Bad Boyfriend: Billionaire’s Club #7

by Elise Faber

Then he’d come home.

  Or back to the states, at least.

  Back to Kelsey.

  But nothing had changed.

  She felt like home, was captivating and brilliant and gorgeous. Still tempted him like no other woman ever had, and she still had the ability to burrow deep into his soul. Yet, nothing had changed. He was broken inside, so what could he possibly offer her?

  He ran when things got tough.

  His parents hadn’t even wanted him.

  All he could give Kelsey was an uncertain future and one half of a man.

  The urge to hit the road and find whatever means necessary to disappear was intense, and the only thing that was stopping him from bolting was Sebastian. He might be a dick and screw-up, but the last thing he was going to do was fuck up his friend’s wedding.

  Tanner also knew that even if he ran again, even if he took all the jobs Tom wanted him to, that he’d never be able to shake off the feel of Kelsey in his arms.

  Before he’d relegated the memories to the back of his mind, tucked safely away.

  Now they were out and just like Pandora’s Box, there was no going back to the way things were.

  Sighing, he buried the tissues in the garbage can, took a quick shower and dressed, then grabbed his backpack and went down to the lobby. It was habit to check his bag for his camera, along with additional batteries and a handful of extra memory cards—a photographer never wanted to run out of disk space or for their camera to die mid-shoot.

  Outside the sky was dark and the morning commute was just beginning, lines of lights trailing through the street, white coming toward him, turning red as they passed, but he could see just the barest glimmer of sunlight in the East.

  As he walked, he’d pause at whatever struck his fancy and take a shot. With the changing lights and traffic building, it was a lesson in balancing technique with his artistic presence. But really, he was just playing around, pointing his camera in any direction, even purposefully ruining some pictures with too much light or not enough focus.

  Sometimes good things happened when he broke the rules.

  His camera had been pointed at the dark silhouette of a gothic building against the lightening sky when he’d had that thought, but the moment it crossed his brain, his lens drooped, and he ended up getting a shot of a pigeon’s head peeking around the eaves.

  See what he meant about good things?

  But he couldn’t appreciate the irony of that statement when he was shocked senseless by what he’d just thought.

  When he broke the rules in his work, good things happened.

  So why was he so terrified of breaking the rules where Kelsey was concerned?

  He lifted his camera and hit the button, capturing the shot he’d imagined before, but it was even better than he’d thought it would be because he shot a little later, because there was more light available, and—

  He was terrified of breaking the rules because Kelsey was so much more important than a picture. Quite simply, the stakes were higher.

  But, with that piece of information straight in his head, he continued moving, kept doing his best to fill those memory cards, and by the time the sun was high in the sky, he’d found some of the happy that being behind the lens used to give him. The world focused to just a small circle, one that he could control and move as he saw fit. Tan was king of that lensed world, even if his subjects occasionally got a little squirrely and uncooperative.

  Eventually, his arms got tired, his eyes tired, and his empty memory card supply dangerously low, so he decided to head back to the hotel.

  Since he’d been wandering for hours without paying much attention to directions or landmarks, he pulled out his cell and spent a few minutes with the map to plot his course home. Then he started walking, larger intersections transforming into smaller twisting streets and nicer apartments.

  A flash of green caught his attention just as he turned the street corner, and for a moment his breath caught in his lungs.

  So fucking beautiful.

  Fog hugging the ground, the sun having burned away the pockets overhead, but this little enclave of green was shadowed by the buildings surrounding it, and so the fog lived on, curling mist that garnished silver and black stones.

  A cemetery perhaps wasn’t the most obvious choice for beauty, but this one was.

  Or perhaps it was the man kneeling over a flat headstone, brushing away the leaves and dirt before placing a bouquet of yellow daffodils on its surface.

  Tan lifted his camera to capture the moment—sun drifting through the fog, highlighting the yellow flowers, silhouetting the man against the gray mist, the green grass bright, the black and white of the other headstones making the entire image otherworldly.

  The click of the shutter startled him.

  He dropped his camera, realized he was intruding on a private moment.

  Shit.

  As painful as it was, he’d delete the image when he got back to the hotel.

  “Don’t.”

  The raspy voice startled Tan, and he glanced up to see that the old man had made his way over to him, beige jacket darkened in speckles where the moisture had clung to the air.

  “I’m sorry,” Tan said. “I’ll delete the photograph. Usually I ask before I shoot, I was just so taken by the moment . . .” He cleared his throat. “It was beautiful.”

  Pale brown eyes studied him for a long moment then the man pushed open the gate to the small cemetery. “Come.”

  Tan bit his tongue, swallowed his questions, and followed the man through the path to the grave he’d been kneeling at.

  Rosario Hernadez, Loving Wife and Mother.

  “My Rosie was beautiful,” the man said softly.

  “Were daffodils her favorite?” Tan asked.

  A nod. “She’d get the biggest smile on her face when I’d bring them to her.” His voice went sad. “I’d give anything to see that again.”

