Billionaire Beast (Billionaires - Book #12)

by Claire Adams

  I strode on past them and into my office, closing the door behind me. I hadn’t shut the door since Daisy’s first day when I’d been changing my coffee-stained pants; I needed it shut right now, though. With it shut, my office turned into a controlled environment, almost a cocoon of sorts, and as I sat down in my chair and placed my hands on my desk, I felt a sliver of stress slide away. Only a sliver, but I’d take it.

  The feeling that wasn’t going anywhere was the fact that Annie had trapped me.

  I wasn’t sure exactly how much time had elapsed when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  The door opened slowly and Daisy peeked her head around. “Are you busy?”

  “No, come in,” I repeated. She stepped in and closed the door behind her, though she didn’t push it all the way shut.

  “I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay,” she said. “You’ve been in here all morning.”

  “It is my office. I do have work to do,” I said. But I was touched, actually, that she’d come to check up on me. Which was strange, because if Annie had done the same thing, I would’ve found it completely annoying, overly cloying, kind of pathetic. I smiled. “There’s just some stuff I’ve had to take care of. How’s it going out there?”

  “It’s good. Jonathan had to take some stuff to the post office and then was going to meet up with Dan at the civic center, but he said to tell you he’ll be back late afternoon. There was something he wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t tell me what it was though.”

  “All right. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Sure.” She put her hand on the doorknob and started to pull the door open but then stopped. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You seem a little . . . I don’t know, stressed, maybe.”

  She stood there, today wearing a slightly shorter, more form-fitting gray skirt, with a white short-sleeve blouse, the top button undone. There was nothing more I would have rather done at that moment than told her exactly what had happened on the phone with Annie, but that wasn’t the sort of news you shared with the woman you were planning to sleep with next. Was that even a good idea at this point? Maybe taking the path of celibacy would be better for right now.

  But no. I’d have to fire her if that was going to be the case, because there was no way I’d be able to have her around like this and not get with her. It was like I could feel it radiating off of her skin, this intense desire that she probably didn’t even know she had. What was it Jonathan had said when he was trying to get me to give her an interview? She’s a freak in bed. She probably was a freak in bed. I’d be the one to bring it out in her.

  “Yeah, you know, things can get a little stressful at times,” I said. “But that’s just how it goes. I try not to let it get me down.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Well . . . if there’s anything that I can do to help, so you’re not so stressed, just let me know.”

  The innuendo was there, but she didn’t realize it. I tried to hide my smile. I probably shouldn’t even go there at this point—my dick had gotten me into enough trouble—but there was just something about her that was completely irresistible.

  “You’ve already helped, actually. Thanks.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  I wanted to get up from my desk, push the door shut all the way, and tear open her blouse, the little iridescent buttons popping off, one by one. I’d lay her across my desk and squeeze her ass a few times before—

  No.

  Not just yet.

  “I appreciate it anyway,” I said. And then the phone started to ring, and Daisy excused herself to go answer it.

  At the end of the day, I could tell that Daisy was lingering, thinking that we might hang out, but after I went and saw Pete, I wanted to have some alone time, and if I wasn’t going to suggest we get together, I knew she wouldn’t say anything.

  “All right,” she said, slinging her handbag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Daisy,” Jonathan said. “Here, let me walk you out.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, but he followed her down the hallway like a loyal dog. When he returned, he was looking at me with hopeful eyes. Christ, he was such a fucking Boy Scout. He certainly wouldn’t have gotten a girl pregnant. He’d never find himself in a situation like this. I felt a flare of anger for him, for the fact that his life had always been so fucking easy, yet he didn’t even have the slightest clue.

  “So . . .” he said. “How’s it going with Daisy? Did you have a chance to talk to her?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I’d draw this out for a little while.

  Those hopeful eyes brightened. “You did? What’d she say? How’d it go?”

  “It went all right.”

  “It did? What did you say to her? Really, more importantly, what did she say to you?”

  A whole lot of shit you don’t want to know. I took a deep breath.

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, man,” I said (or more accurately, deflate your dick), “but I just don’t think she’s ready for that sort of thing right now.”

  Jonathan pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said, frowning. “That’s kind of the impression I was getting from her. I guess I really should learn to trust my instincts more.”

  “Absolutely. Don’t take it too hard, man. There’s plenty of other girls out there, you know.”

  “I know.” He looked disappointed. “It’s just . . . I really liked her.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said, nodding sympathetically, “she’s a good person. But then again, so are you. So you’re bound to find someone that will be a good match. I just know it.”

  And the thing was, he would. He might not realize it at the moment, but I sure as hell did. Things just always worked out for Jonathan, one way or another.

  Not that you’d know it with that forlorn expression he had on his face at the moment, like he’d just walked in on me drowning his favorite puppy or something. Come on, dude, I thought. You are worse than a lovestruck teenage girl! I went over and clapped him on the shoulder, gave him my best expression of brotherly solidarity.

  “Did she seem really . . . traumatized?” he asked.

