The Firstborn Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)(2)

By: Virginia Nelson


She’d gone from the tippy top of her game to rock bottom faster than she’d even guessed possible.

Dropping her khaki-colored linen blazer onto her chair, she faced the slate-gray wall behind her desk. Not nearly as impressive a view as those floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city that she’d loved, but it was her view now.

Because not a client in the universe wanted to hire an image consultant who couldn’t even protect America’s sweetheart.

Since the phone still wasn’t ringing, and her finger was getting tired from refreshing her email, Natalie decided to unpack. Who knew how long she’d be able to afford even this small space at the rate things were going? Part of her didn’t want to bother with the unpacking, but really, even this was all her own fault. If she’d saved and hoarded her money while she was making the big bucks, she wouldn’t have found herself in such dire straits after the Welles situation. But she liked shoes. She liked traveling, seeing things that were new to her. Her mama used to say that she was a daddy’s girl—and no moss ever grew on the rolling stone that was her father.

She liked taking risks, having adventures, and living a life outside the box.

Slicing open a cardboard box, she was faced with useless files. All clients that dumped her before the stink of her failure rubbed off on them. Sighing, she stuck a hand in, looking for anything that might give her a clue of how to proceed from rock bottom.

From behind her, someone cleared his throat. Probably the creep from two offices down. He’d come up with three reasons so far that day to pop in and check on her, and it was beginning to get on her nerves. The very last thing she needed while trying to rebuild her career was a romantic entanglement, but if she were looking, Marc Dickson, CPA, would hardly be the guy of her dreams. It wasn’t that his balding head or slightly musty smell were turn-offs unto themselves, but his staring at her boobs while practically spitting in her face when he talked would have knocked him out of the running pretty quickly.

He cleared his throat again, so she said, “Sorry, Marc, I’m busy. I already told you I didn’t have time to take lunch.”

She technically did have time for lunch. Money for lunch? That was going to be a whole other matter soon if she didn’t figure out how to get at least one solid client.

She was bent over the box, legs slightly spread for balance as she hefted files, so the dog’s head shoving between her legs was enough to make her squeal, drop the files, and begin to fall over. She’d tried to jump-step away from the animal, but instead got her foot tangled under a box and the world tilted as she stumbled.

She hoped she didn’t hit the dog on her way down, since she clearly wasn’t going to be able to recapture her balance. But then strong arms caught her at the elbows, steadying her with ease.

“Back off, Buffy,” the man said.

Natalie looked up slowly and instantly fell madly in love. Or at least lust. One or the other.



Foster Boyd was out of options. If he hadn’t been, there was no way he’d be standing in this small office, considering the denim-clad behind of Natalie Stolen. Not that the view was a bad one. Unexpectedly, the little spin doctor had a gorgeously rounded, heart-shaped ass that made a man want to reach out and grab. Of course, he wasn’t the kind of man to rely on base instincts to make decisions—that kind of stupidity was all his brother’s specialty—but he still looked.

How could he not? She was wiggling that ass in front of him like a flag to a bull. He cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention, but the ass just wiggled a bit more as she rummaged through boxes.

The woman lost her place as publicist and image consultant to the stars because of a situation beyond her control, based on his research. Once he’d read up on the Margo Welles situation, he couldn’t see how it would have been Stolen’s fault. Even if she had known about the kid Welles was hiding, it was outside her job expectations to force her client to admit to anything. The way the situation played out suggested Stolen would be good at keeping secrets, if she knew about the kid…something that made her uniquely qualified for the position he needed to fill.