Billionaire Protector: A Dark Romance

by Nikki Chase

  Alice Webb: Just relaxing with a book

  Alice Webb: In my pajamas

  Alice Webb: Drinking camel toe tea

  I read the last message twice, then throw my head back in laughter. Alice really needs to do something about the autocorrect on her phone. I know she means chamomile tea because that’s what she often drinks at night to help her sleep.

  Camel toe tea. Ew.

  Just as I’m about to type a reply to Alice, the pool lights shut off. It takes me by surprise, and my drunk brain forgets about the phone in my hand. Before I know it, it slips out of my grasp and plunges into the swimming pool with the faintest, least dramatic splash.

  Damn.

  I sit there by the dark pool for a few dazed seconds, knowing I can’t rescue that phone but at the same time feeling like I can’t just leave it there at the bottom of the pool.

  Sighing in defeat, I finally decide to let it go and just go back to my hotel room.

  It has been the strangest day ever. I flew First Class for the first time, I attended an industry conference for the first time, I almost kissed my boss for the first time… It almost makes perfect sense that I’d drop my phone into a swimming pool for the first time at the end of the day.

  Maybe tomorrow will be more normal.

  15

  Emily

  I hold the door open with one hand and use my free hand to rub my temple. I sigh. This is starting to look like the beginning of another freaky day.

  Cole is standing right in front of me, holding a brown paper bag and a can of Diet Coke in his hands. There’s a wide grin on his face and he’s already wearing a sharp business suit. He looks so perky and bright it’s annoying. It’s only seven in the morning. What is he doing here in front of my hotel room when he said to only meet him after lunch?

  I’m still not sure how I feel about what didn’t-actually-happen-but-totally-almost-happened last night. I was hoping everything would seem clearer after I sleep on it, but that’s not working, not even with the five-hundred-count Egyptian cotton sheets on my bed.

  “Breakfast?” He raises one eyebrow at me. I bet many girls have fallen for that look, but I don’t have any patience for it. Not this morning.

  “Thanks,” I say curtly. I take the brown paper bag and the soda can off his hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get ready now.”

  I give him a sweet smile and, without waiting for a reply, I close the door in his face.

  I don’t have time for drama this morning. I only have a few hours before the big presentation so I can’t afford to get distracted. I need to focus for the sake of my career.

  On second thought, avoiding my own boss is probably not the best career move either. But I’ll worry about that later. For now, there’s the presentation to deal with. Everything else can wait.

  When I get to the desk, I push away the note pad and the pen with the Trident Hotel logo on them, making space for what I assume is Cole’s peace offering.

  I peer into the paper bag and find a glazed donut inside. Donut and Diet Coke. These are the same things I ordered at the airport yesterday. He remembers.

  I take a bite of the glazed donut. This is good stuff. I have to admit it's a nice gesture. So nice, in fact, that I’m starting to feel bad about shutting the door in his face.

  But then again, what happened last night was bullshit.

  It did cross my mind that maybe he just didn't want to take advantage of me when I had obviously been drinking. But even if that were true, he didn't have to shoo me out like he did. And if he was really concerned about how drunk I really was, he could've at least taken me to my room.

  But I really don't have time to worry about this right now. I need to focus on the presentation. Assuming what happened last night has damaged my professional relationship with Cole, I need to make a good impression. Who knows, there may be a job offer coming my way as a result.

  Initially, I planned to spend the entire day at the conference, but that was before and this is now. I already visited most of the booths yesterday and I'm not interested in any of the morning speakers, so I should probably stay in my hotel room and work on my presentation instead.

  That way I’ll also stay out of Cole’s way. I can't afford to have him ruffle my feathers today.

  I take out my notes and printouts of the PowerPoint slides from my bag. I haven't had a chance to look at them again after leaving Cole's room last night. I’m going to miss having his laptop, but I don't miss having him around.

  Just because he keeps popping up in my mind doesn't mean I miss him. We're traveling for work just the two of us, so he features in much of my itinerary — my professional itinerary that I use for professional purposes. It's only natural that he comes up a lot.

  I plop down on the chair and arrange my stuff on the desk. I'm going to sit here for the next four hours at least, so I better get comfortable.

  I take another big bite of the donut and pick up a pen with my free hand, ready to go through my notes with a fine-toothed comb.

  I hold my presentation notes to the side and check my reflection in the mirror. I smooth out my emerald green sleeveless blouse and tuck it into my black pencil skirt. A French twist, red lips, and sensible heels make me look a little older — I’m about two decades younger than the average conference attendee and I feel like that's a disadvantage when it comes to my credibility.

  I check my watch — lunch time is almost over — then take a deep, steadying breath.

  Here we go.

  The hotel hallways pass in a blur as the words from my presentation notes fill my mind. I don't even notice a black figure approaching me at an angle from behind. A hand grabs my wrist and I instinctively cry out in surprise.

  Cole levels his gaze at me. His eyebrows raised, he says,”You really need to get the screaming under control.”

