Summary:
Can poverty and privilege find a loving compromise?
Alexandre Bonfils, a rich and spoiled second son, is tired of being ignored and decides to help when the family’s exclusive wine business is in trouble. Going undercover in the warehouse, he loves the adventure—and the chance to be close to the sassy and sexy manager, Tate Somerton.
Tate is hardworking and financially struggling, bringing up his siblings on his own. A suspected saboteur at work is his latest challenge, but now he also has a clueless, though very attractive, new intern. There’s an immediate spark between the ill-matched couple, until a shocking accident cuts short Alex’s amateur sleuthing.
While recovering in the generous care of Tate and his family, will Alex realise what belonging really means? Passion and pride come together to fight for the company they’re both committed to preserving, but can a personal bond remain when the dust settles?
This story offers you a spoiled yet cutely redeemable millionaire, a selfless hero who’s always put his family above his love life, the glamorous world of luxury winemaking, ‘found’ family, a devious gran, a no-nonsense warehouse manager with a hot chocolate addiction, and a saboteur who must be found before disaster strikes!
Author Note: this is the same book as previously published by Dreamspinner Press, but with a new cover, and now published by the author.
Where trust is the most precious jewel of all.
When Mayfair jewellers Starsmith Stones wins the commission for a British gay royal wedding, CEO Joel Sterling is recommended to the brilliant young designer Matt Barth—only to discover Matt’s the man with whom he shared an anonymous and passionate kiss on the celebration night.
Disenchanted with the commercial jewellery industry, Matt nowadays prefers muddy archaeological digs to designing. Openly resentful of Starsmith’s hostile takeover of his family’s firm, he is horrified at the realisation he’ll be working with the man who engineered that deal—but the opportunity to create something fabulous and unique for the royal couple is too tempting to refuse.
Working as a team reignites the spark between Joel and Matt. But when betrayal from within Starsmith threatens both the project and Joel’s confidence, will they have built enough trust to keep their newfound love as precious as the royal jewels?
**This story offers you a gruff designer who prefers digging for treasure, a smooth CEO who’s too used to his own company, the glamorous Mayfair world of expensive jewellery, enemies to lovers, a gay royal couple who are fond of mischief, and an embarrassing accident on the Buckingham Palace railings!**
Note: this is the same book as previously published by Dreamspinner Press, but with a new cover, and now published by the author.
Romancing the Undercover Millionaire #3
Arriving in the warehouse at ten past nine, Tate took up position just outside his office, watching through the open door as Percy interviewed the new intern inside. Or, at least, that’s how it was meant to go. The company had regular intern programmes, in several disciplines, and a few weeks in the warehouse was a critical part of every schedule.
Percy glanced at the paper in front of him. “So. Goodson.”
“You may call me Alex.”
Percy pointedly ignored that.
“Excuse me, but is this the right place? They told me I had to report in to the manager, Mr. Somerton, for training.” The guy in the chair peered at Percy’s name tag. “Mr. Grove, is it?”
“I’m doin’ the interview, boy.”
Alex Goodson raised his eyebrows. “Ah. Okay. As you wish.”
Tate could see it took Percy a lot of effort not to roll his eyes. He didn’t suffer fools gladly. This was possibly why Tate did many of the interviews and was official liaison for the interns. But no one could better Percy in sizing up a new guy within a matter of minutes, and he’d rarely been proved wrong.
At the moment, the new kid was concentrating on Percy and unaware of Tate’s scrutiny. Well, he was no kid really, which was the first surprise. They usually got school leavers or university graduates, whereas this man looked a similar age to Tate. Maybe he was making a career change or coming back into the workplace after a break. Watching the way Alex Goodson twirled the temporary security pass on its lanyard like a novelty toy he’d never seen before, Tate reckoned it was the latter.
