The Billionaire in Her Bed (Worthington Family)

by Regina Kyle

  “Knock much?” Brooke put down her pencil and rested her elbows on her drawing table. Since the wedding, she’d been more productive than ever. Her muse, which had deserted her, had returned with a vengeance. Like most creative types, she didn’t want to overthink the reason for her sudden change of fortune. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was different.

  Her relationship with Eli. Okay, yeah, she’d used the word relationship. Shoot her. And she hadn’t been hit by a stray comet or struck by lightning. Miracle of miracles.

  It was like she and Eli had crossed a bridge that night after the wedding, from friends with benefits to a bona fide couple. They’d established a sort of new normal. Going about their own business during the day, which for her meant writing or drawing or pulling an occasional shift at Flotsam and Jetsam, and for him meant tabulating columns and organizing spreadsheets or whatever it was financial wizards did. Then it was takeout or dinner at a local restaurant, neither one of them being particularly adept in the kitchen. Well, adept at cooking. They’d found plenty of other, more creative, uses for the space, and about every other surface in their respective apartments

  In between their marathon sex sessions, they’d watch movies, listen to music—aside from their shared affection for second British invasion bands, he preferred jazz fusion, she headbanging heavy metal—or talk about everything from politics to prime-time television, staying deftly away from their personal lives, which they avoided as if by tacit, unspoken agreement, his apparently being as messy as hers. When they were spent, from conversation or coitus, they’d fall asleep tangled in each other and wake the next morning to have breakfast together before starting the whole cycle over again.

  The kind of normal a girl could get used to, if she let herself.

  “No time for formalities.” David smacked a hand down on her drafting table, scattering papers and snapping Brooke out of her Eli-induced daydream. “There’s a guy outside with a tripod and some fancy electronic equipment, planting little flags everywhere.”

  Icy fingers of dread clawed at her gut. She swallowed hard and tried to tamp it down as she gathered the fallen papers and tossed them haphazardly on the table. She’d have to sort that mess out later. Right now, she had more a pressing predicament to deal with.

  “It’s probably someone from the gas company marking where the underground lines are.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping her tone was more optimistic than she felt.

  David frowned. “His truck says Atlas Surveying and Mapping.”

  So much for optimism.

  “Come on.” She threw on an oversize sweatshirt over her usual writing attire—yoga pants and a graphic tee—and slipped into a pair of Ugg boots she’d left by the door. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

  Half an hour and whole host of unanswered questions later, they were back in her apartment.

  “Okay.” Brooke paced the length of her studio, drumming her fingers together. “Let’s summarize what we know.”

  “Not much.” David pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Do you have anything to eat besides and white bread, mustard, and Italian dressing?”

  “How can you think of food at a time like this?” She came up behind him and pushed the door closed.

  “Chris did all the cooking. Ever since he left, I’ve been subsisting on ramen noodles and mac and cheese. A giant step down from my usual fare.”

  “He’s only been gone two days.”

  “The two longest days of my life.”

  He leaned against the counter and let out a heavy sigh, looking so forlorn Brooke took pity on him and tossed him a granola bar from a box in the cabinet above the sink. “Here. This should tide you over until your next ramen fix.”

  “Thanks.” He ripped off the wrapper and bit into it with a satisfied moan.

  She closed the cabinet and leaned against the counter next to him. “Now can we get back to the matter at hand?”

  “And what would that be?” Eli strode through the door, the smell of Thai spices wafting from the bag in his arms.

  “Hallelujah. Real food.” David came around the counter and took the bag from him.

  Eli shrugged off his dark gray topcoat—the same one he’d been wearing the night they met, she remembered—and tossed it over the back of the couch. “Good thing I got enough for an army.”

  Brooke crossed her arms under her chest. “Again, with the no knocking. What is it with the people in this building?”

  “What’s the big deal?” David put the bag on the counter and started emptying it, laying out the contents in a neat, straight line. “He practically lives here anyway, and vice versa. You two might as well exchange keys.”

  Brooke scuffed the toe of her boot against the hardwood floor. He had a point about the keys. And maybe about the food, too. Things always looked better on a full stomach. She opened another cabinet, took out three plates, and placed them on the counter with the food.

  “He’s got you there.” Eli, who knew his way around her kitchen as well as she did at this point, added forks, knives, and napkins to the pile. “Why don’t I have a key to your place?”

  “We can talk about that later. Right now, we’ve got bigger problems.” She shoveled some pad woon sen onto her plate. “Did you see the surveyor’s flags outside?”

  “No.” A flicker of something she couldn’t quite identify crossed Eli’s face, only to be quickly replaced by a blank, neutral mask. “I was in a hurry to get the food upstairs before it got cold.”

  “So much better than mac and cheese,” David, seated on the sofa with his plate balanced on his knees, muttered through a mouthful of drunken noodles.

  “A survey means the building’s been sold, right?” Brooke finished loading up her plate and took the chair across from David.

  “And the new owner’s going to knock it down,” David added. “Or convert the units into condos and throw us all out on our asses.”

