Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “That is one gorgeous man!” She said loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Tell me he laid the pipe down,” she singsonged. “A man that handsome better be good in bed.”

  “He was fine,” Calista hissed, knowing Laverne wouldn’t leave until she got an answer.

  “Fine?” Laverne frowned, the corner of one lip curling in disgust. “Fine is not how you describe good sex. Fine is how you describe your first boyfriend who never made you come. ‘He was fine but…’ You get where I’m going with this.”

  Oh my God! Could she be any louder! “He was awesome. Great. Best sex I’ve ever had. Now get the serving dish and leave,” she ground out and pointed to the stairs.

  Laverne held up her hands in fake alarm. “Awright. Awright. I’m leaving the love shack. Your mama would have a fit if she knew you were screwing in her house. I’ll make sure to tell her at my next visit.” She cackled and headed toward the stairs but paused and looked back, her face rapt. “Did he go downtown?” she whispered as if asking a national security question.

  Suddenly, Calista was back on the stairs, legs spread with Julius’ head between her thighs. She bit her lip and nodded.

  Laverne squealed. “And he was good. I can tell by your face. Girl, he’s rich, has a big dick, and knows how to eat pussy. He’s a keeper. Anything else, you can fix.”

  No denying that. High fives were traded and Calista shooed her cousin away. “I’m heading to Vegas for a couple of days. Keep an eye on my mother, please.”

  “Will do.” One hand on the rail, Laverne spun. “If you’re going to Vegas pack something nice. Not those black suits of yours.”

  “It’s not a vacation. I’m working and those are my uniforms.”

  “No man wants to sleep with a pall bearer.”

  “Julius Morgan did and does.” Calista clapped back.

  “Alright! Alright!” Laverne gave her props and a another high five. “For me, please pack that red dress you bought last year and haven’t worn yet.”

  “No. The red dress stays.”

  Lavern started to argue but Calista wasn’t having it. “This isn’t a vacation. I’m on the clock. Now get.” She returned to her bedroom to find Julius dressed in his wrinkled suit from yesterday and slipping into his shoes. He looked up when she entered, his gaze heating. Her body responding with its own heat right between her thighs.

  Jesus, after the marathon sex, she wanted more. He did this to her, with a single glance. She wanted him inside her again. In her mouth. In her pussy. Against the wall, on her knees, ass up, head down. Any way he wanted it. How the hell had this happened?

  “Laverne helps me with my mother,” she said more to fill the silence than impart information.

  She stepped closer to him and glimpsed herself in the dresser mirror. She was a hot mess. Hair frizzy from the shower, robe sticking to random places. Was that a hickey! She lurched closer and sure enough, there was a damn hickey above her right collarbone. When had that happened? Because she certainly didn’t remember him sucking on her skin. It could’ve been any of the four times he’d taken her.

  Julius came up behind her. The heat of him seeped through their combined layers of clothing to warm her. His head dropped to her shoulder. In the mirror, their eyes met. Hazel locked on copper. Slowly, his gaze rose to skim over the satin shielding her body and settled on her breasts. The caress was gentle, featherlight. The press of his lips against her neck, equally gentle and light. “We have to go,” he murmured, and flicked his tongue across her skin.

  Shit! She nodded. “Vegas, right?” She had to ask because right now, she couldn’t think. Not with him touching and licking her. Not fair. So not fair.

  “Yes,” he said with a subtle tug on her nipples. “Vegas it is. Get dressed. We have a stockholder meeting to attend.”

  Chapter 26

  One o’clock in the afternoon found their entourage at Harrah’s Convention Center. They weren’t early. Bad weather over the middle of the country delayed the flight for hours. The room was packed. Lynda was already on stage explaining the quarterly returns, which sucked, and projecting future returns, which were unrealistic in their optimism. The stockholders in the room clapped on cue, buying into the pipe dream.

