Bad Boys After Dark: Dylan (Bad Billionaires After Dark Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  “You are certainly driven, but it doesn’t leave much Tiffany time, does it?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to have that conversation when she had so much work that needed to be done, and turned her attention back to the contract.

  A few minutes later he said, “You should call Phoebe. She’ll hook you up with a nice place.”

  She didn’t look up from the contract, but she gripped her pen a little tighter. “I’m not going to call some woman you have probably hooked up with.”

  “You really think I’d do that?” His tone was so annoyed she lifted her eyes to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t. “She’s a friend. Period. Jesus, Winters. What have you been through that made you so untrusting?”

  She dragged air into her lungs and tucked her pride away. “Nature of”—someone whose ex was a cheating asshole—“the business, I guess. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

  A small, victorious smile lifted his lips. “Thank you. And good job at avoiding my question.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to the contract, completely unable to focus. How had he nailed her so completely? And so easily? She stole a peek at him as he painted, wondering if she was that transparent. No one had ever called her out on that particular trait before. I never let anyone get close enough to. On that thought, she glanced at the door. Escaping just moved to the top of her priority list.

  They worked in silence for a few minutes, and when Dylan’s voice broke through, there was no tension lingering in it. It was as if their little confrontation—which felt huge to her because of the context—had never happened.

  “What was it like growing up with a pro baller?” Dylan asked as he dipped his paintbrush into the can again. He had taped along the moldings and was working on edging in the kitchen. The steel-blue color worked well with his dark furniture.

  “I have two brothers who play pro ball.”

  He flashed a smile. “I know Perry from the bar, too. And your father was a pro for a while, right?”

  “How do you know about my father?” She sat back and stuck the pen she was using to mark up the contract behind her ear.

  His gaze turned hot again. “You look sexy as hell when you do that.”

  “Do what?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

  “That librarian thing with the pen. It reminds me of when I took your pen from your hair and it tumbled down around your face.” He was looking at her intently again, like he’d forgotten all about painting, and it made her uncharacteristically nervous.

  Everything about him made her uncharacteristically something.

  She pulled the pen from her ear. “That’s weird.”

  He laughed. “Come on, Summers. Surely you can take a compliment.” He climbed up on the ladder and went back to painting. “I mean, I don’t freak out when you stare at my ass.”

  Caught! She shifted her eyes to the contract but couldn’t concentrate on a word of it, and her eyes sought him again.

  “I know about your father because I follow sports. I just didn’t put your Winters together with all of theirs until I saw Rocco at the hospital.” He glanced over his shoulder at her and caught her staring at his ass again. “Hey, you can stare at my ass all you want. No reason to blush on my account.”

  That was it. She’d totally lost her edge. She gathered her things. “I can’t work here.” She rose to her feet as he climbed down the ladder. “Don’t stop on my account. I just…I have to go or I’ll never finish my work.”

  She felt the heat of him behind her before his arms circled her waist.

  “Thank you for sticking around for a few minutes.” He kissed her neck, and goose bumps rose on her flesh. “Maybe tomorrow night you’ll actually talk to me.”

  She closed her eyes for a beat to think, but his breath swept over her neck, distracting her. “Dylan,” she pleaded. “I can’t lose any more time.”

  He turned her in his arms and smiled down at her. He smelled fresh and manly, and surprisingly familiar. “Okay. Thanks for hanging out.”

  He took her hand, and she said, “I can let myself out.”

  “Not a chance.” He grabbed the boxes of chocolate and her purse—how did she forget that? He really had her head in the clouds. It was a good thing she was leaving. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “Dylan, really, this is sill—”

  He smothered her complaint in a delicious kiss, quieting her thoughts and amping up her heart rate again. When their lips parted, they stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them sparking with heat.

  “Work,” she mumbled to try to get her brain to function. “I need to go get some work done.”

  He gave her a chaste kiss and his arm circled her waist. “You’re adorable when you’re not trying to be a big bad sports agent. Come on, Summers. Let’s get you home.”

  This time, when they reached her apartment and he kissed her good night, she kissed him back. She opened the door and he handed her the chocolates.

  “You really need to stop sending me things. I’m not a flower girl or a chocolate girl.”

  He leaned against the doorframe, his shorts hanging dangerously low. He looked casual and seductive without even trying, while her insides were tying themselves into double knots.

  “Tell me, Summers, what kind of girl are you?”

  She held his gaze, trying to ignore the nerves twisting her stomach. He’d asked her a question she didn’t know the answer to. She was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear, The type of girl who wins multimillion-dollar contracts and never loses a client.

  “Honestly?”

  “Preferably,” he said kindly.

  “I’m not really sure anymore.” A pang of hurt accompanied her confession, along with a flash of embarrassment.

  He pushed from the doorframe and pulled her close again. “You didn’t even blush when we did all those dirty things together, but you’re blushing now. That was hard for you to admit, wasn’t it?”

  She sort of shrugged, or at least she thought she did.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” He kissed her softly and his fingers played with the ends of her hair in another intimate touch. “Don’t worry, Summers. We’ll figure it out together.”