  The dates on the headstone told Tanner that the loss had been recent, and he found himself clasping the man’s shoulder. “Did you have a lot of years together?”

  Tears glittered, but the man nodded. “We did. Almost fifty, and yet it seems to have gone by in a flash.”

  “What were some things you loved about her?”

  He smiled. “My Rosie was very competitive. Never met a board game she didn’t have to win.” Mischief crept into his expression. “Or an argument. She always made sure I had the type of drinks I loved, only cooked the meals I hated when I really made her mad.”

  Tan laughed.

  “And she gave me a beautiful family. A beautiful life.”

  The tears were still in the man’s eyes, but there was also something else—peace. Relief in knowing that even if the time spent with the woman he loved was ephemeral, he still held tight to those memories, those emotions.

  “I wanted forever,” the man said. “Even knowing that wasn’t possible. And now that I find myself without forever, I still know I wouldn’t change a single day.”

  Nothing was permanent.

  Tanner lifted the camera without thinking, capturing the love on the man’s face, how even though his heart was shattered because the incredible thing he’d had was now gone, he still understood he’d had something precious, and that precious thing was to be protected.

  The man blinked, glanced at the camera.

  “Sorry,” Tanner said. “I—” He shook his head. “I’ll delete them.”

  A warm hand stayed his when he began fumbling with his camera. “Don’t.” Then the old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “Will you send them to me?”

  Tan held his breath for a long moment, then carefully pocketed the card. “Yes.”

  “Good man,” he said and turned back to the headstone.

  “Would you—” Pale brown eyes found his again, warmer this time, and that gave Tan the strength to finish the question. “Would you do it again?”

  The man opened his mouth to reply, but Tanner pressed on because t
hat wasn’t quite the question he’d wanted to ask. “I mean, if you knew you were going to screw things up, that there was no way that you could keep Rosie forever because you weren’t good enough for her, couldn’t give her everything she wanted . . . would you still go for it?”

  The man was quiet for a long time.

  Then he said, “Yes.”

  And that was it.

  Tanner swallowed hard and nodded.

  “You’re going to screw up,” he said when Tan started to turn away. “There are going to be times when everything you have to give her isn’t enough. Life isn’t fair or easy. It takes courage. Courage to leap and grab hold. Courage to hope that you’ll be able to figure out what is enough.” He pointed at Rosie’s headstone. “Together.”

  The man bent and swept off one last leaf then squeezed Tan’s arm as he left.

  Tanner didn’t know how long he stood there, staring off in to space, processing the words the man had said, feeling them shift all the pieces in his mind and heart around until they all started to make sense.

  Maybe he could be enough.

  His cell buzzed, jolting him out of reverie. He left the cemetery, turning back in the direction of the hotel, and he pulled it out of his pocket to see that Bas had sent him a text inviting him to dinner at his parents’ place that night. With all three of their kids in the Bay Area, the Scotts had sold their house in the Midwest and moved to a town east of San Francisco.

  It was smaller than the home they’d raised their kids in and supposedly quite a heap, according to Devon. But Grant had recently retired and wanted a project to keep him busy.

  Or maybe it was more accurate to say that Megan, who’d quit her job as a classroom aid when they’d moved and whom Grant was driving absolutely crazy, had wanted to give him a project.

  At least, this was all according to Bas.

  But the Scotts were a close-knit family, and Tanner figured it was accurate gossip.

  Poor Megan had probably imagined California as all sunny beaches, fruity cocktails, and avocado toast, but as most people who made it to the northern part of the Golden State eventually discovered, the north and south were vastly different. The southern part had the warm beaches, while the northern part had the frigid, only-swimmable-if-someone-was-crazy ocean. Cocktails were more likely to be wine, though avocado toast was prevalent.

  He made a mental note to buy Megan and Grant a trip to Hawaii for Christmas that year then typed out a quick response to Bas saying he’d be there.

  To which Bas replied:

  Great. Want to get a ride with Kelsey? She’s driving over.

  The universe hated him.

  Kels okay with that?

  Which was really fucking unlikely given the way he’d left her on Wednesday night.

  Of course, she’ll be. I’ll send her a text.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  I’ve got her number. I’ll make sure it’s not an inconvenience.

  A few seconds passed.

  Why do you have her number?

  He cursed, pushed his way into the lobby and considered telling his best friend that he’d spent a summer boning his sister and then the nine years since imagining doing it in all the ways his twenty-one-year-old self had been too uninspired to think of at the time. Probably unwise. Snorting, he sent something safer.

  Dude, I have every Scott’s number. It’s an occupational hazard of being practically adopted into the family.

  Then.

  Heading into an elevator. Will see you tonight.

  As the floors sped by, he considered his options. One, he could ignore Bas’s suggestion and take BART—the local public transit—to the east bay. This might be the safest option—well, not safe in terms of potential for bodily harm, but safe because he wouldn’t be in close proximity to Kels. However, there were some sketchy stations if Bas was to be believed, and then there would be an explanation required for why he didn’t actually ask for a ride. Second, he could ask Kelsey for the ride and risk her running him over in the parking lot of her building. Third—

  Third . . . he could give up the fight, accept that it was impossible to keep Kelsey at a distance, and just go for what the universe had been telling him.

