Wild Eyes (The Barrington Billionaires Book 2)

by Danielle Stewart

  “I just bolted in a helicopter to get away from him. I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed. No coming back from that.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m getting dropped off at the closest bar.”

  “Jess, please don’t do that. You’re alone. It’s not a good idea.”

  “I’m not alone; Ralph is with me.”

  “Who is Ralph?”

  Jessica heard James chime in and then come on the line.

  “Give the phone to Ralph,” he ordered, and Jessica obliged.

  “James West wants to talk to you,” she said shyly as she handed her phone to Ralph.

  “Yes sir,” Ralph said over and over again as he shook his head. “Goodbye sir.”

  Ralph hung up the phone and handed it back to her.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done talking to Libby.”

  “Mr. West said to make sure I took care of you tonight and whatever happens that you leave his tired wife alone until it’s morning there.”

  “Jerk,” she hummed in annoyance. “You don’t have to take care of me. I just want to drink. And drink alone.”

  “I understand. I’m very good at blending in. You won’t know I’m there.”

  “Don’t you have to drive anyone else around?”

  “When Mr. West tells me what to do, I do it. Now I know just the bar we should go to. It’s perfect for a broken heart.”

  “I don’t have a broken heart,” she bit out quickly. “I just—” She had a million responses but none were honest. She was angry Mathew hadn’t had a chance to understand her better. She’d screwed it up and had been so stupid. She was mad at him and herself. Her heart was broken, even if she wouldn’t say it out loud.

  “I just want to drink,” she finished.

  “A honky-tonk.” Ralph smiled as he pulled into the dusty parking lot of a rundown building.

  “Oh gross,” she groaned. “I don’t feel like dancing.”

  “They have something better here than dancing. And it’ll help.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ribs. The best ribs you’ve ever eaten in your life. And apple fritters. They soak the sad right out of you.”

  “Fine,” Jessica shrugged, starving after a long day of work. “And you’re just hanging out with me all night, Ralph?”

  “Yes. Until you’re home safe.”

  “So you’re saying you’re going to feed me, give me my space, and then get me home safely? You might be the best date I’ve have in a long time.”

  “My wife seems to think I’m a good guy.”

  “Great. I’ve ruined things with Mathew, and now I don’t even have a shot with you, Ralph. I’m making a mess of everything.”

  “Don’t worry too much about it tonight, sweetheart. My wife and I broke up nine times before we got married. Now we’re about to celebrate our twenty-fifth anniversary.”

  “What did you fight about that made you break up nine times?” Jessica asked as Ralph came around to open her door.

  “Didn’t you know?” he asked with a playful grin. “All men are complete idiots.”

  Chapter 6

  “Message received,” Mathew said coolly into the phone. “Really no need to talk it through now, so is there another reason you’ve called my phone ten times in the last hour?”

  “I need help,” she breathed out in a frightened pant.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. The annoyed reaction he had to her incessant calling washed away quickly. He’d been floored by the fact she left last night, but judging by her tone that’s not why she was calling.

  “It’s Libby’s mom. She’s freaking out. I need to get to the facility where she lives like right now, but my car is still at work since Ralph picked me up there last night. I called a cab but they said it would be forty-five minutes because of the basketball game downtown today.”

  “All right. Don’t worry. I can come pick you up and take you there. Be out front in fifteen minutes.” He hung up the phone before she could ask for a car service or any other solution that would keep him from seeing her. Maybe it was the petty act of bruising his ego but something about her rejecting his attempt yesterday had thrown his desire for her into overdrive.

  When he pulled up in front of her apartment he was relieved to see her there, wiggling into her coat and wiping the mascara out from under her eyes.

  “I know I look like shit,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat.

  “You look great,” he offered reluctantly. She did look amazing. It was a natural, just rolled out of bed essence that had him wanting her to roll back into his.

  “I’m a terrible person. I ruin everything. She depended on me, and I blew it. I’m hungover and don’t have my car. How could she leave me in charge when I can’t even take care of myself?” she rambled on as she flipped down the visor and glanced at herself.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve been visiting her all this time. Libby knows you can care for her mom.”

  She keyed the address into his dash GPS and slammed herself back into the seat, covering her face in sheer overload.

  “About last night,” she croaked, but he waved her off.

  “One thing at a time. What’s wrong with Libby’s mom?”

  “She has early onset dementia. She doesn’t normally get upset, but they just called me and said she’s freaking out over some record or music or something. I could barely even understand because, if you remember, I’m hungover and the worst friend in the world.”

  “You called someone you didn’t want to see in order to get there. I’d say that’s being a good friend.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to see you,” she protested, and then clutched her head that must have been pounding.

  “Is this it?” he asked, letting her off the hook as he pulled up in front of the facility.

  “Yes. Thank you so much for the ride. You can’t imagine how important this is to me.”

  “I’ll come in,” he said, putting the car in park. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said, hopping out of the car and hustling toward the door.

  He followed, knowing she wasn’t completely on her game. “I have unique skills. You never know when they might come in handy.”

  “If she needs her taxes done I’m sure you’ll be right there,” she teased, and his heart jolted, happy to see her relaxed enough to joke around even if only for a moment.

