Baby Love: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Vaughn, Vesper

  “I have a delivery for Ms. Cobb?”

  “From who?” I asked, confused.

  He pulled out his iPhone, balancing the boxes on his one arm. “From a Mr. Reid,” he said. “Here you go.”

  I stuck the bag under my arm and took the boxes. “Thank you?” I said uncertainly.

  “Sure thing. Have a great night.”

  I took the boxes into the living room. Callie’s eyes widened. “What are those?”

  “I have no idea.” I set the boxes down and reached for the white ribbon.

  “Wait! Let me do it. You’ve got cheese dust fingers.”

  I rolled my eyes. Callie undid the ribbon on the black box. She took the lid off and her jaw dropped. She showed me the contents. Two dozen long-stemmed white roses were standing upright, perfectly in bloom, in the square box. “I better go wash my hands,” I said in shock.

  When I came back I undid the second box ribbon. A pair of shiny, white Louboutins with lipstick red soles gleamed back at me. I checked the size. “They’re eights. That’s what I wear.”

  Callie grabbed the box from me. “These are custom. Oh my word,” she hissed in her strongest Southern Belle accent. She only went full Belle when she was in true shock.

  I picked up the next box, peeling back white, fluffy tissue paper. Nestled within was a silky, thigh-length, white dress with spaghetti straps. I checked the tag. “Also my size,” I said.

  Callie raised her eyebrows. “Is that a negligee or a dress?”

  She had a point. It was the slinkiest thing I’d ever seen. I set the dress back into the box and opened the third. I peeled up a corner of the tissue paper. When I saw what it was, I pushed the tissue paper back to cover it so quickly I nearly tipped the box over.

  Subtlety wasn’t my strongest suit; I felt heat creeping up my cheeks. Callie ripped the box from my hands. “Let me see that,” she snapped. “Let’s see what’s activating the Rachel Face,” she said, mentioning her nickname for my long habit of blushing wildly. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. “Rachel. Oh my word. Oh my word.” She held up the delicate lace bra with white rosettes lining the straps and checked the label. “36 DD,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She knew my bra size the same way that I knew hers. It was a woman thing. “How on Earth...” she didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Leave the panties in there,” I groaned, feeling my heart beat wildly.

  “Who on Earth is this fro-om?” Callie asked me, her vowels twanging so strongly that she made “from” into a two-syllable word.

  “Zane,” I said, blushing wildly. I thought smoke might be coming out of my ears.

  “He eyed your bra size? And got it bang on the nose?” The house phone rang and mercifully interrupted this line of questioning. “Weird. Nobody ever calls here,” Callie said.

  “Oh shit,” I said, my hands clapping to my fiery cheeks. “I gave the production team your home number to call me. Since my phone is, um, less than reliable.” I hopped up and grabbed the vintage house phone. “Hello?” I said, my mind still on the bra in the box.

  “Ms. Cobb?” said a clipped, British voice.

  “Yes,” I replied, swallowing and trying not to choke.

  “Mr. Reid will be picking you up at eight o’clock this evening. He’s sending along a delivery to your residence as well. You should be receiving it soon enough.”

  “Um, yeah. I got the delivery already,” I said, blushing again.

  “Wonderful. Was everything to your satisfaction?”

  I looked over at the pile of goods that probably added up to several thousand dollars. “Yes. But…how did he get my, um, clothing sizes?”

  “Mr. Reid is a man of impeccable taste and attention to detail. He prides himself upon it. Is there anything else you require? He offered to send a hair and makeup team but I recommended that might be a little presumptuous.”

  “Hair and makeup?” I asked, bewildered. “And I’m sorry, who are you?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ZANE

  “Did she at least sound excited?” The sharp scent of shaving cream filled my nostrils. I loved the sound of the single-blade razor scraping over my skin.

  Michael, my British assistant, wiped excess shaving lotion off of my skin with a steamed towel. “It might have been a little over-the-top, sir.” His white, fluffy eyebrows were raised pointedly.