And, shit, but he was good-looking. Tate could see enough of the guy’s face from his angled viewpoint and couldn’t resist taking a longer look than his role as training supervisor merited. Alex had lovely grey eyes, a strong jaw, and fine mahogany-brown hair with a slight curl. It was ridiculously shiny, like those heads on hair product adverts, and so evenly shaded Tate wondered for a random moment if he dyed it. Even more randomly, Tate’s fingers all but itched to run through it. What the hell? He shoved his hands into his pockets to try to redirect his attention. He hadn’t felt such an immediate, physical response to someone for a long time.
The second surprise was how confident Alex looked: no sign of the usual nervous desire to make a good impression common to most interns. He wore a pair of dark-rimmed spectacles, which he awkwardly pushed back up his nose a couple of times, but his gaze was bright and fixed steadily on Percy as if he were his equal. Not that Tate didn’t believe in equality for all, at heart, but there was a certain respect you were expected to show your supervisor. And definitely toward Percy, who had a whole bunch of opinions about how anyone younger than him—which included almost all the warehouse and probably Mr. Charles himself—should behave toward their elders.
Tate bit back a smile. He could see Percy was resisting glancing at Tate over Alex’s shoulder. Well, if that was Percy’s game, to ignore Tate’s presence for the moment, this could turn into quite an entertainment.
“Thank God,” Alex said cheerfully, with a nod at Percy’s chest.
“I’m sorry?” Percy’s tone was at its deepest, most no-nonsense best.
“No ghastly nylon overalls,” Alex said. “You’re wearing a branded polo shirt. I assume they do it in slim fit as well?”
Tate blinked, trying desperately not to laugh. Percy’s shirt strained over his broad chest and ever-increasing stomach. Percy’s favourite snack was donuts, and even he knew that was beginning to show.
Percy cleared his throat in what Tate knew—but this poor sap Goodson had no idea—was a menacing way. “Where’s y’ employee manual?”
“Sorry?”
Percy gestured dismissively at Alex’s empty hands, resting casually in his lap. “Y’ pick it up in HR before y’ start. Plenty of youngsters have already read through it before I meet them.” The disapproval was strongly implied. “Y’ don’t think y’ need to swot up on it, boy?”
Alex stared at him as if something hadn’t yet connected mentally. “What’s that word you keep calling me? Bye? Oh….” He nodded, as if praising himself for being so perceptive. “You mean boy. Is that a true Bristolian accent? That lilt at the end of a sentence—”
“Manual!” Percy snapped. “Y’ hear me?”
Alex seemed at last to pick up on the seriousness of Percy’s tone. “Sorry. I mean, yes, I have one. I picked it up before the weekend and have already perused it fully.”
“Perooosed it, have y’?”
Alex raised one rather well-groomed eyebrow. “I signed all the necessary forms, too. Did HR’s confirmation get lost in transit?” He glanced quickly over the messy pile of papers on the desk—filing was going to have been Tate’s first job this morning—and for a moment, his lips pursed. Then he glanced up again and caught the look in Percy’s eye. He had the grace to colour slightly. “Never mind. I’m sure you have it all in hand.”
Percy’s raised eyebrows spoke far more eloquently than his words. “So now we’ve cleared that up to y’r satisfaction, y’ can get on with the work. Y’ll shadow Jamie today, under my close supervision.”
Tate knew that look of Percy’s. It was the one that made new staff feel twelve years old, caught with an illicit smoke behind the bike shed. Alex Goodson, intriguingly, just smiled. Was he brave, or genuinely clueless?
“And when will I meet Mr. Somerton?” he asked.
Percy stood, straightening his shoulders. “Mr. Somerton is busy elsewhere.”
I am? Tate assumed this was another of Percy’s games. It seemed Alex Goodson had really rubbed the old man up the wrong way.
Alex stood as well. He looked a bit bemused. Percy leaned forward on the desk and spoke more slowly to him. “They told y’ about the trainin’ programme, right?”
“Right. Training. Of course. Is that before or after lunch?”
Percy’s swallow of disgust was audible. “The programme will extend over several weeks. Mr. Somerton insists on it.”
“He does?”
“He does. Jamie’s only a new boy himself, but I can’t spare anyone else to keep an eye on y’ today. We’re expecting deliveries. I suppose if y’ pick up any bad habits today…” Percy’s resigned expression showed just how very certain he was of that. “… Mr. Somerton’ll have to retrain y’, however inconvenient that’ll be for him.”