  “What—about the idea of you be interested in her?”

  “No! You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “No, I meant by the whole thing with her stalker. Do you think that has made it so she’s never going to want to get involved with anyone ever again?”

  “It’s hard to say. I did find out one thing, though . . .” I paused, letting the tension draw out. Jonathan looked at me hopefully. “She’s a virgin. Which doesn’t really coalesce with the notion that she's a freak in bed, now, does it? Remember how you told me that?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his face reddening. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t know if she was, or that she was a virgin. I just thought if I told you that, you might be more apt to hire her, you know . . . since the whole thing with Annie and all.” He looked down at his shoes. “But I’m really sorry, man. That wasn’t cool for me to make shit up like that.”

  “It wasn’t,” I said, cringing inwardly at the mention of Annie’s name. I’d managed to forget about her for a whole five minutes, and that had felt fucking wonderful, believe me. Why couldn’t Jonathan have a crush on Annie? Why couldn’t he be interested in her? He was the type of guy who would certainly step up and raise another man’s kid if said child was the offspring of the woman he adored.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run; don’t want to be late seeing Pete.”

  “Sure,” Jonathan said. He gave me a closer look. “It surprises me sometimes that you still go see him like this.”

  “Does it?”

  “Well . . . yeah. He was so awful to you. But I think that says a lot about you, that not only have you been able to forgive him
and move past it, but you’re willing to go see him every week. I know some people whose parents ended up in a nursing home and they never go see them, and they’re not even on bad terms. So, yeah.” Jonathan nodded, smiling. “I think that’s pretty cool that you’re able to do that. And hey, thanks for talking to Daisy for me. I know it was kind of lame that I couldn’t just handle it myself, but . . .” He let the sentence die off. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Don’t even mention it, man,” I said. I held my hand out and we slapped fives, and then I was off to go visit Pete.

  This time, when I got to Eagle Hollow and parked, I looked up at the window and saw Pete parked there in his wheelchair, staring straight at me. For the briefest of moments, I experienced this strange longing to trade places with Pete; to be the one living in some facility, all of my needs taken care of, nothing to do all day but stare out a window, or better yet, stare at the nurses’ asses and down their shirts when they delivered the meal trays. Sure, I might not be able to speak, and I’d probably be shitting in a bed pan, but I at least wouldn’t have to deal with this whole problem that Annie had just brought to my attention. Of course, I snapped myself out of that reverie quickly; no fucking way did I want to be like Pete. I raised a hand and waved, then started to walk toward the building, running my hand over the Camaro’s hood as I went past. Inside, it was the same routine as it always was: there was Wendy, big smile on her face, giving me the hungry bedroom eyes.

  “Whatever you said to Pete really seemed to help,” she said. “He seemed must less agitated after you left.”

  “That’s great,” I replied, wondering if she was just telling me this because she thought it was what I wanted to hear, or because it was actually true. It seemed a little odd that he would find comfort in what I had said to him; I preferred to think that he had finally just given up. “I’ll do my best to continue to bolster his spirits,” I said.

  Wendy gave my arm a squeeze before she left me at Pete’s door.

  I went inside and walked over to the window. “Hi there,” I said. “It’s your favorite stepson.”

  I pulled one of the chairs over and sat down, rubbed my hand across my eyes. Pete was wearing a red plaid bathrobe I’d never seen before.

  “New threads?” I said.

  He glared at me.

  “I’ve had quite the day,” I said. “You know, Jonathan thinks that I’m commendable because I’ve somehow found a way to move past all the horrible shit you used to do to me,” I said. “That’s funny, isn’t it? Everyone thinks I come here because I actually give a shit about what happens to you, which really couldn’t be further from the truth. I know that seems heartless, and probably makes me sound like some sort of sociopath or something, but it’s the truth. Although, Jonathan and I wouldn’t even be friends, I bet, if it wasn’t for you.”

  Pete’s eyes shifted, left to right, then fixed at a point behind my shoulder. “That’s right,” I continued, “all because of you. They were basically my other family because all you seemed to want to do when I was around was to talk shit and kick my ass. Which must’ve been fun for you; I can’t figure out another reason why you would’ve done it. I wouldn’t have been one of those dickhead stepsons, I wouldn’t have tried to flex on you or anything like that, but you couldn’t have been bothered to even give me that chance. Would you like to know what my childhood memories are made up of? They mainly consist of living in fear that you were about to come home or spending my time at Jonathan’s, where everything was so fucking perfect it would’ve made your teeth hurt. Their family ate dinner together every fucking night. Sat down and ate an actual meal that his mom OR his dad made. They took Sunday drives. Jonathan had probably every single toy he ever wanted, and then a bunch that he didn’t want, too. And he didn’t have to hide these toys because he was afraid that they were going to stomped on because his father was mad at him, or just came home from work in a bad mood. He didn’t even know how good he had it.

