The Mistaken Billionaire (the Muse series)

by Lexxie Couper

  And what did Thomas St. Clair do when he was hiding his true emotions? He behaved like a jackass.

  He didn’t need to read the words beneath the image. He’d spoken them. He owned them.

  “A muse is a muse.”

  What kind of prick was he?

  The kind that professed his love to a woman one day and dismissed her on a public medium a few short days later.

  “Goddamn—”

  His phone vibrated.

  So? Josie’s text mocked him.

  Dialing her number, he rubbed at the back of his neck.

  “I think you should probably leave my sister alone, St. Clair.” Damn, could her voice get any colder? “It’s that, or do some serious groveling, and you don’t seem like the kind.”

  He let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I’d agree with you if it wasn’t Mila we’re talking about. I love her. I’m in love with her. I told her that, but all I’m getting from her is crickets.”

  There was silence for a moment, “Do you know what you did to her way back when, St. Clair?”

  A hot lump settled in his gut. “Do you mean when she was trying to write the article for the Times? Yeah. I was a dick. I brushed her off, didn’t turn up for any interviews, basically behaved like a self-absorbed asshole. I can see why she wrote what she wrote. I actually told her that as well, before I knew I was actually talking about her and not some strange journalist she didn’t know. I was barely twenty with more money and fame than I knew what to do with and—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” Anger cut her voice. Anger and contempt. “I’m talking about after the article was published. Do you know what you did to her then?”

  He frowned. “I didn’t do anything to her. I started work on my next book. I moved on.”

  “No. You got her fired. You threatened to sue her and the Times.”

  An icy prickle crawled up the back of his neck. “I what?”

  “She was just an intern when she was given that assignment. That article, the story about the meteoric rise of over-night-sensation Thomas St. Clair, a man only a few years older than her and already on the top of his game, was her final test, as it were. Write an amazing article about Thomas St. Clair and land a staff position.”

  The cold itch crept up over his scalp. His throat thickened. His gut rolled.

  “All Mila ever wanted was to be a New York Times journalist,” Josie said, the contempt gone, but the anger was still there. “From the age of ten that’s all she wanted. Hell, probably earlier since she plans every minute of her life—well, she did, until you came along. Landing the job at the Times? That was her dream. And you…” She stopped, her sigh ragged.

  Thomas swallowed. It was too easy to picture Mila bustling about a busy office, being productive, serious, professional.

  “She did everything she could to get you to talk to her back then.” Josie sighed again. “I’d never seen her so stressed as I did every time you brushed her off or left an email unanswered. She learned what she could about you so her questions would be significant. Because that’s the kind of person she is, no cutting corners, one hundred percent effort, one hundred percent of the time. She knew that your childhood wasn’t easy. So she gave you time. And time. And time. Professional courtesy, she called it.”

  She sighed again, this one threaded through with a laugh far from warm.

  “Josie.” Talking down a protective sister wasn’t part of his skillset. But neither was falling in love with a woman who’d betrayed him. “I—”

  “She wanted you to respect the interview,” Josie said, cutting him off. “Not just because she was trying to impress her bosses, not just because she loved being a journalist, but because she’d read Night of Whispers and thought it was the best book she’d ever read. But you never showed her an inch of professional decorum, and knowing her dream of getting the job was a lost cause, she wrote the best article she could without you. Frankly, I thought she held back.”

  Thomas swiped at his mouth, his gut churning.

  “And you had her fired. Threatened to sue. Her life goal, gone, just like that. Destroyed by a man-child who didn’t have the decency to answer one single question from her.”

  “I never…” He trailed off. Sick. He felt sick. Shelby… Even now, he remembered how furious Shelby had been at the article. How she’d sworn to make M.E. Elderkin regret every word written. Shelby’s godfather was on the board of the New York Times. Fuck, had she asked him to have Mila fired?

  “You never what?”

  “I never threatened to sue, or demand that she be fired. My agent said she’d deal with it, and I let her. I started work on my next book. I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

  Silence stretched over the connection. Suffocating him. Crushing him.

  “You know what, St. Clair?” Could she have sounded any more like Mila? “I think that makes it all even worse. Please, whatever you think you have with my sister, stay away. She doesn’t deserve someone as selfish and self-absorbed as you.”

  The connection ended. Leaving Thomas with nothing but the dead noise of a terminated conversation.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There was no way around it. She missed him.

  Hated him, but she missed him all the same.

  What did she do about that?

  “Get on with life.” She hitched her satchel up on her shoulder. “Set goals, work towards them.”

  First goal on her list was get over Thomas St. freaking Clair.

  Turning toward the door of her classroom, she let out a shaky laugh. “Easier said than done.”

  “That was you in the magazine, Miss Elderkin.” Graeme Abernathy strode into her room, pointing a finger at her.

  Oh crap.

  He stopped directly in front of her, shaking his finger side to side. “I knew it. You were dating Thomas St. Clair and you never told anyone. Your sister isn’t the only actor in the family, it seems.”

  “I wasn’t dating him.” No point in denying it now. “I was…” What? “Helping him out.”

