MILES (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Two)

  MILES

  (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Two)

  Paige North

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Contents

  NOTE

  Want To Be In The Know?

  MILES (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Two) By Paige North

  1. Jordyn

  2. Miles

  3. Jordyn

  4. Miles

  5. Jordyn

  6. Miles

  7. Jordyn

  8. Miles

  9. Jordyn

  10. Miles

  11. Jordyn

  12. Miles

  13. Jordyn

  14. Miles

  15. Jordyn

  16. Miles

  17. Jordyn

  18. Miles

  19. Jordyn

  20. Miles

  21. Jordyn

  22. Miles

  23. Jordyn

  Bonus Content: Boss Me by Eva Grayson

  Boss Me Good (Boss Me, Book One)

  1. Emme

  2. Dane

  3. Emme

  4. Dane

  5. Emme

  6. Emme

  7. Dane

  Boss Me Hard (Boss Me, Book Two)

  8. Emme

  9. Dane

  10. Emme

  11. Emme

  12. Dane

  13. Emme

  14. Dane

  Boss Me Forever (Boss Me, Book Three)

  15. Emme

  16. Dane

  17. Emme

  18. Emme

  19. Dane

  20. Dane

  21. Emme

  NOTE

  This edition of Jackson (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One) contains the following bonus content: Boss Me by Eva Grayson.

  Want To Be In The Know?

  If you want to know when the next Croft Brothers book is released, and get alerted to more of the hottest deals in romance—sign up now to the Favor Ford Romance newsletter!

  MILES (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Two) By Paige North

  Jordyn

  Not only do I spill coffee on my cream-colored top—but my bagel with cream cheese falls to the subway floor as I transfer trains at West Fourth/Washington Square Park.

  A bad start to the day for sure, but I’m trying not to be overly superstitious.

  I stand looking at the splattered everything bagel with walnut cream cheese and think about all the other things I could have done with those four dollars.

  When you’re as broke as I am, four dollars can feel like a lot of money.

  I arrive at my job dreading the day to come, but reminding myself it could always be worse.

  I drop my bag at the desk then head for the bathroom to clean myself up. Not only did the coffee splatter my shirt, but a little of the cream cheese hit my pants as it crashed down on the subway platform.

  Today could not get any worse.

  In the bathroom I find Stella Weber crying over the sink.

  “Hey,” I say, standing next to her. “You okay? What happened?”

  She sniffs in a big gulp, her face splotchy and wet. “I’ve been here for thirty years,” she says. “And with no warning they’re showing me the door. Showing all of us the door. You know what they gave me? Six weeks severance. That’s it. Does that man really think I can find another job in six weeks? At my age?”

  “Stella, you got laid off?” I ask, my heart breaking for poor Stella. “Why?”

  She just shrugs. “He told me my job had been made redundant. Have you seen him yet?”

  I shake my head. I don’t even know who he is.

  “I just got here,” I say, and now my heart is breaking for me. I can’t get fired. I have no backup plan and certainly no savings. How will I pay rent?

  “We’re all getting laid off. Everyone except a few in top management.” Stella sniffles and sighs deeply. “You’d better prepare yourself for the bad news, hon.”

  As I leave the bathroom, Leah from payroll is walking by. Her voice is crisp and efficient. “Jordyn, they’re looking for you. Conference room B.”

  I nod and tell her I’ll head over to the conference room, but Leah just keeps walking. By the time the words are coming out of my mouth, she’s already rounding the corner and out of sight.

  I can still hear Stella’s muffled sobs floating out from the bathroom.

  Shit. This is bad.

  I can’t afford to lose this job right now, even if I do hate it most of the time.

  I’ve been sending out clips and emails and feelers for months, hoping to get something more interesting. I’ve had no bites, but I always consoled myself with the notion that I could keep treading water here until something better came along.

  But now I’m in danger of drowning altogether.

  I walk on shaky legs toward the conference room. The door is closed and the blinds are shut so I can’t see in. Just before I open the door, Derek in purchasing comes out, his face set and his ears red. That’s how he gets when he’s really angry but holding it in. I’ve seen that look when a client gives him hell that he can’t give back unless he wanted to be fired. Now, he could have snapped back, just once. Now, it doesn’t matter.

  “Who is that?” I hear a man’s voice from inside the conference room.

  I stick my head inside the doorway. “Jordyn Thompson? The receptionist?” I’m not sure why I’m speaking in question marks, but I am freaking nervous.

  “Come in, Jordyn,” the man says. “Sit down.”

  I move into the room, which is inexplicably dark. When I get closer, I have a view of the man who is about to fire me. It’s like my rapid heart skips a beat or ten. I know this guy.

  I don’t know him, but I know of him. He’s one of the Croft boys, and is the one who runs the New York City branch of the multi-billion-dollar empire of Croft International.

  All I’ve heard and read about him is that he’s cold, calculating, egotistical and brazen. He also happens to be hot as hell.