  “In other exciting news,” I said, “I found out that you’re potentially going to be a grandfather. Well, a step-grandfather, I guess would be the correct definition.” I stared at him as I said this; his reaction didn’t seem any different than with anything else I’d told him. He probably thought I was making it up. “While it’d be nice to say I was making this all up, I’m not. Trust me, I wish it wasn’t the case.”

  Pete’s eyes went from looking out the window to looking at me. He made a sound that sort of sounded like a cat trying to hack up a hairball. The corner of his mouth twitched. Though his facial expression hadn’t changed that much, I knew suddenly that he was thrilled to see me uncomfortable, happy that I had found myself in such a position.

  I forced a smile. “It’ll all work out,” I said. “Anyway, Pete, sorry for the short visit today, but I’ve got to be on my way. You know, there’s a whole world out there, lots of shit going on. I’ll see myself out.”

  I could feel his eyes on me as I hurried out of the room, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Wendy tried to say something to me, but I rushed right out of there, aware the whole time of Pete up there in that goddamn window, looking down at me. I had half the mind to just drive that fucking Camaro of his right into the side of the building, let him watch crash and burn, but I wasn’t ready to go that far yet. Instead, once I had the car backed out of the parking spot, I stomped on the gas, felt the tires squealing underneath me, rubber burning.

  At work the next day, Daisy asked me if I wanted to go with her to her favorite bar.

  “You have a favorite bar?” I said. Today she was wearing a dark pink skirt that she hadn’t worn here before, and a short-sleeved black blouse, plus a pair of black Mary Jane shoes. Mmm, she looked good.

  “I do,” she said with a smile, looking rather proud of herself. “Failte. Have you ever been there before?”

  I tried to hold back my groan. Of course her favorite bar was Failte. “Maybe once or twice,” I said. “But not in a while.” I’d probably end up running into Billy McAllister.

  “I was thinking of going there after work tonight. Do you want to go with me?”

  Well shit, how do you say no to that? Even if it was to a dump like Failte. “You’re awfully hard to resist, you know,” I said.

  “Am I?” She was asking honestly, not coyly, which made her even more appealing.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You are. Sure, I’ll meet up with you. You heading down there right after work?”

  “I think so. Is that cool with you?”

  “I’ve got to meet up with Dan at four-thirty down at the Port; I don’t think we’ll be more than a couple hours, though. Why don’t I plan on meeting you there when I’m done? If it’s your favorite place, I’m sure you won’t mind hanging out there for a little bit. I’ll try not to be too long.”

  She smiled. “That sounds great,” she said.

  “And what sounds even better than that is going back to your place again after.”

  She blushed but met my eye, and I could see that she was very much into that idea as well.

  Martin Harris was the CEO at Bank of Atlantic, an appropriate place for him to work considering his fondness for the water and all things boating. He’d been HTS’s first corporate client, and he employed us at all of the bank branches throughout the city and the suburbs of Boston. He also used us for his family events, when necessary, and since his brother and, now, niece, were both A-list Hollywood actors—though they came with their own entourage—Martin always called on us for any gathering he threw when they were in town.

  And they were coming to town next, in a trifecta of celebration: Martin and his wife’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, the brother’s birthday, and another niece’s engagement (not all on the same exact day, but close enough that one huge celebration could suffice). So Dan and I were down here at the Port, scoping out where the partying would take place: on Martin’s new mega yacht, a four-hundred-and-forty-foot vessel that was basically the equivalent of a cruise liner. It put his prev
ious yacht to shame, which was no small task. But this new yacht—the Paradise Breeze—could hold two hundred and thirty people, was three stories, and included an on-deck swimming pool, fully integrated sound system, and all the marble, leather, and silk you could imagine. They’d go from the Port around the tip of Cape Cod to Nantucket, where they’d spend a few more days, and then they’d eventually make their way back. It was a big event that Martin didn’t want anyone in the media or public to find out about, which was why I wanted to meet up with Dan and go over things well before the actual date arrived.

  It ended up taking a little longer than I had planned, but that’s mainly because we’d spent the first half an hour or so just roaming the place, basically eyeball fucking the whole place. When I finally left, I was a bit later than I told Daisy I’d be, but it wasn’t so late that she wouldn’t be there anymore. So I hoped, anyway. Right as I pulled my phone out of my pocket to text her though, a call came through.

  Annie.

  I debated not answering. I really didn’t want to. As in, there were about nine hundred thousand other things I could think of that I’d rather do than pick up the phone and have to talk to her. But maybe she was calling to tell me she changed her mind. I gritted my teeth and accepted the call.

  “This is Ian,” I said.

  “You know who this is.”

  “You’re right. What’s up?”

  “I want to see you in person,” she said. “If you don’t meet with me in person, then I’m just going to keep bothering you about it until you do. I’m available now, if you are. I just want to talk to you face to face this one time, and then I’ll leave you alone. Unless, of course, you decide that you would actually like to be involved in your child’s life.”

  She was getting a little too bold for my liking, a little too demanding, but if meeting in person now meant she’d back off, then I might as well just get it over with. “Fine,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home.”

  “Then I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”