Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1)

by Easterling, Aimee

  My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough by this point that I could barely make out the shape of my apple tree on the other side of the vegetable garden. As I waited for my employer's reply, the sapling seemed to be whispering advice across the expanse of night-muted greenery, but I didn't speak tree and couldn't be sure whether I was being egged on, or whether Pippin was begging me to pull back and think things through. So I just clenched Lena's phone in a white-knuckled grip and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  "My plane can be ready in an hour," Jack said at last, and I couldn't tell whether he was upset or simply resigned. "I'll be there before you wake up."

  Chapter 13

  True to his word, Jack's spaceship of a car was waiting in my driveway when I peered out the window bright and early the next morning. My night-time courage having fled, I pretended not to notice my visitor and instead used the back door to blow the empty seed casings out of Florabelle's food dish before topping off her rations. Like a true coward, I even forewent my usual good-morning visit to my beloved apple tree and simply waved well wishes in her general direction through the windowpane.

  The problem was that my fury at my employer hadn't lessened one bit overnight, but I knew that if I spoke with him now, I'd almost certainly apologize. I was terrible at face-to-face confrontations, tending to back down rather than standing up for myself, and I had a feeling that if I saw Jack in the flesh, I'd end up taking back all of the firm words I'd spoken over the phone. And that would just make me even madder since I'd meant every condemnation tossed around the night before.

  Plus, I wasn't sure whether I still had a job. Even if I hadn't entirely quit last night, Jack would likely fire me as soon as he found a replacement due to the way I'd called him up in the wee hours to vent my spleen. No reason to receive the bad news any sooner than I had to.

  So I nibbled at my breakfast and waited for my employer to knock on the door. But Jack seemed to possess boundless patience this morning—his car was always in the same place when I peeked out the window, and the vehicle's inhabitant was a dark, unmoving shape in the slightly reclined front seat. Of course, Jack's apparent lack of agitation just made me more agitated, which in turn fueled my anger. Vicious circle.

  Eventually, I decided that Lena would rather be woken to greet her brother than be allowed to sleep in and possibly miss several hours of his limited attention. Plus, if I didn't get Mr. Fish Sticks out of my driveway soon, I was going to go crazy. So I shook my charge awake, murmuring: "Lena, get up. Your brother's here to take you home."

  She came off the sofa like a shot. "He's here?" the girl asked, her tone of voice similar to that of a kindergartner asking about an imminent visit by Santa Claus. At my nod, Lena grabbed her bag and shoes, not even taking time to change out of her sleepware, and tumbled out the door and down the walk. I watched until the car door closed behind her, then I headed back into a kitchen that suddenly felt empty without my teenage house guest. Lena hadn't even taken the time to say goodbye.

  "Well, Florabelle, I guess it's just you and me once again," I told my bird, and settled in to remember how I used to amuse myself before Lena entered my life.

  ***

  The knock on my door came half an hour later, and I almost didn't answer it. Mr. Reed's absence over the past week had been nearly as remarkable as Jack's (although much more welcome), but I had a feeling that my landlord had been staying away primarily because he didn't want an audience to witness his continual harassment. Without my teenage buffer, there was no longer anything to prevent my neighbor from driving his point home.

  I would have far rather pretended I wasn't present than be forced to speak to my landlord, but with my car parked in the drive, I knew the falsehood wouldn't hold water. This day just gets better and better, I thought, carefully locking my cockatiel into her cage before heading over to answer the door.

  But my caller wasn't Mr. Reed after all. Instead, my employer stood on the deck, and over his shoulder I noticed Lena sitting in the passenger seat of Jack's vehicle as if they'd never left my lot in the first place. "Are you having car trouble?" I asked, trying to wrap my head around the Reynolds' continued presence in my life. Even if my employer didn't intend to fire me (a very long shot), there was no reason for him to come calling now rather than taking his sister home.

  "Hi, Florabelle," Jack said, greeting my pet rather than me, and also proving that Lena must have told him all about my cockatiel alarm system. Then, with his blue eyes boring into mine, he continued: "May I come in?"

