Billionaire's Best Woman - A Standalone Novel (A Billionaire Wedding Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #5)

by Claire Adams

  He headed towards the door, but I hesitated. I felt like a trespasser in that house, sure that each step would cause some catastrophe that would keep me in debt for the rest of my life. One careless elbow and I would owe his boss a priceless statue or antique vase.

  "Unless you're tired," Penn said, but opened the door and held out his hand.

  I took his challenge and let him lead me back into the luxurious glow of the mansion. He didn't stop on the first floor until the staircase. There, he glanced down at my high heels and said, "You can take those off and go barefoot if you'd rather."

  I battled between being comfortable and being appropriately dressed in such elegant surroundings. My aching feet finally won out, and I slipped my shoes off. Penn plucked them from my hands and tossed them by the newel post. I cringed as their non-designer label was revealed, but he didn't notice. Instead, he held out his hand.

  Our fingers laced together somewhere on the next flight of steps. I was stunned by how perfectly my hand fit in his, though I was terrified he could feel my jumping pulse.

  Penn led me through the house, punching light switches and opening doors with a casual ease that I envied. He was never once stunned into silence by the priceless artwork or wide-eyed by the million-dollar furnishings.

  Part of me wanted to play the part, pretend for a night that I was the rich person who owned such a lavish palace. I wanted to float through the rooms as if I owned them and take each expensive detail for granted.

  Instead, I padded through the rooms barefoot and was barely able to keep my mouth from gaping open. The more I saw, the more a sure feeling took root in me. I didn't really belong in such a mansion and the opulent surroundings weren't really what I wanted.

  "And this is the music room," Penn announced. He tossed open the door and slapped on the lights.

  A small dais stage complete with a microphone lit up like a beacon. "Does that ever get used?" I asked and pointed with a shaky hand.

  "My boss loves to entertain, and he's usually got a little jazz combo or some fancy soloist performing here," Penn said. He caught my other hand and the gold flecks warmed in his eyes. "Please tell me you want to try it out."

  "Me? No. There's no music. I couldn't," I stammered.

  Penn squeezed my fingers and pulled me across the room. He found a hidden switch and an entire bookshelf moved to reveal a state-of-the-art sound system. "Any song you want. Just name it and I can cue it up on this," he said.

  I freed my fingers from his grasp before he felt the cold sweat that broke out on my palms. "Didn't you say there was a wall of…oh, there."

  Penn grinned. "See the tablet on the wall? It's a catalog. Type in any album you can think of and it will give you the precise location."

  I smiled, relieved. "I always loved Billie Holiday."

  He typed on the tablet then pulled over a wooden ladder. Penn scaled the ladder with the ease of a practiced climber and pulled out the album. When he jumped back down next to me, he grinned again. "Did I mention that we can adjust the levels so you can sing along or sing by yourself with her band?"

  I didn't want to admit that I was tempted. It would be too easy to lose myself in the joy of it. The glittering lights of the bridges and the dark, swirling glow of the waves in the bay were too stunning a backdrop. The acoustically perfect and lavishly comfortable room was too close to a dream come true. And the thought of singing for just Penn, just the two of us and the music, threatened to incinerate me where I stood.

  "I know," he said with a snap of his fingers. "How about a little champagne, maybe a little snack from the kitchen? Maybe once you relax, I can plead for a song with better results."

  "Your plan is to soften me up with champagne and snacks?" I resisted the urge to pinch myself and instead laughed out loud. "It's worth a shot."

  Penn put the Billie Holiday album on and adjusted the levels so her voice was just barely audible. Then, he winked and took the stairs up two at a time. I circled the room and forced myself to take in every detail, but the small dais and microphone called me.

  I had finally curved a hand around the microphone stand and joined in the chorus when Penn returned. He wasn't alone and my shocked squeak reverberated through the room. "Your boss is Xavier Templeton!"

