Mr. Cocky (London Billionaire #1)

by Nana Malone

  Damn. She might just have to take him, but she’d keep her distance. Nancy could come along as her buffer. Yeah, a good old-fashioned chaperone. This would be fine. She was not going to shag her cocky intern. Definitely not going to happen.

  3

  “Nick, I’m worried. It’s Chris. I don’t know where he is.”

  Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. His mother sounded desperate. He tried his best to keep the irritation out of his voice. This was not the first, second or even third time he’d gotten a call like this. “When did you last hear from him?”

  “A few days ago. He came round for food. He was a right mess—dirty clothes, greasy hair, shivering. I think he’s back on the—” her voice faltered. His mother couldn’t bring herself to say ‘drugs.’

  The family had been through hell the past five years. His stepdad Mike had died of a sudden thrombosis. His mother came home from work to find him cold and face down in the hallway. She was heartbroken. Dad had been her rock. He’d treated Nick as his own, and he’d been the only father he could remember. Mike and his mother had been together since he was two, after Nick’s father had run off to Spain with some woman from his job. They were the strongest couple Nick knew. They’d had Chris, his younger brother, when Nick was eight. Chris had always been unruly. If there was trouble, he’d locate it like a sniffer dog and join in. Worse, his mother refused to move from the Estate. It wasn’t safe for her there. When they’d been kids, it hadn’t been Hyde Park, but she could safely get around. That had all changed now. But she stayed because it reminded her of Mike.

  Nick was always sent out to retrieve Chris and to warn the troublemakers off. Thanks to being the older one, he’d grown tough. He’d had to. When every third kid on a rough London housing estate owns a blade as sharp as broken glass, you learn to be one step ahead.

  After his father died, Chris’s life completely derailed. He sunk into drugs, big time. No more cheeky little spliffs for him. He wanted the big stuff.

  Chris had stolen to pay for it. And more often than not, he rubbed the wrong people the wrong way. The police had him in the nick a few years back, and when Nick was in his first year of an MBA, he was sent away for three months. Their mother had begged him to help her send Chris to rehab.

  She’d been so depressed she couldn’t see that in order to help, he’d had to trash all his future plans and work all hours to pay the fees for proper addiction treatment. If she’d been thinking properly, maybe she would have seen what she’d asked him to give up. His future.

  They had sent Chris away to a rural retreat where the closest thing to a stimulant was nettle tea. He got clean. But eventually London came calling. Old gangs sought him out. If there was one thing Chris was good at, it was running drugs. He was swift and always had a decent escape route. After all, London was his playground.

  Nick had suspected for months that Chris was slipping back into old habits. And this disappearance all but confirmed it.

  “Let me have a look around,” he said with a sigh. All he really wanted was a workout and a beer after his long day at work. He had a shift later at the bar. “Don’t panic yet.”

  Nick pulled on a hoodie and a jacket and made his way to Brixton on his motorcycle. Normally, he would have taken the Tube, but this way he could check the streets for signs of his brother.

  He arrived at the apartment block where Chris rented. It was a tall, grubby building with dusty windows and laundry hanging over the scruffy balconies. Beer bottles and cans littered the entrance and the elevator was pasted shut by a paper sign, “Out of order.”

  Fantastic.

  He climbed the three echoey flights of stairs, which reeked of piss, vinegar and stale fish oil, to find Chris’s floor. He could hear a baby crying in one apartment while a couple screamed at each other in another. He shuddered. He just wanted to check on Chris and get the hell out of here. Back to the life he’d carved for himself. This brought back too many memories of how they’d lived after his stepfather was gone.

  Nick stopped at number 23. He made a fist, ready to bang on the door, but noticed it was opened slightly. He gave it a gentle push.

  Oh shit.

  Chris’s belongings were strewn all over. The sofa cushions were piled on the floor, picture frames lay smashed on the sticky, brown carpet. Squares of burnt tinfoil littered the coffee table. Heroin? You stupid little shit.

  The room looked like the aftermath of a tornado. Clearly someone was after his brother. Or after something Chris had. There were no bloodstains, which ruled out various worst-case scenarios in Nick’s mind.