  "Sure," I answered, opening the door wider even as my heart sank. Barring car trouble, the only reason I could think of for Jack's continued presence was that I had made him so angry with my 3 a.m. call that he'd opted to chew me out sooner rather than later. I reminded myself that I could handle being yelled at, that I'd been fired before and would find a way to get back on my feet this time too. But the thought of dealing with Jack's displeasure was somehow much worse than my memory of the Food City manager's ire. But what choice did I have other than to let him in?

  As my employer pushed his way into my kitchen with quick, long strides, I remembered how I'd once been worried that Jack would judge my trailer unkindly if he ever saw the interior. Now, I was more concerned by my boss's silent, agitated pacing back and forth across my tiny kitchen. With his long legs, it took only three or four strides to make it from wall to wall, and I was afraid that Jack might hurt himself running into the corner of my counter in the tight space. House embarrassment seemed like such a minor matter in the face of my employer's turbulence, and I wished all I had to be concerned about was a sneer at my plastic counters and shabby cabinets.

  At last, I couldn't bear the silence any longer, and I caved to the inevitable. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely loud enough to be heard over Jack's footsteps. He immediately whirled to face me, sweat running down his brow and making me realize that my employer probably hadn't slept at all after I woke him with my late-night call. Even if Jack had been able to summon a private jet to ferry him home, the nearest airport on our end was an hour's drive away, leading to a very long night.

  "Why are you sorry?" Jack demanded now. "I'm the one who's trying to figure out how to explain why I've been such a bastard. I acted just like my father, and Lena could tell you that Mr. Reynolds senior is not the kind of man to emulate. I've spent the last half hour promising my sister that I'm not going to make the same mistake again, I'm struggling to find words to tell you the same thing, and here you are apologizing to me?"

  My employer's final sentence rose at the end like a question, so I explained even as I struggled to wrap my head around Jack's almost-apology. "I'm apologizing because I called you up in the middle of the night and chewed you out," I said carefully, barely letting myself hope that I might come out of this altercation with job intact.

  And with Jack still as my friend. Where had that thought come from? Lena and I might possibly be working our way toward a friendship, but I needed to remember to keep things businesslike with my boss if I hoped to stay employed. I barely knew Jack, and if I wasn't willing to let Kimberly move up a tier in my estimation from good acquaintance to true intimate, then Mr. Fish Sticks certainly didn't deserve that honor either.

  Although he did seem to have transformed into a more genuine person this morning. "I'm glad you called me last night," Jack said now, stepping closer and taking my hand in his. It was the first time we'd touched since my car trouble, and the jolt of electricity that leapt through my body seemed ten times as intense as it had before. "I needed a swift kick in the pants," he continued. "But more than that, hearing you rant made me hope that your strong feelings mean you care about me as a person. Most of us don't get out-and-out angry at someone we don't harbor intense feelings for, so I'm glad you regard me highly enough to think I'm worth being furious with."

  I stared at my employer, his words bouncing through my mind like the orb in a pinball machine. My anger proves that I care about Jack? I could have argued tha
t Lena was the one I had fond feelings for, that my passion last night had stemmed from wanting to protect someone younger and weaker than myself. And, in some ways, that argument would have held water.

  But why lie by omission in the privacy of my own mind? I'd never yelled at Kimberly or at Ms. Cooper, couldn't even imagine raising my voice to Brett or Tom at their most annoying. And yet, Jack had inspired a rage so intense I'd felt the need to wake him out of a sound sleep to vent my ire.

  Meanwhile, if I were being entirely honest, I had to admit that I'd been just as hurt by Jack's florist deliveries as Lena had been. It had felt like Mr. Fish Sticks was minimizing our own relationship by sending me impersonal flowers and fruit baskets, and I'd wanted to cut my employer down to size for my own sake as well as for my charge's. When it came right down to it, yelling at Mr. Fish Sticks had felt good.

