Babysitting the Billionaire

by Nicky Penttila

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Nicky Penttila

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-152-7

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my sisters-in-law.

  BABYSITTING THE BILLIONAIRE

  Nicky Penttila

  Copyright © 2012

  May Reed was running late, as usual, and as usual, her boss was waiting for her. This time, though, Sadie stood in the reception area as she stepped off the elevator.

  “Honestly, May, you only have to come in to the office twice a week. You might make an effort.”

  “Sorry. Metro again.”

  “Markus wants to see you.”

  The Big Boss? The coffee she’d gulped down just before stepping in the door burbled threateningly in May’s gullet. “I’ll be on time, I swear it.”

  Sadie’s eyes crinkled at the corners, though her mouth remained stiff. “It’s not that. It’s a special assignment. Actually, I’ll tell you all about it. He just wants to put the fear of god into you. We can’t mess this up.”

  Mess what up? The resident artist for the Save the Penguins Foundation, May didn’t think anything she could possibly do would threaten the organization, such as it was. But she dutifully trudged behind Sadie up to the third floor.

  Markus Edmondsson had made a name for himself by reaching both poles before his thirtieth birthday. He’d lost a couple of toes, and his political momentum, though, and at forty-something was the growly head of this less-than-groundbreaking organization. When Sadie knocked on his door, they could see him pacing, a caged tiger, through the tinted-glass of the window. He waved them in and went to sit behind his creepy desk of walrus skin, his skin as blanched as the hide. Sadie and May sat in the supplicants’ chairs facing him.

  He stared at May a full count of twenty without even blinking, or so it seemed to her. Were his glacier-blue eyes like that before the expeditions, or had they been chipped away during the trek?

  “This one?” He shifted his gaze to Sadie, who visibly fought not to squirm.

  “You wanted anonymous.”

  He flicked his gaze back to May. “And what do you do for us, young lady?”

  Well first of all, old mister, I’m no young lady anymore. May was so mad she almost giggled, jangling already jangly nerves. “Sir. I do the artwork for web and print and assign the video editing for the site.”

  “You’re Reed?”

  “Right.”

  He paused, and then seemed to decide something. “Good. This is it, then. We need you for a special assignment. It is mission-critical, but due to extreme circumstances we can’t give it to the people best trained to do it.”

  He stopped, looking at her. Was she supposed to say something? What did good worker bees say to such a cryptic statement? “Well, I’ll do anything I can for the foundation. I love my job, and I believe in our mission.”

  “And what is our mission, Miss Reed?”

  The affront implied in his tone kept her anger on top of her nerves. She smiled sweetly, she hoped, and parroted the company line. “To ensure habitat for all penguins worldwide.”

  “And this is how we plan to do it.” He leaned forward, palms on the dead-animal desk, icy eyes starting to blaze. “Another expedition.”

  She wasn’t following. “You want me to go on an expedition?”

  “God’s nose, no. I want you to handle our special case. A funder, who wishes to remain anonymous, but whom we’ve convinced to come to DC for this year’s gala so long as we keep his trip hush-hush. That’s your job.”

  May looked at Sadie, in her DC gray power suit, silk blouse, and upswept blonded hair. She fought the urge to smooth out her own crinkled-cotton midi skirt. “Sadie and her team are the press people.”

  “Exactly. So if he’s with them, the press will sniff him out.”

  She was starting to follow. “And if he’s with me, no one will care.”

  “Exactly. She is, indeed, smarter than she looks.”

  May had heard that one so often she just let it go. Small price to pay for looking ten years younger than she really was. “What does this babysitting entail?”

  “Sadie will fill you in. I just wanted to get you on board and emphasize. Emphasize,” he sliced the air with a hand, “how important this is to us. He’s agreed to fund the entire expedition, provided we find the funding for a video crew.”

  “But that’s tens of millions of dollars.”

  “Right again. So it’s critical. Critical,” he pounded his dead-animal desk, “that we keep him happy. Understand?”

  May caught herself before she jumped at the sound, covering the move by crossing her arms. The man had a mean bluster. “You want me to have sex with him?”

  “Great gods, no. We’d find him a pretty prostitute if he needs one. Sadie knows how to do that. All you need do is keep him on track, on time, and happy. As happy as a man like him can be.”

  What did that mean? “He’s in mourning?”

  “No. Where do you get these ideas? Is it an artist thing?” He said it as if the word tasted bitter. “He’s one of those tech geniuses. Just give him a big enough computer and wake him up for meals. Whatever. Just get him to the party on time, and we’re golden.”

  The man pushed up to his feet again, and May and Sadie jumped to theirs. Dismissed.

  The women walked down the stairs and into Sadie’s office in silence. After the ferocity of the boss’s lair, Sadie’s brutalist steel-and-glass furniture looked positively welcoming. She ushered May in first, then followed, closing the door behind her. She sat on May’s side of the desk, nearly knee to knee. May had to lean a little forward or her feet wouldn’t touch the ground. The world was made for six-footers, and five-footers could just swing.

