His Beautiful Revenge: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Michelle Love

  Bay grimaced and told them she was ordering pizza and they should grab some beers. While they waited for the food to arrive, Dash filled them in.

  “I could have asked more politely, I suppose, but she just went off on me. You could have warned me she’s a badass.”

  Disappointed as she was, Bay grinned at the image of the cocky Dash being schooled by Emily. Dash narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you laughing at me?”

  Bay nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Tom sighed. “Okay, kids, enough. Dash …you need to make this happen. You need to put this right. Emily Moore is who we have chosen to manage the band.”

  Dash nodded, contrite. “I know, I know. I dropped the ball. Maybe it would help if Bay came with me?”

  Bay opened her mouth, but Tom put a warning hand on her leg. “Dash, no. This is your mess. You clean it up.”

  Later, after Dash had left, promising faithfully to get Emily on board, Tom poured them both some wine and they sat out on the deck together, Bay leaning back against him, curled inside his long legs, her head on his chest. Night had fallen and the lights of all the lakeside properties and the other houseboats glinted off the water. Tom wrapped his arms around Bay and pressed his lips to her temple. “I love you, Miss Tambe.”

  She smiled up at him. “Right back at you, handsome.” She pressed her lips to his. “I’ve never been this happy in my life.”

  Tom brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Really?”

  She frowned. “Of course. Why?”

  Tom sighed, but kissed her lightly. “I’ve been worried. Since the attack. Since Stu. You seem a little …too okay. Like you don’t want anyone to see that it’s affected you. That we’ll—I’ll—think less of you if you display any upset or shock or …”

  Bay had looked away from him, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m not shutting you out, I promise. I just want to stop feeling afraid every time I’m alone, or outside the house or the studio. It makes me angry that I’m letting him win.”

  “What he did to you …you know I will never let that happen again, right? I don’t care if we have to hire a detective to follow him for the rest of his life. He won’t get near you.”

  Bay nodded. “I do know that. It’s kind of why I’m annoyed. I’m angry with myself for even thinking about that bastard.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Don’t be. You have every right to be angry, just not at yourself.”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Of course.” He trailed his lips across her shoulder. “Are you mad at Dash?”

  “Not really. I’m just disappointed. Maybe I should call Emily myself.”

  Tom shook his head. “Not yet. I want to see if Dash can do this. It’s probably good that Emily gave him a hard time. He needs the challenge.”

  Emily watched as Henry pushed his food around his plate and didn’t eat much of it. He’d been quiet since she’d picked him up from the after-school club, giving her short answers and staring out of the window of the car as they drove home. He read his book on the couch as she prepared supper, silent and chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  She’d made him mac and cheese from the box to cheer him up, but nothing seemed to work.

  Sup, dude?” he smiled at him, “Not hungry?”

  Henry shook his head and put down his fork. “Aunt Em?”

  “Yes?”

  “What did Mommy want?”

  Emily hesitated for a moment. “She’s coming home, buddy. From tour. It’s finally over.”

  “Will she be living here?”

  Hell, no. “I don’t think so. She’s got her own home, remember? On the hill?”

  Henry looked away and she rubbed his shoulder. “Is something worrying you, Henry? Because you know you can tell me anything.”

  “It’s just …she says she’s coming home, then she stays for a few days and is gone again. I can’t remember what it was like to live with her all the time.”

  Emily’s chest hurt. “Henry, you know if she does what she says and comes home, that doesn’t mean you have to live with her. Do you want to live with her?”

  Henry shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “I don’t know.”

  Ouch. “Well, that’s not something you have to worry about yet. If you’re finished, you can get down from the table. Have you got any homework?”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

  Emily reflected that she always believed him when he told her that. He’d probably done it in his free time at school. He was such a little nerd—so like her at his age—always buried in his books, especially the ones to do with space. Astro-nerd, she thought fondly. “Well, go wash up, then. Want to watch a movie?”