  He frantically dialed Chris’s number. Pick up, you tosser. Please let this be some stupid fight with one of your mates. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. There was no answer.

  Nick rubbed his jaw as he thought. He wouldn’t touch a thing in here. This wasn’t his mess. But finding Chris was. He needed to set his mother’s mind at rest somehow. He couldn’t have her sliding back into the darkness. Not now that he was almost in a position to look after her properly.

  He closed the apartment door with a tug, leaving the chaos behind and made his way back to his bike, flicking through every face connected to Chris in his memory, hoping for a flash of inspiration about whom he could be staying with.

  His phone rang from an unknown number.

  “Nick, it’s me,” came a slurred voice.

  “Where the fuck are you?” Nick could barely contain his worry and rage. While he was relieved beyond measure to know his brother was alive, anger took over at the realization of yet more stupidity and trouble. He had tried so fucking hard to move forward with his life, yet somehow his brother always managed to drag him ten steps back.

  “I can’t tell you that, mate.”

  “Don’t mate me. Do you know how worried Mum is?”

  “Yeah. I know, I know. I’ll get it sorted man.”

  “Get what sorted?”

  “I just need money.”

  Again.

  “This time, I don’t have anything to give you Chris,” Nick hissed. “I can’t keep bailing you out.”

  “They’re going to kill me.”

  His brother’s words hung in the silence. Nick held his breath. “What have you done?” he begged in a whisper.

  “I used their gear. I spent their money. I’m a total fuck up.”

  “Yes. You are…”

  “I’m going to stop after this,” Chris vowed, his voice cracking, revealing his desperation. “These guys are wankers. It won’t be a pretty little bullet in the head. It’ll be a dramatic torture fest.”

  Nick winced at the words. “What do you want me to do about it? Can’t you come and hide out at my place?” That was the last thing Nick wanted, but he wasn’t going to let his brother die.

  “Don’t be stupid, bruv,” Chris jeered. “It’s not safe. They’ll come after you. I just need you to find the money to pay them off. Then it’ll all be over. I’ll get away from here after that. You never even have to fucking speak to me again if you don’t want to.”

  “How much,” Nick sighed and asked with eyes closed.

  “Ten grand.”

  Motherfucker. Nick inhaled sharply. How the hell was he suppose to magic up ten thousand quid? The last time he checked he’d run out of wishes from his genie lamp.

  “This is a new low for you Chris,” Nick said, his body shaking. What the fuck was he going to do? He didn’t have that kind of money. But was he supposed to let his mother down? You might not have the money, but you know someone who does.

  Shit. He wasn’t going to go there. That Simon guy made him feel slimy as fuck. There was another way. He’d figure it out. “You’ll need to give me a way to contact you. I’ll do my best. But this is the last time. I can’t keep covering your selfish ass. You are killing your own mother. You hear that?” He hung up.

  His brother’s harsh east-end accent flooded his mind with childhood memories, mostly ones he wanted to forget. He and his brother sounded as if they were from
different families. Chris wore his cockney accent like a badge of honour. A shield of sorts, whereas Nick had worked hard at burying his, in the hope he could climb the corporate ladder and find a way out of his past. One of the teachers at boarding school had helped him stamp it out with rigorous elocution tutoring. He, himself had grown up in the dodgiest parts of north London and he understood what Nick was facing. By the time his teacher was done with Nick, he sounded like he’d gone to bloody Eaton. He and his brother were in two opposing worlds, joining at a messy middle point.

  With shallow, furious breaths, Nick dialed another number.

  “Hey, Gav, how’s it going?” he asked, as casually as he could. His heart was pounding. Could he really ask this of his best mate? Sure, Gav had bags of cash, but asking for handouts was just not Nick’s style. Until now.

  “All right, mate. All right.”

  “Are you sure?” Nick asked. “You don’t sound your usual self.”

  “To be honest, mate, I’m just in the middle of something. I’ve lost my job at the firm. Two months before the baby’s due. I’m just calling around to see if there’s any other leads.”

