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

by Claire Adams

  When I was a little girl, I believed all the tripe Luke cooked up about everything he hated. Broccoli ranked just above getting hit in the face with a tree branch, so chances were his tirade was going to go on a while longer.

  “When are you going to start doing your part around here? I let you live here rent free. The least you could do would be to…” He stopped a moment to look around and find something to be mad about. When he realized his place had never been cleaner, and that fact had nothing to do with him putting forth any effort, he groaned, went to the cupboard next to the sink and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from inside.

  “I thought you quit years ago.”

  “I did. This is your fault.”

  “The cigarettes were already there, jackass.”

  “Whatever,” he said and walked out the back door, onto the deck.

  I knew Luke wasn’t really mad at me, just as well as I knew I wasn’t really mad at him. We’d both been working sixteen-hour days, and the only reason we were both home before the sun went down was because Luke “found” a problem with one of the latest reports and he “couldn’t do anything” until it was fixed. So, as another part of being a sibling means you let things slide, I decided to swallow the frustration and I went outside to join my brother.

  I got onto the deck and he held out the pack toward me, but I shook my head. “I still don’t smoke,” I told him. “I just wanted to talk to you a bit. I feel like we’ve been at each other’s throats for a while now, and I kind of miss having a normal conversation with you.”

  “It’s not my fault that—”

  “We’re both stressed out. It’s nobody’s fault.”

  Luke eyed me like I was trying to sell him something. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “What’s the deal with Mr. Carrick?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m in those meetings with you, but I never know what to say. Maybe if I knew something about the big boss, I wouldn’t be so timid about speaking up when I have a solution.”

  “What you need to do is just suck it up and say what you need to say. Only, don’t say it during the meetings. I’ll need you to run everything by me first.”

  “Okay, but when this project’s over, there’s liable to be another one, isn’t there?”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  The truth was I wasn’t quite sure, myself. I knew the chances of anything real happening with Dean again were beyond slim, but I still got a thrill contemplating what it would be like. Just like any addiction, though, thinking about dating a billionaire while taking a shower wasn’t cutting it anymore. If I could flirt with Dean and get away with it, I would do it just for that little bump of adrenaline.

  Of course, I couldn’t tell my brother any of this, so I had to take a different approach.

  “I’m not asking for his Social Security number or anything,” I told Luke. “If I could make an occasional comment so he remembers me after this project’s over, though, I think that’d be a good thing all around.”

  Luke took a drag off his cigarette and blew it out, saying, “I don’t know, just be yourself. You’re good at reading people and talking to people. I don’t know how I could help.”

  “You’ve known him a lot longer than I have.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like we’re bowling partners or anything. He’s my boss. That night he joined us for dinner at Amaretto Black was the first time he and I had sat down to a meal together. I think you’re just trying too hard to get too personal with him. He’s the big boss, just laugh at his jokes, answer questions when he asks them, and you’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to have a hard time remembering you. Like I told you in the restaurant, you’re pretty much his type.”

  “Pretty much?”

  “It’s not like we’ve discussed it over a shower at the gym or anything, but I’ve seen some of the women he’s dated in the past. Just don’t try to sleep with him or anything. That’ll get us both fired.”

  Oh, Luke. Oh, poor, simple, naïve, and stupid Luke. “So you’re saying I’m not good enough for your boss, is that it?”

  Luke scoffed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m saying.”

  That’s my brother, the sweetheart. He snuffed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe, leaving a tiny pockmark on the bottom. He hadn’t given me much, but maybe tomorrow when I went in, I’d forget to button my top button.

  Luke’s phone started ringing, and he pulled it out of his pocket to see who was calling. When he looked at the screen, he lit up another cigarette before answering. “This is Blair.” Covering the phone with his hand, Luke whispered, “Head on in, I’ll be just a minute.” Back into his phone, he said, “Yes, sir, actually there were some things I wanted to—yeah. Yeah, she’s staying with me for now.”

  I stopped halfway through the back door. Turning to look at my brother, I asked, “Who are you talking to?”

  He held up one index finger to me and said, “Sir, if you have any questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them, myself. Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure.” Luke took the phone from his ear and held it out toward me. “It’s Mr. Carrick. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Me? Why does he want to talk to me?”

  “See if you can get an answer to that. I’m going to go order some pizza. Don’t talk his ear off or you’re fired.”

  I took the phone. I’d been counting the number of times Luke has threatened my job since I’ve been working at Farnsworth & Temple. I’d been there a little more than a month, and he’d already said the words “or you’re fired” 126 times.

  Putting the phone to my ear, I said, “This is Marcy Blair.”

  “Marcy, it’s Dean. Look, I was wondering if you had any plans this evening.”

  Chapter Five

  Sweat

  The lights were out in the hotel room, and I was starting to get tired, but Dean was insatiable. That first night, the first night he called me, I was expecting something work related, or at most an invitation to dinner or something, probably with Luke in tow. When I met him in the bar of the same hotel we’d hooked up in the day before I started at the company, though, he didn’t even bother finishing his drink. Without a word, we went right upstairs.

