The Billionaire’s Pet (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance)

by Ivy Layne

  Jacob didn't say anything, just narrowed his eyes, but I frowned and considered. I knew a little bit about anxiety issues. My freshman year roommate had social anxiety disorder and panic attacks. I asked, "Did she freak out or did she have a panic attack?"

  "She had a panic attack," Tate admitted. "It was pretty bad."

  I could imagine. I'd seen Christine suffer through several, and they'd been miserable. "I had a friend in college who had panic attacks," I said quietly. "I always felt terrible for her when they happened."

  Tate said, "Emily was a victim in a mass shooting when she was a kid, the only survivor, and the media was relentless. She said the panic attacks started because of that."

  "We know what that's like," Jacob said, his annoyance with Tate softening. The Winters family knew too much about how bad the media could get. I could imagine the rabid excitement of the press at the prospect of a new Winters scandal to chew on. Poor Emily. I felt a fresh wave of guilt. I'd brought this on them when I'd come to Jacob.

  "Walking into that garage this morning must have been horrible for her," I said. "Is she all right?"

  Tate shook his head. "I don't know. She told me she couldn't deal with me anymore and kicked me out."

  "She kicked you out? And you just left?" Jacob demanded.

  "You don't understand," Tate said, sounding lost and miserable.

  "So what are you going to do?" Jacob asked. "Or is this going to be the shortest relationship in the history of relationships?"

  "What am I supposed to do?" Tate asked, sounding irritated.

  "I don't know," Jacob said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Go apologize? Beg her forgiveness and tell her you can work things out? Or is her condition too much and you don't want to deal with it?"

  "It's not too much," Tate protested. "But I can't force her to want to be with me. And she's right, we do have to deal with the media. I can try to keep her safe from that, but I can't make any promises. I won't lie to her."

  "Do you love her? Or are you just having fun?" Jacob's eyes were hard, and he looked angry, surprising me. It wasn't like Jacob was all about love and happiness. He'd taken me on as his sexual pet, though he'd been oddly sweet lately. But it wasn't like he was the king of commitment. He'd admitted himself that he didn't do love or dating. Who was he to make Tate feel worse?

  "We haven't been together that long," Tate said. "I've never been in love before. I know I don't want to lose her. I've never felt like this about any woman. I just don't know how to fix this."

  Wanting them to stop sniping at each other so I could go lie down, and wishing I could help Tate, I said, "Tell her how you feel. Be honest with her and tell her how you feel. She had a shock this morning, and she probably regrets breaking up with you. I'd give her a little space to get over the panic attack, but not too much, and then go talk to her."

  If I were Emily, that's what I'd want. A little time to get over my shock, and then honesty. Especially if the honesty came with a confession of love from the man I wanted. I shook my head at myself and turned to make myself some tea. I wasn't getting a confession like that from any man. Especially not from the one I wanted. But I hoped Emily did. Someone should get a happy ending around here. I knew better than to think it might be me. After all the mistakes I'd made, I didn't deserve one.

  Tate pushed his chair back. Saying to me, "Stay here," Jacob put down his sandwich and walked Tate to the door of the penthouse. This time, their conversation was nearly silent. All I caught were low murmurs. My tea finished brewing, and I poured in a generous dose of honey, stirring slowly. The familiar sent of Earl Grey teased my senses. It was still early, barely lunch, but it felt like midnight. All I wanted was to go back to bed.

  Cradling the mug in both hands, I sipped, letting the honey tinged hot fluid soothe my throat.

  Jacob's footsteps sounded on the floor behind me. "When were you going to tell me you have a fever?"

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ABIGAIL

  * * *

  "I don't know," I said honestly. I'd only just realized that I was sick, though a fever would explain the headache. The truth was, I'd felt nervous about admitting to Jacob that I wasn't well. He wasn't my roommate or my boyfriend. Technically, I was there to do a job, and we hadn't negotiated for sick days.

  He stood in front of me and raised both hands to my face, pressing them against my cheeks. I leaned into his touch. Jacob's body was normally hot, but just then, his hands felt blessedly cool against my skin. "You definitely have a fever," he said. "What are your other symptoms?"

