Lost (Bad Boys with Billions Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “I never said that. I’m not strong. You—better than anyone—know I’m a mess, but can’t you also see that I don’t want to be? That night on the beach, I thought we’d turned a corner. I’d never felt closer to you, but then you disappeared and I was left wondering if this was all just a game to you. The way you get your billionaire kicks? Only this isn’t fun for me, Liam. It hurts. Be real with me, or don’t be in my life at all.”

  He nodded. And in the endless seconds it took him to find a response, I died again and again. Only now did I realize how desperately I did want him in my life, my heart, my soul. But what did I know about any of that touchy-feely stuff? My husband, the man I vowed to remain faithful to for the rest of my life, had treated me with unspeakable cruelty. My own parents wanted to commit me. My life’s emotional foundation hadn’t just been ripped out from under me, but nuked. Now, I couldn’t figure out how to reconstruct the pieces of my life when all that remained was dust.

  “I would offer you a phone,” he said, “but you wouldn’t take it.”

  True.

  He kissed my forehead. Holding me, holding me as I bathed in this dream beneath a dazzling sun. “Meet me tonight. Seven. We’ll see Willow, and then grab a bite to eat. Yes?” I nodded against him.

  He disappointingly kissed my forehead again when I wanted him to focus on my lips, and then tossed me a set of what I assumed were car keys.

  A hulking security type exited my car, then climbed behind the wheel of Liam’s ride. Liam took a briefcase from the front seat, then climbed into the back. He winked, shut his door, and the driver pulled away from the curb, leaving me to wonder if any of it had really happened.

  “Who was that?” Yvonne stepped outside the shop. The Chipmunks’ rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” escaped with her, along with the shop’s trademark cinnamon aroma. Her poor hand was bandaged, reminding me what an awful employee and even worse friend I’d been for leaving.

  “Long story.”

  She ushered me inside. “Good thing we don’t open for thirty minutes. Tell me everything. I’ve been so worried.”

  Not as much as I’d been worried about myself.

  Thirty minutes later in the kitchenette, after I’d apologized over mugs of peppermint tea and a plate of star-shaped sugar cookies, then told her the abridged version of what had led me to her corner of the world, Yvonne placed her good hand over mine and squeezed. “Do you love this Liam man or your sweet Nathan?”

  I shrugged, then gave Wolfie the rest of my cookie. How could I know, when my parents and Blaine had muddied everything I’d ever thought I knew about love? Yvonne had been married for decades, and from all outward appearances seemed happy. “How did you first know you loved Peter?”

  Her smile began in her eyes and grew until the corners of her eyes crinkled. She patted her belly. “I knew here first. Whenever he came calling, I felt so excited I could hardly eat. But then when we were finally together, I was so excited all I wanted to do was eat. Through the years, he’s been a good father to our children and provider and protector, and even though we’ve had our quarrels, when I snuggle up to him at night, I always sleep like a baby, knowing he’s beside me.”

  “That’s beautiful. During my wedding to Blaine, I thought I’d had all of that to look forward to, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  “My advice?” She took our mugs to the sink. “Take things slow. You’ll know when you know.”

  Um, yeah. Somehow, I didn’t think it would be that easy.

  “He gave you a fucking Bentley?” Nathan paced the kitchen. If I was going to make it to the hospital by the time Liam and I had agreed on, I needed to leave now. But how could I when my roomie, my friend, was spazzing out? “How can I compete with that?”

  “Would you chill? I’m going to see Willow. I’m sure the car’s a loaner. He said it’d make it easier for me to get to the hospital and he’s right. Cab fare for both ways yesterday was way too much.”

  “I’m going with you,” he announced.

  “Why?” My stomach knotted. Of all possible ways Nathan could have reacted to me explaining the morning’s events and the night’s plans, I’d never seen this one coming.

