The Millionaire Next Door Book Novels & Stories

That she doubted her grandfather would want to talk about his grandson's dead wife. "Well... I think that's the most likely thing my grandfather could ask us," Maximiliano said, with little encouragement as he remembered how hard his life had been; the people who looked at him believed that because he had been a millionaire, he had always been happy, and although money itself was a fundamental part of happiness, that void in his heart could only be filled by little Dylan, and sometimes, on sleepless nights, he felt like that emptiness was still there. "We have to go shopping... for... things" Maximiliano sighed, standing up, Amelia had told him she was sorry when he had told her about his wi

"But we just clicked. We have a lot in common, and he's very down-to-earth." "Down-to-earth?" Emily echoed, raising an eyebrow. "A handsome millionaire? That's a first." I laughed softly. "He's more than just a pretty face and a big bank account. He cares about people and wants to make a difference." "Sounds like a fairytale," Emily said. "But good for you, Sasha. I guess some people are just born lucky." "Or maybe it's about being in the right place at the right time," I countered, not letting her get to me. "And knowing what you want."

Fortunately, I arrive unharmed, step in, put the car in reverse and skim away from the spot. I drive right to my penthouse. Arriving at the apartment complex, I park my car in the underground and take the elevator to my quarters. When I'm in, I rush to the bedroom to undress. There I take an extended hot bath, put on a robe and walk out to the living room. I catch a cold liqueur and decide to enjoy it on the patio. As I stare into the distance, I consider that now is the right time to contact Ruth. If her scholarship didn't work out, I could help. In the two years I have lived here, I have worked my way up. Right now, I have written two books about mastering the financial administration of m

I said, not sure what the big deal was. “You realize I take their full names down when I book the appointments, don't you?” “Jesus, you live under a rock, don't you?” she asked, rolling her eyes. She thrust her phone toward me, open to a news story about him. “Holy shit,” I said, grabbing the phone from her. “You don't think it's him, do you?” “I told you a millionaire was going to walk through those doors one day,” Mina said. “Only he's a billionaire. You got his number, right?” I paused and stared down at the phone for a long moment, hardly able to believe any of this.

“Well, I guess you didn’t miss a couple thousand since you’re a millionaire.” “Billionaire,” she whispers. “Billionaire? Man, to see how the other half lives.” “Like regular people, just in better houses,” she says. “And better cars, more vacations.” “Hmm. But we’re still people—with joys and problems, just like you.” “Problems? Like what—your favorite restaurant’s booked?” She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” “Look, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just hard to see what problems a billionaire could have.”

There were a thousand things that could go wrong. To occupy my time and divert my attention from the situation, I opted to look through one of the magazines nearby. I chose the one titled America's Most Eligible Billionaires, and you would never guess who appeared on both the cover and the center spread. It's none other than Mr. Maximilian McTavish.

At his side was a girl in a plaid skirt, a backpack bouncing on her shoulder, chattering away as though she didn’t notice the chill that clung to the man walking beside her. My eyes narrowed. Recognition slammed into me. The rude stranger from yesterday. The man who sent my bag flying without so much as a sorry. Mr. Evans. Of course. Because my life wasn’t already tragic enough — the universe just had to make the brooding billionaire my neighbor. I muttered under my breath, “Unbelievable.” His head turned, sharp and precise, and our eyes locked. For a moment, something flickered there. Guilt, maybe. Or annoyance. He opened his mouth, voice lower than I expected. “About yesterday—”

He’s a millionaire and this woman came from poverty with hatred for a soul. “Maybe Blaire has more power against Alan than he’s able to buy to use against her.” I turn quickly to look at Miller when he finishes his sentence. “You might be on to something!” I walk out of the room and back to our board of leads and collected data from days and weeks prior and begin tearing off pages. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Miller says as he pushes me back but I found the printed article and I held it high for him to see. “This! This is what she has!”

I turn down a dream research program at Hefford University just so I can stay and help my debt-ridden boyfriend run a burger stand. This time, he says he's serious. I give him all the money I've saved up over the years, hoping we can build a better future together. A few hours later, I discover he's forgotten two hundred dollars in the drawer. I grab the money and run out, hoping to catch him. What I catch is a scene straight out of a corny movie. The loan sharks who used to beat and threaten him are now bowing and nodding deferentially.

The headline occupied the most expensive real estate in the Sunday paper. CITY A'S BOY WONDER: HOW A HOMELESS CHILD BUILT A BILLION-DOLLAR EMPIRE. Margaret bought six copies before breakfast. Chris claimed six was excessive. Margaret calmly informed him that pride was not a condition known for moderation. By lunchtime, one newspaper had found its way to a neighbor, another to Chris's younger sister, another to the woman at church who still remembered Charles as "that quiet little boy with the haunted eyes."