Billionaires In Love (Vol. 2): 5 Books Billionaire Romance Bundle

by Glenna Sinclair

  I guessed I was angriest at myself. Somehow, I should’ve avoided crying, should’ve avoided the tough questions, like Chaz had coached me. Of course, he hadn’t been able to coach me about what to do if my parents resurfaced in the middle of a live television interview, but there it was.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “But you really can’t stay in here forever.”

  He turned to leave. “Devon, wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “This sucks,” I said, slapping my hands against the bed, frustrated and helpless. “I love you, but this fucking sucks.”

  “I know it does.”

  “I’m just not ready to get back out there, okay? My life is in shambles right now.”

  “I get it, June. I just hate seeing you torn up like this.”

  “I wish Nana were here.” The words escaped my mouth and I gasped, covering it, wishing I could unsay them. What a ludicrous thing to wish for. Nana was dead and gone. She’d chosen to be dead. Wishing for her was no better than wishing for a time machine to fix my problems. I was a grown woman. I had to deal with this.

  “It’s okay to wish Nana were still here,” Devon said. “I wish she were still here, too. Can you imagine what she would’ve done to Kelly—and your parents—if she had been there backstage? I don’t think Chaz would’ve been able to hold both of us back.

  I gave an involuntary guffaw at the picture of Nana wheeling on set, her eyes blazing with a holy fury, chasing everyone away as Chaz tried to hang on to one of the handles of her wheelchair, dragged along by her rage.

  Devon grinned and kissed my head. “I have to head out for a taping. I’ll bring back some takeout or something to eat. You in the mood for anything?”

  “I think I could go for pizza,” I said, smiling as he laughed.

  “Pizza, it is.”

  I took a shower, flushing sticky products from my hair, lathering it up with shampoo and rinsing it three times until I was satisfied. I scrubbed at my face with a washcloth until the entire surface was black and tan with the makeup that had coated my face for whole days. It would be a miracle if I escaped this without a rash of pimples.

  Finally, I got dressed into my own clothes, towel-dried my hair, and padded downstairs to go explore.

  I should’ve been doing something—anything—else, but I was finding it nearly impossible to leave the comfort and confines of Devon’s palace. I was unsure of myself, of my place in his life. I didn’t want to get in the way of his life any more than I already had. I was well aware, thanks to Chaz, that I was a distraction—something that kept Devon from realizing his full potential.

  But every time I tried to move on, tried to go back to Dallas or get away from Devon, he protested. He wanted me with him. He wanted to take care of me in spite of what Chaz was saying.

  So I tried to stay out of the way. Tried to keep quiet. Hung back every time Devon asked me to go do something with him, to go make an appearance with him. I didn’t understand it. If I really was as much trouble for Devon as Chaz told me I was, I didn’t understand why Devon kept on asking me to go places with him. I thought he would’ve wanted me swept under a rug somewhere, so that’s what I tried to do to myself.

  Hide.

  But with the giant house empty and me with nothing but the remnants of my grief and my temerity over my newfound infamy, I had to keep myself distracted. It was probably ungrateful of me. Devon had done so much—was doing so much. It was a terrible way to pay back his kindness, by creeping through his house.

  It made me feel bad, but it was something of an obsession. Devon was open enough that I was certain he’d answer anything about himself that I asked, but I didn’t want to ask. I preferred to explore, alone, gleaning clues about him from the things he kept in the place where he spent most of his time. He might travel a lot for promotions and filming, but something kept him coming back to this remote palace, perched on a bluff overlooking the coast. What secrets did his home contain?

  He watched a lot of movies. That much was evident from both his career and the theater room in the house. We hadn’t had a chance to enjoy the deep burgundy leather seats that reclined completely, munching on a bag of popcorn from the machine in the corner.

  He also took care of himself, judging from his rock-hard body and the gym room, bristling with the latest models of exercise machines and equipment. This room was lined with mirrors so he could check on the development of his muscles, I was sure. In them, I appeared exactly as I was—an imposter, an intruder, slipping through his life, not belonging for one second.

