Billionaires and Bad Boys: The Complete 7-Book Box Set

by Nikki Chase

  “Yes,” I say. “I’ll go and do that now.”

  I hurriedly get up, almost toppling my chair in the process, but Mr. Foster manages to catch it in time before it falls loudly on the floor. His lips form a small smile as he puts the chair back in its place, but his eyes remain cold.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Webb,” Mr. Foster says.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Foster,” I say, giving him an awkward smile.

  While leaving the office, I look over my shoulder and see Cole with a strange expression on his face. He’s staring into space with his teeth gritted. His fingers are still tapping on the desk. I can’t see Mr. Foster’s face with his back to me. They’re both silent.

  The tense atmosphere makes me want to leave this office and get back to the normal world out there, where I don’t have to deal with my boss’ family affairs.

  The door creaks when I open it. I didn’t notice the noise when I first entered Cole’s office for the interview, but now it’s so loud I feel like it’s drawing all the attention to me. Without looking back, I slip out and close the door behind me.

  Cole

  “Have you gone soft in the head, boy?”

  I hate it when my father calls me “boy.” Sometimes I think he uses it only to irritate me, but then I quickly tell myself that’s ridiculous. I know he probably just doesn’t care.

  “I wasn’t the one who asked her to go to Seattle,” I say, trying to sound unaffected.

  “That is not the fucking point,” he says.

  You have to hand it to the old man. He’s obviously furious, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s still speaking calmly. The only difference is his choice of words. He doesn’t usually curse.

  “What were you thinking?” He stares directly into my eyes, challenging me.

  I shrug. I’m not taking his bait.

  Most people would cower and give him what he wants, but over the years I’ve learned that’s not the right way to deal with him, not if you want to get back at him in some little, petty way.

  I know staying quiet and unconcerned gets him all riled up and he doesn’t like that. It makes him realize he’s not in full control of everybody at all times.

  "What, did you think you were saving her or something?"

  It's working. He's starting to get agitated. I can tell from the way he talks. He's going to continue asking questions now. Robert Foster's patented interrogation technique.

  "You think you're doing her a favor to make up for what happened?"

  He's trying to goad me into a big reaction, the kind that makes most people spill their secrets. But I'm not most people. I've dealt with him my whole life.

  “You think she's going to forgive and forget just because you gave her a job? 'Oh, it's such a privilege to work with you I don't even care about the past.’ Is that what you think she'll say?"

  Under different circumstances, I would've laughed at Robert Foster speaking in a feminine high-pitched voice to imitate Emily — poorly. But despite my outer nonchalance, I know this is not the time for fun and games.

  "Please. Spare me the pop psychology," I say.

  "Pop psyc—" He stops talking mid-sentence to take a deep, angry breath. He tries a different tack. "Then tell me. Help me understand."

  "There's nothing to understand," I insist. "I needed a junior marketer and she needed a job. Voilà. Capitalism at its finest."

  “Do you take me as a fool, boy?” He takes another deep breath.

  I wonder if that's something his new shrink taught him. Count to ten to make all your problems go away. The thought of him lying down on the sofa and talking with some therapist about his feelings… For fuck’s sake. He probably thinks he’s Tony Soprano.

  “Why can't you stick with the rules, at least sometimes?”

  “Sorry I'm not Caine,” I say.

  My brother has always been his favorite. I made my peace with that a long time ago, but in moments like these I enjoy the flash of pain in my father’s eyes, the subtle wincing that deepens the lines around them.

  People say we look alike. I can see where they’re coming from. I have to look at this mug in the mirror every morning after all. Sometimes it feels so much like having my father look at me I can almost feel the disapproval and disappointment. It’s a daily reminder of all the things I’ve failed to do.

  But all things considered, it’s not the worst thing in the world to look like Robert Foster. After Mom died, ladies started throwing themselves at him. If nothing else, I guess I can count on having a full head of hair in my old age.

