The Stubborn Billionaire (a Muse novel)

by Lexxie Couper

  “Anything you can do, Kitten. That’s all I ask.” Another one of those weighty pauses stretched between them. “I know I’ve been a crap father, but if I ever get the chance, I want to make it up to you.”

  Sienna rubbed her hand down her face. God, I so don’t need this right now. She opened her eyes and stared at the floor. So much for not painting James Dyson. “I’ll work something out.”

  “I love you, Sienna. Always have. Just wasn’t that good at showin’ it.”

  A small smile pulled at her lips before she could stop it. She rolled her eyes. She was too damn soft. “I know, Dad. I love you, too.”

  “I’ve told Zach to let up a little. Hope it helps.” He cleared his throat. “And, Kitten, don’t…don’t let him go off on his own, okay? Not until I’m out. Drive him to school and that kind of thing. And if anyone comes round saying they’re from Pablo Reynard, tell them to leave you alone, and that Reynard will get his money.”

  “Is this Pablo Reynard dangerous?” Her pulse thumped faster at the unusual request. “What aren’t you telling me? Is there something I should know?”

  “No. No, not at all,” he said, the denial a hurried tumble of words. “Just want my two children to be safe, is all. If I can’t see you both often, I want to know you’re together while I’m in here.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “We are safe. Don’t worry.”

  “I won’t, Kitten. Take care.”

  “You, too, Dad.”

  Swallowing a lump in her throat the size of a soccer ball, she disconnected. Just when she’d thought she couldn’t get any more confused about life and her role in it, she did.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up to find Zach standing before her, surprised by the faint concern on his face. “Yeah, I’m okay. Question?”

  He nodded.

  “Have you ever had anyone called Pablo Reynard come up to you?”

  “I think that was the name of the guy who offered to pay me to have sex with him yesterday.”

  Sienna blinked. “Are you serious?”

  Zach snorted. “No.”

  “Zach,” she groaned, heart a sledgehammer in her throat. “Don’t do that.”

  A sheepish apology tugged at his lips. “Sorry. Why?”

  She dragged her fingers through her hair and gave him a wry grin. “No reason. Just…if someone called that comes near you, run as fast as you can away from him, okay?”

  He gave her a curious nod. “’Kay.”

  Forcing herself to relax, she rubbed her palms over her thighs. “So, what do you want for lunch?”

  Zach shrugged, a guarded tension falling over him as he dropped onto the sofa. “Dunno. Don’t think I’m hungry.”

  Pulling in a slow breath, she walked across the room and lowered herself onto the cushion beside him. “Think we need to talk.”

  His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat. “What about?”

  She shrugged back at him. “Stuff. Like what happened this morning, maybe?”

  He grimaced, looking away. “Do we have to?”

  “I didn’t mean for you to see that. But you did, and I think you’re old enough to talk about it.”

  “We did talk about it,” he shot back without turning to look at her. “You told me it was complicated.”

  “Okay, I deserve that.” She sighed, rubbed at her arm some more, and then raked her hands through her hair. “That man—”

  “James Dyson.”

  Her heart jumped into her throat. “Oh, you know who he is now?”

  Zach pivoted on the cushion to glare at her. “Once I calmed down, I tried to remember where I’d seen him before. He’s been on the news. I remembered the name and Googled him. I know exactly who he is and how much money he has.”

  Prickling heat razed her cheeks. “That’s not why I was kissing him.”

  Zach cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

  She scrunched up her face. “No. It isn’t. I was kissing him because…” She trailed off. How did she finish the sentence?

  “Yeah, you told me. Because it’s complicated.” His expression grew tormented. “So you weren’t just making out with him because he’s rich?”

  A knot twisted in her stomach at the disturbing question. A bleak thought dawned on her. “Zach, what did Dad tell you about me? About why I…left our family?”

  Zach shrugged. “He said you didn’t like my mum. My mum said you didn’t like that we were going to get some of your inheritance.”

