Tech Titans: The Complete Billionaire Romance Series

by Swann, Marcella

  It was at this point that Gigi noticed the universal medical symbol emblazoned on the door of the helicopter—a door that now opened.

  A young woman wearing EMS insignia hopped out, lowered her head, and ran toward the house.

  I’ve lost my marbles, Gigi thought. This is the weirdest damn sight I’ve ever seen.

  The young EMS woman ran up to the front door and looked at Gigi. She shouted, “Are you Georgina Stevens?”

  She would later laugh at the fact that hearing the woman call her Georgina struck her as somehow stranger than seeing the woman hop from a helicopter that had just landed, however improbably, on her parents’ property.

  “I go by…” She stopped herself. “Yes, I’m Georgina Stevens. Who the hell are you and why have you landed a helicopter in my parents’ yard?”

  “Ma’am, I need permission—” The woman stopped, coughed, and tried yelling louder. The helicopter’s rotors sounded like a hundred machine guns firing in unison. “Ma’am, I need permission to airlift—” She pointed to Gigi’s father. “Is this your father, Frank Stevens?”

  Gigi nodded, complete and utter bafflement on her face.

  “Ma’am, I need permission to airlift your father to Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte.”

  Gigi looked at her father. Her father looked at her mother. Her mother looked at Gigi. Not one of them had any idea what the fuck was going on.

  Gigi shouted at the EMS woman, “Who the hell are you? And who the hell sent you?”

  The woman tried to smile in the gale force wind being whipped by the rotor blades. She forced a hand down into the side pocket of her cargo pants. She pulled out a small beige envelope and handed it to Gigi, who gripped it tightly and tore it open. It contained a notecard. Gigi carefully opened the card and read the three hand-written words scribbled on it:

  Is good, no?

  Gigi’s mouth and hand opened simultaneously, and the card immediately darted up and away, carried by the swirling winds of the helicopter’s blades.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Rescue

  It had taken some convincing to get her father into the helicopter. “I know it all seems weird,” she’d told him, “but trust me, it’ll be worth it. I love you, Daddy.” She’d hugged him tightly.

  The helicopter hadn’t had room for all three of them. “Just go on and take him,” Gigi had shouted at the EMS woman. “We’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  She and her mother had watched the helicopter rise into the air, hover a second or two, then pull away and head south over the treeline that bordered the pasture. They’d stood there in silence for a moment. Then her mother had turned to Gigi with a look of amused befuddlement. “Well, I must say that today ain’t goin’ nothin’ like I’d pictured it would.”

  They’d both started laughing.

  “No,” Gigi said, “I guess I’ve never been like the other girls.”

  * * *

  The medical center was a two-hour drive from her parents’ place. Gigi unloaded some of her belongings from the Kia and put them in the house. Then she and her mother got in, looked at each other, and took off down the highway.

  It was awkward at first. Gigi was okay with that. It would have been unrealistic to expect a lot of chatter after a five-year absence—especially an absence undertaken with such hostility. And it’s not like their home life had ever been a garden of conversation.

  But Gigi was happy. Excited, confused, but happy. The note from Damian had explained nothing, really, except that he was in charge, and that the situation was under control. She still didn’t understand the helicopter, the airlift to Carolinas Medical Center, or what Damian might possibly have planned. But for the first time she could remember, she felt eager and content to trust.

  “So tell me what all’s goin’ on with this man friend of yours,” her mother said.

  Man friend. Gigi loved how her mother put that.

  “Well, Momma, you’re gonna have a hard time believing this, but…”

  How do I tell her he’s a billionaire? Will she even believe me?

  Gigi decided to bite the bullet. “Momma, he’s a billionaire.”

  Her mother turned from the passenger side and gave a sweet but slightly quizzical look. “I’m sorry, honey, but I missed that last part. Did you say he’s an engineer?”

  “No, Momma, I said he’s a billionaire.”

  Gigi let it dangle there for a minute. Her mother said nothing, but Gigi could feel her staring. It suddenly occurred to her that her mother might very well think she was pulling her leg, having a little fun at her expense.

  “I’m not kidding, Momma. He’s a billionaire.”

  Unexpectedly, her mother’s face took on a worried expression. “Well, mightn’t he be a tad old for you, sweetie?”

  At first, Gigi found her mother’s question incomprehensible. Too old for me? What the…? But then it became clear and she started laughing. Her mother, oblivious to the tech world’s demographics, was assuming that Damian Black must be an aging lothario in his 50s or 60s, a captain of industry used to collecting paramours half his age.

  “Momma, Damian Black isn’t even 30 yet.”

  “And you say he’s a billionaire?”

  “Yes, a billionaire.”

  “My goodness, what does he do?”

  “He helped create that music streaming company, SXz.” And as soon as she’d uttered the words, she’d known they were wasted. Her mother would have had no idea what SXz was, or what music streaming was, for that matter. “He works in the computer industry, Momma. He’s a wiz with stuff that kids like.”

  “Well, that’s...that’s good, sweetie. And you say you two are friendly?”

