The Billionaire Game 2

by Lila Monroe

  “Where’s the narrative?” Evangeline asked. “You’ve got a good beginning, Asher, and Ms. Jameson, but that’s all you’ve got. I can’t fill a whole article with product placement; I need a compelling storyline.”

  “And you’ll have it,” Asher promised, “and before anyone else too. Come to the opening, Evie, and you’ll see.” He brought his hand to her lips. “You’re not going to let some fusty old editor keep you from the fashion scoop of the year, are you?”

  Evangeline chewed her lip. “The opening’s in six days?”

  Asher nodded.

  “Okay, that’s enough time for me to get it in under deadline. I’ll bring my tape recorder and a cameraman, we’ll do a proper in-depth interview and full photo spread.” She was getting excited now; visions of fashion journalism awards no doubt dancing her head. She wagged her finger warningly at Asher and me. “But you two better not disappoint me! I’ll be going out on a limb with my editor for this.”

  “Have I ever disappointed you?” Asher asked smoothly.

  Evie shook her head, grinning. “Only when you refused my marriage proposal, handsome. Gotta jet, text me later?”

  Asher held up his phone. “Got you on speed-dial.”

  They cheek-kissed and she left, and I tried to keep sitting upright under the assault of more emotions than I had known a human could simultaneously experience.

  Jealousy, gratitude, excitement, panic, hurt, lust—I couldn’t believe Asher would flirt with someone like that in front of my face, and yet I wanted to leap in the air with joy that I was getting written up in Blossom, and I wanted to explode with anxiety at the ever-shrinking deadline, and I wanted to fuck that smug smirk off Asher Young’s face right on this fancy tablecloth—

  Asher remained oblivious to my mental turmoil, calmly sipping at his glass of mineral water as if scoring a high-flying fashion journalist’s attendance at an unknown store’s opening was a feat so insignificant it didn’t merit another second’s thought.

  “So, is that how you get so much good press for all your businesses?” I asked him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that the secret of your business empire? Flirting?”

  He shot me that troublemaking grin that made my panties want to spontaneously combust. “Hey, whatever gets the job done.” He slid a menu towards me. “Want something to eat? My dime.”

  “No thanks.” My emotions were settling down, the herd thinning out to just two: jealousy and panic. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  I’d thought the stakes were high before, but now? One wrong move, one too-snarky remark, one satin bow out of place, and that Blossom article could send my entire dream crashing down in flames.

  SEVEN

  You know how a volcano is, the week before it erupts? Earthquakes, landslides, rumblings, all as the magma underneath shakes and shivers and presses upward, just itching to explode?

  Well, that’s exactly how I was with less than a week till the opening. ‘Sleep’ and ‘eat’ were words in a foreign language, and every time I thought I had a problem solved, another two popped up like my life thought I wanted to play Whack the Weasel.

  Thankfully, Asher showed up just in time for me to yell at him.

  “No, I cannot give you a quote right now, because my brain has become completely fried from trying to sort fabrics that my past self for some reason sorted by color when they should have been sorted by price, and now I’m going to lose another three hours trying to fix this and nothing is going to get done and it’s all going to be ruined—”

  Asher backed away, his hands raised in surrender and eyes wide as if I were an entire brigade of soldiers. “Is this…is this PMS?”

  He very narrowly dodged the bolt of Thai silk I threw at him. “It’s stress, you condescending asshole! Believe it or not, I can actually be upset about things when blood isn’t leaking out of my vagina!”

  “I believe you, I believe you,” Asher said hurriedly. “When was the last time you had a chance to relax?”

  “When do you fucking think?” I threw my purse at him, missing again. My wallet burst open, scattering small bills and loose change and Starbucks gift cards everywhere. I stared at the mess, and very nearly started to cry.

  It was a disaster. Everything was a disaster. My whole fucking life.

  “Kate...breathe, Kate.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, and he retreated to the other side of the room and starting picking up the scattered contents of my wallet. He paused, a photo in his hand. “Paintballing? You don’t strike me as the type.”

  “Oooh, you made a mistake when judging someone’s personality? Color me shocked.” I wiped my watery eyes with my sleeve.

  “Look, I think we’ve both been pushing you too hard,” Asher said. “Putting in the hours is important, but so is taking care of yourself so you don’t crash and burn. Why don’t you introduce me to the joys of paintball?”

  I shook my head. “I have so much to do…”

  “And how much of it will you get done if you drive yourself crazy like this? Do you feel on top of your game? Ready, willing, and able to produce your very best work?”

  Well, he had a point.

  #

  “Stop twitching, Asher. The plebes might catch the scent of your blue blood.”

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  Asher had originally wanted to go to a fancy course he’d heard good things about, but when I pointed out that the prospect of running into other potential investors and customers would just make everything a billion times more stressful, he’d agreed to try the Paint Emporium.

  I insisted on paying—he’d spent enough on me for business already, I didn’t need to feel in his debt for personal matters, too—and helped him into a pair of paint-splattered overalls and an equally trashed plastic helmet that buckled under the chin. Those paintballs could sting like a motherfucker. I would know.