  “Not necessarily.” Eli’s speech was hesitant, his tone strangely evasive. He averted his eyes as he sat on the far end of the couch from David, developing a sudden fascination with his panang gai. “They could still be in negotiations. And a new owner’s probably going to want a survey even if he doesn’t plan on making major changes.”

  David gave Eli a side-eye glance. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

  Eli continued his preoccupation with his chicken curry. Strange, since he didn’t seem to be eating much of it, just pushing it around on his plate. “I’ve got some friends in real estate.”

  “Maybe you could ask around, see if they’ve heard anything,” Brooke suggested, her voice a touch more panicked than she’d intended. She was already freaked out by the little flags all over the place. Despite his reassuring words, Eli’s odd behavior wasn’t helping any. “We tried talking to the surveyor, but he either didn’t have any information or didn’t want to share it.”

  “Uh, sure.” Eli lifted a forkful of food to his mouth. Finally. “No problem.”

  His cell chimed. He set his plate down on the coffee table and pulled the phone out of his pocket, frowning as he studied the screen.

  “Something wrong?” Brooke asked.

  “Shit,” he hissed, still scowling at his phone.

  “I take it that’s a yes,” David observed wryly.

  “Work crisis.” Eli shoved the phone back in his pocket and stood, bumping the coffee table and almost knocking his still full plate onto the floor. He caught it just in time and brought it into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I have to go deal with this.”

  “Now?” Brooke got up and followed him.

  “It can’t wait.” He grabbed his coat from the back of the couch, shoved his arms through the sleeves and gave her a quick, distracted kiss. “I’ll text you later.”

  She watched him disappear out the door then turned back to David, who was scraping up the last of his drunken noodles.

  “What do we do now?”
David asked. “About Candy Court?”

  Brooke dumped the rest of her pad woon sen in the garbage and put her plate in the sink, her appetite suddenly gone. “We make flyers.”

  “Flyers?” David looked at her blankly, his jaw slack.

  “Advertising a neighborhood meeting.” She sat down at her drafting table and ripped a fresh sheet of paper off her sketchpad. “Then we post them in all the local businesses. There’s strength in numbers. If the new owner thinks he’s going to march in here and turn this place into some sort of yuppie, hipster paradise, we’re going to be ready for him. And we’re not going down without a fight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Eli.” Simon greeted him at his office door. “You’re looking well rested. How was Tibet? I wanted to contact you, but Ginny said you needed some time away from everything to…”

  “Fuck Tibet.” Eli pushed his way past his former friend and business partner and threw a folder down on his desk. It had been burning a hole through his hands ever since Ginny gave it to him, about an hour after he’d gotten her text message. His next move was a terse call to Simon, asking to meet him at Momentum, well past business hours, when no one else was around to eavesdrop on what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation. And that was putting it mildly. “What the hell is this?”

  Simon followed Eli into the room and took a seat in the high-backed leather chair behind his equally impressive mahogany desk. Unlike Eli’s office, which was all sleek glass and polished steel, Simon had gone for rich leather and dark wood, giving the room a traditional, sophisticated feel. He flipped the folder open, his face blanching as he leafed through the contents.

  “I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his close-cropped blond hair.

  “That makes two of us.” Eli sat in one of the two only slightly smaller, less imposing guest chairs.

  Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you get these?”

  “That’s not important.” Eli wasn’t about to get sidetracked. He reached across the desk and jabbed a finger at the picture on top of the pile, which showed Krystal, the eager, young, and, not coincidentally, attractive PA Simon had hired not six months ago, sitting with Noel Dupree at what looked like a Starbucks. An eight by ten manila envelope, fat with papers, sat on the table between them. “Why is your PA meeting with our biggest competitor, the man who beat us to the punch on our last four projects?”

  Simon slammed the folder shut and slumped in his chair, his face now drawn as well as pale. “I have no idea.”

  Eli leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You seriously expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this? I’ve suspected you were working with Dupree since we lost the East Harlem building. You and I were the only ones who knew about that project.”

  Simon’s hands went limp. “And that’s why you took off for Tibet?”

  “I wasn’t in Tibet.” Eli didn’t elaborate, just sat with his jaw clenched and his hands folded in his lap until Simon broke the silence.

  “Momentum is mine, too. We built it together. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that?”

  “I don’t know.” Eli fixed him with a hard, piercing glare. “You tell me.”

  Simon’s jaw was set, his tone insistent. “I wouldn’t. Not intentionally.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not intentionally’?” Eli scoffed.

  “I might have let something slip to Krystal.” Simon buried his head in his hands. His voice was muffled and small. “In bed.”

  “You’re fucking her?” Eli swore under his breath. How could his partner be so stupid? “I thought we agreed. No dipping our wicks in the company ink.”

  “Was. She dumped me last week.” Simon lifted his head. He looked at bad as Eli felt. The dilated pupils. The sweaty palms. The labored breathing. Either the guy was having a heart attack, or he was telling the truth about Krystal. “Not my finest moment, I know. I let my dick do the thinking, and I’m sorry.”