  The door to what I could only label as a study creaked open, and I wondered how often he came in here, sat at the fine chair behind the mahogany desk, poring over the books that lined the shelves around the room. I cocked my head at a thick stack of bright white pages on the desk—the only thing marring an otherwise clean surface. Was he working on something now? I didn’t think I’d so much as seen him pass by this room in the time I’d been living here.

  Feeling extra guilty and sneaky, I rounded the desk to discover that it was a script. For some reason, I was intrigued. This was part of Devon’s job, perhaps the part of him I knew least about. I’d seen his teeth gleam as he grinned in promotional photoshoots and during appearances, but I’d never really witnessed the work that went on behind the scenes of his success. Scripts were are a part of that, a blueprint for a blockbuster hit.

  I thumbed through this one, flipping through the pages, hefting it, trying to judge the nature of it by its weight. Were all of them this thick? This one seemed to be pretty thorough.

  I paused on one of the first pages, reading through the character descriptions, attempting to get a feel for what the story was about.

  Then, I sat heavily in the chair, my legs unable to support my weight.

  This was a story about a girl and her grandmother, aptly named Nana, I read in the notes. The girl was average in every way, but could perhaps be a beauty given the right clothes and makeup and direction, it continued. The girl was miserable taking care of her Nana, but couldn’t get out of it, as Nana had taken care of the girl when she was younger. She leads a life of mediocrity until, by some chance, she meets a handsome movie star. The script indicated that this meeting and the details of it were to be determined. There was a handwritten note in the margin, saying that delivering pizza conveyed a sense of grunginess in the girl that would make the audience dislike her.

  I read as fast as I could, rage rising in me with each page I flipped. It was all here, all of it—my encounter with Devon in the Dallas hotel room, only this character seemed to come out of it a lot better than he had. There was the sweet fangirl of a nana, even the trip to Hawaii. My eyes filling with furious tears, I scanned over her death scene, alone on a beach, her oxygen tank nowhere to be found.

  How did Devon see this ending? I just had to know.

  The end of the script was a load of garbage about sexual healing. I hated him for the scene in the forest with the waterfall. That had been personal. The story ended with a scene of the girl and the movie star amicably parting ways, too different to stay together, but maybe they’d keep in touch, be lifelong friends. Again written in the margin were several big question marks—the ending wasn’t set in stone, yet.

  Well, I could help clear that right up for Devon.

  The girl and the movie star would split, all right, but it wasn’t about to be anything near amicable. She’d kick his ass on her way out for betraying her trust in him, then she’d give an exclusive interview to one of his biggest critics, revealing in very personal terminology just how big of a jackass he really was.

  America’s boyfriend? Hardly. It was more like America’s bastard.

  Seething with anger, I punched Devon’s number into my phone with shaking fingers. I had no idea what I was going to say—what a person even would say in the face of such a betrayal—but this couldn’t simply be ignored.

  “Hi, June, this is Chaz on Devon’s phone.”

  “Put Devon
on immediately,” I said. I was sick of this bullshit, sick of the constant presence of Chaz, of the idea that a person was so busy that they had someone else answer their phone for them. That wasn’t how real life worked. I would’ve preferred to just leave an angry voice mail and let Devon panic about it.

  “Devon’s unavailable at the moment,” Chaz said, smooth as silk. “Is there something you want me to tell him?”

  “There’s nothing I want you to fucking tell him,” I raged. “I want to talk to him, Chaz. Where the hell is he?”

  “He’s filming a late-night show right now,” Chaz said. “You sound upset, June. Is everything all right?”

  “No, everything’s not all right,” I barked.

  “Talk to me.”

  I paced through the study, eyeing the sheaf of papers on the desk, too angry to even attempt to put it into words. This was indefensible. It was unbelievable. The fact that Devon would take advantage of my situation, exploit even Nana, sent me into a blind rage.

