by Elise Faber
BAD HOOKUP
BILLIONAIRE’S CLUB BOOK 4
ELISE FABER
BAD HOOKUP
BY ELISE FABER
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
* * *
BAD HOOKUP
Copyright © 2019 Elise Faber
ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-21-0
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Elise Faber
Kelly S. I couldn’t continue doing this without readers like you!
Thank you for having my back and supporting my work. <3
ONE
RACHEL
* * *
RACHEL WATCHED her boss dance with her second husband—or maybe husband twice over was a better description?—and gave a little sigh of happiness.
Yes, Heather was technically her boss, but she was also her friend.
And her friend deserved a happily ever after.
The party was just getting started, friends and business associates spilling out onto Heather’s back patio that had been decorated with twinkly lights, an abundance of flowers, and plenty of portable heaters.
Only the Sextant—herself, Abby, Bec, Seraphina, CeCe, and Heather—along with Jordan and Colin, Abby and CeCe’s husbands, respectively, and of course, Clay, knew that the surprise wedding they’d celebrated that night was technically a second wedding.
The rest of the guests just thought Heather had pulled a fast one on Clay.
Rachel smiled as she remembered the way the couple had come down the stairs, both of their eyes a little damp, but love emanating from every fiber of their bodies.
The vows had been beautiful and—
Ugh. She was getting a little too sappy.
Wiping the tears away before they could escape—and heaven forbid, ruin her mascara as Abby was always so worried about—Rachel blew out a breath and set about making sure the food the caterers had delivered was arranged properly.
Soon the cocktail hour would be over, and then the group of fifty-plus—okay, so she knew it was exactly fifty-seven guests, because she was damned good at her job—would descend like locusts on the food tables.
Everything needed to be ready.
So, she went down her mental checklist. Appetizers. Check. Several types of salad. Blegh, but check. Entrees. Pasta, chicken, and vegetarian. Check. Check. Check. The cake was also ready, perched at the end of the table and waiting to be cut.
“This little shindig your doing?”
Rachel froze, all her nerve endings going on alert.
She knew that voice.
She knew if she turned around, she would see him.
Him.
Tall, much taller than her, but lean when compared to her curves. Still, all that lankiness hadn’t meant a lack of strength. He’d been all sorts of hard and hot as he’d pinned her against the door and pounded into her.
Rachel cleared her throat but didn’t rotate to face him. “Not my doing. I just helped out.”
A long pause, probably because normal people usually looked each other in the eyes when they conversed.
“Well, from what I’ve seen, you’ve done a lot of helping out.” He put a hand on the table next to her, and she shifted away, shivering. She remembered what those fingers could do, how they’d traced over her skin, slipped between her legs, slid inside.
Shuddering, she smoothed out a wrinkle on the tablecloth.
“For a last-minute surprise wedding, everything is beautiful,” he said, no doubt waiting for her to say something semi-coherent.
She didn’t.
Instead, Rachel shrugged and began fussing with the placement of the warming dishes.
The man didn’t take the hint. He didn’t leave.
Why won’t he leave?
She dropped her chin to her chest.
“So,” he finally said after another lengthy—and silent—moment. “Gay, taken, or not interested?”
“Oh my God,” she moaned, one hand coming up to push her bangs off her forehead. “This is not happening.”
“I—” A beat then his voice was incredulous. “I know that moan.” Warm fingers grasped her wrist, tugged until she could see him in all his yumminess.
Her moment of weakness. Her hookup because she’d been feeling desperate and lonely and—
“It’s you,” he said softly.
Yes, it was her. Rachel, the good girl who didn’t sleep around, who certainly didn’t hook up with random strangers in a bar.
Rachel, who had hooked up with a stranger.
The sex had been damned good. Incredible, actually.
But it had been just that. Sex. And she hadn’t been able to let go of the guilt. She’d now slept with a grand total of two men in her life, and one of them was her husband.
“I—” She tugged at her wrist. “I need to go.”
Heather and Clay chose that exact moment to saunter over.
Why universe? Why?
“Rachel,” Heather said, closing the distance between them and hugging her tight. “I told you not to work so hard on the wedding. This”—she swept her hand around the deck—“is all too much.”
“You deserve to have a beautiful wedding,” Rachel murmured to her boss and gave her a quick squeeze before she stepped back.
Heather shook her head, but she was smiling. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Clay said. “For all of it. I know it was a lot of work, but we appreciate—Oh, good”—he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning her to face Sebastian fully—“I was going to introduce you two, but I guess you’ve already met my assistant, Sebastian.”