  “This is not about Caine,” he says, as if anything with him is ever not about Caine. “This is about you. You and your chronic hero complex.”

  Come on, I can’t be expected to hear that and maintain a straight face.

  “Is that something your shrink mentioned?” I snort at the mental image of the powerful, ultra-masculine man in front of me whining about how his son is being mean to him. “Do you talk about me with your shrink, Pop? Do you tell him how I keep hurting your feelings?”

  “Would you stop trying to change the subject?” He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. Ah, that’s a rare reaction. It’s truly beautiful to watch.

  He lets out an angry sigh, and then another one. In the middle of the next sigh, he starts talking again, as if he’s realizing the take-ten-deep-breaths trick isn’t working.

  “We did the right thing for now,” he says. “It would’ve looked more suspicious if we didn’t ask her to go to Seattle.”

  “Oh, so it’s ‘we’ now, huh?”

  “Yes, because you’ve just dragged me into it. This is a family matter now. It’s not just about you anymore. It was never just about you in the first place.”

  “Right. Everything is about the family with you. Because you’re such a family man,” I say.

  That’s all he talks about. The family. As if the things he does are all for our benefit. But in reality, he just wants to be in control of everything because he thinks he knows what’s best for everybody. Such arrogance.

  For the good of the family. I don’t know how many times he has justified his actions with this little phrase. I fucking hate it.

  “Don’t mock me, boy,” he says, a hint of threat in his voice.

  “Come on, Pop,” I say. It’s my turn to take a deep breath now. “You think that’s going to work on me? I’m sure it works on most people, but I’m not scared of you.”

  He shoots me a sharp glare. I have to admit it is a little scary. Just a little. It’s like there’s some kind of razor steel in his eyes that can cut my skin and slash into my flesh.

  “You should be,” he says.

  “What are you going to do? You’re going to send me one of your thugs? Which one? Uncle Tim? Uncle Harry?” I laugh. I know I’m mocking and agitating him, which is not going to do me any good, but he’s already so worked up I figure I’d just go for broke.

  “If this gets out, it’s not going to be just them you need to be afraid of. You’re going to have to deal with the cops. We’re going to have to deal with the cops.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “All of us. You’re putting all of us at risk.”

  I shrug. What does he want me to say? I can’t see myself changing anything even if it were possible to turn back time and do it all over again. I can’t just let Emily wallow in her jobless misery, not after everything that has happened.

  “You be careful now, boy,” he says. “I still own this company and I know you don’t want to lose it.”

  I stare at him, daring him with my eyes.

  “See you when you get back into town,” he says. He gets up and leaves the office.

  Good. I’ve had enough of you too, Pop.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. I don’t have to worry about physical violence, obviously. But he does still have me by the balls and we both know it.

  Forget all that. I have more immediate problems to worry about.

  For ex
ample, how am I supposed to survive three whole days — and two nights — alone with Emily?

  Emily

  I take my ringing phone out of my bag. It's Alice.

  “Hey. Did I leave something at home?”

  “No,” she says, laughing nervously. That’s weird. What has she got to be nervous about?

  “Good.” I exhale with relief. “I thought I was going to have to ask the taxi driver to turn around.”

  I'm already running late so I have no time to get anything from home anyway. I was planning to take the BART train, but it took me longer than expected to get ready this morning. I didn't think gathering the last few items and putting them in the bag would take so much time.

  “So you're in the taxi now?”

  What kind of a question is that?

  “I told you when I walked out the door ten minutes ago that the taxi was waiting for me downstairs. So yes. Yes, I am in the taxi now.”

  “All the...luggage in the trunk?”

  “Sorry, maybe I wasn't clear enough. I’m in a moving taxi now. So yes, you're right again. The luggage is in the trunk,” I say. I sigh audibly and ask, “Why are you really calling?”

  “Uh, you mentioned you were going with your boss? What's his name again?”

