Taming The Billionaire

by Darcia Cobbler

  He liked her.

  He didn’t want to admit it, but he admired her spunk. And she’d agreed to dinner. He could tell she thought it was just a business meeting. She likely thought he’d just pressure her to fire her idiot assistant. But it was a date. He was going to get to know the girl behind those mesmerizing baby blues.

  And she was going to like it.

  He would make sure of it.

  ZOE

  Zoe breathed a sigh of relief and sank into the lavender-scented steaming hot water. The sting on her skin was heaven. She’d be red as a lobster later, but it was well worth it. Her skin would be coated in a layer of lavender oil and she’d be smooth as the day she was born. It would be amazing to sink between the sheets of her bed and sleep, naked and silky.

  Resting her head against the back of the claw-foot tub, she closed her eyes and thought about the confusing – and sexy – Mr. Cartel.

  He’d been oddly sweet. Sure, he’d been lewd, perverse, but he’d handled the whole situation with humor. No finger pointing, no humiliation. He’d resolved a conflict like a diplomat.

  She hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

  Hell, not from anyone. Most people she’d screwed up with had been loud, angry, even violent. People could get downright abusive when they spent money on something only to have it not be exactly what they envisioned.

  Generally, she hit it out of the park, but she wasn’t perfect.

  A knock at her door startled her into opening her eyes, but she shrugged it off. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Whoever it was could have called.

  As if reading her mind, the phone began to ring.

  She glanced over at it, deciding if she could play off an excuse. Would it confuse someone enough if she answered, said she was dead, and hung up? Nah, anyone she knew would freak out and call hospitals. Or call her back telling her she wasn’t funny. Good snark just isn’t appreciated enough.

  With a sigh, she answered the phone with her dry hand.

  Porter was on the other end, sounding frantic. “Zo, we need to talk, answer the door, please. I know you’re home, I saw your car, we need to talk now!”

  “Slow down, Porter,” she said, needing a second to come up for air. Porter was an intense individual, and he exhausted her. “Give me a minute.” She hung up and climbed out of the bath. Wrapping a towel around herself, she padded out to the door. Swinging it open for Porter, she made her way to the kitchen. A cup of chamomile tea might bring him to the realm of normal.

  “Zo,” Porter said, following her into the kitchen. “Some… guy came in. He…” Like all the air had been let out of a balloon, Porter hissed out his breath as if lost at how to proceed.

  “Did he threaten you?” she asked, setting the kettle on the gas burner. From the cabinet, she pulled the chamomile tea and a glass. She’d been through this enough to know he wouldn’t take honey or sugar.

  “No,” Porter said, sounding confused.

  She put the tea bag in the glass. “Did he yell at you?”

  “No,” Porter shook his head.

  She turned to face him, leaning on the counter. As if he’d just noticed she was in a towel, he met her gaze with more than a hint of guilt. “I’m sorry, you were trying to unwind, I know it must have been a rough day, I’m so sorry Zo…”

  “Shh,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s okay. I made it through. See?” she said, lifting an arm and sweeping it down herself. “Still in one piece. I’m indestructible, remember?”

  Porter laughed, a nervous, small giggle that made her feel a tiny bit better.

  “So what happened, exactly?” she asked as the kettle began to hiss.

  Porter seemed hesitant, and she could see he was upset. “It’s weird. He didn’t yell or threaten me. He was just…”

  “Intimidating?” she supplied, and his face lit up.

  “Yes,” he said, seeming surprised she understood.

  “Don’t worry about it, Porter. No stressing, okay?” She poured hot water over the tea bag and offered it to him.

  He took the glass and held it to his lips, as if breathing in the steam would be enough to calm him. His eyes met hers over the rim of the mug. Would you mind if I stayed?” he asked, his puppy-dog brown eyes begging.

  “Sure,” she said. “You know where the linens are and the couch is free.” This was a thing he did sometimes. She felt like she couldn’t figure him out. She was certain he played for the other team, but his preoccupation with her seemed… odd.

  But she was his boss and it was also none of her damn business. He was good at what he did, in spite of the occasional mix up. His notes were immaculate, he knew just the right questions to ask, and had a way of getting people to dig deep in their pockets for jobs. His upselling ability was legendary.

  And he was a great sidekick when she needed someone to stand shoulder to shoulder with on larger projects.

  “Were you in the bath?” he asked, and Zoe nodded. Moving toward the living room, she said, “I need it.”

  “Well, if you need a massage too, let me know.” Porter advanced, and, suddenly uncomfortable, she backed up a step. Backing away from him, she inched toward the bathroom, thinking she’d lock the door when she went back in, she shook her head.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Make yourself at home.” She turned.

  And standing in her open doorway, was Christopher.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, hating how breathless she sounded. Was the whole fucking world going to drop in unannounced and uninvited?

