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

by Ivy Layne

  "Of course I'll help," I said. Now that I was thinking of Amelia Winters, I realized how much I'd missed her. When my grandmother had died, I'd stopped seeing all of her friends, the pain too raw for me to handle reminders of the life we'd had. I shouldn't have done that. In a way, they'd been my friends too. "Just let me know when the interviews are, and I'll work it out. I—"

  My phone rang, and I grabbed for it, worried it was Vance and Rosie was feeling worse. When I saw who it was, I stabbed a finger at the Decline Call button.

  "Who was that?" Charlie asked, reaching for my phone. I slid it out of reach.

  "Brayden," I said.

  "What does he want?"

  "No clue, but I have nothing to say to him." Changing the subject, I said, “Tell me what you meant about you living at Winters House."

  Charlotte stood and pushed back her chair. "Come for a walk with me," she said, obliquely. "I want to show you something."

  "After ice cream," I said, eyeballing the shop across the street.

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow at me. "Of course, after ice cream," she said, hooking her arm through mine.

  "So, tell me—what are you up to?" I asked.

  "I'm not quite sure," she said.

  My phone rang a second time. After a quick check, I declined the call and shoved it in my pocket.

  "Again?" she asked.

  I shook my head. "I'm ignoring him."

  "Give me your phone," she demanded, holding out her hand.

  I eyed her, suspicious. "Why? You're not going to call him and tell him off, are you? I don't want to encourage him."

  "No, I promise. Just give me the phone."

  "Fine," I said, unlocking the screen and handing it over. She tapped at the screen as we walked, arm in arm, letting me watch for cars and other pedestrians. I wondered what she was doing with my phone, but she kept it angled away from my curious gaze.

  As we stood in line at the cafe, she handed it back, saying only, "Now you'll know when he calls." We got ice cream and strolled down the street, passing shops, cafés, and restaurants.

  A moment later, my phone buzzed to life again, this time with a mechanical voice saying, "Warning, the Loser is calling. Warning, the Loser is calling." I dissolved into giggles, almost dropping my ice cream. This time, I didn't bother to silence the call.

  "Much better," Charlie said with relish.

  "I agree.” Brayden was a loser, and the sooner I erased him from my life, the better.

  Charlotte led me around the corner and down a residential street filled with a mix of Victorian and Craftsman homes, some exquisitely restored and some in need of a little TLC.

  She stopped in front of a two-story Craftsman with a wraparound front porch and faded, peeling paint in shades of gray. I think it was gray. It could have been purple or blue before time had leached out the tint. The yard was a mess of weeds and brambles, overgrown in some places and bare in others.

  A prime example of the kind of homes in the neighborhood that needed some love. When it was fixed up, it would be adorable. At the moment, it was a little scary. A For Sale sign sat in the front yard.

  "What you think?" Charlie asked. I looked from her to the house and back again.

  "For you?" I asked doubtfully, eyeing the deep bow in the front porch and the loose shingles on the roof.

  She shrugged one shoulder, staring at the peeling paint with a look I could only describe as wistful yearning. Charlotte didn't just like the house. She wanted it. On the surface, they were a terrible match. Charlotte's polish, her starkly tailored business suit and her sleek hair, did not fit this house with its welcoming architecture and general air of neglect.

  I watched her eyes devour the house, and I knew that this sad structure was more Charlotte than Charlotte was. At a loss, I said, "It's a little smaller than what you’re used to, but anything would be small compared to Winters House."

  An understatement. Winters House was bigger than some hotels.

  "I know," she said. "It needs a lot of work, and I never have time. And actually, it’s a lot bigger than you’d think. Too big for just me. But I saw it on the website, and it looked—"

  "Like home?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said. "It looks like home." I didn't bother to ask if she could afford it. She was Charlotte Winters. She probably had enough money to buy the whole street.

  "You should—" My words were drowned out by the sound of a lawnmower roaring to life at the house next door. Both of us turned to look, and my jaw dropped.

  The man pushing the lawnmower was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, every inch of his body chiseled with muscle. He had on a pair of faded kaki cargo shorts and no shirt, displaying tanned skin heavily decorated with tattoos. The only one I could see clearly was the bird on his back—maybe a hawk—its talons extended, dripping blood. The tattoo was a little intimidating, but when he turned around, all thought fled my mind.

  Cut cheekbones, light green eyes, a lush lower lip, and shaggy black hair. Holy crap. If he lived next door, I was having second thoughts about Charlie buying that house.

  Leaning into Charlotte so she could hear me over the roar of the lawnmower, I said, "I was going to say you should put in an offer, but if he’d be your neighbor, let's go to the real estate office right now. Good Lord, he's hot."

  As if he'd heard me, which was impossible, the hot neighbor looked up and winked.

  Not at me. At Charlie. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away.

  "Let's go," she said, looping her arm through mine again and dragging me up the street, away from her dream house and the gorgeous guy next door. I tried to resist, but she was relentless.

  "Are we going to the real estate office?" I asked. "We should at least get more information about the house, don't you think?"

  "No," she said mulishly. "I'm going back to work. I don't know what I'm thinking. I have a place to live. It's stupid to think about moving out. And I don't want to leave Aiden on his own."

