“What are you working on now?” I ask her, scanning the water.
I glance at her and notice her arched eyebrow.
“I want to be in my bathing suit so I can get the sunshine,” she says.
“I mean, are you working on a new album?” I settle back in my seat, enjoying the warmth of the day and the beauty sitting next to me.
“That’s, how do you say, privileged information,” she says, folding up her pants and setting them on the bench seat on top of her neatly folded shirt.
“I’m a privileged man,” I say. “I’m here with you.”
She makes a face at me. “Does that line ever work?” she asks.
“I’ve only ever used it on you, so did it work?”
“Non,” she says, stretching out on the seat. She faces the sky and throws an arm under her head as the sunshine warms her skin.
As the boat drifts toward shore, I decide we’re close enough and drop anchor. She turns her head and opens an eye to peek at me.
“You said you can swim,” I say, stripping off my tee shirt. Without waiting for her, I dive off the boat into the water. Coming up for air, I head toward shore in an easy breaststroke.
I hear her squeal as she jumps into the water. I walk out on the sand as she comes charging out of the water at me.
“Something touched my leg!” She shouts, and I glance down. A little bit of seaweed is wrapped around her ankle.
“You’ll live,” I say with a grin and she glances down before kicking the plant off. It flies to the side, and she walks over, picks it up, and flings it my direction.
I sidestep it easily.
The sand is pleasantly warm under my feet, and we fall into step beside each other along the deserted stretch of beach.
She peeks up at me. “What do you do when you’re not chasing down women with your security guards?”
Since she’s the only one, the answer is easy. “I spend time with them on the beach.”
“Showing off?” she asks, shading her eyes from the sun.
“Something like that,” I say as she bends down to look at a pretty rock.
We start walking again, and I drink her in. She smells amazing and the two-piece suit looks incredible. I love that she’s proud of her body. And she should be, she’s damn sexy. That self-confidence only adds to her beauty.
As the sand sticks to the bottom of my feet, I stop and wiggle my toes, trying to free the space of the grit.
“I hate sand,” I tell her. “Gets in all the cracks.”
Her grin flashes. “I love sand. Gets in all the cracks. If you do it right.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I can’t contain a chuckle.
“You’re dirty,” I say.
“You think so?” She steps over a bit of driftwood. “What do you call the useless piece of skin on a dick?”
I think about it for a moment. The answer is foreskin, but I doubt she’s going for obvious. “I don’t know, what?”
“The man,” she says. Her laughter rings out over the beach.
I can’t help my grin.
“Let’s head back in,” she says. With that, she races into the water, diving in with an easy grace I enjoy watching. “Race you,” she shouts.
Of course, she wins. At the boat, I help her climb up the ladder and grab her a towel. We hit the mini shower to rinse off and she’s right back to sunning herself.
“Oh!” she says suddenly, bolting upright as I grab waters for us. She reaches for her bag and pulls it toward her.
“Is water okay? I also have champagne, beer, wine, soda,” I say, listing the things I brought aboard.
“Water is fine, merci beaucoup,” she says.
I walk out toward her with the waters and find her rolling a joint. She offers it to me with a lighter and I stare at her.
“I had a drug problem in college,” I tell her, feeling all those forgotten dark days up in mind’s eye. I’d spent two years at Harvard before dropping out to start SXz and I’d experiment with drugs. I was searching for something and what I’d found wasn’t pretty.
She starts to pull it back, her expression unsure.
I reach out and take it from her, tuck it between my lips, then take the lighter. It’s just some damn pot. It’s fine.
We pass the afternoon sunning, laughing, and talking about everything and nothing.
Chapter Eight: Sabine
It’s been two days since our date, and I can’t stop thinking about him. Right now, lying in bed, staring up at my phone, I look at the text I just sent him.
It’s crazy but miss you. <3
I can’t help it. Ça va pas, non? I think to myself. Am I crazy?
It is crazy. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, he’s crazy rich, and he’s one of the most powerful people in the music business as co-founder of SXz. I should feel like my golden ticket has arrived. But I don’t trust the universe. Shit like this doesn’t happen. Where I come, if you fall for a guy’s game you wind up barefoot and pregnant; I’m not my mother. I don’t play that game. I saw those men come in and out of my mother’s bedroom, one worse than the one before.
I’m 22 years old and have had plenty of boyfriends of every race and type. Men are a necessary evil. But here’s the deal: I’m still a virgin. That’s the one thing I can control. And right now, I’m losing control.
He’s been sending me texts and calling me every day. I woke up to a good morning text from him that read, Good morning beautiful.
Yesterday we’d talked about my upcoming shows, the tour I’m not ready for, the next album I’m working on. It’s another pop album, but every time I settle down to write the songs, I get hung up on him. Wondering what he’s doing. What he’s up to.
I get a million ideas, then lose them all as I obsess over him.
Hmmm, I know a good therapist.
I laugh. His humor, though dark and twisted, always makes me laugh. On the other side of the wall, I hear Bassirou curse and instantly quiet down. We’d moved into another hotel as he somehow managed to book two more shows and set up an interview on the hottest radio station in the Bay Area. A new city. A new place, a new show. Around performances, I try to hide out here. But this time it’s different. Instead of the usual double room places, Bassirou gets, he’d gotten a single room this time.