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said, staring from her over her shoulder to Porter.

  “I live here,” she said, staring him down.

  “Not you,” Christopher said. He nodded at Porter. “Him.”

  “He’s here to talk to me. What business of yours is that?” she said, challenging him. If he seriously wanted to throw down right here, in her living room, she’d fucking destroy him.

  “I thought we were on for dinner,” Christopher said, his emerald eyes glittering as they met hers. The hardness of them sent a bolt of lightning jolting right to her core.

  “Tonight?” she asked, feeling stupid as she ran through their conversation. At no point had they agreed on a day or time.

  He stepped over the threshold. “Not the devil, I see.” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Behind her, Porter let loose a nervous laugh.

  Christopher, though, he affixed a glare on her that reduced her to something less than whole. “Excuse me?” he said, his eyes narrowing as if he was daring her to say it again.

  “I said, not the devil, I see.” She kept her tone light as his body snapped taut. Despite the warning signs of imminent danger, she explained herself. “Mythology says the devil can’t some in unless invited. You were not invited, yet here you are.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said, staring her in the eyes. “That’s vampires. Vampires can’t enter without permission.” A slight grin tugged the corners of his serious lips. “So yes, I’m not a vampire. Whether or not I’m the devil is debatable.”

  Wondering now if she was wrong, she shifted uneasily. What he said rang true and she wondered how she could make such a stupid mistake. Still, something in her nagged that he seemed not only amused by, but appreciative of her snark.

  It was… interesting.

  From behind her, she could feel Porter’s rising tension. “That’s him,” Porter said in a stage whisper.

  In front of her, Christopher’s eyebrows lifted just a bit. “He knows I can hear him, right?” he said.

  “Wait,” Porter said, his tone suddenly angry. “You’re not going on an actual date with this toolbox, are you?”

  With a sigh of frustration, Zoe tossed a glance back at him. “It’s not a date,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s a date,” Christopher said.

  Leveling a glare at him, she said, “No, it’s not.”

  “We’re going to dinner. Sounds like a date to me.” Chr
istopher glared past her at Porter.

  Zoe lowered her head and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. “It’s a business meeting. Not a date.” What the hell was wrong with these guys? Did all the brain cells of them men in the room suddenly vacate the premises?

  Tired of all of it, she stepped aside and angled behind Porter just enough to shove him forward toward an impassive Christopher. Pushing both men toward the door, she began to speak.

  “I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, I’d like to unwind, why don’t you boys go figure shit out somewhere else?”

  In her doorway, she glared at both guys, aware of how she must look, naked in a towel, shoving a couple guys out of her apartment.

  Porter looked shocked and upset, but Christopher merely said, “Thursday at five.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  She stared after him, wondering what he meant. It took a moment for her to realize he was probably telling her that was when they’d do dinner.

  And as much as she wanted to tell him to go jump off a cliff, she desperately wanted to pick his brain.

  Porter stood, staring at her as if she was some alien before he, too, turned and left.

  With a sigh of relief, she closed and locked her door. It was a full minute before she realized she was hovering by the door because his intoxicating scent clung to the space.

  Christopher had been in her house.

  Excitement shivered through her as she thought about his intense emerald eyes and the way his lips had moved when he told her the day and time. He was so very intense. So demanding. So sexy. Would she even survive dinner with him? Of course she’d live, she didn’t think he was some psycho killer or something, but part of her worried she might lose a very real part of what made her who she was if she met with him.

  Dismissing the train of thought as silly, she made her way back to her bath.

  ZOE

  The ultra-delicate hand-piping on the cake held Zoe captive. Her tongue found a home between her lips, just barely. Totally focused on the pretty spiral that looped out and down into another spiral, she found herself at home. The powder blue cake was an important milestone in someone else’s life journey.

  She could feel the strain in her shoulders and neck at holding so still for so long. But she had three more spirals to do and the cake would be done. It would sit in the fridge for the next forty minutes until the very pregnant Mrs. Kimble came in with her best friend to pick it up.

  As the icing flowed from the precise tip of the decorating bag, she enjoyed the flow of music to her ears. Something about the beat, the steady perfection of music helped keep her in the zone. With the final touch, she straightened up and backed away a few steps to admire the exactness of her handiwork.

  It was beautiful. Three layers of powder blue. Layer one had white fondant spots, layer three had white fondant stripes, but layer two had her perfect hand-piped spirals.

  It was breathtaking.

  A movement caught her attention and she met familiar emerald eyes head on. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the front room, and she realized he might be talking to her. Pulling her headphones off, she stared at him. Why was he here?

  His navy suit was immaculate, and her heart began to sink. What time was it? A glance at the clock told her everything. She was late.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, but he held up a hand.

