Trusting the Billionaire (Weston Brothers Book 2)

by C. C. Snow

  Without waiting for a reaction, I pivoted on my heels and started to walk to the back of the restaurant. I smiled at the loud squawk of outrage from the actress. I might have lost my job, but at least I was leaving in grand style. And with my pride intact.

  Retrieving my things from the break room, I walked into the bathroom and stripped off my uniform. I winced when I saw the redness over my chest. I wet a paper towel and let the cold water sooth the minor burn. I did my best to clean up my bra, but the brown liquid has soaked into the cotton fabric. Giving up, I pulled on my sweater and jeans and slung my backpack over my shoulder. Feeling the start of a headache, I unfastened my long, blue-black hair from the tight bun at my nape and massaged my scalp until the pressure loosened.

  I met my dark brown eyes in the mirror and sighed heavily. “What a fucking night,” I said to myself. Now that my fury was fading, remorse for my overreaction was creeping in. My temper was quick to flare, but cooled even more rapidly. I blamed it on my Italian genes.

  Dropping the uniform onto the floor, I walked out of the bathroom and slammed out of the back door. And promptly drew to a complete stop at the sight of the man leaning against the wall.

  “Hi…Elle, right?”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, cocking my head in bewilderment. Normally, I’d flip out that some random guy was waiting for me in a dimly lit alley, but I didn’t sense a threatening vibe from him. I hunched my shoulders against the late summer chill.

  He took a couple of steps toward me and stuck out his hand. I vaguely noted that he must be several inches over six feet. “I’m Troy Weston.”

  I looked at his hand and then at his face. “Okay, Troy Weston. What are you doing here?” I repeated, not taking my hands off the straps on my backpack.

  After a long pause, he withdrew his hand and started to stuff it into his pocket. When he felt the encrusted gunk on his pants, he grimaced and dropped his hand to his side. Even in ruined clothes, the man still managed to emanate sartorial elegance.

  I cringed and said, “I’m sorry about your suit.”

  “It’s alright. Like I said before, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Suspicious of his magnanimous attitude, especially considering I had insulted him and his girlfriend, I narrowed my eyes. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

  He shrugged and I tried to ignore how broad his shoulders were. “I wanted to apologize for what happened in there.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said rather ungraciously and looked toward the front of the alleyway. “Where’s your girlfriend? Shouldn’t you be comforting her?” I didn’t bother to hide my snicker as I recalled the look of utter shock on her face. I doubted she had expected me to fight back. Most bullies didn’t.

  “My driver took Anya home. And she’s not my girlfriend.”

  I’m sure she had a different perspective.

  I tightened my mouth to hold back my comments about his personal life.

  You’ve already said enough, Elle.

  He continued to stare at me, making me feel self-conscious. His eyes were piercingly sharp, as if he could see right through me. I shifted my weight. “Okay. Well, good night.” I turned to walk toward the street.

  “I’m sorry you lost your job,” he said and started to walk alongside me.

  “It’s okay. I’ll find something else.” I tried to sound breezy, but my stomach was twisted in knots thinking about not being able to pay my bills. I could easily get another waitressing gig, but finding work at another fine dining establishment was a challenge. I had worked at many casual restaurants before I landed at position at Portofino’s. Most servers who were already working at expensive restaurants tended to stay on the job because the tips were good.

  “If you need a job, I can—”

  “No,” I cut him ruthlessly off. Taking charity from a stranger, especially from a man like him, was a definite no-no. “I’ll be fine.”

  He pointed his thumb toward the restaurant. “Did your boss really ask for a blowjob?”

  “Yup. Right before dinner service. It’s a classy joint,” I said.

  He snorted with laughter and then sobered. “Fucking asshole. I knew there was a reason I never liked him. I’m never eating here again.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said, picking up my pace, anxious to be out of his disturbing presence as quickly as possible.

  He lengthened his strides to keep up with me. “Do you need a ride home?”