  "I'm all right," I protested. "My throat is a little sore, and I have a headache, that's all."

  "Tired? Achy?"

  I nodded. All of it. I felt all of it. Jacob took the mug of tea from my hands and set it on the counter. Sliding an arm around my back, he led me out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedrooms. I followed, too tired, my head hurting too much, to bother arguing.

  "I'm going to get something for your headache," he said, but I interrupted.

  "I took something a while ago. It's on the bathroom counter. It helped a little."

  Jacob swore under his breath and said, "How long ago? If you took something for the headache, it should've brought your fever down."

  He unzipped my dress and slid it off my shoulders, leaving me standing beside my bed in my underwear. For the first time, being mostly naked in front of Jacob didn't leave me aroused. A minute later, he was guiding my arms into a cotton T-shirt. He urged me beneath the covers, asking again, "How long ago did you take it, Abigail?"

  I curled on my side, nestling into the cool sheets, and said, "An hour? Maybe two? I didn't look at the clock."

  Jacob swore again. "I'm going to get your tea and a glass of water. I want you to go to sleep."

  I nodded, unable to fight the pull of sleep, but my head hurt a little too much to let me succumb completely. I heard his footsteps echo down the hall, then gradually get louder as he returned, then the clunk of my mug on the bedside table and the scent of tea with honey.

  I heard movement in the hallway outside my door, and Jacob's voice, low, talking to someone. He sounded worried. I wanted to tell him everything would be fine, but I couldn't seem to find the energy to open my eyes. Time passed. I might have slept.

  A cool, wet cloth was on my forehead. It was delicious. My skin was baking, hot and dry. The cloth swept over my cheeks and forehead, smoothed across my collarbone, and down my arms, bringing icy cold relief. I moaned with pleasure. My head was thick and heavy, my throat a ball of prickles when I tried to swallow. An arm went around my back, pulling me into a sitting position as a familiar voice said, "Fuck, you're hot. Dammit."

  I wanted to laugh at his turn of phrase. He usually said things like that when I was naked. Given how I felt, I imagined I looked even worse. I could feel the fever burning me from the inside out. Something hard pressed to my forehead and beeped.

  "104.3," Jacob said. "I need you to sit up a little more, sweetheart. I talked to the doctor, and he said it sounds like a cold, maybe the flu, but he'll come back to see you if we can't get the fever down. He said I could give you more Tylenol."

  Tablets at my lips, and a straw. I sipped the cool water, washing down the pills, wincing as I swallowed. As soon as the pills were down, Jacob switched the cups and urged me to drink the tea. I took a few swallows, the honey easing the prickles in my throat, before it was too much and I turned my head to the side.

  "No doctor," I murmured, remembering the disdain and judgment in the doctor's eyes at his last visit. I didn't want that again, not when my defenses were down and I felt so horrible. Jacob settled me back into the pillows, smoothing the cool washcloth over my face, cooling my skin before he held it against the back of my neck. I don't think anything had ever felt so good in my entire life.

  "We'll see," Jacob said. "If that fever doesn't come down, either he's coming here or I'm taking you to the ER."

  I shook my head in denial. He ignored me and con
tinued to run the damp washcloth over my hot skin, saying nothing. He got up once. I thought he was leaving, but he returned after the brief sound of water running in the bathroom with a freshly dampened cloth. I must've fallen asleep, because I opened my eyes later to find the room empty and dark.

  A glance at the window showed light leaking from behind the blinds. Still daytime, but later. My head was foggy, and my throat felt like it was on fire, but my head didn't hurt as badly, which was something. Sitting up, I realized I'd woken because I desperately had to go to the bathroom. I remembered Jacob urging me to drink the water, then the tea, and I wasn't surprised. I swung my feet to the floor slowly, my head spinning a little as I moved. Feet sounded on the carpet, and then Jacob was there, standing in front of me, his hands on my shoulders keeping me on the bed.

  "Slow down, sweetheart. What do you need?"

