Beauty and the Billionaire

by Claire Adams

  Happy. I'd been happy. Then the night turned into one of the best of my life, and I screwed it all up the next morning. I was exactly like my father, except there were no twelve steps to repair the damage my ego had done.

  I paced around my suite like a caged animal until it was time to put on my suit. I knew Xavier had made the dinner reservations and it would please them both if I, for once, tried to act like a civilized man.

  "Now that is a fine cut suit," Xavier said when he saw me. He slipped out of the guest room and shut the door behind him. "Might as well get comfortable. Your mother is trying out a new look."

  "She's really feeling better?"

  My father smiled. "She really is. Every second of it feels like a miracle. That's why I was so sharp about your comment earlier. I know you were just teasing us about the wedding, but you understand how important it is to us, don't you?"

  I cringed. Even my own family thought I didn't have the ability to care. "You know I'll be there even if you two decide to get married in a meadow at dawn."

  "God, let's hope not," my father joked. "We know it's going to be outdoors, but I'm trying to steer your mother towards a garden or something with at least a few vestiges of civilization."

  He kept talking about the wedding plans with a smile on his face. I watched him and suddenly couldn't take it anymore.

  "I forgive you."

  "What?" Xavier asked, taking a step back.

  "I know you never wanted to hurt her. I know it was just the alcohol. You've really turned everything around, and I know it wasn't easy. I forgive you." I felt like an elephant eased off my chest and walked away.

  Tears sprung to my father's eyes as he stumbled forward to fold me in a hug. "I really am sorry, Penn. There is nothing I can do to change it except tell you I think about it, think about how I was to you, and I regret it every day."

  "It's over," I said, my throat hot. "Now let's figure out how to tell Alice you want a garden party wedding."

  My father laughed. It took him a moment to steady himself and even then, he kept a hand tight on my shoulder. "Next you have to forgive yourself, Penn."

  "For what?" I asked, immediately tense and stepping away.

  Xavier smoothed down his tailored suit, but kept his eyes steady on me. "You had every right to hide your financial status. We have to be guarded; it's just part of the territory when you have that much money."

  I shook my head. "But I was so hard on her. I made fun of her for wanting money. I made her think that I was better because I didn't need money and all the time, my bank account was climbing into the stratosphere. I made her feel bad for wanting something I was taking for granted."

  "So you made a mistake," my father shrugged.

  Alice appeared at that moment and tuned into the conversation as if she'd been in the room the whole time. "There are no mistakes," she declared. "There's only what you choose to do next."

  "How very Zen. Thanks," I muttered.

  My mother swept over and cupped my face in both hands. "You changed directions once, remember? It was drastic and it took you far away from your father and me. But, it brought you to where you needed to be. So why are you so afraid of changing directions now?"

  I took her hands and squeezed them, not quite up to meeting her sharply intuitive gaze. "I can't go back."

  "No you can't," Alice said, her voice certain and strong. "But you can stop hemming and hawing over the next step and just take it already. You know what you want to do, so get on with it."

  I tried to brush off her words, but they stuck hard in my chest. "How about we have dinner first."

  My father saved me with another slap on the back. "Excellent idea. And wait until you try the salmon at this new restaurant. You'll swear they fished those fillets straight out of heaven."

  Alice stopped and gave us a mischievous smile. "About that restaurant."

  My father and I groaned. Every time Alice had that expression on her face, we had ended up trying some authentic hole-in-the-wall where we didn't speak the language and the food set our senses on fire.

  "Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure?" she asked.

  My mother was impossible to resist, but we complained the whole way there.

  "If I'd have known, I would have eaten at home," I said.

  My father held up his hand and whispered, "I would have stuffed some crackers in my suit pocket."

  "And antacids," I added.

  "Enough," Alice said with a laugh. "We're here."

  Both Xavier and I were shocked when we stepped out of the car. My mother, the wild bohemian, had chosen an old-fashioned supper club.

  The sign still buzzed with red neon, though the exterior was completely new and very swanky. A gold-colored awning sheltered a red carpet up the steps to heavy oak doors. Inside, the restaurant glowed with candles in jars on each table. The wood-paneled walls offered the only other light from sconces. The curved booths were covered with red leather and the floor was a wild swirl of old-fashioned paisley.

  "This is great," Xavier breathed. "I bet they even have rare steaks here. Actual rare steak."

  I hung back as my parents followed our white-jacketed waiter to a booth. All I could think was Corsica should be there. She would have delighted in the way my parents walked with arms wrapped around each other, but more than that, she would have loved the stage.

  There was a small, raised dais of a stage with a grand piano and a row of gilded stalls for a full jazz band. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the single, vintage microphone sparkling under the spotlight. It was like a beacon showing me the first time I saw Corsica sing.

  That very moment when I fell in love with her.

  "Penn? Are you coming?" my mother asked.

  "In a minute," I said, turning back to the front door. "I have to make a phone call."

  "If it's work, it can wait," my father advised.

  "Nonsense," Alice said. "Whatever it is can wait until we've ordered at the very least."

