Tech Titans: The Complete Billionaire Romance Series

by Swann, Marcella

  Chapter Three: Encounter

  “Sorry,” Gigi said. “Ain’t buyin’ it.”

  Judy shouted over the music. “Ain’t buyin’ what?”

  “It’s a PR move. He’s trying to clean up that man-whore image of his with a little do-goodism.”

  Judy looked incredulous. “Oh my God—cynical much?”

  No, not being cynical, Gigi thought. Just trying not to lose myself completely here.

  “You could use some more champagne,” Judy said. “Maybe if we get enough alcohol in you, you’ll remember it’s a party.” She opened her mouth to say something more, then froze. “Holy shit, it’s him.”

  “It’s who?” asked Gigi.

  “Him, for God’s sake. Damian Black. Mr. Yum-Yum.”

  Gigi looked around but saw only bodies. Judy cupped her hand underneath Gigi’s jaw and swiveled her head to the right. “There. Coming right toward us.”

  It was him.

  Gigi felt her heartbeat go irregular for a second. Oh, you’re not ready for this at all, she thought. Not at all.

  Damian, head slightly down, sidestepped a dancing couple and began to pass between Gigi and Judy. From Gigi’s perspective, Damian seemed to move in slow motion—a living, breathing special effect.

  As he stepped between them, Damian looked up at Gigi, who stood straight as a Marine amid a backdrop of swaying bodies. Ratatat’s “Wildcat” pulsed from the sound system.

  Damian stopped, stood still. He looked at Gigi, his back to Judy.

  Oh, balls, Gigi thought. You’re gonna dissolve into a puddle of sweat right here and now.

  To the extent that Gigi could think at all, she thought it odd that he didn’t smile at her. His movie star smile was perhaps his best-known method of disarmament—yet he wasn’t using it on her.

  He probably sees my sweating and assumes I have some kind of wretched glandular condition.

  From behind Damian, Judy chirped, “Hi! I’m Judy!”

  Damian extended his hand to Gigi, his gaze never breaking. “I’m Damian Black,” he said.

  I think my glasses are fogging up. Gigi took his hand and gave it a prim shake. “Gigi Stevens.” If your hands are that smooth, she thought, I can only imagine the rest of your body.

  “I’m Judy!” Judy stretched out her hand but drew no response.

  Fighting a mighty battle to gain some semblance of interior control, Gigi looked at Damian and said, “It’s very impressive.”

  “The party?” Damian asked.

  “Your self-regard,” said Gigi.

  What on God’s green earth are you doing, Gigi? Are you insane?

  Damian looked slightly taken aback. But then: The Smile.

  Judy walked from behind Damian and stood next to Gigi. “Champagne makes her loopy, so please forgive her rudeness. I’m Judy. Hold me.”

  Damian’s gaze never left Gigi’s. “Oh, I’m not conceited,” he said, smiling. “I’m convinced.”

  “Let me guess,” Gigi said. “'It’s not bragging if you can back it up.’”

  What’s wrong with you? she thought. What are you afraid of? Why can’t you just be normal?

  Judy put her arm around Gigi’s shoulders and affected a look of maternal concern. “She’s off her meds. She won’t listen to me—me: her kind, loving, sexually carnivorous friend. I’m Judy.”

  Damian asked, “What brought you here tonight, Gigi Stevens?”

  For God’s sake, she thought, whatever you do, don’t say you came for the dinosaurs.

  “I came for the dinosaurs,” Gigi said.

  “They’re not as impressive as my self-regard, but they’re still pretty cool.”

  By now, some of the partygoers nearby had recognized Damian and were pressing in for handshakes and selfies. He obliged. The current of human bodies began moving Damian away from Gigi and Judy, and every so often, he would glance back at Gigi and smile. And each time, Gigi would purse her lips and raise an eyebrow.

  Judy put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and turned her around to face her. “Gigi, you and I have been friends a mighty long time. I’m going to ask you a single question. And I want you to know that I’m okay with any answer you give, so long as it’s honest. I like you for you.”