  “Helping him out?” Graeme laughed. “Is that what you young kids are calling it these days?”

  “You’re being a moron, Graeme.”

  “Ha.” He packed his finger away and frowned at her. “Not a moron. I uncovered your secret relationship first.”

  “Not a relationship.” A squirming knot filled her stomach. “It was a work thing. I told you, I was helping him out with something. Nothing more.”

  He snorted. “I’m not buying it. Especially seeing as it wasn’t just that one magazine I showed you that you were in. Jessica brought in a different one last week with a photo of him and a woman in it, and we were all convinced it was you.”

  “You all need to find something better to do than discuss my life outside of school.”

  He laughed, shaking his finger at her again. Would it be rude of her to break it?

  “Ah, but you see, my wife bought one at the supermarket two days ago, and there in the back celebrity gossip pages was another photo of Thomas St. Clair and his ‘mysterious muse.’”

  Damn, she should have broken his finger. Impossible to make air quotes with a broken finger.

  “So it was you. Different magazines, different photos, wearing sunglasses in most of them, but you and him. Holding hands. Kissing. Although the magazine my wife brought home says he dumped you for another ‘muse.’”

  More of those damn air quotes.

  The frown vanished from his face, replaced with, God help her, concern. “Did he dump you? Are you okay? You’ve been pricklier than normal of late, I must say.”

  The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. Her throat turned to hot sandpaper. If only Graeme had continued his smug gloating, she would have been able to handle this. But worry? Pity?

  “I’m fine. If you must know, St. Clair and I had a business relationship many years ago before I became a teacher. We didn’t date then or now.” Why did that hurt so much to say and fe
el like a goddamn lie? “I was helping him with his current book.” She arched an eyebrow. “And, yes, it is a horror book, so feel free to make whatever joke you want at my expense about that. Once he didn’t need my assistance, I brought our business relationship to an end.”

  Seriously, could her stomach clench any tighter? Her chest hurt more?

  Graeme’s frown returned. “You know, Mila—”

  Mila? God, he’d never called her Mila once in the three years they’d been teaching together.

  “It’s okay to admit to your friends you’re feeling crappy.” He cupped his hand over her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And as socially awkward as you are, most of us like you. If you’d let people know you broke up with a celebrity, one of us would have done your playground duty.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, letting out a sigh. “Thank you, Graeme. Next time I date a celebrity, I’ll make sure I tell you all after the first date.”

  He beamed. “So you were dating? Bam, Mike owes me twenty bucks.”

  “Time for you to leave, Graeme.”

  He laughed. Surprisingly, Mila found her own lips twitching with a smile. What was the point of being angry? Feeling bad wouldn’t help her get over Thomas, that was for certain.

  “Take care, Elderkin.” Graeme squeezed her shoulder again with a kind smile. “And if you start dating G.R.R. Martin, tell me. I really want to know what happens next to Jon—”

  “Out, out, out.” She bustled him toward the door and froze when a tall, familiar man walked into her classroom.

  “Sebastian?”

  “G’day, muse.” He directed a lopsided grin her way. “I was in town and thought I’d look you up.”

  Graeme gaped at him. “You’re Sebastian Hart? The director?”

  “No. I’m Sebastian Hart, the sales rep.”

  Graeme frowned. “Really?”

  Sebastian laughed. “No.” He clapped Graeme on the shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse us, mate? Mila and I have some catching up to do.”

  “Sure, sure.” Graeme nodded. Or was it a bow? “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hart.”

  He scurried from the classroom, glancing back so often he collided with a chair and student desk on the way out.

  Sebastian watched him go. “He’s a teacher here?”

  “He is. One of the best. The students love him. So stop sounding so incredulous.”

  He held up a hand. “No need to get defensive. I’m not here to pick a fight.”

  Crossing her arms, she lifted an eyebrow at him. “What are you here for, then?”

  He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed.

  “Are you trying to decide how best to answer that question?” She peered at him over the frames of her glasses. “Or are you plotting some kind of epic narrative to beguile me into believing whatever you say?”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “I get what Thomas likes so much about you. You definitely don’t kowtow, do you?”

  She couldn’t help but smile a little. “No. I don’t kowtow.”

  “I understand you and him are having issues.”

  “Issues. Hmmm, let’s go with that. Yes. We are.”

  “He’s a great bloke. A dickhead, sure. Sometimes a bit of a wanker, but a great bloke all the same. I know he stuffed up—I heard about the whole a-muse-is-a-muse comment—but I also know he’s more real when he’s with you.”

  “Is that what you know?” Adjusting her glasses on her face, she looked away. When had the room lost all its heat?

  “Yeah. That and everything else. Like how he behaved like a dickhead years ago when you were meant to be writing an article about him, like how you didn’t tell him who you were, and he behaved like a dickhead again recently.” He paused. “Like how you haven’t responded to any of his texts since.”

  “Do you think it’s because he’s being a dickhead? Or a wanker?”

  He laughed. “If you weren’t already his, Mila Elderkin, I’d seduce you into my bed. It would be a feisty, frenzied affair, and you’d probably destroy my ego, but, damn, it would be worth it.”

