Trouble Read online

  Trouble

  Tia Louise

  Contents

  Trouble

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Twist of Fate

  Prologue

  One to Chase

  Books by Tia Louise

  About the Author

  Trouble

  By Tia Louise

  Spencer Carrollton is a dark-haired, hazel-eyed bully.

  When I collided with him at my cousin’s wedding, I wasn’t looking for love.

  But his naughty eyes flashed, his full lips curled into a knowing smile, and I should have run.

  I didn’t.

  I kissed him instead.

  * * *

  Then he gave me a job when I needed it the most.

  I never get involved with clients, but Spencer Carrollton is wickedly handsome in a bespoke suit.

  He’s devastatingly sexy out of it.

  He’s possessive, demanding, and the best sex I’ve ever had.

  * * *

  He’s an arrogant billionaire, who thinks I’ll fall at his feet, but I’m not going down that road again.

  Then he pulls me out of danger and insists I move in with him until it’s safe.

  As the nights pass and we grow closer, I know I’m losing this fight.

  Spencer Carrollton always gets what he wants.

  The trouble is, he wants me.

  * * *

  (TROUBLE is a STAND-ALONE frenemies-to-lovers, billionaire-boss romance. No cheating. No cliffhanger.)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Trouble

  Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2021

  Printed in the United States of America.

  * * *

  Cover design by Lori Jackson Design.

  Photography by Michelle Lancaster.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank YOU for reading this book and supporting me as an author.

  If you read this book and love it, if you’ve read more than one or even all of my books and loved them, you are my hero.

  This book is for you.

  And with all my heart, I thank the following people for supporting, encouraging, loving, and helping me:

  God, Mr. TL, and my girls.

  Ilona Townsel and Renee McCleary.

  Charlotte, Josette, and all the ladies at Grey Promotions, along with Kylie, Jo and the awesome gang at Give Me Books.

  My amazing beta readers, Jennifer Christy, Amanda Shepard, and Maria Black.

  My copy editor Janice Owen and eagle-eye proofreader Jaime Ryter.

  My Mermaid VIPs, Ana Perez, Clare Fuentes, Sheryl Parent, Cindy Camp, Carla Van Zandt, Jaime Long, Tammi Hart, Tina Morgan, and Jacquie Martin.

  Stacey Blake, PB formatting, Lori Jackson, cover design, and Michelle Lancaster, photography. (Superstars!)

  My Mermaids and to my Starfish, and all the bloggers, bookstagrammers, and BookTokers! who have made an art of book loving. I appreciate your help so much.

  I give you all my love,

  Stay sexy,

  ❤️ Tia

  This book is for you, my readers. I hope it brings you joy and gives you happiness, hope, and a little escape from your worries.

  * * *

  And for Mr. TL, always.

  “She was never afraid of his darkness or the demons who danced in his eyes.

  He thought no one could ever love him if he revealed what lurks inside.

  He always knew he was different. How can anyone understand?

  But she was never afraid of his darkness or the beast within the man…”

  - Unknown

  * * *

  “Only play with fire if you do not fear the flame…”

  - NR Hart, Beauty and Her Beast

  Prologue

  Spencer

  “I have ice. Ice makes the pain go away.” My mom crouches beside me, her entire body shaking as she presses a cloth to my shoulder.

  Her face is so white. I want to say her name, but my throat constricts as searing pain burns through my upper body. My eyes squeeze shut, causing tears to stream down my face.

  All around us is chaos.

  The kitchen table is against the wall, and a chair is broken in two. Beside me on the floor, a splintered piece of wood lies in what looks like a growing puddle of red paint. Only, it’s not paint, and I’m afraid.

  “Look what you made me do!” My father yells at us, pacing back and forth. He jerks my mother off of me by her hair. “You made me do this.”

  Fear squeezes my lungs so hard, I can’t breathe, and lights flash in the room through the windows like a rainbow. People in white rush into our house, and a woman with orange-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes leans over me.

  She puts her hand on my forehead and smiles gently while another person in white lifts me off the floor. She speaks softly, but I can’t understand her.

  Is she an angel? Did I die?

  It’s my last thought before the darkness closes my eyes…

  * * *

  “This is your room now.” The old man opens a door and gestures me into a space the size of a small house.

  My eyes are wide as I step carefully on the highly polished wood floor. It’s made of small pieces of wood arranged in a diamond pattern, and a thin rug with a large, oval-shaped design covers the floor.

