Rocking The Billionaire (A Rich List Romantic Comedy Book 1)

by Talia Hunter

  Words temporarily failing him, Jackson ate another pancake instead. One thing he was one hundred percent certain of, costume party or not, he would never, not ever, wear a single frill. And for that matter, he didn’t plan to wear leggings, ruffles, lace, or any article of clothing with ‘frock’ in its name.

  And why should he? He’d built an entire career on doing things his competition didn’t expect. Tonight’s party would be no exception.

  Seven

  After Jackson left for work, Meghan spent some time convincing his housekeeper that she was perfectly capable of cleaning her own breakfast dishes and didn’t need Selina to do it for her.

  When she was done with the washing up, she went downstairs to Jackson’s music studio. She couldn’t wait to pick up a guitar and figure out some words to go with the tune she’d been working on for the last few days.

  But when she got there, she didn’t go straight into the recording booth. First, she had a phone call to make. Her screen told her she’d missed another call from Trey, but she ignored it. Maybe he wanted to apologize. If so, he’d be waiting a long time. She was still too angry with him to want to hear it.

  She sat on the couch with her guitar on her lap and dialed Geena’s number. Then she put the phone on speaker so she could quietly strum the guitar while she talked to her friend.

  “Hey,” she said when Geena answered. “How’s Ally? Have you heard from her?”

  “Not yet, but it’s only been one day. I was hoping she’d call, but it’s too early to worry about her.”

  “She’s probably having fun whipping the guy into submission. Is he hot?”

  “Sizzling.”

  “Go, Ally.” Meghan grinned, playing the opening chords of Whip It by Devo on her guitar.

  “She deserves a little fun, after what she’s been through. Her ex isn’t just a regular asshole, he’s the King of the Assholes. Supreme Ruler of Asslandia. You should see the comments he posted on her blog. Insults and threats like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?” Meghan realized she’d been about to strum a dissonant chord, and stopped herself. Playing creepy horror movie music wasn’t a good idea while they were talking about Ally’s ex.

  “When I asked Ally, she said he’s all talk and too cowardly to be dangerous. I hope she’s right.” She clicked her tongue. “Anyway, what about you? Looking forward to tonight’s party?”

  “I told Jackson I’m accepting his offer. Not just for tonight, but for the whole conference.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to decide that after the party?”

  “Yeah, but it’s silly to wait. I don’t know why I hesitated. I need the money and Jackson’s a nice guy. We had dinner last night, and breakfast this morning, and we talked a lot. I told him how different my life is compared to his, and he got it. I also told him his house was a guitar solo and he understood that, too.”

  “His house is a guitar solo?”

  Meghan glanced at the expensive musical instruments Jackson said he didn’t play, and the autographed photos of famous musicians she could only dream of meeting. “It’s too complicated to explain. Long story short, he may not be good for me, but I like spending time with him.”

  “What about your plan?”

  “It starts on Monday.”

  “What if Jackson doesn’t want you to leave once the conference is over?”

  “He will. He’s made that clear.” She laughed to take the sting out of her own words. “To be honest, I’m a little afraid he’s going to come to his senses and take back his offer.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Have you seen my photos on Instagram lately? There’s no way I’ll look anything like the stuffy corporate types who’ll be at the costume party. I have to wear an old-fashioned gown, and I’ll probably look ridiculous in it.”

  “I get the same feeling every time I have to go somewhere with my mother. She’s always pressuring me to cover my tattoos and dye my hair brown so I don’t embarrass the family.”

  “Do you?”

  Geena scoffed. “Hell no. I like having pink hair. And I like the way you look too. You don’t really want to be identical to everyone else do you?”

  “I guess not. Even if sometimes it would make my life easier.”

  “Jackson wouldn’t have asked you to be his date if he didn’t think you looked good.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  The costume party probably wouldn’t even be the worst of it. She wasn’t going to fit in at any of the events. But there was no point worrying about that yet. She had tonight to get through first.

  “We definitely have to meet for a drink as soon as you can get away,” said Geena. “And take photos of your costume, okay? I want to see it.”

  As soon as she was off the phone, Meghan played the tune she’d been humming for the last couple of days. But before she could start figuring out lyrics for it, Freya knocked and came in. Jackson’s pretty assistant was wearing a long, tight skirt, and her blonde hair was tied back in a bun. All she needed was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and higher stilettos instead of her sensible low heels, and she could play the sexy librarian in an erotic fantasy. She was even holding a book.

  “Would you like to choose a costume now, Ms. Paige?” she asked.

  “Please call me Meghan. And tell me, what do you think of this?” She played her tune again. “Does it remind you of anything?”

  “You mean, does it remind me of another song?”

  Meghan shook her head. “No, I mean, does it remind you of walking in the park, for example? Or maybe a cool swim on a hot day? It’s a happy tune, but I’m trying to figure out what kind of happy it is. So I know what kind of words to put with it.” She played the chorus one more time.

  “It reminds me of falling in love,” said Freya thoughtfully.

  Meghan sighed. There were already a million songs about falling in love. She’d wanted to write something different.