  “Oh, good Lord, Judy. I’m not a lesbian.”

  “Well, then are you on drugs? You know, admitting you have a problem is the first step on the road to recovery.”

  “I’m not on drugs.”

  “Well, then why are you acting so crazy and standoffish? This guy is totally into you! And he’s not just ‘this guy’—he’s Damian frickin’ Black!”

  “You know why.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, you know why.”

  Judy paused for a moment. “Are you serious? That? He’s not gonna give a hoot about that.”

  “Oh, yes he will.”

  “Gigi, you’re the only one with a complex about your background.”

  “Whatever, it’s a complex I can’t get past.” She turned to look at Damian, now 30 feet away, engulfed by fans. “I need more champagne,” she said.

  * * *

  The headlights of Gigi’s Kia splashed the front of her small house. She rolled the car to a stop, cut the engine, and sat for a long time in the 1:00 a.m. darkness. Then, after a long exhale, she went inside.

  Just go to bed, she thought. Stay away from the fridge.

  She opened the fridge. Nothing enticing awaited her there.

  Ah, but the freezer…

  Gigi sat at her round kitchen table, pajamas loose on her small frame. Her glasses slid low on her nose.

  She dug a large spoon into a half-gallon carton of Moose Tracks ice cream.

  What are you afraid of? she thought. It’s not like Damian Black would’ve asked you out anyway, even if you’d been normal and nice. He was just being his flirty self. He’s an egomaniac who gets off diddling women’s fantasies.

  But is that really who he is? she wondered. What about the hundred-million-dollar cancer donation? Was that just PR? What’s he really like behind that smile?

  Gigi smoothed a spoonful of ice cream with her lips.

  It doesn’t matter at this point, she conceded. You didn’t blow your chance with him—because you never actually had a chance with him. Besides, you’ve got too much else going on right now. Work, getting used to the whole West Coast mentality, maybe going back to school for that MBA—your life is full. Very full. Very alone, but very full.

  Gigi put the Moose Tracks back in the freezer and washed off her spoon. She killed the kitchen light and padded down the short hallway to her bedroom.

  Later, unable to sleep, she stared at the ceiling. You’re full of shit, she thought. There’s a big difference between a full life and a busy life. And you, Miss Georgina Stevens? You’ve got the latter.

  Chapter Four: Horizon

  Damian punched the gas and his Bugatti Veyron boomed out of the curve like some kind of rocket.

  The hills above San Francisco were great for cycling and sightseeing, offering vista after vista of the city and the Pacific. They were considerably less amenable to a $2 million sports car made for cruising along at a cool 150 miles per hour. The constant curves and switchbacks made high-speed maneuvering ill-advised and dangerous—but that was precisely Damian Black’s sweet spot.

  He downshifted into another curve, braked, spun the wheel with the palm of his left hand, then launched into the straightaway, engine rumbling and roaring like an enraged bull.

  The Pacific sparkled blue and vast to his left. He didn’t notice.

  He was thinking of the previous night, the party. He couldn’t shake the brief encounter with Gigi—and worse, he couldn’t figure out why. Damian knew very well his rep among his critics: gorgeous and glib and maybe not that bright, the heavy lifting of SXz having been accomplished by his three partners. It wasn’t true, of course. He knew his industry and himself intimately, and routinely scoured his actions in search of their true motivations. This Gigi St
evens girl had thrown him a bit and he couldn’t figure out why. It troubled him.

  She was strikingly pretty, yes—but Damian was rarely in the presence of women who weren’t. No, it wasn’t her beauty. Her obvious intelligence? Perhaps. The glasses gave her a studious look, but her mouth revealed a sharp wit.

  Ah, the biting tongue, Damian thought.

  It’s not that the women Damian dated were stupid or even dim. They weren’t. But they tended to be celebrities in their own right and consequently image-conscious. He knew, in fact, that their interest in him was temporary, almost always part of a much larger, long-term career plan. And he was fine with that. He distrusted the human heart—his own above all—and was perfectly content to find temporary gratification in the arms of beautiful women who wanted nothing more from him than a few minutes of exposure on TMZ.

