His Billionaire Whisperer

In LA, the land of illusions, it’s ironic Brennan has to act the part of a billionaire to be taken seriously. His light-hearted charm worked wonders in Montana, but these slick sophisticates treat him more like a struggling actor than an accomplished developer.

Brennan needs a pro to take on this town.
Is there such a thing as a billionaire coach?

Feisty assistant to the mega-rich, make that former assistant, Brynn, is out on her assets. She shudders at the thought of trading her posh office for a high-rise cubicle farm. When a case of mistaken identity throws her into an unusual business arrangement she’s anxious to jump on such an attractive…offer.

Will she find herself unemployed and possibly broken-hearted after she whips Brennan into billionaire shape?


You'll love this book, because it will keep you glued to the page.

Heat level 2/5 sweet with heat - closed door intimacy (pg-13 movie rating)

Brynn watched as the mourners stepped forward to place a shell pink rose over the casket. She admired the play of the light pink against the dark walnut of the wood. It had been her suggestion, and it looked stunning. After saying their final goodbye, the mourners drifted down the hill to waiting town cars and limousines.
"You were invaluable to her," Ian said, as he stepped away from the grave. He placed one hand on Brynn's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "This would have made Mom so happy."
Brynn smiled and glanced one final time at the casket. Its gold handles glinted in the sun. "I better get back to the house," she said, and turned abruptly.
During the entire ceremony, her mind was racing with final preparations and details. She had wanted to stay and oversee everything at the house, but Ian wouldn't hear of it. He insisted she attend his mother's funeral. The Sinclairs weren't old money, but they certainly had enough to give the illusion of it. Cy Sinclair made a fortune in Los Angeles real estate in the seventies, and kept at it for the next three decades, thus insuring his wife and children lived within the "bubble" only a largesse of riches can afford. Now both Cy and Lorraine were deceased. What was she going to do? A tear that had nothing to do with sentiment slipped down Brynn's cheek as she pulled into the service entrance of the Beverly Hills house where she had worked for the last ten years.
The catering truck was here, along with the wait staff, she observed, mentally checking items off her to-do list. Brynn pressed her shoulder against the driver's door and jiggled the handle. The door popped open, causing her to almost tumble out of her 2005 white sedan. She adjusted her black skirt and stepped onto the uneven brick pavers that lined the back entrance. Her stilettos wobbled on the craggy surface as she walked across the courtyard.
Brynn entered the kitchen to find it bustling with activity. Dozens of salad plates were waiting to be served. She checked the time.
"Marco, these need to be on the table now. Ian doesn't want the mourners loitering too long."
He glanced up from arranging the last of the Anjou pears and nodded. They had been working together long enough that he could read the subtext in her words. Ian wanted to get on with the reading of his mother's will. Frankly, Brynn just wanted the rest of the day to go smoothly.
She jogged up the back stairs to the second floor, her heels sinking into the plush carpet, and dropped her jacket and purse in her office—a converted guest room. Stopping to check her makeup in the en suite bath, Brynn paused to wipe away the streak of mascara that had trailed down her cheek. Of all the days not to wear waterproof, she thought, angrily.
Ian was walking through the front door with his wife as Brynn directed the waiters. Mrs. Ian Sinclair gave Brynn a cold smile as she handed off her overcoat and purse to Stephens, the butler, before joining the mourners in the salon.
There were five ten-person tables arranged in the massive foyer. Brynn walked around each, inspecting them for perfection. After all their years together, Brynn could usually anticipate Lorraine, aka Boss Lady's wishes as if she were reading her mind. The same shell pink roses from the services were displayed in crystal cut vases at the center of each table. As the servers finished placing the salads at each place setting, Brynn gave Stephens the nod, and he announced the luncheon.
Once all the guests were seated, Brynn slipped away back up to her office. She paused at the door when she saw that Maria, the Sinclair's longtime cook, had left her a grilled cheese sandwich and some tea on her desk. Her eyes filled with tears. Maria was so kind. What was going to happen to all of them now? This was not the time to be sentimental, she thought. There was still work to be done. Brynn settled in at her desk overlooking the expansive front lawn and started sorting the mail.
A soft knock at her office door startled her. She turned around, eyes blurry from cataloguing the funeral expenses into the spreadsheets.
"Come in."
"Everyone but the family has gone. They're in Cy's study for the reading of the will," Stephens said. Brynn nodded. "The lawyer has requested all of the staff be in attendance."
They walked swiftly down the back stairs without saying a word. Both of them had worked for the Sinclairs for at least a decade. It was rumored they would be remembered in the will, but no one was exactly sure how. Brynn certainly had her fantasies. After all, she was with Boss Lady until her dying day. Brynn had endured all her tantrums and eccentricities for a decade, which was nine years and seven months longer than any other assistant had lasted. Brynn forced her mind to stop running wild scenarios as she and Stephens slipped into the back of the study to take their place with the rest of the staff.
Once Mr. Reeves, the family lawyer, saw they were all present, he began to read Lorraine Sinclair's final wishes. Brynn stopped listening, it was like Boss Lady was in the room, and it was creepy, but her attention snapped back when she heard her name. Brynn hadn't expected to be first.