  Jack tilted his head to one side, waiting for the pinball to work its way down to the bottom of my brain. "And now you're calling me 'Mr. Fish Sticks' in your head again, which I'm pretty sure isn't a good sign," my employer murmured, his guess remarkably astute, even more so since I'd only slipped and used the moniker to his face that one time. Granted, I'd sometimes called my employer 'Mr. Fish Sticks' in Lena's presence when I wasn't entirely happy with her brother, and it was beginning to appear that my charge had been a more capable informant than I'd ever imagined. But Jack had also paid attention to the fruits of his sister's spying and had remembered the details, both now and when he showed off his ability to enter my trailer without losing his eardrums to Florabelle's shrieks.

  Which led me to believe that perhaps I'd underestimated my boss's interest in me after all. Maybe Jack hadn't just been dallying with the help. Could the beautiful and powerful businessman really be attracted to me despite everything that stood between us?

  "Please say something," Jack continued, his posture starting to regain some of the frenetic nature that had marked his rapid kitchen pacing. "Or I'll be forced to get down on my knees and apologize, and Florabelle would never let me live it down."

  I breathed out through my nose in an almost-laugh. "I don't call you 'Mr. Fish Sticks' in my head as much lately," I offered, not knowing what else to say. Failing to disabuse Jack of the notion that I cared about him was nearly equivalent to telling my employer that he was correct, but I couldn't quite muster the cold-heartedness to say he was wrong...or the bravery to tell my companion that he was right.

  "Good to know," Jack responded. He released my hand long enough to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out an envelope bulging with cash. "I should have given this to you right away, but I wanted to wait until I thought it wouldn't make you quit on the spot and order me out of your kitchen." Jack's hand lingered near mine as he passed over my back pay, and I shivered at the near-contact.

  "So you're not firing me?" I asked, requiring the clarification since our encounter had turned out so much differently than I'd imagined.

  "Are you kidding me?" Jack asked, his face relaxing for the first time since he'd shown up at my trailer door. I loved the way laugh lines appeared at the corners of his eyes as they crinkled up into a true smile. "You're a miracle worker. Lena actually talked to me out there in the car, and she asked if we could go on a college tour. You, me, and her."

  My companion gazed at me so intently that I nearly took a step backwards, but I forced myself to stand my ground. I could tell that Jack had something more to say, but we seemed to be suspended in the moment, his blue eyes freezing me to the spot. At last, Jack opened his mouth again, the words rougher now that he wasn't talking about his sister. "This is where I request something I've been itching to ask for ever since I saw you in that cute checker outfit," he continued, his voice dropping into a husky whisper.

  "You want me to go out to dinner with you," I breathed, knowing that my body language, if not my words had proven to Jack that I wouldn't turn down his third advance. The gentleman's code of honor needn't be tested after all.

  "No," Jack answered, a wicked glitter in his eye. "Consider this a bonus." Then he bent his head down and kissed me.

  Chapter 14

  The rough prickle of incipient beard against skin reminded me that the last time I'd been kissed was by someone who wasn't much more than a boy. Jack was all man.

  Then the firm softness of my companion's lips overwhelmed mine and I stopped being able to think at all. Instead, I kissed my employer back, my hands reaching of their own volition up behind his head to pull Jack's face closer, as if I wanted us to meld into one being. I seemed to be falling into a whirling pit of sensation and desire, and I realized that I'd never really been kissed before, not like this.

  Then, just as quickly as he'd swooped toward me, the contact was broken and Jack took a step back to lean against the counter. My kitchen felt even smaller now, as if the walls were closing in around us, and the confined space seemed to be forcing me toward the heat of Jack's lithe body. "Did you know that an orgasm increases your risk of a heart attack by three-hundred percent?" I asked inanely, and then my cheeks immediately flamed with embarrassment. Smooth, Ginny, I admonished myself.

  To my further chagrin, Jack started to laugh, the chuckles low in his chest turning into a deep, rolling guffaw. I wanted to sink into the floor, or, better yet, to push the maddening Mr. Fish Sticks out of my trailer so I could cry in peace—I had been consumed by our shared experience, while the other participant was left so unmoved that he was able to make fun of me. Yet, the most activity I could muster was the ability to keep breathing in the face of my own stupidity. Of course Jack had only been playing games. To Mr. Fish Sticks, everything was a game.

