Baby Fever Secrets: A Billionaire Romance

by Nicole Snow

  She deserves that much. Neither of us asked for this abomination.

  “How do I help you?” I ask again, pressing her.

  “Honestly? I'd love to see you take a nice, long vacation from your own company until I'm done with this stupid internship.” Bekah's blush tells me she regrets her words as soon as they're out. She twists her head, flicking her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “But you were here first. You have business. I get it. It isn't fair to ask for special accommodations for me.”

  “You're the bluntest new hire I've ever seen with her boss' boss, moscato.” My tongue slips, losing the pet name, and I watch the horror fill her eyes. She looks around quickly, as if there's anyone to overhear.

  Shit. I couldn't resist, especially when I see the nasty little part of Jeremiah Corbin in her.

  “Don't talk like that. We can't. Realistically, we have to move on. No, I don't know how, but we have to try.” Her little hands go up, rubbing her temples, easing her thoughts. “Maybe if we're not face-to-face like this every single day, it won't be so bad. I like Nina. If you'll keep me working with her and minimize our contact, I think we'll be fine. We'll survive. Is that an option, Mr. Shaw?”

  “Yeah, but none of this Mr. Shaw bullshit. You're calling me Grant if we ever bump into each other in the halls. We've been too close to get so formal. I can't forget. Everyone will see through it if we start that stilted, glacial crap, just like they nearly did this morning. We stared so hard I thought at least one of us would become stone. I don't need an intern looking over my shoulder. You won't see me unless you need to. Don't fuck with my merger, and I'll be sure your old man gets a glowing report and my full endorsement for whatever you choose to do next.”

  “Deal. Anything to stay out of your way. I'm sorry about this, again.” Her voice becomes a whisper, like just talking about this crap has deflated her.

  I'm about to apologize, too, but she's already tapped the button for the ground floor. She turns to the glass, refusing to look at me, even as the elevator doors slam shut. I hear it drop, taking her down.

  Just like that, my obsession is gone. My frustration isn't.

  I'd put my fist through the heavy metal doors if I didn't know they dented so easily. A disgruntled employee who couldn't hack it here several years ago proved that on his way out, kicking and screaming as security had him in a chokehold.

  Not everybody who runs through the Neolithic machine becomes gold. I've dealt with dirt and diamonds in the rough, but this...fuck, I don't know what to call it.

  Office romance? How about office tease?

  Except that makes me think of breaking every pathetic rule we just agreed to, dragging her to my desk, and hate fucking her on top of it at the first opportunity.

  Distance, idiot. Don't break your word, I tell myself.

  Right. When I told her she wouldn't see me again, I wasn't lying. Odds are, I'll be busy tomorrow, cooped up with legal all day, making sure every T is crossed before Corbin and I sign our names to the merger.

  If only I didn't have that one way window overlooking the rest of the office. She doesn't know it's guaranteed to draw me like a suicidal moth to open flame. It's a magnet and a doorway to her. A conduit to what I want like mad, but can't have.

  A secret torment because whatever else I've agreed to in my cooler head, I won't be able to resist it.

  No distraction, no sedation, no vow will be enough to keep me from walking across my office, putting my eyes an inch from the glass, and watching her while she works, remembering how fucking good we had it when we were just casual, and I wasn't her boss.

  Sure, I'll be as professional as can be to her face. I'll smile warmly, make sure she gets the coffee and pastries I always buy for my crew, and tell Corbin what an amazing job she's doing for me the next time I meet his pompous ass.

  But when I'm alone, behind the glass, I'll be an animal.

  I'll drink her in with my eyes however long I please, however long I need. I'll gawk until the ache in my balls stops. Whatever it takes to burn her into my brain so I can stroke off to her in the shower.

  She's made me an unwilling liar, and I hate dishonesty. I'm left with the cold truth stampeding through my head.

  No apology will make me sane when she's around.

  No agreement will ever take away the delicious thrill of want, the danger we've both been served on a silver platter.

  No fuckery will make me just move on as long as she's here.

  Not unless it involves one last taste of this forbidden wine becoming my obsession.