  Oh, we’ve been friendly as hell, Gigi thought, remembering Milan. “Yes, Momma, he’s very...generous.”

  “And you say he’s about your age? Not much older?”

  “Yeah, he’s six years older.”

  “Well, do you two have an interest in one another?”

  Gigi was about to crack up. Her mother was always so serious, so polite. “Yes, Momma, I think you can safely say we have an interest in one another.”

  * * *

  Carolinas Medical Center was a small city unto itself on the south side of Charlotte. With gleaming buildings and numerous helipads, it could be spotted several miles away from the air. On the ground, however, it was a different story altogether, and Gigi repeatedly found herself lost and in the wrong parking lot.

  “Well, I see your sense of direction ain’t improved none,” her mother said, laughing.

  “No, I definitely don’t make a good case for women drivers.”

  After a half-hour of searching, they finally discovered the right parking lot and walked to the entrance of the building.

  The woman behind the counter asked cheerfully, “Yes, may I help you?”

  “I need to find Frank Stevens. He’s my father. He was brought here by helicop—” Her words were stopped short by the sight of a figure approaching from her right.

  Damian.

  Without thinking, she flung her arms around his neck. “How did you arrange all this? How did you even know where to find me?” She was startled to find that she was crying.

  He took her face in his hands and flashed The Smile. “It’s the 21st century and I’m Damian Black.”

  Gigi wiped her eyes.

  “And you,” he continued, looking over Gigi’s shoulder, “must be Georgina’s mother.” He stepped up to her and gave her a big, squeezing hug. “I mean, this is the South. You guys are into hugs, right? Grits and hugs?”

  Gigi and her mother laughed.

  “I’ll give you a rain check on the grits,” he continued. “All I have right now are some hugs.” Damian turned to the woman behind the desk. “I’ll take them from here.”

  * * *

  Gigi’s father looked slightly embarrassed, clad only in a hospital gown and sitting propped up in the bed. His room was spacious and white, with banks of gizmos and computers lining t
he wall beside him. Gigi, her mother, and Damian sat in chairs around the bed.

  “Her name is Teri Landi,” Damian said. “She’s a research scientist at Stanford.” He looked at Gigi’s parents. “That’s where I went to school.”

  A nurse leaned her head in the room. “I’m sorry for interrupting. Mr. Stevens? In about 30 minutes, we’re going to take you downstairs for a few more tests and scans, okay? Just wanted you to know.”

  “Alrighty, then, thank you,” Frank said, offering a little wave.

  The nurse ducked back out of the room.

  “She heads the biggest grant-funded research project in the country. Stanford wooed her away from NIH about six years ago, gave her carte blanche to do whatever she wanted. They’re serious about a cure.”

  Gigi looked at her dad and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “See?”

  “And I’m serious about it, too. My mother died of ovarian cancer when I was seven. I’ve made more money than I can ever hope to spend and so I want to spend what I can on this.” He smiled. “She never got to see how flagrantly awesome I became.”

  Gigi laughed and said to her parents, who looked baffled, “You have to know him.”

  “Now obviously there are no cures yet,” he went on. “But she’s working on some really cutting-edge stuff that’s showing lots of promise. The traditional approach has always been to blast the cancer with radiation or chemo and hope it more or less burns up. And sometime it does. But often, it doesn’t, or at least not enough, and in the process, it poisons the patient.

  “What Teri’s working on,” he continued, “is a way to trick the body into treating the cancer as it would any other illness. She thinks she’s found a way—maybe—to have your body’s own immune system attack the cancer. And with your permission”—he gestured to Gigi’s parents—“I’d like to have Frank flown out to Stanford to take part in the clinical trials. There would be no expense to you, of course. The university will pay for everything.”

  Gigi knew he was lying about the last part. Damian himself would be picking up the tab.

  “I hope this won’t sound rude,” her mother said, and Gigi froze.

  Oh God, Momma, don’t say anything bad.

  “But…” Her mother’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Is there any way I could be with him?”

  Damian reached over and took her hand. “Oh, my God, of course! I apologize for not being clearer. Yes, of course, you’ll be with him. Can’t go separating two people who love each other.”

  Gigi turned and gave Damian a tender look. “No, we can’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Revelation

  Damian sat on a plush sofa in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. He’d bought three rooms for three nights, though he strongly suspected that only two of the rooms would be used.

  He smiled at the thought.

  Gigi seemed different now, in a good way. He couldn’t say she was back to her old self, because she seemed different from even the woman she’d been at the beginning. You’re a mystery, Miss Georgina Stevens. One that I enjoy contemplating.

  He saw her approaching from the far side of the lobby and rose to greet her, arms open. She fell into them and wrapped her own arms around his waist. They stood there, time slowing to a stop, the two of them rocking back and forth gently.

  “You’re mom’s gonna stay upstairs and rest a bit?”

  “Yeah, she’s worn out. This is not a typical day for her. Or for my dad.”

  “Or for any of us, I imagine.” Damian led her to the sofa and they sat down.

  He leaned in and kissed her. When their lips parted, she closed her eyes and smiled.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time to ask,” he said, “but I just have to know. Milan. What the hell happened?”