  “Shit, mate, that’s awful.” Shit, bugger, fuck. There was no way he could ask for a loan now.

  “Yeah. I’ve got a fucking mortgage. Y’know what I mean?”

  “I do. I’ll keep an ear out for any suitable jobs, mate. Phone me when you can.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Think. Think. Think.

  Dan. His boss, Dan, was the only other guy he knew of with the kind of money he needed. Of course, he would pay interest, and work his ass off to make up for it, but maybe—just maybe—a loan was a doable plan. Checking his watch, he saw he had just enough time to get home, grab his school stuff and get to the bar.

  At work that night, he tried to figure out the best way to fucking finesse this shit. He didn’t ask for shit, ever. It wasn’t a skill he’d developed. Especially as he’d been on his own for so long.

  When his boss was behind the bar at one point sifting through mail, Nick figured it was his chance. “Dan, can we talk, mate?”

  “Actually yeah,” Dan said. “I wanted to get your opinion.” He looked around surreptitiously before pulling a ring box out of his pocket. “I’m about to bite the bullet. I spent half my savings, but I think Gemma is worth it.”

  Nick stared down at the massive diamond in front of him. His stomach churned. He wanted to be happy for his friend, but all he could do was think about his fucking brother. “Oh, my God, mate. She’s going to love it. That thing must have set you back.”

  “You’ve no idea. All this shit about clarity, cut and other nonsense.” He shook his head and shoved the ring back in his pocket. “I’m doing it tonight.” He turned his attention back to Nick. “What were you saying? I’m sorry. I was just so well chuffed, I blurted out and cut you off.”

  “Oh, nothing,” Nick said, swallowing again. “It can wait. Something about holidays. I’ll come back to you about it later. This calls for a celebration. I’m off Tuesday, you game?”

  “Of course. But this time, let’s take it easy on the women. I’m about to be off the market.”

  Nick forced a smile. “Of course, mate. Of course.” There was only one place left which was willing to spew out notes, but it wasn’t a place Nick wanted to go to. He wasn’t this person. You got a secret money tree somewhere? Oh fuck it. This was a life or death situation. If he sat on his hands and did nothing his family was going to be torn up.

  “Chelsea? Do you still have that business card from the guy in the bar?”

  4

  Nick was buried deep in concentration, sending a group email to let everyone know the time schedule on the Paris package. The trip was less than a week away. Right now, he used work to smother the guilt. But no matter how hard he worked, the shadow of slime seemed to follow him everywhere. He hated that geezer, Simon. Simon reminded Nick of all the boarding school assholes who’d turned their noses up at him because he wasn’t rich. You do this, you save your family. Suck it up. So suck he did.

  When Selena had messaged him to confirm his place on the team he had been so psyched he’d momentarily forgotten about the tangled mess he called his family. The dark cloud above him had shifted for just a moment or two. Until he remembered the deal he’d made with the devil to save his brother.

  He also tried not to look forward to being in Selena’s presence for two straight days. He had to remember his new job. To somehow feed information back to that asshole without getting caught, pay off his brother’s debt, then wind things up here and hopefully still manage to finish his dissertation in time to graduate once and for all. But shit, it was the last thing he wanted to do. He liked Selena. She was bright, and funny when she relaxed a little. Not to mention her quiet sexiness. And, ironically, he was actually enjoying the job. If he wasn’t about to royally screw this up by being a traitor, he would have happily stayed on in the company after his master’s. With a second degree, so many options would be open to him. And he could have continued working on his own project on the side. You can forget about that now.

  He glanced up as he heard Selena’s office door open. She walked over to Nancy’s desk and stopped with her back to him. Nick’s eyes fell on her curved, toned ass. When she placed a hand on her hip as she chatted to Nancy, it only emphasized the swell of her curves.

  Stop it, Nick. Out of bounds. Stick to flings with people you’ll never have to work with. Stick to easy. Selena wasn’t the kind of woman to be down for a quick shag in a public hallway.