  4

  Home, Sweet Home (Bekah)

  After the day I've had, the last thing I want is to see my father smiling.

  There are only two reasons he ever wears anything on his lips besides a sour smirk: he's trampled someone new underfoot, or he wants something.

  “Rebekah, my dear, how was your first day?” He grabs me by the shoulders – too tight – and plants the same quick peck he always does on my cheek.

  “Long. Reminds me how much I miss the sun in Colombia. Other than that, fine.”

  “Bah, you'll adapt,” he says, sweeping away my concerns with a wave of his hand. “If you've found your bearings in every God forsaken jungle on the planet since you were twelve, you'll find them in the office, too. I'm happy for you, Rebekah. Come, share a victory drink with your father.”

  How about no?

  Conflict twists my stomach. He's throwing me a placating bone, trying to get me into the ancestral library where he spends most of his time. But he actually looks...happy.

  It's an emotion I'm not used to seeing on his cold face. So rare I don't want to turn him down.

  Can I really say no to the warm smile below his salt and pepper mustache, or the light in his eyes? Can I live with myself if I bow out of the first after-work drink my father has offered me in my life?

  “I guess I could use something to take the edge off,” I say, following him across our huge estate into the grandest room.

  Our love for this room is one thing we share. Here, among the books, there are oceans between me and my worries.

  Bookshelves soar to the ceiling, their wooden shells bathed in airy light streaming through the massive windows. Sometimes it's tinted soft sherbet orange and sunset red. Stained glass brings art and energy to an already lively room. Grecian urns and ancient vases from Chinese dynasties I can't remember line the small end tables. The walnut desks are the same ones I sat at with him since I was a little girl learning to read.

  This room has my secrets, and his, too. It's where I did my first homework, and doodled my first crushes. It's the same place dad himself used when he was a boy, and my late grandfather before him.

  If there's any room that highlights the obvious, stop complaining and just enjoy the fact you're rich, it's here.

  And if it were just us, maybe I'd lose myself in the heartwarming atmosphere and the aged scotch he pours in two glasses. But we're not alone.

  I knew I wouldn't be so lucky the instant I stepped in behind him, and saw the tall figure sitting in the chair next to dad's huge desk.

  “Cheri, it's a delight to see you again.” Ethan turns and stands, flashing his familiar off grin.

  The creep is persistent, I'll give him that. Without skipping a beat, he grabs my hand, holds it to his thin lips, and plants an unwanted kiss that's always clammy.

  “Good to see you, too,” I lie, ripping my hand away as soon as I can, taking the seat next to him. I push it across the floor, putting several extra inches between us. My father's smile melts as he sits with his drink across from us, observing the awkward tension.

  Too bad. This isn't happening. Ever.

  If only he'd stop trying to force it. Almost as much as I'd love the weirdo next to me to stop eyeing me like a ripe strawberry.

  Ethan's pale blue eyes are colder than his lips, and they add to his strange appearance. He's a thin, lanky weasel of a man in his grey tailored suit. Wiry and strong, in his own way, and hardly m
y idea of handsome.

  I don't care how rich he is, or how many European royals supposedly share his bloodline.

  He's neither Prince, nor Charming. He emulates what he thinks a gentleman should be, and it's not hard to see the entitlement behind every kind gesture. It's incredible he hasn't moved onto something better when I've gently rebuffed him half a dozen times over the past year.

  Perhaps the world's richest otter-man has nothing better to do, but I'm sick of it. Emphasis on sick. My stomach revolts when I imagine sharing a bed with him. Possibly worse than usual today because my billionaire boss showed me how good it could be with a normal man who knows how to act more real than a shell emulating emotion.

  If he were anywhere except here, he wouldn't even get a glance. Unfortunately for me, he's dad's new business partner, the youngest owner of Fabius in the hundred year old industrial giant's history, meaning I have to pretend to be nice.

  “Ethan and I were just discussing some very exciting facets of the merger with Neolithic. Tell us, dear, how does Mr. Shaw's firm look on the inside? Everything we hoped for?”

  “Whoa, guys,” I hold up a hand, almost choking on my scotch, mid-sip. “You said when I got this job I wasn't there to spy. I'm holding you to that. Since you're the one doing the deal with them, you figure it out.”

