Just One Weekend: A Billionaire Romance (The Ironwood Billionaire Series Book 5)

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Just One Weekend: A Billionaire Romance (The Ironwood Billionaire Series Book 5) Page 2

by Ellie Danes


  He was a good sport about it, though, giving as good as he got from both of the waitresses until the cook behind the counter yelled at them to focus on their side work if they weren’t serving customers. Then the man went back to staring at his phone, occasionally taking sips of his coffee or picking at a piece of pie.

  I couldn’t resist the urge to talk to him. There was something about him. He was mysterious and handsome, yet completely not my type. I imagined for a moment what it would be like, strolling into my reunion with him on my arm. Screw you Derek, look what I have. I smiled to myself and a took a deep breath.

  “Hey,” I said, when he took one of his breaks from his phone. He glanced at me and smiled slightly.

  “Need something, sweetie?”

  “Please don’t call me that,” I said quickly, cringing at the patronizing term of endearment and immediately regretting engaging the stunning stranger.

  “Sorry,” he countered, staring at my shoes and then back up at me. “Your Jimmy Choos are a bit fancy for a backwoods diner, no?” He laughed.

  “I’m Ashley,” I said. I glanced down at my shoes. I hadn’t changed from when I’d left work--I’d run home and grabbed my bags and immediately headed out, so I was in one of my two really good pairs of boots, along with the outfit I’d worn into the office. I didn’t think I looked much like a sweetie, but he was right about the brand of the shoes--which surprised me. “Are you from around here?”

  “I used to be, a while ago.” the guy said. “What about you, Ashley?” The way he said my name sent a little shiver down my spine.

  “I have a high school reunion this weekend.” My heart started beating faster in my chest as I thought about the weekend ahead.

  The guy pushed his sleeves up and I saw that he had tattoos on both of his forearms: a compass rose on one and some kind of crest on the other. I had to wonder what he did for a living, with the kind of lean, muscled frame. He looked tough and ruthless and somehow oddly sweet, all at the same time.

  “Odd time of year for that,” the guy observed.

  I shrugged. “It was supposed to be during the summer, but nobody could agree on a day or a venue,” I explained. “You never gave me your name, you know.”

  “Weston,” he said

  “You don’t look like a Weston.” I gave him a once over again, noticing his strong frame and the hoodie he was wearing. It hugged his shoulders.

  He grinned. “Don’t believe me?”

  “Either your parents were yuppies or you’re lying,” I said.

  Weston chuckled and reached into his pocket, taking out a wallet. “Here,” he said, rising from his seat and leaning over sideways. He flashed his license at me, and sure enough it read Weston and a last name I didn’t catch, with an address from New York.

  “This could be fake,” I pointed out.

  He shoved the ID back into his wallet and tucked both into his jeans pocket. Almost unwillingly, my gaze darted to the crotch of his jeans--there was a sizeable bulge there. I closed my eyes, attempting to block the image and savage thoughts from my mind.

  “You are such a cynic,” he said. “Not a pretty trait in a woman.”

  “You prefer women who are pretty and naive?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I prefer women who are ugly and cynical,” Weston countered. “Usually the pretty ones don’t have very good reasons for their cynicism.”

  “What counts as a good reason?” I was intrigued in spite of myself, forgetting my goal for a moment.

  “Abandonment, betrayal, things like that,” Weston replied. “In my experience, beautiful women don’t tend to experience those things--not really--until they’re over thirty-five.”

  “And what’s your experience?”

  “This and that,” he said with another grin. He shrugged. “I kind of do my own thing and I don’t date much.”

  “Yeah,” I laughed, “I can see you probably have a problem getting women.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Weston asked, and a sly smile crept across his face.

  “That was sarcasm, in case you didn’t notice.” I quipped back. “So, Weston,” I smiled, “What brings you in to the diner at midnight? Especially when you’re from New York. Not exactly a short trip for some pie and coffee,” I said, motioning toward his plate.

