The Billionaire's Boyfriend (Clean Billionaire Beach Club Romance Book 6)

by Elana Johnson

  Stacey’s coming to get me for a beach hour, she texted. Maybe we can eat lunch in your office and I can nap in my own place?

  Deal. See you about noon?

  Noon it is.

  Gina sipped her coffee, taking her time as she absorbed the calm energy in Owen’s house. She thought him very practiced at keeping himself in check because of his job, but perhaps it was just his aura all the time.

  No wonder she felt called toward him. Gina had not experienced much peace and calmness in her life, and she craved it.

  She finished her coffee, showered, and managed to be ready in time for Stacey to pull up in a red convertible.

  Gina moved slowly, the residual effects of her headache still pulsing through her with every step.

  “Hey, you.” Stacey grinned at her and asked, “Is that your toothbrush?”

  “No, it’s one Owen bought for me. I didn’t want him in my place, going through my stuff.”

  “Oh, so you two aren’t starting something.”

  A brief vision of that even briefer kiss flashed through Gina’s mind. “Not even close.”

  So maybe those words lingered on the outer edge of a lie. She wanted to start something with Owen. He obviously liked her too. But there was something between them, something huge, and Gina knew exactly what it was.

  Her.

  She couldn’t let him in, and until she did, he’d circle on the fringes, just like Davy had, and just like Ian had—until Gina had let down her defenses and let him in.

  And what a disaster that had been.

  “He likes you, you know.” Stacey put the car in reverse and pulled out of Owen’s driveway.

  “Yeah, well, I like him too. We’re friends.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Gina gathered her hair into a ponytail as Stacey picked up speed. “No more talking. We’re not even to the beach yet,” she said. “And my head still hurts.”

  Stacey laughed, but she waited while Gina went upstairs at the hotel to change, and she carried everything Gina needed down to the beach. With her towel spread out, Gina stretched her arms above her head, closed her eyes, and let the sun beat down on her.

  Other women arrived, but she didn’t engage with them.

  He likes you, you know.

  Gina knew.

  But she had no idea what to do about it.

  Chapter Six

  Owen’s desk looked like a bomb had gone off. At certain times of the month, there were a million little pieces of paper that needed to be signed, filed, and kept. Most of them ended up in Owen’s office, needing his approval or signature.

  The laundry facilities had been having a rough time keeping people on staff, and they’d just hired eight more workers. All of them needed their financial documents processed so they could get paid. Owen had to sign for that work to be done, inform the badge department that new people needed new identification, and then let the security detail know that eight more keys would be issued to the basement entrance.

  Oh, and parking passes. The process to get someone hired and working for Sweet Breeze required someone full-time, but they had Owen.

  He honestly didn’t mind, as moving things through a system was oddly satisfying to him. He normally didn’t run late for important things like meetings or basketball games, but mealtimes were sporadic at best. So when someone knocked on his door, his first reaction was a bit of panic.

  “Lunch,” he said to himself.

  Sure enough, Gina poked her head into the room a moment later. “Hey.” She put a smile on her face, but it seemed different now. More guarded? Or less? Owen couldn’t tell. “Are we eating here?” She glanced at the messy desk while Owen stood.

  “No, I’ve got to get out of here.” He rounded the desk and wanted to take her into his arms. He paused with the chair Fisher usually occupied between them.

  Fisher.

  Another reason Owen didn’t need the knowledge of his flubbed kiss out there. Fisher would never leave him alone if he knew. “How are you feeling?” he asked, pocketing his hands and hoping his growling stomach wasn’t too loud.

  “So much better.” She wore a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank top the color of coral. Her skin looked like she’d gotten plenty of sun that morning, even if it was technically the rainy season. She gestured to the door. “Should we go? You look busy. Or I can go grab something and bring it back. Oh, but you said you wanted to go. Okay, let’s go.” She turned and reached for the doorknob.

  Owen sensed her nervousness, and he wasn’t sure where it stemmed from. He’d appreciated their deeper conversations from yesterday, and having her meet the boys had been a big step in the right direction.

  If only Owen knew what direction that was. Or how big of a step it had been. And if it was too soon to take another one or not.

  “Bagels?” he asked. “Burgers? Or salad.” He knew what Gina would pick, so he wasn’t surprised when she said, “The bistro.”

  She turned the corner and moved into the spacious lobby, leaving room for Owen at her side. He took his place there and pressed the call button for the elevator.

  “I’m getting pasta today,” she said. “Doesn’t it feel like a pasta day?”

  Owen’s eyebrows lifted, and he chuckled. “It can be any kind of day you want.” He thought it might be natural for him to slide his fingers into hers, tug her closer, and press his lips to her temple.

  But there were about seventy pairs of eyes in the lobby—as well as the best cameras on the island—and he didn’t want to broadcast his interest in the lovely Gina Jackson quite so blatantly.

  The elevators had cameras too, but as he walked into the car he let his fingers brush hers casually. Their eyes met as they turned to face the closing doors, and they’d only just started to go up when she put her hand fully in his.

  Owen’s heart crashed against his ribs, and he couldn’t help smiling like a love-struck schoolboy. “How was the beach?” he asked, wishing this elevator was the broken-down kind that barely moved.