  “Why not? Willow’s my friend, too.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “You’d rather be alone with him?” The pain on Nathan’s face crushed me, but what was I supposed to do? From the start, I’d made it plain that I wasn’t looking for a romantic attachment—just a friend. But this morning, with a little sunshine and Liam’s slow, toothy grin, everything had changed. Hope was alive. My Frisbee wasn’t yet soaring, but it was skipping in the bay breeze.

  I sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

  He took my hands. “Short answer? I’ve fallen for you, Jules—hard. That guy’s proven time and time again that he’s an ass. He doesn’t really want you to be his girlfriend or anything. All he wants is to get in your pants and then move on to his next victim.”

  “Thanks.” Nathan’s words stung. All the more so since I’d accused Liam of the same thing.

  “You know I’m right or you wouldn’t be defensive.”

  “So what if you are? But what if you aren’t? What if this thing with Liam turns out to be real? And for once in my pathetic life I stand a chance to be truly happy? Would you begrudge me that?”

  He sighed. “You’re missing my point. Of course I want you to be happy, but with me. That guy’s all flash and no substance. You deserve more.”

  I left him to slip on my coat and scarf and mittens. “And I suppose you’re capable of giving me that?”

  Chin raised, arms crossed in a defensive posture, he said, “Yeah, I am. Only you’re too blinded by Mr. Moneybag’s power to even see how good the two of us could have it.”

  “Don’t do this,” I begged. “Right now, you and Yvonne are my only real friends. I need you.”

  He snorted. “You’ve got a damned funny way of showing it.”

  “Screw you.” I’d had it with his self-righteous lectures. “I’ll be back later.” I opened the door. “Oh—and when you get a chance, go see Willow. She needs all the support she can get.”

  “I offered to go with you now.”

  “Thanks, but at this point, I’d rather go alone.” I shut the door behind me, locking the deadbolt, then hustling down the stairs before he could catch up. But the thing is, he didn’t chase me. Maybe he never would. If Liam did not just hurt me again, but devastate me, what if Nathan no longer cared? He was my safety net, but he deserved better. The trouble was, I wasn’t at a point where I was comfortable wholly letting either man into my heart.

  Liam

  I arrived at the hospital fifteen minutes early.

  I used the time to talk to Willow’s health team. I’d hired the best nurses and a worldrenowned doctor known for his expertise in helping coma victims. After Dr. Machao spewed more fancy medical terms than I cared to hear to basically convey there’d been no change, I went to her room.

  It might have been my renewed sense of hope changing my perspective, but to me, in the setting sun’s glow, Willow’s color looked slightly better. I was selfishly excited for her recovery—not so much for Willow, per se, but for Ella and myself. With Willow out of the hospital, I’d send her to college or set her up in a Phoenix internship program. Hopefully, this experience would be the catalyst needed to get her on a more productive life path.

  I’d asked Carol to fill the room with flowers, and the fragrance reminded me of my last trip to Maui. Would Ella approve? Or would she once again think I’d gone over the top? Regardless, it didn’t matter. Being proactive made me less likely to think of her—of the progress I thought I’d made with her this morning. But catching her was like holding on to a spitting, hissing barnyard kitten. She was wild and unpredictable, and maybe that was just part of the reason I couldn’t exorcise her from my system. My usual shock-and-awe routine with my piles of cash not only didn’t impress her, but repulsed her.

 
“What do you think?” I asked Willow. “Do I have a chance with Ella, or am I wasting my time?”

  Of course, she didn’t answer. I hadn’t expected she would. But it felt good to at least get the questions out of my head and into the ether.

  She entered without a sound, yet my every nerve ending sung when she was there. Ella. My Ella. Of all of my accomplishments, finding her was my greatest. My soul recognized that in saving her might lie the key to saving myself. I had everything money could buy, yet daily it proved that money can’t buy love. Or peace of mind. Or that thrilling, effervescent moment when just holding a woman in the sun makes you want to fall to your knees and thank the God you never before believed in.

  “How is she?” Ella asked alongside me. She took her friend’s hand, curving Willow’s fingers around her own.