  “So feisty today,” Ethan says to my father, smiling like they're discussing a special on the menu. “Love your passion, Cheri. It will get a woman with your charms very far in life.”

  “Oh, I'll show you charm, Mr. Fabius. I'm not your cheri, or anyone else's,” I say through clenched teeth.

  Okay, screw nice. I'm not having the pet name anymore.

  Dad lifts a hand in warning, frowning. “Be kind to our guest, dear. He's come a long way to see us. Before you continue your tirade, I wasn't asking you to sneak out their tax returns or count each time Shaw sneezes. Simply wondering how you liked it on the inside?”

  “It's a stuffy office packed to the brim with self-driven blowhards, just like every other firm. What else do you want me to say?” I knock my scotch back, draining it, watching my father's eyes bulge from the corner of my vision.

  “If Neolithic displeases you, Rebekah, there's other opportunities in the E.U. Allow me the pleasure of introducing them. My connections go deep.” Ethan's eyes flicker, secretly hoping I'll jump on his oh-so-generous offer. “Fabius is a global company if the continent doesn't interest you. We'd love to have you anywhere.”

  Anywhere? I think the only place he cares about is having me on my knees, or bent over so he can have his wretched way.

  “Sorry, I don't speak French,” I say, hoping he'll drop it there. “I'm just venting, really. It's not like I'm ready to throw in the towel at Neolithic on my first day. I know the strings you had to pull to get me in there, dad. Believe it or not, I appreciate it.”

  Of course, there's one huge reason why I should leap at the chance to exit Neolithic with what's left of my dignity. Having a boss who also took my virginity less than a week ago is more than enough reason to quit in any sane universe. But I give them the same answer I gave Grant, digging my stubborn heels in, refusing to back down. Worst part is, I don't even know why it's so important to my fragile ego.

  “English is an asset,” Ethan tells me matter-of-factly, his expression cooler. “If you change your mind at any time, cheri, you know how to find me.”

  Thanks, asshole. I'll get right on that as soon as I'm comfortable with cheri. How does a century or two sound?

  “That's a very generous offer, but it seems she's set on embarrassing herself in front of my business partner for the next few months. Cut her a little slack.” Dad uses his patented joking-but-not-really-joking tone. It never fails to make my blood run hot.

  “Better me than your precious company,” I snap.

  “It's a joke, dear,” he insists. We both know the truth. He lets out a long sigh, rolling his eyes as he looks at Ethan. “I'm sorry it's so difficult to catch her on a good day. We'll try again, maybe over dinner sometime in the next few weeks?”

  I don't say anything right away because Ethan finally looks annoyed. Hopefully it means he'll think about giving up on pursuing me, and move onto his next American trophy wife in the making. But my hope doesn't last long when I see his smile returning.

  “Certainly, Mr. Corbin. That would be wonderful. I'll have my men at your beck and call to go over the merger's implications for our line of business. We're looking forward to the new injection of capital from you and Shaw.” They stand, exchange wolfish smiles, and shake hands.

  I slump in my chair, wishing he'd never put the bottle of scotch away. I've never had a day since I turned twenty-one where I wanted to get black out drunk as badly as this one.

  They're laughing, exchanging a few more meaningless words as dad escorts the Frenchman to the door. Ethan stops before he exits the office one last time, looking back over his shoulder.

  “Wish you nothing but the best with Neolithic, and all your chosen ventures, cheri. Please rest. Perhaps you'll feel more refreshed next time we meet.”

  I don't even look at him, just stick my hand above my head, and wave lamely. The door opens and then falls shut. He's gone. Thank God.

  Dad materializes in front of me a few seconds later, ripping the empty glass out of my hand, hands on his hips. “I understand I've let you get by too long without doing any real work for a living, but must you be so goddamned rude?”

  “I don't know,” I say, blinking away my surprise. He's truly angry. “Must you keep pushing that creep on me when I've told you a hundred times I'm not interested?”