  "I don't know. He's going to have Aunt Amelia and the nurse. I think you should move in next door to lawnmower hottie. You don't even have to talk to him. Just watching him mow the lawn is entertainment enough."

  "That is true," Charlotte agreed, but she dropped the subject of the house and asked me about Rosie. I knew her well enough to know when she was done talking about something. I let it go.

  I was more than happy to talk about Rosalie. How was it that I'd been away from her only two hours and it felt like I'd left a limb behind? Not to mention Vance. Lunch with Charlie was fun, but I was ready to get home to my family, even if they were only mine temporarily.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MAGNOLIA

  * * *

  My mind was racing as I drove home from lunch with Charlie, thinking about everything she'd said about Vance, wondering if she was going to work up the nerve to put an offer in on that house, and if she did, if she'd ever talk to lawnmower hottie next door.

  On the surface, lawnmower hottie was the polar opposite of the kind of guy I would've imagined for Charlotte, but then again, so was that house. And she wanted the house.

  My mental wanderings ground to a halt as I pulled into the end of my driveway and saw a familiar car. Brayden had purchased the luxury sedan a few weeks before he'd officially finished his internship.

  He couldn't afford to buy me an engagement ring, or help with the bills, but he had no problem coming up with the down payment for a $70,000 car. Asshole.

  What was he doing here? What could he possibly want from me?

  I parked my car at the front door and jumped out. I could hear voices at the side of the house by the back gate, and Scout barking. I rounded the corner to see Vance, shirtless and wearing a pair of athletic shorts, his fingers gripping the handlebar of the stroller, his shoulders set.

  I couldn't see Brayden's face, but I knew that tone of voice. Neither of them had noticed my arrival. I stopped for a second, curious to know what they were arguing about.
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  "You're just a fucking opportunist, aren't you?" Brayden said. "You've wanted Magnolia for years, and the second I'm out of the way, you just fucking move in?"

  "Are you calling me an opportunist? You? You, who let her take care of you for years while treating her like shit and cheating on her? Get the fuck off her property before I call the police," Vance growled.

  "Nobody's calling the police," I said from behind them.

  Vance didn't take his eyes off Brayden when he said, "Magnolia, go in the house. I'll take care of this."

  "Brayden, what are you doing here?" I asked, ignoring Vance. Brayden stepped to the side, away from the gate and toward me, allowing me to see his face. All signs of temper were gone, replaced by a smooth, almost smarmy, smile.

  How had I ever fallen for this guy? With his perfectly pressed chinos and his starched button-down shirt, he was bland and dull.

  Vance's golden skin glowed from a light layer of sweat, the lines of his tattoos stark and bold, his muscles tight with anger. Vance was so much more alive, more compelling, more everything than Brayden.

  "Do you want to go put a shirt on, guy?" Brayden said to Vance, and I giggled. He gestured at Vance and muttered, "Ridiculous, running around without a shirt on."

  Letting my eyes skim Vance's six-pack as he turned to face me, I winked and said, "Don't get dressed on my account."

  "Wasn't planning on it, Sugar," Vance said with an exaggerated leer that prompted another giggle for me and a sneer from Brayden.

  "Are you two together now? Is that what this is?" Brayden demanded.

  Still ignoring him, I said to Vance, "Why does everyone keep asking us that? Why do these people think it's their business?"

  "Because they're nosy and their lives are boring," Vance said, grinning at me.

  "Charlotte's life isn't boring," I said.

  "Yes, it is," Vance said. "Her life is beyond boring. Is that what you were talking about at lunch? You and me?"

  "It's none of your business what we were talking about at lunch," I said, coming around the side of the stroller so I could check on Rosie. I barely got a chance to see that she was fast asleep when Vance's hand closed over my upper arm and he hauled me back, away from Brayden.

  I realized Brayden's presence was bothering him a lot more than he was willing to let on. Then I realized it wasn't bothering me that much at all. Weird. Maybe all I needed to get over Brayden was to see him in the same space as Vance, to realize how little he meant in the big picture of my life.

  He'd been a mistake, a waste of my time, and that was sad. But it was over, and I'd moved on.

  Which begged the question, "Why are you here, Brayden?"

  "I need to talk to you, sweetheart. There are things to say."

  "She doesn't have anything to say to you," Vance shot out. I elbowed him in the side.

  "There's nothing to say, Brayden. You cheated on me, then you broke up with me. It turns out that was the best thing you ever did. You got all your stuff out of the house. I checked after you left. Why don't you just get in your car and leave? If you come back, I'm calling the police."

  "Sweetheart," Brayden said, his eyes heavy with false remorse. He held a hand out to me as if beseeching me to listen. Unfortunately for him, and for me, I knew him too well to fall for it. He kept going. "I made mistakes. I can admit that. But I want you back."

  "Did you lose your job?" I asked evenly.

  "No, but—"

  "Did your girlfriend break up with you?" I went on.

  "She doesn't have anything to do with—"

  "You're right. She doesn't have anything to do with this. And I don't care if she kicked you out. All I care about is that you cheated on me with her while we were engaged. I care that you're a liar. But I'm done with you, so I don't care that much."