  There was no way I’d let a strange man drive me anywhere, but I was curious. “I thought you sent your driver with your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  I wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. “And you’re going to magically conjure up a car?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Sure, it’s called a cab.” He grinned, giving his face a boyishly youthful look. He must be in his early thirties, but that smile made him look like a mischievous toddler. It was annoyingly endearing and I almost found myself falling for his charm. This man had heartbreaker written all over him.

  I wasn’t naïve about what he was after. This wasn’t the first time a guy tried to hit on me, but I had to admit he was the most charismatic.

  Been there, done that. Got the scars as souvenirs. No thanks.

  “No thanks. Have a good night,” I said and made a beeline toward the El station. When he followed, I came to a halt and glared at him. “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

  “Well, if we’re not going to take a cab, I’ll take the El with you.”

  I stood ramrod straight and folded my arms over my chest. “The hell you will.”

  His cheeks creased and I found myself fighting to maintain my frown. It was hard to be irritated with someone so good-natured.

  “Then let me hail a cab. It’s the least I could do after what happened tonight,” he said.

  Exasperated with his persistence, I put my hands on my hips. “Look, I don’t need you to accompany me anywhere. I appreciate the apology, but you can go back to your champagne and caviar life now.” I flicked my right hand in a shooing motion.

  He threw his head back and laughed, drawing my attention to the fine lines around his eyes and his mouth. His easy laughter proclaimed that he was a man who didn’t take life too seriously. Of course, Troy Weston could afford not to; he didn’t look like he needed to worry about being evicted for not paying his rent.

  After his chuckles faded, he said, “I prefer single-malt scotch and a medium rare steak.”

  “Fine. Go back to your manly liquor and red meat,” I said impatiently.

  He grinned and I stared at the way his eyes flared with amusement. Under the streetlamp, they sparkled like a clear mountain lake in the sunlight. Damn, the man was too charming by half.

  Snarling at the unruly direction of my thoughts, I pivoted around and started to walk away from him. The more distance I put between us, the better off I’d be.

  A strong, surprisingly rough, hand grasped my wrist. A burst of heat zipped up my arm, making me look at him in shock. From his widened eyes and taut face, it appeared I wasn’t the only one to feel the powerful jolt of attraction. Our gazes locked and the air between us grew heavy and sultry.

  I saw desire flood his eyes and something dangerous stirred in my belly. When he lifted his fingers to touch my dark waves, I should have pulled away, but I felt immobilized by the overwhelming rush of desire. His fingers feathered along a strand of my hair, stopping perilously close to my suddenly tight breast. I was grateful the thickness of my sweater hid my furled nipples.

  “You’re very beautiful.”

  His husky words snapped me out of the charged moment as effectively as a slap across my cheek. Most women would be thrilled by the compliment, but my looks had garnered me nothing but heartache and pain. I had an oval face with big, brown eyes, a straight nose, and full lips. My hair was long and thick and I inherited an eye-catching, curvy body from my Italian mother.

  Objectivel
y, I knew I should be grateful for my beauty, but I wasn’t. Because I knew what men saw when they looked at me.

  They saw a sexual object. They saw arm candy. They saw an empty, pretty shell.

  They saw anything but me.

  I was swamped by inexplicable disappointment that he was as shallow as every other man I’d met, but on the heels of that came anger. I drew on the emotion, letting it fuel my disgust. I yanked my hand out of his clasp and hissed, “You have some nerve! You were out having dinner with your girlfriend not more than half an hour ago and now you’re hitting on me?”

  He opened his mouth and I raised my voice to speak over him. “And don’t bullshit me. You might have broken up with her, but you can’t tell me Anya Van Houten wasn’t your girlfriend when you walked into the restaurant.” I felt no gratification at seeing the flash of guilt on his face. “Men like you make me sick. You think just because you’re rich and good-looking, you could treat women like disposable objects.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” he said tersely, his eyes glinting with anger.