  I had no choice but to slide into the booth and listen to a novel length's explanation of the daily specials. When my father asked about the steaks, the waiter launched into a whole other spiel and I thought I might lose my mind.

  "I really need to make a phone call," I said through gritted teeth.

  My mother patted my hand. "I know, dear. If you're in such a hurry, you can order first."

  "Ladies first," Xavier said. Then, after my mother ordered, he took forever to decide on what sides to have and what dressing would go best with his salad.

  "I'll have whatever that first special was. Just the standard sides. No dressing," I snapped when the waiter turned to me.

  His eyes widened slightly but he bowed. "Very good, sir. Enjoy the show. Your food will be out shortly."

  I stood up from the booth so fast that the silverware jangled. "I just have to make a quick call," I lied. If I got Corsica on the phone and she didn't hang up with me, I knew the conversation could very well take all night. In fact, it would probably go better if it was face to face.

  I was about to make my excuses and call for my car when the house lights dimmed and the stage lit up. A band shuffled on, looking relaxed and ready for a good show. My mother tugged me back into the booth. It was a good thing, too, because my legs turned to jelly.

  After the musicians took their places, Corsica appeared on stage. She floated along looking like some figment of my desires in a perfect black dress and patent-leather pumps. Her hair was loose and spilled over her shoulders, glowing in the soft light of the spotlight. She looked at home, happy, and in her element.

  The music swelled, and I stopped breathing. Stars burst along the corners of my eyesight before I could manage a shaky breath. Corsica opened her smiling mouth and sang the first verse of the song that had haunted me all through my trek across the desert.

  I blinked and stopped breathing, then gasped for air. Corsica was either a mirage come to life or I had somehow gotten my wish. I wanted to talk to her face to face a
nd there she was.

  I stood up though my mother tried to stop me. The gravitational pull of Corsica in that spotlight was too strong. I had to be near her, I had to know she was real. I walked through the tables scattered around the small stage until I was standing directly in front of her.

  She saw me and kept singing, each note drumming all of my doubts away.

  I loved Corsica. That was it. That was all I could think and when the song ended and the whole restaurant paused to hear me address the angel in the spotlight, that was all I said.

  "I love you."

  Corsica apologized to her band and stepped down to face me.

  I didn't even give her a chance to speak, the words tumbled out of me. "I love you, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

  "So where have you been?" she asked, her eyes bright.

  "It doesn't matter," I said, taking her hands. "Everywhere I go just leads back to you."

  Then she smiled. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Epilogue

  I ran down the beach as fast as I could, but even the punishing pace couldn't burn away the joy I felt. The beach house was more than my finish line. It was my home.

  "What's your hurry?" Penn called from the deck. "Now that you're done with your morning run, we're going back to bed, right?"

  I laughed despite my heavy breathing. "I thought you wanted to sleep in."

  "Only with you." He caught me as soon as I stepped on the deck.

  "Stop! I'm all sweaty!"

  He nuzzled my neck and growled deep in his throat. "And, you taste delicious."

  "No, really stop. We have to get ready. Today's the big day," I reminded him.

  Penn didn't stop until his kisses made me lose track of all time. Then he leaned back and beamed down at me. "We can be late, can't we?"

  I shook my head, though I was too content to leave his arms. "The ceremony can't start until we're there."

  "I can't wait to walk you down the aisle," Penn said with another hungry kiss.

  This time I did push him back, the bright ring on my finger glinting in the morning sun. "That's not until April. Today is all about your parents."

  "Today is all about love, as my mother keeps reminding me. Surely, she'll understand if love is what makes us late."

  I couldn't resist Penn any longer. I distracted him with a kiss and then lunged for the sliding glass door. "I'll race you to the shower."

  He caught me halfway through the kitchen and I was overjoyed when those hard, tattooed arms closed around me. I looked up at him and wondered again how lucky I was.

  Once we were done with assumptions, it was just us and we were so very happy.

  That’s the end of the Beauty and the Billionaire. Below I included 5 of my previous books to read as a free bonus.

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  BAD PROFESSOR

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams

  CHAPTER ONE

  Clarity

  I heard my own heels clicking fast across the foyer floor. The next song came over the living room speakers and I breathed a sigh of relief. Addictive rhythms ran through the crowd and grabbed hold of both faculty and students. Other than the occasional tapping toe and slight bounce of the head, it was hard to see, but the party had hit the right tone.

  Maybe party wasn't the right word. There was plaid tweed, too many khakis, and a wide array of sweaters. It was definitely an official Landsman College sanctioned gathering. The Dean of Students tried every year to introduce the Honor Council nominees to the faculty in a fun way. This year, fueled by a joke list of movies he was told to watch over the summer, Dean Dunkirk had announced a house party.

  Students snuck beers or spiked lemonades in the prerequisite red plastic cups, while faculty drank aged wine or fine spirits out of the same. The music was a mash-up of classic acoustic guitar rock, and toned-down student favorites. I had even moved some of the furniture aside and made hang-out spots with over-sized throw pillows. Ping pong was a big draw on the back, three-season porch. Mason jars of tea lights added a simple elegance and the food was easy, grill-inspired finger foods.

