t scrolling through tech blogs or watching webinars. They’re at home shows, gift expos, lifestyle events… Places where they’re already thinking about upgrading their lives.”

“Home shows,” Lloyd said flatly. “You want us to set up a booth next to the guys selling miracle mops?”

“Actually, yes.” I sat up straighter, warming to my idea even as my face heated.

“My friend Marianne called me yesterday. She runs vendor relations for the Home and Hearth Holiday Expo in Salt Lake City. One of their tech exhibitors dropped out last minute, and they have booth space available this weekend. Prime location, right near the cooking demonstration stage.”

The room went silent.

I pushed forward, even though my heart was hammering. “It’s one of the biggest home shows in the region. Thousands of attendees—and not just consumers. Retail buyers, lifestyle media, home goods distributors. The exact people who could get Stella into stores next year.”

“A home show,” Monique said slowly, like I’d suggested we sell Stella door-to-door.

“It’s not our typical venue,” someone else muttered.

Jameson hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. He was just watching me with that unnerving focus, and I couldn’t tell if he thought I was brilliant or completely out of my mind.

Then he straightened. “Everyone else, that’s all. Thanks for your time. Sutton, stay back for a minute.”

Oh, god. I was getting fired.

The room cleared with remarkable speed, people gathering laptops and coffee mugs and shooting me sympathetic looks—or maybe curious ones, wondering if I was about to cry.

Monique was the last to leave, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click.

And then it was just me and Jameson McKnight in a room that suddenly felt much smaller than it had sixty seconds ago.

He walked over to the window, hands in his pockets, staring out at the view of Pleasure Valley’s downtown.

From the tenth floor, you could see the lake in the distance, its banks lightly dusted with snow.

“Tell me more about this expo,” he said after a long silence.

“It’s this weekend. Tonight through Sunday.

They get about fifteen thousand attendees over the two days.

” I pulled up the website on my phone, grateful to have something to do with my hands.

“There’s a whole section dedicated to smart home tech and kitchen innovations.

We’d be in good company, but we’d stand out because Stella’s more intuitive than most of the competition. ”

“And you think we could actually pull this together on short notice?”

“The booth space is already set up—we’d just need to dress it and bring equipment.

Marianne told me they have display tables, power, internet, the works.

We’d need demo units, marketing materials, someone to run the booth…

” I trailed off, suddenly realizing what I was probably volunteering myself to do.

Jameson turned around, and there was something different in his expression. Something that looked almost like hope.

“Someone who knows how to talk to actual people,” he said. “Not tech investors. Not VCs. Just…people who cook dinner and want help with meal planning.”

“Right,” I said carefully.

“Someone who used to be an influencer and knows how to make technology feel approachable.”

My pulse kicked up. “I mean, that was a long time ago, and I don’t really—”

“Are you available this weekend?”

The question hung in the air between us.

I opened my mouth to say no. To say I couldn’t just drop everything and fly to Utah on such short notice. To say I didn’t have clothes for a trade show or experience running a booth or any business being the face of his company.

But then I thought about my résumé. About how “social media coordinator at a struggling startup” wasn’t exactly going to launch my career into the stratosphere. About how I’d been playing it safe ever since I’d stopped making my own content. How I’d been hiding instead of putting myself out there.

And I thought about the way Jameson was looking at me right now—not like I was the junior employee who made engaging social media reels, but like I might actually be able to save his company.

“I’m available,” I heard myself say.

Something flickered across his face. Relief, maybe. Or surprise that I’d said yes.

“Good.” He pulled out his phone, already typing. “I’ll have my assistant book everything. We leave tonight. Pack for two days. Business casual, but comfortable. You’ll be on your feet a lot.”

“Tonight?” My voice came out higher than intended.

“Problem?”

Yes. No. Maybe?

“No problem,” I said, standing up on legs that felt slightly unstable. “What time should I be at the airport?”

“I’ll send a car to pick you up at five. We’ll go straight to the airport from your place.” He glanced up from his phone, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw the hint of a smile. “Thank you, Sutton. I think this might actually work.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Sutton?”

I turned back.

“The Christmas campaign wasn’t bad,” he said. “The strategy was actually solid. We just didn’t have the right audience yet. You were marketing to people who were already looking for us. This way, we find the people who don’t know they need us.”

The compliment hit me square in the chest, warming me from the inside out.

“Thank you,” I managed.

I walked out of that conference room trying to look calm and professional, like I made last-minute business trips with billionaire CEOs all the time.

I made it to the elevator.

I made it down to the lobby.

I made it to my car in the parking garage.

And then I let out a squeal that probably scared every pigeon in a three-block radius.

I was going to Utah. With Jameson McKnight. To save his company. I had minutes to pack, mentally prepare, and figure out how to be the kind of person who deserved to be on this trip.

No pressure.

I pulled out my phone and texted my roommate Gabriella. Emergency. Need your help packing. Also, I think I’m going on a business trip with my boss, and I’m trying very hard not to overthink what this means.

Her response came back immediately. OMG. Get home now. I need details.

I grinned, put the car in gear, and headed home. Along the way, I tried to ignore the butterflies doing loop-de-loops in my stomach and the voice in my head reminding me that this was business, just business, and I absolutely could not develop a crush on my emotionally unavailable billionaire boss.

Absolutely not. Even if he did have really nice forearms.

Focus, Sutton.

I had two hours to pack.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the chance I’d been waiting for to prove I was more than just pretty pictures on a screen.