Blue Bear: A BBW Bear Shifter Billionaire Paranormal Romance Novella (Seattle's Billionaire Bears Book 2) Read online

  Blue Bear: A BBW Bear Shifter Billionaire Paranormal Romance Novella

  Seattle's Billionaire Bears, Volume 2

  Sable Sylvan

  Published by Sable Sylvan, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BLUE BEAR: A BBW BEAR SHIFTER BILLIONAIRE PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVELLA

  First edition. August 11, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Sable Sylvan.

  Written by Sable Sylvan.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: The Bear Prince

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  Friday

  Poppy Beaton closed her umbrella as she rushed into the elevator at Asher Lumber Co.’s Seattle headquarters. She was never going to get used to this weather. The autumn intern had taken the internship without thinking about how the Seattle climate was much different from the climate of her native New Mexico. She barely got into the elevator before the doors closed. The button for her floor was already lit, so she took the opportunity to preen her hair back into place.

  The elevator jerked and stopped. Poppy looked to the side, at her companion in the elevator. “Do we press the emergency button now, or...?” she started, before she realized who she was talking to.

  Charles Dixon. Tall, with broad shoulders, and a steely gaze that made it seem as if he was glaring, there was no mistaking the shifter in the elevator car for anyone else. He was one of the other younger employees, a few years older than her, but he was an executive who didn’t mingle with lower level employees. He came in, clocked in, clocked out, and left, but he did some of the best work in the office, with high commissions that some attributed to his high society connections.

  And of course...he was a billionaire. Scratch that, he was pretty much the billionaire. All of the Pacific Northwest had been abuzz with gossip about the Asher-Dixon Clan. A joint clan consisting of, obviously, the Asher and the Dixon families, the clan was known for its stable of drop-dead gorgeous bachelors who also happened to have the fattest bank accounts in all of Seattle. One by one, over the last few years, the Asher and Dixon billionaire boys had found their fated mates, and every girl in the greater Seattle area practically threw themselves at the remaining bachelor boys. Poppy had seen some girls frikkin’ tossed out of the building because they had snuck in with catering companies to try and sneak a peek at the men they were sure could be their true loves...or at least, the key to them living a trophy wife lifestyle.

  One bachelor stood out among them all. Charles Dixon. The man with a reputation as a billionaire playboy, who was seen smiling in photos with gorgeous women from other illustrious shifter families, as well as some unknowns, on a weekly basis. At work, he was icy cold and the only tells that revealed that he was anything special were his powerful aura, his designer suits, and the fact he ate lunch with his wealthy relatives once a week at their boy’s club style meetings. Poppy had heard the girls in the office talk about how handsome Charles was, how badly they wanted him to notice them, what they would do to just have a moment in a room with him, alone...and when the other girls had said that, Poppy had plugged up her ears with earbuds and gone back to work. She was here to work, not to play, because those student loans weren’t about to pay themselves off...but here, now, trapped in an elevator with a man she’d been determined not to enchant her, she found herself, well...enchanted.

  “We wait,” said Charles stiffly, pressing the emergency button before giving Poppy only a cursory glance. He knew exactly who she was, and he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of being ogled by him. Well. He didn’t know exactly who she was, but he had seen her around the office. She stuck out, compared to the rest of the interns...because she was the only one that made his pants tent when he caught a glimpse of her. As usual, she was dressed in a way he was sure she thought was modest, but which aroused his very core, made him feel things that a city shifter like himself shouldn’t feel. He knew her as that girl who he would be glad to see gone at the end of the intern period, because the way she made him feel was downright criminal, and being stuck in the same five block radius as her was enough to drive him wild. She was an intern, so she was off-limits, and in his opinion, should’ve been out of the city limits too.

  That didn’t stop Poppy. She looked Charles over from head to toe. His hair was dry: he must’ve been driven to work by a private driver. Of course, looking him over head to toe meant having to acknowledge the fact he was frikkin’ gorgeous, and would’ve looked even better soaking wet. As great as the designer clothes looked on him, they’d look much better crumpled up in a pile near her desk...

  Poppy’s inner voice snapped her out of her trance state. What the heck are you frikkin’ thinkin? asked the voice, the voice of The Real Poppy, not the voice of Poppy Who For Some Reason Is Being Controlled By Her Hormones, Pheromones, And Deep, Sexy Moans. He’s practically your boss, all the Asher-Dixon bears are...and you want to be taken seriously, don’t you? Yeah, he’s frikkin’ gorgeous. Yes, he’s drop dead sexy even when giving you the cold shoulder...but girl, you’re here on a mission that doesn’t include putting a ring on your finger! Poppy knew the voice was right and she turned her head away, hoping Charles hadn’t caught her looking at him that way, for that long.

