Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

  She pats the seat, and I climb in beside her. We drive back into town past mostly dark and empty storefronts until glowing neon lights ahead make Scarlett turn into a small square parking lot.

  "Angelo, I knew I could always count on you," she grins as she takes off her seatbelt, then looks at me. "He's owned this place since... well, always. He's approximately a thousand, and he lives in an apartment over the restaurant, so there's no point in closing for bad weather. We once had a hurricane come through, and Angelo with his generator fed all of Shadow Creek for three days."

  The smell of garlic and fresh bread wraps around me the second we walk through the door. Dim lighting, navy and burgundy carpeting, and ornate brass light fixtures hanging over dark wood tables create an atmosphere true to the promise of the smell. Warmth, comfort, and tradition. I imagine this place looks exactly like it did when Scarlett was a little girl and probably long before that. She's right. It's nothing like where I'd usually bring her to dinner. Yet, she's not disappointed or put off. Instead, she walks right up to the counter and calls into the kitchen.

  "Angelo? You back there?"

  "Scarlett?" A tiny man with a shock of white hair and olive skin comes out of the kitchen and leans over the counter to kiss her cheek. "It's been so long since you've come to see me. You haven't been looking for something better, have you?"

  I grin along with her.

  "Of course, not, Angelo. There's no such thing."

  He makes an adoring sound and leans forward to kiss her other cheek. “Who’s the handsome fella?”

  "I brought my friend, Gavin. He's visiting Shadow Creek this weekend."

  "Should I make your favorite?" he asks.

  Scarlett smiles and nods.

  "Thank you, Angelo."

  The little man scurries back into the kitchen, and Scarlett turns to lean back against the counter. She eyes one of the booths nearby, and we walk toward it together. As we sit, my phone rings. I immediately reach for it.

  "Hello?" I say without looking at the screen.

  "Just making sure you haven't drowned in either egregious displays of love or your cynicism."

  The sound of Marla's voice makes me relax.

  "No, still doing fine," I tell her. "Except for the snow."

  "Snow?"

  "Quite a bit of it."

  "You don't think it's going to keep you from getting back, do you?" she asks.

  "You aren't that lucky. I'll see you Tuesday."

  I shove my phone back in my pocket and realize Scarlett is staring at me.

  "Do you always jump like that when your phone rings?" she asks.

  "I didn't realize I did," I tell her.

  "It looked like you thought your phone might explode if you didn't grab it out of your pocket fast enough."

  "It's work," I explain. "Even when I'm away, I don't really leave it behind. You know what that's like."

  She shakes her head. "Not really. My work is extremely important to me, but when I'm not working, my life is mine. There's too much out here in the real world to be always worrying about what's going on in the work bubble."

  "My work bubble is everywhere."

  "Well, I will admit, I've never seen someone look so relieved just by getting a work call," she says.

  "I guess technically that was a work call since it was my assistant, Marla. But she called to taunt me."

  "Taunt you?"

  "Like I so eloquently told you yesterday, Valentine's Day isn't my thing. She was making sure it hasn't killed me yet," I tell her.

  Scarlett laughs.

  "How heartlessly corporate of you. She seemed anxious about the snow."

  "Hardly. She's probably hoping I won't come back for a day or two so she can get more practice in for her desk chair races with Agatha from accounting. At least, I'm telling myself that because I greatly prefer not to think about what she and her partner might be doing in the office over Valentine's Day. Stacey has a bit of an alpha boss fixation."

  "That's a lot to know about your assistant. Of course, I don't even really have an assistant. I have a best friend who technically does my marketing for me, but also gets dragged along for almost everything else I do."

  "Well, Marla has been with me for years. She's the only one in the company who understands me and makes sure things work out accordingly," I say.

  "So, what you really mean is she's the only one who will deal with your bullshit."

  I give a single nod, my lips twitching into a smile.

  "You could say that," I confirm. "But I deal with hers in return, so it balances out. It wasn't actually her that I was relieved about, though."

  I don't know why I started down that path, and I'm glad when Angelo comes to the side of the table with an armful of food.

  "Ready to go?" she asks me.

  "We're not eating here?" I ask.

  "Nope."

  I pay and carefully navigate my way outside, carrying the boxes while walking through the ice and snow. Soon, we’ve picked up my rental and we're back at her house. My clothes are sitting on the hearth, and I've changed into an extra set I bought. I'm building a fire in her fireplace while she changes out of her wet clothes. I'm completely out of my element, for the first time feeling like something new is being shown to me rather than introducing someone else to my world.

  Scarlett comes out of her bedroom wearing tight black pants and a sweater that skims the deep dip of her waist and flare of her hips. She swirls her hair around and secures it in a messy knot on the back of her head. She's effortlessly sexy, and my craving for her gets even stronger.

  "So, what is all this?" I ask, indicating the containers spread out across the coffee table while I sit on the couch.

  Scarlett settles onto the floor and starts opening them.

  "This is my favorite pizza in the entire world, spinach and mushrooms. If that is just too desperately healthy for you, we have Angelo's famous meatballs in the sauce his mama taught him to make in Italy. Beside that is garlic bread I could live off of quite happily. And to round it all out, tiramisu with enough booze to make driving home hit or miss in the legality department, so I suggest eating it on a full stomach."

