The Billionaire's Intern

The Forbidden Series

Billionaires who can look, but shouldn’t touch!

For Logan Black, Jaiven Rodriguez and Zair al Ruyi, New York is spread out before them like the Garden of Eden…and no one knows the sweet taste of forbidden fruit better than America’s most ruthless billionaires!

Jaded, cynical, with a darkness that threatens to consume them whole, they think they’ve seen it all. But temptation has something new in store for each of them…

When Addison Treffen finds herself working for Logan Black—the notorious billionaire who literally came back from the dead—she thinks it’s a safe haven from the shocking scandal surrounding her family. Little did she know that she’s about to get very personal with her billionaire boss!

Collect all three novels in The Forbidden Series:

THE BILLIONAIRE’S INTERN by USA TODAY bestselling author Maisey Yates

THE BILLIONAIRE’S FANTASY by USA TODAY bestselling author Kate Hewitt

THE BILLIONAIRE’S INNOCENT by USA TODAY bestselling author Caitlin Crews

The Billionaire's Intern
Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Caitlin and Kate, for being amazing partners in crime on this series. You made things that were hard feel much easier. I’m so thankful for your talent, your generosity and your friendship. Love you both.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Well, really, things just couldn’t get much worse. Addison sat in her older brother’s office, numbness wrapping itself around her like a heavy blanket.

She was officially banned from her sorority, not that she cared much, since school was awful just at the moment, as was her sorority. But still, leaving of her own accord would’ve hurt a lot less.

They hadn’t exactly said the word banned, but the sorority’s president had made it abundantly clear that Addison’s presence was a “distraction.” And that links to “prostitution” and “snipers” were not exactly fitting with the relaxing environment of sisterhood and education they were so striving for.

Well, obviously. But nobody seemed worried about whether or not Addison felt she had sisterhood, or a relaxing environment for education.

She had nothing.

Her father had been killed in front of her only days after she discovered he was he was running a prostitution ring, behind the facade of a law office that championed for the downtrodden.

She’d lost not only her father, but the memory of him and any bit of safety and security she’d ever felt in her name, or in her family home.

Her sorority might be disturbed by associations with snipers’ bullets piercing the windows of the wealthy and elite at midnight, and with associations to sex rings and scandal, but she could guarantee it was a lot worse for her.

Added to that, her boyfriend, Eddie, was suddenly and conveniently on vacation in Bermuda, and while he sent his regrets, he could not interrupt his vacation. Which she had a sinking feeling meant that her rather distant boyfriend was putting more distance between them now, thanks to the scandal.

Her schooling was on temporary hiatus, and she was finishing what she could online because campus was impossible for her to navigate. What with male students asking if she sold her favors, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, since her father had obviously dealt in sex, and with most female students now avoiding her so they didn’t get her contaminants on them.

Truly, people were terrible.

Her father had been shot and killed in front of her, and she’d had to go to his funeral. A funeral she, her brother and her mother had had to put on as though they still cared because even given what he’d done, none of them could quite bring themselves to leave Jason’s body in an unmarked grave.

Though the marker on his grave was bland enough.

Jason Treffen, 1955–2014.

No beloved father, beloved husband, beloved boss. He wasn’t beloved by a single person by the time that bullet passed through him. And it was his own fault. As more and more details emerged, it became harder to remember him as the man she’d always believed he was. Instead her old, beautiful memories were twisting. Making it hard to see anything other than the monster.

And just as well.

Even in death, he hurt others. He was gone, and they were all left to deal with the fallout. They were all coping in the best way they could.

For her brother, Austin, it meant hoping his legacy as a true advocate for women never fell under the shadow of what their father was. It meant working harder, with even greater integrity than he had to begin with.

For her future sister-in-law, Katy, it meant living with the crushing death of her sister, trying to move on and make Sarah’s life matter, through the foundation she was establishing.

For Addison’s mother it seemed to mean blocking out the world and shoe shopping. Addison had no idea what it meant for her.