  Charles pulled out his phone: didn’t the girl know it was rude to stare...and even ruder to make others stare? There was no way the sales intern didn’t know she looked like sex topped with whipped cream and cherries and drizzled with honey, dressed in a black pencil skirt that hugged her every curve, in a white silk top that clung to her skin, the wetness of the top making her bra show through the fabric. Black, and lacy, there was no way that Poppy hadn’t chosen that bra with that blouse without realizing how it made her look. Girls like her were a rarity in Seattle, and the women he’d been seeing recently were, yes, pretty, but compared to her, they couldn’t hold a candle. It was no secret that shifter women lacked the curves that human had, and tall and thin wasn’t Charles’ type. A petite, busty young woman, in a top with buttons forming a slight gape that revealed the pink bow in the center of her bra...that was something out of a fantasy, and that was what was right beside him.

  Charles Dixon was one of the few shifters that Poppy had ever seen that had dyed hair. It had to be dyed: the shades of dark brown, blue, and black, with errant strands of grey and white, all mixed together on Charles’s head, couldn’t be produced by human beings, at least without heavy usage of chemicals...but his hair didn’t look brittle or dry like a lot of dyed hair. No, his hair looked soft and touchable, and Poppy just wanted to lose herself in it.

  But Charles Dixon was a man with a reputation, a reputation that was rather unsavory. As Poppy looked over the man who needed no introduction, she realized just why he was the most talked about and least talked to man in the office. They called him “Blue Bear”, the blue-haired bear shifter, because he was never seen twice with the same woman. A womanizer like the other Dixon men, there was no frikkin’ way that Poppy was
going to be just another notch on his bed post.

  When she had first come to Seattle, one of the other interns, who was back for their second internship, had filled her in about “Blue Bear” or, as some called him, “Bluebeard”, because of his scruffy blue beard stubble: he was handsome, ridiculously wealthy, but at his core, a bad boy, who it was best to stay away from unless completely necessary. There were a few levels in the chain of command between Poppy and Charles, so although she’d seen him at some company functions and been in a few meetings with him, she’d never talked to him before, and she’d certainly never been this close to him.

  But what Poppy hadn’t been warned about?

  Charles was absolutely irresistible. Dressed impeccably, a body that good didn’t need to wear designer fashion. In fact, any designer would’ve been lucky to have Charles wear their clothes. His hair was perfect, even though his hair cut wasn’t particularly trendy, nor was it corporate and stuffy. But the one thing that she really hadn’t been warned about?

  Charles Dixon smelled amazing.

  She couldn’t place what the smell was: it smelled sweet, that was certain. But it wasn’t like fruit, more like candy, and a bit floral too. There was something about that smell that seemed out of place given what she knew about Charles. He looked like a man who would smell like steel, or ice, or maybe even musky, not...whatever this smell was. It was something a bit earthy, maybe, a bit floral, but definitely not necessarily feminine. Above all else, it smelled warm, warmer than Charles’s appearance, reputation, or demeanor.

  With a lurch, Poppy head was pulled out of the clouds and back into reality. She was usually so grounded...but around this devil of a man, she could barely control her own imagination. She looked around. The elevator had started moving again. “See, it’s fine,” said Charles, without so much as turning his head to look at Poppy...although he could see her reflection on his phone, even when the screen wasn’t turned off, rendering the device a flat, black mirror, and that reflection of hers was distracting enough. Calm. Cool. Collected. Those were the traits that defined Charles, until this mere girl had walked into the elevator, and all bets were off. She had to have some idea what effect she was having on him...he just prayed that his pants didn’t prove that to her or anyone else who saw him in the next hour.

  “These elevators are pretty old,” said Poppy as the elevator went to their floor.

  “Historic,” corrected Charles. “They’ve got roots. They’ve been part of this building since it was built.”

  “They’re death traps,” said Poppy with a frown.

  “Maybe to people that don’t understand them,” said Charles, looking over the woman who had sassed him. He was Charles Dixon: nobody sassed him, not even gorgeous women who worked at his family’s company and therefore were most definitely off limits.

  “Cool,” said Poppy before rolling her eyes and blowing off Charles as the elevator doors open, walking out the elevator doors before Charles did and walking straight to Aspen Asher’s office. The CEO of Asher Lumber, he handled the sales department. All Poppy knew was that she’d been selected for a special project. She turned to Aspen’s secretary.

  “I’m Poppy, Poppy Beaton. I have a nine-o-clock with Mr. Aspen,” said Poppy.

  “Mr. Aspen will see you now,” said the secretary with a smile.

  Charles followed behind and leaned on the secretary’s desk. “Hey, Millicent, I’ve also got a nine-o-clock with Mr. Aspen,” said Charles.

  “Go right on in,” said Millicent.

  Poppy walked into Aspen’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked the man sitting in the chair, facing the city.

  He turned. “You’re Poppy Beaton, one of our autumn sales interns,” said Aspen. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Aspen gave her a warm, firm handshake. His palms were soft, but there were firm spots on his hands, one of many marks of a bear shifter, aside from their towering height, broad build, perfect hair (which came with an abundance of body hair beneath the clothes), and, of course, their mate marks, the marks that gave them a clue as to their true love’s identity.