  “I’ve heard this is the look this season for all the fashionable young billionaires,” I said, snapping a photo with my cell phone.

  “You’re not—you’re not putting that on Facebook, are you?” Asher asked, panic dawning in his eyes.

  “Maaaaaaaaybe.”

  Asher had been right. I was feeling less stressed already.

  We walked out to the field, where three teenagers were messing around with their guns and masks, pretending to shoot each other in the face. An employee knocked their guns down and blew a whistle, beckoning me and Asher closer.

  “All right, here’s the rules. We’re playing a simple elimination game today. A solid hit to the body or equipment, and you need to call out your status, hold your gun above your head, and make your way to the dead zone here. Paint splatter doesn’t count; if you’re unsure, call “paint check!” and everyone will freeze while I come to make an assessment. Last man or woman standing wins the game for their team. To your places!”

  He blew the whistle again and Asher and I ran for our home base, adrenaline flooding my body as our feet pounded the earth in sync. Why hadn’t I thought of doing this before? There was nothing like shooting the shit out of something to relieve some anxiety.

  Home base was behind a stand of pines, we ducked behind it and peered out. I gaped. “Do you see what I see?”

  “Teenagers being little shitheads?” Asher asked.

  Instead of running to their home base first, our opponents had followed us straight back and taken up offensive positions surrounding us. I swore.

  “You know what I think?” Asher said. “I think these little punks need an education.”

  “I like the way you think,” I told him. “So here’s the plan…”

  #

  I dove deep into the underbrush, drawing fire from all three of our opponents as Asher took the opportunity to scramble up the pine next to our home base.

  Two of his shots took out their targets, the third went wide. The pimply teen scrambled through the brush, trying to take cover, but I blocked his exit. He squeezed off five shots that I easily evaded, the paint not even
splattering me. His retreat took him directly into the stream that wound through the course, where he slipped on the rocks; both my paintballs and Asher’s catching him multiple times in the chest.

  “That’s teamwork, bitches!” I said, and gave Asher a high five as he dropped from his tree. “Eat a dick and choke on it!”

  “Chill out, lady. It’s just a game,” the shot-up kid said as he struggled to his feet and made his way back toward his friends, dripping water and paint as he went.

  “Have you always been this bloodthirsty, or is this just an attractive new side of you I’ve not heretofore encountered?” Asher sounded almost as breathless as I felt.

  “Me? Oh, I’m even bloodthirstier.” I leveled my gun at him and grinned. “Sorry, Asher—this is a coup.”

  I pulled the trigger, and the gun—clicked.

  Shit.

  “Looks like someone forgot to count,” Asher said, his dimple flashing as he grinned and leveled his own gun at me.

  Which left only one option: running tackle.

  “Oof!” Asher went down hard, his paintball gun flipping out of his grip as I pinned him against the mossy ground. The next second, though, he flipped me over, using his greater strength to trap me beneath him, his eyes flashing.

  Our breathing was ragged and rough as we wrestled for dominance, the scent of crushed grass and pine needles and Asher’s sweet cologne filling my nostrils as I gripped his shoulders, firm and muscular and—

  And Asher’s face was right over mine, our eyes locking as his hips ground against me, his lips only inches away—

  He leaned down and I wriggled helplessly, pinned to the ground beneath him. “Is that extra ammo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” I said, panting.

  “It’s both,” he replied, his mouth close enough that I could taste the mint on his breath, and oh God Kate, don’t do this—

  I wriggled out from his grip and rolled from his reach before I could make a terrible mistake. I cast around quickly for another topic of conversation.

  “Shit, what time is it?” I checked my watch, and then realized I actually had a legitimate reason for needing to check my watch. “Damn! I really wanted to get in another game, but I have to run if I’m going to make it to dinner with my family.”

  Asher shouldered his gun, making a valiant effort not to look disappointed. “I can come with.”

  Well, I knew I was sexy, but I didn’t think he’d be that persistent. “Uh, why?”

  “Because I’ve only just got you unwound from all that tension, and honestly, I’ve met your family. It won’t do my investment any good if I have to bail you out of jail.”

  Fair point.

  EIGHT

  Dinner was at my childhood home in the suburbs, always a bittersweet place to be. There were many happy memories here: sleepovers with Lacey, making Christmas cookies, learning to ride a bicycle.

  But there were other memories too: my mother telling me I might as well not enter the dance competition if I were just going to embarrass myself; my father forgetting that I had even signed up for art classes at the community center; me racing home to show them a participation trophy I’d gotten, only for it to gather dust on the shelf while they fawned over Brian’s achievements.

  “Such wonderful news that you’ve been promoted, Brian! And the salary increase, too!”

  Well, some things never changed.

  “Not just the salary increase,” Dad said, patting my brother on the back. “Lots of responsibility now, too. Shows they trust you, value your input.”

  I stabbed a piece of tomato with my fork like it had insulted my honor.

  Mom noticed, and shooting Dad a look, put on her sickly sweetest tones. “And how’s your little shop doing, sweetie? Have you thought about advertising on Craigslist? I hear that’s really the in thing for small businesses these days.”

  Asher jumped in before I could say something so cutting it could have moonlighted as a pair of scissors. “Actually, Mrs. Jameson, Kate’s business is far too expansive for something like Craigslist.”