  “Actually, I grew up about twenty minutes from here.” He squirmed in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable at the prying question. “I come back once a year to visit.”

  “Oh? You have family in town?”

  “I did. Once.”

  “So you come back to visit a town with no one to actually visit?”

  “Something like that.” He took in a took breath and exhaled. “It’s complicated and not something I really feel like talking about.”

  Weston’s eyes met mine and I could feel him almost staring into my soul. I felt a sensation pulse through my body like I hadn’t felt in a long time. I wanted to shut it off. I wanted to turn away from him and just end the conversation, giving up on my contingency plan for this miserable reunion, but I couldn’t.

  “What about you? You’re headed to a reunion? Here in town?” His gaze didn’t leave mine.

  “No, I’m about twenty minutes from here. My parent still live in town, so I’m headed to their house.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Weston shot a small smile at me and then turned back to his phone, disengaging from the conversation.

  Chapter Two

  Weston

  The moment I saw her walk in to the diner, I knew I wanted to meet her. I used the cold as an excuse to stay a bit longer. Hell, any reason to not get into town seemed like a good enough reason. I’d been making this trip for the last six years and for some reason, I felt compelled to do it every year. This time it was slightly different. I was hoping to finally get some answers.

  Ashley was intriguing. She was attractive, well-dressed, and for whatever reason, alone in a diner at midnight. It was something you usually didn’t see.

  “Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” she asked.

  “Not at midnight and not after I’ve been driving for a few hours.” I clicked off my phone and looked back over at her, perched on the stool. I resisted the urge to scan her body again, as much as I wanted to. “So, what do you want to know?”

  I spun my stool to face her. She had brown hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. I thought about getting up and taking the seat next to hers, but decided to keep a bit of distance.

  She scrunched her nose. “You’re not like...with the mob or anything, right?”

  I laughed at that question. For someone as cynical as Ashley acted, that was a naive question.

  “Well, some of my friends are a bit questionable, but none of them are in the mob, that I know of.” I let that sink in for a moment. “What do you do for a living? I mean, it must be something important--considering the shoes.”

  She rolled her eyes but I could see her cheeks lighting up with a new blush.

  “I’m an executive at an adoption agency, a non-profit,” she said. “I know it probably looks like we’re one of those organizations that takes all the money--the shoes, like you said--but we really do work hard to get good placements for kids who wouldn’t otherwise have great chances in the system.”

  Cold shivers shot down my spine as the words left her lips. The subject hit too close to home and with the worst possible timing. “Which one do you work for?”

  “The Hannah Wells Organization,” she said, “are you familiar?”

  “No, just making conversation,” I said as I took a sip of my coffee and stared into her eyes. I could feel the anxiousness in the pit of my stomach as I changed the topic of the conversation. There was a mix of attraction and curiosity taking over my body. “So, were you some good girl in school, and you’re making your triumphant Homecoming Queen Makes Good return to the old alma mater?” I crossed my arms over my chest, looking at her steadily.

  “I was never the homecoming queen, first of all,”
she told me tartly. “But you’re sort of right. I’m going to the reunion to kind of...I guess, show off,” she admitted.

  “The only reason to go to a reunion, unless you’re one of those people who’s still friends with your student government, prom planning buddies,” I pointed out. “I stopped talking to the people I graduated with years ago.”

  “I’m kind of the same way, but I promised myself I’d make it back to at least one. This one is it,” Ashley said. “I just hadn’t planned on going this way.”

  “What way is that?” I asked.

  “Alone.” She looked at me a moment longer and then smiled. “ “I don’t really have much of a social life--I work too much for that--but I want to have the perfect life to show off to my former classmates.”

  “Being an executive for one of the world’s worthy causes isn’t enough of a win?”

  “All these people...they’re traveling the world, getting married, having kids and all that,” Ashley explained. “I just...I guess I don’t want anyone to have any reason to feel bad for me, or to look pathetic.”