  “Wrong answer?” Freya asked.

  “No, not at all. Thanks for the suggestion. It’s just that I’d rather write a song about somebody fighting their way to success, even with the odds stacked against them.” She put the guitar down, carefully leaning it against the couch. “Anyway, you came in because I need a costume for tonight?”

  Freya held out the book, and Meghan saw it was a catalogue from a costume outfitter. “Here’s a selection of Victorian gowns.”

  Meghan shifted over on the couch, motioning Freya to sit next to her while she leafed through several pages of long dresses. Why were they all so low at the front and tight at the waist, with enormous skirts and a million petticoats? Some tattoos she usually kept hidden would be on full display. Besides, she wasn’t exactly a petticoat person. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything other than jeans.

  There were no prices listed, but none of the dresses looked cheap.

  “How does this work?” she asked. “Are they all available in my size?”

  “Pick the one you like, and the costumer will take your measurements and alter it to fit. He’s on his way here now.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble. And to be honest, I can’t imagine myself in any of them.” Wincing, she flipped the page on a buttercup yellow gown with enormous lace sleeves.

  “What about that one?” asked Freya, pointing at a Medieval gown.

  “It’s not as bad as the others. I’m not so sure about the way it trails on the ground, because I guarantee I’d keep tripping over it. But at least I wouldn’t feel like I’m trapped in a giant cage of skirts.” She glanced at Freya. “If you don’t mind me asking, how come you aren’t going to the party with Jackson?”

  “Nice idea, but I have a family.” Freya held up a hand to show her wedding ring. “I go home each night in time to put my son to bed.”

  Meghan closed the catalogue and dropped it onto the low table in front of the couch. “What’s Jackson like to work for?”

  “Thoug
htful and generous. Even when we’re under pressure from some deadline or other, he insists I leave on time. He’s a great boss, and a brilliant man. But he can be stubborn. He gets an idea in his head, and that’s it.” She gave Meghan a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t repeat that last part though, because I’ll deny I said it.”

  “I knew him when we were teenagers. Did he tell you?”

  “No.” Freya leaned forward. “What was he like back then?”

  “He spent a lot of his time fixing the band’s equipment, or convincing his beaten-up old van to keep running long past when it should have been scrapped. He also played guitar really well. His stage name was Jackson Jive.”

  “Like the Jackson Five?” Freya’s eyes sparkled and she pressed her lips together, clearly holding in a laugh. “That’s too funny.”

  “Don’t tell him I told you.” Meghan made a sound that was half laughter and half a groan. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Seriously, he’ll kill me if he finds out.”

  “I’d like to have known him then,” said Freya.

  “We had a lot of fun. The band mostly practiced at my house, and we used to spend hours dreaming about what we’d do when we hit the big time.”

  “Tell me if this question is too personal, but did you two ever date?”

  Meghan shook her head. “I dated his brother, but not for long. Still, I think that’s why Jackson wasn’t interested in me. He and his brother didn’t exactly get on, so maybe I was tainted.” Was it crazy to feel regretful about that after all these years? Brushing off her sudden attack of nostalgia, she made herself sound amused. “Besides, it would have been far too much of a cliché for the band’s singer to hook up with its lead guitarist.”

  Freya looked at her watch. “The costume fitter will be here any minute. Have you decided on the Medieval gown?”

  “I suppose so.” Meghan sighed. “I’m not going to fit in at this party no matter what I wear. You think Jackson would mind if I got creative and reinterpreted the theme?”

  Freya put a finger to her lips in a mock-thoughtful gesture. “Hmm. I seem to remember him saying that the only rule was no giant vegetables. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Meghan picked up her guitar and strummed the opening chords of Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. “But there’s got to be a costume that’s more me.”

  Eight

  Jackson adjusted his white, seventies suit jacket before letting himself in the house. He walked through the door of his living room and stopped short.

  Was that Meghan? Instead of dark dreadlocks, the woman standing in front of him had long, platinum blonde hair. Yes, it was definitely Meghan, her stunning eyes accentuated with black makeup. He’d been looking forward to seeing her in period costume, mainly so he could tease her some more. But she wasn’t wearing the oversized, swaying dress he’d expected.

  What was she wearing?

  She struck a pose with one hand on her hip and gave him a challenging look. “What do you think of my costume? Pretty great, right?”

  He looked her up and down. “Is your dress made from meat?”

  “I’m Lady Gaga. This is the famous meat dress she wore to the 2010 MTV Awards.” She stroked the bacon draped over her thigh. “It’s not actually meat, it’s made from some kind of felt. Looks real though, doesn’t it? The costume maker did a great job.”

  “This is your costume?” He put a hand to his mouth to hide his laugh, but kept his tone stern. “Freya didn’t try to talk you out of it?”

  “She talked me out of my first idea. I thought I might go as Prince, like in his Purple Rain phase, in a sparkling purple suit and curly eighties hair. A prince is a kind of lord, right? And there was nothing stating I had to go as a lady. But Freya thought Lady Gaga would be better, and she was right.”

  “Oh, so much better,” he said in a tone as dry as the Sahara. “Remind me to give her a raise.”