  His father’s company was losing money like a sieve straining acid. Too many reckless purchases, stupid mergers, and generous bonuses to those who hadn’t earned them. Namely, Lynda and Joshua. Under Lynda’s care, the once thriving shipping company decided to go into textiles, which led into retail. She had some grand idea of founding the next fashion design house. Like she had a chance in hell of taking on LVMH. When her eight-year investment went bust, she decided to go into makeup, as if she knew anything more than applying lipstick and mascara.

  Halfway into the room, she spotted him and her little speech suddenly halted, then restarted with a sputter. The attention she’d worked hard to gather shifted as he walked down the center aisle, all eyes on him. She’d probably wondered where he’d sit when it was standing room only. Seated in the first seat of the front row, a man rose and passed him on the way out. Meckler had thought of everything.

  Julius took the vacant seat, crossed his legs, and waved at Lynda for her to continue. Her face turned a blotchy red and she white-knuckled the podium. Smirking, he waited her out. She couldn’t throw him out. It took him years to bury his hatred and turn his five-million-dollar inheritance into his first billion. That first billion multiplied by ten within twenty months when he bought out a software company and poured money into R&D when they developed a program to hack cellphones. Any cellphone. The government was extremely interested.

  It took more years to gobble up enough stock in his father’s company to get a seat in the room. Ten percent stock in a declining company still couldn’t get him a seat on the board but it was enough to be that pebble in her Jimmy Choo’s.

  In his peripheral, he glimpsed Calista off to the side, partially hidden by a pillar mid-room. Almost invisible, she blended into the shadows, reminding Julius of what Harden had said. You saw her because she wanted to be seen. Seeing her now, in her element, Harden hadn’t lied. Yet, somehow, Harden’s supposition was more than a fact. Seeing Calista that night hadn’t been incidental. Call it fate, they were meant to meet. She had saved his life, changed it irrevocably. The question pinging his brain… Was it permanent? Or was their connection transitional?

  Their night replayed on the big screen in his mind. He spent the night curled around her curves, in her full-size bed, in her cubicle of a bedroom, in her home in a working-class neighborhood, and he’d never been more content. It wasn’t the place, which was stuck in time circa 1980. It was Calista. The velvet of her skin, the lingering scent clinging to her body, the same scent of the body wash they used in her tiny shower hours ago, her scowl and penetrating gaze that stripped away all pretense. Her dry chuckle. Her rare, precious smile. Slowly but surely, his world was narrowing to her alone. Calista Coleman.

  Not sure how he felt about that.

  Across the distance their gazes brushed, traded warmth, erotic expectations, and sensual promises. A knowing smile graced her face. They hadn’t discussed the next step. He should be pleased. He wasn’t a man who liked conditions and strings in a relationship. He kept things easy and free, casual. No strings. No disappointments.

  With Calista, he had the urge to tie her to his bed and not let her leave. On a deeper, selfish level, he was terrified.

  A round of applause broke his train of derailed thoughts. Damn it, arriving late and zoning out, he’d missed most of Lynda’s speech.

  His phone rang, the only sound other than Lynda’s monotone voice. He answered it just to annoy Lynda. There was a pause allowing background noise to fill the dead air. “Your vodka, Mr. Morgan.” A waiter’s voice came through the connection.

  Julius stiffened. There was only one other Mr. Morgan he knew of, and that person had never called him. Until now.

  “Hey, Julius. It’s Joshua.”

  Julius kept
his gaze trained on Lynda, the fury on her face too sweet to ignore. Did she put Joshua up to the phone call? And if so, why?

  “Yes?” he said, giving nothing away to the mother or the son.

  “Care for a game of cards?”

  Chapter 27

  “Where are we going?” Calista asked, keeping pace with Julius’ long strides as they headed for the exit.

  “I’ve been invited to play poker with my brother.” The first time they’ve said two words to each other in fourteen years. Julius couldn’t blame Joshua. That resided on his mother’s shoulders. Pitting father against son, brother against brother, the bitch was talented.

  The expression on her face when he rose in the middle of her droning on and walked out only eight minutes after arriving…epic. Julius wished he’d recorded it.

  “Really.” Keeping pace with him, she didn’t hide her excitement.

  “Davien hosts a poker tournament.”

  “Texas Hold’em?”