  “Oh thank goodness,” a woman in scrubs said as she waved for them to follow her back. “She’s so upset. We may need to sedate her, but we’d really like to avoid it if you can calm her down.”

  “Oh, Jessy girl,” the woman sobbed and half rose from the ball she was curled up in, but then quickly collapsed again.

  “Theresa, what’s the matter? What can I do?” Jessica asked, crouching down and taking her hands in hers.

  “It’s broken,” Theresa answered, staring down at a pile of black plastic. “I need it. I listen to it at one o clock. Then I sleep. That’s what I do.”

  “Her record broke,” the nurse explained. “I guess it’s an old one. I called the library, but they didn’t have it. I even tried to download some of the songs but they weren’t online. I don’t know where else to look.”

  Mathew bent down and picked up the pieces with the paper label and read it quickly. “Patty Williams,” he said, trying to remember where he knew the name. “My mother has this record. Hang on.” The cries grew louder as Mathew stepped out of the room. He’d made a few strange calls home before, but this was going to be hard to explain.

  “Just please, Mom, put the volume all the way up,” he demanded as he stepped back into the tiny over-decorated room. And a moment later, through the speaker on his phone, he heard the music start. Like an upset baby soothed by a lullaby, Theresa Saint-Jane’s cries melted to whimpers.

  “Oh Patty,” she bellowed as Jessica helped her to her feet. “Patty, I
knew you’d come visit. I knew you’d sing for me.”

  Mathew held up his phone but averted his eyes out the window as Jessica helped her into bed. “It’s okay, Theresa. Everything is all right now.”

  The nurse came with a small paper cup, and Theresa gulped back the pill inside. “That will help you relax. Just sit back and listen to the music.”

  “Thank you,” Jessica mouthed, with tear-soaked cheeks. He nodded his head but again his eyes cut away.

  When the second song ended Theresa’s heavy eyes finally closed, and Jessica gently inched away.

  “I’ll have a replacement record here in the morning,” Mathew assured the nurse whose color was finally returning to her face.

  “She’s usually so very calm, but that music is a big part of her day before she naps,” the nurse whispered as she ushered them out of the room. “Where will you find another record?”

  “I’ll put my best people on it. They’ll have one here for you. I promise.”

  Jessica was shaking now as she stood in the hallway, wringing her hands nervously.

  “Are you all right?”

  “How did you do that?” she asked as though he’d just flown through the air without wings.

  “My mother had a copy of the record. I remembered her playing it. I called and asked her to play it as loud as she could.”

  “Then hung up on her?” Jessica asked, pointing down at his phone.

  “Oh yeah. I’ll call her back. She’ll understand.”

  “And you’re sure you can get another record? I mean what if—?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “I’m glad you were here,” she finally edged out as they made their way back to the front entrance of the facility.

  “No problem. Libby is important to James, and James is important to me. Can I drop you off at your car?”

  “Are we just going to leave all this stuff unsaid?”

  “Actions speak louder than words, and your actions yesterday were screaming. I don’t think we have anything else to say.”

  She leaned over and kissed him full on the lips, shutting him up instantly. “I told you there were a lot of layers to me,” she replied, her lips just an inch from his as she spoke. “Don’t stop peeling them away yet. Pick me up for the charity event this week. I want to go.”

  Chapter 7

  “You’re the kind of woman a smart man stays away from,” Mathew whispered into Jessica’s ear as they danced around the floor. It was all kind of heady, Jessica thought as she breathed in his cologne and clutched his bicep.

  “Aren’t you a smart man?” she asked, blinking expectantly up at him.

  “I used to be,” he sighed in feigned frustration. “I used to see a woman like you and decide you weren’t worth the drama. I hate drama.”

  “There is a difference between being complex and dramatic. I don’t do things for the sake of attention. I don’t start arguments, but you can’t blame me for finishing them. You might not like my style, but I care about people.”

  “I’ve seen what you do when someone crosses a friend of yours, or hell, a complete stranger for that matter. I’d hate to see what happens when someone screws you over.”

  “We all have histories, Mathew. Sometimes it might feel like my reaction is personal, but it’s more just how I’ve learned to cope. I’ve made decisions about my life because of things that have happened, and if I’m being honest, you’re making me question some of them. I hate that.”

  “So you aren’t as tough as you look?” he asked, slipping his hand up between her hair and neck, running his thumb up and down the smooth skin.

  “You’d be surprised. I’m not quite as ferocious on my own behalf. I know my job seems trivial to a guy like you, but it’s a hard business. Competitive and cutthroat. My reputation means everything to me. I have to fight for most jobs I get and the pay sucks. But I’m doing what I love. When you take someone who sits in your chair and sees nothing but their flaws, and you can help transform what they see and how they feel, it’s an amazing experience.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way,” Mathew said, staring down at her and seeming to see her with new eyes. “Maybe that’s what we need to do more of, see things differently. See each other differently.”

  The idea sounded perfect to her. Maybe they’d judged each other too harshly. As he pulled her in tighter, her chin fell to his shoulder, and she glanced around the large ballroom. Then lightning struck her eyes as an old familiar face came into focus.