  "This is your usual?" I ask, surveying the sheer enormity of the spread of food.

  "The pizza is," she tells me, pulling out a slice. "The rest are just favorites. Angelo is trying to impress you."

  "Ah."

  I take a meatball from the container and set it on one of the plates Scarlett brought from the kitchen. She watches as I try to get some of the sauce with it.

  "There's really no sophisticated way to do that," she points out. "You're going to have to just pour it."

  I do, and some splatters. Scarlett laughs.

  "I look like I've never eaten before," I say.

  "No. You just look like you need to loosen up. Come on. Come down here and sit with me."

  Taking the plate, I move down to the floor, and sit beside Scarlett. The warmth from the fire touches my skin and glows on her face.

  “Okay, I’m down here,” I say.

  “Take off your shoes.”

  “My shoes?”

  “You’re not really comfortable if you have shoes on,” she offers.

  “Actually, I’m only comfortable with my shoes on.”

  She gives me a withering look, and I relent, pulling off my boots and setting them aside. Scarlett rewards me with a smile.

  "Good. Now, try," she tears off a chunk of garlic bread, swirls it in the sauce on my plate, and holds it to my lips, "this."

  I open my mouth, and she tucks the bite inside. The flavor is rich and deep, perfected over generations. I moan and Scarlett giggles.

  “That’s delicious,” I say.

  “See? Sometimes the best things in life are the simplest ones. Sitting on the floor, not wearing shoes, and Angelo’s meatball sauce and garlic bread.”

  “Absolutely.” I reach for a slice of the pizza and take a bite. It’s just as incredible. “This is going on my
list of activities for every time I visit Shadow Creek.”

  I realize the significance of the words, and we meet eyes. Heat flares between us, but again Scarlett hesitates. Her eyes drop to the slice of pizza in her hand.

  "What did you mean when you said hearing from Marla wasn't why you were relieved?" she asks.

  "Ugh," I mutter. "I was hoping you'd forget that."

  She laughs. "Why?"

  "It was a stupid thing for me to say. It just kind of came out."

  Scarlett looks expectant. She leans forward.

  "Go on," she nods. "What is it?"

  I take another bite of the pizza and wipe my fingers on a napkin.

  "Alright. I thought it might have been my ex calling."

  This is it. The death knell of a first date. Is it a date? If it is, that was enough to suck the life right out of it.

  But Scarlett laughs. Instead of the anger and discomfort I expected, she nods understandingly and finishes her slice of pizza before reaching for a chunk of garlic bread.

  "Ah, yes. The Valentine's Day calls of desperation," she observes. "She got a good jump on it this year."

  I laugh, both relieved and even more attracted to Scarlett.

  "She's had a jump on it for several months," I tell her. "We broke up in August."

  She laughs again, nodding until she finishes chewing and swallows.

  "My ex and I broke up in September."

  "So, you've gotten the Valentine's Day call of desperation?' I ask.

  "Oh, no." She shakes her head adamantly. "I am not the kind to inspire desperation."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "My longest relationship has been two months. I'm not good with sticking around, trying to find a connection with someone. Either it's there, or it's not, and I move on. I like adventure and experience and actually living. I just haven't found someone who wants to do that alongside me." Her big green eyes burrow into me. "I bet you think that's pathetic."

  "Not at all," I tell her. "Knowing what you want and not being willing to compromise is impressive. Most people I know haven't come close to mastering that."

  Her red lipstick leaves a smudge on the can as she takes a long sip of cola. It never would have occurred to me that a woman drinking a soda could be sexy, but something about her not wanting a glass, not worrying about a straw, and without hesitation tipping back the full-sugar drink was hot as hell. I've never experienced anything like Scarlett. She's so different from me, yet I can't get enough of her.

  "Going after what you want is what life is all about, isn't it? It's silly to let go of that just because it's easier sometimes."

  Those words are all I need to not be able to resist her anymore. My mouth catches hers. I finally get my taste of her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scarlett

  The kiss isn't long, but it's intense. When his lips pull away from mine, my eyes meet Gavin's, and he runs his fingertips along the side of my face.

  "Like that?" he asks.

  I nod.

  "Like that," I agree.

  "I don't think you are not the type of person who would inspire desperation," he says softly. "And I don't think it's possible for them to cast someone prettier for your Saturday Special Edition 20/20 episode."

  Our foreheads touch briefly as we laugh.

  "Thank you," I tell him. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."

  We settle back and start eating again. I'm comfortable and relaxed in a way I can't remember being with a man, especially one I barely know. Gavin is stuffy and spoiled, but the more I shake him up, the more glimpses I see of someone I want more of.

  "So, what happened with the boring ex-boyfriend?" he asks.

  "Oh, no. I want to hear your story. This woman is apparently calling you all the time and causing all sorts of drama. I want to know what happened there. Speaking of which, why don't you just change your phone number?"

  "Work," he explains. "Too many people contact me on this number for me to change it for her. I figure eventually, she'll give up and move on."