  “I don't have to do anything.” I look around me and give a polite smile to our little audience, hospitality professionals in their business suits streaming into the conference hall. He may be my boss, but he doesn't get to dictate my reflexes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Cole says as he follows me.

  “You said to meet you just before the presentation.” I flash the conference pass hanging by a lanyard around my neck to the guy standing at the door wearing a black T-shirt that says “Seattle Hospitality Summit,” then step through the doorway.

  Wow, this hall looks even bigger than it did yesterday. Have the ceilings always been that high? And is it just me or are there more people as well?

  “I’ve been texting and calling you. I figured you wanted to stay in your room this morning and work on the presentation again, but you couldn't even text me back?”

  “Oh, right.” I keep looking straight ahead, afraid the sight of Cole would just make me feel even more anxious. “I lost my phone.”

  “You lost your—” Cole rakes his hair with his fingers, not bothering to finish his sentence. “When? Didn't you go straight back to your room last night? Could it still be in my room?”

  “No, I lost it somewhere else, okay?” I look around nervously, worried someone in the crowd may hear about me being in his room at night and make the wrong conclusions about us. I wouldn't blame them, though. Hell, I almost made the wrong conclusions about us last night.

  “Where?”

  I reach the stairs leading up to the stage and turn around. Obviously not expecting that, Cole jerks to a stop just inches away from me. For a second, I can detect the scent of musky fragrance from his body.

  “Look, can we just focus on the presentation?” I can't tell him that I was so drunk I dropped the phone in the swimming pool, or that I was so distressed by the way he acted last night that I had to go outside in the first place.

  “Of course.” He finally seems to realize how big of a deal this presentation is for me. “Still nervous?”

  “Definitely.” I scan the room, watching with horror as more and more people fill the seats before us.


  There are a few concurrent talks and this isn't even the main one, so my audience is limited to...maybe two hundred people? It's not like all eyes in the conference hall are going to be on me, but it sure feels that way.

  “Listen.” Cole puts his hands on my shoulders and levels his gaze at me, demanding my full attention. “You're going to do great. I watched you last night and you were killing it. You had more practice this morning too so you're probably even better now. You know your stuff and you know how to make your points. You’ve got this.”

  I nod as I listen to Cole, but my breaths keep coming in shallow hitches.

  “I…” To my surprise, my voice comes out as a squeak. I clear my throat. “I’m just a junior marketer. What do I know? I didn't even go to college.”

  I feel like I'm watching myself from outside my body, trying and failing to stop myself from blurting out more stupidity. I’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure and now I feel like there's a hole in the dam and I can't plug it up once it's open.

  “What if they can tell that I didn't go to college? Nobody's going to listen to what I have to say, which is probably stupid anyway because I didn't even go to college.”

  “Emily, hey, look at me.” Cole traps my gaze with his brown eyes. “I promise you nobody is going to even think about your level of education. Nobody’s going to care about that. And I’ve seen a lot of presentations so believe me when I say you’ll do great if you can just do the exact same thing you did last night and all morning today.”

  I nod and take a deep breath.

  “You just have to fake it ‘til you make it.” Cole smiles at me. “Everybody does it. I do it too. I don't always feel like the CEO of a hotel chain.”

  I look up at him, raising my eyebrows in disbelief. It's hard to imagine Cole Foster being out of his element.

  He was born into the inner circles of wealthy business people. He's in his natural habitat here, more than at any other place. He has received the best education and training money can buy. Why would he feel any need to fake anything when he's the real thing?

  He's nice to say all those things to make me feel better, but he doesn't understand the deep-seated feeling of inferiority in someone who has grown up poor.

  “Thanks, Cole.” Even if he can't fully comprehend my trepidation, I guess I can believe what he says about me knowing my stuff.

  “Any time.” Cole smiles and rubs my shoulders before awkwardly letting his arms hang straight down. Strangely, I find myself missing the weight and warmth of his hands.

  “Are you ready?” A pretty brunette touches Cole’s arm with her delicate hand, her fingernails perfectly manicured. I force myself to look away.

  The next thing I know, the brunette announces my presentation and my legs carry me up the stage. As I look down at the audience, I feel blood rushing to my head. And then I spot Marco in the front row, grinning at me and holding both thumbs up. I suppress a smile at the sight.

  “Good afternoon,” I say into the mic. “Thank you for being here. I’m Emily Webb from Foster Hotels. I'm here with the CEO of Foster Hotels, Cole Foster.” I gesture toward Cole, who nods and smiles at the audience. “I’m going to discuss trends in luxury accommodation and how to meet the changing needs of the luxury traveler. After that, Cole will be available to answer questions about how we at Foster Hotels remain relevant to our target market.”

  Once I get started, it turns out to be quite easy. I’ve practically memorized my lines thanks to much repetition, so I’m just running on autopilot. Before I know it, I’ve finished going through the presentation material. When it’s Cole's turn to take the stage, he shoots me a big, charming smile.

  “You did great,” he whispers as he leans in, making the hairs on my sensitive neck stand on end. “Told you.”

  Cole grabs the mic, brushing my fingers in the process. I stop myself from gasping from the contact and quickly leave the stage instead.

