Beauty and the Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  Gretchen looked at her, aghast. “Withhold?”

  “You want to wring it out of him, don’t you?”

  Gretchen sighed. “I just want to get married to the man I love.”

  “Then leave it alone,” Daphne said bluntly, handing the phone back to Audrey. “Ask yourself if it really matters. If you’re happy, then just be happy. Let things lie.”

  Easier said than done. Gretchen was many things, but patient wasn’t one of them. “I . . . guess.” Maybe she’d just seduce him after all and try to wring the information out of him. That sounded like the most fun. “I suppose we should go back to baking.” She rubbed her stomach. “Getting a little hungry here. How about you guys?”

  Audrey got to her feet. “I have a feeling you’re going to be cramming a lot of sweets in my direction for the next week. It’s a good thing my gown isn’t fitted like Taylor’s.”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” Daphne added. “I’m counting my macros.”

  “You’re . . . what?”

  “Counting my macronutrients. Wesley has me logging everything I eat and drink so I can be aware of what my caloric expenditure is. The label doesn’t want me blimping up on my time off.” Her smile was rueful. “Not that I haven’t done a good job of that anyhow.”

  “You look great,” Audrey grumbled.

  “Because I look like you,” Daphne teased her sister.

  And Gretchen suddenly felt all weepy again, because it was almost like they didn’t hate each other anymore. Man, she was such a sap lately. So much crying. “Who’s Wesley?” She asked, trying to change the subject before she started blubbering like a madwoman.

  To her surprise, Daphne’s face flushed. “He’s my trainer and life coach.”

  “But you’re blushing,” Gretchen pointed out. “Are you guys sleeping together?”

  “What? No!” Her face grew redder. “I’m just a job to him.”

  “But you don’t want to be?” Audrey guessed as they left the study.

  Daphne just sighed.

  ***

  His lovely, talkative Gretchen was unusually quiet that evening through dinner. She curled up with a book while he went through some last-minute emails during their favorite TV show, and then, when they went to bed? Still quiet.

  It worried him.

  Hunter tucked her against him and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her neck. “Is everything all right?”

  Her smile was absent. “Just thinking.”

  That was a red flag if he’d ever heard one. “Having second thoughts about getting married?”

  She jerked away from him in shock. “What? No! Why does everyone keep asking that?”

  Unease gnawed at him. “Who keeps asking that?’

  Gretchen shook her head and put her hands over his. “Just thinking about an annoying conversation I had earlier.” She sighed, and then got quiet.

  He waited, but she remained silent. Hunter racked his brain, trying to think of what could be bothering her. Did she find out about the island he bought her and disapproved? It seemed unlikely. She never told him how to spend his money and the times he’d bought her something ridiculous, she’d been pleased. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And did you find new caterers?”

  “No,” she said with a small sigh. “I’m just going to be doing a lot of baking between now and then. I’m never happy with what they make so I might as well do it myself.”

  He frowned. “Gretchen, it’s a wedding for two hundred people.”

  She yawned. “Yeah, but it’s Christmas baking. They’re just going to get a lot of sweets and like it. Besides, my sisters said they’d help.”

  That was typical of Audrey . . . wait. “Sisters? Plural?”

  “Mmm hmm. Daphne showed up today. Brought me a flower.”

  He sat upright in the bed. “Why was she here?” A fierce surge of possessiveness moved over him. Daphne had hurt Gretchen in the past. She was irresponsible and self-destructive and the fact that she’d shown up in their lives mere days before the wedding? It sent alarm bells through him. Was this why Gretchen had been so worried and distant lately?

  More importantly, how could he fix this?

  “She wanted to say hi. Make amends. She was in town, you know.” Gretchen yawned and snuggled back against him. “She looked good. Actually, it’s funny. She looked a lot like Audrey again. She hasn’t since we were teenagers.”

  “Is she on drugs again?” If so, he didn’t want her and her messy ways anywhere near the wedding. Gretchen was stressed-out enough already.