  Love, or complicated sex, as he preferred to label it, had never been on his agenda. Between studying and mopping up the murky waters of family crisis after family crisis, his shit was too unstable to bring someone else into it. Not that any of that stopped the offers. Women seemed to like the loner thing. And yes, he’d taken advantage of the offers on occasion. He was a bloke after all. And he liked women. All kinds of women. But for some reason, he liked them when they were especially unavailable. Like Selena. No. Even he wasn’t dumb enough to go there.

  He swallowed hard as his boss shifted in her heels. She shot him a smile as she walked away. Her blue eyes burned into him for all of the one second they met his. He was so fucked. One look and he felt like he’d been zapped. He couldn’t tell if it was the guilt or his hormones. Either way, it sucked.

  Also, thinking about what Selena tasted like was a recipe for disaster. But there was something about her cool aloofness that spoke to him. Can it. In a week, he’d be locked on a private jet with her. All the mile-high possibilities foolishly ran through his mind. Shit. He couldn’t do this. She didn’t deserve this. Despite what Simon said.

  Maybe there’s more to her than you know. Maybe you’re being a pussy by falling for her sweetness act. Think of Chris.

  He drew in a sharp breath and dragged his attention back to his phone. He had work to do and a brother to save. He sent a quick text.

  Nick, I’ll be on the Paris trip. She’s meeting with Berest.

  Simon, See. Now was that so hard?

  5

  Selena watched her best friend, Dee, sip her glass of Prosecco as she walked her fingers along the expanse of business dresses in the walk-in wardrobe. With everything Dee had going on at home right now, with her mother-in-law terminally ill, it was more important than ever to distract her friend. Selena seized packing for Paris as an opportunity to coax her friend round for a girlie night to take her mind off things.

  “Jesus, Lena, everything in here is black or grey.” She exaggerated her frown, making a gargoyle face, which forced a chuckle from Selena.

  “It makes my mornings easier if I don’t have to spend ages deciding what to wear,” she said, with a smile to soften her defensive answer. “It’s like a uniform, I suppose.”

  “Now, this side,” gasped Dee, crossing sides to pry through a rainbow of garments, “this is much more interesting. Why do I never see you in any of these?”

  She laughed as her long
-term sidekick pulled out a ruffled scarlet dress.

  “This would look stunning with your olive skin. And this,” She whipped out a cobalt blue low-cut jumpsuit and shot Selena a quizzical look.

  Selena laughed. “I wore it once to a red carpet event the company was sponsoring. It’s not as if I can wear it to pick up my groceries, is it?”

  “Oh Lena, you really should. I know I would.” Dee tipped her head back and let out the infectious giggle Selena had adored ever since they met in freshers week at Uni. The two of them had clicked instantly, despite being chalk and cheese, Dee with a mischievous streak, Selena with her sensible side.

  Dee still nurtured her sense of fun, sporting a nose ring and long, bright red hair, which spilled onto floaty fabrics and layered outfits. It was an effortlessly cool look on her. She was a youth worker, helping teenagers keep out of trouble. Selena was the exact opposite. Sometimes she wished she could be freer like Dee.

  Dee turned to Selena with a raised brow. “Wait a minute,” she said and paused. “Do you even have to do your own grocery shopping?”

  “Of course I do,” Selena lied. She hated those kinds of questions. Especially as she knew Dee had money troubles. Her mother-in-law was ill and the debt was mounting. And she refused to let Selena help. Dee and Roger had been married straight out of Uni. They didn’t have a lot, as Roger was putting himself through school to be a solicitor, but they were crazy in love. Selena envied that.

  Realistically, Selena hadn’t been to a supermarket for weeks, and the last time was only because she didn’t want her housekeeper knowing she was going to gorge herself silly on a pint of cookie-dough ice cream.

  Dee sipped her bubbly, then turned back to the clothes rail. “Honey, if I had your budget I would never spend a moment in grey. I’d have stylists and designers on speed dial. I would be a walking Vogue issue.”

  “That’s what you think,” Selena said with a laugh. “In order to have my budget you’d have to give up your free time, your inspiration, your personality.”