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

by Melissa Foster

  Jackie held her gaze for a long, meaningful moment.

  “Did I interrupt?” Dylan asked.

  “Oh no,” Jackie said, winking at Tiffany. She patted the coffee table. “Set it here, sweetie. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone through this box.”

  Dylan set the box on the table and sat on Tiffany’s other side, looking a little uneasy.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him quietly.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “This is a good thing you’re doing, sweetheart.” Jackie shifted her gaze to Tiffany. “I’ve waited so long for the other boys to realize Lorelei was still here with us. We all grieved in different ways, but my boys have never been able to let go of her, bless their hearts. For all these years, only Dylan understood that by talking about her, we keep her spirit alive. Micky carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Amanda has helped him move past the worst of it. That sweet girl is a godsend. Micky is a lucky man. And poor Brett. He’s so much like his father.”

  Dylan didn’t speak of his father often, and Tiffany found it interesting that his mother didn’t sound like she held a grudge after all he’d put their family through.

  “Brett,” Jackie said with a sad shake of her head, “still wants someone to pay for his sister’s death. He might never get rid of that anger, but as I said, we all grieve differently. At least Dylan has finally gotten through to him, and he’s agreed to bring her memory into the fundraiser. And Carson, well, you’ve met him. He came over Friday night after you had dinner with him. Twenty years of repressed feelings came out of that man all at once. Poor thing, but he’ll be a better man for it.”

  “Carson came over Friday night?” Dylan asked.

  “Oh, yes. Brett called and told me about the decision you all had made, and then Carson burst through the door and threw his giant self into my arms.”

  Jackie patted Tiffany’s hand again. “I’d imagine you were instrumental in opening this door for all of them, sweetie. Thank you.” She smiled up at Dylan and said, “Do you realize that by doing this you’re giving Lorelei her life’s dream?”

  “What do you mean?” Dylan asked.

  “She always wanted to be famous. If not as a trapeze artist or a world-famous baker, then as an actress or a model. She was full of so many dreams.” She blinked several times against damp eyes. “By making her one of the faces of this fundraiser, you’re giving her the life she never had.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  TIFFANY HUNG UP the phone Thursday afternoon and stared out her office window, mulling over the new information she’d just received. A free-agency press conference had been scheduled for the night of the fundraiser. She didn’t technically need to be there, but this would be the first one she’d missed in her career. Her stomach knotted up at the thought of missing it, but disappointing Dylan and being absent from the fundraiser that was so important to him and his family pained her even more. She looked around her beautifully adorned office thinking about how much she had changed since she’d been with Dylan—her wants, her needs, her goals were all different.

  Earlier in the week she and Miranda had hung up the pictures from her L.A. office, which added splashes of color to the white walls. The mahogany furniture and leather chairs set the perfect tone of professionalism and comfort, and the peace lilies Dylan had sent were in full bloom, which made the office feel inviting and friendly. She’d started reading the books Dylan’s mother had lent her, and she was excited to bring new life into her surroundings. She’d stopped on her way home last night and bought two big, leafy plants for Dylan’s apartment. They sometimes spent the night at her place, but even though she had an office now, she still preferred his. It felt good to see the beauty in plants and flowers instead of seeing certain death. Ever since visiting Jackie, she realized she didn’t share her father’s distaste for things that could die. Lately she wondered if his feelings stemmed from losing his wife to another man.

  The metaphorical death of a marriage.

  Wow, when did I get so deep?