  “I don’t think so? It’s hard to say. She’s working with a personal trainer, I think.” She turned in his arms and pushed her face against his neck, snuggling closer. “Or a life coach. Something strict. We were baking and she refused to touch any of it. Wouldn’t even lick her fingers. Said her trainer wouldn’t like it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the sister you told me about,” Hunter said, sliding his fingers through her tangled hair. Any excuse to touch her. Any at all.

  “I know, right? It’s like she’s the old Daphne. The normal one. Before all the drugs.” Her nose pressed against his throat. “And now I feel bad that I didn’t invite her to my wedding and meanwhile her twin is my maid of honor.”

  Ah. He suspected this was a large portion of what had been bothering her. Relieved that she’d confessed, he kissed the top of her head. Being able to hold Gretchen—to caress her and love her and know that he was loved in return. Every day still felt like a gift, and there was a small part of him that lived in fear that one day she’d wake up and change her mind. “You have a soft heart.”

  “Maybe too soft.” She sighed against his skin. “I’m a wimp. Audrey is the strong one. It’s just . . . Daph’s my little sister. My family. I feel like she should be invited. I mean, it’s Christmas and my wedding to boot. I feel terrible she’s not included.”

  “So include her.”

  Gretchen chuckled. “Audrey might kill me.”

  “It’s not Audrey’s wedding.”

  “We’ll see. I probably shouldn’t jump the gun anyhow in case Daph is still a train wreck but just better at hiding it.”

  “Whatever you decide, I support it.” His hand smoothed down the line of her back. She fit against him perfectly like this, all soft curves. He knew she’d been trying to lose weight for the wedding, but he couldn’t tell a difference and suspected the diet had gone the direction that all the caterers had—out the window the moment it disagreed with Gretchen’s vision. He was glad, too. He loved her just the way she was, and he liked that she was soft in his arms. Nothing else mattered. He thought again of the upcoming wedding, and the “surprise” honeymoon he was going to take her on, on their new private island. “So . . . have you thought about what you want for Christmas?”

  “A wedding ring?” she yawned. “Are we seriously doing Christmas? We’re getting married on Christmas Eve. Unless you want me to shave a snowflake somewhere special, I don’t exactly have time to shop.”

  “Just throwing it out there.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Let’s just do something small, all right?”

  Small. Well, the island was small as far as islands went. “We can do small.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then slid his hands down to her ass and cupped it.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, Hunter?” She leaned back a little and arched an eyebrow at him.

  He kissed that sardonic eyebrow. “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Well, I was thinking maybe we could wait until we got married.”

  Hunter stilled. “What?” Wait?

  Gretchen giggled and pushed him onto his back. “I’m just fucking with ya, babe.” She loomed over him and began to kiss down his bare chest. “Just wanted to see that look on your face.”

  “Very funny.”

  She so
bered and gave him a serious look. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Hunter?”

  “Tell you?” Tell her how much he desperately loved her and that he was the luckiest man alive? How she was utter perfection in human form and he adored every moment with her? But he told her that every day. “There’s nothing about me that you don’t already know, Gretchen.”

  The smile that ghosted her mouth was soft and sweet. Then she gave him a wicked wiggle of her brows and bent low to kiss his navel . . . and lower.

  ***

  Gretchen: Hey guys!! Question for my bridesmaid posse.

  Gretchen: Guys? Hellooooo.

  Chelsea: Dear god, do you ever text at a normal hour?

  Gretchen: What? It’s 7:30 on a Friday morning. You know what today is? Bachelorette party, bitches!!

  Greer: Everything is scheduled if that is what you’re asking. We have tables reserved at Hunk-O-Rama.

  Taylor: Oh my.

  Gretchen: And . . . I wanted to know if anyone objects to me asking Daphne to come with us. That includes you, Audrey.

  Edie: Wait, Daphne Petty? Like your sister the famous rock star? Why would we possibly object?

  Taylor: Omg I’m a big fan. Bring her!!

  Chelsea: Yeah, I’m totally cool with it.

  Brontë: You know I am, of course. It’s your wedding. :)

  Greer: I can call and add one more to the reservations, not a problem.