  Sadie handed her a folder, but May dropped it. They almost clanged heads stooping to pick it up. Sadie set it on the table instead. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

  “Why can’t you do it? How can we possibly keep some celebrity under wraps? Won’t everyone know at the party, when it’s announced?” Something smelled wrong.

  “Slow down. He’s a recluse; practically nobody outside his field would recognize him. But we can’t take the chance that some business reporter might spot him.”

  “Then why is he coming at all?”

  Sadie looked as baffled as May felt. “Search me. But he wants to come, and no one says no to Beau.”

  “Beau? Wait.” The pieces were starting to fall into place. She knew of only one Beau who would have the millions to drop a ton on some tiny foundation.

  “Yes. Beau Kurck.”

  “I’m a big fan of his apps.”

  “So you see the problem.”

  She did. Kurck, the biggest little app-maker in the world, had hit the big time with a wickedly addictive game of catapults.

  Cranky Penguins.

  ****

  The next Monday, May stood with the throng collected outside the customs exit at RonaldReaganNationalAirport. She’d spent the intervening weekend reading up on Beau Kurck and the penguin-hurling empire he’d built.

  Tall and couch-potato soft, he had a reputation for stoici
sm, even among his own people, the not-known-for-talking Finns. The only child of two teachers, he’d done predictably well in school. A close-knit cadre of polytechnic friends formed the backbone of the company, Joki, which meant “river” in Finnish. She was surprised to learn the catapulting penguins strategy game was not the team’s first app, but its seventh. The first six had gone nowhere. So, Mr. Roly-Poly knew how to brush himself off and start again.

  She scanned all the people exiting singly, focusing on the tall ones. TSA had helpfully stuck one of those height stickers on the door frame, perhaps in case she was called on to identify fleeing felons. He seemed to be taking forever to get through Customs.

  She shifted her weight onto her other foot and lifted the sign she held a little higher. She was using the top edge as a chin-scratcher when a far too handsome man stopped directly in front of her. She froze in admiration.

  Dark hair fell across a tall forehead, sweeping sharply angled brows. They crowned wide, blue-sky eyes, clear even as the skin around them was a tiny bit puffy from the flight. But the cheeks, and that chin, and that chest. May had heard the word chiseled used to describe men before, but privately had only ever used it for sculpture. This man could make her change her mind.

  “Penguin Foundation?” His voice carried the trace of an accent, a hint of confusion, and a whisper of laughter.

  This was Beau Kurck, the couch-surfer? May almost curtsied, he was so princely-pretty.

  “A little joke, Mr. Kurck, sir. I’m May, and I’ll be showing you around.”

  “You’re late,” he said, but he didn’t sound angry.

  “Sir?”

  “Isn’t it June already?”

  So he was that kind of asshole. “Yeah, ha ha. I get that a lot. Could I take your bag?”

  “How could you? You’re not even as big as my bag.”

  She frowned, looking at the regulation carry-on sized rolling bag.

  “First, I need a triple espresso, a decent one. Then I need at least broadband Net access and a quiet place to work. Then, an assistant who doesn’t patronize me.”

  “Well OK, then, let’s head on over to Caribou, down the hall a ways.” May turned and started walking in that direction as fast as her little legs would take her. “Second, we made sure your hotel had double your required bandwidth as well as backup, so we’ll go there next.”

  He caught up easily, the long-legged misanthropist. “And third?”

  “Third, fuck you. Sir.”

  Suddenly his shadow on her shoulder vanished. She slowed and turned—had he been raptured, right here at the airport? No, he’d just stopped in his tracks, forcing people behind him to swerve out of the way. His mouth had dropped a little open, exposing the nicest teeth orthodontia could buy.

  “Coffee?” she said sweetly.

  He exploded in sound, rumbling deep. It resolved itself in her ears into laughter. He was laughing at her.

  Suddenly she realized what she’d said. She’d just tossed it off, because it was always better to let go of anger rather than carry it around. Well, maybe not always. Maybe not when you’re babysitting someone who could get you fired in a split-second.

  But he was laughing. The sound was so genuinely joyful the tired travelers hauling their suitcases around to avoid him even smiled, despite themselves. He wiped the corner of an eye.

  “Right, coffee.”

  He ordered, she paid, and they sat in the far corner with his back to the crowd. He lifted the little paper cup in a toast to her. “I haven’t had such a good laugh in ages. Thank you, Miss May.”

  “Miss Reed. May Reed. You don’t look much like your handout photos.”

  He savored his first sip, eyes closed. His lashes were a lighter brown than his brows. How did that work?

  He opened his eyes, and she kept drinking him in. “I bored of being sluggish and tired all the time. Now I have great stamina.” He winked.

  Startled, she forgot to censor herself, “Why are you here? I mean, thank you for the generous donation.”

  “I believe in the work your foundation does. You do work for the foundation?”

  “Yes. I do its artwork and web design, stuff like that.”