  “Dyl—” She stopped herself from saying they were done, because the look in his eyes mirrored the emotions bubbling up from deep within her. Like it or not, they weren’t done. Not even close.

  Chapter Ten

  TIFFANY FLEW OUT the door late and flustered Tuesday morning, and nearly stepped on a white paper bag on her welcome mat. She peeked inside and her heart did another happy dance at the sight of an enormous chocolate glazed doughnut inside—her favorite—and a note from Dylan. Hoping this hits your sweet spot. D.

  She had his phone number from the first day he’d sent her flowers. She dug it out of her purse and texted him on the way to the elevator instead of calling because she really needed to get through the sponsorship contract and the next few days of meetings without distractions. And everything about Dylan was a major distraction. If she saw his face, she’d want to see the rest of him, and that would lead to hours of deliciously erotic downtime she couldn’t afford.

  She weighed her words carefully.

  Doughnuts = extra gym time, and I don’t have time for gym time at all, much less extra. But thank you!

  His response was immediate. I can think of a much better way to work off the calories.

  Loving his sexy sense of humor, she tried to think up an equally flirty response. Before she could, her phone buzzed with another text from him.

  You know you want it. Enjoy all that deliciousness one mouthful at a time until you’re satisfied.

  Lust coiled deep in her belly. How did he do that with a text? She smiled, unable to keep from replying with what she hoped was a flirty tease. They’re always gone WAY before I’m satisfied.

  Her phone vibrated a moment later with a response that made her insides quiver. Duly noted. Will rectify.

  W
ednesday morning when she rushed out to squeeze in a quick visit with her father before meeting the real estate agent, she found a caramel macchiato on her welcome mat, accompanied by another note. Sweet and hot, like you. Enjoy. D.

  Her tummy tumbled. The man was all kinds of smooth. With a smirk, she texted him on her way out of the building. Did you enjoy your sweet, hot treat the other night?

  Her phone vibrated seconds later with Dylan’s response. Tremendously. But seconds wasn’t enough. Dinner tonight?

  She was impressed by his persistence, and she wanted to see him again, but she was swamped with meetings every minute of the day and into the evening. Disappointment washed through her as she typed her reply.

  Meetings until six, and then I have a conference on the other side of town until at least eleven. I will probably grab a PowerBar in between. On a dead run today. Sorry.

  Dylan never responded.

  Annoyed for having to turn him down, and frustrated because she was annoyed, Tiffany was more aggressive than ever in her meetings. When the office spaces she looked at didn’t pan out, she gave in and called Dylan’s friend Phoebe Nice. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Phoebe owned several buildings in the area, and they scheduled showings for Saturday morning.

  She thought of Dylan all afternoon, and by five o’clock her stomach was knotted up tight with the realization that while he might be pursuing her now, how long would any man put up with a woman who never had time to see him? She reminded herself that she was living the life she wanted, and it came with an almost seven-figure salary, the perks of socializing with the rich and famous, and she was well respected in her field. She could have just about any client she wanted if she put her mind to it. She was one of the top sports agents with no ties to hold her down. She’d set her mind on a career path and she hadn’t let anything distract her from succeeding.

  She’d made it on sheer will and a supreme work ethic.

  She plastered a smile on her face as she rode in the cab to her next meeting, reminding herself how proud she was, how far she’d gotten. But the thought was chased with the image of Dylan’s smile and his teasing, seductive eyes playing over her as he painted his kitchen. He’d asked her about her life and seemed happy to have her in the same room, even if she was working. She’d really enjoyed that, too, except she’d been too distracted to actually work.

  How did people do it? How did they have high-powered careers and relationships? She could hammer that out until it was nearly transparent, but she couldn’t change the fact that her issues ran deeper. It wasn’t just fitting a man into her life. Her issue was opening up and trusting that he’d always be there, regardless of her late nights and crazy schedule. If she couldn’t keep a man satisfied when she was in college, she sure as hell couldn’t do it now, when her life was a hundred times more complicated. That wasn’t the worst of it. She knew using her asshole ex-boyfriend’s betrayal was a crutch for her real issues. Her own mother had walked away from their family. Parents were supposed to love their children unconditionally. If her mother could turn her back so easily, then how could she expect anyone else to be different?

  That thought rattled around inside her, like rocks falling down a hill. Before meeting Dylan, she’d never slowed down enough to contemplate wanting someone else in her life. Could she be lonely? No, she wasn’t lonely. That was silly. She had too much going on in her life to be lonely. She was just being whiny. Girly. Weak.

  Besides, wasn’t this what she wanted? Hadn’t she told him as much? That she didn’t have time for anything more than a one-night stand, which had already led to two?

  She exhaled loudly, trying to ignore the sound of Dylan’s voice whispering in her ear, Make time.

  She felt like an addict who needed a hit and debated texting him to explain that she wasn’t avoiding him, but that felt clingy, and she’d have to rip her eyes out if she became that type of girl.

  Her fingers itched to reach out to him. But that nagging voice in the back of her head was all too happy to remind her how needy she’d appear if she did. I’m not even his girlfriend. That gave her pause, too, because she wasn’t anyone’s anything.