Which was why she was sitting in her brother’s office when she should have been in class.

“Are you okay?” Austin asked, studying her from his position behind his desk.

She smiled, knowing that Austin would see through her, no matter how convincing a smile might appear. “Wonderful, aren’t you?”

“I think I’m doing better than you are. But then, I have someone I’m sharing all this with.”

“Yes, I know. You’re in love, Austin. It’s impossible to miss.”

His lips curved up into a smile. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m pleased for you.”

He lifted his hand and threw a bag of Skittles down onto the desk in front of her. “Sugar,” he said. “Your favorite variety. Eat.”

Austin had always brought her candy. He was so much older it had been hard for them to relate to each other in some ways, but he’d always brought her treats when they spent time together. And as a result, she had a slight Skittles habit she couldn’t kick. All thanks to her older brother. They wouldn’t taste half as good if they didn’t come with memories of better days.

She took the bag and tore the corner off, pouring some of the candy into her hand, and rattling it around in her palm before rolling them onto the table and slowly sorting them into color-coded piles. “What’s going on? You’re being really nice to me.”

“You’ve been through hell the past couple weeks. And it pisses me off. Because I worked damn hard to bring that bastard down and try and to make sure you and Mom didn’t suffer needlessly.” He paused and looked out the window. “I tried, Addison. I tried to make things right. For Sarah. For Katy, for every woman he hurt. And the last thing I wanted to do was hurt anyone. Especially Mom. Especially you.”

“I’m fine, Austin,” she said, sliding the red group of Skittles from the table, into her hand, the strong fruit flavors exploding on her tongue before fizzling into sour sugar.

“I’m not sure I would be fine if I saw what you did.”

A sharp, shocking flash of that night assaulted her mind’s eye, and with it, the familiar ice-cold fear. But there was no point in heaping guilt on Austin. No point in betraying just how horrific it had been.

No point in telling him every night she woke up drenched in sweat and shivering, feeling as if demons were reaching for her in the dark.

“It was awful,” she said, putting the candy down. “I won’t lie. But I was smart enough not to go and investigate closely. I went in the bathroom and called 911. I was scared, but…I didn’t see much.”

Not that it stopped the unending terror. But her older brother carried too much on his shoulders already. And if there was one thing Jason Treffen had passed on to her, it was the ability to appear cool while the world burned to ash around you.

“That’s…good.”

She shrugged, pouring more candy into onto the table, pushing the green in with the green, the purple in with the purple, wondering if she was overplaying the casual attitude.

Wondering if Austin would even notice something was wrong.

Austin was a caring older brother, but he was more than ten years older than her. And he’d moved out when she was a kid. He was always nice, but in general he’d seemed like an adult to her ever since she could remember. One thing he’d always been was a bearer of candy. Oh yes, and protective. Very protective.

And no, she wasn’t…okay. But she just had to deal with what had happened. And talking about it over Skittles and coffee wasn’t going to help that happen.

“And school?”

“Well…I’ve been politely ejected from my sorority…”

His dark eyebrows snapped together. “That’s bullshit. I’ll write a letter.”

“I left of my own accord. No one forced me to go. It was just heavily suggested. And who’s going to stay where they aren’t wanted?” That question was punctuated by her eating another grouping of Skittles.

“And your boyfriend?” Austin asked, applying a level of disdain to the title that Addison almost found funny. Almost.

“In Bermuda, of all places, likely blinding beachgoers with his exposed WASPy kneecaps and trudging around wearing sandals and tube socks, as rich boys are wont to do on holiday.”

“That was why he didn’t come to the funeral. I assume that’s why his dad didn’t come either. Or maybe that was them desperately trying not to get scandal all over them. What’s he doing about school?”

Addison sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Austin. Are you genuinely concerned for his education?”

“Questioning why the hell he’s not with you when you need him.”

Addison lifted a shoulder, proud of herself for not flinching when a shaft of pain hit her chest. “Probably because I’m a liability for him too. I understand.”

“Why are you with him?”

