Tech Titans: The Complete Billionaire Romance Series

by Swann, Marcella

  “Nope, can’t say that I do.” Damian continued walking, taking Gigi with him.

  Admit it, girl, you like the feeling of your hand in his. How long has it been since a man actually held your hand, for God’s sake? You can’t be uptight all your life.

  Damian’s hand was large, and easily contained the whole of hers within it. Gigi trailed a foot or two behind him, and couldn’t help staring at the broadness of his shoulders and the leanness of his body. He was dressed quite simply, really, in a long-sleeve white cotton shirt and blue jeans, but the boy looked good, Gigi thought. His shirt was thin and light allowed ample opportunity to assess his build.

  She felt Damian squeeze her hand. He turned his head slightly and said over his shoulder, “You still with me back there?”

  Oh, I’m here, she thought. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

  The Piazza del Duomo was packed with tourists, panhandlers, and pigeons. Lined on each side by shops and museums, the focal point was of course the Duomo itself, the Cathedral of Milan. Grandly gothic and made of pink-hued white marble, the cathedral jutted up from the Piazza like Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.

  “Holy shit,” Gigi said. “Look at that thing.”

  Damian leaned down to her ear. “Not sure that ‘Holy shit’ is an appropriate response in front of a church,” he said.

  “Oh, you know what I mean. Just look at it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “So what you’re saying, then, is that even if the rest of the trip is boring as hell, the whole thing will have been worth it for this.”

  Gigi squeezed his hand and gave the coyest of smiles. “I don’t think ‘boring as hell’ is an appropriate response in front of a church.”

  * * *

  They had lunch at a café in the Galleria, where tables had been set outside the restaurant. Tourists and shoppers strolled past.

  “So…why Milan?” Gigi asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a billionaire with a jet. We could’ve gone anywhere. Why here?”

  Damian took a swig of his Moretti beer and shrugged. “Milan’s…a bit industrial. It’s their banking center. It’s cramped. It’s not always clean.” He paused. “It makes its own little gravy when it rains.”

  Gigi laughed. “Yeah, and so…?”

  “No one expects me here. I mean, look at us. We’re sitting at a café in the Galleria, in the center of Milan, tourists by the thousands walking by, and no one recognizes me. My only disguise is a pair of sunglasses. I’m Clark Kent at this point. I couldn’t get away with this in Paris or London or Madrid.” He took another swig. “People made a big deal about me renting out Six Flags one time for me and a few friends. This supposedly showed my arrogance and need for notoriety. They didn’t stop to consider what it’s like to be famous. They didn’t take a minute to ponder how else me and my friends might enjoy a day at an amusement park. I can’t go to Disney World like everybody else. I can’t go to the movies like everybody else. I’m too known. Milan is just far enough out of my usual orbit that no one’s looking for me here. I can hide a little bit in Rome, but not for long.” Another sip of beer. “You ever been to Rome?”

  “I’ve never been anywhere,” Gigi said. “Till now, I mean. My first time out of the country and I didn’t even need a passport.”

  Damian reached across the table and clinked his bottle to her wine glass. “Membership has its privileges.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “Not much to get, really. I know people. Good people. I have money. I can help people. They can help me back. There’s nothing shady about it. Just people helping people. Raccomandato.”

  “Nothing shady about it except…well, except that it violates about a gazillion international laws.”

  Damian gave a dismissive wave. “Laws…” His voice trailed off.

  “You consider yourself above them?”

  “I consider myself beside them. They’re tools in a toolbox. Some are useful in a given circumstance, some aren’t.”

  Gigi was intrigued by this. He is arrogant, she thought, but…not malevolent.

  “And Eugenio? Do you help him?”

  “Remember the recession a few years ago?”