Sebastian’s expression flickered with shock—no doubt mirroring her own—but luckily, Clay and Heather were too lost in each other and the moment to recognize just how big of a bomb Clay had just dropped.
After a few more words, their bosses moved on to talk with a business associate, and Sebastian’s blue-gray eyes darkened. His stare, all heat and desire and sex appeal, was what had undone her the first time they’d met.
But it was his words, the hint of a growl edging into his voice that made her insides tremble in that moment.
“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Rachel.”
She tipped over a bowl of salad dressing.
TWO
SEBASTIAN
* * *
HER NAME WAS RACHEL. Somehow the name fit her perfectly.
She was absolutely gorg
eous, but in an understated way, with olive skin and deep chocolate brown locks. That hair had tumbled over his hands in long silken waves as he’d sent them both skyrocketing to completion. Pouty pink lips had matched him kiss for kiss, slender fingers had gripped his shoulders tightly as he’d slid home.
She’d been cute in the bar but unbelievably beautiful in the throes of an orgasm.
Sebastian hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since that night.
But she hadn’t come back to the bar—or at least, she hadn’t returned when he’d been there. And he’d been back to Bobby’s a lot. There was also the complication of not knowing her name. He couldn’t stalk her on Instagram or Facebook, couldn’t even look for her on Tinder.
And now she was here, elbows deep in ranch dressing.
“Shit,” she muttered, scooping up the mess with practiced efficiency, shifting a plate this way, a bowl that way until the stain had disappeared. Her heels clicked on the composite deck boards as she rounded the table and bent to peak under the floor-length tablecloth.
Fuck him senseless.
Her ass—
Rachel glared at him as she straightened, a fresh bowl and a bottle of salad dressing in her hands. “You’re a pig,” she snapped.
He raised a brow as she stormed past him. “You don’t wear a dress like that”—his gaze trailed down the tight red number, plumping up her breasts until they threatened to spill from the deep V, clinging to her narrow waist, her hips and ass on full display—“and—”
“And what?” She filled the bowl, stomping over to return the bottle back underneath the table, though without the mouthwatering bend this time. “I’m asking to be ogled?”
Sebastian, rather intelligently, he thought, opted not to answer that particular minefield of a question. “You’re beautiful,” he replied instead. “And freakishly efficient.”
Her shoulders, which had been hunched somewhere in the vicinity of her ears, relaxed. “I don’t know about the first, but I’m definitely trying for the second.”
“You’re succeeding.”
She pressed her lips together, drawing his gaze to her brightly painted mouth—crimson today instead of pink. Fitting, given her dress, but not helping his concentration. He wanted to kiss it off her.
“So,” he said when she went back to ignoring him. “Are we going to talk about it?”
Her hands clenched into fists. “No.”
He leaned a hip against the table, rattling the carefully arranged bowls, but before he could move, she was in front of him, yanking him back a pace.
“So help me God, if you mess this up for Heather and Clay—”
And that was enough.
Sebastian wrapped his fingers around Rachel’s arm and began leading her to a private corner of the deck. He’d scoped it out earlier, knowing that this type of socialization was important for his future in the business world, but also just as easily understanding that small talk was taxing for a guy like him.
A guy who had to work for it. Who was naturally awkward and unfunny.
A guy who’d prefer to be the quiet observer rather than the center of attention.
But he wanted to be successful, dammit, and that meant he needed to learn how to play the game. Sebastian just considered himself lucky that Clay thought him smart and talented enough to be willing to teach him the rules of the game.
He would be learning from the master.
Well, the two masters, since his boss was lucky enough to be married to one Heather O’Keith. It could be said she was an even more successful businessman than his own boss . . . and that was really saying something.
Rachel’s heels skidded on the deck, and he cursed under his breath before slowing his pace.
He’d been warring with himself, thinking only of getting her out of sight in order to kiss that lipstick from her mouth and demanding, coaxing, pleading, okay, begging for another night.
He knew he’d fucked up.
But just one more night.
He’d make it good for both of them.
Shit.
Because Sebastian knew he couldn’t bring up any of those appeals. Heather and Clay were the keys to his future. He needed to learn from them, not piss Heather off by screwing with her assistant. Clay was loyal, but he was also pragmatic.
If Sebastian made Rachel angry and then that got back to Heather? Well, Sebastian had no doubt he’d be packing up his corner office at Steele Technologies.
Wife trumped assistant any day of the week.