  “Cole Foster. Yeah, I know. He's kinda famous. Why? You want an autograph?” I laugh.

  I hope she doesn't really want an autograph because that would be a weird thing to ask from my boss.

  I guess if she really wants one, I can make a copy of a corporate letter that has his signature on it and blow it up. Huh. There's an idea. I wonder if I can sell that on eBay for money.

  “No, I’m just worried about you,” she says.

  “Aww… I'm going to be fine,” I say. “I know I haven't left home since, well, you know. But I’m in a good place now. Don't worry about me.”

  “That's good, Em. That really puts my mind at ease.” She pauses for a few pregnant seconds before she says, “Listen. What I texted you the other day… You know, the autocorrect… Uh, what I said about your boss…”

  “Oh, you mean when you told me to lick his ass?” I lower my voice to a whisper at the end of the sentence, but I can't tell if the driver heard it. I giggle, remembering our little online chat.

  “Yeah. Uh, I'm just calling to say… Don't do that.”

  “Alice. Do you seriously think I’m going to lick my boss’ ass?” My whisper gets a little louder. I can't believe what Alice is implying.

  “No, I don't mean literally.” I can almost hear her blush over the phone. “I mean, I know I’ve been pushing you to start dating again, and I don't want you to do anything rash.”

  “You're calling me because you're worried about me going on a trip with a boy? I'm twenty-five. And it's an industry conference. I'm traveling for work,” I say, a little offended by the lack of trust Alice is displaying toward me right now. “I'm a full-grown adult, for God’s sake.”

  “I know. It's just, you know how Mom used to lose her jobs because she had a habit of sleeping with her bosses?”

  “Yes, Alice. I remember us having to go to sleep hungry whenever Mom lost her job and ran out of money, all because she inevitably got fired when her latest boss-slash-boyfriend grew tired of her craziness. But I’m not Mom, okay?”

  Guilt rises within me. I have had some seriously dirty thoughts about Cole, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about things happening with him during this trip.

  But those are just fantasies, stories I tell myself to fill my mind when I’m trying to fall asleep. We're talking about Cole Foster here. Surely a girl is allowed a fantasy or two when her boss looks like that.

  “I know, Em. I'm just worried, okay?” She sighs into the phone. “I have a confession.” She goes quiet, then she continues, “I had a thing with someone at work once. It was awkward when it ended. I kept my job because he's not a vindictive man. But Em, he could've easily fired me, waited for me to make a mistake and then used that as an excuse. I was freaking out for a while. I didn't think I was going to be stupid enough to follow in Mom’s footsteps, but I did.”

  “Oh, Alice.” My voice softens. Alice may be annoying sometimes, but her concern comes from a place of love. “You're not stupid. There was no way for you to have known that it wasn't going to work out with him. You're a smart, capable, independent woman. And you're a pretty good sister, too.”

  She laughs softly. “Just… Just be careful out there, okay?”

  “Okay. I promise you,” I say. “Now stop worrying about me and go get ready for work or you're going to lose your job anyway.”

  “Have a safe trip, Em. I love you,” she says.

  “Love you too,” I say.

  I put the phone back in my bag and look out the car window. The taxi driver has been quiet the whole ride, and he doesn’t even play any music. Just the silence I need. Soon, I get lost in my thoughts.

  I had no idea Alice ever went through something like that. She never told me about it. When did this happen? A chill runs down my spine when I realize I must've been too absorbed with my own problems to notice her pain.

  Damn it, Emily. You need to do better for your sister’s sake.

  I spend most of my commuting time either on the bus or on the train, so it feels strange to see the city whizz by from inside a car. I can relax more with the cushy seat and the knowledge that I’ll be dropped off right at the terminal entrance, instead of having to drag my wheeled suitcase from the BART station all the way to the check-in desk.

  I wonder if I’ll be able to get the taxi fare reimbursed. Just as I send a text to ask Lily about it, the taxi pulls up at the airport.