  “Yeah. You like poker?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t play. Being a bodyguard is a lot like being in risk assessment, and gambling is risky. No offense, but I work too hard to gamble my money away.” Especially when lack of discretionary funds defined her life. “But I have watched a few tournaments on ESPN.”

  Scotts pulled up with the limo and they all piled inside.

  “Where?” Calista demanded once they pulled away from Harrah’s. This jaunt was off script and he could tell she didn’t approve. He never thought he’d like a controlling woman and he still didn’t. However, Calista’s control issues came from her protective instincts. Deep down, she was a pussycat…with razor sharp claws.

  “The Oriental.” Conveniently owned by Davien. The man did love hotels.

  “Don’t you think you should rest?” she murmured in his ear, but not low enough for the others not to hear. They were in a car, not a stadium.

  Julius stiffened. He shouldn’t take it personally, yet his ego was already in the zone. How weak did she think he was? Or did she think him a child that needed supervision?

  “Your doctor told you to rest and since then, you have been very active.” She didn’t need to mention the trip to the scrapyard. “You’ve been busy. I think you should take it easy.” Her back ramrod straight. Her tone clipped.

  “Huh.” He grunted. “I did have a sleep deprived night, since I was extremely busy.” It was her turn to stiffen. Her head snapped to her left, blatant need filled her searing gaze before she caught herself. Opposite them, Rhodes and Edwards would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to miss the innuendo and the heat arching between them.

  By the stunned fury transforming Rhodes’ face, the man didn’t miss a thing. Hold it a Goddamn second. Rhodes and Calista? A surge of jealousy fried his insides. How long? How serious? When was the last time? They weren’t questions. They were demands. The only reason he didn’t ask them now was because they weren’t alone, and Calista wasn’t the type to take her privacy lightly. Neither was he.

  “When I need mothering, I’ll let you know.” The words came out colder than intended, though he meant every syllable.

  “Understood, Mr. Morgan.” She folded her arms, crossed her legs, and gave her attention to the Las Vegas strip.

  The cold shoulder. Julius couldn’t blame her.

  “Mr. Morgan! Pleasure to see you again.” Roguex greeted Julius upon their arrival at The Oriental. “The sheikh was pleasantly surprised when informed of your arrival.”

  “I don’t like unscripted plans,” Calista murmured, her jacket open for easy access.

  “Those are the best kind of plans!” Roguex laughed. For a man topping off at five foot two and one hundred and ten pounds, he had a booming voice that carried. “The tournament is on the penthouse level. Let me escort you.” Roguex guided them across the lobby to the elevators.

  “Tournament?” Scotts asked at Julius’ left.

  “Texas Hold’em. No Limits. Buy-in is five hundred thou.”

  Scotts let out a low whistle. “Too rich for my blood. I lose a couple hundred on the game and I’m ready to fight.” He chuckled, flexing his knuckles.

  Julius snorted in understanding, even though he’d never been nor would ever put himself in a situation where losing something would break him. Certainly not money. Call him privileged, but when one always had money, then accumulated more than ten billion, it was hard to think in terms of a couple hundred dollars. “What game’s your poison?”

  Scotts rocked on his heels. “Football. Baseball. Giants and Yankees. Gotta root for the home teams.”

  “I know the commissioners of both leagues. I’ll get you some playoff tickets if either make it that far.” The Yankees always had a decent shot at postseason play. The Giants were a crap shoot.

  “Yeah.” Scotts smiled. “Imma hold you to that.”

  “Enough with the sports teams. Can we please stay focused?”

  “This place has more security than the White House,” Rogeux said a bit defensive.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Sunny murmured. “They have eyes everywhere.” He glanced at the cameras in both corners above of the elevator.

  “State of the art eyes.” Usually silent, Edwards joined the conversation.

  “Would you like me to arrange a suite for you, Mr. Morgan, or are you staying elsewhere?”

  He’d planned on returning to New York after the stockholder meeting. Joshua had changed those plans. “A suite will be fine and accommodations for my bodyguards.”

  “Of course.” Rogeux spoke into his Bluetooth, setting things up.