  Gretchen: Audrey?

  Audrey: What do you want me to say, Gretch? You know how I feel about her—I love her and hate her both. I wish I could trust her but I don’t. But it’s your wedding, like Bron said, and if you want her there, then she should be there.

  Gretchen: You guys won’t hate me?

  Audrey: Never! Don’t be silly.

  Greer: Should I add one to the reservation?

  Gretchen: Let’s do it! I’ll call her.

  ***

  Daphne pressed her fingers to her mouth, smiling.

  “Phone down,” Wesley called from the other side of the private gym. “Water break’s over. Let’s get back to squats.” He lifted his chin at her, grinning. “And don’t pretend that that’s business, either. I know you, Daph.”

  “It’s not business,” she protested as she put her phone back in her cubby and then slung her sweat towel over her shoulder. “My sister texted me! She wants me to come to her bachelorette party tonight and hang out.” She felt light on her feet with excitement and even skipped her way across the gym back to Wesley. “I’m so excited!”

  The teasing smile disappeared from Wesley’s face. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Daph. I don’t think you should go.”

  It was like a punch in the gut. All the excitement and pleasure she felt—at such a simple thing, an invite to hang out with her sisters—evaporated. She felt deflated. “But . . . my schedule’s open. We’re not recording today. Everyone’s gone home for the holidays. I don’t have anything to do except stay at home.”

  He picked up a jump rope. “I know. I’m not trying to be a hard-ass, Daph. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. You could stay in and work on your journaling.”

  Work on her journaling? Was he crazy? She stared at him. He wasn’t even offering to keep her company. Work on her fucking journaling? “It’s a bachelorette party, not an orgy. I’m just going to go and have a good time reconnecting with my sisters.”

  Wesley said nothing, just held the jump rope out to her.

  She snatched it from him and walked away a few paces.

  He watched her to a count of fifty. When she paused, he spoke. “Will there be alcohol?”

  Daphne shrugged. “I won’t drink any. I haven’t had any booze or drugs since I left rehab. You know that. You’re up my ass all damn day.”

  “It’s not that I think you’re weak and going to backslide, Daph. It’s that it’s a tough situation. You’re a recovering addict. The last thing you need is to put yourself in a situation where you’re setting yourself up for failure.”

  Okay, he’d officially pissed her off at this point. She’d gone from hurt and confused to angry. “You’re being unfair. Weren’t you the one who said I needed to reconnect with family? Now you’re saying I shouldn’t? Which one is it?”

  Wesley shook his head and walked to the dumbbell stand. “You’re mad at me and you’re not listening to what I’m saying—”

  “Oh, I’m hearing every single shitty word,” Daphne snapped. “I hear everything you say. And I seem to remember you saying something about how I needed to grow. So how about you let me fucking grow a little?”

  “You’re mad,” he said as he turned around and handed her the weights. The look on his face showed he was clearly surprised at her reaction. “Daphne, it’s my job to coach you—”

  “Don’t you worry, I never forget that I’m just your job,” she said bitterly, snatching the dumbbells from him.

  He was silent for a moment, then sighed as she began to do angry arm curls. “All right, Daph. If you feel you’re strong enough to handle going to this party tonight, then go.”

  “Haven’t I been perfect for the last year? Haven’t I eaten every single carrot stick you’ve tossed in my direction and avoided ice cream because you said it’s a gateway drug? Haven’t I worked out with you every stupid day?” Her arms pumped faster and faster, fueled by her anger. “Can’t I go out and spend one evening hanging with my sisters? Gretchen’s getting married. I’m never going to have this moment again.”

  He blinked slowly, his hard face impassive. Then he nodded. “All right, then. You want to grow? Go to the party tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she snapped back at him. “I will.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine!”

  “But you’re going to work out first,” he cautioned, and then picked up a heavier set of weights. “Fifteen more curls with those and then we’re going to do a second set with these.”

  And for some reason, his bland acceptance irritated Daphne almost as much as his initial denial.