  “I don’t really know how to do it any other way. Do you think it was the flowers? They shipped from New York this morning; the Kardashians love that fucking company, they’re all over Instagram all the time.”

  Michael sighed. “It might have been the spot-on bra size, sir that sent it over the top.”

  I bit my lip and shrugged. “Whatever. It’s a secret talent of mine. If she can’t handle it, not my fucking problem.”

  I stood up from the bathroom chair and checked my face in the mirror. “Perfect shave, Michael, as always.” I dropped my towel and hopped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up. The icy blast of water hit my skin and I jumped up and down, howling with pleasure. I loved cold showers. They made me feel alive. “Let’s take the Land Rover tonight,” I shouted over the glass.

  Michael was cleaning up the shaving tools in the sink. “Are you certain you want me to drive you?” Michael asked.

  I lathered up my shampoo. “Why are you asking me that?”

  “Sir, it just seems like she would be more comfortable with you driving her. Less attention. Less…flashiness than having your personal butler shuttling you across the city.”

  “I’m taking her to Alinea tonight, Michael. If flashiness is a problem, it’s not only going to end with the ride over.” I finished rinsing my hair and shut off the water. I stepped out of the glass enclosure. Michael was waiting for me with a fresh towel. I stepped into it. “All women love flashiness. They say they don’t, but they do. Trust me, Michael.”

  Michael looked skeptical. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  ***

  An hour later, I was wearing my nicest suit and most expensive cologne, my dark curls slicked back. “How do I look?” I asked Michael from the back seat.

  He didn’t even glance in the mirror. “The hair is a little much. You look rather like Mr. Morehouse, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

  I shrugged as he pulled in front of a gorgeous townhouse. I peered out the windows. “Jesus, this place is nice. Didn’t expect her to live here.”

  Michael put the car into park, his gloved hands sliding up the emergency brake.

  “What are you waiting for? Go get her,” I said.

  “Sir, I really think that you should be the one to collect your date,” he intoned wearily.

  “Nah. You do it. I don’t want to scuff my shoes anyway. She’ll eat this shit up. British butler and everything. Trust me, Michael.”

  “Always, sir. I’m paid for it,” he replied drily. He stepped out of the car into the humid night air. I loved the light in Chicago in July. It seemed endless and such a contrast to the brutal winter with its salted, slushy streets and the iron blanket of grey skies.

  Michael walked up the neat brick steps and rapped the brass door knocker against the cheery red door. A few moments later I could just see Rachel’s auburn hair over Michael’s shoulder. Michael nodded and offered her his arm. She declined it and walked a few steps behind him. I saw the silky, slinky white dress I’d sent her flitting around the base of her alabaster thighs. When Michael stepped out of the way I saw she’d put on a thick, knobby wool grey sweater over the top of the dress. It clashed horribly with the rest of it.

  Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore only a hint of makeup on her eyes. She looked incredible, minus the horrible sweater. Michael held the door open for her and she climbed in nervously, glancing at me and blushing slightly. “Hi,” she said shyly, pulling the hideous sweater down over her hands.

  “Hi yourself.” I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d made a woman blush. Of course, I was only ever around women who
se profession was either public nudity on a stage or in front of a camera. Embarrassment wasn’t really in their vocabulary. Michael pulled away from the curb as Rachel wrapped a seatbelt around herself. “You got my gifts?”

  Rachel nodded. “I did. Sometimes I get cold, so that’s why I have this sweater.” She bit her rosebud-colored bottom lip and it took everything in me to not mount her while Michael wound his way south out of Lincoln Park and toward the restaurant. “The dress is beautiful,” she added awkwardly.

  I grinned at her. “I’m glad I got the sizing right.”

  She blushed crimson and cleared her throat. “Yeah, that wasn’t creepy even a little.”

  I was taken aback by her sarcasm but recovered quickly. “I like details.”

