Free The TROUBLE with BILLIONAIRES: Book 3 by Kristina Blake

can’t resign,” I said. “What would you do?”
    Rawn shook his head, dragging his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t know. But I can’t hang Cepheus and my father out to dry to save my own ass.”
    “You have until Friday,” Conrad said. “Give me that long to see if I can come up with something.”
    That, I knew, was why Rawn had come here. He trusted Conrad despite the fact that he once thought he might have been connected to my kidnappers. When it came to PR, to spinning a bad situation into a good one, Conrad was the best. And, right now, he was Rawn’s last and best hope.
    “Thursday night. After that…”
    ***
    Annie
    The plane landed as the sun set. Logan gestured for me to lead the way down the steps to where another black SUV was waiting for us. I expected this car to take us to a five star hotel; I was actually looking forward to enjoying room service on Rawn’s dime, but it ascended the hills of Mulholland Drive, taking us deep into the secluded areas of the stars’ homes.
    “What is this?” I asked as we paused outside the wrought iron gate of one particular house.
    “My place.”
    I glanced at Logan before turning back to the windows, straining to see everything I could about his home. I’d heard he had an expensive apartment in New York where he’d spent a great deal of time while making the space movie that had elevated his career spectacularly a year ago. But I didn’t know he had a house in LA.
    It was nothing like what I might have imagined. It was designed like an old English manor, with a stone exterior and box-like shape. It was at least two stories, maybe three, with a marble porch that spread out toward the driveway like the train of a wedding dress. The double doors were made of wood and iron like the gate of a medieval castle. I could almost imagine Mr. Carson’s double appearing at those doors, a cloth draped over his arm and a silver tray in the other hand.
    It was…impressive.
    And that was only the outside.
    Logan led the way inside like he was walking into a studio apartment, gesturing toward one corner of the marble and glass entry way in a casual indication of where the driver should drop our bags. He grabbed a stack of mail waiting on a low table and wandered into the bowels of the house. I hesitated to follow, feeling like I should kick off my shoes or hide the ratty exterior of my old suitcase. But follow I did, walking into an old-fashioned solarium with so many windows I could only imagine how bright this room would be during the day. Now, with the sun quickly disappearing along the horizon, it was filled with a purplish, pink color that turned the white furniture into something like a preteen girl’s dreams.
    “Wow.”
    Logan looked up. “You like it?”
    “It’s impressive.”
    “It’s oppressive. I rent it from this actress who has very odd tastes. One of the rooms upstairs has a jungle theme, complete with a hidden sound system that plays monkey noises at odd times.”
    I wanted to laugh. But I also kind of wanted to see it.
    “You rent it?”
    “I needed a place to stay, and she’s been in Paris for more than a year, but she didn’t want to let the house to go.”
    “Works out.”
    “Yeah. And it’s got an awesome kitchen. If you give me a minute to deal with some of this,” he said, waving the stack of papers and mail he had in his hand, “I’ll make you some dinner.”
    “I’d like that.”
    He turned his back to me, so I decided to give myself a little tour of the house. I wandered out of the solarium and stumbled into a library that was filled with mostly romance novels, but there were a few classics that were impressive. Whoever this actress was, she had a first edition Gone with the Wind on her shelves. The theater was down the hall from the dark den, designed with recliners instead of movie theater-style chairs. There was a game room that sported a pool table, several arcade games, and every game console ever invented along with