Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Style (a romantic comedy)

  Dressing a Billionaire #2

  Jamie Lee Scott

  LBB Company

  Contents

  Copyright

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

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  Other Books By Jamie Lee Scott

  STYLE , DRESSING A BILLIONAIRE #2

  Copyright © 2016 by Jamie Lee Scott

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, LBB Company, 1106 Hwy 69 N, Forest City, IA 50436.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Scott, Jamie Lee, 8-15-16. Style, Dressing a Billionaire, LBB Company. eBook Edition.

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  Chapter One

  We jumped in the Mercedes and Hugo said, “Drive, just drive. Anywhere but here. Go.”

  I turned the key and stomped on the gas. The SUV lurched out and the tires burned rubber. I felt so powerful in those few seconds. But it didn’t last long. My phone lit up, and Miles came across the screen.

  Hugo picked up my phone, slid the tab to answer, and pressed the speaker icon. “Hello.”

  “I’d like to speak to Maisy, please,” Miles sounded irritated.

  Hugo looked at me, and a grin formed on his incredibly sexy, clean-shaven face.

  I shrugged.

  “Ah, dude, she’s a bit busy right now. But she said she’ll call you back, like never.” He hung up. “That has to be the most immature thing I’ve done in years.”

  “At least you didn’t cheat on your girlfriend with her boss.” The too-fresh feelings of betrayal came to the surface.

  “We all do unforgivable things, some worse than others. I’d say not to be too hard on the guy, but he’s a jerk. Showing up tonight with Marla sealed it.”

  I kept my eyes on the road and didn’t respond, but I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.

  “Turn right, up here.” Hugo pointed as if I didn’t know my right from left.

  “You said you’d tell me what’s going on. I picked you up, and you’ve told me nothing.” I wanted to know what prompted him to leave the gala.

  “I’d like to go home.” He had my phone again. “Password?”

  I took it from him, used the fingerprint unlock feature, and let him have it back.

  I kept driving, but could see him swiping and tapping from peripheral vision.

  “There, now I don’t have to give you directions.” He put the phone back on the dock.

  “Where are we going?” I needed to know.

  “Home.”

  “This isn’t the way to your house,” I said.

  “I didn’t say we were going to my house, I said we’re going home.” He leaned back in his seat, relaxing a bit. Then he closed his eyes.

  He sure as shit didn’t mean my home. If so, he’d been drunker than I thought. My home was in the other direction. Maybe his parents’ home?

  I wanted to protest, I wasn’t his servant, or his driver, and yet a part of me knew he needed someone. Though I had no idea why. Nor did I have any idea why he’d chosen me.

  After roughly half an hour, Siri said, “The destination is on your right.”

  I looked to my right and saw only trees.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked.

  Had Hugo brought me to his native habitat in the woods?

  “Turn right,” he said.

  I turned onto a gravel road, and drove up a ways before saying, “Where exactly are we?”

  “Remember when you said my house looked as if I’d just moved in, and I said I’d had it for a few years?”

  I nodded, not knowing if he saw me or not.

  “I’ve owned that property for years, but I never really did much with it, because I’ve always considered this would be my home.” From the dashboard lights, I could see him pointing. “I call it The Cottage.”

  No gates protected the entrance to this property, but a six-foot high fence did wrap around the perimeter I could see. No lights in the distance, other than the moon and stars. But before me, stood a ranch-style home in the shadows. I could just see the silhouette against the night sky.

  “So this is your house, too?” I asked.

  “Yes, my home, I had built when I’d planned to be married. It was supposed to be a wedding gift. It’s completely finished and furnished. I still pay the utilities to be sure there’s no water damage from a winter freeze. Not that it gets that cold here often, but you know, just in case.”

  “It has been known to freeze here,” I agreed. “Do you come here often?”

  “I haven’t been here since the day Kelsey said no.” His voice barely above a whisper.

  “Oh,” I whispered back. My heart ached for him. “Why didn’t you sell it?”

  “At first I couldn’t bring myself to admit she wasn’t coming back. That she’d left for good. Then I couldn’t let it go, because I had nothing else to hold onto. My only connection to Kelsey. And after a few years, I didn’t care enough. It’s not like it’s a burden on me financially.”

  “So you rent it out?” I thought maybe he used it as an Airbnb type of rental. That’s what I’d do if I had a house to spare, or a room to spare, for that matter.

  Sounding insulted, he said, “Why would I want strangers in my home?”

  I noticed he didn’t say house, again. “Okay. I guess I don’t understand, mostly because I couldn’t afford to own a house like this in the first place, much less pay the property tax on it if I wasn’t living in it. Memories and heartbreak or not, I couldn’t afford to keep it. So I don’t understand your need to keep it.”

  “Thing is, until tonight, I hadn’t thought of it in ages. I have an accountant who takes care of this stuff, and I didn’t have to think about it.” He stared forward.