  “That’s what your Jeeves told me.” I saw Michael’s eyes dart back to us in the rearview mirror. Rachel leaned forward and I had the opportunity to appreciate how her legs ended in the tottering high heels I’d purchased for her. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” she said.

  “Michael, madame,” he replied.

  “Oh please. Call me Rachel. I insist.” She held her hand out and Michael reached back to take it. “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” she asked Michael.

  I realized that she was making fun of me. I cleared my throat. “It’ll just be us, actually.”

  She shot a look back at me. “I was asking Michael.” The blushing was gone.

  Fuck. Michael had been right about her not liking pretense. I hated when he was right. “Well, Michael,” I said sarcastically. “Would you like to join us for dinner this evening?”

  “Molecular gastronomy is not my forte, sir,” he replied evenly. “I think I’ll stick with the dinner that I packed for myself this evening.” His eyes darted over to the shiny brown wicker basket in the front seat.

  “That’s too bad,” Rachel replied, leaning back in her seat. She stared out the window in silence.

  “Lucky thing that this place isn’t far from yours,” I said tentatively. “Nice house, by the way.”

  Rachel looked confused. “Oh, that’s not my house. I’m just staying with my sister and her husband for a few months.”

  I raised my eyebrows. She blushed. “Nice of them,” I replied.

  “We have arrived,” Michael said, hopping out and opening Rachel’s door. I stayed in my seat to see if I could catch a glimpse of Rachel’s panties when her dress blew up in the wind outside. Since she’d ruined the dress with that hideous fucking sweater, I was anxious to know if she was wearing everything that I’d provided for her. The wind gods were heavily favoring me in this part of Chicago. The silky fabric fluttered up and I caught a glimpse of white lace with black bows below her perfect, round ass cheeks.

  Bingo.

  “Thank you so much,” Rachel said to Michael, holding her dress down once her feet were on the ground.

  “My pleasure,” Michael replied.

  I jumped out and put my hand on Rachel’s lower back. She stiffened at my touch. I waited for the telltale sign of her ears turning pink to know that she was enjoying it. That sign appeared in seconds. I smiled to myself. “We’ll be a few hours, Michael.”

  He nodded curtly. “Enjoy your meal sir, and Ms. Cobb.”

  Rachel stared at me. “Aren’t you going to say thank you to Michael for driving us?”

  “Thank you? I pay him. That’s the thanks he gets,” I said, laughing.

  Her face went dark and she pursed her lips. She stared at Michael, ignoring me on purpose. “Sorry your boss is such an asshole, and thank you for driving us to our destination this evening.” She reached out and shook his hand forcefully.

  I could see that Michael was resisting the urge to say “I told you so” to me.

  “Thank you kindly, good sir,” I said bitingly to Michael.

  I walked ahead of Rachel into the restaurant. The hostess saw me and immediately knew who I was. “Mr. Reid. Right this way,” she said, waving her hand forward. I waited for Rachel to catch up; she seemed to be struggling with the high heels I’d sent for her.

  “Heels a little too high?” I asked her drily.

  She glared at me. “I’d like to see you walk in these.”

  I laughed. We were seated in a private room. Heads had already turned when they recognized my face. That was a sensation I hadn’t experienced often over the last few years; I usually stayed tucked away at home. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

  I pulled a chair out for Rachel and she sat down. She reached into the pocket of her oversized sweater and pulled out a five-dollar bill. She handed it to me.

  “What the fuck is this?” I asked her with a smile.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that instead of thanking you for pulling out my seat for me I could give you money. That’s how this works, right?” She smiled at me.

  I guffawed. “I should have known you’d be a live wire when you went hard on Scott.”

  She returned the money to her pocket. “Billionaires don’t scare me, what can I say?”

  The server came over. “Wine tonight, Mr. Reid?”

  “Absolutely. Crates of it. And just the full menu spread tonight. The works, thanks.”

  He nodded curtly and left the room.