  “Remember it? It damn near knocked me out of school. If I hadn’t had a scholarship and Judy—”

  “It was a thousand times worse over here, trust me. Unemployment in some areas hit 30 percent. Eugenio—I mean, you’ve seen him. In his 60s, knows three words of English. Lost his job when the economy went south. Who’s gonna hire a guy that age with that few skills? It’s not like he’s trainable. What’s he gonna do, start developing apps?” Damian finished off his beer. “And for all its other great qualities, Italy isn’t exactly imbued with the entrepreneurial spirit. The government’s a disaster. Everything’s regulated to a degree that nothing innovative can take root here. Google, Amazon, SXz—there’s a reason they were founded in the U.S. and not here.”

  Gigi pressed on. “And so Eugenio…?”

  “My friend Marco Bardazzi is the head of social media for Eni, the largest energy company in Italy. I met him at some event. Great guy. Eni’s now one of SXz’s biggest advertiser in Europe. Marco calls me one day, tells me about his wife’s cousin, Eugenio. Lost his job, wife battling early-onset Alzheimer’s—the man was suicidal. I told Marco I’d take care of it.” Damian flagged the waiter and asked for another Moretti.

  You’re gonna make me do it, aren’t you, Damian Black? You’re gonna make me lose myself over you. Gigi nursed her wine and looked at the table. Couldn’t you at least be hideous to look at? Would that be too much to ask?

  Gigi suddenly sat up straight. “Where’s Barbara?”

  Damian laughed. “Your concern for my flight attendant is both admirable and, I must say, a bit strange. I can’t help but notice you don’t appear nearly as concerned about the welfare of my pilot.”

  “I haven’t seen him, but I’ll wager he’s not as beautiful as Barbara.”

  “Not even remotely. Charles has a face that can stop a clock.”

  “So is she…?”

  “Barbara and Charles are set up very nicely at the Bulgari Milano, each with their own room. You needn’t worry.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried, I was just, you know, curious.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I was. Just curious.”

  Damian pointed to her empty glass. “More wine?” When Gigi nodded, Damian waved at the waiter and pointed to her glass. He turned back to Gigi. “Speaking of being curious,” he said. “I want to know more about you. We’ve spent all this time discussing me, my arrogance, and my stewardess, when you’re the really interesting one here.”

  Oh, shit, Gigi thought.

  Chapter Thirteen: Deflection

  The waiter filled Gigi’s glass with wine.

  “So let’s have it,” Damian said. “The Gigi Stevens Story. Coming soon to a theater near you.”

  He could’ve sworn she suddenly looked panicked. This was not the way most women related to him. The actresses and models he’d dated never needed nudging to talk about themselves; indeed, it appeared to be their favorite pastime. But Gigi, as he’d come to know all too well, was not like most women he’d known.

  “Oh, God, my life wouldn’t make a movie worth watching,” she said. “Not much has happened.”

  “Not much has happened? You’re kidding, right? You attended an Ivy League school. Even I didn’t do that.”

  “It was Brown,” she said, drily. “The most unfortunately-named of all the Ivy League schools. And in any case, people by and large forget that it’s an Ivy League school.”

  “Not in Silicon Valley, they don’t. It didn’t take TrekTek very long to snatch you up. They saw your potential.” I see your potential, too, he thought. I can see it very clearly.

  Gigi shrugged. “I’m one woman in a building full of men. I don’t think they take me very seriously.” She looked up at Damian. “I can’t imagine you’ve ev
er had that problem. People taking you seriously.”

  “Shit, I have that problem all the time. The old geezers in the tech industry can’t stand me. I’ve been reading about my impending demise for years now. I’m too young, too brash, too reckless, too dangerous, too—”

  “Arrogant?” Gigi interrupted, smiling.

  “Well, some people seem to think so. I’m sure present company finds me humble and self-effacing.”

  “Two adjectives never in the history of mankind used to describe Damian Black.”

  “I just used them to describe me.”

  “Yes, but you’re delusional, We make allowances for that.”

  “We?”

  “Those of us who know you.”