  Hot anger razed over her fragile calm. No wonder he despised her with misinformation like that. She dug her nails into the tops of her thighs, cursing their father. If he were in the room with her right now, she’d hit him. Hard.

  “Oh, Zach, that’s not why I left. Take a look at my existence. Do you really think I care about an inheritance? When you came along, I was excited about having a brother. It’s true I didn’t like that Dad dumped my mum for yours. That hurt a lot, but I was never angry with you or your mum. I was angry with Dad. I left home because I couldn’t deal with the excesses anymore. The superficial people Dad surrounded himself with, the wild parties where people did things and took things that…”

  A shudder rocked her at the memory of some of the things she’d been exposed to at those parties. Her stomach roiled at some of the propositions made to her by some of the guests. She could all too easily recall one of her father’s business associates suggesting she go with him somewhere quiet. She’d been eighteen at the time. He’d been over fifty.

  Turning her gaze on the living area of her converted warehouse, she waved an arm at the collection of second-hand furniture paid for with her own hard-earned money. “I’m good with a Spartan existence.” Better not to tell him about the parties and guests. “I need little more than simple food and art supplies and I’m happy. Content. When you moved in, all I wanted was for you to like me. I really wanted my brother to be my friend as well.” She rolled her eyes. “Geez, I sound lame.”

  Zach huffed. A small smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “I do like you. I just don’t…get you.”

  Warmth flowed through her at his mumbled confession. Nudging him with her shoulder, she smiled in return. “We just need time, is all. And now we know more about each other…well, maybe you’ll start to get me. At least you know now money doesn’t interest me much.”

  He chuckled. And then frowned. “So you were kissing James Dyson because… And please don’t say ‘it’s complicated’ again. I really hate being spoken to like I’m a kid, ya know.”

  Sienna nodded. “I get that. And I’m sorry. Honest. I won’t do it again.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she stared across the living area to the studio space of the warehouse. “Sometimes people are drawn to each other. You may not like that person, but you can’t stop thinking about them.”

  Zach shifted on the sofa beside her. “Is that what’s going on with you two?”

  “I think so. He knows someone very important to me, and that someone has asked me to paint his portrait.”

  “How does he know who’s important to you? No offense, but since I’ve been living with you, there have only been two people come here. James Dyson and Carrie. Does Carrie know him?”

  Sienna shook her head. “All the paintings I’ve been working on since you arrived have been for a man called Mason Xavier. He’s my benefactor. He commissions artwork and pays me when I finish them. If it wasn’t for Xavier, I’m not sure where my art career would be.” She gnawed on her bottom lip some more. “However, it does seem since he came into my life, no one else is interested in my paintings.”

  “And Mason Xavier wants you to paint James Dyson?”

  At Zach’s question, her belly tightened. “Apparently, it was a birthday present. He’s paying me good money to do it. And Dyson agreed this morning to let me enter the portrait into the Barton Art Prize, which is major exposure. Major. If the painting wins, I’ll be able to pay for a new vi—” She stopped, not wanting to mention the vi
olin. It was so wonderful to be able to talk to Zach without fear of sarcasm and snide comments.

  He snorted, a wry sound far more tired and cynical than any fifteen-year-old should make. “Violin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I promise you something, sis?”

  Her heart skipped at the familial nickname. He’d never called her sis before. Ever. She didn’t know what it meant, but it was nice. In the rollercoaster of emotional madness she’d been riding the last few days, nice was…nice. She smiled at him, doing her best to hide her joy. “What?”

  “I promise I’ll try to do a better job of being a human being and your brother if you promise not to use the word ‘complicated’ again? Deal?”

  She laughed and held out her hand. “Deal.”

  Zach completed the age-old ritual, his grip firm. He grinned. “Now, tell me about Dyson.”

  She groaned, slumping back onto the sofa, eyes closed. “Zach.”

  He laughed. “Kidding, kidding. Tell me about Mason Xavier instead. Or art. Or something. Do you really think you can win this Barber prize thing?”