  I pay the taxi driver, leaving him a twenty-percent tip. No matter how much I’m struggling with money, I can never bring myself to tip any less. I’ve spent too many years working as a waitress to stiff service workers out of their tips.

  I drag my suitcase into the cool, air-conditioned airport terminal and stop in front of the monitor that shows a list of the departures.

  Hmm… SEA… Flight Omega 4989…

  Just as I spot our flight on the list, someone grabs my arm and I let out a loud shriek.

  I turn to find Cole with his eyes wide in shock, and I immediately cover my mouth with both hands.

  But it's too late. People are already looking at us curiously, whispering to each other.

  Cole quickly drops my arm and puts on a strained smile, nodding at the people who are still staring. Most of them quickly realize there's nothing extraordinary going on here.

  “What are you doing?” He whispers without moving his lips, which are still frozen in a weird smile aimed at the few remaining nosy travelers.

  “Sorry, Cole,” I say, heat spreading across my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. You just surprised me.”

  Even with that suspicious, axe-murderer expression on his face, Cole still draws the attention of the women around us. The wow-he’s-cute kind of attention; not the look-at-that-creepy-axe-murderer kind.

  He looks different today. That's definitely a big part of why I was so taken aback. I didn't recognize the sizzling hot bad boy standing before me.

  He's wearing a pair of jeans that hangs a little loosely on him. A plain white T-shirt shows off his broad shoulders, hard chest, and built abs. I have to suppress the urge to reach out my fingers and trace the ropes of muscles along his bare arms.

  “Let's just get to the check-in desk. I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, his teeth gritted.

  “Oh! Am I late?” I pull my suitcase as I walk behind Cole, openly checking out his back now that he's not looking my way. His shoulder blades are outlined beautifully underneath the thin cotton.

  “Yes,” he says. “I got here first and you have the tickets. You're going to have to give me your phone number so I can reach you in the future.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  My heart beats a little faster at the thought of Cole calling me on the phone. Then I remind myself he’ll just be calli
ng to coordinate work stuff, and I feel stupid.

  Oh boy, this is going to be a long trip if I have to keep fanning myself around Cole.

  “What took you so long anyway? I thought we agreed to meet here fifteen minutes ago,” he says.

  “It took longer than I expected to finish packing, and then when I called the taxi, there was a long wait.”

  “You should’ve told me. I would’ve picked you up,” Cole says, approaching the First Class check-in counter.

  “Really, there's no need,” I say.

  God. What would Alice say if Cole showed up at home with his fancy car? She’d probably freak out and curl up in the fetal position while rocking back and forth to soothe herself.

  “Obviously there is a need because you were late today,” Cole says with finality.

  He stops at the counter and shoots a charming smile to the female agent, who greets him a little too eagerly.

  “Can I see your tickets, please?” She flashes Cole a big, wide smile, not paying me the slightest bit of attention. I’m surprised she can blink under the weight of her mega-thick fake eyelashes.

  “Emily, the tickets?” Cole looks at me expectantly.

  I dig the pieces of paper out of my bag and hand them over to the woman across the counter from us.

  She takes our IDs and types away on her keyboard. After she checks our bags, she continues typing. She slides something onto the counter.

  “Your gate is C40. Mr. Foster, your seat is 3A. And Miss Webb, your seat is 22B,” she says, placing the boarding passes on the counter with a smug smile directed at me.

  “Hang on,” Cole says. “Why aren't we sitting together?”

  “Your seat is in First Class, Mr. Foster. Miss Webb’s seat is in coach,” she says, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face.

  “Is the seat beside me empty?” Cole asks.

  The agent glances at her computer screen and nods. “Yes, Mr. Foster,” she says.

  “Move her there. I’ll pay for the upgrade,” Cole says, pulling his wallet out of the pocket in the back of his jeans and handing the agent his credit card.