  “Good. I think her color’s already better, and her team says her vitals are stronger.”

  “I’m glad.” Tears shone in her eyes. “The last time I saw her at the apartment was ugly. I was so angry with you that I took it out on her.”

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t apologize enough. Leaving had been stupid.

  “I know. Willow, hon, sometimes the things you said literally left me speechless, but I love you. Please, come back. I miss you . . .”

  We stood there until the sun set and darkness crept into the room, covering Willow in its shadow blanket.

  Ella’s stomach growled.

  “Hungry?”

  “Yeah.” When she turned her gaze up to smile at me, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. Like I’d landed the starring role in a Fred Astaire musical and she was my Ginger Rogers.

  “What’re you in the mood for?”

  She thought about it, then blurted, “Italian. Nathan’s always hogging the TV and during his last ball game, Olive Garden must’ve ran their ad like fifty times.”

  Out of all the award-winning restaurants in the city, she wanted Olive Garden? I’d have rather taken her to Mamma Tucci’s, my own favorite Italian hideaway, but that reminded me of the whole salon debacle when I’d first brought Ella to town, so I abandoned that idea and just went with hers. “If that’s what you want, let me see what I can do.” I took out my phone to do a search. The closest restaurant was near some place I’d never heard of called the Stonestown Galleria. But since there was also one in Palo Alto, it occurred to me that after we ate, this would give me a great opportunity to take her home. Getting her back to Sausalito in time for her job would be a bitch of a drive, but that’s why God gave me a helicopter, right? “Found one.” She gave Willow a hug and kiss on her cheek, and then we headed for the parking garage. When I stopped beside my car, she frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do I do about my ride?”

  “Let me worry about it.”

  “But—” I kissed her quiet.

  “It’s not a big deal. We’ll get it later.” I opened her door. “Get in.”

  What was a big deal? The notion that with luck, I’d spend the whole night beside her.

  With traffic, the trip took damn near an hour.

  The place was easy enough to find on El Camino Real, which wasn’t too far from my office. Parking was hell, though. The place was packed, but we were somehow lucky enough to snag a booth in a dark corner. The salad was mostly iceberg and they’d given us only two black olives, but the breadsticks were soft and warm and the dressing seriously good.

  Every time I glanced across the table to see Ella, I felt all at once happy and scared that I wouldn’t be able to keep her. Keeping a woman longer than a few weeks—a few months at the most—was all I’d ever been interested in, but I couldn’t imagine ever growing bored with her.

  But you will, past demons decided. You have to, because getting too close means a possibility of reliving past pain. Maybe not in the same way, but a loss is a loss, and your heart couldn’t stand it.

  I swallowed the darkness as easily as the cheap wine. And I liked it. The sense of knowing I was back in control. I was no longer letting old fears dictate new possibilities.

  Leaning forward while waiting for our entrees, I asked, “Tell me what you like about working in the Christmas store.”

  Her smile turned wistful. “Lots of little things. Cheery carols and holiday smells. The customers are always happy. Most of all, I guess I enjoy my boss, Yvonne. She came here from Germany and still has the cutest accent. In ways, she reminds me of my mom.”

  “You miss her? Your mom?”

  “Of course. But . . .” She focused her attention on the salad tongs, tossing the salad with the dressing pooled at the bottom of the bowl.

  “Would you ever consider confronting her—and your dad?” In some ways, what I’d been through must have been easier. For her, knowing that her parents and family home and everything she’d once known was exactly as she’d left it, only without her in the equation, must be unspeakably tough to bear.

  “No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “All that would accomplish is making me hurt all the more. Plus, I don’t want Blaine to ever find me. Being in the same state would be too close for comfort. I can’t even imagine returning to the same town.”

  “Right. Sorry I brought it up.”

  “You didn’t,” she said through a smile, this one teary. “I told you how Yvonne reminds me of my mother—at least how my mom used to be. Blaine has my parents so dazzled by his charm that for all practical purposes they might as well be brainwashed. It’s sick.”