  “Barton Prize. And I don’t know. Maybe. I know all you’ve seen me paint is people making…err…having…” Her cheeks flooded with heat. She really didn’t want to say making love or having sex. Not to him. He was only fifteen, for Pete’s sake.

  Zach did it for her. “Yeah, pretty much all you have painted while I’ve been here is people fucking.”

  “Zach.”

  He shrugged. “S’true. Is this Mason Xavier a pervert?”

  The knot in her belly twisted some more. What she was about to say was stupid, and Zach was going to laugh at her. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually met him.”

  “Holy shit, really? So this old fart keeps giving you money to paint smut, you keep painting it, and you’ve never met him?” He stared at her like a second head had sprouted from her shoulder. “Don’t you think that’s weird? How did he get in contact with you?”

  “When you say it that way…” She licked her dry lips, trying to place the first time Mason Xavier had contacted her. Except it hadn’t been Mason, it had been his assistant, Clarinda Simmonds. A few days after Clinton’s funeral. And it had been his assistant ever since. Never once had she actually met or spoken to the man directly. Every new commission came via Clarinda, delivered in a short, impersonal message left on her answering machine. A simple request of subject—a man and a woman, two women, a woman and two men, a woman alone—size of the painting, and a date he’d like the painting finished, usually a few weeks for each work. When the painting was completed, she contacted Xavier via his assistant. A few hours later, a van would arrive at her home, a man would collect the work, two if it was large, and money would be deposited into her bank account. She never knew where her artwork went. Every time she was in the Sydney CBD—which wasn’t often—she hoped to spy one of her paintings on the walls of a foyer in one of the glass-fronted white-collar businesses there. She never did. Mason Xavier could be using her work as kindling.

  God, that would be horrible.

  “So you’ve really never seen him?”

  She shook her head.

  Zach pulled a face. “Weird.”

  “True. But Xavier’s paying for our breakfast.”

  “And making you paint Dyson.”

  At the man’s name, her heart jumped into her throat.

  Zach laughed. “Oh man, sis, you should see your face. Never ever play poker, because your poker face sucks.”

  She glared at him. “Zach.”

  He held up his hands, laughing even as he shook his head. “I know, I know, it’s complicated, and you’re just drawn to him, I get it. But holy shit, you’ve got complicated and drawn to bad. Real bad.”

  “Zach.” God, would her stomach stop flip-flopping already? Of course, it didn’t help every word Zach uttered was true.

  “If you like him that much, why does it have to be complicated?” He frowned. “I saw him kissing you, and I could tell he was into you. I’m a teenage boy, remember. All we ever think about is girls and sex. I know what a guy looks like when he’s thinking about sex, and he was thinking about it when he was looking at you.”

  “Zach!” She moaned, planting her face in her hands.

  “Just sayin’.” Zach laughed. “Is he married?”

  “No,” she mumbled into her palms.

  “Gay?”

  She looked up at him, eyebrows high.

  He shrugged. “So he’s not gay, not married, is into you and, by the noises you were making this morning, the feeling is mutual. He’s not poor, so Dad’s long-gone money isn’t what he’s after. Why is it complicated?”

  She opened her mouth, and closed it again. She wasn’t ready to tell Zach why it was complicated. That was not a conversation she was willing to have with her newly affable teenage half brother.

  He gave her an expectant look. “Well?”

  Her mobile phone burst into ringing life, saving her from blustering through an answer she didn’t have.

  Jolting to her feet, she hurried across the room and plucked it from where it sat charging in its dock. “Hello? Sienna Roberts speaking.”

  “Hello, Ms. Roberts.” The male voice in her ear was familiar. Very familiar. “This is Benton Fenchurch. The principal from The Point School.”

  She flicked Zach a glance. Her grip on her phone tightened. “I know who you are, Mr. Fenchurch. What can I help you with?”