  As it was, they arrived on the fourth floor before Gina could say, “Nice. It was nice.”

  Owen wanted so much more than “nice.” He waited until they’d gotten a table in the corner of the bistro before saying, “Tell me about it.”

  Gina lifted one shoulder in a shrug, completely distracting Owen. He bounced his gaze to her bare skin there and then refocused on her face.

  “It was warm,” she said. “I just let the sun bake me. The other girls talked a little.”

  “Do you ever talk?” he asked, realizing a moment too late how his question sounded. “I mean, obviously, you talk. I just wondered what you’d talk about with them.”

  Gina’s gaze dropped to the table and she unwrapped the silverware there like it had to be done with great care or a bomb might explode. “I don’t say a lot.”

  Owen glanced up as a waitress appeared. She left menus and they ordered drinks before Owen could continue the conversation. “Why is that?” he asked. “You seem like an interesting person. Smart. Successful.” Beautiful. The word echoed endlessly in his mind, and he decided to say it.

  “Beautiful.” He cleared his throat, wishing his water with lemon was already at the table.

  Gina smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. He wanted to know why she dyed it. Wanted to know why she’d really come to Getaway Bay. Why, why, why.

  “Thank you, Owen.”

  The drinks arrived, and she busied herself with unwrapping a straw. Owen lifted his water right to his lips, noticing that she had not answered his question. He wondered if she would, or if he’d have to pry every little bit of information out of her.

  “So I have another question for you,” Owen said, employing his general manager voice, the one he used when he wanted to soothe an upset employee or get someone to do something for him he knew they wouldn’t like. “And I’d really appreciate it if you’d answer it for me. Straight up.”

  Something akin to panic danced across her face, but she no
dded. Owen felt like someone had put a jackhammer in his stomach and switched it on high. He had no idea what to say, but somehow the words flowed from his mouth flawlessly. “Is this a date?”

  Gina blinked rapidly like someone had just flicked water in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “See, now that’s not a straight up answer.” Owen smiled and took another drink. “I’m forty-six-years-old, Gina. I don’t want to play games or try to figure out some sort of signals. So I’ll just say this: I want this to be a date. And I guess I’m wondering if you do too.”

  She fiddled with her discarded straw wrapper and then her hair. When she finally looked at him with those blue eyes he could fall into, he saw the answer. It was really great to hear, “Yes, I want this to be a date.”

  Relief rushed through him with the power of the whistling wind, and a smile popped onto his face. “Great.” He reached across the table and touched her hand, calming the frantic way she worried the paper wrapper.

  She stilled, lifted her eyes to his, and that great, big something that had been drawing him closer to her all these months manifested itself.

  “We don’t need to make a big deal of it,” he said, once again finding his throat clogged with emotion. “In fact, I’d kind of like to keep it low-key while you’re working at the hotel.”

  “Low-key?” Gina’s eyes sparkled. “You mean secret.”

  Owen had the inexplicable urge to scratch under his collar. “Sure, secret. If that’s the word you want to use. I’d like for it to…I don’t know. Stay between us. I don’t need Fisher on my back about it.”

  Gina laughed, though Owen wasn’t sure what he’d said that was so funny. “What would Fisher say?” she asked.

  “Oh, he’s been pressuring me to start dating.” Owen waved his hand like Fisher’s lectures were stupid—because they were. As he’d just said, he was forty-six-years old. He didn’t need to be told what to do.

  Gina giggled. “He has?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “A little, yeah. At the Nine-0 meetings, he’s always so….”

  “Formal? Stiff?”

  “Business-like.”

  “Oh, Fisher’s big into business. He loves those meetings.”

  “There’s one this afternoon.”

  Owen nodded as the waitress set their food down. “I’m aware. My son has a basketball game.” Not that he was invited to the Nine-0 Club meetings anyway. Fisher told him all about them the next day, usually. Sometimes within the hour.

  “That sounds more fun than a business meeting.”

  “You’re not supposed to be going either.” He pinned her with a look and picked up his fork. He’d ordered the pulled pork mac and cheese, while she’d opted for the boring, breadcrumb-topped version.

  “I feel pretty great,” she said.

  “Still.” He took a bite, the tangy barbecue sauce combining with the ooey gooey richness of the cheese. “You’ve got to try this.”

  “I don’t like barbecue sauce.”

  Owen glanced up, surprise spinning through him. “You’re from Texas and you don’t like barbecue?”

  “Miracles happen.” She smirked at him and took a bite of her plain mac and cheese.

  “So there’s one more thing,” Owen said, his pulse ricocheting through him.

  “Yeah?” She stirred her food and collected another forkful of noodles.

  “I want to learn something new about you every day. I know you don’t like talking, and it’s okay.” He watched her, seeing the first signs of her retreat as her eyes shuttered off. “Honestly, it’s okay. But if this is a date, and we both want it to be a date, that means we want to get to know each other a little better. Maybe see if….” He cleared his throat. The words in his mind absolutely could not be said.

  “See if what?” she challenged, leaning forward. “See if that kiss in the closet can be any better?”