  His dark hair has the slightest of curls, looking like he really works the product in each morning in an effort to tame it. From the steely look in his gray-green eyes, he seems like a man who is used to taming things—not the least his employees. He wears a dark suit that fits him so perfectly that it has to be custom made.

  It’s like it was designed to show off the hard muscles beneath the soft fabric.

  I sit down in the chair near him. My stomach is twisted and I might even be sweating a little.

  “I’m Miles Croft,” he announces.

  “Yes, I know,” I mumble.

  Miles runs his thumb across his bottom lip as he assesses me with those eyes. Is there a glimmer in them as glances down at the papers before him?

  “As you may have heard,” Miles begins, his voice rich and smooth—assured—“Croft International has bought this company and we’re doing some rearranging. Righting some redundancies. Unfortunately, that means you’re no longer needed. Today will be your last day.” With a shove, a few pieces of paper slide toward me. “Since you’ve only been here a couple of months, you won’t be entitled to severance. That’ll be all, Ms. Thomas. You can go see James in HR.”

  With that he turns his eyes away from me and looks at what I can only guess is the next victim on his list of people whose lives he will destroy today.

  When I got hired, the first and maybe only emotion I felt was relief. I hoped I wouldn’t stay here long—not because I foresaw getting canned, but I hoped I’d find something more in line with what I want to do with my life.

  I was so relieved to have landed a job in the city that paid me steadily. It’s been barely enough for me to pay
rent, utilities, my astronomical student loan bill and my monthly subway card. The rest I carefully use to buy groceries, which normally consists of ramen noodles and the occasional fruit.

  Now that little bit that I had is all gone.

  Just like that. No warning. No severance. Nothing. Now what?

  I move to my parent’s place in New Jersey? One thing I do know about making it in journalism and that’s that I have to be here, in Manhattan, to make connections. I can’t do that from the Jersey suburbs.

  I picture all the hard work I did in college, acquiring the debt of tens of thousands of dollars from loans because I couldn’t bear to bother my parents with financial woes, especially since they’re always dealing with the strain of my brother, Eric and his problems. And now…

  I’m not one to feel sorry for myself but I just can’t help it. Without realizing it, I am sobbing just like the Stella in the bathroom. Except I’m doing it here at the table, in front of the devil who fired me.

  “What am I suppose to do now?” I say, more to myself than this guy, who just ripped off the flimsy tape that was holding my life together. “I’m so…fucked. And it’s Thompson, you asshole,” I add, looking at him through water-filled eyes. “My last name is Thompson.”

  He has the decency to look…well…not concerned exactly. Maybe put-off?

  God forbid I wreck his carefully crafted schedule of canning people. He’s probably annoyed that he’s now got a young woman sobbing and cursing at him. I bet big man Miles doesn’t have to worry about peons like me disrespecting him. From the looks of him, he probably has a perfectly put-together new woman every night to satisfy his needs, too.

  Good-looking asshole.

  He glances down at the paper and says, “Thompson. Right.” He’s stiff now, his jaw, razor sharp and defined, clenches as he avoids looking at me. Now, though, it seems less out of disinterest and more out of being uncomfortable with dealing with someone like me.

  “I worked my ass off,” I say, thinking of college. “And for what? To end up here? As a fired receptionist? Not to mention how awesome this will look on my resume, only having the job for two months.” I sniff, and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.

  “Tissue?” Miles asks. He pokes a box toward me, but keeps his distance, as if I’m contagious.

  I snatch two out of the box. “New Jersey!” I say suddenly. “I'm not going to be able to afford my spot in my tiny apartment, in which, by the way, I don’t even have a proper room. I live in the corner of the living room. And now I’m going to have to move out of that hovel and back to New Jersey. With my parents! Do you even know what that’s like? No, of course not.” I wave my hand at him. “You probably grew up in a mansion with an entire wing to yourself. It must be nice to never have to worry about money.” I look at him, his eyes now focused on me as sniffle and croak out my words, my thoughts racing out of my mouth faster than I can even think. “You don’t even know what it’s like. I dropped my bagel this morning. For you that’d be like, I don’t know, dropping a Rolex down the gutter. I even splurged for walnut cream cheese. Now look at me. Bagel-less. Jobless. Totally fucked, excuse my language.”

  “Listen, Ms. Thompson, I’m sure you’re very smart and talented…”

  “Did I mention the one thing I do have?” I almost laugh because it’s so absurd. “A big fat giant” I hold my hands out wide for emphasis, “student loan bill. Yep, I got that. Plus a brother who is going to drive my parents to an early death—that is, if he doesn’t get himself killed first. We’ve all got our fingers crossed that he makes it to thirty but, you know, they say heroin isn’t great for you so it’s hard to stay optimistic.”

  Miles doesn’t say anything, and who can blame him. I’m a ranting lunatic. I’m sure all he wanted to do was serve me with my papers and send me to James in HR so he can move along with whatever his plans are for the company. Probably to destroy it piece by piece.

  I stand up. “I get it. You have to reorganize. Or whatever you want to call it. But you could have given people a little notice. Some heads-up so we could at least start looking for another job. And I know I’m young and everyone says I’ll find something else fast but it’s not that easy, okay? I have no savings, no backup. So just think about that the next time you show up to ruin a bunch of people’s lives.”