  ***

  Daphne’s personal sedan pulled up to Hunk-O-Rama a few minutes after seven. Even from inside the car, she could feel the thumping bass coming from inside the club like a heartbeat. The bouncer at the door wore a Santa hat and a tight red bodysuit that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Outside, women were laughing and chatting, and Daphne gave her wig one last pat. “You think the sunglasses are too much?”

  “The sunglasses scream celebrity in hiding,” Wesley said from his spot next to her in the car. “Then again, you are a celebrity, so it’s not inappropriate.”

  Daphne grimaced, pulling them off her face. “Yeah, I just didn’t want tabloids catching me going into a strip club, you know?”

  “I doubt anyone’s following us,” Wesley said in a bland voice. “The streets were pretty clear when we left and I haven’t noticed anyone tailing us. Want me to go walk the perimeter before you go in?”

  “Nah. I’m pretty sure you’re right. Besides, it’s close to Christmas. There’s lots of other celebrities doing exciting things right now, I imagine.” She hesitated, then gave Wesley a smile. “All right, I guess I’m going in.”

  “I would say have fun, but I think we both know that’s a bad idea.” A hint of a grin tugged at his solemn face.

  She patted his arm. “I’m stronger than you think.”

  His fingers brushed over hers in a brief, startling caress. “I know you are, Daphne. It’s not your strength I’m questioning.”

  That small touch left her flustered.

  “Have fun,” he said a moment later, and then got out of the car so he could jog around and open her door for her.

  She clutched her coat tightly to her body and emerged into the cold streets. She gave Wesley a quick smile and put a hand to her smooth brown pageboy wig. It was hideous, which meant it
was perfect for not wanting to be recognized. She hoped.

  Those hopes were dashed when she moved to the front door.

  “ID please.” He held out a gloved hand.

  Well, shit. She pulled out her ID and handed it to him, glancing impatiently into the club. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her name.

  “Oh my god,” he declared, taking a dramatic staggering step backward. Then, he peered at her face. Stripper Santa grinned broadly. “Daphne Petty? I love you! I dance to two of your songs, you know!”

  She put a finger to her lips, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed.

  He grimaced. “Shit! Sorry! Are you undercover?”

  “I’m meeting my sister for a bachelorette party.”

  “Shit, right! Of course! I just . . .” He pulled out his phone. “Can I get a selfie with you? Please? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Of course.” Because who wouldn’t be flattered at that?

  She posed and vamped for the camera with him, automatically going to her ‘on’ personality. She chatted and flirted with him while he asked her a dozen questions, and signed his sleeve. Someone else noticed what they were doing, and then suddenly she was signing autographs and posing in pictures with several people, all while wearing the hideous wig. Figured.

  By the time she actually got to touch the door, it had been twenty minutes and she was sure she was going to be all over the Internet in the morning. Nothing she could do about it, though. Daphne glanced back at the street before she went in, but the sedan was gone. Wesley was going to go off and do . . . well, she wasn’t sure. When he wasn’t shadowing her, he was sleeping or working out.

  “So can I buy you a drink when you get inside?” Stripper Santa asked as he held the door open for her. The music was so loud the bass made her skin vibrate, and he had to yell to be heard. “Actually, can I buy all of them for you?”

  She winked at him and wagged a finger. “Not drinking tonight, but thank you.”

  He looked disappointed, but nodded.

  The interior of the club was small, but crowded. A long, Y-shaped stage took up the center of the room, and there were booths in the back, along with a long bar, but she figured Gretchen and her group wouldn’t be there. For a bachelorette party? They’d want to be where the action was. She delicately pushed her way through the crowd of women while a man on stage gyrated and ran his hands over gleaming muscles. Daphne glanced up at him, but he wasn’t built nearly as well as Wesley was. Her taste in men had gotten a lot pickier after working out with someone as built as Wesley. Plus, he was supportive and had an amazing sense of humor that spoke to her. So yeah, lots pickier. Still, she’d brought some dollar bills with her and she was going to make sure it rained tonight. Her sister was going to have fun for her bachelorette party. She needed it; when Daphne had seen her last, Gretchen was incredibly stressed out.