  Allowing my eyes to wander over his body insultingly, I smirked. “Don’t I? I bet I could summarize you in under a minute because guys like you are all alike.” I paused and tapped my chin. “You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Mommy and Daddy paid for everything. Never knew a day of hardship or hunger in your life. Attended an exclusive prep school and then went on to an Ivy League university.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, letting me know that I was spot on. I continued, “Then you got your MBA and now you have a slice of the family pie. You probably didn’t even have to work from the bottom up. They had your name printed on a gold plaque before you walked through the front door.”

  “Are you quite finished?” White lines appeared around his tight lips.

  I wasn’t. He had tapped into a well of anger I didn’t realize I harbored. “All the women you date are rubber stamps of the little starlet—beautiful, self-involved, and vapid. It makes it easy for you to break up with them because they’re not even three-dimensional to you. You’re like a spoiled toddler. As soon as you see a newer, shinier toy, you drop the old one without a thought. And why not? The world is full of available women for men like—”

  “ENOUGH!” he roared, taking a step toward me and pushing his enraged face inches from mine. His skin pulled taut over his cheeks and his nostrils flared. “You’ve said quite enough. It’s my turn.”

  The whisper-soft tone of his voice sent a tremor down my spine and I took a step back. I had a feeling I had roused a side of him he seldom displayed. He took another step and then another, continuing to invade my space, forcing me to retreat.

  “You think you’re so clever, but I see right through you.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” I said belligerently, stopping in my tracks.

  “Don’t I? I bet I could summarize you in under a minute,” he said, taunting me with my own words. He narrowed his eyes appraisingly. “Some rich and smarmy asshole wronged you—maybe even broke your heart. Now you feel like you have the right to paint all men with the same broad brush. You walk around with a giant chip on your shoulder, always expecting the worst from the male of the species. You think we all have an ulterior motive. Well, I have news for you, sweetheart.” His voice deepened. “We do. But then so do women. Do you think women like Anya would date me if I were a poor plumber?” he scoffed disdainfully.

  Against my will, empathy rippled through me. I never considered that women were using him as well.

  He looked me up and down. “Whoever he was, he sure did a real number on you, sweetheart. You’re so afraid of your own sexuality, you hide behind baggy clothes and a bad attitude. You can’t even take a simple compliment without blowing up.”

  At the note of pity in his voice, I sucked in a breath, feeling like he had stripped me bare. And when I felt vulnerable, my claws came out. In the most saccharine sweet tone I could conjure, I said, “Nice try. Poor baby. It must be a blow to your ego to realize I don’t want what you’re offering. Is this the first time a woman has said no to you? It must be hard to realize you’re not God’s gift to—”

  He struck fast. Snapping his arm around my waist, he hauled me flush against him.

  I couldn’t even manage a squeak before his mouth crushed mine. I arched my neck away from him, but he held the base of my skull, easily halting my movement. His teeth pulled at my lower lip and when I gasped, he plunged his tongue into my mouth. This was no soft, seductive kiss. His intent was to maraud. To conquer.

  My tongue pushed against his, trying to dislodge him, but as soon as I made contact, the battle turned into something else. The faint flavor of red wine and him seeped into my taste buds as his tongue thrust ruthlessly between my lips. It was a blatant simulation of the sexual act. Our teeth clacked together as he ravenously ate at my lips.

  A distant part of my mind screamed at me to break the kiss and run, but the desire flowing through my veins made my limbs sluggish and recalcitrant. Instead of pulling away, I pressed against him, smashing my breasts into his hard chest, trying to find relief for my painfully tight nipples. I lifted my arms to wrap around his neck and the silky ends of his hair tickled my forearms.

  He angled his head and the kiss became deeper and almost leisurely. The aggression dissolved, leaving unfiltered passion behind.

  Heat pooled into my core as I felt the thick column of his arousal pressing into my belly. My lower body unconsciously strained against that hard bulge and his large hand clamped onto my right hip, holding me still.

