Renegade Roomie
Renegade Roomie
A Billionaire Bachelors Novel
Lila Monroe
Lila Monroe Books
Contents
Copyright
Prologue
Also by Lila:
Renegade Roomie
1. Callie
2. Callie
3. Dash
4. Callie
5. Callie
6. Callie
7. Dash
8. Callie
9. Callie
10. Callie
11. Dash
12. Callie
13. Callie
14. Callie
15. Dash
16. Callie
17. Callie
18. Dash
19. Callie
20. Callie
21. Dash
22. Callie
23. Callie
Austin
About the Author
Also by Lila:
Copyright 2022 by Lila Monroe/ AAHM Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by British Empire Designs/ Letitia Hauser
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Also by Lila:
Billionaire Bachelors Series:
1. Very Irresistible Playboy
2. Hot Stuff
3. Wild Card
4. Man Candy
5. Mr Casanova
6. Best Man
7. Maverick Mogul
8. Renegade Roomie
9. Baller Boss
10. One-Week Wingman
11. Charming CEO
Hollywood Bachelors Series:
1. The Hollywood Marriage Bargain
2. The Great British Bachelor Chase
Cupids Series:
1. Cupid for Hire
2. What’s Your Sign?
3. The Romeo Effect
4. The Break-Up Artist
5. The Romance Plan
The Billionaire Series:
1. The Billionaire Bargain
2. The Billionaire Secret
3. The Billionaire Game
4. The Billionaire Prize
5. Billionaire with a Twist
6. Billionaire on the Rocks
The Lucky in Love Series:
1. Get Lucky
2. Bet Me
3. Lovestruck
4. Mr Right Now
5. Perfect Match
6. Christmas with the Billionaire
The Chick Flick Club Series:
1. How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days
2. You’ve Got Male
3. Frisky Business
Head Over High Heels
Snowed in with the Billionaire (holiday novella)
RENEGADE ROOMIE
Billionaire Bachelors: Book Eight
Fake date. Real trouble. Fall for a new trope-tactic, fake dating rom-com series from USA Today bestselling author, Lila Monroe!
Playboy bachelor Dash (aka Phineas Henry Dashford IV) needs to settle down, and fast - at least that’s what his eccentric grandmother thinks. And since she’s the one controlling his trust fund, he needs the perfect fake date to impress her. Someone sweet, demure, charming… and definitely NOT like the spitfire who almost pulled him in front of a subway train and then dressed him down in front of a million viral video viewers.
Wannabe lipstick mogul, Callie Delgado, needs to find an investor for her makeup line - before her meagre savings run out. Playing girlfriend to a rich trust fund guy ? It’s absolutely NOT in her plans, no matter how handsome he is… Until Dash offers to invest in her company in exchange for getting grandma Zelda off his case.
One week of (fake) romantic bliss? The challenge is simple. The chemistry between them isn’t.
Soon, Callie and Dash are caught up in the act of a lifetime - and the sparks are anything but make-believe. Can these opposites find a way to attract? Or will a weekend in Palm Beach, a scheming ex, and a frisky goat be the formula for trouble?
Find out in another laugh-out-loud Billionaire Bachelor story from “the reigning Queen of romantic comedy” Lila Monroe!
Billionaire Bachelors Series:
1. Very Irresistible Playboy
2. Hot Stuff
3. Wild Card
4. Man Candy
5. Mr Casanova
6. Best Man
7. Maverick Mogul
8. Renegade Roomie
9. Baller Boss
10. One-Week Wingman
11. Charming CEO
1
Callie
“I’m looking for Orgasm?”
“Aren’t we all?” I grin at the Lululemon-clad customer who’s just arrived at the counter, but she just stares at me blankly. “It’s OK,” I add, since she’s not in a joking mood. “I have exactly what you need.”
I head behind the counter to fetch the lady the orgasm she so desperately needs. From afterglow to allure, and everything in-between, anyone listening in might think that I’m the gatekeeper to a secret underground kink club or the owner of a sex shop empire. Close. See, working the makeup counter at New York’s classiest department store—I’m not selling sex, but something just as wild, transformative, and liberating.
Beauty. Or, as I like to look at it: Confidence. Because if you haven’t had a real orgasm to put that satisfied glow in your cheeks, then I’ve got the next best thing. And there’s nothing like stepping out into the world feeling like your best, most gorgeous self to make everything else fall into place.
I’m bending down to grab the blush when the customer adds, “I’ll need all of this stuff, too.” She proceeds to rattle off a list of products as long as my credit card bill. My eyes widen in excitement. I love helping out with a shopping spree. Plus, more products means a bigger commission for me.
