BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Billionaires & Bohemians Book 2)

by Linnea May

  "Well, we pretty much provide a system for other companies to use, so they can improve their own security," I summarize.

  "So they can protect themselves against people like you?" she asks. "Hackers?"

  I nod. "Yes, that, but also against other companies, and the government."

  "The government?" she blurts out, freezing with her fork hovering over the cake as she was just about to take the first bite. "Why would they need protection from the government?"

  I clear my throat, trying to find the right words. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I have no idea why. Am I seriously scared to tell her? Why the fuck am I so worried?

  "Well, they don't always play by the rules," I begin. "Sometimes, it's easier for a company to succeed if they circumvent certain regulations set by our bureaucracy and-"

  "So, they're doing illegal stuff?" she interrupts, arching her eyebrows.

  "To be honest, I couldn't tell you," I respond. "That's not the part we concern ourselves with, and I'm pretty sure most businesses we work with are simply moving in a gray area, bending the rules or surpassing them, but never really going all the way into illegal territory."

  "Mmhmm," she murmurs, regarding me with a suspicious look. "What do you mean by not concerning yourself with that part?"

  "We have a clear disclosure," I say. "Our legal department was very careful to keep our name clear and safe. No matter what our clients do with the system we provide for them, we clearly state that it's not intended for abuse, and we don't take responsibility for how they use our system."

  "What kind of things could that be?" she wants to know, closing her eyes with relish. As she takes another bite from the tiny cake, the look on her face is almost like the one she makes when she’s orgasming.

  "Tax fraud, mainly," I say. "As far as I know."

  I try to play dumber than I am. Of course, I know pretty well what a lot of our clients need our system for, and in most cases, they're more than just moving in a gray area. Some of them are naive enough to discuss these things openly with me, but I've never risked anything and made sure to never give a reply - at least in written form - that could get me in trouble.

  "As far as you know," Sara utters, lowering her eyes. "So, you give them the ability to do wrong, but then cleanse yourself of sin by freeing yourself of any liability."

  "I don't give them the means to do evil," I correct her. "I give them the means to protect their business."

  She rolls her eyes, a move that I will keep in mind for later.

  "Yes, but still," she argues. "You're not exactly preventing evil either."

  I shrug. "Who says that was my intention?"

  "Right," she responds, shaking her head. "Of course, you wouldn't be interested in that."

  "Don't be so judgmental," I warn her. "And I told you: no lecturing."

  She arches her eyebrows and lifts a hand in defense.

  "Sure, whatever," she retorts. "But you still haven't told me what's bothering you?"

  "You might not like it," I warn her.

  Sara gathers the final crumbs from her lava cake on her fork while twirling her other hand in a motion beckoning me to continue talking.

  "Well, some of our clients are not as smart as I'd want them to be," I continue. "They feel a little too secure behind the shield of our security system, which makes them act carelessly. And even though we do have this crystal clear disclosure that delegates any and all responsibility over to them, they still try to involve us in their legal battles from time to time."

  "You're in trouble with the law again?" she probes, now looking seriously concerned. She's such a goody-goody, it's almost annoying.

  "I wouldn't go that far," I say. "Like I said, our legal department is pretty solid, and we're smart enough to dodge these bullets as they come at us. But lately, there have been so many of them that it has stopped us from taking on any other new clients."

  Sara tilts her head to the side. "Why? Because people don't trust you anymore?"

  I shake my head. "It's not that. If anything, news about this may make us even more interesting to some businesses because they all think they'd act smarter than the ones who get caught. But we have to lay low for a while. I don't want any more attention on us right now, we're too young to handle this pressure."

  I pause for a moment, observing her reaction as she takes in my words. Sara doesn't look happy, but I can't tell if the concern on her face is directed at me or at her being with me.

  "It hurts profit," I say.

  She purses her lips and nods her head to the side. "At least you're playing by the rules. Kind of."

  I snort. "You really think that's the most important part, don't you? Playing by the rules."

  She narrows her eyes and slowly shakes her head, looking utterly distraught. "No, not at all."

  "It seems like it is, though," I insist. "You're such a good girl. I can see the fear in your eyes every time I talk about these things."

  Sara harrumphs and reaches for her glass, finishing the remaining wine in one big gulp, while she tries to calm herself amid my accusations.

  "I'm not scared of you," she objects after finishing her wine. "I just don't admire people for getting in trouble with the law. Fuck me, right?"

  I huff. She's so cute when she's infuriated.

  "That I will do," I promise her. "After you hold up your end of the deal."

  Chapter XXV

  Sara

  "I'm afraid my little troubles are boring in comparison to yours," I begin, shyly moving the empty plate away from me. That was hands down the best chocolate lava cake I've ever had, and I was sad to see it disappear off my plate so quickly.

  "Try me," he says. "But first, would you care for an espresso or anything else?"

  I look up at him, pondering the offer. I'd love to have an espresso, but he's already ordered so much for us. The wine bottle alone must cost more than I spend on food for a week. I can't even imagine what the total check will look like. He told me not to worry about it, but I can't turn off that part of me. I'm not used to being spoiled like this. The guys I've dated before took me out for pizza and beer, if anything. I've never been treated to so much by a gentleman like him.