  "Bathroom," I whispered, heat flooding my cheeks beneath the fever. I didn't know how I could be embarrassed about telling Jacob I had to pee after all the things we'd done together, but I was. He leaned down, wrapping an arm around my back, and helped me to my feet. I let him lead me to the bathroom door but stopped once I was inside and carefully turned to say, "I can go to the bathroom by myself."

  His silver eyes narrowed doubtfully on my face, but he gave in. Good. I didn't want to pitch a fit, as sick as I was, but there was no way Jacob was supervising while I emptied my bladder. Not going to happen, not if I had to crawl across the tile by myself. I closed the door and made my way to the toilet, leaning heavily on the counter. I was weaker than I wanted to admit, but I didn't want to give Jacob a reason to break down the door.

  I peed, flushed, and washed my hands. My long hair was a hopeless tangle around my pale yet flushed face. My eyes were glassy, and my hands shook just a little. I was almost at the end of my strength, and I hadn't walked more than a few feet. The door opened, making me jump. "Jacob!" What was he doing?

  "You were too quiet," he said. I was too sick to be annoyed. Correction, I was plenty annoyed. I was too sick to waste the energy yelling at him for invading my privacy. "What do you need?" he asked

  "I want to brush my hair," I said. I'd fallen asleep with it damp, fastened in a twist, and now it hung loose, pins everywhere, strands stuck to my cheek and down my neck. I looked on the bathroom counter for an elastic band and my comb, finding them neatly lined up behind the sink where I'd left them, the elastic wound around the handle of the comb. I picked it up and lifted my arm to pull it through my hair, appalled to find my muscles trembling from the strain. Tears sprung to my eyes in frustration and helplessness. I hated being sick, especially in front of Jacob. I was supposed to be taking care of him, not the other way around.

  "I'll do it," he said, taking the comb from my hand and winding his arm around my waist, supporting me as he led me back to the bed. I sat, Jacob behind me as he ran his fingers through my damp hair, methodically searching for and removing every pin. He set them on the bedside table, one by one. I counted the tiny clicks they made as he lined them up. One, two, all the way to six. I used a type of corkscrew pin that was much more effective than traditional straight hair pins, but I still needed six of them. I have a lot of hair. At the moment, it felt like a wet tangled blanket on my hot skin.

  As if he'd done it before, Jacob combed away the tangles, starting at the bottom and working his way up to my scalp, getting out every knot without causing me any pain. The tug of the comb through my hair was soothing, reminding me of my mother and the way she'd combed and braided my hair before bed when I was a little girl.

  I was so tired, my limbs heavy, my eyelids drifting closed. Without asking what I wanted, Jacob gathered the mass of hair into three chunks and braided it just as I would have asked him to. He fastened the elastic at the bottom and tucked me back beneath the covers. He left for a few minutes. Or maybe I fell asleep, and it was an hour.

  When he came back, he urged me into a sitting position and put a straw to my lips. Icy juice. He pulled the straw away and replaced it with two tablets. I swallowed them when he gave me back the straw. My throat hurt, but the juice was so cold and sweet, I wanted more. When I was done, he lowered me back down, pulling my braid out from under my back so it wouldn't tug on my scalp.

  My eyelids weighed a ton. I couldn't bring myself to open them, so I couldn't see his face as he stroked the wet washcloth across my forehead, but his voice was gentle as he said, "Your fever is down, so no doctor. Not yet. You need to sleep, and we'll see how you feel tomorrow."

  I thought I nodded. I meant to nod. I probably just fell asleep to the cool strokes of the washcloth on my skin and the soothing murmurs of Jacob's voice telling me everything was all right. The next time I woke up, the room was dark. Jacob was beside me, and something was beeping. A red light flashed in the room. He murmured, "A little over 103." Two more of the tablets at my lips, and the straw, the juice now warm but still sweet.

  I swallowed the tablets and drank as much juice as he would let me, wincing at the painful stabbing prickle in my throat with each swallow. Struggling to sit up, I became aware of the pounding in my head and the uncomfortable sensation of being cold and hot at the same time. I was shivering, could feel myself shaking, could feel how hot the sheets were beneath my skin, and I knew my skin was equally warm, but none of it seemed to touch me.