  The multi-billionaire tech giant tugged at the crisp cuffs of his impeccable suit. I had seen his image on a dozen magazine covers and countless times online. Xavier Templeton owned Silicon Valley, and he was the one that made the future with the nod of his head. I gripped the microphone stand and prayed I didn't faint in front of the richest man I had ever met.

  His handsome smile was just as perfect and shining as his dark, sculpted hair. He stepped into his music room and said, "Please, don't let me interrupt you. This is one of my favorite songs."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Penn - 4

  I hesitated over the intercom switch. My father's house was a marvel of engineering and a showcase for modern interior design, but the open floor plan allowed noise to filter up from every room. Especially when Corsica and I were the only ones home.

  Just thinking her name took my mind on a bumpy detour full of deep ruts. Mostly how extremely attractive I found her. Corsica was neither too firm nor too voluptuous, but there was something about her that I found entirely irresistible. Sure, the envious gleam in her eyes as we toured the house was turn-off, but I decided to withhold judgment. I'd withhold it until the image of her in that curve-clinging black dress, singing out the sultry lyrics of an old song lost its tight grip on my system.

  Thinking about the effect Corsica's voice had on me, I punched the intercom button and only felt partially bad for eavesdropping.

  She was already humming as she looked through the vast wall of album choices. For most people, humming was a nervous habit, but there was nothing anxious in her breathy sounds. There was the occasional gasp as she ran across rare and mint condition albums that rarely saw the light of day. I even caught a long, awe-filled whistle when she found the section of autographed album covers.

  As she muttered the famous names under her breath, I kept myself busying putting together a tray of tempting snacks. If I was going to ask Corsica to spend the night and ensure my father was not able to strong arm me into whatever scheme he had, then I was going to need to show her a good time.

  I bit my cheek and debated over caviar or salmon pate. Corsica had shown herself to be the kind of woman that longed for expensive and exclusive things. I had overheard that it was her dream to work at the Ritz-Carlton just so she could brush arms with the wealthy, but I wasn't sure how thick I could lay it on. I chose the fresh salmon pate my father's personal chef had whipped up that afternoon.

  As I searched for normal crackers instead of the hand-baked flatbread on the counter, I felt the disgust creeping back into my thoughts. This was the world I had grown up in and it was hard to realize just how easily I slipped back into it. I gritted my teeth and looked out over the panoramic view. There was plenty of world out there that did not rotate around money, and I needed to get back to as soon as possible.

  It didn't matter what my father had to say. His worried and stern voicemails, plus the few and vague answers my mother had given me, had drawn me in, but I could not stay. I was becoming surer and surer this was just another trick of my father's to try to hook me back into his empire.

  I needed to get back to the open air as soon as possible and Corsica was my way out. My father would never discuss anything serious in front of her, so all I had to do was ask her to stay with me.

  I open and shut a half dozen cupboards with no thought to the noise. In minutes, the tray was full of reasonably decadent food plus a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. I picked up the tray, turned towards the door, and almost dropped everything.

  Her voice touched me like a live wire, and I felt her singing through my body as if I were electrified. Corsica's velvet voice immediately conjured the memory of her on the small stage, silver microphone in hand. At the night
club, I had noticed how the hem of her skirt rode higher with each cadence of her lovely voice. It was as if Corsica's voice allowed her to finally enjoy her sexy body. Her long, lean calves flashed as she danced to the music, the neckline of her dress dipping as she rocked low over the chorus.

  I wanted to abandon the tray and run downstairs just to get a glimpse of her.

  The beep of the security monitor killed my mouth-watering anticipation. Someone was driving through the gates of the mansion and that meant only a short list of possibilities. The only people to know the gate code were my father's driver, Tom, myself, and my father's small personal staff. I glanced at the monitor and swore out loud. My father's impossibly tall driver unfolded himself from the driver's seat and loped around the car to open the passenger door.