  He shook his head, thanked her, and slid from his chair, disappearing into his room. Another way he was like her—he was a solitary creature. Emily washed the dishes and then checked her emails. Her phone buzzed. Isaiah’s handsome face flashed on her screen, but, feeling guilty, she let the call go to voicemail.

  Emily had been seeing Isaiah Chesnutt for little over a year. Casual was how she would term their relationship. Isaiah, a tall African-American, elegant, intelligent, and funny-as-hell, had been in agreement with her that he too wasn’t ready for a serious relationship and had never pressured her, but lately, she’d been coming up with far too many excuses not see him: meetings, parent/guardian-teacher conferences, exhaustion. She wondered now to herself if she should cut him loose. He was far too great a catch to be wasting his time with someone as distant as herself.

  Emily noticed she had a text that she’d missed, but groaned when she saw who it was from. Sheer curiosity made her open Dash Hamilton’s message.

  Emily, I was a jerk. A big, dumb jerk and I apologize. Please don’t punish the band for my idiocy. Can we please meet again to discuss you representing them? I’ll come to you whenever and wherever you want to meet. My best, Dashiell Hamilton.

  Well, Emily thought, that was kind of sweet. “Dashiell,” she said out loud and grinned. Okay. Call my office and set up a meeting, she typed, then added, Last chance …Dashiell.

  She saw him as soon as she reached the restaurant. He was sitting in the window, the light flooding in highlighting his glorious pretty-boy features. She guessed he couldn’t be more than twenty-nine or thirty. His skin was smooth and his eyes unlined.

  Dash Hamilton stood when he saw her and smiled—not the practiced smile of the arrogant, young wunderkind, but a genuine, slightly relieved grin. Friendly. Emily couldn’t help but return the smile. His hand closed around hers in a firm grip.

  “Thank you, Emily. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me again. Please,” he pulled out her chair for her and she thanked him.

  After they’d ordered, Dash’s face turned serious. “Look, I want to apologize—“

  “Wait,” Emily said, her cheeks pinking, “You already have. Now it’s my turn. You caught me on a bad day. I’d just had some bad news and I took it out on you. Yes, you were a little …jerky …but I could have handled it better. So, I’m sorry.”

  She realized she was waiting for his reply. How he reacted now would tell her what he needed to know. If he gloated …the meeting was over and The 9th & Pine would have to find another manager.

  Dash briefly touch the back of her hand with a cool fingertip. “You don’t need to apologize. We’ve all had those days. Is everything okay? Can I help with something?”

  Emily started to smile. Was this an act? Was he playing with her? Because that reply was just about the most perfect one she could think of. “No, thank you. It’s okay. Family stuff.”

  Dash nodded sympathetically. His cornflower blue eyes held hers steadily and Emily began to feel something inside her quiver. Damn, those eyes …

  “I get it,” he said, unaware of the turmoil inside of her, “Family is difficult. Painful.”

  “Who have you got?”

  He looked surprised at her curiosity. “I’m going to sound like Oliver Twist here but …”r />
  Emily flushed again. “God, I’m sorry.”

  Dash chuckled. “It’s okay. My parents died when I was fifteen, within weeks of each other. My brother, Sam, died from cancer a few years back. He was about ten years older than me. He was best friends with Tom and Roman and he was supposed to be the “fourth” in Quartet, but he died before they could start the company. At his funeral, Tom told me that he, Roman, and Otis wanted me to be their fourth. I’ll never forget it.”

  Emily was touched by the open way he told her his story and his complete lack of guile. And it explained a whole lot about the man in front of her—he wanted to prove himself to his brother’s friends. He wanted to repay their faith in him. All this made Dash Hamilton seem less like the billionaire playboy the press painted him as and more like a lost little boy.

  Of course, she thought, he could be playing me. But just as she believed Henry when he said he had no homework, she believed Dash Hamilton. And it didn’t hurt that her eyes kept being drawn to his mouth with its very smooth-lipped smile.

