Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Hostile? Hostile! “When you get publicly doused in wine, then you can tell me to stop being hostile,” she hissed low. “Until then, don’t.”

  Through two layers of clothing, heat zinged up her arm when he took her by the elbow again. She let him pull her into a nearby room used to store chairs and tables, then closed the door in Rhodes’, Scotts’, and Sunny’s faces. She yanked away from him and put some space between them because she didn’t need this, whatever this was.

  Panting, he winced. Contrite, she started to apologize and became angrier. The man should be in bed, in New York, not in a ballroom at a charity auction in London. But he crowded her, backed her up to the middle of the room, would’ve backed her all the way to the wall if she hadn’t forced herself to stand her ground. Retreat wasn’t in her nature.

  “I’m trying to apologize,” he ground out.

  “What for? You didn’t do anything?” She huffed. His eyes darkened and she couldn’t ignore the concern in them. It was…sweet and she was being an ass. “Look.” She sighed awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time I’ve been mistaken for the help. It certainly won’t be the last.”

  “Well, it should be,” he murmured, anguish and fury in his voice. “You shouldn’t be used to it, because I’m not, nor will I ever be used to it. It’s not okay, Calista.”

  She’d heard it all before, the well-meaning platitudes, though that wasn’t what had her riled. He was close, so close, too close.

  “Is there something I can do?”

  She liked that, him asking if there was something he could do rather than saying there wasn’t anything he could do. “No. There is nothing.” It was just the way things were and wasting time thinking about it was pointless. Though she couldn’t stop the sadness welling in her heart, a sadness rooted in her childhood that lingered to this day.

  The five-inch difference in their height meant nothing as he leaned down slowly. She had plenty of time to step away, slide back and defuse the heated situation. Plenty of time as the five inches shrunk to avoid his lips. But she’d lost herself, simply drowned in his eyes.

  First kisses were usually tentative things, each person tasting the other, seeing if they fit, testing each other’s skills. Not this kiss. It was a possessive, dominant, panty-wetting rocket. And all it was, was a kiss. No hands groping. No bodies pressed against each other. No pelvises grinding. Two sets of open lips, two tongues twining, two breathless people, completely and utterly lost. His scent filled her nostrils—male, virile, heady. His whiskers tickled her chin, erotic. He sucked her in and damn it, she loved it, his taste, his smell, the rough glide of his tongue deep in her mouth. She wanted more. No, she wanted it all.

  What the hell am I doing?

  They broke apart at the same moment, each retreating a few steps like boxers after the bell rung, wanting to keep going but knowing it was against the rules. What they did was against the rules.

  He shook his head hard, once, a grimace twisted the lips that seconds ago had plied her with kisses. “It won’t happen again.”

  If it was an apology, piss poor summed it up best. It lacked any sincerity, as if he was saying it because that’s what was expected to ward off a sexual harassment lawsuit.

  “Of course, it won’t,” she replied and meant it, even though between her legs was a sloppy mess and his pants sported a tent.

  She understood her panty-wetting reaction. Julius Morgan set her off in ways no man ever had. But his reaction… She wasn’t his type. His type being a blond Barbie. She’d done the research via Google. Type in his name and a banker’s dozen of images popped up of him with various shades of blondes draped on his arm. So why had he kissed her with a desperation feeding her own?

  He palmed his cock, adjusted it in front of her, then opened the door and stepped aside. Rhodes, Scotts, and Sunny waited in the hallway. She met each gaze head on. Rhodes had a question in his eyes, which she ignored as his gaze darted between her and Julius. She returned to the ballroom in Julius’ wake. Sticking close to him, she listened to conversation, taking notes on her phone when Julius murmured to remind him to call the person later.

  Julius snagged two glasses of wine from a circulating waitress. She gave him a skeptical glare and accepted the wine. Drinking on the job was forbidden. Just because she took the glass from him didn’t mean she had to drink it. He drained his in a long gulp.

  “Have you spoken to the person you needed to?” she asked, standing next to him, surveying the crowd.

  “No. I got distracted.”