  I’d trusted him. I thought he was a good person. But he’d betrayed me.

  For the first time since it had happened, I was glad Nana was dead. At least she wasn’t here to see her idol turn into her enemy.

  “June, if you can’t explain to me what’s going on, I can’t help you,” Chaz purred, cool as a cucumber.

  I inhaled once, then exhaled heavily. “What do you know about this new project of Devon’s?” I asked.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific,” he said. “Devon’s getting proposals for new projects all the time.”

  I bit my tongue to keep myself from lashing out. This was Devon’s problem, not Chaz’s.

  “The one with the script,” I offered. “The one in the study. About the girl and her dead grandmother.”

  “Ah, I was afraid this might happen,” Chaz said.

  “Afraid what might happen?”

  “Devon’s been e-mailing me all these notes he apparently took when he met your—what did you call your grandma?”

  “Nana.”

  “Oh, yes, Nana,” Chaz said quickly. “Adorable. Anyway, he contacted me a while back, when he was in Dallas, that he had an idea—an award-winning idea—for his next project, and started sending me all these messages. A little old lady in a wheelchair with a sense of fashion that never grew old. A saintly granddaughter roped into taking care of the little old lady, forced to ignore her dreams, the famous celebrity who swoops in to rescue her from mediocrity. He said it was gold, and had it developed into a script. I think he’s looking to shop it around, but I secretly suspect he’s going to try to direct in it and star. It’s probably a shoo-in for at least one trophy.”

  “It’s my life,” I hissed, too appalled to shout it. “He mined my life for this thing.”

  “Is that what you’re upset about?” Chaz asked. “This thing is box-office money. A sure thing.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but the doorbell rang.

  “This better be Devon,” I muttered angrily, marching to the front of the house.

  “What? Who better be Devon? Devon’s here with me. I have eyes on him. He’s giving a really great interview. You can catch it tonight, when it airs.”

  But I didn’t process any of that. I fumbled with the locks for a few long, painful moments before ripping the door open.

  My mouth fell open and I nearly dropped the phone.

  “Trina Henry,” I uttered, like some kind of idiot. She glowered at me, all six feet of her, her legs tanned with just the right amount of shimmery lotion applied to them. Each one practically reached my shoulder.

  “Oh, Trina’s there,” Chaz said with surprise. “Devon mentioned that she would play the girl with the mediocre life, but I told him it might be too far of a stretch. Trina’s a goddess, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I’m Trina Henry,” she said as I gaped at her. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Chapter 12

  I ended the call with Chaz, dazed at the arrival of every bronzed and buffed inch of Trina Henry on the doorstep of Devon’s house. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse — the interview, the horrible script about Nana and me — they did. I was in the middle of Hurricane Shitstorm. There was no escape.

  I flinched and gasped as a cacophony of camera flashes blinded me, and I noticed for the first time that Trina had arrived with a platoon of paparazzi.

  “Fucking vultures,” she said, grimacing and pulling her sunglasses down over her face, her blond hair falling down to frame it perfectly. “Listen, I don’t give a shit who you are. If you let me in this house right now, I will give you whatever you want. Literally anything.”

  There wasn’t a tangible thing I wanted at the moment, but I stepped aside anyway. Trina all but leapt in, slamming the door behind her.

  She pushed the sunglasses back up on top of her head. “So, you know me but I don’t know you. Care to introduce yourself?”

  “I’m June Clark,” I said, my voice small, face to face with my biggest insecurity. Trina Henry, like her or hate her, was gorgeous. She was also Devon Ray’s ex-girlfriend. He’d assured me that he loved me for me, but when I was the one to follow someone like Trina, I had to wonder. I was average. I wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup. My hair was still wet from my shower, and wild. I hadn’t tried to style my new cut yet. And even though Trina was harried from a car ride and a swarm of paparazzi, there wasn’t a hair out of place.