  “So,” Dash said, “Can I please ask you to reconsider helping me promote the band? I hate to play the passive-aggressive emotional blackmail card, but Bay really wants you. In fact, she offered to come out with me to beg, but I said this was on me. We’d really like to work with you, Emily. Please. It would be our honor.”

  And this time, she could think of no good reason to say no.

  Bay gathered her into a tight hug when they met the next week for the first time since she’d agreed to manage them.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I mean it. I’m so grateful.” Emily knew then that she had made the right decision. She spent the weekend rearranging her schedules and appointments to make sure she had the time to do this and had spent many evenings buried in paperwork. Henry had been a little star, helping her keep things organized, washing dishes, and even running the vacuum cleaner around their apartment for her. He was excited about her representing the band. He had loved Rocky’s single with Bay and had played it ad-nauseum on the mp3 player she’d bought him last Christmas.

  Bay introduced her to the band—Kym, the blonde guitarist, and Pete Espinoza, the drummer who was as wide as he was tall and as easy-going as a person could be. They’d met in a local diner, and as they chatted, Emily had studied each of them. Bay was almost the same as she remembered from when she worked with Rock—fun, smart, and hugely talented. The only difference now was there was a wary, hunted look in her eyes. Emily had no idea where that came from, but if Bay was going to be ready for the flood of publicity that was coming the band’s way, she would need to find out. Pete, she liked immensely and quickly realized that, if Bay was the driving force of the band, Pete was the rock and the steady, protecting papa-bear.

  Kym—Emily had a harder time working out the blond guitarist. She knew Kym was the offspring of two rock demi-gods—Charlie and Mac Clayton—but she had been surprised to learn that Kym had very little to do with her parents, hadn’t traded on their name, and hadn’t been into drugs or acting out when she was a kid. She seemed brittle, almost like a ghost in their lives. Now, around her two best friends, Emily could see how Kym could blossom into a confident woman and a rock star of equal acclaim as her parents.

  “Hey, all. Sorry I’m late.” Dash, dressed casually but expensively in jeans and tee, slid into the booth next to Emily. Emily felt her cheeks burn. Over the last week, she’d been thinking about Dash Hamilton way too much. They’d talked a couple of times on the phone, once, late at night when she’d needed to ask him something. That phone call had lasted an hour. Now, he grinned at her as if they were old friends.

  “So, you getting to know this band of pirates?”

  “No. No.”

  Bay, Kym, and Pete exchanged glances as their manager and their PR guy bickered over their album launch. Three weeks and neither had agreed on anything. It had been pretty funny to watch at first, but now they were getting dangerously close to the album launch and they didn’t have a plan.

  Dash, his hair sticking up all in all directions, was gesturing with his hands. “I know how this business works,” he groaned. “You”re not going to sell them on just their talent. We know they’re incredible, but we need a hook to get people interested and get the music press talking about them.”

  “I agree, but not placing their music for free on a damn reality show! Do I really need to see Spencer and Heidi making out to a great song like ‘Fire For You?’ No.” Emily’s hair was only marginally less messy than Dash’s. He bugged at her.

  “Spencer and Heidi? When was the last time you watched a reality show?”

  “Exactly. Exactly my point.”

  “Okay, Grandma, but the young—“

  “I want them to appeal to every age group, not just kids who think Kanye is some sort of messiah.”

  Bay leaned over to her band mates. “Do you think they know we’re here?” The stage-whisper made Emily and Dash stop arguing. From their expressions, both of them had clearly forgotten the band was in the room. Dash cleared his throat and Emily sighed.

  “Guys,” she sounded exhausted. “What do you think?”

  For a second, none of them spoke. “Look, I see where Dash is coming from—it’s the old any publicity is good publicity idea, but I’m more inclined to agree with Emily. We don’t want to give the impression that we can be bought. We need to retain our integrity, even if it takes longer to get traction.” Kym looked for confirmation at her band mates.