  Her mind turned to her visit with Dylan’s mother. They’d spent hours looking through pictures of Lorelei and the rest of Dylan’s family, and Jackie had shared a number of sweet, funny, and heartrending stories, as well as a few embarrassing ones, for which Dylan had lovingly given her a hard time. They’d chosen three special pictures to use for the fundraiser. Jackson and Cooper were making them into posters, and earlier in the week they’d gone with Dylan to the Ronald McDonald House to take pictures of Bethany and some of the other children. Tiffany had fifteen donations of signed memorabilia for the fundraiser, including signed jerseys from both of her brothers. Perry was flying into town late tonight and leaving Saturday morning, so they’d made plans to have dinner at her father’s tomorrow evening. Rocco had already spilled the beans about her dating Dylan, and Perry had expressed how happy he was for both of them. Though she was nervous about their dinner, she was looking forward to it, too. She knew her brothers would tease and taunt her as they always did. Dylan was likely to get an earful from them, but that was okay. She knew he could handle their banter.

  She glanced down at the endorsement contract she was supposed to be reviewing for one of her NBA clients. On her desk were notes on another endorsement pitch she wanted to make for one of her NFL clients who hoped to retire next year. How had this been her life for so long? How had she not realized how much she was missing out on? Her eyes shifted to the paper bouquets Dylan had given her. An added touch of unexpected elegance. Her heart soared every time she looked at them, and her answer became clear. She’d been consumed by work and never realized how much she’d missed out on because she hadn’t yet met Dylan.

  People said there was a man for every woman, and Tiffany knew Dylan was the only—and the right—man for her.

  She felt his presence all around her lately, even though he was back in the swing of things at NightCaps. Between getting her office up and running and the fundraiser preparations, they’d both been working longer hours. But they never failed to fall into each other’s arms at the end of the day and make love into the wee hours of the morning.

  Miranda poked her head into Tiffany’s office. “Got a sec?”

  “Sure, of course.” Tiffany moved to the chair in front of her desk and sat beside Miranda. Personal relationships weren’t easy for her, the way business relationships were. But the closer she and Dylan got, the more introspective she became about the rest of her life. She wanted to try to forge a closer bond with Miranda now that she was in New York for good. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation she’d had with Dylan about teaching Miranda the ropes.

  “I wanted to go over the résumés we got in this week. Nothing great, but these two guys are available within the next few months and I thought you’d want to take a look.” Miranda tucked her dark hair behind her ear and went on to tell Tiffany about their backgrounds, track records, and the information she’d gleaned from the Internet about them. She was organized, efficient, and rattled off stats the way some women talked about shoes.

  And Tiffany was holding her back.

  She saw that now, in a way she might never have noticed if she hadn’t taken a step forward in the rest of her life.

  “What are they lacking?” Tiffany asked.

  “Lacking?” Miranda shuffled the papers she’d been showing her.

  “Yes. In your opinion, what are they lacking?”

  “You want my opinion?” Miranda’s eyes widened.

  Tiffany felt a pang of sadness that she’d drawn such a firm line all this time. And, she found, she truly wanted to hear Miranda’s take on the agents.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well,” Miranda said hesitantly. “I know you like aggressive agents, and—”

  “Remove me from the equation.”

  “What do you mean? You own the company.”

  “Right. But I want to hear what you think they’re lacking. You’ve worked with me long enough to
know what it takes to be a good sports agent. Give it to me straight.”

  “Wow,” Miranda whispered, smirking a little. “Dylan must be giving you some great drugs or something, because the woman I work for would make a snap decision without anyone’s input.”

  “He’s definitely making me take a second look at different parts of my life,” Tiffany admitted. “Stop stalling and tell me your thoughts.”

  “Okay, here goes. The first guy has a stellar background, but his inquiry letter rubbed me the wrong way. It’s not a science, but hey, you asked.”

  “Noted. Go on.”

  “This other guy has repped five top-level athletes in the last seven years. Something is wrong. Why does he want to work for someone else?”

  Tiffany loved that assessment, because she would have wanted to know the same thing. “What does your gut say?”

  “He’s weak. He might have the connections, but not the balls to get out there on his own.” She pursed her lips in concentration and tapped the file. “I’m not sure what that correlates to in terms of contracts, but I’m sure it means something. Look at you.”