  She bit her lip to keep from apologizing since it wasn’t her fault, though she did feel guilty. A bodyguard should be unobtrusive until they’re needed. Causing him to lose money would only lead her to the exit, an exit she couldn’t afford, especially when he had the power to blackball her. Her lips tingled and she couldn’t help licking her bottom lip while his attention was elsewhere. The man certainly knew how to kiss. And his taste, a cross between the wine he sipped and something else, something she couldn’t name, but really liked.

  Don’t go there, girl. After all, he wasn’t the first hot guy she had worked for. However, he was the first client that made her pussy wet. A glance around the room confirmed she wasn’t the only female with a wet pussy. Many of them studied the man next to her. Could be his money, but that definitely wasn’t the only factor. Julius was as fine as the billions of dollars stashed in his accounts, and, at thirty-four years old, he was in his prime. Though he was laid out and not at his best while hospitalized, she’d seen every inch of him, and the man had a lot to brag about.

  In a room full of socialites and influencers, he wouldn’t be going home alone. She’d done her research and the man had a pattern: Blonde, big boobs, small brains, and he had no reason to break it. Suddenly, the kiss they shared left a bitter residue.

  “We’ll leave after the charity auction.”

  Oh. “Which charity?” An elegant shrug was his reply which set her off. “Don’t you even care which charity you’re going to fork money over to?”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “No. One charity is as good as another. The needy, the poor, the flood, earthquake, tornado victim, they’re all the same. I write a check for the required deduction every year and divvy it up equally.”

  Wow. Guess she should be happy he gave at all instead of annoyed that he really didn’t care. She had never been more out of her depth and she wasn’t good at faking it.

  The double-doors at the opposite end of the room opened, and the crowd filtered through as a slow-moving herd to a room with plush seating, brocade drapery, and a podium at the far end. “What’s being auctioned?”

  Again, he shrugged. “Nothing I want.”

  She caught the pain in his voice and glanced at him. His lips were thinned and sweat dotted his brow. “Are you alright?” she whispered.

  “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t but she didn’t call him out on it. “We’ll be seated soon enough, and you’ll get a chance to rest.”

  “I said I’m fine,” he snapped.

  “Male pride should be reclassified as mental illness,” she murmured out the side of her mouth only because they were in a crowd, which thinned after they veered to the left aisle.

  “Shit,” Julius hissed in a low pained voice and visibly stiffened.

  Attention on high alert, she whispered, “What?” and reassessed the room for a threat.

  “Stepmother alert,” Julius murmured, and downed his wine and passed the empty glass to a circulating waiter.

  Stepmother? Calista’s gaze locked onto a woman making an approach. Platinum blond and rail thin with store-bought tits, the boobs weren’t the only thing that had gone under the plastic surgeon’s knife. Father and son had the same tastes. Her face had that shiny, taut, shrink wrapped result only a facelift achieved. All the work made her look like a road weary twenty-year old. Plus, she was a tiny thing, five-five in four-inch Louboutin’s. “Did you know she’d be here?”

&nb
sp; “Yep. Still can’t stop the gag reflex.”

  “Julius.” Lynda stopped in front of them, her gaze on him only. “You don’t look well.”

  “Pleased to see you too, Lynda.” Julius’ smile leaned toward feral rather than congenial.

  Her lips curled in a mockery of a grin. Her barb had struck bone and she was pleased. “I heard about the shooting. Two bullets would’ve killed a lesser man.”

  That wasn’t a compliment. Did Julius catch the subtle disappointment in Lynda’s voice, because Calista certainly had and took exception.

  “I seem to have inherited my mother’s constitution, not my father’s, God rest his soul.”

  The grin held as if shellacked in place. “Kidney and lungs, correct?”

  Expression glacial, he said, “I hope you paid your informant well. He has certainly earned his money.”

  “Missing key pieces of anatomy does shorten a person’s lifespan, doesn’t it?” Lynda said with a thick layer of false concern.

  “Two kidneys. Two lungs. You’d know that if you’d finished high school and weren’t a child bride,” Julius stated, tone drier than the Sahara.