  “How are they going to know for sure that you’re a sad lonely-heart if you don’t tell them?” I asked as I allowed my eyes to take in her entire appearance, noticing every perfect curve. In my opinion, she clearly hadn’t made an effort to find a guy or was incredibly picky because she was damn near perfect.

  “It’d be better to have proof,” she said, playing with her fork nervously. “Want to come with me?” she asked, taking me by surprise. “I’ll pay you.”

  “You want to pay me to go as your date to your high school reunion?” I laughed.

  “Not just be my date. Pretend to be my longtime boyfriend,” she corrected me. “The idea would be to act like we’ve been dating a good long while.”

  I loved the idea of going someplace with her, but most definitely not a high school reunion. “No thanks,” I said shaking my head. “I have enough going on with my own personal things. Besides, I didn’t even go to my own reunion for good reason.”

  “Fifteen thousand,” she said, without hesitation and loud enough for everyone in the diner to hear.

  “Dollars?” I asked, jerking my head towards her. “And you should probably keep your voice down.” I shook my head side to side. “Apparently they’re paying you well at that nonprofit, but I’m not a gigolo.”

  “I make enough...and I don’t have a social life, like I said, so I’ve been able to save money,” she pointed out. “I know, it’s stupid.”

  “Fifteen thousand to pretend to be your boyfriend?” I took a bite of my pie and sipped my coffee. “That’s more than stupid, and you shouldn’t be that desperate. You’re gorgeous and seem to have it all put together. First, you’re selling yourself short, and second, why would anyone care if you went alone?”

  Ashley rolled her eyes again and asked, “Will you do it?”

  I pretended to think about it for a few moments. “Eh--I’ve got my own business to take care of in town this weekend,” I said. I was intrigued by getting to know her, but I didn’t want the money. I was more interested in who she was and her curves.

  “Twenty thousand?”

  “No deal,” I snapped back quickly.

  Ashley leaned in closer, her hand touching my forearm. “Please? If it’s the money or…”

  “It’s not the money.” I bit my bottom lip for a moment as I thought about my plans for the weekend. I needed a distraction. “Where is it?”

  “Montauk, about twenty miles from here. I went to River High.”

  I shuddered at the thought of going to any high school reunion, especially that one, because it was where I had gone. I studied Ashley’s face, wondering if I had known her or maybe she had known me, somehow, but everything came up empty.

  Immediately I remembered the reason I was going to town and why I was in that godforsaken diner in the first place. Answers.

  I should have known better than to allow the words to come out of my mouth, but they did. “I’ll do it, but I don’t want your money.” I shifted in closer to Ashley and looked into her eyes. “I’ll need something, we can call it a favor. If you’re willing to do it for me, I’ll go.”

  Ashley took in a desperate breath and exhaled. “Deal.”

  Chapter Three

  Ashley

  I thought about Weston’s offer as I ate.

  “So, what kind of favor?” I asked, hoping he had something on his mind already. But maybe this was a bad idea. “You know, as much as I’d like to make a splash at my high school reunion…” My voice trailed off as I turned back to look at him once more.

  “When I know and I need it, I’ll let you know,” Weston said, turning to face me completely, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I could offer you...let’s say twenty-five,” I countered. Weston shook his head.

  “I’m not interested in your money--besides, this makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?”

  I couldn’t really argue against that logic. “Promise me it won’t be anything illegal, or crazy, or, I don’t know, that you won’t ask me to kill someone.” My heart pounded in my chest as a million ideas ran through my mind.

  Weston looked at me for a long moment with something that was almost like pity in his eyes and then began laughing. “I promise, you won’t have to kill anyone.” He leaned back in his chair and studied me for a moment. “I want information.”

  “Um,” I bit my lip as I turned my head looking at him. “What kind of information?”