  Driving up to this place, I gazed up at the soaring white columns topped with curling leaves and scrolls. Above them, so high I could barely see from the car, the roof had a railing, like you could walk around up there.

  I’ve never seen a house like this outside of a movie or a storybook.

  It’s a castle.

  It’s also dark and empty.

  “I hope you find it comfortable here.”

  I look up at him, unsure what to say.

  He’s tall with lots of gray hair that swooshes around his head like that scientist in the picture at my school. He’s wearing a scratchy brown jacket and dark pants, and he has a beard. His dark eyes are intense like a bird or a reptile, watching me.

  “Are you a king?” My voice is small.

  “I’m your new father. You may call me Drake.” His voice is low and measured, like he carefully chooses the exact word to say before he speaks.

  “Where’s my mom?” Sadness pinches my chest when I remember the last time I saw her.

  His eyes blink away, into the hall. “She
can’t take care of you anymore. You’re going to live with me now.”

  I’m not sure what he means. “Did she die?”

  “Not as far as I know.” His tone is grave like he doesn’t want to dwell on this subject. “If you’re all settled, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

  I follow him quickly into the massive hallway covered in paintings bigger than me. It’s as wide as a dining room, and long rugs cover the floors that go on for miles.

  My footsteps echo off the polished wood as I scuffle after him. “Are we the only ones here?”

  He pauses and turns, looking down at me slowly as if I’m an insect he’s considering gobbling up. I shrink back, wishing I hadn’t asked.

  “Are you afraid of being alone, Spencer?”

  My eyes are wide, and I want my mom. The expression on his face tells me that would be the wrong answer.

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Only a weak man is bothered by being alone. Are you weak?”

  I’m not sure if I’m weak or if I’m even a man yet, but I know how to survive.

  “No, sir.”

  His eyes flinch almost like he would smile if that were possible. “Never fall for the lie that you need other people. Only when you are completely independent are you truly strong.”

  He starts to go, but I hold out my hand. “But… Why do you need me?”

  The spark of approval evaporates like smoke. “I don’t.”

  His gaze travels up and around the hall, pausing at a window twice as tall as he is. “When I am gone, I will leave my estate to you, then you will be like me.” Cold eyes return to mine. “Now get some rest. I’ll begin your education tomorrow.”

  Dread filters through my stomach, but I don’t dare argue. My shoulder hurts, and I’m sleepy. I don’t know why I’m here, but I remember my mom saying it would be okay.

  Returning quietly to my room, I notice a sweaty glass of ice water on my bedside table. Going to it, I lift a cube from the top and put it in my mouth, sliding to sit on the scratchy wool rug covering my floor.

  My eyes close, and I focus on the cold as it slowly melts away.

  Then I do it again.

  Chapter 1

  Joselyn

  Present day

  “Fuck you, Elliot.” I exhale a growl as I shove my phone in the hidden pocket of my knee-length, chartreuse-silk bridesmaid’s dress.

  Anger burns in my throat, but I will not cry.

  Again.

  I won’t ruin my professionally applied makeup.

  “Not what I want to hear from my maid of honor!” My cousin Daisy pushes past me into the dressing room suite on the second floor of the Oceanside Hotel. Her vintage Givenchy wedding dress swishes around her knees, and she’s moving fast towards the bathroom. “What happened now?”

  I follow her, leaning against the outside wall with a long sigh as she shuts the louvered door. “You know what happened.”

  “Idiot Flick again?”

  I chew my bottom lip. “He’s not an idiot. He’s just…”

  “Controlling, manipulative, unreliable—”

  “He’s not coming tonight. He says something came up at work.”

  The toilet flushes, and she steps out, washing her hands at the sink. Her brown eyes are narrowed at me in the mirror.

  Shame flashes in my chest. “Don’t squinch your little pixie face at me.”

  She shakes her blonde head as she dries her hands on the monogrammed towel. “Not my business.”

  “Just say it.”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror as she taps powder on her forehead and nose. “He pulls a stunt like this at least once a week.”

  “You’re saying he doesn’t have to work?” I’m tense, waiting for her to confirm my own fears.

  “On a Sunday, at six pm?”

  “He has a very demanding job.”

  “In garbage?”

  “It’s waste management.” I step beside her, fluffing my red hair in the mirror. It falls in large waves around my shoulders. “It’s very lucrative. How do you think he can afford a penthouse apartment in Columbia? Anyway, it’s a far drive, and he just had the Mercedes detailed.”