“Sabine!” he shouts and I wince.
I’m on my feet in a second. He’s in the little sitting area with the TV muted. His cup reeks, and I know the stench of alcohol even from across the room.
“Wesh cousin.” I keep my voice light even as I tuck away my concern. He’d claimed this single room was a mix-up and told me he’d sort it all out.
“They don’t have any doubles.” He’s angry. His brows are low over his eyes, and his glare is unsettling. I notice he’s refusing to look at me as he takes a deep gulp of liquor.
Keeping as calm and positive as I can, I answer gently. “So we’ll look into another place.”
His eyes slash to me. “Everything is booked. Some big merde is in town.” He takes another deep drink, and I struggle to figure out how to proceed.
“So you get the couch,” I say kind of playfully, discomfort welling up in me.
He leaps to his feet and bears down on me. I flatten to the wall behind me, refusing to look directly into the face of his anger. His voice is nearly a whisper, and his breath carries the sting of whiskey and cigarettes. “I’m not sleeping on the fucking couch.”
I’m not sleeping without a locked door between us. “I’ll sleep in the car, then,” I say, defiantly glaring up at him.
“Why do you deny this?” He asks, his anger rising with his voice as gestures between us.
“This?” I ask, dumbfounded. The sick feeling that he’s realizing all my worst fears begins to surface, and I think I might throw up.
“Us. You feel it, too, don’t lie to me.”
I shake my head. “You’re like a brother to me, Bassirou. We’re partners. Business, comprenez vous?”
He chuckles, but the sound
is cruel. Suddenly, his hands are gripping my face. He pulls me in, pressing his lips to mine.
My hands find his shoulders, and I shove him back a few steps. Dragging the back of my hand across my mouth like I can wipe the kiss away, I glare at him. “How dare you?” I ask in French, angry tears welling up in my eyes. “If you ever touch me again I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he demands, his eyes narrowing.
And I remember who he is. Who I am. The ground we’ve covered from the mean streets of Goutte d’Or.
Without another word, I walk into the bedroom and close the door. Locking it, I lean on it, feeling my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Tears sting my eyes, and I feel my phone vibrate.
I miss you too. I want to spend more time with you.
I clutch my phone, my eyes swimming with tears. This is what a good relationship looks like. Hayden would never pull the shit Bassirou just did. What we have is healthy. It’s good. I want it. Could this be what love looks like?
But I know it’ll pass. If I learned anything from the endless parade of men in my mother’s life, it’s that even if they seem nice at first, they’re just waiting for a chance to tear you apart. Like Bassirou. Everyone will turn on me and hurt me in the end. So, is it worth the risk?
“Don’t’ you lock this door, Sabine!” Bassirou says, thumping the door with a balled-up fist.
“You’re drunk. Go sleep it off,” I tell him. I don’t doubt it’s true. But I’ll never forgive him for what he just did.
“Who are you talking to?” he asks as my phone vibrates again.
Fuck, the walls must be paper thin here.
“The woman who knows my father,” I lie.
Silence. “You said it was a guy.”
Crap. “You’re drunk. You misunderstood me. Go sleep it off,” I say, praying he lets it go and that he’ll forget when he wakes up.
“You can’t keep me out forever. Stop lying to yourself. We’re one and the same, mon amour,” he says.
“I love you like a brother,” I say again, needing to drive that point home. I need to put distance between us and fast. I should have done that from the start before it got to this point. But I hadn’t trusted my gut. I assumed he had my best interests at heart. Or I was fine with the thought that eventually we’d destroy each other.
“Trêve, Sabine. A truce,” he says through the door, sounding so tired I almost feel bad for him. “Come smoke with me. You know I don’t like to go to sleep angry.”
I reconsider. He’s been good to me. Everyone has bad days. And he’s drunk.
“Fine,” I say. But keep your hands to yourself.” I glance at Hayden’s text.
I want to see you again.
I want to see him again too. But right now, I’ve got something to do. Let’s do it. I text him a quick overview of my schedule before hiding my phone under my pillow. Then I move it to between the mattresses.
That should be safe in case Bassirou waits for me to go to the bathroom and decides to try to snoop through the phone or something. I don’t think he has my pin number, but I also didn’t think he would force himself on me like he just did. He’s dangerous. Best to be fucking smart.
With that, I leave the room and meet up with Bassirou on the couch. Together, we smoke, chat about old times, life, growing up. How I never thought I’d make it this far. He tells me about he always believed in me and how the street hustle is the best education for anything in life. He didn’t know shit about the music business. It’s true. He hustled and talked his way to booking those first shows for me in Paris. He doesn’t know an eighth note from a dime bag, but he’s got the con artist’s gift for sizing up people, for working the angles, for pressing the right emotional buttons. No one knows this better than I do.
Before I can stop myself, I tell him he did great, and I owe him everything. I see the light in his eyes and that sick feeling knots in my stomach again. Is that really what he thinks? That I owe him my body and heart because of the things he did for me? Do I agree with him?