  “I’m not his, Mr. Hart. Whatever we had is over.” She swallowed. The thought of being Thomas’s anything made her…angry.

  Liar.

  “It shouldn’t be.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair. “Look, creative types…we’re not easy to deal with. We tend to be flighty and loopy and not really in the real world most of the time, especially when it’s how we make a living. But Thomas…he’s never really let himself be real until you came along. I know he messed up, twice. But…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you could give him another go? ’Cause he’s a nice bloke?”

  “A nice dickhead wanker?”

  He let out a weak chuckle. “Y’know, I flew all the way from Sydney to give you this speech.”

  Her lips twitched. “You didn’t think to practice it on the flight coming over?”

  He laughed. “No. I’m used to just getting what I want when I say I want it. You’re bucking the system somewhat.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So you’ll call him? Talk to him?”

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “Hell no. He’d kill me if he knew I was talking him up. This is just me being worried for my mate. And trying to fix it.”

  Mila sighed. “Thank you for the wonderful speech, Sebastian. But—”

  “But you won’t give him a second chance? I mean, third chance? Three times a charm, and all.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Hart.” She smiled a warm but a dismissive smile. “Thank you for coming to see me. I hope your next movie is a—”

  “Sis? You here?”

  Sebastian jumped. Mila did the same.

  “Sis?” Josie ran into the room and skidded to a halt, stare locked on Sebastian. “Holy crap, you’re Sebastian Hart.”

  He dipped a little at the waist. “And you’re Josie Elderkin.”

  Josie’s mouth dropped. “You know who I am?”

  “Thomas told me to check you out. I watched you perform last night. You and I need to have a little chat.”

  Josie flicked a glance at Mila. “Errr…”

  Sebastian laughed. “After you talk to your sister. I’m staying at the Park Hyatt in Manhattan under the name Michael Dundee. I’m flying back to Sydney tomorrow night.”

  Josie blinked.

  Sebastian turned to Mila. “Thomas has dedicated Blood Angel to you. Not in an attempt to make you change your mind about him, but because you saved him from the person he’s been pretending to be ever since he was first published. What you two had—have—it’s real. Think about that.”

  He left. Before she could tell him he was wasting his time.

  “Mila.”

  She turned to Josie at the whisper.

  “That was Sebastian Hart. Sebastian Hart wants to talk to me.”

  “He does.” She smiled. “And so he should, because you are amazing. But watch him. He’s used to getting his own way. He just admitted as much.”

  Josie stared at her, eyes glazed.

  “Are you here for a reason, sis?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Josie shook her head. “I wanted to show you something.” Without another word, she plonked into the nearest seat and waved at Mila to do the same.

  “I should have told you before now,” she said, digging around in her tote. “I had a phone conversation with Thomas last week.”

  Mila’s lips began to tingle. “You what?”

  Josie withdrew her phone from her bag. “He called me.”

  “He what?” Oh God, was she hearing this correctly?

  “He called me because you wouldn’t call him back when he finished writing his book, and he was worried. So I gave him a piece of my mind and hit him with some home truths.”

  Mila groaned and pressed her face into her hands. “Oh, Josie. Why?”

  “Because he’s been a jerk. Twice. And I needed him to understand why you weren’t going to be so forgiving the second time.”


  “You told him…”

  “About you losing your position at the Times? Yes.”

  She let out another groan into her hands. Could this get any more embarrassing?

  “And then I told him to stay away from you.”

  Yes. Yes, it could.

  She shook her head. “Josie, I don’t need you to—”

  Josie held up her hand. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I really did. Until Thomas sent me a text an hour ago.”

  “He what?” How many more times was she going to ask that very question today?

  “You need to read this.” Tapping her thumb on her phone’s screen, Josie leaned forward. “He sent me a link. A link to this.”

  Mila took Josie’s phone.

  On its screen was Thomas’s blog—a blog she knew was visited by thousands of people a day. There was a new post.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she read the post’s title.

  How To Be a Jerk Dickwad (And Other Horror Stories)

  She swallowed. “Do I really want to read this?”

  “Yeah.” Josie touched her shoulder. “You do.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Mila returned her attention to Josie’s phone. To the words written by Thomas on its screen.

  I make a living from bullshit. I make stuff up daily. Fiction, as the serious crowd call it. But until recently, I didn’t appreciate how much I live the bullshit.

  Fame and money and success have an insidious way of permeating your very being. If you’re not careful, the person you really are gets lost.

  When that happens, when the facade you’ve constructed takes over, you can be in danger of losing the real you forever.

  The real me has been AWOL for eight years now. For a very long time, I placed the blame for this on a journalist I’d never met.

  The real me, however, finally accepted that for what it is—bullshit. The only person I have to blame for the way I was living is myself.

  For too long, I’ve refused to allow anyone close to me. I’ve hidden my true emotions behind a wall of glib, immature behavior. I’ve been a jerk, and when I’ve been hurt, I’ve been a bigger jerk.

  For too long, I’ve held my readers, friends, and colleagues at arm’s length. It’s prevented me from being true to myself, but thanks to one incredible woman, I’ve realized I’m losing out being detached from the real world.