  “What made you think of it?” I thought I knew the answer.

  His body stiffened. “Kelsey was at the fundraiser.”

  “Oh,” was all I could manage. “Did you speak to her?”

  “No.”

  His tone made it clear this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have.

  I never did take hints well. “You need to cut the cord, Hugo. Let Kelsey go.” Tough love, and none of my business.

  Hugo closed his eyes, but didn’t respond.

  “What a drain on the pocketbook if you’re not going to use the house. And what a waste of a nice house.”

  “I have enough money to have a dozen or more empty houses. It’s not like I have a mortgage, and electricity and water aren’t that expensive.”

  “Sorry, I have no clue what it’s like to have more money than God, so my perspective is skewed.” What the hell w
as I doing, saying anything about his money or his ex? Shut up.

  “Pull up to the front of the house, let’s go inside.” He unfastened his seatbelt.

  I didn’t have any desire to go into the house he’d built for Kelsey. I’d never met this Kelsey, and somehow I disliked her. I pictured her as a bulimic with scrawny arms and bad skin from her eating disorder. But she can’t help herself, because her mom told her she had to stay skinny to get a rich man. I also see her in 1950’s clothing that hangs on her bony frame, and I can see her breast bones. Something told me she’s a mouth breather. Her hair is thin and falling out because of the bulimia, and she’s got yellow teeth for the same reason. I hoped like hell there wasn’t a photo of her in the house, because I like this image I have of her. If she turned out to be a classic beauty, I’d hate myself for my impression of her. Or I’d just hate her for being so freaking perfect.

  I parked the SUV in front of the entrance. Lights came on from the porch. Motion sensor, I guessed. That’s when I saw the incredible landscaping. Even in the dim light of the evening, and the soft glow of the porch light, I could see the meticulous effort put into the design.

  I got out of the car at the same time as Hugo and stepped onto a paved surface of interlaced limestone. As we continued up the path, planters tracked our movement and lit up to show us the way to the outdoor living space. The greenery and flowers had to have been kept up by a gardener, otherwise the outdoor furniture and porch would've become overgrown by the vines and ivy.

  The outdoor furniture had been well cared for, too, and looked new. Black iron frames on the overstuffed cushions of the chaise lounge, love seat, and chairs, gleamed in the light of the planters.

  We climbed the stairs to the wrap around porch, and I immediately noticed the twin Adirondack chairs with the low profile table between them. A vase of fresh flowers and a lamp graced the table. Fresh flowers. Someone took very good care of this house and was here every frickin’ day, it seemed.

  “Does anyone live here? Are we intruding?” This sure didn’t look or feel like a vacant house.

  “No one lives here. No one has ever lived here.” He reached out pressed the entry code into the front door.

  “I feel like we’re breaking and entering.”

  A soft chuckle escaped from Hugo as he said, “So do I.”

  When he opened the door, my breath caught. There in the enormous foyer stood a banner that read: Welcome home Mrs. Popovits! Yikes!

  “You have a gardener, so you must have a housekeeper, too. Why is this still here?” The lump in my throat made me choke on the words.

  “My staff has been told not to change anything, just keep it clean.” He walked forward and ripped the banner down. “In hindsight, that may have been a mistake. Or I may have forgotten it still hung there.”

  “You think?” I wanted to toss the banner outside and set it on fire, just to help Hugo move on.

  He flipped on a series of lights and illuminated the house. It looked like a loft, with everything in one open floor plan. White and cream walls contrasted with the wide-plank hand planed hardwood floors. Not a shade of gray in sight, like most of the décor in his other house. Comfortable seating arrangements were the only indications of a change of rooms. Soft colors of blue, pink, beige, and greens could be seen on the pillows and blankets tossed on the couch. The dining room table had to be nine feet long, and had distressed wooden benches on the long sides and wicker chairs at the ends. In the middle of the table sat antique churning tubs and pots filled with dried lavender.

  “Hugo, this is amazing. So different from your house on the lake.” I looked around to see that no pictures or paintings hung on the walls, or sat on tables.

  We moved through a double archway and out to a room with reclaimed barn wood ceilings, and beams.

  “This was supposed to be Kelsey’s office. I had the open plans altered a bit, so she’d have a private place to work. Her philanthropy endeavors took a lot of her time. I thought this would be the perfect place.”

  Philanthropic endeavors, code phrase for “I’ve got so much money and time, I don’t know what to do with myself, so I’ll help others.” Ugh, I still didn’t like her for breaking Hugo’s heart.

  At that moment, I hated her. She’d given up all of this, and for what? And why? This man loved her so much. It made me curious as to whose family had more money.