  “Have you ever thought of seeing a therapist? If you want, I could call in a few favors and get you an appointment with anyone you want. Hell, Dr. Phil, if you think he could help.” I wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, but was now appropriate timing? I felt as if we’d always known each other, but nothing could be farther from the truth. To regain her trust, I’d need to earn it by not running away again and certainly not pushing anything physical.

  She scowled. “There you go again. Not every problem can be solved with money.”

  “Okay, so maybe hiring Dr. Phil might be going overboard, but I’m sure there are perfectly good shrinks around here.”

  For the longest time she looked at me, and I didn’t know where to begin in deciphering her stare. But then she left her side of the booth to join me on mine. She grabbed my breadstick from my salad bowl, dunked it into the extra dressing I’d ordered, then took a big bite.

  “Good?” I asked, suddenly starved for more of her. More of the heat shimmering between us where she’d pressed her thigh against mine.

  “Very.”

  Our meals came—chicken Parmesan for her and lasagna for me.

  I ate, but didn’t taste. I only wanted her tongue stroked against mine. I remembered our time in that woodshed and again in her apartment, and the memories evoked an erection so engorged it hurt.

  She finished her meal.

  I’d eaten only a fraction of mine.

  “Everything okay?” She eyed my plate.

  Not even close.

  I shifted in my seat, in the process, spilling my napkin from my lap.

  She reached down to get it, then froze. Had she seen the tent beneath my fly?

  I felt like I should say something—anything—to avoid the awkwardness sure to come, but she leaped a step ahead by placing my napkin over my lap, then unzipping my fly.

  I sucked in my breath. “Ella . . . What the hell?”

  “Shh . . . Pretend you’re eating.”

  On autopilot, I picked up my fork while she wrapped her warm, nimble fingers around my cock. Was this seriously happening? Was she giving me a hand job in the middle of fucking Olive Garden?

  Yes . . .

  Though I wanted to close my eyes, focusing on the rising pressure, my back was to the wall and I faced the crowd, meaning my expression had to portray a perfect mask of normalcy.

  Was she literally trying to kill me?

  The closer I came to shooting my load, the faster she worked. The cloth napkin
bunched against my hypersensitive tip and damn near had me shoving the plates from the table to do her on the wood surface.

  The table alongside us celebrated a birthday and a half-dozen servers surrounded a perfect family unit to deliver their best wishes in song. Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa. Aunts and uncles and bouncing little kids all sang along.

  The table in front of us held double daters. They laughed over a shared joke, raising their wineglasses, toasting with clinks my heightened senses read as shattering glass.

  A cheesy Italian love song boomed over hidden speakers. If I’d had a shotgun, I’d have blown them to pieces. I needed silence to process the gravity of what was going down.

  With her free hand, my clever little kitten took a fresh breadstick from the basket, dunking it in dressing, then wrapping her lips around it in a slow and deliberate and downright cruel imitation of her under-table sin.

  Her smile was all it took for me to blow.

  She simultaneously took a bite of my lasagna while catching my load in the napkin, meticulously wiping me down, tucking my cock back into my boxers, then zipping my fly. She wadded the napkin, clutching it in her hand, then kissed me hard enough on my lips to swell my cock all over again. “Be right back.”

  Ella

  In the restroom, I trembled as if my entire body straddled a violent fault.

  I threw the napkin in the trash.

  Washed my hands.

  Dried them.

  Then locked myself in the end handicap stall and fell apart. I cried silently, only not because I was in pain, but because what just happened had been a rush. It had been reckless and out of character and had made me feel more alive than I had in literally years—maybe since my first boyfriend fingered me in the backseat of his car. And the funny thing was, the act of giving Liam pleasure had brought me pleasure. Made me feel in control of a life that had grown increasingly out of sync. When I’d leaned down and found his erection, I’d taken the bulge as a gift. A tangible sign that he not only liked me, but liked me so much that what he didn’t express in words, his body said for him.