  Did I just call him a gentleman? I chuckle at my own thought. Clearly I will have to make up my mind - is he a dangerous bad boy or an old school gentleman? He can't be both. Or can he?

  "So?" he probes, already waving for the waiter’s attention.

  "An espresso would be nice," I dare to say.

  He nods, looking pleased. "I'll have one, too."

  The waiter takes our order, picking up the empty dessert plates and taking them with him when he leaves our table. He's wearing a suit that makes him look more like a butler than a waiter, entirely fitting for this entire place. The restaurant is rather small, only holding about ten to fifteen tables, and all of them are occupied tonight. The lavish decor consists of thick, red velvet curtains, accompanied by elaborate stucco adorning the high ceiling above us. The tablecloths are impeccable white linen, and they’re so thick and heavy that it must take quite some effort to wash them.

  Of course, I can only look at this from the service people's perspective. I don't think Lux has ever given a single thought to the ordeal of cleaning a heavy tablecloth like this.

  "So, start boring me," he says after our espressos arrive. He looks at me, raising one eyebrow as he takes his first sip out of the tiny cup, looking like a male model in a TV ad.

  "Oh, it's nothing really," I say, realizing that I'm beginning my story in the exact same way he did. "Nothing new, that is."

  "It may be new to me," he says.

  "Well, as you know, the season is over for now," I begin, awkwardly stumbling over my words.

  "You mentioned that."

  "And during off-season, we're not exactly getting paid," I say. "Most of us take on other jobs to get by, but some are touring with the company. The latter doesn't get you rich either, but like I said, nothing in dancing d
oes that unless you become a superstar. But touring, that's one way to get closer to stardom. You're paid, and you're out there, on other stages, performing, getting your name out."

  I pause, taking in a deep breath before I feel capable of continuing. I didn't realize how much this bothered me until now. I've known about this for a while now. I knew that Isabella was asked to tour, and I wasn't. Why am I suddenly struggling with it this much?

  "Let me guess, you're not touring?" he presumes.

  I shake my head.

  "I'm not, but one of my friends is," I say. "She's the same level as me, we started at the company together. She was actually one of the four swans, the one to my right."

  He tilts his head to the side, trying to remember her.

  "To my left," I correct myself. "She was to my left from the audience's pers-"

  "I don't care," he says, cutting me off. "And you're bothered by the fact that she's been asked and you haven't?"

  I flatten my lips and shift on my seat.

  "That's not exactly it," I say. "I mean, I like her, she's my friend and-"

  "I didn't accuse you of being jealous," he interrupts me. "I just made an assumption of how you feel about her being asked to tour while you were not."

  I swallow dryly.

  "She's a brilliant dancer," I interject. "Probably better than me. And she has the perfect physique."

  His eyebrows dart up.

  "For ballet I mean," I hurry to clarify. "She's taller than me, and less weird-looking."

  At this, he has to laugh. I cast him an indignant look, dubious whether he's laughing about me or with me.

  "Sorry," he says. "But calling yourself weird-looking is just funny to me."

  He pauses, clearing his throat before he places his elbows on the table to support himself as he leans over to me.

  "Make of it what you want," he whispers. "But I think you look perfectly beautiful, like a sexy, little doll."

  I blush at his words, but yet can't help but object to his flattering compliment.

  "See, that's exactly the problem," I say. "I look too childlike, too short and too odd. It's not good for casting."

  He throws me a soft smile.

  "Do you think that's the reason why they didn't ask you to tour?" he asks.

  I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Don't you think you're making things a little too easy for yourself?"

  I frown at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Your appearance and stature is something you can‘t change," he says, stating the obvious. "If you blame your lack of success on those factors, you pretty much take things out of your hands."

  I don't like where he's going with this. Is he saying that I'm lazy and not trying hard enough?

  "It's not just that," I insist. "It's just very hard to get a higher rank, especially in a big company like Anaheim."

  "Would it be easier in smaller, less prestigious companies?" he wants to know.

  "Possibly, yeah."

  He leans back in his seat, finishing his espresso while casting me a suggestive look.

  "Maybe that's something to consider," he says.

  "Changing to a smaller company?" I ask. "But that would be a step backward!"

  "Just thinking outside the box," he says. "Do you want to dance the big roles, or dance at a big company?"

  I let out an exasperated gasp. "I want to dance the big roles at a big company."

  I hesitate for a moment, my fingers nervously playing with the tiny espresso mug in front of me.

  "I want to be a soloist, or even a principal at Anaheim," I say, my voice so low that he can probably barely hear me. This goal is so unrealistic for me to achieve, I hardly dare give voice to it.

  He nods. "That's laudable. I admire people with high aspirations, but stubbornness may bar the way to what you want the most."

  Lux pauses for a moment, pondering his choice of words before he continues.

  "Let's say you had to choose," he says. "Either dancing the big roles, or dancing at Anaheim, but remaining in the corps for the rest of your career. Which would you rather do?"