“Mr. Somerton sounds a pain in the arse, right?” Alex grinned.
Tate bit his lower lip, the chuckle inside him begging to be let out.
Percy scowled. “Better watch y’r p’s and q’s, Goodson. We respect management around here.”
To give Alex his due, he realised his mistake quickly. “Of course. I’m totally sure I’ll soon pick it all up, Mr. Grove.”
Percy paused, probably just long enough for Alex to start wondering what he’d done wrong now, then he nodded. “Percy.”
“Uh… sorry?”
“Call me Percy, for God’s sake. Mr. Grove sounds like y’re talking to my old dad.”
To Tate’s surprise—again—Alex grinned. “I know the feeling.” He stuck out his hand and firmly shook Percy’s. “Thanks, Percy. I look forward to working with you.”
Percy growled in the back of his throat. “For me, boy.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant. For you.” Alex nodded, but nothing in his tone suggested he was apologetic.
Tate couldn’t help it—he laughed softly.
Alex spun around. From the startled look on his face, he’d only just realised someone else was behind him. “Sorry, who are you?”
Tate gave his most cheesy smile and took Alex’s hand in a formal shake. “I’m Tate Somerton, Percy’s manager. Percy’s just been keeping my seat warm.”
Alex gaped. “Mr. Somerton? But you’re….”
Too young? Tate mentally filled in the gap as Alex’s sentence trailed off. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for nothing more than the tea boy. He knew he could look younger than his age, and—yes, Lou was right—he could have had a smarter haircut and worn more professional clothes. But he spent his days driving forklifts and climbing over and under pallets, and as long as he did a good job with the warehouse staff, no one minded him dressing in the same smart casual wear.
“Um. What I said earlier?” Alex looked a little disturbed, obviously not sure how much Tate might have overheard. “I suppose I may have been a tad out of line.”
Tate shrugged. It was an apology of sorts. “What matters to me is that everyone does their best in the job. If you shirk, or cause trouble, well… that’s a different matter.”
Alex was still staring at him. He also hadn’t let go of Tate’s hand. For one long, pregnant moment, their gazes locked.
Tate knew he shouldn’t be devouring Alex’s attention like he was—it was rude, he didn’t behave like this, at least he hadn’t before, he didn’t even know if the guy was gay, and he’d never thought about dating a fellow employee before, that would be unprofessional, right? And oh God, even his mind was rambling—but he couldn’t seem to look away.
Alex’s hand shifted very slightly, but enough for his thumb to brush the palm of Tate’s hand as he let go, almost reluctantly. A small smile teased the edge of his handsome mouth. “Mr. Somerton, may I say—?”
“No, y’ bloody may not!” Percy snapped into his ear, having borne down on him without either Tate or Alex noticing.
Alex gave a small, embarrassing yelp.
Tate bit his lip to stop from laughing. “Welcome to the firm, Alex,” he said briskly, and turned away.
Romancing the Rough Draft #4
So now Matt was here, in Starsmith’s Mayfair offices, where not only had they disinherited him, they were trying to make him look a fool. He should leave at once. He glared at Joel Sterling, tall, beautifully suited as before, his gaze assessing Matt just as closely, that fine nose, the lush mouth….
Matt found himself still rooted to the spot, though God knew why.
“This is… surprising,” Joel said. He seemed a picture of calm control, but Matt noticed his hand shook slightly when he put his glass of water back down on the table. “It’s important we talk this through and clear the air—”
“I thought you were just a salesman,” Matt broke in angrily. “Called Joe.”
“Joe…? Oh.” Joel flushed a little. “I’m sorry. You must have misheard me. I didn’t lie. As I remember, you were all for just first names. We both agreed.”
“That’s true. You didn’t lie about that.”
“I didn’t lie about anything.” Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Like the fact that I run Starsmith. I’ve been in the industry for a long time.”
“I know your name,” Matt grudgingly admitted. He’d looked up the listing for Starsmith before coming, but hadn’t bothered with searching any photos of the company principals. “But I told you that night. I don’t do those events.”