  “Yep,” Pete nodded, “None of us want to be popstars. We’re musicians and I think that, if we start treating musicians as artists, if Quartet tries something different with its marketing, it’ll get noticed.”

  Dash looked at Bay. “You too?”

  Bay nodded. “One hundred percent. We’re not bubble gum—we’re serious musicians. We want a career where people are still buying our albums in twenty years, even if they don’t buy the singles.”

  Pete was grinning. “What Bay is saying is she wants to be in Pearl Jam.”

  Bay chuckled and mock-scowled at him. “If you’re not careful, I’ll replace you with Ed the Ved.”

  “He’s not a drummer.”

  “He played the drums in his ex-wife’s band.”

  “That restraining order he had on you is still current, right?”

  Dash broke up the laughter. “Look, all right. But, Ems, throw me a bone. At least let me book them on The Late Show or Saturday Night Live.”

  Emily sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I’ll think about it. Now, I have to go back to San Francisco tonight. Can I trust you all not to listen to Dash about anything until we’ve agreed on it?”

  Dash sighed, but smiled. “Fine. Look, I have to go out to Tacoma. I’ll take you to the airport.”

  After they’d left, Bay grinned at her friends. “It’s happening.”

  “I know. Scary.” Kym sat back in her chair and leaned against Pete’s big frame.

  “If we can get those two to agree on something,” Pete added, throwing an arm around Kym. Bay nodded and was quiet for a time, then, grinning, she raised her eyebrows knowingly.

  “They might not agree, but they’re totally going to hook up, right?”

  “Totally.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Who wants to bet on how soon?”

  Pete stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, waving them in the air. “I’ll take that bet.”

  Emily relaxed back into the seat of Dash’s Mercedes. The car glided smoothly along the highway out to the airport, the air conditioning cold, but welcome. She felt the breeze flow through her thin shirt, making her nipples pucker and harden.

  Yes, it’s definitely the air-con, she told herself, and not the temptation of Dash’s long, lean thigh next to hers, his elegant or well-manicured fingers on the steering wheel. She imagined them trailing up the inside of her thigh, stroking her through her panties, slipping inside of her …Jeez, she sat up suddenly. What the hell, girl?
You have a gorgeous, sexy boyfriend and Dash Hamilton, however cute, is a complete man-whore.

  She stared out of the window of the car, defiantly looking away from his hands, his long, long legs, and his staggeringly handsome profile.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, sure. Thanks for the ride.” Even that sounded dirty.

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “What are you doing in Tacoma this late?”

  “Huh?”

  She smiled at him. “You said you were going to Tacoma.”

  Dash blinked. “Oh, right. Yeah, just some drinks with the guys. What are you going home to?”

  “Kid,” she said, suddenly wanting to shock him. It worked. He looked surprised and she took pity. “My nephew lives with me while my sister is on tour.”

  Dash looked blank. “Your sister …”

  “…is Paige Moore.” She finished for him. He looked at her.

  “I never made the connection.”

  “Are you sure you work for one of the biggest record companies in the world?” She was laughing at him now and he took it graciously.

  “Touché. But that’s so cool. So you look after her kid when she’s on tour?”

  “Henry. And it’s more like …he lives with me and she visits. Occasionally,” she added, before she could stop the bitterness in her voice. Dash nodded.

  “Got it. How old is Henry?”

  “Eight, and he’s just the most wonderful kid. A dream, really, by any parent’s standards. He’s my mini-me.”

  Dash smiled at her. “That’s the most animated I’ve ever seen you. You love him.”

  She nodded. “I do. It’s weird, because I never wanted kids, but when I imagine my life now, being without—“ She broke off, horrified to find herself choking up. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She felt his hand, so warm and dry, covering hers.

  “Hey …”

  She brushed away a tear that escaped. “Sorry. Just tired.”

  “Tired and emotional. Isn’t that what we say when one of our acts is heading to rehab?” His grin told her he was kidding and she smiled, grateful for his effort to break the tension.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Hamilton, none of my acts have ever needed to go to rehab.”