  “Art cannot be rushed,” he said, his rich tone even and sexy.

  Zoe gulped. Looking down at her tee shirt, she realized she was a mess. She’d had to take off her jacket, since it was hindering her ability to use her arms and shoulders. The thing was dreadful for delicate work. Her strawberry blond hair was piled on her head messily, and she knew there were streaks of white and powder blue icing on her clothes.

  From behind his back, he pulled a beautiful baby blue dress she was certain was the exact shade of her eyes. “I come bearing gifts,” he said, and she began to shake her head. “I guessed your size,” he said, and her hackles went up.

  “That was very rude of you,” she said, and he seemed surprised.

  He answered without missing a beat. “Why? Because if I guessed too small I’m calling you fat, but if I guessed too big I must think you’re fat?” An easy grin chased the words and her heart melted just a tiny bit.

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “I’m very confident,” he said, holding the dress out. She took it, in awe of the soft material. It was beautiful. Much more beautiful than anything she’d ever worn.

  “Let me go change really quick,” she said, hoping she didn’t stink after so many hours of strain. She took the dress to the employee bathroom, thankful the room was kept immaculate. With trembling fingers, she changed. The top plunged between her breasts, making them seem like so much more than they actually were.

  The waist clung, but had a whimsical flow. The whole thing left her feeling beautiful, yet not overdressed. In the mirror, she took out her hair and ran her fingers through to comb out the tangles. Giving it a quick French twist, she wrapped the hair tie up in it and hid it well. The up-do wasn’t perfect, but it was passably elegant.

  With the pass of a tissue under her eyes to remove stray make-up, she felt pretty. Carrying her clothes, she left the bathroom, marveling at how the slightest hint of a breeze sent the dress fluttering behind her.

  Barefoot, she made her way to the front and found Christopher facing away, talking calmly to an agitated Porter.

  Porter caught sight of her and stared in awkward silence.

  But Zoe only saw Christopher as he turned to face her. His eyes studied her, and she felt certain he approved, though he said nothing. He merely observed her in silence. He offered her a pair of shoes, cute little ballet flats the same hue as the dress.

  She took them and slipped them on, feeling awkward at Porter’s continued stare. “For fuck’s sake, close your mouth,” she hissed. “I’m not a bridge troll. This isn’t some teen aged ugly-to-impossibly-beautiful flick.” She knew she wasn’t being fair, but her anger refused to be contained.

  With her head held high, she swept past both men and into the main room of her bakery. Behind the counter, she grabbed her purse and headed to the front door. At the door, Christopher’s hand closed around her arm, just above the elbow.

  She turned to face him. His eyes hinted that he was proud of her, and warmth flooded her veins. “One more thing,” he said, his sensual voice barely above a whisper. Goosebumps raced along her flesh and a sudden flash of him kissing her sizzled in her mind.

  Pushing the crazy thought aside, she asked, “What?”

  What more could he possibly expect of her?

  From his pocket, he pulled a silver chain. On it, a teardrop of the palest aquamarine hung, framed by diamonds.

  Her lips parted to deny him, but he stepped behind her and fastened the chain before she could protest. “My grandmother wore this when my grandfather first took her out. He swore she married him because the necklace brought him good luck.” He placed gentle hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. His fingers adjusted the pendant as he spoke. “She wore it every day up until the day she passed.” His eyes darkened, and she sensed raw grief. “And when they gave it back to grandpa, he said his good luck had run out. He died two days later.”

  Struck, she reached up to touch the pendant. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered. The necklace was warm to the touch, as if it had absorbed his body heat and now warmed her skin.

  His eyes met hers, all seriousness and steel. “Me too.”

  With that, he took her free hand and led her out of the shop.

  CHRISTOPHER

  Every fiber of his being swore the necklace fit her perfectly. He’d never had a girlfriend wear it. And here he was, like an idiot, letting a near stranger wear it. Though, judging by how easily she touched it, she had no idea how much it was worth.

  To him, its worth was in the way she lit up as she realized he was sharin
g an intimate piece of himself with her.

  Her warm fingers linked with his, and he felt like she fit him perfectly. The dress fluttered around her slim legs and caressed his thighs. Her chin was up like she wanted to do battle, but she was beside his side, facing the world with him.

  The image of the moment seared into his periphery and he committed it to memory.

  In silence born of a sense of awe of her, he opened the car door for her and rounded the hood to get into the driver’s seat. She’d stunned him. Somehow, she was at home in the dress despite the drab tee shirt and jeans she’d been wearing. Nothing could have prepared him for how her slight curves rocked the dress. He’d nailed her size, mostly thanks to his mother. She had a sharp eye, and since she’d been a professional seamstress before his father had scooped her up, he’d trusted her judgment.