  They spent the next half hour discussing what makes a good sports agent. As they discussed the intricacies of multitasking and being willing to give up personal time in order to succeed, Tiffany realized two things. The first was that she didn’t want to hire two sports agents and create a big agency. And the second, more important thing, was that she had a capable, intelligent woman sitting beside her who was ready to step into the limelight and begin handling clients.

  “How do you like working in our office instead of working from home?” They’d worked across states for so long, she hoped neither of them would feel uncomfortable working in an actual office together.

  Miranda set the file of résumés on the end of Tiffany’s desk. “It’s weird to actually see you in person instead of talking on the phone or Skype, but I like it. When you were living in L.A. and came into town just for meetings, we met at cafés and hotel rooms. That made our interactions feel…different.”

  “A little less personal despite our close business relationship?” Tiffany offered.

  Miranda smiled apologetically. “Yes.”

  “I know, and that’s my fault. I’ve been so wrapped up in work that I’ve let other important aspects of my life, like friendships, fall by the wayside. I’m trying to slow down, and if you’re interested, I think it might be a good time for you to take on more responsibility. I’d like for you to attend a free-agency press conference the night of the fundraiser.”

  “Seriously? Me? Without you?” She sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “Wait. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  “No! Why would you jump to that conclusion?” Tiffany laughed. She’d made great strides in the way of compromise, turning off her phone while she and Dylan ate dinner, then checking messages briefly before bed, and turning it off again until morning. That meant she was busier the next day, catching up on everything she’d put off, but at least it gave her real downtime—and they were enjoying every blessed minute of it. She was finding the balance she never realized she was missing. And instead of her world falling apart at the seams, it was coming together in a better, more stable, and far more enjoyable way.

  “Because you have a hot new boyfriend and you come into work looking way more relaxed than ever before. And pregnant women’s brains are on their babies, not things like press conferences.” She shrugged. “Seemed plausible.”

  “Okay, I see your point, but no. Not pregnant, thank you very much. We’ve worked together for a long time, and I made a commitment to show you the ropes. I feel like I’ve dropped the ball with that, and it’s time to get you moving in the right direction. I don’t think we’re looking to sign any free agents this year. The ones I want aren’t up for grabs. And Dylan’s important to me. I really want to be there for him during the fundraiser. You know how to handle anything that comes up. Don’t you feel like you’re capable?”

  Miranda squared her shoulders, looking every bit the professional she was. “I’ve memorized everything about how you work. Even this.” She narrowed her eyes, and her lips went ruler straight with just the slightest hint of a smile beneath her determined expression. “See? I know I can make you proud.”

  “Impressive as hell, Miranda. You’ve always been a loyal employee, and I have every confidence in you.” She tried to ignore the roiling feeling in her stomach that she knew stemmed from relinquishing control. Despite what she’d said to Dylan a few weeks earlier about Miranda saying the wrong thing, she trusted her. Miranda was bright, she was professional, and she had a cell phone with a direct line to Tiffany if anything came up that she couldn’t handle. This was the right thing to do. She trusted Miranda to know when to speak for her and when to make the call. Thinking of Miranda’s accessibility during her vacation, she said, “Maybe in some cases you’re too loyal.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “I think there might be. Just because I work—worked—twenty-four-seven doesn’t mean you have to. I think there’s something to be said about having balance.”

  “You can say that because you’re balancing with Dylan. But me?” She sighed and crossed her arms. “I’m doing a solo balancing act, so work doesn’t have much to interfere with. Now that you live here full-time, you’ll get a good dose of how boring my life actually is.”

  “Then maybe we’ll have to work on that, too.” As the words left her mouth, Tiffany was surprised to hear herself sounding like a friend, not just a boss or colleague. Happiness bloomed inside her. She and Miranda were such good work partners, it made sense that forging a stronger friendship would come naturally. She could kick herself for hiding behind a rock for so long.

  “Hey, you know what?” she said to Miranda. “Dylan’s working late tonight. Why don’t we go to NightCaps and grab a drink?”