  The room held a massive antique desk painted white, a sofa and love seat with cream colored slipcovers, and a fireplace with wood ready to be burned. The wall to my left had been painted a pale sea glass blue-green and held floor-to-ceiling shelves, not yet filled. But a stunning lead crystal cube had been engraved with Kelsey Rawlings-Popovits. Ugh.

  Then I saw the photo of Hugo and Kelsey. Fuck me if she wasn’t stunning. So much for the image in my head. All fashion and poise, and a perfect smile. They stood with their arms around each other’s waists, not looking at the camera, but at each other.

  Hugo looked much the same as now. And Kelsey? Well, Kelsey looked like royalty. Straight bangs and a shoulder-length bob. Her hair a mousy brown with platinum highlights.

  Before I could pick up the photo frame and comment, Hugo picked it up and tossed it into a wicker basket next to the desk.

  I looked around the room.

  “Beautiful,” I said. “Your decorator has great taste.”

  “You really like it?” he asked.

  “Did Kelsey?” I asked.

  “She’s never been here. Doesn’t even know it exists.” His shoulders sagged, his face hangdog.

  Poor guy. He’d built this cottage, and now it only seemed like a shrine to “Kelsey the Jilter.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I touched the surface of the long bench in front of the desk.

  That’s when I noticed the French doors. I walked over and opened them. Again, a light when on. A porch at the back of the house, closed in with perfectly manicured boxwoods approximately six-feet high, stood before me. I stepped out and saw the seating arrangement of two lounge chairs, two rocking chairs, and a table.

  “On the other side of the hedge is a private lake. Not a state-owned lake like the one my house sits on. A private lake for friends and family.” So money can buy you a private lake, too.

  “I’d be happy right here. I wouldn’t need the lake.” I turned to look at him eye to eye for the first time since he kissed me at the hotel. “How big is this house? I mean, it seems small compared to your fourteen-room mansion.”

  “It’s not a house, or a mansion, it’s a home. Meant for love and family and entertaining close friends. And it’s about six-thousand square feet. Only four bedrooms. Kelsey didn’t want kids, but maybe someday I thought she’d change her mind, and we’d need the room. If not, we had plenty of space for guests.”

  Ding, ding, ding! Hugo somehow thought a woman who’d stated she didn’t want kids – not an easy decision to arrive at – was suddenly going to change her mind? Possibly, but not likely. This relationship may have been doomed anyway, just on the kid issue alone.

  He walked out and sat in a rocking chair.

  “You look very handsome tonight, Hugo. I’m sorry for your melancholy.”

  He rubbed his face like he still had his beard. “The last time I visited here, I had a clean-shaven face. Ironic.”

  I sat in the chair next to him. “What happened?”

  He looked at me, and I could see the light in his eyes had dimmed. As cold as they’d seemed the first day I met him, they looked colder now. “I don’t know.”

  I smirked at him. “How is that even possible? You have to know something. She couldn’t have up and left you, and never let you know why. Were you an asshole? Did Stella and your parents dislike her?”

  Again, not my business, but I’d bet he’d never discussed it with anyone. Maybe not even Stella. I thought if I could get him to talk, he’d realized some things he hadn’t before. Maybe he’d have an epiphany, like that Kelsey had been a huge mistake. He’d wasted too much ti
me and energy on her after it was over.

  “My family adored her. Kelsey and I had been high school sweethearts. We even made it through college halfway across the country from each other and remained in love. I came back to Texas to finish my doctorate, knowing Kelsey wanted to finally settle down.”

  “You had a fight or something?” It sounded too perfect. Had she changed, and he was still living in the past?

  “No, we never fought. We never argued. Other than kids, we wanted the same things.”Well, kids are kind of a big thing.

  And never fighting meant a false relationship in my book. No fighting meant, no real communication. When people communicate, they sometimes fight. You can’t be in a relationship and have everything be perfect, or it isn’t real. Call me a skeptic, but a strong relationship requires passionate discourse and a good fight here and there. I’m not talking knock down, drag out, just a “fuck you” here and there and lots of door slamming. Right?

  “Secrets?” I asked.

  “Not that I knew of. She hadn’t been too fond of my upbringing, being adopted, and not a true Popovits. Actually, her parents had the problem with my history, she didn’t.” Or maybe she did. He looked at me. “True southerners, you know? Wanted the same for her. I’d been adopted by my parents at the age of four, from a Yankee family.” He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s the twenty-first century. Who even uses those words in this day and age, other than a born and bred southern family? Well, that’s the Rawlings clan, born and bred.” He said with sarcasm in his voice.

  “We are in Texas.” As backward as the words seemed, they also hit a nerve, I could tell.

  “Kelsey said it was ancient history, and that she loved me. Like I said, we’d been in love and together since high school. The time being right for us to settle down and make it official came just as I’d prepared to receive my doctoral degree.”

  He rocked in the chair and didn’t speak for several minutes. I said nothing, afraid to break the spell.