  Rachel looked around at the modern décor and mood lighting. “Fancy to be in a private room like this.” She sipped the water on the table.

  I stared at her intently. “How old are you?”

  She swallowed. “Twenty-two,” she replied.

  “I’m robbing the cradle, huh?”

  “Twenty-eight isn’t that old. And I don’t think you’re robbing anything. This is just a business dinner, right?” Her eyes glinted at me.

  I didn’t answer. Instead I leaned forward. “Why are you wearing that hideous sweater?”

  “I get cold easily, like I told you.” She squirmed a little as she said this.

  I nodded slowly. “It’s like ninety-five degrees outside.”

  “Sometimes the air conditioning runs cold. And needless to say, I’ve never been to this place before so I couldn’t be sure.”

  I put my hands up and motioned around the room. “Well, now you know that it’s at least seventy-five in here.” I loosened my tie.

  She blushed red. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re sweating.”

  She sighed and leaned forward. “Since you seem to be making a concerted effort to make me uncomfortable, I’ll tell you that this dress is a lot more revealing than what I’m used to wearing. I didn’t have any other sweater and my sister is the size of my pinky finger so she didn’t have any to lend me either.”

  I chewed over her words. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Your body is fucking perfect.”

  Rachel’s face turned the same color as her silky hair. The sommelier came in and poured us glasses of wine. “Are we going to talk about business?” Rachel asked, pushing up the sweater sleeves. She was glistening with sweat now.

  I shook my head. “Tonight wasn’t really supposed to be about business. More for pleasure, you could say. Did you like the roses I sent you? The petals reminded me of your skin.”

  Rachel laughed in my face. “Does that line work on women?”

  I squinted at her. “You use humor as a defense,” I noted.

  “You use rudeness and a fuck-you attitude to people with less money than you have to make people think you don’t care,” she shot back.

  “Maybe I don’t care,” I replied.

  “Says the man who just invested fifty million dollars in a company that assuredly will not earn him a single dime,” she retorted easily.

  We sat in silence, staring each other down. “My lawyers are going to send over some paperwork. Do you need an attorney?”

  She shook her head. “My sister is my attorney.”

  I smiled. “Good. But I don’t want to finish the deal until next week.”

  She cocked her head curiously. “Why is that?”

  “Because I want to add a provision
to it.”

  Rachel had to keep pushing her sleeves back up, but the bulky grey wool had no more room to scoot. Her face was a grapefruit pink at this point, not from blush but from sheer temperature.

  “You should take off the sweater,” I said.

  She pulled her hair to the side and fanned herself with her napkin. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re stubborn. And you’re about to pass out.”

  She sighed and glowered at me before pulling her arms out of the sweater.

  “I was hoping you’d take it off tantalizingly,” I joked.

  She glared at me and pulled her arms out first, wiggling the sweater up over her head as demurely as she could.

  “I’m glad we got a private room,” I said, as she adjusted the silky spaghetti straps and the rosette-covered straps of the bra nervously.

  “Why is that?” she asked, breathing more easily in the cool relief of the air.

  “Because I don’t want anyone other than me looking at you with you dressed like that.”

  Rachel bit her lip but didn’t object.

  An hour later we were on our fourth course of molecular dishes; small scoops and twirls of miniature food on glass platters filled the table. The chef came out personally to explain what each flavor combination was. I couldn’t tell if Rachel was enjoying the food or not. She’d nervously moved her long hair over her juicy chest when the chef had appeared, which only slightly obscured the perfection of her breasts from view.

  The chef left and Rachel picked up a shaving of prosciutto. “This is all delicious,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  I set down my fork. “Speak.”

  “What?”

  “I said, speak. Tell me the truth. You hate this place.”

  She shook her head. “No, no. Not at all.”

  I pushed aside the plate in front of me and leaned forward, grabbing her hand. She shook underneath my touch. “If we’re going into business together, I’m going to need one thing from you: honesty.”