  Ding. Ding. Ding. Lynda’s grin faltered and Calista scored one in the win column for Julius. Did they serve popcorn in this place because she had a ringside seat?

  “I’m glad you survived the bullets, Julius. Joshua doesn’t need to be traumatized by another death in the family.” Lynda spun on her stilettos and crossed the room to take a seat as far away from them as she could.

  “Mr. Morgan. Your seat is up front.” An assistant for the auction caught their attention and guided them to two red velvet chairs.

  Calista had never been to an auction. She scooped up the booklet off the seat and made herself comfortable. While she flipped through the pages filled with pictures of art and sculptures, the host took the podium and droned on to polite laughter and intermittent clapping.

  “That’s who I’m here to see,” Julius murmured in her ear. “His company is having a cash flow issue and I want a subsidiary he owns.”

  His breath teased her neck, distracting her from the world around them. “Is he willing to sell?”

  “Don’t know. I do know that subsidiary would benefit Morgan International, the company my father created, and gave to my brother.”

  She’d have to be deaf to miss the bitterness in his voice. Or the fact that the man he was meeting stepped away from the podium to sit next to Lynda. Julius stiffened, his attention now riveted on the two across the aisle. Was his play for the subsidiary over? Were they leaving? Staying, she figured when the auction started with item number one, a watercolor landscape by a rising artist.

  Paintings and art weren’t her thing. She didn’t have an eye for it, so she sat back and studied the warm interaction between Lynda Morgan and Matthew Warren. Julius divulged the name between bidding on a sculpture.

  “They seem chummy,” she whispered. The two had their heads close together, whispering, chuckling.

  “I noticed.”

  “Maybe they’re friends.” All these Richie Rich people ran in the same circles, polo, yacht clubs. Money attracted money.

  “They’re not. I make it a point to know everyone she knows. Lynda and Matthew have never met before,” he said.

  “I beg to differ,” she said when Lynda chuckled again at something Matthew said and touched his shoulder. “Maybe they got cozy when you were in the hospital. You did spend almost two weeks flat on your back and not handling business. Proven by this hastily put together trip.” The longer she watched, the more convinced she became. “Your shooting wasn’t done in a vacuum. The news and tabloids covered it extensively. There were several reporters we caught that made it into the ICU.”

  “You tell me this now?” he growled low, the tension coming off him in waves.

  “You were recovering and didn’t need that stress,” she said louder than she meant to, but she was defending herself.

  He raised his placard without even looking at what he was bidding on while he pinned her with a glare. “You may be right.” He turned back to the auction, having won a bust of…

  What the hell is that?

  The auction wrapped up an hour later, after she was thoroughly bored. The mingling started again, but this time Julius weaved through the crowd, undeterred by the half dozen people vying for his attention. “Matthew Warren,” Julius called out.

  The gentleman greeted Julius with a tight smile. “Julius Morgan.” They shook hands. “Glad to see you on your feet. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “Thanks. We had a meeting scheduled for two days after my unfortunate incident.”

  “Yes. Yes. We did. Nasty business in New York,” Warren interrupted. “One must be careful with whom they associate themselves with,” he said low.

  “My assistant Meckler attempted to reschedule but—”

  “He did. However, rescheduling wasn’t an option,” he said pointedly. “I’ve recently closed on a deal with Morgan International,” Warren stated.

  Across the room, Lynda watched, a rabid gleam in her eye. She absorbed every second of Julius’ defeat.

  Bitch. Calista wanted to haul her outside and— Calm down, girl. This is not your rodeo and you don’t even have a horse in this race. The mental pep talk put everything back into perspective.

  “I understand.” Julius took the loss graciously and shook Warren’s hand. Then, he headed for the exit. “Regroup, reassess, move on.”

  Calista caught his mumbled words but had no idea what he meant as his entourage of bodyguards fell in line in front of and behind him.

  “Back to the plane, Mr. Morgan?” Sunny asked.

  “Yes. Though not back to New Yor—”

  “Julius Morgan. Is that you?” a female voice shouted across the hotel atrium, and Calista’s world shifted.

