“Oooooooooh, and you were doing so well…”
“Look, I know. Trust isn’t easy. And it’s embarrassing for me to acknowledge that my behavior has been, on occasion...well, let’s just call it ‘sub-optimal.’”
“You’ve done more banging than a screen door in a hurricane,” she said.
“I’m morally bankrupt and physically spent. Yep, you called it.” He smiled, but gestured excitedly with his hand, indicating their conversation.. “This,” he said. “This. I don’t have this with anyone else. I’ve never had this with anyone else. And now that I have it I...I don’t want to lose it.”
Gigi shook her head. “Me, neither.”
He took her hand in his. “You really deleted a call off my phone?”
Gigi nodded.
“That was very naughty.” He arched an eyebrow. “I might have to spank you.”
Gigi laughed.
“Seriously,” he said. “Otherwise, how can you ever expect to learn?” His laughter joined hers.
“Well, since we’re being completely honest,” she said, “I have a question for you, too.”
“Fire away.”
“How did you know I’d left? And how the hell did you know where to find me? I mean, I hadn’t been there a hot 30 minutes when the friggin’ chopper dropped down right there in their yard.”
“Any 30-minute stretch of time in your presence automatically qualifies as a hot 30 minutes.”
“I will never tell you to stop saying things like that.”
Damian made broad, exaggerated gestures indicating he was searching for an elusive answer. “Um, let’s just say…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s just say you have a friend who was very concerned you were making a hasty decision.”
* * *
Gigi was standing in the Ritz-Carlton parking lot when she playfully shouted “Snitch!” into her phone.
“Speaking,” said Judy. “May I ask who’s calling?”
Gigi brought her up to speed on her father’s condition and the arrangements Damian had made.
“You mean they’re going to be out in California with you?”
“For a while, at least. Damian says he’ll find them a house near mine while Daddy’s getting treatments at Stanford.” She paused. “I still can’t believe you contacted him.”
“Look, girl, if you don’t start having sex with that demi-god on a regular basis, then I’m going to have to. And trust me, he won’t want that.”
Gigi laughed out loud, then grew quiet. “Seriously, Judy, you’re the best friend anyone could have.”
“I know! That’s what I keep saying!”
“You know I mean it.”
“I know you do. Now go ride that stallion.”
Epilogue
They were in Milan for just a few days. Damian had a business meeting to attend and after that, they took the train to Torino and the La Lattea ski resort. She’d never been skiing before and was worried she’d break something. Damian assured her that her natural backside padding—which he professed to love and never missed an opportunity to fondle and knead—would offer plenty of security.
Her parents were back in Cedar Falls. The treatment results had been successful to a degree no one had anticipated, not even Dr. Landi. No trace of the tumor remained. Damian had offered to buy her parents a house near Gigi’s, but they had politely declined. The cultural leap from Cedar Falls to San Francisco was a little more daunting than her parents were prepared to make. So, he arranged to have their little house fixed up. Once a week, as needed, a landscaping crew now visited to mow, weed and mulch.
Damian’s jet would be getting a workout for the foreseeable future. As her parents couldn’t bring themselves to move to the West Coast, Damian decided to make the jet available to Gigi for twice-monthly flights to North Carolina. She and her parents had some catching up to do.
* * *
When they arrived in Torino, they made their way through the stately Torino Porta Nuova railway station to a waiting limousine. Through her window, Gigi could see the regal city, with its palazzos and piazzas, speed past her first along the Corso Vittorio and then the Corso Francia as the snow-capped Italian Alps beckoned in the distance.
When the arrived at the secluded Chalet Il Capicorno, Gigi was almost speechless. The view of the Cozie Alps was a staggering thing of beauty and an enveloping reminder of nature’s power and presence.
“We’re skiing that?” she asked incredulously, gesturing at the mountains towering just beyond them as they walked to a nearby deck.
Damian looked out on the view. “Sure. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Gigi offered an expression of mock offense. “Why, you’re the Bad Boy Playboy of Silicon Valley.”
Damian grinned and took her hand. “And don’t you never, ever forget it.”
He led her inside, where the place radiated an ineffable elegance that to Gigi was remarkable in that it managed to meld both a rustic charm with perfectly tasteful—and expensive—details. There was no check-in required. Damian was immediately greeted warmly and they were shown to their suite.
The room was elegantly appointed, plush yet cozy with an even more spectacular view of the Alps. What most struck Gigi, however, was the intricate wooden chandelier that dominated the living room. This was no manufactured job, Gigi quickly surmised. This was handmade.
Damian opened the door to reveal a bedroom with a single bed, sofa chairs, a plush chaise lounge, and access to its own deck with a hot tub.
“Oh, my,” she said. “Look at that hot tub. Awfully small.”
“Yeah,” Damian said.
“And look at that bed,” she said. “Awfully small.”
“Yeah, awfully small,” Damian said. “Probably gonna be impossible to share these thing without our bodies touching.”
“Ew. Do you have cooties?”
“Nah,” said Damian. “I had my cooty shot.”
“Well, in that case, I might consider scrunching up next to you on that little bed … or that hot tub.”