  I chuckle.

  "You underestimate women. If she's determined to win you back, you might be in this for the long haul."

  "I don't know if I would call it trying to win me back as much as trying to convince me we never broke up in the first place."

  Scarlett looks at me questioningly, and I nod. "Her name is Eva. We dated for around a year. She got very comfortable, very fast."

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "She was very fond of my money and image and figured she was going to step right into the role permanently. She's so used to everyone, even her father, making sure she has everything she wants; it doesn't occur to her a man will tell her no."

  "So, she suffocated you. I can understand that," I say. That's not an unusual story. Gavin strikes me as the type of man who would be easily suffocated.

  "Suffocated. Showed the pool at my house off to a few of her father's clients," he continues.

  "Oh," I say.

  "Naked."

  Realization sinks in.

  "Oh. That's a whole thing," I nod.

  "It is. Almost as much of a thing as when I told her I thought we needed to rethink our relationship, and she took that as an opportunity to send out wedding invitations."

  My lips roll in, and I bite down on them. My shoulders start to shake, and heat rises on my cheekbones.

  "Wedding invitations?" my voice squeaks.

  "It's not funny," Gavin protests, but he can't hold back a chuckle. "It was really embarrassing."

  I can't hold back anymore. I start laughing.

  "She chose a venue and everything. Without mentioning it to me."

  I laugh even harder.

  "She made up a middle name for me because she didn't know mine and wanted the invitation to look formal."

  I topple over sideways, lying on the floor and laughing until tears start pooling under my eyes.

  "That's amazing," I finally manage once I’ve gotten enough control over myself again. "I mean, it's fucked up on a lot of levels. But you have to give it to her. She has some guts."

  "That's one way to put it," he agrees.

  "What middle name did she give you?" I ask.

  He hesitates, then finally lets out a sigh.

  "Winchester."

  I dissolve in another cascade of laughter.

  "Like the rifle brand? With the creepy woman who designed the insane mansion because she believed ghosts were going to come kill her?" I ask.

  "She thought it sounded elegant." He laughs with me for a few more seconds, then nudges me with his foot. "You were supposed to be telling me what happened with your ex."

  "Not after that story," I say, shaking my head.

  "Come on."

  "He didn't excite me," I explain. Gavin waits for a few seconds, and I shrug. “That’s it. Really. I told you it wasn’t a thrilling story. I didn’t feel connected to him, and I wasn't excited to see him. So, what was the point?"

  It's not nearly as compelling as his reason for breaking it off with his ex, but it's what happened. Popping another piece of garlic bread into my mouth, I brush off my hands.

  "Alright. Enough of that. There's a reason those people aren't in our lives anymore, so let's not give them any more of them. Tell me something about you."

  Gavin stays silent.

  "Just anything?"

  "Yep."

  "I inherited my company from my father, who…"

  "Not about work," I specify.

  "Not about work? You said anything."

  "Anything but work. I want to know about you, not your work," I tell him.

  He looks surprised, and I wonder how often anyone has actually expressed that interest in him as a person.

  "Well, I'm an only child. A late-in-life addition to my parents' lives. I don't have much to do with my family. We're just not that kind of people," he tells me.

  "What do you mean you're just not that kind of people?"


  "We never really get together for holidays and celebrations just because we're related. The last time we spent a holiday together was before my father died. I was a teenager."

  "I'm sorry," I frown.

  Gavin shakes his head.

  "Don't be," he says. "It wasn't a loss. We weren't close when I was young, and I hated being forced to visit them. The only people I was ever really close to were my mother and grandfather. Both of them are gone now. But I have Marla and Stacey. Beck. Staff I've known my whole life. It works for me."

  "My parents moved out of Shadow Creek right after I turned eighteen. They’re still alive, but we had a falling out, and I haven't spoken to them in years. But I have Sylvia, and I'm close with her brother Jackson and their grandmother."

  Gavin picks up two forks and digs them down into the tiramisu, then holds one out to me.

  "Here's to choosing your own family," he offers.

  We clink the forks together and put the forkfuls of sweet, decadent dessert into our mouths.

  Two hours later, the fire has burned down, but Gavin and I are still talking. We're laughing over a story about a gala Beck and Gavin went to when he meets my eyes purposefully.

  "Come with me to the party tomorrow," he says.

  I set down my glass and narrow my eyes at him.

  "What party?" I ask.

  "Beck and Ruby's Valentine's Day party. It's tomorrow night," he tells me.

  I also can't pass up the opportunity to tease him. I can't deny the attraction wrapping me up in Gavin, but part of me is holding back. I've never been one to jump into things, and the strength of my feelings for him already is strange and little disconcerting.

  "I thought Valentine's Day wasn't your thing," I say.

  Gavin moves closer toward me.

  "It's not," he says. "But maybe I should be having more adventures."

  He leans closer as he speaks, his voice lowering to a whisper by the time the tip of his nose brushes against mine. I tilt my face toward his, and he presses his lips to mine in another deep kiss. When he pulls back, I'm breathless.

  This time, Gavin doesn't stop. He catches my mouth again and reaches around my back to guide me close.