  “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt and wore it out.” Eli let out a short, scornful laugh. But his words were flat, devoid of anger. Instead, looking at Simon, he felt nothing but pity and a strange sense of understanding. Hadn’t he had sex with Brooke hours after meeting her? Of course, their relationship had progressed way past a casual hookup, but he had no way of knowing where they were headed when he screwed her sideways on a futon in the back room of a dive bar. He steepled his fingers over his chest and refocused on the reason for his visit. “But I’m not here to talk about your love life. Or mine. I’m here to find out what the fuck your assistant’s doing with Dupree.”

  “I told you, I didn’t have anything to do with that.” Simon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

  Eli tilted his head. “Give me one reason why I should believe you.”

  “I can’t.” Simon seemed to sink farther into his chair, his posture screaming defeat. “Except that I have as much invested in Momentum as you do. Selling out to Dupree would be entirely against my self-interest.”

  He had a point there, one that hadn’t escaped Eli. But that left one huge, unanswered question. “Why would Krystal do this on her own?”

  “I don’t know.” Simon’s eyebrows pulled together. “But now that I think of it, she has been a little off lately.”

  Eli smirked, remembering the last time he’d seen his partner’s assistant, sitting at her desk, filing her nails. She hadn’t even bothered to look up at him when he’d asked to see Simon. “With her, how can you tell?”

  Simon reopened the folder and flipped through the pictures. “These are good. How did you get them?”

  “I’ve had a PI following Dupree for a few weeks.”

  “Smart move.” Simon picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “But we’re going to need more evidence to prove Krystal violated her non-disclosure agreement.”

  Eli leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over one knee. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  “I have no right to ask you this, but I’m going to anyway. Give me two weeks.” Simon stood and came around to sit on the corner of his desk. “I’ll get what we need to nab Krystal. I promise. And in the meantime, I’ll make sure she doesn’t have access to any more sensitive information.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Eli asked.

  “Plant a dummy file. Then when Dupree starts sniffing around, we’ll know exactly where his information came from.”

  As much as he didn’t want to, Eli had to admit it wasn’t a half bad idea. And one a guilty person would never have suggested in a million years. “You really didn’t put Krystal up to this, did you?”

  “No.” Simon jutted out his chin. “I didn’t.”

  Eli studied his friend for a long minute before speaking. When he did, he weighed his words carefully. “I can help create the fake file.”

  “Does that mean you’re coming back to work? Ginny’s done a great job covering for you, but I miss my partner.” Simon’s voice broke, and he stared down at his hands. “I miss my friend.”

  Eli swallowed a lump in his throat. He hadn’t expected to feel sympathy for Simon. When he’d walked through the door to his partner’s office, he’d come in with guns blazing, his only thought retribution, his only emotion white-hot anger.

  But that anger had quickly dissipated. What was the point in being mad at someone who was so clearly miserable? Besides, if it weren’t for Simon shooting his mouth off to Krystal and torpedoing the East Harlem deal, Eli would never have met Brooke. That didn’t mean Eli was ready to forgive him. But maybe he could forget long enough for them to catch Krystal.

  “Not yet.” Possibly not ever. Even if he managed to look past his best friend’s lapse in judgment for the sake of smoking out their mole, Eli wasn’t sure he could ever trust Simon again. And trust was essential in a business partnership. “I’ve got some things to wrap up in Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn?” Simon blinked. “So that’s where you�
��ve been hiding.”

  Eli ignored his comment and stood. “We can collaborate remotely, through our private emails. And Ginny. I tell her everything.”

  “Everything?” Simon’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat.

  “Don’t worry,” Eli assured him. “I won’t say anything about you and Krystal. Your private life is just that. Private.”

  Simon let out a relieved sigh. “I appreciate that.”

  “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Ginny. For some strange reason, she thinks you walk on water. I’d hate to see her disillusioned.” Eli moved toward the door. There wasn’t anything left to be said between them, not tonight. Now he wanted to get back to Brooklyn. Back to Brooke.

  “I appreciate it anyway.” Simon rose and followed him. “Will you be at the silent auction on Saturday?”

  Damn. With all the shit going on in his fucked-up life, the Geek Girls benefit kept slipping his mind. He made a mental note to have Ginny send him a day-of reminder. If he was smart, he’d head into the city on Friday and spend a couple of nights at the penthouse. Although that meant two long, lonely nights in his California king without Brooke. “Of course. Paige would have my head on a platter if I missed it.”

  “As a board member, I was planning on attending, but if you’d rather I not…”

  “It’s fine,” Eli said, cutting him off. “I’m good with it if you are.”

  “Thanks.” They reached the door. Simon opened it and stuck out his hand awkwardly. “For not being half the asshole I would have been if our positions were reversed.”

  Eli probably would have been twice the asshole if it weren’t for Brooke. It was hard to be pissed about losing something when you’d gained so much more.

  Still, he wasn’t ready to bury the hatchet just yet. “There’s still plenty of time for that.” He ignored his friend’s hand and stepped past him into the corridor, his feet pointed automatically toward the elevator bank at the end of the hall. “First, we’ve got a huge-ass fire to put out.”