  Truth was, once he’d gotten over his surprise, he had to admit the Lady Gaga look suited her. She had on a pair of teetering platform heels that were also wrapped in the red meat-like cloth, and her dress was cut high on one side. The result was that her legs went on for miles. Plus, the blonde wig almost looked real, and with light hair framing her face, her eyes and red lips stood out even more than usual. And her nose piercing and tattoos went a lot better with this outfit than they would have if she’d worn an old-fashioned gown.

  Meghan’s brow creased. “Aren’t you going to wear a costume?”

  Jackson pulled a pair of seventies sunglasses from his top suit pocket and put them on. “I am. You think I’d be seen dead in this suit if it wasn’t a costume party?”

  “You don’t look like a lord. Wait, don’t tell me. I want to guess what you’re dressed as.” She took a step back, studying his white suit and wide-lapelled shirt he’d copied from the one Al Pacino had worn in the movie Scarface. “Are you a gangster?”

  He gave her a mock frown, enjoying every minute of his costume reveal. “A gangster?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait. My costume’s incomplete, that’s why you can’t tell what I am.” He tugged an oversized cigar out of his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “There,” he said around it. “Now it must be obvious.”

  “Now you’re a gangster with a cigar.”

  “Otherwise known as a drug lord.”

  She snorted a laugh. “A drug lord? That’s cheating!”

  “Is it, Lady Gaga?”

  She gave him a wicked grin and held her hand up for him to high-five. “I guess neither of us has to wear ruffles tonight, huh?”

  “That’s the idea.” He tucked the cigar back into his pocket for safekeeping, before taking her arm to walk her out.

  “We’re not driving the Aston?” she asked when he led her to the front door, rather than the garage.

  His limo was waiting outside, his driver already holding the door open for them. “So I can have a beer or two,” he explained.

  “Oh, that’s exactly what I do,” she said as he helped her in. “The Toyota you ran into was my Thursday car. On Fridays, I drive my Ferrari.”

  He settled onto the large leather seat next to her. The limo wasn’t overly long, but its ceiling was surprisingly high, and it had a large empty space between the back seat and the front where the driver sat. His driver had filled the ice bucket and stocked it with a fresh bottle of champagne.

  “Drink?” he asked Meghan, nodding to it as they drove down his driveway and onto the road.

  “How far are we going?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  She shot him a sideways look. “Then I think I can wait until we get there.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. The women he usually took out liked to soak up every luxury on offer. Meghan was the opposite. He was tempted to shower her with more opulence, just to see her flash that ‘are you for real?’ look from the corner of her eyes.

  “There’s a lot more room in here than in the old rattler you used to drive.” She ran her hand across the leather seat. “And at least I don’t have a drum kit crammed onto my lap.”

  “That wasn’t an old rattler, but a perfectly good vehicle. And without it, we would have been catching a bus to all our gigs.” He hadn’t thought of his van in years, but it had been his pride and joy back then. Shame he’d had to sell it when he’d arrived in Brisbane, but it had funded the fresh start he’d so desperately needed.

  “Remember that time you used one of my stockings to fix something that broke inside the engine?”

  “Got us there, didn’t it?”

  “I still don’t know how. That van ran on rust and prayers.”

  “And women’s lingerie.”

  She shot him a sideways smirk. “You mean I wasn’t the only woman who donated her undergarments for a good cause?”

  With a rueful quirk of his lips, he shook his head. “Sadly, you were. I didn’t date much in those days.” He realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Now she’d ask why not, and
he’d have to make up something plausible. He wasn’t about to confess it was because he’d been too busy dreaming about Meghan, even though he’d classed her as strictly off limits.

  “Why—?” she started.

  “We’re almost there,” he interrupted. “Once I find the people I’m looking for, I’ll need to leave you on your own while I talk business. But because you’ll be waiting for me, I can pressure them into making the meeting a short one. If I can keep them focused, we should be able to get the deal done in half an hour or so. An hour, tops.”

  “What shall I do while you’re having your meeting?”

  “Dance. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Okay.” Meghan rubbed her palms against her dress. “Who are you going to see?”

  “Three men and two women. We’ve arranged to meet at the bar at eight.”

  “But who are they?”

  “Why do you ask?” The question came out too sharply. Dammit, there was no reason to be suspicious of her. Meghan blinked, but before she could say anything, Jackson softened his tone. “They’re the division heads from a technology company I want to partner with.”

  Meghan nodded, but she was silent for a while, staring out the window.

  Jackson let the silence stretch out. It wasn’t fair to Meghan to keep wondering if she could be a corporate spy. The idea was ridiculous and he should never have let Derek plant it in his head. So, enough was enough. It was time to put suspicion aside and just enjoy his evening with a beautiful woman. His lips quirked. Or rather, a beautiful Lady Gaga.

  Putting his hand on her knee, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”

  She bit her lip. “Honestly? I’m a little nervous about the party.”

  “Don’t be. I guarantee you’ll be the most popular woman there. Everyone will be irresistibly drawn to you like moths to a flame.”