  "Can't even open the car door at his own house in the middle of the night," I muttered through gritted teeth.

  I set the tray down in a prominent position on the kitchen island and waited for my father to find me. I saw his polished shoes descending the stairs first, then his tailored suit, his perfect, double-Windsor knotted tie, and his clean-shaven jaw. There was a flurry of silver hair over his temples that I had never seen before, but other than that, my father was still the same, imposing figure he had always been.

  Even drunk and raving, my father had looked impeccable. It was one of the things I hated most about the man.

  Xavier Templeton's eyes flickered up from his phone just long enough to catch the impression that I was in the kitchen. "Penn, I'm so glad you came. Here, let me look at you."

  I frowned as my father tucked away his phone and locked his eyes on mine. I didn't trust this new approach of his and figured sensitivity had to be the newest business tactic. Xavier Templeton was all about tactics: inspiration, intimidation, and stonewalling were his normal M.O. and the change made me uncomfortable.

  "I thought you said you weren't going to make it tonight."

  "This is important," Xavier said. He strode into the kitchen as if preparing to address a board of directors, but it was just me, the silver tray, and the bottle of champagne. "I see you had no trouble adjusting your plans. Or is this a spur of the moment thing? She, whomever she may be, might like the Beluga more."

  I bristled as he eyed the two champagne flutes. My father, of all people, had no right to advise me on romance. "Not spur of the moment, just private. We weren't expecting you."

  My father pounced. "You're in a relationship?"

  "Why is that so shocking?" I snapped.

  "Only because it doesn't happen that often, and I've never been so lucky as to meet one of your women."

  I picked up the silver tray just to stop both hands from curling into fists. "Well, tonight's not your lucky night. We were just finishing our little tour of how the rich and despotic live. We'll be in the garage apartment. Maybe we can talk in the morning. Maybe."

  "You mean you're taking this poor girl to the carriage house?" Xavier laughed at the ludicrous idea. "You really expect your girlfriend to see all of this and settle for that little attic? I'll invite her to stay and she can have her choice of guest suites."

  He beat me to the stairs, and my knuckles went white trying to resist the urge to throw the tray down after him. Not only had I made more out of my connection to Corsica than was true, but I knew exactly what would happen when she met my father. All women swooned over Xavier Templeton, but with Corsica's social climbing drive, she would turn into a drooling mess.

  "Is she singing?" my father whispered at the door to the music room. "My God, her voice really ignites the blood."

  I scowled, but said nothing. I thought the silver hair fanning out at my father's temples was the only change I would see, but now there was something different in his face. Something faraway and wistful. My father had never wanted for anything, so to see that expression in his eyes was enough to steal my voice.

  Then he stepped into the music room.

  "Wait, she doesn't-"

  "Please, don't let me interrupt you. This is one of my favorite songs."

  Corsica's laugh had the same lusty tone of her singing voice until I walked in and she realized the situation. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really didn't mean to trespass, sir. I'll just be on my… Oh, my, God, you're Xavier Templeton!"

  She dropped the microphone and clapped both hands over her mouth. My father chuckled and held out a hand to her. I dropped the silver tray onto a side table with a crash and cut him off.

  "She's right. We'll get out of your way, boss," I said.

  My father politely declined to move and held out his hand to Corsica. "Yes, I am Xavier Templeton. And, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

  "Corsica Allen," she said. "I read the interview you did for The Guardian and I'm impressed with the holistic view you have of technology."

  My jaw dropped, and Corsica's chin went up a notch when she noticed. She shook my father's hand and allowed him to escort her to the white, leather seats by the window. There was nothing I could do but watch. He had always been the picture of gallantry and, while Corsica's reaction to him had been one of the more coherent I had seen, she blushed at his attention.

  "I truly believe technology can better our lives, but only if it benefits all," my father said. "When tools are kept out of the hands of some, we as a people miss out on incredible talent. Like yours."

  "Mine?"