  I can’t believe I’m even talking like this. For a brief moment I think, I can’t wait to go home and tell Camilla and Jenny how I told this guy off. Then I realize I have to face my roommates and tell them there’s a pretty grand possibility that I won’t make rent this month.

  Did I mention how screwed I am?

  I just have to get out of this room. I start to open the door when Miles Croft says, “Jordyn, wait a moment.”

  I turn back to him. It seems that he’s gotten over the annoyance of my break down. He holds his hand out toward the chair I just abandoned.

  “Come back,” he says. “Sit.”

  Can you get fired twice? That’s what I'm wondering when I go back, closer to Miles Croft, and sit down.

  Miles

  Truth be told, I had been in a pretty good this morning, even though firing a bunch of people was on the agenda.

  Very recently, I found out that my older brother, Jackson, is not the heir to the Croft International fortune after all. My younger brother Rex and I had always presumed that as the eldest, Jackson would take over as CEO and president of the company my father built.

  The old man died (few tears were shed, and none by me or my rotten brothers), and when his will was read, he’d thrown in one last curveball: the first brother to prove himself to be a good family man—emphasis on the family part—will take over as head of the company.

  In order to be a family man, according to the will, I need to find a wife—and fast.

  My father raised me and my brothers to be fiercely competitive with one another, and we all thought that once he died that game of his would be over. Having him give us one last challenge—in death, no less—feels like something we should have seen coming all along. In a big way, I’m glad of this. Not only does it give me a shot at the top spot of the entire corporation, it also gives me a task in which to beat my brothers. One last challenge from Father, and the biggest one yet.

  Edward Croft was one sick bastard.

  Now I am now on equal footing with my brothers, and for the prize that matters most: the whole fucking business.

  So when I came in this morning to this packing and shipping company—worth about twenty million and which Croft International now owns—and started letting people go, that’s what was on my mind.

  I had a chance at something I never thought I could have—total control of the company I live for, that I was raised for.

  Then she walked in.

  This Jordyn Thompson walked into my office and turned my firing of her upside down. I’ve fired a lot of people in my time—laid off, let go, dismissed. I’ve done it all.

  But this girl with her flowing blond hair and those eyes that seem so pure, so uncontrived, so naïve to my world…this girl went on a verbal rampage that somehow got my attention away from my own problems for a change.

  Suddenly, even though I’m firing her, I wish I wasn’t. I’m curious—more than curious about her. I’m noticing her curves, the suppleness of her skin, the way her lips sometimes twitch into a smile, even when she’s upset.

  So I ask Jordyn to stay. I want to know just a little more, and I know this means trouble, because somehow I’m already a little bit hooked on her.

  Jordyn sits down and eyes me with suspicion.

  “Tell me about yourself,” I say, trying to soften my usual boardroom tone. The poor girl is freaked out even more, I’m sure, now that I’ve asked her to sit back down.

  “Hello, I'm Jordyn Thompson,” she says. “I’m a fired receptionist.”

  I almost smile. She’s cute, the way she sits there all balled up like she’s ready to pounce. Even through those baggy black pants—which look like they
could use a good dry cleaning, now that I’m seeing a stain at the cuff—I can just tell that this girl has killer legs. I wonder what her real smile looks like. I wonder, suddenly, if she’ll ever let me see it.

  “You said you just graduated? What was your major?”

  “Journalism,” she says, sniffing. She uses the tissue I gave her and blows her nose. A big, loud, honking blow like she couldn’t care less—which, all things considered, she probably couldn’t.

  “And did you mention family in New Jersey?”

  “Yeah,” she says.

  “Are they supportive of you?”

  “Emotionally supportive, yeah. Financially, no. They’d like to help more but they…have a lot on their plates.”

  “Do you have anyone else in your life to help support you?” I ask. “Friends, a boyfriend?”

  She takes a deep breath. “I have friends. And two roommates who are going to be thrilled to know that I have no idea how I’m going to come up with this month’s rent.”

  “No boyfriend to help you out?” I ask.

  She eyes me carefully. “No. Anyway, why would you ask me that? Why do you even care about any of this? You just fired me.”

  Even as her eyes well up with fresh tears, her face is defiant. Beautiful, but defiant. She’s got the sort of smooth, rounded cheeks that look like they’d fit perfectly in my cupped hands. It’s so strange to me to see someone being so emotional.

  I get that she believes she’s in some terrible situation, losing her job, but the way she broke down and spilled all the details of her life—from sleeping in the corner of the living room to a brief mention of a brother—melts my heart in some way.

  And I am not exactly known for having a bleeding heart.

  Some even accuse me of not having one at all—and generally I’ve thought them to be more right than wrong on the matter.

  Jordyn’s clearly got a fighting spirit, but that doesn’t mean she can’t use a lifeline. I’ve never felt the need to help anyone but myself—I can admit that I’m selfish—but something about this girl’s honesty makes me feel differently.