  He looks at me expectantly, crossing his strong arms in front of his chest as he awaits my reply.

  I take in a deep breath, my eyes scurrying through the restaurant, jumping from one focus to another as if I was chasing the answer to his question throughout the room because I simply can‘t get a hold of it.

  "I don't know," I say truthfully. "I really don't know."

  Chapter XXVI

  Lux

  Sara is awfully quiet during the drive to my place. She sits in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the dark world outside, barely acknowledging my existence. It won't be easy to get her out of that contemplative mood. I might have to spank it out of her, since she's very responsive to that.

  Our conversation took a surprising turn after I agreed to her silly deal. I shouldn't have told her as much as I did, and I just now realize that I didn't go along with the only condition I set.

  No lectures.

  In the end, I was the one lecturing her. I don't know why I did it. Is it because I care for her? All I know is that the thought of her getting lost in a mass of homogenous dancers doesn't sit well with me. She's too good for that, too special. If anything, her unusual appearance should be an advantage for her. Why is she so interested in conforming to a standard that is boring at best? I hate that she thinks something is so fundamentally wrong with her that she won't be able to dance the big roles, ever.

  Then again, I never understood why people would prefer to float with the current instead of doing their own thing.

  "I'm sorry," she whispers out of nowhere, still looking out the window as she addresses me.

  "Sorry for what?"

  "For this pensive silence," she says. "You shook me up a little bit back there."

  "Did I now?" I ask. "In a good way, or in a bad way?"

  She sighs. "Hard to say, actually."

  "If I made you reconsider a few things, that's a good thing," I say. "You should pause to think now and again."

  Now she turns to me. "Is that what you did after you went to prison? Pause to think?"

  "Yes, I had plenty of time to think while in prison," I say. "Not a lot else to do in there."

  "How long were you in there?" she wants to know.

  "Not that long, just a couple of weeks," I reply truthfully.

  "Oh, then it's not too bad," she retorts.

  I'm not sure what exactly she means by that. The duration of being behind bars itself, or the act that put me there?

  "Are you still on probation?" Sara asks further. She's phrasing the question in such a nonchalant manner that I feel she doesn't pose it for the first time in her life.

  "No," I lie. All conviction aside, she doesn't need to know everything, and I find it best to divert from this subject as soon as possible.

  I'm in talks with Max to partner up again, another thing that I don't want Sara to know about. Communicating with him hasn't been easy because we can never be sure that our lines aren't tapped. I let him know that I'd be interested in joining up on his new project, and he said he'd get back to me in the next few days. That was three days ago, and I haven't heard from him since. He didn't even tell me how he'd get back to me. We've been using encrypted texts so far because conventional ways seem too risky. If I knew where he was, we could meet up in person. That would likely be the safest option, but I have no idea where he’s staying right now. For all I know, he may live all the way across the country, or even be right next door.

  "Must've been shitty," Sara says absentmindedly.

  I cast her a questioning look.

  "Prison," she explains. "You don't hear a lot of good things about it."

  I let out a condescending laugh. "I shall say! It's a fucking hell hole."

  She looks at me, her eyes trying to catch mine. I keep my eyes directed on the street ahead, feigning interest in our safety, so I don't have to return her gaze.

  "So
why risk going back there?" she asks.

  "I'm not doing that," I insist.

  "Let's hope so," she mumbles.

  "Even if I was, Sara, it's none of your fucking business."

  She gasps. "What? Don't yell at me!"

  "I'm not yelling at you, I'm just-"

  "Yes, yes, I get it!" she barks back.

  I roll my eyes. This evening is definitely not going as planned. We're fighting like an old couple instead of fucking like animals.

  But I wouldn't be me if I couldn't turn this around.

  We arrive at my place, neither of us having spoken another word since my outburst. I'm done being a gentleman for tonight, but she doesn't let me anyway. Sara storms out of the car before I even get a chance to open the door for her.

  Yet, as we head towards the elevator in the underground parking garage, I’m still convinced that I can turn this night around.

  Until I see him.

  I have no idea how he got in here, but there, right next to the doors leading up to the staircase by the elevator, is Max. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a broad smile plastered on his face. He looks different from the last time I saw him – he’s lost some weight and gained some hair on his face – but he's still displaying that same characteristic wisecracking grin.

  I'd be happy to see him, if it wasn't for Sara. She ignores his presence, and is just about to walk past him when he pushes himself away from the wall, approaching us.

  "Lux, my old man!" he yells, walking toward me with his arms wide for a hug. "So good to see you!"

  "Max," I utter, frozen with surprise.

  He wraps his arms around me, and I do the same, adding hearty slaps on each other's backs as we reunite. Sara comes to a halt a few feet ahead of me, turning around to us and watching quietly as Max and I engage in our manly embrace.

  "Man, it's so good to have you back on board!" Max exclaims.

  I try to hush him with a warning look, nodding toward Sara, hoping that he understands when to shut up. He seems to understand, his grin widening as he sees her, standing there in her cute little navy blue dress, her blue eyes gazing up at us in question.