“Because,” she said, “he’s suitable.” Just as Columbia was a suitable university, and her sorority was a suitable house for a Treffen. Just as everything in her life was suitable down to the ground, for a man who was now six feet beneath it.

“So, what are you going to do?” Austin asked.

“About Edward Howell the Third?” she asked, invoking her boyfriend’s full name.

“About school. About where you sleep.”

“I don’t know. We have places I can stay, so I’m not really concerned about that. There’s the house upstate, the penthouse. If I really wanted to I could go to Bermuda to Mom and Dad’s beach house.”

“Finishing your degree?”

“I will,” she said, crossing her ankles and leaning back in her chair.

Though right now she wondered what the point of it all would be. She’d pursued Columbia to make Jason proud. And she’d chosen hospitality because she knew it was a field that would benefit a future society wife. Considering how things had turned out, she wondered if any of it mattered.

“But right now?”

“I’m on sabbatical. Because the entire student body is convinced that I am a prostitute because Dad…well, you know.” She tipped the Skittles bag over and poured a sizable amount onto the table.

Austin tented his fingers, leveling his dark eyes on her. She had a feeling he was about to try and solve all her problems. He had that look about him. It was very Austiny. “I have a solution for you.” As she’d suspected. “Or rather, I have a way for you to spend your time.”

“Please tell me it has nothing to do with planning your wedding. I love you. I love Katy, but…pay someone to do that. You’re rich. There is no reason to subject friends and family to this.”

“I know. But I can’t because my wife-to-be is a party planner, and binders with colored tabs make her…well, let’s just say the whole thing works out well for me.”

She blinked. “Thank you for oversharing.”

“I could have gone further.”

“Well, don’t. Ever. I’m pleased for your happiness…but I’m your sister and no, I don’t need to hear about all that.”

“I’ll spare you the details,” he said, still looking too smug for her liking. “But back to my plan, which has nothing to do with you looking at flower arrangements.”

“I’m listening.”

“You know Logan Black, I assume?”

“Everyone knows Logan Black, Austin. He was the only headline in the world two years ago. He got more press than Dad, and that’s saying something. He came back from the dead, after all.”

“Fair point,” Austin said. “I assume, since you’re aware of his circumstances, you’re also aware that he’s now the acting CEO of Black Properties.”

“I’m aware of that, yes. I do own a TV. Also, I make it a point to stay abreast of things that affect high society. Lest I appear gauche at luncheons,” she said, her tone dry.

“Logan and I knew each other in college. He’s…a friend. Or rather…I think he’s a friend. What passes for a friend to Logan isn’t the same as friendship for most people. At least not these days.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“Because I got you an internship with him.”

“What?”

“Unpaid drudge work with the man at the top of your industry. You’re welcome.”

She blinked. “You’re assuming I actually want to work in that industry.”

“Actually I’m assuming that you’d like to escape the press.”

The media had been in a frenzy ever since the story broke about Jason. And now the press was camped outside their house upstate, the event of a death intense enough for them to break their moratorium on leaving the city, and outside Austin’s office building. They were also roaming around the Manhattan penthouse her mother owned.

“And you honestly think taking an internship with Black will help me avoid the press?”

“If there’s one thing Black knows, it’s how to stay out of the spotlight when he wants to. No one has to know you’re there. And if the press does find out you’re there, it won’t seem at all unusual given your field of study.”

Addison leaned back in her chair. “You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

“Handy thing about guilt, it can really tap in to your problem-solving skills.” Austin stood and started to pace the length of the room. “Logan Black is not someone I would typically want you around, given his reputation. But he seems to have calmed down some. Since his resurrection.”

Austin wasn’t wrong. About the chance to hide out from the press, or about Logan Black. Considering his story, Logan should’ve been a media darling. But the man had a knack for staying out of the spotlight when he wanted to. He had changed a lot in the past four years. Two of which he’d spent presumed dead.

And when he came back, the playboy had transformed into something else entirely. A ruthless businessman who, by all accounts, was difficult, demanding, unpredictable. And reclusive.