  "You were singing one of my favorite songs and now I will never prefer the old rendition."

  I cleared my throat and joined them to lay a hand on Corsica's shoulder. "It's late, and we really should be heading up," I said.

  My father shook his head and winked at Corsica. "He's always so secretive. I never get to meet any of the women he's dating, much less the special ones."

  Corsica's blush deepened and for a moment, I was caught by the storm of flattery and confusion in her eyes. Then her sky blue gaze cleared and she said, "I'm sure he did not intend for us to meet. You must have high standards for your staff, and I wouldn't want you to think he bent the rules for me."

  "Rules?" my father glanced up at me. "The last time I disciplined Penn for an infraction of the rules he must have been-"

  "Trying to get fired," I snapped.

  Corsica jumped to her feet, her face a mask of worry. "Why would you do that?" she squeaked. "You work for the most innovative and forward-thinking man in Silicon Valley. It would be crazy to throw that away."

  If only she knew how much I had thrown away, I thought.

  My father measured me with an arched eyebrow. "Penn, unfortunately, has the supreme confidence that he is irreplaceable. It often mars his manners."

  He knew. Xavier knew I had lied to Corsica about our connection. He also knew he held the balance of the room in his hand. Corsica thought I was nothing but his employee, perhaps nothing more than a groundskeeper, and I was certain my father weighed out what that information was worth as he strolled casually across the music room floor.

  Then, to my shock, he sat down at the piano and played a few flawless bars of the song Corsica had been singing. "Penn, pop that champagne before I fire you. Now, dear Corsica, how about a song? Even trade: I get to hear your heavenly voice, and you can ask me anything about my wayward employee here."

  She shook her head, and I thanked her shyness. Now all I had to do was maneuver her away from my father before his charm boosted her confidence. I was caught between two lies, and it was more important that Corsica was on my side than it was for her to know I was a Templeton.

  "We'll let you warm up," I told my father.

  I steered Corsica towards the silver tray where we could have a moment of whispered conversation.

  "You work for Xavier Templeton," she leaned close to me so he wouldn't hear us. "And, you didn't that was important enough to mention?"

  "No. We have an, um, contentious business arrangement. Long story." I took a deep breath and dove in. "The vital part of the story is that he now thinks we're a couple. Is there any way you could just g
o with that and save me?"

  Corsica's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "I don't know," she sighed as I popped the champagne cork. "You're really not my type. No one's going to believe it."

  I shoved a full champagne flute into her hand. "Pretty please?"

  She took the glass with one hand as the other trailed up my arm and squeezed my shoulder. "Well, since you asked so nicely, darling."

  My stomach was still kicking from the electricity of her touch when I turned to my father. "One for you?"

  "No, thank you."

  Then, Corsica slipped her arm around my waist and I lost the ability to think straight.

  My father smiled at us. "I know I am terribly out of practice," he said, his fingers still dancing over the ivory keys, "but I'm still hoping to tempt another song out of you."

  Corsica gave a breathy giggle and took a sip of her champagne. "Your playing is beautiful. I never learned to play piano."

  The tinkling music stopped. "You never learned piano? But you have such perfect pitch."

  She shook her head. "Shameless flattery. My mother pushed for piano lessons when I was young, but my father thought it was a waste of time."

  "A shame," Xavier said. "Children should be encouraged to follow their talents."

  I snorted. My father had never once encouraged me to pursue my passions or my talents. If my interests didn't align with the vision of his future empire, then he made certain they were cut off.

  Xavier cut off my slip-up with a dramatic crescendo. Corsica forgot my strange reaction and smiled at my father's impressive piano playing. She moved in to lean against the side of the baby grand piano.

  I took a few steps back and felt a heavy weight drop into my chest. I never knew my father could play piano. My last memories of him were as a weaving snake of a drunk that could strike at any moment. He had shown no interest in the piano other than a convenient resting place for his always full drink.