  My mother’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Oh yes,” Asher said smoothly, as if he were completely deaf to the amusement and disbelief in her voice. “Why, just the other day we were negotiating on an article with Blossom. Do you read Blossom, Mrs. Jameson? Your dress is certainly reminiscent of the gowns in their latest issue.”

  My mother blushed. “Well, occasionally I give it a look…”

  “Well, then you know that they’re the top in their field. They really know fashion, and the reporter that contacted us called Kate’s designs exceptional and brilliant. Your daughter is about to change the way the entire lingerie industry thinks about their products.”

  Gratitude and wonder bloomed in my heart as I watched Asher skillfully wind my mother around his little finger.

  Even my father and brother had fallen silent, pulled into the orbit of Asher’s charm as he talked on and on, praising me, the prodigal daughter. They were nodding with dazed smiles on their faces, as if struggling to take in the fact that not only was I not a complete fuck-up…I was actually kind of a meteoric success in the making.

  And the funny thing was? Watching the way his eyes lit up as he talked about me, as he gestured with those beautiful hands, as his smile shone brighter than the candles on the table?

  I kind of believed it too.

  #

  It was the end of the night and we were leaving, with me actually feeling relaxed and happy—a testament to the existence of miracles if there ever was one. How on earth had Asher hypnotized my family into being supportive and interested in my life? If there was a class on that, I definitely needed to take it.

  “Psst.” My mom beckoned to me from the kitchen. “Just a minute, Kate, if I could just steal you away from Asher…”

  “Sure, Mom!” I bounded on over, without a single one of the second thoughts about passive-aggression or life-managing tendencies that normally would have assailed me if my mom had wanted to get me alone for a little girl talk.

  Which turned out to be a mistake.

  It started out promising enough: “Kate, that is a very charming young man.” Then: “You really ought to snap him up while you can, you know.”

  Oh, great. Now my mother was getting in on this act, too. “Not interested, Mom. He’s my investor. I’m not going to crash and burn my whole business just to land a guy.”

  “Oh, Kate.” My mother shook her head as if I were throwing a tantrum over finger-painting instead of calmly and logically pointing out the flaws in her plan. “It was very sweet how he stuck up for your business tonight, but honestly, how else is a man supposed to catch your interest when that’s all you talk about? You really ought to lock him down before he gets bored with it. You’re not getting any younger, you know. Or slimmer.”

  I tried to suck in a deep breath past the pain that was now expanding in my chest. Oh, damn. Just when I’d thought we’d finally understood each other. She still saw me as a failure.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said. “I’m only looking out for you.”

  “By treating me like a dumb kid,” I snapped. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Well, if you’re going to insist on acting like a—”

  “Excuse me.” Asher’s dulcet deep tones cut across our arguing, my mother blushing furiously as she realized she had been overhead. Asher, on the other hand, gave away that he had heard nothing. “I don’t mean to interrupt, Mrs. Jameson, but Kate and I do have to dash. I’ve just gotten a message from our warehouse about their shipping schedules, and we must take care of this as soon as possible. So if you don’t mind…?”

  “Of course,” my mother said in a small voice, clearly wishing she could melt into the floor. “Best of luck, Katie.”

  Asher offered me his arm, and we made our escape.

  “Thanks,” I said, sagging against him as we came into the cool night air. “Damn, I need a drink!”

  Asher chuckled. “I
believe I can provide that.”

  I looked up at him, uncertain, and he looked back, waiting for my answer. It seemed dangerous to spend so much time with someone I wasn’t allowed to make out with… but we had been having a lot of fun all day. I hadn’t been this relaxed with a man in ages. Didn’t I deserve a little break?

  “Sure,” I said. “What the hell. Let’s make a night of it.”

  Definitely not influenced by those sparkling green eyes. Nope. Not one bit.

  #

  Asher cracked open a bottle of champagne, and filled my glass up to the top.

  “Thanks,” I said, and tossed back a huge swallow. “God, that’s good. Do I even want to know how much money I just tossed down my gullet?”

  “Probably not,” Asher said with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll write it off as business expenses. Counseling for my protégé.” He topped of my drink, poured himself one, and came to join me on his massive leather couch. “Comfy?”

  “To an almost ridiculous level.” I snuggled deeper into the cushions. “Mmmmm nice. Sorry about my family being…well, them.”

  “Pssh, they’re minor league,” Asher said off-handedly. “My family could teach them a thing or two.”

  I shook my head. “I still can’t believe your family. How can they argue with success, actual success?”

  “It’s not the kind of success they wanted,” he said with a sigh.

  He set his champagne down untouched and place his right hand on top of mine where it rested on the couch cushion, totally not sending sparks of desire running through my entire body, not at all.

  “Kate…I…I know you have so many hopes for this business. And I believe that many of them will come true, I really do. But…don’t pin all your dreams on your family. Don’t do it all for them. Do it for yourself. You’re worth it.”

  His hand felt so right on mine, but the words felt even more right—they were exactly what I needed to hear. “I think you’re the only guy who’s ever said anything like that to me,” I whispered.