  “I don't appreciate your tone, Rebekah Lynn. Ethan's a nice young man. He deserves better than being chastised like a damned dog every time he throws flowers at your feet, asking for some simple courtesy. Do you have any idea how many men in his class would've turned and run a long time ago?” He wags a finger, scolding me like I'm still nine years old, returning to his liquor cabinet to refresh his glass. He never offers me another drink.

  “I'm not sure where you've picked up such a vicious chip on your shoulder, but you'd better lose it fast, before you embarrass this family.”

  “Oh, so it's the family you're worried about now? I thought I was just making an ass of myself in front of your new business partner.”

  “It's always the family, dear. Everything I do is for us.” The last word comes like a bullet dipped in venom. “There's a world bigger than yourself. Older, wiser, and more important than your own petty desires. I've tried to make you see it since the day you were born. Lately, no matter how hard I try, you're not just blind. You're willfully ignorant. Keep it up, little missy, and I may well wash my hands of everything like I should have when you ran off to Bogota last year without even a note on the counter. You're being reckless, Rebekah. You're dragging us down. I can't make you do right. It's your responsibility to shape up, fly right, and marry the right man. Not mine.”

  “Finally, we're on the same page. My life, dad, not yours. Not the 'family's,' whatever that means. I'll always appreciate the advantages you've given me, but you're not telling me what to do.”

  “No, dear, but I will give you direction. I'm not standing by while you screw up, and make your mistakes mine. Listen to me, Rebekah: do not get in my way. Not with Shaw. Not with Fabius. Not with anything. You're treading on my game. I've worked years setting up pieces you'll never understand. I won't let my kid come along and turn over the whole board. I suggest you watch what you're doing, and also watch your mouth. Now, get the hell out of my sight!” He throws his hand out, more angrily than before.

  I don't need to be told twice.

  It's a typical end to our conversations. So typically Jeremiah Corbin, that I'd smile at the familiarity, if only he weren't bossing me around and tearing my self-esteem to shreds.

  I stand up, walk briskly to the door, turning to get in one last barb. “Thanks for making it clear it's been your game all along, dad. I never took your fami
ly talk seriously because it's all a load of crap. You do you, and count me out.”

  I'm gone, winding my way through the halls, halfway expecting to hear his scotch glass slam into the door behind me. Wouldn't be the first time.

  I pass by our living room with the huge TV. Mom sits like a zombie in front of it, watching her Italian soaps, probably into her fourth evening glass of port. Much to my amazement, she hears me passing, sits up, and waves excitedly.

  “Oh, Rebekah, honey, how was your first day?” She pulls at my hair, tugging my face down so she can kiss my cheek.

  “Just peachy,” I say.

  The port bottle on the little table next to her is barely drained. I'm not sure why she's this sober. I'm not in the mood to find out.

  “Well, any chance they'll give you a couple weeks off soon? I've been reading about the resorts in Dubai this morning, and they're simply fabulous. There's one with cheetah cubs, honey. Cheetahs! I think I've found our next family vacation spot!”

  By family vacation, she means bringing me to tag along while she roasts in the sun, drinks every cocktail in sight, and flirts with the bronze pool boys and bartenders.

  “I don't think it works that way, mom. It's a temp job, remember?” Of course she doesn't. She's never worked a day for anyone else in her life. “Most places only give their senior employees, like, a few weeks off every year. I can't just drop everything and jet off with you for two weeks. Maybe in the fall. I'll only be at Neolithic four months tops.”

  She frowns. “Then who will take pictures when I do the day cruise in the Persian Gulf?”

  “Try the concierge. I think we have about a million of those benefits lined up on the charge cards dad passes out like candy.”

  She turns, stuffing her nose back into the travel magazine without even a goodbye. On the TV, an Adonis with bold blue eyes and just enough facial hair runs after his scorned lady, shouting in Italia. I'm too rusty to understand everything.

  But I do pick up just enough before I'm out of earshot. I mentally translate it, and bite my tongue. “Dove, you think I care that you're my servant? You douse my blood in kerosene and light it on fire every time we breathe the same air. You think I care what they say, or how much trouble this brings? You're mine, love, and I'll make sure the whole town shares this kiss.”