  “The black Mercedes?” She tosses the makeup on the counter and starts for the door. “Don’t the bad guys always drive black Mercedes?”

  “It’s a nice car.” My voice is soft, and I’m not even convincing myself.

  Hesitating, she returns to where I’m standing, taking both my hands in hers. “Does he make you happy?”

  My throat aches, and I hate this question. “I should never have moved in with him. Now all my stuff is at his place.”

  “I know two guys who will be happy to help you move.”

  Even in heels, her head only reaches my nose. If I leaned forward, I could rest my chin on the top of her head.

  “This is not something to worry about on your wedding day. Let’s get back to the party. All that champagne won’t drink itself.”

  “Would you do one thing for me? As a wedding gift?”

  “I gave you that expensive fondue set you wanted for a wedding gift.”

  “And it’s very nice.” She squeezes my hands.

  I force a teasing smile. “You want more, Britney Spears?”

  “I want you to come back to the reception and just look at all the handsome, eligible bachelors waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

  “Who says I need a man to be happy?” Lifting my chin, my stubborn streak is fierce. Ma says it’s because of my red hair.

  Daisy shrugs and heads for the door. “Not me.”

  I’m behind her, doing my best to shrug off my dark mood. “Maybe I’ll turn over a new leaf. Start dating nice men.”

  “You hate nice men. Now I’ve got to get back to my guests. Drink all the champagne and have fun.”

  She’s out the door, and I look at the text again. Work comes first, CM.

  CM. Country Mouse.

  I’m the country mouse and he’s the city mouse because I’m from Fireside, one of the smallest towns in South Carolina, and he’s from Columbia, which trust me, is no booming metropolis.

  “Fuck you, Elliot.” I shove the phone in my pocket again and head out to the party.

  * * *

  Lifting my fourth glass of champagne off a passing server’s tray, I trace my finger along one of the shiny green leaves that make up the skirt on the oversized floral Tinkerbell statue.

  Ma took me to Walt Disney World and Epcot Center one year for spring break—just in time for the massive Epcot Flower and Garden Festival—and I was blown away.

  Walking around the giant, floral topiaries of Disney princesses, Mickey Mouse, lions, and everything imaginable from the Disney movies, I got it in my head I wanted to be a part of this. I wanted to build the statues and thread the flowers and have them all over our town.

  It’s pretty much all I did in high school. For every homecoming game, wedding, and civic event, one of my oversized floral statues was the centerpiece. Eventually, I gave it up to study massage therapy and sports medicine, but Daisy asked me to make something for her.

  Tinkerbell, the brave knight, and a quarterback princess was my mash-up tribute to my cousin and her new family.

  Leaning forward, I take a long inhale of the green roses I used for the bodice, but I’m not paying attention. My hair slides across my shoulder and loops around an outstretched hand. When I pull back, the entire statue comes with me, and my arm flails, slinging wine into the air.

  “No… Nooo!” My voice modulates like a cartoon character’s, but a firm grip closes around my upper arm, sweeping me up against a hard chest.

  “Hang on. I’ve got you.”

  “Sorry, I’m…” I’m surrounded by a delicious scent of leather and sandalwood and a touch of patchouli. It smells like money.

  “No need to apologize. I figured you didn’t want to end up on your bottom in the middle of the garden.”

  As I regain my balance, my eyes slide up a square jaw covered in dark
scruff past a perfectly straight nose to a bewitching, smoky blend of green-brown hazel eyes leveled on mine in a way that heats my lower stomach.

  “Oh no.” Clearing my throat, I relax my grip on his expensive-feeling, charcoal suit jacket. “I hope I didn’t spill on you.”

  “You didn’t.” His dark brow lowers, and I can’t tell if he’s smiling or mentally undressing me. Or both.

  I release his forearm and take a step back as his grip on my bicep slowly lessens.

  “I made that garden as you call it.” Nodding toward the statue, I polish off the last bit of champagne in my now-empty glass.

  “Is that why you watered it?”

  “I got caught.” I push a heavy lock of auburn hair behind my shoulder, and his eyes track my every move. “I leaned in too far.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  The way he says it and the location of his gaze makes me wonder if he means the statue or my hair. Either way, I feel pink rising in my cheeks.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you embarrassed? I would think you’d be accustomed to such praise. It’s a stunning creation. I’m not sure I recognize some of these flowers.”