  I sit in the audience and watch as Cole patiently and eloquently answers random questions, some of which aren't even related to the topic at hand. My chest swells with pride at how confident he is, how charismatic. And it suddenly dawns on me.

  I need to get out of here.

  16

  Cole

  As my hand hangs in the air, I draw some oxygen into my constricted lungs and let out a big exhale. I knock on the door of Emily’s hotel room for the second time today.

  I didn’t want to bother her if she didn’t want to speak with me, so I waited at the conference hall for her to come back until the exhibitors started shutting down their booths. I got a couple new business contacts from it, but I would’ve preferred having her company instead.

  I went back to my room at the end of the night, fully intending to wait until tomorrow to see her, but I can’t stand it anymore. So here I am.

  The door swings open and, to my relief, there she is. She doesn’t look very friendly, and I don’t blame her after the way I acted last night. I shoot her an apologetic grin.

  It was my fault. I got carried away, and then I caught myself but it was already too late. I fucked up, and she’s pissed off. That much I understand.

  What I don’t understand, though, is just how much that bothers me. I’ve pissed off a lot of women. A lot. I’ve always been able to dust myself off in a matter of minutes. Last night, though, I tossed and turned, my mind tortured by the thoughts of me having hurt Emily again in some way. I can’t stand it.

  Miserable and sleep-deprived, I decided this morning to get her forgiveness, no matter what.

  I’ve only just started sleeping again. I can’t let myself slide back to the way I was. No way. If there’s even a tiny crack, guilt would pour in like water and fuck everything up. It would destroy everything I’ve worked so hard for.

  “Can I help you?” Emily plasters the sweetest fake smile on her face. Still, her lips look inviting enough to devour, reminding me of how close I had gotten last night to tasting those luscious lips. She has let her hair down, probably to lay on the bed, judging from the many stray strands sticking out of her head in all directions, glowing as they catch the warm light from the ceiling.

  “I’ve been looking for you all over. Can you let me in?”

  “I can. But why should I?” She raises one eyebrow, challenging me.

  Ouch. I guess I deserve that. Luckily, I have the perfect excuse.

  “I got you a replacement phone. I need to be able to reach you.” I step closer and place my hand on the door, gently pushing it. “I’ll show you how to set it up. It’s an old phone. Takes a few tricks to make it work.”

  “Okay.” She lets go of the door, turns around, and walks inside. I follow her and close the door behind me.

  As I enter the hotel room, I notice she hasn’t changed her clothes, but she has untucked her blouse and her shoes are lying on the floor.

  She’s barefoot with her clothes disheveled.

  Suddenly, I become hyper aware of my having entered her private space. This room, it smells like her, like wildflowers and citrus.

  She plops down on the chair by the desk, and I take a seat on the bed, mirroring the positions where we sat last night. This room and mine are pretty much identical. I can tell she’s also thinking about last night by the way she’s glaring at me.

  “When you told me you lost your phone, I realized I had a spare one in my room. It’s an old phone, but it should work fine to tide you over.” I hold up the phone in my hand.

  “So this is what they mean when they call you a micro-manager, huh?” She asks, taking the phone and inspecting it. “You like to do everything yourself, and you like people to do exactly as you tell them.”

  “Is that what they say about me? What else do they say?” I don’t really care about my reputation among my employees as long as they do good work, but Emily’s talking and I want to keep it that way.

  “That you have a temper and you fire people when you’re angry,” she says. “So how do you actually turn this thing on?”
>
  “You have to charge the battery first.” I give her the charging cable in my hand and gesture at the socket in the base of the lamp on the desk. “Why do they say that?”

  “They say you fired a guy last year. Someone from accounting. His wife was pregnant with their third kid and she didn’t work and it was right before Christmas. They heard you yelling and then they saw the guy walking out of the office with all his stuff in a box. The people at the office had to chip in to help with the hospital bills for the delivery of the baby,” she says. Having connected the phone to a power source, she places it on the desk, waiting for it to gather enough electricity to turn on.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. They made me out to be the grinch over that?” I throw my hands in the air. “Ted had been embezzling money. I don’t know why he didn’t have enough money for the delivery. He stole more than enough to cover it.”

  “They say you never do interviews for junior positions yourself,” she says, tilting her head and raising one eyebrow quizzically. She looks calm, but I can tell she’s been waiting to ask this question for a while from the way her hands aimlessly press the buttons on the still-off phone.

  “Evidently I do.” I shoot her a smile, but I can immediately tell from her scowl that’s not a satisfactory answer. It’s easier to stick with something simple. I shrug and say the simplest answer I can think of, “I probably had some free time on that day. I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?” She repeats, with the scowl still firmly glued on her face. She’s obviously still unhappy with my new, revised answer. “Do you know how much trouble it has caused for me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I do feel guilty over some things I’ve put Emily through, but she can’t expect me to take responsibility for how other people treat her, too. Especially when I’ve only been trying to help her. “I can’t keep up with the office gossip and decide which stories are true. I don’t control information. I don’t run a dictatorship.”