  “I’m looking for someone. There’s a chance you may have that info, at least I need to find out.”

  “We don’t even know one another, how could I possibly…”

  “Your business. Adoption records. I need you to look something up. What kind of information do you have on those people?”

  I pushed away from Weston as I looked at him, my heart pounding harder. “I can’t share that info. It’s confidential, sealed. There’s no way I can do that.”

  “Okay, no problem. Deal’s off.” Weston spun on his seat and nodded at the waitress for his check.

  “What do you need it for? What do you need? Is this for something extremely illegal?”

  “That’s my business. I’m not even sure you have what I’m looking for, but I was willing to chance it. Tell me, what info do you have?”

  I hesitated a moment before answering. “Amongst other details like donors and how much they gave us, tax information, things of that nature,” I said.

  “What on earth would I do with information like that, that could get you in anything like real trouble? And what the hell is ‘extremely illegal,’ anyway?”

  I had to laugh. “I don’t know! I meant...you’re not trying to get information that you could use to hold over on someone, are you?” My heart pounded hard in my chest at the thought, accompanied by a series of mental images of what would happen if someone found out that the murder or kidnapping of a donor--or someone else--had happened because I’d granted an outsider access to key files.

  “No, nothing like that. I won’t tell you what it is that I need the information for, but I can promise you that it’s nothing that you’d object to. Probably.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the ‘probably’ and picked at my meal for a moment. It was a better deal than I would have thought possible, in a certain way: I didn’t really have to spend any money at all, at least not unless I got fired for giving someone access to confidential files. But if Weston held up his end of the deal, and if he didn’t do anything that could be traced back to me, I was a solid twenty thousand dollars ahead. I could go on an actual vacation for once, I thought. I certainly had enough time accrued.

  Weston looked at me, almost without blinking. I imagined the look on the faces of the people I knew from high school when I showed up with Weston. Tall, dark, handsome, tattooed. Mine. At least in a fake way.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Fine?”

  I glanced at Weston and took a deep breath. “I’ll do it. I ca
n’t believe what I’m willing to risk for just one weekend.”

  Weston held out his hand, leaning across the counter toward me.

  I shook his hand and he smiled, and I could completely see why the two waitresses had been falling all over themselves to flirt with him. His grip was strong but not crushing, his hand was dry, his fingers had a firmness to them that told me that he could do a lot with them. It had been the first time in a while that I imagined someone like him, his hands on my body. His smile was amazing, breaking across his face like a burst of sunshine from behind heavy thunderheads.

  “We have a deal,” he said.

  He took his hand back and I realized my mouth was dry. I took a sip of my coffee and tried to think of what should come next.

  Weston spoke first, though. “Where’s the event going to be? From what I know about this kind of thing, it’s usually at a hotel or something.”

  “Oh, it’s a whole, long thing,” I said. “There are a bunch of events over the course of a few days, and a dance at the end of it.”

  Weston pressed his lips together and I waited for him to retract his offer.

  “Okay, that works for me,” he said instead. “How do you want to do this? I assume you want to show up from the beginning together--and we should probably have a cover story of some kind, at least.”

  “Do you already have a hotel set up in town? Or somewhere near here?” I thought about it for a moment; the idea I’d started to form felt a little crazy, but I couldn’t think of a better way to manage it.

  “I was going to find a hotel when I got into town,” Weston said.

  Lucy, our waitress, had started to get annoyed at his lack of attention to her, and I saw her give me a quick, slightly sour look as she put the check for his meal down next to his plate.

  “Here--let me pay for your meal,” I said, sitting up and finding my wallet.

  “That’s all right, I can take care of myself,” Weston countered.

  “What? Are you afraid I’m not going to leave a generous enough tip or something?” I glanced at Lucy, who probably was afraid of just that.

  “Of course not,” Weston said. “I just think it’s silly for you to pay for my meal when I’m the one who chose to come here and order what I wanted.”

 

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