  “You’re June?” Trina blinked at me, and I could only guess at what was going through her mind. She was probably wondering what, exactly, Devon saw in me. I was right there with her.

  “I am June,” I confirmed, though I wished, especially in this moment, that I could be someone else. Anyone else.

  “Well.” She sighed and laughed at the same time. “Isn’t this fucking awkward?”

  That was something else we could agree on, I supposed, nodding.

  “Chaz told me Devon would be here, that he wanted to discuss an idea for a movie,” Trina said. “I’m guessing that Devon isn’t here.”

  I shook my head. “Chaz is with Devon. At a late night show taping.”

  “Ah. Good old Chaz. That bastard hasn’t changed a bit. That’s comforting — almost.”

  My face must’ve shown just how confused I’d become. I wasn’t following Trina’s train of thought.

  “You don’t know Chaz very well, do you?” she said, eyeing me critically. “He’s not to be trusted, that one. That’s lesson number one if you’re going to be with Devon, and the one I never learned to accept. If you’re with Devon, Chaz comes together with him as a package deal. There’s no Devon without Chaz. And Chaz is a snake.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She shook her head at me. “And if you’re going to be with Devon, you’ve got to get over getting all google-eyed over famous people. We’re everywhere. We run in the same circle. You have to get used to it.”

  Of all the things I expected out of this day, being lectured about proper behavior in Hollywood by my boyfriend’s ex wasn’t one of them. I wondered if I could crawl back into bed and screw my eyes shut and wake up in a different life. Or maybe I’d woken up today in an alternate reality. So many strange things had happened.

  “June.” Trina took me by the shoulders and gave me a small shake. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it. Exist in this moment with me and understand something. I’m not here to antagonize you. Come on.”

  I followed her into the kitchen because I didn’t know what else to do. She rooted around in the refrigerator until she produced a couple of bottles of beer and opened them against the edge of the countertop.

  “You look like maybe you need a drink,” she said, handing me one.

  “I don’t really drink,” I said. It had been forever since I’d had a beer. I couldn’t even remember the exact time I’d imbibed.

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t need one,” Trina reasoned, clinking her bottle against mine. “Cheers to rolling through fucked up situati
ons. It’s all we can do.”

  “Cheers.” I slurped down a swig of my beer, the bubbles tickling my lips, and the muscles in my shoulders and neck relaxed immediately. Trina was at least right about this — I’d been in dire need of a drink.

  “If I’d known it was just you here, I never would’ve come,” Trina said. “Fucking Chaz. I’m really sorry about barging in like this. Someone told the paparazzi I was coming here. It’s a feeding frenzy out there. I can practically write the headlines myself. ‘Trina show’s up at Devon’s to beg for him to take her back; is rebuffed by his new love.’”

  I swallowed another gulp of beer. “That’s a pretty long headline.”

  She smiled. “It’ll just be the entire cover of the tabloid. No picture necessary. All the better to imagine the horrific scene.”

  “Let the record show that I let you in the house,” I said.

  “And thank God for that.” Trina shuddered. “If I’d had to creep back to my car with all those assholes snapping my photo, I probably would’ve never forgiven you.”

  I contemplated a Trina Henry who loathed me, and decided that letting her in had absolutely been the right decision.

  “So Chaz told you to come here?” I asked.

  “That’s right. To go over some movie idea Devon had. About a girl and her grandma, or something.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I was on the phone with Chaz when you got here.”

  “So Chaz lied. Wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last.”

  “I don’t think he lied about the movie,” I said. “Just the circumstances. I found a movie script. It is about a girl and her grandma, but it’s my story. About Nana — my grandmother. And how Devon and I met.”

  Trina narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I’m following. The movie’s about you?”

  I nodded. “Devon used me. He only got close to me because he saw something he could use. Something he could exploit. I never wanted any of this, but he was the one who insisted on getting close to me.”