And Austin had set her up to work with him. For free.

Her month really was getting better and better.

But considering her situation, she didn’t have a better option.

She was tired of being hounded by the press, and she needed to keep busy. Otherwise she would end up curled into a sugarcoated ball of misery. Reliving that night over, and over. The night that everything had gone to hell. The night her father had most certainly gone to hell.

“He’s…” Addison started, not really sure how to broach the topic of Logan. Or how to express her concerns. Going from living with one male psychopath to another wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

Not that Logan was a confirmed psychopath, but…

She started again. “He’s not the same.”

“He’s not,” Austin said. “But he’s not going to hurt you either. Actually I would have trusted him with you a whole lot less before than I do now. I mean, at least he’s not going around seducing everything in a skirt.”

“I prefer to wear pantsuits in the office. And you’re assuming I’m seduceable.”

Austin’s expression turned fierce. “No, I’m assuming nothing about you. But what I do know is that I’m slightly wary of men who treat women like they exist for nothing more than sex. I don’t want you exposed to anything like that.”

“You mean you don’t want me to be exposed to anything like that again. You forget I lived with our father for almost all of my life, and he was certainly one of those men. Wasn’t he?” A small part of her hoped that Austin would say no. A small part of her was still hoping to wake up and find this was all a terrible mistake.

“He was,” Austin said, his tone grave. “But Logan isn’t. Not now. And that’s all I mean.”

Addison cleared her throat. “Great. That’s…I mean, this is great, Austin. Thank you.”

“And he’ll provide lodging.”

She arched her eyebrows, a strange jolt of foreboding settling in her stomach. “Will he?”

“Yes. He was quite adamant about that. It has to do with his work schedule, and you’ll be fulfilling the role of personal assistant. But I think it will be especially good, since you don’t have the sorority house, and since the press seems to be permanently camped outside Treffen residences.”

“Probably suits you too. Related to you being in love, you don’t want me in your penthouse…being in your way.” Austin was entirely head over heels for his fiancée, in ways Addison could not imagine ever being for anyone. But while she didn’t relate to exactly what he was feeling, she logically understood that he would rather be alone with Katy than sharing his space with her.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, that too. Without going into emotionally scarring details.”

“You’re too kind, Austin.”

“Hey, a chance to stay in a luxury hotel and live in style, while taking a break from school? That’s not bad.”

“And who’s going to pay for my ‘living in style’?”

“Me. And then Dad’s big effing insurance payout.”

She made a face. “I don’t really like taking money from him. Money from what he did.”

“Like it or not,” Austin said, turning his chair to face the city skyline, “our entire life was financed by him.”

She stared straight ahead, her vision blurring. “What a legacy.”

“Yeah. So let’s make it a better one.”

Addison pushed the individual Skittles piles together. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

She would. She would make things better somehow. Even if it just started with her being a good intern. Because she wasn’t just lying down and giving up, no matter what the people around her seemed to think. Her life wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

Chapter Two

Logan Black looked out the window, directly across from his desk. The view of Fifth Avenue was both entrancing and slightly off-putting. Depending on his mood.

And his moods were subject to change at a moment’s notice.

The streets were packed with cars, nothing unusual, but the kind of thing that made his vision swim when it caught him off guard. Like just now.

He should have closed the curtains.

He turned his focus away from the view and leaned back in his chair, looking at the time displayed on his phone. Addison Treffen was due to arrive any moment. The beautiful daughter of the recently murdered Jason Treffen. If her brother hadn’t called in the favor, he would have happily chosen almost anyone else.

There was no place for soft, beautiful women in his life. Not now.

But Austin was one of the few people who tried to maintain a friendship with him since his return. And while Logan hadn’t done much to reciprocate, the gesture was appreciated.

Still, the idea of bringing Addison into Black Book, keeping her here…

Yesterday, it had seemed that it might work. Today, he was less certain.

He was used to that. To his moods changing like the tide. To New York feeling like a storm he could swim through one day—and one that would drown him in the depths the next.