  It had been two weeks. Most days, I didn’t hear from him or even see him, unless there was a scheduled meeting, but every Tuesday and Thursday night around eight o’clock without fail, I’d get that phone call. The problem with that night was that it was already 3:30 in the morning, and we hadn’t left the bed since I got there at 8:30. It wasn’t all sex, but I was starting to get concerned about dehydration.

  The problem with being human is you always want more of everything.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to stop.”

  Dean pulled out of me slowly before rolling over onto his back to catch his breath. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just getting a little sore.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Would you like some aspirin?”

  “I’d rather just lie here with you a little while longer.”

  “Okay.”

  The problem with my new “relationship” with Dean wasn’t that we only ever really got together to have sex. Actually, I was pretty happy about that. The problem was when we weren’t joined near the hip, neither of us had any idea what to say to one another. For about ten minutes, we just stayed there together, quietly.

  “You still awake?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be getting too much sleep tonight.”

  “I’m flattered, but I really am sore.”

  “No,” he laughed. “I meant with everything going on at work, my mind’s going to keep me up all night.”

  “Trouble at the office, boss?”

  “Not yet.”

  The silence returned like an unwelcome houseguest who can’t seem to find the door to leave. Finally, I rolled onto my side to face Dean, though I could hardly make out his face in the d
arkness. “I know we’re just having fun and there aren’t any strings, but I’d still like to know you better. If nothing else, it’d save us those kinds of awkward pauses between…well, you know.”

  There was another long pause, and I’d started to think Dean had either dozed off, or I’d crossed that invisible line leading back to nothing land. Eventually, though, he took in a long breath and said, “What kinds of things would you like to know?”

  “Just normal stuff,” I told him. “Where are you from? What made you decide to get into business? That sort of thing.”

  “I’m from here, actually. Not Manhattan itself, but I grew up not too far from here.”

  “Queens?”

  “No.”

  “Brooklyn?”

  “Isn’t all this stuff in like a hundred magazines, newspapers, and TV shows?”

  “Forget it.”

  If it were just that we were awkward together, that would have been one thing. Lots of people are awkward together when they first start a relationship—even a no-strings, sex-only relationship. Okay, no-strings, sex-only relationships tend to be the most awkward in general. I’d only ever had one, and it had taken me a lot longer than I’d like to admit to realize that’s what it was.

  The problem was he didn’t want to give me anything to go on. He was keeping me well beyond arm’s length, and I wasn’t sure what he thought I would do with the information I was asking about.

  Still, it was kind of offensive that he felt all right having sex with me, but clammed up when I asked where he grew up. It’s not like I was asking for the password to his online banking account, though I wasn’t convinced that would be any more difficult to pry out of him than anything else.

  “You’re upset.”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  For my part, I grew up in Brooklyn with my mom, my dad, and my little brother Luke who could do no wrong. I didn’t have a bad childhood, just an annoying one.

  I’d come home with a blue ribbon or a trophy, and I’d get a pat on the head from Dad as he told me, “Looks great, sweetie. Go put it with the others.” Luke, on the other hand, would come home with a third place trophy in a competition between two people and we’d go out for pizza and go-karts. I hated go-karts.

  I didn’t know why it is people feel the need to share information with one another, but that drive hadn’t left me, regardless. I wanted to tell Dean all that crap and about a million other insignificant details, but even if he were interested enough to listen, he’d never reciprocate. I’d have started feeling a bit used if I didn’t get just as much out of it as he did.

  Luke knew I was seeing someone. He’d even given me dating tips he’d learned from his time as a member of the upper crust. Most of it was borderline gaslighting, though he assured me “men love that sort of thing if you pull it off right.” I wondered if he’d have been so free and open with the dating advice if he knew I was rushing out to meet his boss, but I wasn’t willing to find out.

  “Yonkers,” Dean said. “I’m from Yonkers up in Westchester County.”

  It wasn’t what I’d expected, and I was in a bit of a bind. I had been encouraging him to open up, to talk about himself, where he comes from, and blah, blah, blah. The inherently stupid part about that was the moment he opened that door a crack, I realized exactly why I should have left it closed.

  I was interested in him, and I would have loved to know more about who he was on a personal level, not just stuff I could get from a grocery store tabloid. How I was supposed to respond without sounding like a really low-budget debutante, I had no idea. I could have started talking about myself, reciprocating and trying to show him he didn’t have to worry about telling me about his life; but if I did that, he’d find out really quickly that my life is a lot more boring and egregiously less impressive than his.

  What I should have done was cultivate that tawdry, forbidden aspect to the whole affair. I was the sister of his deputy CFO, after all. That was my strongest play, and I knew it as soon as he said the word Yonkers. Now I’d pried it out of him, though, I had to give him something in return.