  “Oh my God,” Jessica gasped and covered her heart with her hand, desperate to shield it. “Why is he here? What the hell is he doing here?”

  “Who?” Mathew asked, turning his head and crouching some to try to follow her gaze out into the crowd.

  “No, no, no,” Jessica stuttered, taking two steps back from Mathew’s arms.

  “What’s the matter?” Mathew asked, planting his hands on her shoulders and holding her in place. “Who’s here?”

  “Jessica?” a familiar French accent asked with a voice as smooth and sweet as taffy.

  “Pierre,” Jessica whispered, a shiver rolling up her back and catching in Mathew’s strong hands still perched upon her shoulders.

  “It’s been so long,” Pierre sang, grabbing both her wrists and kissing each of her cheeks in that wonderfully European way. He hadn’t changed. Not enough anyway. Not so much that Jessica could ignore the tidal wave of emotions that swept in with the piercing blue of his eyes. His hair had begun to gray at the temples, but damn him if it didn’t make him more attractive. Pierre’s face was still flawlessly symmetrical, balanced in its perfection. But that wasn’t what had drawn Jessica to him all those years ago.

  “You look like magic,” he said, eyeing her so many times from top to bottom it seemed like his head might pop off. “It has been so long, but you are exactly how I remember you. And I remember you so often.” His heavy French accent made everything sound truer than it was. She certainly didn’t look like she had when they’d known each other. She’d spent plenty of time and money making sure of that. Her hair wasn’t long and brown anymore, now cut bluntly at her chin and jet black. She didn’t dress in those flimsy sundresses or wear those strappy little shoes he loved. Jessica had retired that look when she and Pierre were over.

  “What are you doing here?” was the best Jessica could muster as the man’s familiar scent clouded around her. Nearly every exciting memory of her life, the truly exhilarating ones, were built around that scent.

  “I’m doing a movie in the city,” he announced, tossing his shoulders back with a prideful thrust. “The actress, she supports this charity, and begged me to come.”

  “I hadn’t heard,” Jessica replied, still shaking, still feeling Mathew’s hands knowingly trying to support her. The fact that Pierre was in town and she hadn’t known was a true oversight. She’d made it a point to follow his career and make sure moments like this never happened. But she’d been distracted by Libby’s happiness and the life-changing moments unfolding around her.

  “And who is this?” Pierre asked, gesturing toward Mathew as though he were somehow in the way. An obstacle to jump over.

  “Mathew,” Jessica said, raising a hand and resting it on top of his on her shoulder. “My fiancé.”

  “Oh,” Pierre said, faltering for just a second as though he’d been socked in the gut. “No ring?” he asked flatly.

  “A woman like Jessica . . .” Mathew started, pulling her in tighter to his body. “You don’t just buy a diamond at the closest jewelry store. This hand,” he said, pulling it up to his lips and kissing it, “needs something as unique as her smile, as big as her heart, as colorful as her spirit. I’ll search every corner of the world until I find just the right ring. Because once it’s on her hand, it’s never coming off.”

  What the fuck was that? But instead of looking over her shoulder and asking that very question, she plastered a sweet smile on her face and nodded her agreement.

  “Jessi
ca and I are old friends,” Pierre lied. “It would mean the world to me if you’d spare her for a spin or two around the dance floor.”

  There would be no way for Mathew to read the situation well enough to know if Jessica wanted to dance with Pierre or not. How could he . . . she didn’t know either.

  Before Mathew could answer, in true Pierre fashion, he was leading her to the center of the dance floor and pulling her into his arms.

  “Pierre,” Jessica whispered as he pressed himself against her. It had been so long since she’d said his name out loud. It tasted funny on her lips, forbidden. “What are you doing?”

  “What I’ve dreamed of doing every day for the last five years.” His whispering words crawled delicately into her ear. “You are truly magic, Jessica.” The way he said her name, Jass-E-Caah, was still her favorite way to hear it. “And he is not your fiancé.”

  She tensed, not expecting to be assaulted by the truth. But Pierre was notorious for steering straight into the discomfort of life if it meant finding the truth.

  “Why do you say that?” Jessica asked, not able to pull away from his grip to make some stern face that told him he was wrong.

  “Because I know what you look like when you lie. I know what you look like when you are sad. I know every look you’ve ever had. They’re in my mind every day. You are on my mind every single day, and now here you are. But he is not your fiancé. Which means you’re scared. You’re using him to protect yourself from me, and that breaks my heart.” He pulled her in another inch, as his voice rattled with emotion. He was a director, but Jessica knew now that he could have easily been an accomplished actor, lying as easily as the rest of the world drew breath.

  “I’m not scared,” she lied and knew he’d be able to spot it. But it didn’t matter, she quickly reminded herself she was beholden to no one. Especially Pierre. “We should stop.”

  “Tell me first,” he pleaded, “have you ever found anything else like we had? Have you ever felt again the way you felt that night in Sicily? Or the morning we woke up in Brazil to the sound of tropical birds? My life with you, it was everything. Have you found that again?”