  The man cleared his throat. Was it only the day before yesterday when he’d snidely insulted her and her family? “I’ve just received a call from a member of the school board about Zachary.”

  He paused again. Her pulse pounded in her ear. Her stomach churned. She didn’t have it in her to deal with new crap about the violin. She didn’t. She’d only just started making inroads with Zach. She didn’t want to lose the fragile affability over the same damn broken musical instrument.

  “And?” she prompted, the silence screaming at her.

  “Zachary’s expulsion has been reconsidered, and I would like to inform you he is welcome back at Point come Monday morning.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “After discussions with Mr. Dyson…”

  His voice faded away, replaced with a low, fuzzy roar in her head. Her lips prickled with tingling blood. Her scalp crawled.

  Dyson. Someone called Dyson had contacted the exclusive school regarding Zach and had his expulsion overturned?

  She rubbed at her eyes. Her temples throbbed. “Which Dyson?”

  Behind her, Zach snorted out a low chuckle. “Drawn to, drawn to,” he chanted in a sing-song lilt.

  “Mr. Dyson,” Fenchurch responded, contrite contempt clear in his voice. “He has been a long and proud member of The Point School b—”

  “Which Dyson?”

  “James.” Flustered impatience replaced his distaste. He’d clearly prepared a speech, and every time she interrupted him, his planned apology went farther out the window. “James Dyson. Although his father is also a member of the—”

  “So James Dyson called you and told you Zach is no longer expelled?”

  “Yes, yes.” Fenchurch made a choked sound. “Ms. Roberts, if you will let me—”

  She hung up.

  Heart fast in her chest, she swung back to Zach. James Dyson had pulled strings only a Dyson could pull and had her brother reinstated at The Point School, the most expensive school in the country. What did she do about that?

  Zach frowned at her from the sofa. “What’s going on?”

  “Do you…” She stopped, her mouth too dry to speak for a moment. “Do you want to go back to Point?”

  Incredulous shock spread over his face, followed by undeniable glee. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He jumped to his feet. “Are you kidding me? Did James Dyson make Mr. Fenchurch change his mind? Did he?” His grin split his face in half. “Holy shit, sis. Marry the guy. Marry him. I gotta tell my friends.” He scrambled at his hip pocket, p
ulling his mobile phone from its depths. “I gotta…” He ran over to her and, before she could do anything, wrapped her in a hug and smacked a loud kiss on the side of her face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  And with that, he ran from the living area, his mobile pressed to his ear. The last thing she heard as he damn near ran through the front door was, “Guess what, Ricco? I’m coming back.”

  She stared at the open door, her heart racing, and raised shaky fingers to her cheek, the slight spot of moisture on her skin indisputable proof he had, in fact, kissed her.

  Kissed her. Just like a happy, normal brother would do when given good news. News that would return him to his friends and the only constant part of his surreal life. His smile, his joy, shot through her like a spear. How could she say no to him when he’d never ever been so happy? When they’d only just really started to connect? How could she shatter his joy?

  She couldn’t. She wasn’t that mean.

  Now all she had to do was figure out why James had done it.

  And while she was at it, how to stop her own stupid, foolish heart falling for him for doing so.

  Damn it.

  Chapter Seven

  The knock on the door sent Sienna’s pulse into rapid overdrive. She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. She needed to be in control of her emotions before she opened the door.

  What emotions are those exactly?

  Her stomach knotted. One part contempt for the way James had treated her after Clinton’s death, one part gratitude for what he’d done for Zach, one part suspicion about the way he’d suddenly reentered her life, all mixed with another part of wanton desire for the man.

  Talk about messing with her head. It would be so much easier if he just went back to being the snarling bastard who hated her. The James Dyson currently insinuating his way into her life was a conundrum.

  The knock came again, a little harder this time. Three sharp raps. Letting out a breathy chuckle, she opened her eyes. Very few people would make James wait for them. She was going to be one of those few.

  She may have to paint him, but she didn’t have to kowtow to his every whim.