  Everything was perfect, and I searched for something to do. I imagined being a full-blown journalist and swept the collegiate crowd again in search of headlines. As I smiled and mingled, I wrote leads in my head.

  Cut from the same cloth, student and coach wore the same sweater.

  Endless summer, English professor returns from California vacation and continues her taste for Napa wines.

  "Is that her bored smile?" Jasmine asked the petite girl beside her.

  "I can't tell; I think it's pasted on." Lexi's short brown curls bounced as she tipped her head, studied Clarity, and flipped to the other side.

  "Very funny. Where have you two been?" I asked my best friends.

  "A little pre-party with some football players." Jasmine's tall, willowy figure shuddered with delight. "Looks like it's going to be a good season."

  I couldn't fault my friends, but I focused on the house party. "You were supposed to be here helping me."

  Jasmine tossed her blonde hair. "Like you needed us. Everyone's having an honorably great time. More importantly, have you decided what you're doing for Thanksgiving break? I vote we stay on campus and enjoy some of the real parties. No offense, Clarity."

  I laughed, "None taken. I'm sticking around for break so I can get a head start on some of my journalism classes. Intermediate News Reporting is going to be a big step up."

  Lexi rolled on her tip toes to nudge Jasmine in the ribs. "We heard the one to look forward to is Multi-Media Production and Storytelling."

  "Oh yeah," Jasmine's eyes sparkled. "The, uh, syllabus looks really, really good."

  "Maybe that's why she's going to stay on campus with us during break," Lexi said. "You know, so she can attend her professor's office hours."

  "Are you saying the professor's supposed to be hot?" I asked. "You know that little fantasy doesn't work for me. The Dean of Students is my father, remember?"

  "All we're saying is take some good notes for us. We want to hear every detail," Jasmine grinned.

  I rolled my eyes. "We're past junior high, right? Last time I checked, we were juniors in college."

  Lexi collapsed against my arm and giggled harder. "Hey, we can't all be fulfilled by careers alone."

  "Speaking of fulfillment, you should have seen the new quarterback," Jasmine said.

  I sighed as I saw a guest empty a wine bottle. "Look, I've got to go restock the bar. Are you going to stick around for a while? Please?"

  "Ooh, she wants to hear about the quarterback," Lexi winked. "I guess we can stick around for a while."

  "You have to, Lex; you're nominated for Honor Council," I reminded her.

  "Oh, shit, that's right."

  Jasmine dropped to the sofa in a new fit of giggles and dragged Lexi down with her. I took a quick spin through the dining room to see if anyone needed anything. Conversations were relaxed, red plastic cups were full, the silver trays of food were still over half full, and everyone was engaged.

  The tall, brunette economics professor broke from her department friends and strode across the dining room. She paused near the back hall, under the stairs, then turned around as if she had forgotten something. The other female professors fluttered when she returned and their heads bent together to discuss something.

  One of the French professors watched with a frown as his wife took the long way to the bathroom by going through the back hall. I could t
ell from a few other glances that some gossip was centered under the stairs. I clipped across the hardwood floor to a better vantage point.

  When I turned around, the room kept spinning. The man standing half in the shadows, leaned against the built-in dresser under the stairs, and stood out from the Landsman College crowd. Long legs in dark denim stretched down to artfully scuffed Italian boots. His crisp, white shirt stood out under a charcoal sport coat. A thick brush of dark stubble covered his square jaw and black, glossy hair rioted on his head despite the short cut.

  He smiled and his metallic gray eyes touched me like a live wire. I hoped the jolt wasn't noticeable, but his smile widened and fried my circuits.

  Alright—I see what the fuss is all about. I forced myself to turn back to the diminishing bar. There, I busied myself with unloading full bottles of wine from a box hidden in a corner cabinet of the dining room.

  It was impossible to ignore the electric hum of him behind me. I caught myself glancing back under the stairs. He wasn't talking to anybody, but seemed content observing. Then his magnetic eyes touched me again.

  Now I have to go talk to him, I prodded myself. I have to ask if he needs anything, that way he'll think I'm attentive, not attracted to him.

  I determined the voltage that played along my skin had to do with not eating enough while playing hostess. It was not the direct effect of watching his white button-up shirt shift over a tanned chest.

  "Can I get you anything?" I asked the sinfully handsome man.

  He leaned farther back and scrubbed a hand over his chin as he looked at me. "How about your name? I'm Ford."

  The texture of his voice played a line of shivers down my back. "Nice to meet you, Ford. I'm Clarity."

  One thick, black eyebrow raised, but his lips curved in appreciation. "Just what I need."

  "I'm heading to the bar; I'll bring you back a drink.” I fought off a rising blush.

  I left before he could say anything. I'd seen his empty glass and decided to take a chance. For some reason, I wanted an excuse to pull myself together and talk to him again.