  Or not. "I would take you up on that kind offer if my kid sister weren't waiting out in the car and doing her level best to get a line of sight through your kitchen window," my companion answered, once he was able to speak over his own merriment. Immediately, my cheeks blushed brighter.

  "I wasn't offering...." I stumbled over my words, unable to go on. Because maybe I had been offering, or at least hoping that Jack would kiss me again.

  But the reminder of Lena's near presence was a helpful buffer against the sexual energy zinging around the room. With an effort, I followed Jack's lead and took a step back until I was pushed up against the refrigerator in a vain hope that the appliance would cool me down. There was still barely more room between us than the spread of Florabelle's wings, and I yearned to reach out and touch Jack to reassure myself that he was really there. Yet, despite my baser wishes, I forced myself to say, "You shouldn't keep Lena waiting. She needs some brother-sister time."

  "You're right," Jack admitted, and his broad shoulders slumped in response, lowering the temperature of the room by at least ten degrees. Fickly, I now resented the loss. "But we're not finished here," my companion continued. "You deserve some time off, and Lena and I need to figure out which colleges she wants to visit. And then I'll pick you up. Say ten o'clock Friday?"

  For a minute, he was Mr. Fish Sticks again, suave and businesslike, assuming I'd just go along with whatever plan made his own life easier. But then I could see Jack think back over his own words, and he shot me a self-deprecating smile. "There I am being a bastard again. Let me start over. Will you come with me and Lena to check out colleges?"

  "Sure," I answered. "Say, ten o'clock Friday? Why don't you pick me up?" We exchanged a smoldering glance that should have set off the smoke detectors, and then my employer (who was now possibly something more) walked out the door.

  ***

  Of course, I couldn't really take the day off. This was my first week pulling ten hours for the nonprofit on top of my job as Lena's life coach, and I needed to be present to manage volunteers and hand out snacks at an upcoming lake cleanup. Still, I felt like I was walking on air as I tucked Florabelle away in her cage that afternoon and steered my rust bucket toward Emerald Lake.

  Despite the name, our local watering hole was anything but pristine. The popular kids from our high school liked to come up here for dr
unken parties on warm summer nights, which tended to result in lots of empty beer cans, along with trash of an even less wholesome nature. So, a few times a year, Cuadic rounded up the troops to haul off garbage and repair broken signs. Mostly, we held cleanups because it was fun to fix a problem that was easy to solve and that allowed us to play around in the outdoors, but we also generally got much-needed good press for the occasion. A definite win-win.

  Today was one of those rare volunteer days that didn't fall on a weekend, but Ms. Cooper had come through with a cadre of arm-twisted youngsters to round out our usual battalion of retired folks. In general, the teacher had no problem tempting students to show up since she doled out extra credit liberally, filling our ranks with attendees more interested in good grades than in good karma. And while I understood the teacher's impulse to get as many kids as possible involved, a lot of those bribed youngsters were more trouble than they were worth. So I was glad that school had already let out for the summer and I only had to handle the more serious-minded students on my first time out of the gate.

  One girl caught my attention as I rustled up extra trash bags and kept volunteers moving toward the less-obvious trouble zones around the lake shore. This particular teenager dove into the project with gusto, initially unsure which end of a litter stick went up, but soon filling bags much faster than her neighbors. Unlike most of the girls volunteering, the youngster I had my eye on even dove into the muddy edges of the lake shore, rooting out buried fishing line and one tremendous tire. If all of our participants were that industrious, we'd run out of trash within the first hour rather than always leaving a few areas behind to be dealt with on our next cleanup day.

  "She reminds me of you at that age," Ms. Cooper said, coming up behind me as I peered out across the water. Now that the teacher mentioned it, the girl I'd been watching did act like my younger self, although the comparison wasn't as flattering as our shared teacher had meant it to be. This particular teenager always smiled brightly when other kids passed by, but never quite made it into any of their cliques. A loner, just like me.