  Julius turned to his entourage and studied the four men. They were an easygoing bunch. Competent. No drama. No significant others either. Sunny and Edwards seemed relaxed but aware of the crowd and the people in attendance. Scotts was the same, studying the area for a threat. Rhodes was the outlier. Body tense, back ramrod straight, his focus was on Calista, who paid no attention to the man a few steps behind her. Her gaze scanned the lobby.

  “I don’t need the four of you tonight,” Julius said. “Choose between you guys who’ll stay to babysit.” Proves how comfortable he’d become to having them around by how he readily admitted they babysat him and wasn’t demoralized by it.

  “You sure, Mr. Morgan?” Scotts said.

  “Get lost in something between a pair of thighs or whatever gets you hard.” Julius ordered. “Tomorrow we head back to New York.”

  Excited, Edwards said. “Thanks, sir.”

  “Forget it. No one is getting lost between a pair of thighs tonight. Everyone is on the job.” Calista yanked the joy right out of the night. Sunny and Edwards started complaining, looking to Julius for assistance. He didn’t know how it happened, but Calista was their leader. When it came down to nuts and bolts, he wouldn’t do anything to purposely undermine her.

  “Yeah, I know.” She cut them off. “There are plenty of guys in suits with earpieces and hidden weapons under bulky jackets, which don’t mean a damn thing. I shouldn’t have to remind you, especially Rhodes and Scotts, but I will anyway since you’ve seemed to have forgotten a standard of care. When shit hits the fan, all this security”—she waved her hand around—“won’t give two shits about your client, the client whose life is in your hands. They will trample, even shoot your client if it means protecting their client. And I will do whatever it takes to protect my client.”

  Damn, that made the center of Julius’ chest warm and his head fuzzy. Until he caught Rhodes glaring at Calista before he plastered a neutral expression on his mug. But it was too late. The man had it bad.

  Julius needed answers. How long? How often? When did it end? The questions were on a continuous loop in his brain. He needed answers now, but right now wasn’t the place to ask these questions.

  The six exited the elevator on the penthouse level. No matter the country, security was the same—dark suits, white shirts, earpieces in one ear. Two guarded the entrance to the private suite, which they opened the second they saw Julius a
nd his entourage. He never thought he’d be that person, yeah, he was now that person. Davien and Harden had Julius beat when it came to entourage sizes, but no one beat their pal Prince Nasir. Third in line to the Qari throne, his private jet was a fucking Boeing 777.

  “Good evening, Mr. Morgan. Sheikh Davien is expecting you,” one of the security guards said as he passed him.

  The décor had changed since his last visit. The gaudy red and gold leaf Vegas styled décor had been changed to a sleek silver and black design. Minimal distractions for the players, not counting the number of beautiful women on display at the bar waiting for their men...or any man.

  Five tables. Four tables each with five players plus the dealer. The center table waiting for the winners. Seemed Davien’s private affair was no longer private.

  “Julius Morgan. Is that you?”

  The French accent had him peering over Calista’s shoulder in surprise. Six-inch stilettoes, size G store bought boobs, and micromini painted on dress. “Selene?”

  A tinkling laugh filled the air, capturing the attention of every man in the vicinity. “Oui.” She rushed into his arms. He picked her up, swung her around in a tight embrace, then dropped her on her feet. “Tu es toujours si beau.”

  “And you’re still as lovely. Is Lawson here?” Julius scanned the room searching for his friend.

  “We wore him out.” Selene tossed her head back with a laugh and glanced at a blonde perched on a barstool surrounded by men. She rubbed her hands over his chest and hooked them around his neck. “I’ve missed you, Julius, and all the fun the four of us had.” The length of her body pressed against him. Her arms tightened and she went to her toes to close the distance. “You and me and Margaux, we surprise him and have more fun, like we had last year.”

  Calista cleared her throat. He knew she was beside him, armed and watching. He risked a glimpse. Her glare could peel an inch off his hide. “Fond memories indeed.” He removed Selene’s hands from around his neck and set her back. “This is Calista, my assistant.”