  The shrill ringtone she used for family sounded and nearly made her jump out of her skin. She’d just seen her father that morning and he seemed fine, but when Rocco’s face appeared on the screen, panic raced in.

  “Hi, Rocco. Is Dad okay?”

  “Hey, sis. Yeah. He said you saw him this morning.”

  “I did, but…never mind.” Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “What’s up?”

  “Can you give me your opinion on something?”

  “Mm-hm. Go with the blue shirt, and don’t shave for a few days. Women love that.” She listened to her brother laugh, and smiled. Since they were kids, every time he’d ask if he could ask a question she’d teased him like that.

  She listened as Rocco explained a situation his friend was going through with his agent, who was trying to get him to sign on to endorse a product he didn’t believe in.

  “Rocco, what’s the one piece of advice you gave me when I went into this business?”

  “That it has to be about more than just the money. That’s why I need you to tell me what an agent who is all about the money will listen to.” He went on to explain the things his friend had already said to his agent.

  “Tell your friend he holds all the cards. Just say no. God, it’s what they teach every thirteen-year-old girl. No, no, no. And if your friend has already told him everything you told me and the agent’s still pushing, then the guy’s an ass and your friend should come to me for representation.”

  Rocco laughed.

  “Who’s his agent?”

  “Miles Bourne,” Rocco said. “He definitely gets top-dollar endorsements.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And then loses half his clients.”

  Miles Bourne repped some of the top MLB and NFL athletes, including Razor Sharpe. Miles was a hard-nosed prick who pushed the wishes of his clients’ wives and families aside, and would probably sell his own family to the highest bidder. Tiffany had no respect for the man despite his ability to seal incredibly lucrative endorsements. She’d seen too many athletes’ families fall apart because they were on the road too often, or coerced into accepting situations married athletes should never be presented with. Tiffany maintained the same clients year after year, and not only could she produce the contracts they wanted, but she cared enough to listen to their families’ wishes.

  “My turn,” she said. “Hypothetically speaking, how can a woman contact a guy she hasn’t heard from without sounding needy?”

  Rocco went silent.

  “Hey, you still there?”

  “Yeah, I was watching pigs fly by.” He laughed, and she rolled her eyes again.

  “Never mind,” she said sharply.

  “Hold up. Are we hypothetically speaking about Dylan?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted.

  “I’d say meet me at NightCaps for a drink, but I’m on my way out of town for a few days. Just call him. Guys love needy chicks.”

  Her heart sank, because she knew she’d only be playing a part. She wasn’t a needy woman. She was only needy—greedy—for him.

  “Never mind. I should just let him find someone else. I’m not a needy girl.”

  “Hey, Tiff. What am I hearing in your voice?”

  “Frustration.”

  “No way. You own frustration. I think you really like him. Maybe it’s time to take a breather and let yourself have some fun. Dylan’s a good guy.”

  “You just told me guys like needy women. I’m anything but needy. I’m hard and busy…”

  “Tiff? Is that how you think of yourself? Because I know you, remember? You’re hard and busy at work, but I remember the girl who gave her homecoming date a black eye for saying he asked you out because he thought you’d sleep with him.”

  Her hand curled into a fist with the memory.

  “And then you cried for two days
because you were so heartbroken,” he reminded her. “You’re not too hard for Dylan. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  After ending the call, Tiffany rode the rest of the way to her meeting thinking about that awful night. She had been heartbroken. She’d thought the guy really liked her, and looking back, she was sure that night had helped her to develop even thicker skin—until seemingly swoon-worthy asshole-cheater ex-boyfriend Rob showed up on the scene.

  Ugh. I was such an idiot.

  Pushing those upsetting memories aside wasn’t easy, because they kept nosing back in, making her second-guess her feelings for Dylan. But she was a consummate professional above all else, and she had a meeting to focus on. Eventually her sports-agent brain won the battle.

  At five fifteen she stepped from the cab onto the busy sidewalk with her phone pressed to her ear, following up on one of her earlier meetings with a major hotel sponsorship rep with whom she was negotiating a deal for one of her NFL clients.

  “Hello, Charles,” she said in her shrewd negotiator voice.

  “Tiffany, I’m going over the details of the deal with my team. I’ve got you on speakerphone.”

  Adrenaline pushed thoughts of Dylan aside. She stood up a little straighter, giving him her full attention. It was her job to be a pessimist in these situations and think of all the things that could go wrong. While these endorsement deals began as mutually beneficial, she’d seen attitudes change quickly based on the effort or success of the athlete. It was her job to ensure policies and procedures were provided to address issues that might arise if something went awry.

  “We have an issue with Matthew’s demands. This is a family hotel, and you want us to keep all references to his family out of the endorsements.”

  “That’s right.” She’d told her client that this deal might not be the best for him, given that he kept his family behind a stone wall when it came to the media, but he’d been insistent about getting the deal. And she always got her clients what they wanted. This was where she shined. This was her moment of glory, what she lived for. Going in for the kill. “If you want Matthew, you’ll have to stick to what I’ve outlined. Period.”