He reached around her waist and slowly unwound the scarf from her neck and used it to pull her close to him. Air that had travelled through his lungs and spent time in his body was now hot on her cheek and neck, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, this thought moved her.
She raised her head slightly and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Damian.”
He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and said, his breath still sharp and heavy, “I love you, too, Georgina.”
THE END OF BOOK ONE
Hard Drive Playlist
First things first. If you’re a tech billionaire whose made his fortune by streaming music, there’s got to be a playlist. Damian and Gigi make beautiful music together, so I’ve put a playlist together on Spotify. Check out the playlist then join my list and let me know what you think of their musical vibe.
Ratatat - Wildcat
Steve Aoki - ILYSM with Autoerotique
Iggy Izalea – Fancy
Mark Ronson – Uptown Funk featuring Bruno Mars
Sara Bareilles – Love Song
Selena Gomez – Hands to Myself
John Mayer – Your Body is Wonderland
Miranda Glory – Stain
Julia Michaels – Issues
Lauv – I Like Me Better
So there it is: the Hard Drive playlist. You can listen to my playlist on Spotify by clicking here. If you have a suggestion for the playlist, email me at [email protected].
Hardwired
A Billionaire and Virgin Romance
Chapter One: Hayden
Roberta Flack is on stage, killing it. The crowd is crazy in love with her. They know this is one of her final performances. Ever. And this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. She sips some water on the main stage of the Monterey Jazz Festival as her band starts the first few bars of Killing Me Softly.
A cheer goes up. The crowd starts swaying to the music. The energy in the crowd takes on
a vibrant life of its own and I soak it all in. It’s fascinating, really, how music can create an entire mood felt by hundreds all at once.
The crowd sucks in a collective breath as Roberta sings and then holds out the mic asking everyone to sing the chorus. And right on cue, the place is filled with voices.
Over it all, my ears zero in on one voice. A sultry voice that sounds like it belongs to a woman in a long, vintage red dress and matching elbow-length gloves accompanied by a single piano in a smoky room filled with old suits and older money.
That voice rises above the rest. A confident, sure, strong voice of someone who either knows she’s good or doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. Either way, I need to find her, now.
Scanning the crowd, I search for a face to match the voice. I need to know who is singing. I need to meet her. I need to hear more.
Everyone is on their feet, totally in it now. And some of them have started looking for the voice. They all fade from sight and mind as I single out the singer. Her mouth is open wide, bold, naturally nude lips full and sensual. Her olive skin is beautiful and striking, high cheekbones give her a natural air of beauty. But it’s not just her cheekbones; her pointed chin and perfectly straight nose could be right off a super model. I’m definitely in it now.
The crowd parts and I see she’s wearing an old tee shirt and jeans instead of the dress I’d imagined in my mind’s eye. Not that it matters because her full curves rock the tight jeans.
As if she feels my gaze on her, her attention swings my way. Piercing green eyes meet mine and I feel like I’ve been hit in the solar plexus with a battering ram. Tawny tight curls frame her beautiful face like a halo, and her golden skin shines with a natural brilliance. I doubt she’s wearing a lick of makeup and it works for her. She’s totally hot.
She’s still belting out the lyrics, her eyes locked on mine.
Telling my whole life with his words
I’m staring at her.
The corners of her lips curve a little in a sultry almost smile that wakes something primal inside me. Her hips rock side to side as she slowly rotates toward me, as if we’re sharing this moment as friends rather than strangers.
I felt all flushed with fever.
She lowers her eyes, her naturally thick lashes shadowing her cheeks before her gaze sweeps back up to meet mine. My stomach tightens, and I feel her voice resonating through every inch of my being, the reverb humming in my blood.
Her attention skips back to Roberta, her voice still ringing out like a battle cry promising beautiful death. Roberta seems to have heard her. The singer has tuned in toward her, mic still outstretched, a wide grin on her face. The joy in the woman erupts in the crowd as the very air becomes electric.
Roberta begins to sing with the woman, urging her up toward the stage. But the big-voiced woman gives a soft shake of her head, a real smile on her face now. She stays put, still singing as the rest of the crowd quiets down and just listens in stunned silence. The beautiful harmony of the two reminds me of something hot, something familiar turned inside out like Miles Davis riffing on Time After Time or John Coltrane jamming on My Favorite Things. It hums somewhere deep in my being and I feel it through every nerve ending in my body. A held, collective breath stays locked in lungs as the two continue to sing and I’m fucking loving it—loving her.
Nobody sounds quite like her. Her voice is thick like honey, yet with a gentle rasping quality. She slides through octaves above and below Roberta in an almost playful fashion even as her voice shows her absolute reverence for the singer. I want to hear more. I need to hear more. I need to dissect her sound and figure out how she forces me to feel each emotion on her face.
“Yo, my peeps. Hey, Hayden. Your hotness,” I hear my aide and all-around handler, Judy Mixon, but she may as well be a few miles away because I’m totally somewhere else.
The beautiful woman’s eyes meet mine again. Holy shit. She’s hotter than before. I gotta breathe. The song comes to an end and I hear Roberta telling her, “Get up here now, girl.”