Am I so broken that I assume that because he was kind to me and went out of his way to help me that he deserves me?
Chapter Nine: Hayden
It feels strange to work around someone’s schedule. But here I am, looking at the show dates and working around them while making plans to get her where she needs to be after I take her out.
As I begin to plan, I realize I’m slipping. I’m in over my head with this woman. I want to spend time with her. Much more time than I should. More time than I have to spare.
Work is suffering, and I have the feeling the only reason my brother isn’t beating down my door right now is because Judy is covering for me. As much as I appreciate Judy sticking up for me, I also know that this could quickly spiral out of control. Sabine is a drug. I’m willing to give up a lot to have her, even if having her simply means spending a weekend with her. I need a game plan.
Judy opens the door a few inches and pokes her face in. She sees me working and opens the door wide. Her outfit is glaringly neon green today. I say a distracted hello as I stare at the dates on my phone, spinning away at ideas in my head.
She taps on the top of my phone with a sickeningly bright fingertip. I glance up at her.
“Whatcha doin’?” she asks, her eyes locked on me.
“Planning something.” I try to blow her off with a short answer, but I know better. She’s not going to be satisfied with that.
“Planning what?”
“A visit to the eye doctor for when you cause me permanent eye damage.” I blink at her bright outfit.
Her huge grin tells me exactly what she thinks about my opinion.
“You’re going out with her again, aren’t you?” she asks.
Lowering the phone in my hand, I hold back a sigh. Her eyes meet mine, and I know she’s not just taking a wild shot in the dark. How the hell does this woman know.
“I’m good at researching, and you’re not exactly private,” she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket and turning it toward me. I see that my phone had posted my location when I’d sent her a message the day I’d gone out with Sabine.
She turns the phone back toward herself before continuing, studying it the whole time. “The only reason I could think you’d be on the beach is if you were trying to impress some beautiful singer.”
Something about her non-judgmental tone cracks me. “I’m planning a trip to Europe for the two of us,” I say. I feel an instant sense of relief at having told someone.
Judy grins at me. Her mouth opens like she’s got something to say.
“This stays between us,” I say before she can speak.
She nods, her expression still as lit up as a kid in a candy store.
“And that’s all you’re going to get from me,” I say, gesturing toward the door.
“I could book it!” She says on her way out.
Suddenly, I notice she’d changed her perfume. Glancing up at her, I see a touch of makeup on her usually bare face. Not a lot, just a hint that brings out her eyes and highlights her lips.
“What?” she asks, noticing I’m studying her. She shifts a little, looking nervous as she bends her leg at the knee to mess with her heel.
“You met someone,” I say, knowing something is going on with her.
Her face flames bright red. “What makes you think that?” she asks, refusing to look right at me.
Just a feeling. But I tend to trust my gut feelings.
I shake my head. “Just a guess,” I say. I’m willing to let her off the hook. This time. She slips out the door, looking relieved and confirming my suspicions.
Telling myself I’ll look into it later, I glance back at the phone and continue planning.
Thinking about you.
Her text pops up, and I can’t help the tug at the corners of my lips.
Judy opens the door. “A minute?” she says, sounding hurried.
“One second.”
“Boss?” Judy says, stressing the word. I
glance up at her, knowing something is wrong. I’m on my feet in a moment and hurry toward the door.
On the other side of it, Sabine is standing, looking beautiful in a pair of ripped jeans, an oversized tee shirt, and a huge smile.
“I’m such a big fan,” Judy gushes as I stare at Sabine.
“Really?” Sabine seems surprised Judy even knows who she is, and I’m struck by how down to earth this woman is. Her emerging fame hasn’t gone to her head; hell, she seems like she even forgot until it was brought up.
“Yes!” Judy grabs Sabine’s hands with her own. “I even bought your first album after hearing Just Love. I loved it, and I don’t like jazz!”
Sabine grins at her, her dazzling smile hitting me like a blow. She’s so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her. And her graceful handling of Judy is incredible. She’s not just humoring her while waiting for me, she’s actually giving her all her attention. She’s engaging.
“Merci beaucoup. It means a lot,” Sabine says, hugging Judy, who’s stiff and trembling in her arms.
When Sabine lets her go, Judy slowly turns toward me, her lips repeating, Oh, my god! Her stunned excitement and joy make me smile, and I step closer to Sabine. Pulling her into a hug, I speak softly in her ear.
“Great, you broke her. Thanks.”
“Oh, shut up. Just marry her. Please,” Judy says.
“It’s nice to see you,” I say, ignoring Judy and looking at Sabine.
We let go and I offer for us to step into my office and chat.
“I’ll make sure no one bothers you guys,” Judy says, winking at us. I nod at her, thankful for her quick recovery.
Sabine sits down, her green eyes on me. We study each other. When she speaks, she seems oddly subdued. “I needed to get out. Clear my head. Then I realized I could probably find you.”
I nod. “You found me. What now?” I ask. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve had fantasies about bending her over this desk and taking her. Seeing her here in front of me in person only makes those vivid thoughts more real. I can smell her scent. I can feel her body heat.
Tech Titans: The Complete Billionaire Romance Series Page 14