Some days were much harder than others and he could never quite pinpoint what kind of day it would be. It usually started with shoes. That was often the biggest clue. How much did they bother him when he put them on? How much did he resent having to wear them?

If the shoes were a problem, it was a fair bet that the Manhattan streets would be too. That the traffic below would feel like his own personal hell.

Shoes had been a problem this morning. Which meant his meeting with Addison would be interesting indeed.

Though it occurred to him he might need to put his shoes on before she arrived.

He looked down at the pair of shoes and socks beneath his desk. Just a standard pair of black dress socks, and a pair of very expensive, handmade leather shoes.

He’d left them under there last night after he kicked them off.

Funny, he’d owned the shoes for something like five years now, but they’d rarely been worn. In part because they’d been new when he left, and in part because since he’d returned he worn them as little as possible.

He didn’t want to wear them. So he wouldn’t.

Ms. Treffen would learn very quickly what it was to work with him. He did not bend for convention. He forced others to bend to him.

But he was aware now of what was necessary and what was simply an extra rule imposed by society. He’d been a man stripped down to nothing. A man at his simplest, at his darkest. Where there was nothing more than life or death. Where there certainly weren’t rules about what sort of shoes he should wear into work. Or if he should wear them at all.

Though he realized that whether he cared or not, others did.

He also realized that sometimes there was a lot of power in making others uncomfortable.

There was a knock at his office door, and he knew it had to be her. Because she was the only person the front desk had permission to allow up. And because he didn’t like being paged over the intercom, a knock was the only way anyone could signal their presence.

There were a lot of things he didn’t like now. One of the many reasons his old friends, barring Austin Treffen, seemed to find him boring these days. But it didn’t bother him.

The feeling was entirely mutual.

“Come in,” he said, putting his hands on his desk, palms down, as strange, restless energy surging through him. It was like this with people. Always.

The door cracked open, and she led with her leg. A shapely, stocking-clad leg. There was no avoiding the fact that it was a nice leg. That wasn’t even up for debate. Even in his twisted brain, where things often seemed backward or upside down, a nice leg made sense.

The woman that followed the leg was even better than the body part in isolation. Blond, petite, with blue eyes that were like a deep, clear sea. Her lips were full, a pale pink not like anything found in nature on his island. It was far too delicate a shade.

She was wearing a white skirt that tapered to fit her shape, ending just below her knee, a matching, fitted jacket conforming to her curves.

And on her feet, adding, he had no doubt, to the shapeliness of her legs, were a pair of black high heels that added nearly four inches to her height and likely pushed her feet into a near-impossible position.

He’d never given much thought to women’s shoes prior to his experience on the island. But now that he resented his own footwear so damn much, he couldn’t help wondering just how contorted Addison’s feet would be in something like that.

Though the wonderment in no way detracted from her legs.

Every part of Addison Treffen was exquisite. Photos of her in the news didn’t do her justice.

“Mr. Black,” she said, his eyes level with his. “I’m Addison Treffen. My brother arranged this meeting and—”

“I’m fully aware of the details of the arrangement.”

She blinked, her expression remaining neutral. “Well, I had thought it possible my brother spoke with someone you worked for.”

“One thing you will learn about me, Ms. Treffen—nothing happens here without my approval. And no one would be permitted in my office, on my floor, in my hotel, without my arranging it.”

The hardness in his tone didn’t ruffle her. The petite, small-framed woman with her smooth hair, skin and clothes, staring him down with an expression that bordered on serenity, was not at all what he’d expected. “Was the hotel room on offer for anyone who took up the spot?” she asked, her fingers shifting on her handbag, the only slight tell of nerves he’d seen since she walked in.

“Yes,” he said. “I understand that an internship, an unpaid one, is not the easiest thing to negotiate, so it seemed a nice offer.” And in addition to that, he rarely left the hotel. Which meant any assistant of his had to be here.

“Technically, that makes it paid in a way,” she said.

“If you like.”