  I was so, so cold. Surrounded by heat and shaking with cold. Jacob's weight shifted on the mattress, and he pulled me into his lap, bracketing my body with his legs and wrapping his arms around me. For a moment, I sank into his warmth, letting the touch of his skin chase away the cold, before I started to struggle.

  "Shh, Shh, Abigail, settle down," he said, holding me tighter.

  "No, Jacob, no. I don't want to get you sick," I protested, too weak to break his hold with my feeble struggles.

  "Sweetheart, stop." His arms tightened like iron bands around me, holding me still. "If you haven't already gotten me sick, I'm not going to get sick. Understand? I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, and I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

  "But, what if—"

  "I'm not going to get sick. I promise. I've been around you since this first hit, and I feel fine. I'm getting plenty of sleep and taking my vitamins. You're not going to get me sick. Just relax."

  "Promise?" I whispered. I couldn't stand the thought of Jacob feeling this miserable. It was bad enough that he had to take care of me, bad enough that Big John's guys had shot at him and he had to lock his building down. I'd caused enough trouble already.

  I wondered if it would be too much. If he was just waiting for me to get better and then he'd send me on my way. Jacob didn't do complications. I was supposed to be easy. A regular check to Shaded Glenn, and sex whenever he wanted it. This—the juice, braiding my hair, holding me while I shook with fever—was so far outside our agreement, I didn't know how to make sense of it. Maybe I was hallucinating. That would make more sense than Jacob's solicitous care of his sick mistress.

  So tired. My cheek fell onto his shoulder as I relaxed into his solid strength. He seemed very sure I wouldn't get him sick, and I didn't have it in me to argue anymore. Thoughts flitted through my mind and drifted away, the worries and pains and anxieties momentary until they circled back to haunt me again.

  Eventually, I drifted off as the chills slipped away. I woke once in the night to take more pills, drink more juice, and use the bathroom again. This time, Jacob followed me all the way in before I waved him away, mulishly refusing—even mostly asleep—to sit on the toilet while he was in the room. The next day, I drifted in and out of sleep, my brief periods of wakefulness dreamlike and blurry.

  Jacob was there, always there with the ever present tablets and juice. With warm tea thick with honey, so soothing on my raw throat. I woke more than once to find him stretched out in the bed beside me, his computer open on his lap. I was never aware of being alone. The fever went in and out, always better after the pills. The chills came one more time, leaving me so cold I was in tears, only
the heat of Jacob's body able to chase them off.

  I heard him once, out in the hallway, his footsteps pacing, his voice barking into the phone. A while later, vaguely familiar sounds, a voice I knew, strange hands, cold metal on my chest and my back, before I was alone again. It didn't register until after they were gone that Jacob had called the doctor.

  How sick was I? I couldn't be that sick, because they left me in bed on the same regimen of pills—I thought Tylenol—juice, and tea. At some point, on the third day or the fourth, Jacob brought me salty, rich broth. Warm, but not hot. He'd asked a few times, but I denied all interest in food.

  My throat hurt so badly that the thought of chewing and swallowing anything solid was revolting. Honeyed tea and juice were bad enough. The broth was delicious. I drank the whole mug in greedy but pained swallows before handing it back, then immediately realized I had to pee again.

  I hated being sick. I hated for Jacob to see me like this. That time, he let me go by myself, but I sensed his eyes on me, alert for any indication that I wasn't steady on my feet. I made it to the bathroom and back, even managing to wash my hands and brush my teeth without falling over. Progress. When I got back to the bed, Jacob was waiting with my comb and a fresh T-shirt.

  Arranging my limbs like a child, he changed my clothes and sat me on the edge of the bed while he unfastened my now loose braid, combed my hair, and re-braided it. By then, I was exhausted. My head was pounding less than it had been, and I didn't feel quite as hot, but every muscle in my body was weak. I let Jacob tuck me back under the covers after swallowing two more tablets. He stretched out beside me and tucked me into his body, pulling my head to rest on his chest. The thump of his heart beneath my ear lulled me to sleep almost immediately.

  It was another day before I was well enough to get up on my own. Jacob found me standing in the bathroom, testing the water of the shower.