  “So that explains why mine was the only airport sign that held a drawing instead of my name.”

  May shrugged, embarrassed to be caught not being like everyone else again. “You wanted to be incognito, right? And my Sharpie ran out of ink.”

  “Sharpie? Mine always last a long time.”

  “Sure, if you put the cap back on.” He would not make her feel uncomfortable, she sternly reminded herself. All he was, was a brilliant, successful, newly-gorgeous hunk of manflesh.

  She tried again. “I mean, thank you, but why did you need to come to the announcement party? You don’t like publicity, and this publicity especially, I can see that.”

  “You can, can you? Don’t frown. I’m not patronizing you, heaven forbid. Can it not be a case of me wanting credit for something I’ve done, even if it’s from only a few people and only in private?”

  She looked past the beautiful angles. His jaw was tight. “No. There’s something else.”

  He leaned back. She hadn’t realized how close he was to her, but she felt his departure like a cold breeze. Stupid airport air conditioning.

  He tipped the cup and poured the last of the coffee down. “Time to work,” he said, standing.

  Now she had to race to keep up with him. But she nearly ran him over when he stopped short at a collection of ceiling signs. “Taxi or garage?”

  “Taxi. Or rather town car.”

  “You drive a town car?”

  “I don’t drive. It’s a rental.” And it was right where she had left it, thank the stars. The graying driver had put on his chauffer’s cap for once, and ably loaded the rolling bag into the trunk. She let Kurck get in first, with his industrial-strength computer bag, and scurried after him. The car pulled smoothly away from the curb.

  May was glad of the giant bag between them, even if it did crowd her side.

  “These town cars don’t have much leg room, do they?”

  “I’m sure you’re used to that.” He looked a question at her, and she shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone drive Trabants in Finland?”

  “Try East Germany, and two decades ago. Three.” He raised his perfect brows at her. “And your family, they are from China?”

  “Virginia.”

  “American?” He seemed surprised.

  “Both of them, yes.” Shithead paternalistic blowhard gearhead. He grinned as if he’d read her mind.

  “I see. So you’re adopted.” His grin grew wider as she scowled.

  “From Laos.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  Now she felt petty. “I stand corrected, too.”

  “Very pretty. Just for that, I’ll tell you what I need.”

  “I’m here to help.” She almost made it sound sincere. Why did he have her so, so—what? Discombobulated, her mother would say.

  “You’re right. I didn’t come here just for some party. I want to have a private conversation, preferably over dinner, with the junior senator from Rhode Island. Jane Lindell. You’ll arrange it for me.”

  “Why?” She lifted a hand to her mouth as if to catch the word, but it flew free.

  “So refreshing, the American woman. We met a few years ago, a decade now. The acquaintance was severed at that time, and I’d like to mend it.”

  “So she won’t want to have dinner with you.”

  “I regret that is the case.”

  “And you do.”

  “Just so.”

  “So I’m supposed to lie and get her there, and spring you on her?”

  “Again, so refreshing.”

  The senator might not even be in Washington. It was the end of session. Even if she was, May had no idea how to reach her, and absolutely no idea what could persuade her to go to dinner with a stranger. But she had no doubt she would be slapped on a threat list after pulling Kurck
’s little bait-and-switch.

  “You do know that having a meeting with an American Senator is the opposite of staying below the media radar? She has to keep an appointment calendar, and she’s very popular. She’d be recognized anywhere we chose to meet, and likely you would, too.”

  “A bit of a challenge, I agree. But your stalwart leader does want his ultimate expedition funded. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

  May’s mind was racing, and everywhere meeting dead ends. Something was missing. If he wanted to open shop in Rhode Island, he wouldn’t need the secrecy. “You’re not telling me something.”

  “Okay, now that spirit of independence is getting tiresome.”

  “How am I supposed to help you if I’m working in the dark?”

  “Fine.” He crossed his arms. “I suppose you must know. The acquaintance was a little more than an acquaintance. I proposed she marry me, and she said no.”

  He swung his arms open, as if brushing that past aside. “That was then. Now, I’m here to change her mind.”

  ****

  Since May had texted her, Sadie was on the lookout for them at La Luna, a boutique hotel discreetly tucked into

  Logan Circle

  . She handed May two plastic hotel cardkeys and then stopped cold, staring at Kurck. With a visible effort, she turned her gaze back to May.

  “I need your ID. The room is in your name.”

  “That’ll be interesting when I call down for room service.” He seemed amused by her reaction. May looked at the floor hard, to keep from rolling her eyes, and then performed the introduction.

  “Mr. Kurck, this is Sadie, our team leader for public outreach.”

  “The flack.”

  “Your English is impeccable,” Sadie said, holding out a well-manicured hand. A hint of suspicion in his face, he shook it, Western style. “Now, shall we go upstairs and talk things through?”

  “I don’t see why. The internet works here, right?”

  “Of course. And we have a backup personal wireless, as well, right, May?”