“Your family owns a jewellers, for God’s sake—”
“Owned!” Matt snapped so hard that Joel flinched. “Owned. Past tense. It’s yours now, remember?”
“I could hardly forget,” Joel snapped back. “Were you a shareholder?”
It was Matt’s turn to flush. “No. I wasn’t… well, I did freelance work for them. It wasn’t always regular.” Damn Joel and his searching questions! Matt wasn’t going to go into the justification of how Dad had wanted him to be free to take contracts elsewhere, how they adored each other as family but couldn’t work in the same bloody room for more than an hour without growling at each other, how Matt had interests in his cousin’s business too and preferred to be out on the land with Gary rather than trapped in a design office, pandering to whatever his dad’s parochial clients wanted rather than what he, Matt, wanted to create….
Yeah. He ran his hand through his hair with frustration. Joel stirred things up, that was for sure.
Joel gestured to a seat at the table. Matt realised his legs were starting to shake, and he dropped into it both gracelessly and gratefully. Joel sat carefully in a seat opposite. Guess he felt he needed the table as a barrier between them.
Joel cleared his throat. “So why were you there that night, at Claridge’s?”
Matt scowled. “Dad was about to sign the business over to you. We’d just had another row about it, and he looked knackered with it all. I wanted to help him out.”
Joel looked confused. “You argued… but you wanted to help?”
What was this, twenty questions? “Look, I get angry fast—” He could see the flicker in Joel’s eyes, and it better not have been bloody amusement. “—but I back off just as fast when I need to. He was worrying about attending that sodding event. I said I’d go on his behalf.”
Joel nodded slowly, as if working something out in his own mind. “Just to help him out?”
“Yeah. Well. Okay. I had another motive.” The man opposite him flinched again. He surely couldn’t imagine Matt was going to lean over the table and hit him. Matt knew he could appear fierce, but he’d never actually hit anyone in his life. “I thought I could find some of the other owners, drum up some support.”
“To prevent the takeover?” Joel said drily.
Matt didn’t bother to answer. They both knew how that had gone.
“Was that all you were after?”
“Um. Yeah. Why? What exactly are you implying?” Matt’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. This whole meeting had been a bad idea from the start, and seeing Joel Sterling again was making everything a million times worse. So, as he often did, he turned defence into attack. “And anyway, what about you?”
“Me?” Joel looked as amazed as if Matt had hit him. “I didn’t know who you were either.”
“Not even the tiniest bit of gloating at having got one over on my family?”
“What?” Joel clenched his hands into fists on the tabletop. “I repeat, I didn’t know you were part of Barth’s and, even if I had, it was purely a business deal. I don’t gloat.”
He made it sound like he’d left such childish behaviour behind at least a century ago, and how come Matt hadn’t? Matt shook his head, his mind a maelstrom of anger and, surprisingly, hurt. “All that shit you spouted in the bar about loving the business and all it meant to you.”
“That was true!” Joel’s expression was furious. “Don’t try and salvage your pride by turning on me!”
“Pride? Jesus, man, you have no fucking idea! You were just taking what you wanted, to hell with anyone who had a different vision of life.”
“If you stopped yelling for a moment and just realised the financial practicalities of business nowadays—”
“I don’t need a lesson from you in what matters! I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Ditto!” Joel all but shouted.
They both paused. The room seemed to echo with their raised voices. Matt was leaning on the table too, his palms pressing hard on the polished wood, his knuckles almost white.
Joel was breathing heavily. For such a calm, confident man, he looked shaken. But his expression was hard. “I am not Starsmith. I’m an employee, not the company itself.”
Matt snorted. “You’re their puppet. You’re their mouthpiece. You’re their willing servant!”
Joel paled. “How dare you—”
“Because I can,” Matt batted back. “Because you don’t have any hold on me, or my family. Not anymore, and never again.” He pushed his chair back, ready to rise.
“Wait!” Joel slapped a hand on a thick file beside him. The sharp sound gave Matt pause. “This isn’t about us. This is about why Addam called you in the first place.”