  “The Bronx for a while, then the family moved to Queens,” I said finally.

  “What?”

  “That’s where I grew up.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you move around a lot when you were a kid, or did your family pretty much just stick to one place?” By that point, I simply had no recourse but to keep diving for information until I stopped feeling awkward, or until he asked me to stop.

  “Mostly just stuck to Yonkers,” he said. “To be honest, a big part of me thought I’d never make it out of there. Anyway, that’s all a long time ago.”

  “If it weren’t for the company, do you think you’d still live there?” Marcy, shut up. I wasn’t listening to myself.

  He sat up in bed. For a moment, it looked like he was either going to start yelling or leave the room, write me off, and have that be that. Through the darkness I’d insisted upon, I could see him hang his head a moment before standing up and heading toward the bathroom door. When he got to the doorway, he stopped, put a hand on the jamb.

  “The company didn’t get me out of there any more than moving to Manhattan did,” he said enigmatically. He flipped on the bathroom light and said, “I’m going to take a shower. You’re welcome to join me if you want, but I know how shy you are in the light. Your call.”

  I’d touched on something, and I knew it. In the past, I’d had trouble dropping things, even when I knew I really needed to drop them. That wasn’t going to happen this time, though. I was going to tell Dean I should probably get going anyway, that I had work in the morning. It’s that kind of loose, cheesy flirting that makes up over 90% of all realistic sexual banter. Those may have just been my own figures to date, but everyone seemed a little corny. If nothing else, at least I could maintain that cool-headed discretion that made the relationship possible in the first place.

  “Yeah, I’ll join you in the shower,” I told him. I had a lot of trouble listening to myself.

  Life is a long string of compromises. When faced with a decision, usually, it’s a choice between abject misery and relative misery, and you’re never quite sure which is better or worse between them.

  Because of our raucous—and very frequent—love-making, I had become too sore to continue justifying going on and would only have continued to avoid conversation. As I was wrapping the sheet around me for the fifteen-foot journey to the bathroom, I was choosing the relative comfort of having a shower and the potential more of my curiosity could be sated in exchange for my ability to adequately hide my body and I could potentially push that curiosity too far, destroying the relationship.

  Also, I liked framing blatantly irrational thinking in logical ways so I could pretend maturity while doing something inarguably juvenile. Dean was already in the shower, but I could see him well enough through the glass of the shower door to tell just when he was turning away from the water. That’s when I slipped in, and I immediately had my back to him. Once in the shower, I was too self-conscious to adequately remember why I’d followed him in there in the first place.

  Dean said, “Can I get some more water? You snuck in when I was mid-rinse, and my eyes are starting to burn.”

  “Sure thing,” I answered, keeping my back to him as I traded him places.

  After a minute spent lathering and being very aware of how red my face must have been, Dean broke the silence. “The way you’re keeping your back to me, I’m not sure if you’re giving me a green light, or if you’d prefer if I turn around, too, so you can rinse off more comfortably.”

  His directness, while often very attractive in a sexual context, felt like an accusation. “Don’t worry about it,” I answered. It was the only thing I could think to say, but he seemed to get the idea.

  “You’re a very attractive woman.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean that.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Dean si
ghed. “I’m about done anyway,” he said.

  He didn’t understand. How could he? His naked body was firm, impressive. Apart from my admittedly supple breasts, there wasn’t a lot on me I would proudly have displayed. If Dean were to decide to give up being a CEO, he could have a wildly successful career as a runway model. Looking down, every pound looked like two, felt like two.

  He stepped past me, and I angled my body so he wouldn’t have to see the front of me. Just as I could hear the shower door opening behind me, though, his arms were around me. He didn’t try to get me to turn around, and he didn’t try to peek at what I wasn’t ready for him to see. He just kissed me on the shoulder and a few seconds later, the shower door was closing behind him.

  It was a fling. I knew that. He knew that.

  It didn’t feel that way for the brief instant his arms were around me, though. There was a sort of acceptance in the gesture, it was an allusion to a very different kind of relationship to the one Dean and I actually shared. It made me a little uncomfortable, ironically because it didn’t feel uncomfortable or even like he was breaking the rules. It felt sweet, natural. That’s why I didn’t trust it.

  I finished washing myself and poked my head out the shower door to make sure the door to the bathroom was closed before I got out of the shower and grabbed a towel and a bathrobe. It was so silly. I couldn’t fathom a scenario where he’d even remember me in five years, but I was overwhelmingly worried about what he must have been thinking about me right then.

  Turning off the bathroom light, I opened the door, feeling the cool breeze of the air-conditioner. The room was dark, except a small line of candles next to the window.

  “I’m hungry,” Dean said. “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” I answered mechanically. Actually, I was starving. I’d missed dinner because I was getting ready to meet up with Dean, and I didn’t eat lunch because I was too distracted thinking about meeting up with him. It’s hard not to think about someone when they own the company where you’re working.