  Nothing lasts, he thought. Best to recognize that and avoid entanglements.

  The Bugatti tilted down and left as Damian sped through another curve.

  Who are you, Gigi Stevens?

  For the first time that day, Damian looked out over the Pacific and noticed the horizon.

  * * *

  TrekTek’s headquarters were small, suitably modern, and mostly glass. Gigi swiveled from her desk and gazed out the second-story window at her back. The parking lot was full of high-dollar luxury cars and trendy electric vehicles. Gigi noticed her humble 2003 Kia snuggled between a BMW and a Tesla. Good Lord, she thought. You’re not high-dollar, you’re not trendy, you’re not electric. Strike three, you’re out!

  She swiveled back to her desk and looked at the computer screen. Her browser was still open to an article covering Saturday night’s party. BAD BOY BILLIONAIRE UPS ANTE ON CANCER RESEARCH, the headline screamed. In one of the photos, a rib-skinny blonde model whose face Gigi recognized, but whose name—Saffron Holloway—she did not, was hugging Damian from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder.

  Skank, Gigi thought, then laughed. You don’t even know the guy and already you’re jealous.

  Her cell phone chimed.

  Gigi looked at the screen, smiled, and held the phone to her ear. “Hi Judy.”

  “I’m taking a smoke break and thought I’d check in.”

  “I thought you quit,” Gigi said.

  “I did, but Saturday night and Mr. Yum-Yum caused me to take up the habit again. I’m a wreck. I might try yoga.”

  Gigi laughed, and swiveled her chair to face the window again. “Oh, geez, he’s not all that. Get ahold of yourself.”

  “Oh, trust me, over the past two days I’ve gotten ahold of myself more than a few times.”

  “Judy, you’re terrible.”

  “I mean, wasn’t that in a song once? ‘Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all?’ Especially if it involves a battery-operated, three-speed appliance?”

  “Oh my God,” Gigi laughed. “I think you added that last part. Well, just be sure to stay hydrated.”

  “I’m wearing a headband and have a bottle of Gatorade standing by. But enough about me and my she-bopping ways. What about you? Have you heard from Yum-Yum?”

  “Heard from him? No—he has no idea who I am. Why would I have heard from him?”

  “Girl, you can save that modesty shit for someone who wasn’t there. I saw it. He was giving you looks that could’ve set the curtains on fire.”

  “Oh, please, Judy. The guy just wanted to see someone swoon. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.”

  “I think he wanted to give you some satisfaction. Boom-chicka-wow-wowwwwww…”

  “Judy, that guy is only into himself. He probably screams out his own name when he climaxes.”

  “'Climaxes?’ Gigi, who says ‘climaxes’ anymore?”

  A pause. “Okay, maybe you have a point there.”

  “You gotta loosen up, girl.”

  “I know, I know,” Gigi sighed. “It’s how I was raised. You can take the girl out of the South, but—”

  “She’ll still say ‘climaxes,’” Judy interrupted.

  “Look, it was hard enough losing the accent.”

  “Southern accents are charming.”

  “Yes, they are—to everyone not at an Ivy League school or a Silicon Valley startup. I walk in here and say”—Gigi suddenly switched to a thick Southern drawl—“‘Y’all want some puddin’?’ and these people will automatically deduct 40 points from my IQ.”

  “I think Mr. Yum-Yum would be perfectly fine with your Southern accent and your puddin’.”

  “Judy, he’s from a different world, and he remains in a different world. Plus, I really don’t find him all that attractive.”

  “Yeah, those broad shoulders, that narrow waist, those sculpted abs, that gorgeous face with chiseled features, those billions of dollars filling his bank account—what a wretchedly unappealing man.”

  “Well, since you obviously think he’s so friggin’ hot, why don’t you make a play for him?”

  “Hell’s bells, Gigi, you were there Saturday night. I did everything short of get arrested for indecently exposing myself. The guy was too into you to notice.”