Matt tried to get up, he really did. He tried not to care what was in that thick file, what this was all about. His curiosity hadn’t killed his inner cat yet, though he feared it would one day. But for now, he felt the prickle of excitement at what lay there.
But Joel didn’t move to open the file. Instead he met Matt’s gaze again, his voice cool once more. “Why did you come today, Matthew Barth, if you hate us… me… so much?”
No point in holding back now. “Dad begged me to. The stupid sod thinks I’m wasted back home. So I thought I’d come and give you all a bloody good tongue-lashing.”
Joel’s mouth twitched, maybe at the old-fashioned saying, damn him. “You’ve certainly done that. And how is your father?”
“My…?”
“You said he collapsed. You dashed off that night without a word.” Joel’s cheeks were slightly flushed. “If he’s still ill—”
“He’s fine,” Matt interrupted quickly. For a moment he and Joel just stared at each other.
Then Joel nodded slowly, as if he’d come to a decision. “My team tells me you aren’t producing designs for anyone at the moment. So what else are you doing?”
It caught Matt unprepared. He was living off his savings and working, mostly unpaid, in his cousin’s archaeological dig in Norfolk, that’s what he was doing—but he didn’t want to tell Joel that. “None of your business what I do.”
“Unless you come and work for us. For me.” Joel deliberately flattened his hand on the file, as if protecting its contents.
“Stop with the games,” Matt barked. “It took me hours by public transport to get here today, and I’m not looking forward to going straight back again. But I will, unless….”
“Unless?” Joel’s eyes glinted. Matt remembered that pinprick of light in Joel’s pupils from that evening in the bar, just before they’d….
“What’s the project?” he asked bluntly.
“I can’t tell you until you sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
“For God’s sake, and you think I’m being melodramatic—”
“But I can tell you it’s the most prestigious we’ve ever had.”
Matt looked at the file. The edge of a drawing peeked out from the side. “You have Addam de Broek on your team. Why would you need another designer?”
“I wish I didn’t,” Joel said harshly. “But Addam reckons we need you.”
Well, well. Matt couldn’t help but feel flattered, though he wanted to tell Joel Sterling to go to hell. But he also wanted to know what all this was about. If Joel would just tease out that drawing into full view….
Joel took a deep breath. “Whether I like it or not, the ball’s in your court. There’s one more thing you need to know. It’ll be very well paid.”
And therein lay the rub.
Matt needed the money. At least, Gary did, for the dig. They were starting to uncover real finds, but scrabbling away on spare weekends with inadequate tools just wouldn’t do the job.
In the silence that had fallen between them, Joel stood. He looked resigned, though not cowed. Slowly he opened the file and spread the first few papers out onto the table.
Matt gawped. There were design sketches and photos of what looked like current royal treasures. Dear God. Was that one of the crowns from the Tower of London, with a man’s arm and hand that looked exactly like Joel Sterling’s just in shot, resting right next to it? When and how the hell had Starsmith gained such close access?
Matt’s heart thundered in his chest, his fingertips tingling with the ache to open that file completely. He looked back up at Joel. There was a look in Joel’s eyes that reminded Matt of his own excitement with any new discovery at the dig. Gary had often told Matt he looked savage, accompanied by fond but raucous laughter at Matt’s expense.
“All you need to know to make your decision is that our client is the Royal Family,” Joel said softly. His eyes shone, even while his voice was steady.
“This means everything, doesn’t it?” Matt said. “To you, at least.”
“It’s a very prestigious commission,” Joel repeated, more doggedly, but Matt could see a bead of sweat on his brow.
“You’re all the same.” Matt couldn’t resist another poke at the bear. “Money above magic.”
“So prove me wrong!”
They stared at each other, startled, the anger and resentment still simmering.
Then Matt gave a big sigh. “Count me in.” Like it had ever been in doubt.
Saturday Series Spotlight
Part 1 / Part 2
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Romancing the Undercover Millionaire #3
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Romancing the Rough Draft #4
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Romancing the . . . Series
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