  Gigi leaned her head back, stared at the ceiling for a beat, then dropped her head forward with a loud exhale. “I…look. I was a mess.”

  “No need to point out the obvious.”

  “You’re going to hate me.”

  “I think you might be exaggerating just a bit.”

  “I deleted a call off your phone.”

  “You’re right, I hate you.” A smile. “Wait, what: you deleted a call off my phone? When?”

  “When you were in the shower.”

  Damian wasn’t understanding any of this.

  “Why would you delete a call off my phone?”

  “Because it was from a beautiful, skinny blonde I hated on sight.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Look, I was awful. You were in the shower and your phone rang. It was Karen. I’d seen her with you before online and…I just…” She shrugged and looked down at the lobby carpeting.

  “You were jealous of Karen?” Damian sat back and thought about it.

  “Don’t act like it’s some unfathomable thing. She’s young and beautiful—and emaciated,” she said. “You’re young and beautiful—and totally buff. I think my concerns were completely warranted.”

  Damian smiled at the way she expressed herself. Instead of admitting jealousy, she merely had “concerns” that were “completely warranted.”

  “I’ve never dated Karen. Never slept with her. Never even had dinner alone with her.”

  “If you tell me she’s your caterer, I’m going to scream.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Gigi, she’s some kind of Goodwill Ambassador for the American Cancer Society. I came into contact with her as part of that fundraiser I happened to be heading up. Which was totally lit, by the way. Did you see those freakin’ dinosaurs?”

  “Easy there, Mr. Self-Regard.”

  “Look, she’s very sweet, but—”

  “But she could use a doughnut. Or twenty.”

  “I was going to say, ‘She’s very sweet, but I don’t really know her.’ The paparazzi conveniently leave out that context.” He thought for a moment, then continued. “It’s a problem for you? My history with women?”

  “Your history with women? No, I have no problem with your history with women. I have a hard time judging anybody for their past. Mine keeps me in check. So no, I’m not concerned about your history with women. What concerns me is your present with women. And, of course, your future with women.”

  “What if I told you it’s no longer an issue. What if I told you it won’t be a problem?”

  “One, you’re a man. You’ve got that testosterone shit coursing through you, always urging you to ‘spread your seed’ or whatever, far and wide. And two, you’re Damian Black, which means you’re gorgeous and popular and gazillionaire wealthy. Which means that women will always want you. Which means that they will always be making plays for your attention. Which means that the more attractive ones may eventually succeed, if for no other reason than the law of averages.”

  “God, you’ve really thought about this.”

  “I have.”

  “But you haven’t thought it all the way through,” said Damian.

  “How so?”

  “You’re leaving out an important factor. The most important factor.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “That would be you, Gigi.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, look at it from this angle first. You can go on and on about how desirable I am—and God knows, I won’t stop you,” he said, prompting a laugh from Gigi. “But you conveniently leave out of the equation another important constant: your own desirability. I know you don’t like to hear it, it makes you uncomfortable for some reason, but you’re beautiful and sexy and smart and men are gonna be hounding you non-stop.”

  Gigi rolled her eyes.

  “Fine, roll your eyes, but false humility doesn’t change the fact that men are gonna want you, men are gonna make plays for you, and the more attractive ones just might succeed in getting your attention. So this cuts both ways.”

  He looked at her deeply. “But the better angle, the truer angle, is this: you’re who I want. I’ve met you—you—and that’s enough for m
e. You’re enough for me. Yes, I’m going to be in close proximity to beautiful women. And even though most of them will be easier to get into than community college and won’t have the sense God gave a granola bar, every now and then I expect there will be one who can actually carry on a conversation that won’t include references to their hair stylist.”

  “I doubt they’re all so dimwitted and stuck on themselves.”

  “Some are. Enough are. But in any case, you’re missing the point. And the point is you. I’ve met you. And that’s enough to know. I can’t be enticed by something that’s no longer attractive to me. It’s like my jet.”

  “It’s like your jet?”

  “I’ve got an awesome private jet.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Do you think I can be ‘enticed’ by a free coach ticket on a commercial airline? Why would I ever fly commercial again when I’ve got a private jet?”

  “Are you really comparing me to a mode of transportation?” she asked drily.

  “You know what I mean. Once a man has climbed Mt. Everest, do you really think he’s gonna get that excited when someone proposes climbing a magnolia tree in the front yard? If a man drives a Bugatti, do you really think he’s gonna get that excited when someone proposes driving a Prius? When a man--”

  “I get it! So you can stop comparing me to objects now.” She tried to look stern, but he could see the beginnings of a grin.

  Damian started laughing. “Holy shit, I was wondering how long I was gonna have to keep going with that.”

  “You’re thorough, I’ll give you that.”

  “Gigi, all of this is just words. They sound good, sure, but they’re just words. I can give you example after example—”

  “And for a second there, I thought you were going to.”

  “I can give you example after example and try to reason you through it, but you won’t believe until you actually see it. You have to see it in action. And for that, you need trust.”