  “Better?” Owen squeaked. Of course it was awful. He’d barely touched her before he’d jerked away.

  “Maybe a better word would be longer.” Gina lifted her straw to her lips as if to bring attention to them, and Owen stared at her mouth.

  “I’d like it to be longer.” His mouth felt so, so dry.

  Gina smiled and picked up her fork again. “So you want something every day.”

  Owen came to his senses and sat up a little straighter. “Yeah, but it can be easy stuff. Like, today, I learned you don’t like barbecue sauce.”

  “Okay,” she said. “So what’s your thing for today?”

  He shook his head, his smile not quite as flirtatious now. “Oh, I’m not giving you another one.”

  “Another one?”

  He looked right at her. “Four a.m. still counts as part of today, my friend.”

  Confusion puckered her eyebrows for a few seconds, and then realization lit her face. “You mean about your ex-wife.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” He pointed his fork at her. “And that was a really big one, so maybe I should get two or three things today.”

  He saw the fear march across her face, watched her master it, and for the first time since he’d met Gina, he thought he might just have a chance at learning all her secrets.

  Chapter Seven

  Gina’s gut writhed, but she really didn’t want to ruin her chance with Owen. She couldn’t even believe she had a chance with Owen. But there he sat, right across from her, eating that meat and pasta—with the disgusting barbecue sauce—and watching her with those sharp yet dreamy eyes.

  “I don’t like barbecue sauce because one of my foster dads made me eat it on everything.” And it wasn’t the taste she found repulsive.

  Owen’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me everything.”

  Gina swallowed, her own mac and cheese almost tasteless because of this conversation. “But I want to.”

  A smile passed across his whole face, and he ducked his head as if he were fifteen and this was their first date.

  Technically, it was their first date, and Gina felt just as nervous and off-kilter as Owen seemed to.

  And she really didn’t like that. Could she tell him that? He’d been bold with her. “So I don’t like barbecue sauce, because it reminds me of him. And I went into professional organizing because I like being in control. Making things right. Straight. Perfect.” All the things her life had never been. “And that’s a really big one for me. I mean, my husband didn’t cheat on me, but yeah.” She swallowed and wished she had somewhere else to look besides in his caring eyes. “That’s a big one for me.”

  Owen stretched out his arm and patted her hand, squeezing it. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Gina relaxed a little after that, and Owen turned the conversation to lighter things. Surprisingly, only forty-five minutes passed before he said, “I hate to run, but I have a ton of work to do before I head out for the basketball game. Shall I walk you up to your room?”

  “Is that too public?” she asked, quite enjoying this idea of a forbidden, secret romance with the handsome general manager.

  He sighed and ran his hand down his jaw, which he hadn’t shaved that morning. She wondered if he didn’t have time or simply forgot. She’d never seen him with facial hair and it made him look more rugged. Sexier.

  “Probably.” He stopped at the elevator and pushed the up button. “So I’ll see you later.”

  “We never did talk about the new closet design.”

  “You’re not supposed to be working.”

  “I can sit and talk about a blueprint as easily as I just sat and ate pasta.” She grinned at him, not wanting to leave until she knew when she’d see him again. And that really spoke volumes to her about how she felt about Owen.

  “We can’t run in the morning,” he said. “But we could get together for coffee and blueprints, I suppose.”

  The elevator doors closed again, the car rushing off to another floor. Owen didn’t even seem to notice as he continued to talk to himself. “I h
ave a meeting at nine, though. Our water incentive is up for renewal.”

  Like Gina knew what that meant, but she smiled and said, “I can meet whenever you say.”

  “Seven-thirty?”

  Seeing as that was two hours later than she usually went running with him, she agreed, pushed the elevator button again, and rode up to her room on the eighth floor (check THIS) alone.

  The phantom of Owen’s hand against hers went with her, and she swallowed a few pills before collapsing into bed. Maybe she was a little run-down. After all, she’d showered, lain on the beach, and had lunch and she felt like she needed to sleep for days.

  Four o’clock came, and Gina stepped off the private elevator to Fisher’s penthouse. She’d spent at least twenty minutes trying to decide what to wear—because she wasn’t sure which event she’d be going to. Her boring business meeting? Or to a high school basketball game?

  In the end, she decided that attending a game for her boyfriend’s son was anything but low key.

  Then she freaked out about the word boyfriend. That word running through her mind right now sent shivers down her arms and back.

  Owen was not her boyfriend. They’d gone on one date—lunch, no less—and agreed to see each other for coffee the next morning. He was her friend, and without the boy on the front, Gina’s nerves settled.

  “You came.” The surprise in Lexie’s voice was only matched by Gina’s when the other woman hugged her. Gina did not like to be touched, but she patted Lexie awkwardly and stepped back as soon as she could.

  “I’m feeling better,” she said. “Nothing a little nap can’t fix.” She added a smile, and Lexie returned it.

  “How’s the mutual fund business?” Gina took a bottle of water from the rows of them on the credenza. Fisher stood over by the windows, his head bent together with Marshall Robison. Ira and Gabi sat on the couch together, their fingers entwined. Gina stared openly at them while Lexie said something about her brother in New York and the rise of the technology sector.