  I turned to face Vance, giving Brayden my back, dismissing him. "Should we go put Rosie down? How long has she been asleep?"

  "She'll probably wake up as soon as I unsnap her, but it's worth a try," he said, his smile warm and gentle.

  "Did she like jogging?" I asked, smiling a little at the site of Rosie sleeping, not a snot bubble in sight, and at the sound of Brayden grinding his teeth behind me. He'd never liked being ignored.

  "Maggie, just a few minutes. I just want to talk to you for a few minutes."

  "No," I said, without looking over my shoulder. "I'm done with you. I have nothing to say."

  His face hard, jaw set, Vance said, "If you're not in your car by the time we get in the house, we're calling the police."

  "Maggie won't call the police on me," Brayden protested.

  "Yes, I will," I said. I stepped to the side to give Vance room to turn the stroller around and said, "Scout, backdoor!"

  My dog was not the brightest bulb in the box, but he knew what that meant, and he whirled from the gate and took off for the back of the house. I concentrated on getting the door open for Vance to push the stroller through, hoping Brayden was leaving. I'd meant it. I would call the police. I just didn't want to.

  To my relief, Brayden got in his car and drove away. I had no idea why he wanted to talk to me. I didn't believe for a second that he wanted to apologize. I don't think Brayden had apologized to me in the four years we’d been together. The only reason he would've wanted to talk to me was if he needed me to do something for him. I was done doing anything for Brayden Michaels.

  I had something much more intriguing on my mind, something he'd said. Charlie had said it too, only I hadn't believed her.

  Before I could ask Vance anything, he said, "Can you get Rosie? I'm going to jump in the shower."

  "I've got her," I said. She didn't wake as I carefully unsnapped her from the jogging stroller and lifted her into my arms.

  The stroller was designed to carry a much larger child, but Vance had bought an infant insert to support Rosie’s head and spine in the big seat. It must've been comfortable because she looked like she'd been asleep for a while.

  I had her tucked into the swing in the kitchen when Vance came back, wearing an old pair of jeans and a white button-down, untucked and unbuttoned.

  I licked my lips. My brain couldn't quite register that we'd had sex that morning. It still seemed impossible. My body, on the other hand, had not only accepted the reality, but it was ready to relive it. First, I had a question.

  "Is it true?" I asked. "What Brayden said, that you wanted to sleep with me when he and I were together?"

  "You have to ask?" Vance came toward me, intent clear in his eyes.

  It looked like his mind was in the gutter, right along with mine, but I wanted an answer before I stripped off his clothes and had my way with him. I sent a quick look at the swing, rocking the sleeping baby, before shaking my head at Vance and tilting it toward the living room.

  He followed me out of the kitchen, through the sitting room, and into the formal living room. We rarely used it. It had a beautiful view of the grounds behind the house, but the furniture was stiff and a little too formal. My grandmother's style, not mine.

  "What do you mean, I have to ask? You say that like it was obvious."

  "It was obvious," he said. "It was obvious to everyone except for you, apparently."

  "I didn't know," I protested. "You slept with so many women, and you never said anything."

  Vance shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and looked a little sheepish. "Yeah, well, I knew I didn't have a shot with you while I was drinking, and you were with Brayden then anyway."

  "And after you stopped drinking?" I asked, cautious but curious.

  "Just because I wasn't drinking, it didn't mean I had my shit together," he said, stating the obvious.

  "You were still sleeping around a lot," I said, sounding exactly like a jealous girlfriend. I didn't care.

  "Not as much as before, but yeah. You were engaged to someone else," he said, defensive.

  "I didn't know," I said. "You sometimes made comments about my ass, but you never said anything real.”r />
  "And if I had? Would you have left him? Or would you have quit working for me and shut me out?”

  I thought about that for a minute. From where I was standing just then, after a night in Vance's bed, the thought that I would've quit my job and cut him out of my life was insane. We'd been friends.

  But for a long time, I’d been determined to make things work with Brayden and I'd been positive there was no chance of anything with Vance. Would I have dumped my fiancé to find out?

  "I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know. But I'm a lot happier with you than I ever was with him."

  "Obviously," Vance said, rolling his eyes at me. "For one thing, my dick is way bigger than his. And for another, I actually know what to do with mine."

  I burst out laughing at his arrogance. He was kidding, but only kind of. That's because while his words were funny, they were also accurate.

  "You were really thinking about me that way, all this time?" I asked, crossing the room to him.

  "For years," he said. "I've wanted you for years."

  I stopped in front of him and reached for my zipper. Lowering it slowly, I shrugged my dress off my shoulders and let it fall to my waist, exposing my breasts in a lacy black bra. I hadn't had time to go shopping lately, not in a store, but I could do a lot of damage on the Internet with a credit card.

  Vance's pupils dilated, his eyes fixed on my bare skin.

  "Did you know I’d been thinking about you too?" I asked, reaching for the open collar of his shirt. "Pretty much since the day we met."

  "Really?" Vance’s voice was thick and slow. "What've you been thinking?"

  "Why don't you let me show you?” I said, peeling his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.