  God, when was the last time I felt this needy for a man?

  The aching emptiness deep inside me told me it had been far too long.

  With a deep groan, he released my lips and looked into my eyes. If I had seen a hint of triumph, I would have found the strength to pull away, but all I saw was raw need. And that made my insides melt.

  He slid his hand to the front of my jeans and cupped me between the legs. I felt lightheaded from the blast of heat radiating from his palm. My inner muscles clenched hungrily, thinking about how his hands would feel on my bare skin. A guttural sound escaped my lips and his nostrils flared.

  Feathering his lips along my left cheekbone, he whispered, “Come home with me, Elle. We’d be so good together. You’d be so wet and tight on my cock and I’d keep you coming all night long.” He tightened his grip on my pussy, making me pant with lust. What he was offering was so damn tempting. I hadn’t been with anyone in years and I felt like an alcoholic given the keys to a distillery.

  He must have sensed my resistance crumbling because he lowered his voice to a seductive purr. “I’d fuck you so hard and long you’d never think about that asshole again.”

  The lava running in my veins instantaneously turned into ice and I jerked out of his hold with a sound of consternation. For a beat, I stared at his perfect face with regret, and then I ran.

  “Elle!”

  Ignoring his cry, I pumped my legs. My backpack bounced against my back with every step. I heard the sound of his footsteps and increased my speed, desperate to get away from him. From temptation. From my demons.

  I weaved through alleys and zigzagged through the city. At some point, I knew he was no longer behind me, but I kept running.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, check out the cute guy at ten o’clock,” Ethan whispered in my ear.

  I looked up from the glass of Jim Beam Black I had been nursing for the last hour. “What?” I swiveled my head and realized too late I had turned in the opposite direction he had indicated.

  “Honey, what is going on with you? First you ask to come out to the pub—which you never do—but once we get here, you space out. Are you still thinking about losing your job?” he asked, sympathy threading his voice.

  As soon as I had come home last night, the whole story—minus the part where I lip-locked with the playboy—had come spilling out. Normally, I kept few secrets from Ethan, but I
couldn’t bring myself to talk about that kiss—that damnably unforgettable, panty-melting kiss.

  “No,” I said hastily, unwilling to admit that I was brooding about a stranger. I’d never hear the end of it. “I wasn’t sure I would have lasted there much longer anyway. I was tired of fighting off Tony every night.”

  Ethan gave me a dubious look, but knew me well enough to let it go. “Well, the guy at the end of the bar has been giving you the eye for the last ten minutes.”

  “I’m not interested.” This time, I didn’t bother to glance over. I knew the kind of clientele this place drew. Ethan and I were at our favorite pub—dark and a bit seedy. There was not a single piece of furniture that didn’t bear scars, but we liked that about this place. I fancied it was because it looked the way we felt—fucking tired, but still standing.

  He rolled his light blue eyes and leaned his elbows on the bar. “Honey, has anyone explained to you why people come to bars?”

  “To hang out with their best friends?” I said with a beatific smile.

  I met Ethan Parrish my first day in Chicago, more than two years ago. We were both broke and staying in the same cheap hostel. Most of the other guests were only passing through the city, but Ethan and I were planning to stay and we naturally gravitated toward each other. He was running away from his ultra-conservative family who couldn’t accept his homosexuality and I was running away from my own host of problems. Recognizing the need for love and acceptance in each other, we formed an unbreakable bond.

  When he found a job as a server in a small café, he convinced his new boss to hire me. We pooled our small paychecks and rented an apartment together. And when I found a better paying job at another restaurant, I talked my boss into taking him on. We had been leaning on each other ever since.

  We talked about opening up our own restaurant one day. I would run the kitchen and as an unabashed people-person, he would manage the front. Both of us knew it was just a pipe dream—we were living paycheck to paycheck—but it was something to strive for.