  Chapter 15

  It took a second for Calista to recognize the ash blond hair and green eyes. A precious few seconds to recognize the heart-shaped face and Cupid’s bow lips. Another few seconds to take in the perfect size four figure in the shape hugging designer dress and Jimmy Choo’s. The entire package had Calista’s heart lurching in her chest and her retreating several steps as Julius strolled forward for a quick embrace.

  “Erica. It’s been a few years.”

  “A few years too many.” She patted Julius’ chest with a familiarity that made Calista’s stomach heave. “You look fabulous.” Erica’s eyes roamed from the top of Julius’ head to his wingtips in blatant appreciation. “I heard about what happened. It must’ve been exaggeration because you look mega fabulous.” Her voice dipped low with approval.

  Calista turned away. She was going to be sick, but like a car accident on the highway, she had to see. She made herself turn back. Rhodes gave her a funny stare, which she pointedly ignored.

  “Are you staying at the hotel?”

  “No.” He shook his head, and Calista gave silent praise that they weren’t. “I attended a charity event here. Now, I’m heading back to New York.”

  “My father and I were invited, but he fell ill.”

  Calista’s head swam.

  “So, we skipped,” Erica continued. “You should stay and have a drink with me.” She pouted prettily.

  Rhodes touched Calista’s arm. “Are you alright?” he asked too damn loud, drawing Julius’ attention, and Erica’s, who scrutinized her without a single clue, then dismissed her as inconsequential.

  “You don’t look well. What’s wrong?” Julius crowded her, his height and width blocked the world. It would’ve been enough if Erica hadn’t come with him. Her impersonal gaze skimmed over Calista and returned to Julius.

  She has no idea.

  “Calista.” Julius gently shook her.

  When did he grab my shoulders?

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Julius snapped, his grip tightening.

  “Something I ate,” Calista mumbled.

  “You should definitely stay while your secretary seeks
medical attention. The hotel has a doctor on staff for minor ailments. Nothing that requires emergency treatment. I used him last night when my father took ill. He’s old.” Erica sighed and fiddled with the diamond necklace around her neck.

  The soft whirl of a motorized wheelchair approaching caught her attention and Calista was the first one to turn toward the sound. Erica hadn’t exaggerated. He was old. His wrinkles had birthed their own wrinkles and he was shrunken. A shrunken little old, shriveled man. That’s not how she remembered him. When she was six, he was a towering figure that filled her with awe. A mountain of a man, larger than life. To her young mind, he was an eight-foot-tall god, bathed in afternoon sunlight as he crossed the threshold to the mansion, arriving home after a hard day’s work. All these years later, that image was seared into her brain because that’s how she saw him from her vantage point, her secret spot under the antique table in the rotunda. Until now. God, what a fucking disappointment. Time had been a motherfucker.

  Or maybe that was karma chewing on his selfish, arrogant ass.

  Erica spun and sighed impatiently. “Daddy, I thought you were heading back to your room?” She was clearly annoyed at his presence.

  Wheezing, his hands shook as he threaded a nasal cannula behind his ears and inserted the short tubes into his nose. “I am. I know you want to get rid of me.” Short of breath, his stuttered speech took forever.

  “Mr. Bryn, I’m Julius Morgan.” He bent low to shake his hand.

  “I remember you. Call me Harvey. My body is on its last leg, but my mind is as sharp as ever. First time I met you, you were a toddler and your father brought you to the country club. I didn’t agree with what he did, cutting you out of the will like that. It wasn’t right, but you didn’t let that stop you. You showed him, didn’t you.” He chuckled and patted the back of Julius’ hand.

  Now was the perfect time for her to escape, but Julius, damn him, turned her way. Never had she wished to be invisible more than she did right now.

  “This is my personal assistant, Calista Coleman.”

  At the sound of her name, the old man’s head rocked back on his neck as if punched by an invisible fist. His watery, milky gaze found her, roamed her face, head, dropped down to her body and back up to her face. All this took place in a matter of seconds and no one had seen it, except her. Julius looked at her as Erica ogled him while the bodyguards searched outward for external threats.