Win win.
“Coming right up!” I quickly bustle around, collecting her haul. “Special occasion?” I ask, friendly. The shoppers at Fleishman’s Department Store are usually ladies of leisure, and this one is no exception, from the spotless white tennis outfit to the diamond studs glinting at her earlobes.
The woman sniffs. “No, they’re for my daughter. She got her father’s looks,” she adds with a sigh. “She needs all the help she can get.”
Yikes. I bite back a retort. “Well, she’s lucky to have you to buy all of these for her,” I say tactfully instead, as I pull out sheets of our trademark peach tissue paper to wrap the goods. “I would have loved it if my mom funded my makeup habit! It might have saved me from making some truly heinous choices in the drugstore aisles. Neon-green Wet ‘n’ Wild mascara, anyone?”
The woman frowns. At least, I think she’s frowning. It’s tough to read facial expressions on a forehead that’s been Botox’d into submission. “You think I’d let her pick her own? She’s twelve.”
“Twelve?” I stop wrapping and take in the stash of products this woman demanded. Foundation, three types of concealer, fake eyelashes, lip plumper… It would be an overbearing gift even for a grown woman. But for a kid? She might as well buy her daughter a one-way ticket to low self-esteem, with a side trip to therapy.
“Are you sure about all this?” I ask tactfully. “She’s so young, these products are really meant for someone older.”
The woman presses her lips in a thin line. “The sooner she starts making the most of herself, the better. And don’t get me started on her weight—”
“No!” I blurt, horrified.
The woman blinks. “No?”
I take a deep breath. “She’s just a kid. She’s got plenty of time in future to feel insecure about her looks,”—‘No thanks to you,’ I silently add—“So how about you just focus on her having fun right now?”
I pluck down some fun eyeshadow palettes and lip kits: bright, poppy colors with some sparkle to the shades. “Here, if she wants to try makeup, then start with these. For fun,” I say again with a glare. “Not because there’s anything wrong with how she looks.”
The woman just stares at me. “You’re refusing to sell me the other stuff?”
“Not refusing. Advising,” I reply, remembering myself in time. I flash a big grin, crossing my fingers I don’t get a write-up from management about the customer always being right. Again.
The woman checks her watch, impatient now. “Oh, fine, just give me that stuff,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Maybe my genes will show through soon enough.”
“Maybe,” I agree, ringing her up and sending her away with the age-appropriate stuff—and a prayer for her poor daughter.
Don’t worry, kid: It gets better. And if it doesn’t, legal emancipation is always an option.
“You seem pretty happy for someone who just talked herself out of a giant commission.” My friend-slash-coworker, Lorelei, appears at my side.
“What was I supposed to do?” I protest. “Being a kid is hard enough without all that, too.”
Lorelei smirks. As always, her blunt cut bangs and winged eyeliner make her look tres chic, but her secret is, she’s a marshmallow under all that French girl fashion. “I don’t know… Take the money like the rest of us?”
“It’s the principle of the matter!”
She laughs. “Principles don’t pay rent.”
I wince. “You’re right about that. And they definitely aren’t buying studio space, ingredients, and packing materials,” I add, retrieving my workbag from under the counter. I open it, revealing the real reason I’m toiling away at Fleishman’s: Because it’s just a stepping-stone to where I really want to be.
On the counter, not behind it. And not in the exotic dancer sense of the word. No, my dream is that one day fancy stores like this are stocking my makeup line. The zero-cruelty, vegan, 100% fabulous line that I’ve been working on all year now, mixing and blending and packing in the corner of my apartment, imagining the day when customers waltz out of the store with my makeup—and a massive smile—on their faces.
Lorelei peers over my shoulder at the lipstick samples I brought, all lined up in chic cream boxes with looping red script on the side. “Ooh, look at those. So pretty!”
“Pretty, and precious,” I agree. “Do you know how much it costs to make prototypes like this without a huge production run?”
“I’m guessing, lots.”
“You guessed right.” I shut the bag, and take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. There’s nothing but my entire future riding on the contents of the bag. No big deal. “What kind of mood is he in?” I ask.
“The boss?” Lorelei raises her eyebrows. “Well, he was yelling at Kate about the window displays earlier, but maybe he got it out of his system. You know he’s better after his lunchtime wank.”
“Lorelei!” I laugh.
“What? Like it’s not obvious, the way he disappears to the executive bathroom with the latest edition of Men’s Health magazine.” Lorelei smirks. “You should go talk to him now, while he’s still basking in his afterglow.”