  “You know me?” Damian found this freshly intriguing. Over the course of the afternoon she’d been loosening up, warming to him. She’d even been playful. She hadn’t retreated completely yet, but it was clear that her guard was back up.

  “I…” Gigi studied the wine in her glass. She didn’t look at Damian. “I’d like to. I think I’d like to.”

  He slowly reached across the table and placed a hand atop hers. “I’d like that, too.”

  She withdrew her hand from his and Damian saw a pained expression cross her face before she banished it. “Damian…”

  “Gigi, what in God’s name is it? What are you so afraid of?”

  She looked directly at him. “Damian, I’m just not who you think I am. My life…”

  “Yes, your life…”

  “My life isn’t…my life isn’t…” Tears began to well in her eyes. “My life isn’t the kind of life that leads to a life with someone like you.”

  Damian sat back and took this in. It made no sense to him.

  “That’s nonsense, Gigi. Life is given. There are no laws that determine who can be with who. Yeah, your background is maybe quite different from mine. I have no way of knowing because you refuse to talk about it. But even if it’s radically different than mine, has it occurred to you that maybe that’s precisely why we’d be so good together? Look at you. You’re so button-downed, so goal-oriented, so careful. Me? I’m rambunctious. I’m arrogant. Maybe I can help you loosen up and you can help me tone it down.”

  Damian was glad to see that this last line had at least gotten a grin out of her.

  “Gigi, how old are you?”

  “23.”

  “I’m 29. We’re both young. We feel invincible. We naturally assume we’ve got 60 more years to find our happiness. But how can we know that? We can’t know that. All I’m certain about is this moment. This moment right here.” Damian tapped the table for emphasis. “This moment with you, Gigi.”

  “Gigi’s not even my real name,” she blurted out.

  Damian snapped his head back. “What do you mean?” His eyes grew wide. “Oh, wait. You’re not gonna tell me your real name is, like, Bruce and you’ve been taking hormones, right? I mean, you haven’t had any sort of operation, have you?” He made an exaggerated face to show he was joking.

  “My name is actually Georgina.”

  “Are you telling me your actual name is…is…oh my God, I don’t know if I can even bring myself to say it…Georgina?!” Damian dropped his mouth open and gawked.

  “Damian, I’m serious.”

  “I know you are, which is why it’s so hard for me not to laugh. Gigi—do you mind if I call you Gigi?”

  She cut him a look.

  “Gigi, I don’t give a damn about your name. If you want to call yourself ‘Poon Ho, Hong Kong Supermarket Queen,’ then more power to you, go right ahead. I’ll still want you near me. You’re raising objections that aren’t really objections. And I want to know why.”

  She took the small square napkin from the table and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m just all fucked up.”

  “Don’t feel like such a lone ranger. There’s seven billion other fucked up people to keep us company.”

  “'Us?’ What’s fucked up about you? Far as I can tell, you got the wind at your back and the horizon is yours for the taking.”

  “Life isn’t easy for anyone, Gigi. I’ve had my share of blessings, don’t misunderstand. I’m very grateful. But whatever it is about human nature that makes you fucked up, makes me and everybody else fucked up, too. The fucked-upness may take on a different form depending on the person, but trust me, it’s there.”

  Gigi raised her glass to her mouth and drank some wine. Damian thought she looked unconvinced.

  “Gigi?”

  She stared at her wine glass.

  “Georgina?” he asked, heavily accenting the second syllable.

  This got a smile from her.

  “You’re tired,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Fourteen: Admission

  Gigi had never experienced jet-lag before. It was only 6:00 in the evening in Milan, but according to her interior clock, still on California time, it was 9:00 in the morning and she’d had little sleep the night before. She was exhausted.

  They’d returned to Damian’s residence and he’d suggested she take a brief nap. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t,” he’d said. “Ordinarily I’d suggest you just power through the jet-lag and try to stay awake. But this hasn’t been an ordinary trip for you, and maybe it’d be best to just lay down for a while.”