  Gigi swiveled back to her desk, looked up, and froze.

  “Uh…yeah, that sounds like a winner,” she said into the phone. Her voice was now monotone, mechanical, business-like. “Thanks for calling, Evan, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Evan? Gigi, what the f—”

  Gigi thumbed the off button and killed the call.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  Standing in her office doorway was Damian Black.

  Chapter Five: Appearances

  He would later marvel at his own audacity.

  Damian Black was well-known for ballsy, outrageous behavior, and even a short bio would have to mention some of his more notorious moments. He once rented out Six Flags for himself and a few of his friends: an entire theme park closed to the public to accommodate a brash young billionaire and seven other people. It was the sort of thing that wowed the public but annoyed Silicon Valley.

  SXz had turned multiple industries upside down, seemingly overnight. The company’s high-profile, take-no-prisoners approach to negotiating with record labels had earned it both admiration and resentment. Rumors now swirled that the company was negotiating to stream everything from music and movies to television and personal videos—indicating a plan to take down both Amazon and YouTube.

  The tech industry was not for the faint-hearted. Fortunes could be won and lost in a span of days. Damian’s unblemished record of success was as rare as it was impressive, and left the impression of being something willed into existence by a young man aware of life’s relative brevity. Who was Damian Black? The million-dollar sports cars, the starlets, the self-satisfaction that swaggered right up to the public tolerance line but never crossed it – these seemed less the parts of a plan and more the elements of a unique personality. Damian was no phony. His public persona hewed very closely to the reality of the man, but it also allowed for some protective distance between the two.

  As he stood in Gigi’s office doorway, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he’d sought out a woman. Until now, it had always been the woman who’d sought out him.

  “Quite a view you have there.” Damian nodded toward the window behind Gigi.

  “It’s wonderful,” she said. “On a clear day, I can see the parking lot.”

  Damian thought, Not giving an inch, are you? I like that. Defending your turf.

  “Me and my self-regard were in the neighborhood and thought we’d swing by.”

  Is that the makings of a smile I see? That little upcurve at the corner of your mouth? Damian, to his surprise, suddenly felt what he could only surmise was hope. It was a rare sensation for him. After all, when everything is within your grasp, hope is unnecessary.

  “Our introduction,” he continued, “was unfortunately cut short Saturday night. I thought maybe we could continue it over lunch.”

  “How did you get up here?”
she asked. “Past security.”

  “My self-regard beat up the security detail downstairs. After that, it was just a quick elevator ride to the second floor.”

  “You could both fit into the elevator?”

  “You’re pretty impressed with me,” Damian said.

  Gigi raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I most certainly am not.”

  He flashed The Smile. “Yes, you are.”

  There was a long silence. Damian noticed again the slight curving of one corner of her mouth.

  Gigi looked at him squarely, almost defiantly. “Lunch, you say?”

  “Yep.”

  “And nothing more.”

  “Just lunch.”

  Another long silence. Damian found himself transfixed by the intensity of Gigi’s gaze.

  “You’re going to ask out a woman you haven’t known for even a hot five minutes?”

  Again with The Smile. “Any five-minute stretch of time in your presence automatically qualifies as a hot five minutes.”

  Now it was Gigi’s turn to smile. “Okay, see, now that’s better,” she said. “I like that. Good answer.”

  Damian offered a theatrical bow. “In that case, then, I’ll pick you up tonight at 10:30.”

  “Wait—what?”

  “I’ll pick you up tonight at 10:30. Your place.”

  “I thought you said ‘lunch.’”

  “I did.”

  “Then why—”

  “Just trust me.” Damian turned to leave.

  “Wait! How do you know where I live? How did you find out where I work? And how the hell did you even get up here?”

  Damian turned to her and smiled. “It’s the 21st century and I’m Damian Black.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Gigi was still staring at Damian in her doorway.

  He wasn’t there, but the imprint of his image still flashed, as sparkly dots do when one has seen something exceptionally bright but then suddenly looks away.