  “You want to hang out?” Miranda’s jaw dropped open. “To talk about work, right?”

  “Stop looking at me like I’m an alien.” She pulled Miranda up to her feet. “Yes, I want to go hang out, and no, I don’t want to talk about work.”

  “Now I know he’s drugging you.”

  DYLAN LOOKED ACROSS the bar at Miranda and Tiffany sitting in his favorite booth. They’d been there for hours, laughing and drinking like old friends, and it made him happy. Almost as happy as the sexy texts and coy, seductive glances Tiffany had been sending him all night. He turned away as his phone buzzed with another text from her.

  If that blonde eyes my man one more time, I might have to climb over that bar and show her just how TAKEN you are.

  He chuckled and shoved his phone into his pocket without replying, turning back to the flirtatious blonde—and stealing a quick glance at Tiffany. Her eyes narrowed. She said something to Miranda and rose to her feet with a determined expression like the one she’d had the first night they’d met. His cock stirred with the memory of the smoking-hot make-out session that followed.

  “Decide to take me up on my offer?” the blonde purred across the bar.

  “Thanks, but I’m not on the market.”

  Tiffany sidled up to the bar, setting those sexy, grassy-green eyes on him, and he was a goner. There wasn’t a woman alive who could tempt him away. And the look in her eyes told him that if he’d had any doubt that she felt the same way about him, which he didn’t, she was about to destroy it.

  “Hey there, handsome,” Tiffany said. “How about you and I go back into your office and discuss last night’s…transaction.”

  The other woman scoffed and stepped from her stool. “Not on the market? Right.”

  She stormed off, and Dylan couldn’t temper his amusement. He stepped out from behind the bar and pulled Tiffany against him.

  “You are a shameless flirt,” she said with feigned annoyance.

  Speaking gruffly into her ear, he said, “Got you right here, didn’t it?” His hand dropped to her ass and he gave it a tight squeeze, earning a shocked squeak from Tiff
any. “You just bought yourself a night of being bent over my bar and that pretty little skirt of yours either torn off or bunched around your waist, so you’d better be ready to pony up when I close.”

  He felt her heartbeat quicken, but she lifted her chin and held his gaze. She was tremendously good at cloaking herself in armor. But the armor was no longer cold and forbidding. It was smoldering and inviting.

  “I’ll pony up when I’m good and ready.” She pushed her hand between them and cupped his balls, making him instantly hard. “Just checking to make sure my horse is ready for the ride.”

  She turned on her heels and strutted away, leaving Dylan hard, horny, and wishing he could close the bar early.

  When closing time finally came, it was torture waiting for the staff to finish their work and take off for the night. And it didn’t help that Tiffany was bending over tables with her ass in the air as she wiped them down, taunting him every chance she got. Dylan finally locked the door behind the last employee, his pulse sprinting as he strode across the room toward the woman who’d set his world on fire. Tiffany sat on a stool with a lascivious look in her eyes. There was no slowing down, not a chance in hell that he could ease in as her heady scent engulfed him.

  “Time to make good on your promises, summer girl.” He yanked her skirt up, pushed her legs open wide, and tugged her to the front of the stool. Grinding his throbbing cock against her, he grabbed a fistful of hair and claimed her in a rough kiss. He ate at her mouth as she fumbled with the button on his jeans. Thank fucking God they had stained glass windows, because he wasn’t about to move from where they were. He fisted his hand in her hair, tugging her head back so she opened wider for him. She made a greedy noise as he took the kiss deeper. She pushed her hands into his briefs, stroking him with such a perfect, tight grip, his entire body shuddered. He wanted to fuck her every which way, but her mouth was so fucking hot, so sweet, he wanted that first.

  He pushed his jeans down to his knees. “Suck me, baby. I want to fuck your mouth before I bend you over this bar and fuck you so good you forget your own name.”