  He had disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door. For a moment, Gigi had stood silently in her own bedroom and looked around. Well, this has certainly taken an odd turn, she’d thought. You got to get yourself together, girl. He’s gonna think you’re a nut.

  Gigi didn’t bother getting out of her clothes. She set her glasses on the nightstand, then collapsed on the king-size bed before her and tumbled headlong into sleep.

  * * *

  Georgina was hurtling through dark woods, swatting branches out of the way as she ran barefoot over terrain strewn with dead leaves. There was no moon. The forest floor looked as black and fathomless as the nighttime sky.

  The pounding of horse hooves grew louder behind her. In the incomprehensible logic of a dream, her nightgown began to lengthen as she ran, until it became tangled in her feet and she fell, hitting the ground hard.

  The horse’s hooves pounded the ground louder, closer…

  Georgina looked up to see a dark shape approaching with dream speed, and she began to scream as the shape overshadowed her.

  Two large hands appeared from the periphery of her vision and snatched her from the path of the nameless black shape…

  * * *

  “Gigi!” Damian shouted as he shook her awake. “Georgina!”

  Her eyes snapped open and she stopped screaming and thrashing about. “What was…?” She was gasping and breathing heavily. She looked at Damian, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Just a dream,” he told her. “A nightmare. You were having a nightmare. You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re with me here in Milan.”

  Gigi’s breathing slowly normalized and lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  “Oh, and Barbara’s fine, too,” Damian said, hoping for a smile. “I know how you worry about her.”

  Gigi tilted her head up and cut her eyes at Damian. Then she smiled and dropped her head back on the bed with a loud exhale. “Oh, my God,” she said.

  Damian moved alongside her on the bed and swept the hair from her face. “What was all that about?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You have nightmares often?”

  “No more often than most people,” she said quietly.

  “You were screaming. You sounded terrified.”

  Gigi had calmed enough to gather a sense of her surroundings. It was dusk. The room was cast in a twilight blue. And Damian was laying on the bed next to her clad in nothing except a pair of boxers.

  Damian noticed her looking and said, “I was asleep, too, and didn’t have time to get dressed when I heard you screaming.”

  “Oh, I’m…I’m not complaining,” she said. “I’m just a little surpri
sed you sleep in your underwear.”

  “My boys need a home,” he said, and they both laughed.

  They remained on the bed in silence for a long time. Then, from Damian’s room, buzzing.

  “What’s that?” Gigi asked.

  “Ah, shit, it’s my phone on vibrate. Hang on a sec, I’ll be right back.”

  Damian hopped off the bed, and Gigi let her gaze linger on the broadness of his muscled back as he disappeared out of the room. How do you keep that physique and not live at the gym? she wondered.

  Damian returned, the phone at his ear. The room was darkening with each passing minute, but Gigi could make out Damian rolling his eyes as he rounded the foot of the bed. “Si, Eugenio, Si, si. Is very good. Si. A domani, mon amico. Si, is very good. Buonanotte.” Damian dropped his hands to his sides and hung his head as if exhausted. “I love that old man to death, but honestly.”

  Damian set his cellphone by Gigi’s glasses on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Eugenio’s going to pick us up at 7:00 in the morning and drive us to Malpensa.” He reached out and gently caressed her cheek. Then he surveyed the length of her body and said: “You always sleep fully clothed?”

  “Not always. Only when I’m suffering jet-lag in a country I’ve illegally entered.”

  “That’s more like it,” he said. “That’s the Gigi Stevens I know.”

  But you don’t really know me, she thought. And I don’t know what you’d do if you did know me.

  “I’m gonna get to the bottom of you,” he said—then grinned. “I mean, with that bottom, what man wouldn’t want to get to the bottom of you?”

  Gigi playfully swatted at his chest, which seemed to her impossibly broad. “You’re terrible,” she said. She had swatted his chest—then surprised herself by keeping her hand there, her palm pressed flat against his smooth skin.

  “Damian…”