But the woman shakes her head. “You’re my hero,” she calls up to Roberta, who’s still holding a hand out to her. I notice an accent. What is it? French.
“With a voice like that, girl, you’re my hero!” Roberta’s eyes are sparkling.
The whole crowd seems to be holding onto this moment, aware they’re witnessing magic. I feel the staff crowding around me and Judy’s at my elbow. Then the crowd erupts in a standing ovation.
“This has all been a real hootenanny but right here in my handy dandy schedule it says we’re due over at the Louis Armstrong stage, so I say we make like bandits because we’re gonna be late,” Judy says, sifting through a pile of disheveled papers.
“Yes, we are,” I tell her, not taking my eyes off the singer in the crowd. With that, I begin moving toward the voice, the security guys right on my heels.
Judy is protesting as she chases after me, papers flying, but I’m brushing off every word.
I don’t give a shit. I didn’t found SXz, the most popular music streaming service on the fucking planet, to follow the rules, to be “handled.” The best part of being a billionaire is that you get to do what the hell you want, when you want. And right now, I want her.
I’m shoving my way past the cheering crowd, stepping over chairs. I’m on the warpath toward the green-eyed vision when she notices me.
The warmth in her eyes vanishes and fear backlights her features. Her full, pretty lips part like she’s stunned, and she scans the group of us heading her direction. I see the tension in her shoulders; see the worry in her muscles. She’s scared, but why? I just want to talk to her, and I’ll tell her as much when I’m close enough not to shout through a crowd.
As I close in on her, she turns away and bolts.
Chapter Two: Sabine
He’s following me. Va savoir pourquoi!
My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. Glancing over my shoulder, I don’t see him. Ducking into the tent where I’m supposed to change and do my makeup, I breathe. That guy was intense.
I step toward the middle of the white tent, willing myself to breathe normally again. I don’t think I’ve moved that fast in a long time and the excitement still makes my hands shake. Pressing my palms to my thighs, I try to concentrate.
Suddenly, hands grab my shoulders and spin me around.
I shove the guy back, and we stare at each other for a full minute.
His dark, slashing brows are low over his eyes and there’s an almost menacing air about him. He’s a good-looking man with angular features, a powerful jaw, and sharp cheekbones. Shadows in his eyes and slight darkness under them tell me he doesn’t sleep much – or well.
“Out!” I demand, pointing toward the door.
He seems almost stunned. “I just want to talk,” he says in a low, steely voice.
“You needed 10 security guards to talk to me?” I ask, not believing it for a second.
His eyebrows lift a fraction of an inch. “You think you’re in trouble?” he asks.
I cross my arms and shift my weight. “Of course not. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I don’t understand how he’s not following this. “But how would you react to being rushed by a bunch of security guys led by a guy that looks like you, wearing that, t’sais?”
I gesture to his suit. It’s an American cut. American men cannot dress themselves. French. Italian. Even Saville Row. But that?
“She’s got a point, boss,” a young woman with a bunch of papers and clipboard says, stepping past the two security guys. “I think maybe a seersucker, or something with pinstripes. Accentuate your swimmer’s build. You know what I’m sayin’?”
He rolls his eyes. I get a good look at him. He’s cute. Non. He gorgeous.
It’s kind of impressive, I think to myself, that he was able to run in that suit at all.
He turns to the young woman and gestures for her and his entourage to get out.
His eyes narrow dangerously, and he
turns to me. “A guy that looks like me?”
I can’t help but smile. He is cute.
“Oui monsieur,” I say, ignoring the danger in his voice and plowing forward. “A guy that looks like you.” I gesture at his suit. He’s so out of place here, it’s almost funny. The whole vibe of this place is more business casual with guys seeming to prefer button-down shirts and women in pretty dresses or blouses and slacks. Not suits.
“Do you know who I am?” He doesn’t sound like he’s being a pompous ass, he sounds like he’s genuinely curious. It puts me on edge anyway.
“Non. Do you know who I am?” I don’t expect him to know who I am. Who I am and what’s happened to me and my singing career over the last couple of years still seem like a dream. They can’t be real. If life has taught me anything it’s that life is one big hustle and good things don’t happen to me.
He’s studying me like he’s trying to figure me out. Good luck with that, as the Americans say. As his eyes sweep down me and climb back up, I feel an odd surge of electricity tickle up my arms. Every inch of my skin breaks out in, how do you say, goosebumps and I run my hands up them without thinking about it.
His eyes follow this motion, and I see a twitch to his lips. He focuses on my face, tracing my features like he’s trying to place me. Not going to happen.
“No, I don’t know who you are,” he answers. I hear the regret in his voice, and everything starts to fall into place.
“You’re a talent agent, right?” I ask, primed and ready to tell him I already have a manager.
There’s a tiny curve at the corners of his lips as if he’s slightly amused by my suggestion. “No,” he says, extending the word slowly out of his mouth. He steps toward me and his scent washes over me. Something clean and sharp; freshly washed laundry, masculine shampoo, and a hint of cologne.
Tech Titans: The Complete Billionaire Romance Series Page 11