  Third was the scariest.

  Nine

  Kelsey

  Her phone buzzed when she was mid-bite, and the contents of the text message made her oatmeal slop off her spoon and onto the table.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed, dropping the utensil into the bowl and trying to resist the urge to launch her cell across the room. She’d committed to forgetting Tanner, to closing up her heart and moving on from Tanner.

  And now he was texting her, asking her to voluntarily spend the equivalent of two hours trapped in a car with him.

  She plunked the phone on the counter then picked up her bowl.

  “Stupid fucking men.” She set the half-full bowl in the sink. Set, not tossed because she’d gotten her dinnerware at a really kitschy store that was no longer in business. The pieces were hand-thrown, each one a little different and all glazed in iridescent blue. Kels had loved the way they were edged, loved how the slight wave reminded her of a flower.

  She’d bought a full set of twelve bowls, dinner plates, and salad plates, and since she hosted meals at her house exactly never, that hadn’t been an efficient use of her funds or cabinet space.

  Still, she’d loved them, so she’d bought them then had dealt with the fallout of sacrificing an entire kitchen cabinet to store them.

  Sometimes in life a woman had to make sacrifices.

  Snorting, she filled the bowl with water before turning to rest her hips against the lip of the counter.

  One day and her resolve to keep her distance from Tanner was kaput. Because, frankly, there was more than one type of distance. Emotional as well as physical, and riding in a car with him was about as far from keeping her physically away from Tan as possible. Then there was her reaction to his request.

  Joy.

  Excitement to be in his presence.

  And then fury because she was such a fucking idiot. If he’d wanted something more than friendship from her, he would have taken it on Wednesday night. Even if he’d thought they were rushing things or that they should slow down and take a breath, he would have made it clear that he was leaving because of that and not disappeared out the door like a freaking ninja.

  Seriously, if it hadn’t been for her trail of underthings, she could have almost pretended she’d been hallucinating.

  But the trail had been there, and her embarrassment was undying, and—

  No, she couldn’t be trapped in a car with him for two-plus hours!

  So she texted him back.

  Sorry. Can’t.

  Lame, but it saved her, and that was what she needed. Setting her phone on the table, she started for the shower. She’d slept in that morning, watched a few new episodes of Killing Eve, then had subjected herself to an hour of Pilates.

  Now it was lunchtime and she’d lost her appetite for her oatmeal, which conveniently was the only semi-palatable food she had left in her house. Maybe she’d treat herself to Molly’s. They made the most incredible pear and walnut salad, and they probably had their new soups of the day out.

  Yes. That was the perfect plan.

  Drown her sorrows in raspberry vinaigrette and candied walnuts—

  Buzz buzz.

  How about a ride home then?

  Ugh. She snagged her cell and headed for the bathroom, starting up the shower and debating what to say.

  In the end, she settled on,

  Sorry. No.

  She wasn’t sorry, but it definitely was a no, and so she left it at that and put the phone down again. By then the shower was warm, so she stripped off her sweaty clothes. The hot water hitting her skin was everything she needed in her life, sluicing down her hair, warming her from the outside in.

  It soothed the muscles she’d tortured during her workout, and it also effectively blo
cked any noise of her cell’s potential vibration.

  Eventually, she’d pruned herself up enough and turned off the water.

  No sooner had she toweled off, then her eyes found her cell.

  Sure enough, a text was on the screen.

  Understood. But you’re going to have to think up a reason to tell Bas why you’re not available to drive me when he knows you are coming to dinner and already offered you up as a ride option.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  He was right, of course, Bas had called her earlier that day, asked her what she was doing, and like an imbecile, she’d dished about her plans to do nothing but veg out before going to the family dinner.

  Maybe she could think of some excuse at work?

  Wait. Damn, that wouldn’t work. Not so long as she and Bas were working on the joint RoboTech/Steele Technologies project. If she lied and said there was an issue with the product that she had to go into work to deal with, but didn’t tell him immediately, he’d be beyond pissed.

  Yes, they were siblings, but they were also partners on this product, and RoboTech didn’t screw over their partners—or leave them out of the loop on potential problems, fake or otherwise.

  Not to mention that lying about the project would quite possibly get her fired, and she really liked her job.

  So work was out.

  Maybe she could fake the sudden onset of the flu?

  Bas wouldn’t buy it.

  An existential crisis that required her to stay in and gorge on Oreos she’d ordered in on InstaCart?

  Ick.

  There was a reason that she tended to lack a filter. She didn’t like lying, and while yes, she had to admit that lying wasn’t a skill she’d managed to hone over the years, she also didn’t like lying because it made her feel bad inside.

  Usually, she just gave her answer with as little of the negative details as possible.