  “And of course, cousin Charles,” said Aspen, greeting Charles who was right behind Poppy. Poppy turned: of course that bear was going to be part of the meeting, of course. She sat down. “You two must be wondering what I need you for. Well, we’ve got a little...situation down in Port Jameson, regarding a vendor. We want to make sure this vendor continues to serve the mill, and it looks like we’ll need a heck of a Hail Mary pass to make a deal.”

  “So can’t you just send me?” asked Charles.

  “I could, but Poppy’s on an academic internship,” said Aspen. “For her business program. I want her to learn from a pro, hands-on, which is why she’ll be shadowing you and assisting you with the negotiations.”

  As soon as Charles heard that name, something inside him clicked, like a switch being turned on for the first time in years. Poppy? There was no frikkin’ way that the beautiful woman’s name was Poppy...and after all these years...Charles gulped, and kept it together, even though his bear was roaring to be free, to take Poppy then and there on the desk, regardless of the fact that his cousin was in the room. “I understand completely,” said Charles. “Is the company house available for usage, or do I need to book a hotel?”

  “The house is available,” said Aspen. “You have the maid’s number, text her if you need anything special set up ahead of time.”

  “There’s no frikkin’ way I’m staying in the same room as him,” said Poppy. “I’m sorry, but that’s not what I signed up for when I took this internship.” As soon as the words had come out of her mouth, Poppy regretted saying them: this internship meant a lot to her. She’d busted her ass getting top grades at her university in order to maintain a high enough GPA to get this prestigious internship, which she was hoping to pivot into a post-graduation job offer. This wouldn’t have been the first time Poppy’s sassy mouth had gotten her into trouble.

  Surprisingly, Aspen didn’t fire her on the spot. “Of course you won’t be staying in the same room together. However, I’m sure you’ll find the accommodations more than quite adequate,” said Aspen, smiling warmly. It was a typical business tactic: agreeing with someone who was upset and moving past their concern quickly. “It’s...not exactly just a house. More like a country manor. There are guest rooms, and Charles has his own room there. You two would be in separate rooms, but of course, if you arrive and don’t find the accommodations to your liking, we can set you up at one of the bed and breakfasts in the area and get you your own rental car. You two will head down to Port Jameson on Sunday morning, and stay the week while you figure the deal out with the supplier. Of course, you’ll get paid overtime, for the entire week.”

  Poppy ran the numbers in her head...that was a lot of money, too much for her to refuse. “Deal,” said Poppy, glaring at Charles. There was no way that she was going to like a week with Charles Dixon, a man she’d only formally just met, who had a nickname based on a philandering manipulative fairy tale prince...but at the same time, Charles Dixon did totally look like the stereotypical fairy tale prince. Tall, jacked, and with fantastic (albeit unorthodoxly colored) hair, he practically smelled like a prince, given he smelled just like honey. That was the smell that Poppy hadn’t been able to place earlier: honey. That had to be cologne...there was no way he naturally smelled like nature’s elixir: golden, smooth, and absolutely lickable. Poppy felt her cheeks burning and turned back to the CEO, hoping her face wasn’t the same color as her namesake flower.

  Aspen smiled. Neither his cousin nor the intern had any clue what they were in for. He’d found and married his fated mate relatively recently, and once he’d claimed her, his life had never been the same and his blushing bride’s world had changed forever. He could tell there was undeniable chemistry between the two: Poppy was burning red, and Charles, well, he was starting to develop noticeable sweat marks on his dress shirt, which was a classic tell. There was no way the two coul
d keep their hands off of each other for the whole week. After the Asher and Dixon Clan men found their mates, they were basically obligated to pair up their cousins, and this was going to be the easiest pairing he’d ever made. “Great, I’ll iron out some final details with Charles, but I look forward to our next meeting, Poppy,” said Aspen, rising to give her a parting handshake before Poppy headed back down to the sales floor.

  As Poppy’s shoes clicked on the shiny wooden floors, Charles resisted turning to give the curvy woman the proper once-over. There’d be plenty of time to do that in Port Jameson, even though he didn’t want to admit that having a chance to get a real look at Poppy was what he was looking forward to more than closing this deal.

  “What the heck was that?” asked Charles, standing up once Poppy’s elevator had left. “You find...her, and you tell me this way?”

  “I never found it appropriate to communicate such serious matters over the phone,” said Aspen with his arms crossed. “Besides, you know she’s the one.”

  “And if she isn’t?” asked Charles. “I’m not going to sexually harass an employee in order to-”

  “Technically, she isn’t your employee,” said Aspen. “She’s mine. And who said anything about sexual harassment? There’s this little thing called romance, you might want to try it, you’ll be surprised where it gets you.” Aspen lifted up the picture frame on his desk, of Eleanor and their children, and he smiled.

  “Not all of us get a fairy tale ending,” said Charles.

  “You’re right,” said Aspen. “Not all of us do...but you will, Charles. You just have to believe...in fairy tales.”

  ***

  Sunday

  On Sunday morning, Poppy waited outside the employee apartments for her ride. She’d coordinated with Charles over email regarding the time and place for pickup. She kept her eyes peeled for a town car, a black livery vehicle that the crème de la crème shifters used to take them from place to place effortlessly, but none stood out to her.