She’s not wrong. I grab the bag. “Wish me luck!” I say, then make my way across the busy main floor, and in back, to where the executive offices are. I’ve been biding my time for months now, waiting for the perfect moment to pitch my boss about carrying my line—
OK, so maybe I’ve been stalling out of fear and insecurity, but can you blame me? A fancy store like this is a long way from Selena’s Salon, the beauty shop around the corner where I grew up in Jersey, where I first discovered my love of makeup—and learned everything there is to know about blush, lipstick, and gossip. It was a tough crowd there, but they’ve got nothing on my snooty boss, Gregory, so I take another breath and freshen up my own lipstick for confidence before knocking on his office door.
Shade: Dietrich. After the movie star herself, and a boss from head to toe.
“Come in!”
I head inside, where he’s buried behind stacks of paperwork, his usually messy office looking like a bomb hit it. Which, for a man as fastidious as Gregory, is really something.
“Ah, Miss Delgado,” Gregory looks at me quizzically. “Did we have an appointment?”
“Not exactly,” I hedge, taking a seat. “But I did say I wanted to chat, remember?”
“Right. The management position.” Gregory grabs a file. “Well, you know how much we need someone who knows the ropes, with your experience, and seniority—”
I wince. Just another way of saying I’m old. “Actually, it’s not about that.”
Gregory stops. “It’s not?”
“No.” I grip my bag. He’s been bugging me to move up to manage the makeup department for a while now, but I’ve always pushed him off. Sure, it would give me better pay and benefits, but it wouldn’t leave me any time for my line. Taking the promotion would be like saying, this is all I want.
And I want more.
I straighten up, and flash him my most professional smile. “Actually, I arranged this meeting to talk to you about an exciting new line I think we should be stocking.”
“Oh?” Gregory looks interested.
“My makeup line.”
His smile drops. “Look—”
“Let me show you.” I say quickly, before he can blow me off. I pass him my samples, launching into the pitch I’ve been rehearsing all week. “The lipsticks use all-natural ingredients, completely vegan and cruelty-free. Plus, I focus on creating shades that work for every skin tone and color, which is still an underserved market, especially at the luxury end!”
I flip off a cap to show him a luscious matte red shade, universally flattering on every skin tone—and I would know, I’ve had every single person I know test it.
“Plus, lipsticks are only the beginning,” I add, producing a glossy brochure that cost an unspeakable amount to produce. In fact, between ingredients, tests, and packaging, it’s pretty much my entire savings spread out on the desk in front of him. “I have cream blush, eyeshadow, even a primer—”
“Yes, yes,” Gregory interrupts, in the tone of voice that says, ‘No, no.’ “So, you’re not interested in the management position?”
“Not right now,” I reply, my hopes deflating as Gregory gets to his feet. “But please, take some time with the samples. You’ll see, they’re exactly what our customers are looking for.”
Gregory looks at them, dubious. “The Fleishman’s customer expects quality. Maybe you should try somewhere more appropriate. The drugstore, maybe?”
Ouch. That insult stings worse than that one ill-fated summer trip to Myrtle Beach, when I unknowingly wandered into a cluster of jellyfish. Contrary to urban legend, no hot lifeguards jogged up and offered to ease my pain.
But still, I’m no quitter. And I’ve faced plenty of rejection to even make it this far. “My products speak for themselves,” I insist. “You’ll see. Take them, think about it, that’s all I ask.”
Gregory sighs and shoves them into his bag without a second glance. “I need to get on the road, traffic to the Hamptons is a nightmare on a Friday,” he explains.
“Oh, absolutely,” I agree, as if my weekend plans also involve a jaunt to my beach house. “Don’t you just hate that?”
“I’ll see you Monday,” he says, heading for the door. “And please, do think about the promotion.”
“If you think about my samples!” I call after him.
He strides away, and I release a shaky sigh. That definitely didn’t go the way I’d hoped—gasps, praise, a massive order—but maybe once Gregory has the time to inspect the samples from the comfort of his pool, he’ll be wowed by my originality and brilliance.
Maybe.
I exit after Gregory, back to the main floor. He pauses to talk to one of the other department heads, then heads for the front doors, pausing to toss something into the garbage can outside.
Something that looks awfully familiar.
He heads off to frolic in the Hamptons, but I freeze in place, my stomach dropping.
Oh no he didn’t.
“Callie?” Lorelei asks. “How did it go?”
“It’s going,” I answer grimly, sprinting after him. I push through the crowd of customers, and barrel out the doors onto the busy sidewalk. The trashcan is right out front, and I race over to push back the flap.