She smiled and for a moment he was at a loss as to the appropriate social response. Smile back, obviously.

Yes. Obviously.

He smiled, but had a feeling it looked more like a grimace. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair that was situated across from his desk.

She crossed the room and complied, her gold bag held tight against her stomach, her hands wrapped around it like claws.

Still, her overall demeanor was calm and when she sat, some of the tension eased from her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s been a strange couple of weeks. To say the least.”

“I heard about your father,” he said, watching her expression. Something kicked over in him, reminding him that he had skipped something important. Something appropriate. “I’m sorry.” The words came too late to seem genuine.

She remained utterly still in her chair, stiff, unmoving. “I’m sorry I had to see it.”

The thought of this soft creature witnessing the death of her own father twisted something deep inside him and left behind an emotion that held a vague echo of sympathy. He knew what that was like. To be jolted out of your privilege and headfirst into every ugly thing the world held.

She didn’t deserve it. It could be argued that he had.

“So,” he said, changing the subject, “what is it you want to get out of this time at Black Properties?”

“I’m here to learn. I’d like to open a hotel someday, a small one. So I think anything I can learn from you would be valuable.”

“And what about school?”

“I’m going to school. I’m a senior at Columbia and should be graduating at the end of the year. Majoring in business, minoring in hospitality. I would love to finish on campus, but at the moment that is…difficult. I’m making arrangements with my professors.”

“But you will finish,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Because school is important?”

“Not particularly,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, her lips making the shape of the word and holding for a moment before she continued. “I’ve never had a job. I went from living at home to going to school. And my parents always took care of me. They still sort of are.”

“Are you trying to dissuade me from giving you the position?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. The alternative is hiding out somewhere until the press goes away.”

“Or you can hide here,” he said. “And you can get work experience. How does that sound?”

“It sounds slightly more productive than my plan.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Why not?”

“Not a very definitive answer,” he said. “But one I’ll take.”

He rose from his position behind the desk and Addison followed his lead. He watched her movements. Graceful, poised. She was the product of an aristocratic family, as he had been. She’d been given every tool to succeed from an early age, a private school education of the highest quality that had turned each movement into art, and conversation into a performance.

There had been a time when he’d had those things, but they were lost to him now. Funny how two years of solitude could break a lifetime of habits. He was rarely conscious of it anymore, but something about Addison forced him to be.

Perhaps it was the contrast. The society sweetheart who still lived in it, and society’s favorite former playboy who had retreated so far into the darkness he could only peer in on the world he’d once belonged to. Not because the door was locked, but because he couldn’t remember why in hell he’d ever wanted to be part of it. Because even if he wanted it, he wouldn’t be able to.

Just the thought of it made a cold sweat break out on his neck, made a sick sensation slip down into his stomach.

No, it wasn’t even a possibility for him. And he didn’t want it to be anyway.

“Would you like a rundown on your responsibilities?” he asked.

“Aside from making you coffee or tea?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he said. “Or tea.”

“Oh.”

“Or alcohol.”

“Oh,” she said again, a crease appearing between her finely arched eyebrows.

“I never got used to it again,” he said. “Alcohol just makes me vomit. Coffee gives me a headache.” Possibly too frank judging by the brief contortion of her lips. He could never seem to strike the right balance.

“I see. So…what do I get you, then?”

“I can tell you’re already slightly concerned that rumors of my mental state are true,” he said, watching the momentary flicker in her expression, which was now smooth as glass. As telling as any expression of horror could ever be. “But not wanting a shot of whiskey after dinner doesn’t make me crazy.”

He walked out from behind his desk, and her eyes fell to his bare feet. She blinked a couple of times.

“Not wanting a shot of whiskey after dinner doesn’t make me crazy,” he repeated, “but there are other things.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat and took a breath, looking back at his face as if she was determined to skip over the lack of shoes. “What do I do for you, then?” she asked, the softly spoken, crisply articulated words moving over his skin like a breeze that signaled an impending storm. “If I can’t make you coffee or pour you a drink.”