“Sorry,” he said and loosened his grip, gently tugging her around the side of the house so they were out of sight of any of the wedding guests.
The noise of the party muted and shadows danced around them.
This was a bad idea.
Rachel’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her breasts. Fuck. He wanted her to breathe just a little deeper, prayed for one of her dusky nipples to pop free. His mouth actually watered for it.
She stepped back, crossed her arms over said breasts. “Not going to happen,” she snapped. “They’re taped in.”
His lips curved. “Well, that’s a damn shame.”
“What do you want . . .” Her chin lifted, but he knew she scrambled for his name. “What do you want?” she asked, more firmly that time.
“Sebastian,” he said. “My name is Sebastian.”
A huff. “I knew that.”
“Did you?”
Olive skin dusted with the slightest hint of pink. “Yes. So why did you drag me over here?”
He hesitated, warring with himself. “Why did you go home with me that night?”
Her eyes flashed to his. “I—”
“I still remember the feel of you coming against my tongue, sweetheart. I can still feel—”
Her fingers came up to his mouth, pressed firmly to stop his words.
“We have to work together,” she said. “This can’t—”
“I know,” he said and let himself rub one strand of her hair between his fingers. It was silk, just like he remembered. “I know. But that night was . . .”
Her chin dropped to her chest, tugging the lock from his grip. “I can’t do this.”
“Why?” he asked, suddenly brightening as the obvious occurred to him. They could work together. Their bosses were married, for Christ’s sake. “Heather and Clay are—”
Brown eyes flashed up to meet his, regret in their depths. “I’m married.”
THREE
RACHEL
* * *
“I’M MARRIED.”
Okay, that was pretty much a technicality at this point, but Sebastian didn’t need to know that.
Except, he somehow knew she wasn’t telling him the truth.
Or the whole truth anyway.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, moving closer. Near enough that she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave, the slightly bitter tang of pine from his hair gel.
She’d nuzzled against that throat, ran her hands through his hair over and over, taking the scent home with her on her fingertips. The smell had teased her for hours and yet she hadn’t been able to wash her hands.
Hadn’t been able to wash away his scent.
Or maybe she was the one who had actually stepped closer—damned pheromones or hormones or—
“What is it you’re not telling me?” His voice had softened, but she wasn’t fooled by the quiet tone. There was something ruthless about the statement, almost warning her to not explain herself, to disobey him and see what might happen.
The thought of what might happen made her shiver.
“Rachel.”
“Nothing.” Unfortunately, she squeaked her reply. Literally squeaked it out.
And such was her voice on Sebastian.
Her response made his brows yank down, made his stormy blue-gray eyes darken, as if a squall were raging just beneath his surface. And based on the step he took in her direction, the way he reached for her, it wasn’t a tropical d
epression.
It was a category-four hurricane heading straight in her direction.
Shit and Oh boy flashed through her mind in equal measures.
“Rach—” Heather’s voice cut off as she no doubt took in the cozy little scene in front of her.
Or rather, Rachel seconds from launching herself into Sebastian’s arms and forgetting the shame she’d felt after the night they’d shared, the imprudence of having a relationship with someone she worked with, the fact that almost every man on the planet was a giant egotistical asshole.
But, thankfully, Heather’s interruption managed to jumpstart Rachel’s brain.
“Go away,” she said, thinking quickly and waving a hand to shoo Heather back in a fashion that was more friend than boss . . . but that was how they rolled these days. Still, Rachel forced herself to keep her tone light, not wanting to alarm either friend or boss. Not when she was barely saving the situation as it was. “Sebastian and I are trying to figure out how to squeeze two more days for your honeymoon from the Berlin trip.”
Heather’s expression transformed from perplexed and slightly concerned to satisfied. “I knew you two were going to be the ultimate tag team for our quest to take over the world.” She rubbed her hands together, evil genius style.
“Oh Lord,” Rachel said. “You’re too much. Now go. Enjoy the party and leave the plotting to us.”
Heather smirked. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Pot meet kettle,” Rachel replied with a roll of her eyes.
“Just remember that playtime is part of the fun.”
Rachel felt her cheeks heat. The last time she’d hung out with their group of friends, the Sextant had made it perfectly clear that they thought Rachel was in serious risk . . . of re-growing her hymen. “I remember.”
Sebastian raised a brow but didn’t say anything as Heather left with a chuckle.
“Playtime?” he asked after they were alone. “Or maybe the more important question is if you’re really married then why in the fuck did you sleep with me?”