Billionaire Beast (Billionaires - Book #12)

by Claire Adams

  “What does that mean, though?” I ask. “Pretty much everything I’ve had to be afraid of in the last year has already happened. If anything, I’d say that’s just more of a reason to be afraid.”

  “You forgot something,” he says.

  “What’s that?”

  “Even with things going bad, we’re both still here.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s something,” I agree.

  “I know that you’ve been avoiding me,” he says. “I know that the last time we spoke didn’t really go so well for either of us, but I also know that I like you, Grace. You’re stubborn and you talk like a sailor-”

  “Have I ever told you exactly how thoroughly I loathe that expression?”

  “What I’m getting at, is that you’ve brought a kind of excitement into my life that I’ve only dreamed of, and I don’t want things to be over between us. If you’ll let me,” he says, reaching into his pocket, “I’d like to spend the rest of my life bringing you the same thrill that your presence brings me.”

  Even in the dark, I can see that the motherfucker’s holding an engagement ring.

  “You’re not serious,” I tell him.

  “Really,” he says, “I am. Grace, will you marry me?”

  All right, when the cab pulled up to the junkyard, I figured we were probably on the road toward getting back together, but I did not see this one coming.

  “No,” I tell him. “I mean — no. I mean… Don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks. “We’ve already been through more shit together than most people face in a lifetime.”

  “First off, I don’t know if that’s true,” I tell him. “Second off, haven’t you noticed that we’ve kind of skipped a few steps?”

  “What steps?”

  “Well,” I tell him, “we’ve never lived together. We’ve never talked about whether we each want to have kids or anything. We’ve never sat down and planned anything except to defraud your hospital and the clinical trial. Jace, we’ve never said ‘I love you.’”

  “Well,” he says, “I lov-”

  “Oh, don’t say it now,” I interrupt. “It just makes it seem like you’re trying to prove a point, not that you actually mean it.”

  He’s looking at me, the ring still in his outstretched hand.

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?” I ask with a laugh.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I really do.”

  “I love you for it,” I tell him.

  “I love you, too,” he says. “Does that mean-”

  “Oh, hell no,” I tell him. “I’m nowhere near prepared to get married, but I have another idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember what I was planning on doing with you up here before you started flailing like a moron?” I ask.

  “I take exception to most of that question, and no,” he says. “What were you going to do with me up here?”

  “Put the ring back in your pocket,” I tell him. “You don’t want to lose it.”

  He puts the ring back in his pocket, and I kiss him on the lips. With that restraint in place, we’re not going to be able to be too creative, but I think I’ve got a few ideas for getting around that.

  Our arms are around each other, and I can feel that Jace, despite his generally calm demeanor, is shaking. Whether it’s from the height or from the breeze or from the adrenaline of the moment, I have no idea.

  He’s pulling me close.

  “Exactly how far were you planning to go?” he asks.

  “Far enough,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” he says. “I’m just thinking that with the bar there, we can’t, you know, and if we unlatch the bar, I don’t think we should.”

  I pull away from him and move as far as I can to the other side of the car, which granted, is only about a foot from where I was before. I lift my feet until they’re above the footrest and I straighten my legs only to bend them as if I were going to cross my legs. That way, I’m able to get my legs out from under the restraint and cross them in front of me on the seat.

  “Now you,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I get what you did there, but at what point while my legs are hanging over the footrest does gravity decide it’s time I was back on the ground?”

  “Quit being such a pussy and just do it,” I tell him.

  “You know,” he says, “you’re really going to have to stop calling me that one of these days.”

  “You’d think so, but no. Just do it.”

  It takes him a while and a fairly impressive string of curses, but he finally manages to pull his legs up and set his feet on the seat, mirroring me.

  “Now what? There’s still a lot of-”

  “Take your pants off,” I instruct.

  He gives me a look as if to say, “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” so I turn and put my legs over the restraint. I unbutton my pants and slip them down over my knees. Once I get them that far, I pull my legs back toward me and pull them the rest of the way down.

  When they’re off, I work my legs back to where they were and I lift my butt to set my pants beneath me.

  “Like that,” I tell him.

  “I still don’t know how we’re going to-” he starts.

  “Just trust me.”

  It’s not graceful or even remotely attractive, but he does manage to get his pants off and put beneath him.

  “There,” I tell him. “The rest is easy.”

  I put my left leg down on the floor of the car and I stand up enough for him to put his legs between mine. He slides down a bit, and I position myself over him.

  I’m not going to say it’s not awkward, because it is, but once he feels my wetness on him, he seems to relax.

  The particulars of the situation have him a little less than ready, so I lean forward and kiss him deeply on the lips and pull my shirt up just enough to encourage one of his hands underneath to rest on my breasts.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m aware.”

  I’m kissing his neck and working the front of his buttoned shirt open, trying to keep the car as still as possible as I go.

  He reaches around under my shirt and unclasps my bra, giving him access to my waiting skin, and I’m reaching between both of our legs, grabbing his already growing cock and bringing it the rest of the way.

  “Now,” I tell him, “no big movements.”

  I slide up the length of him and put his tip at my entrance, feeling a renewed surge of adrenaline running through me.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” I tell him, and put him inside.

  We move slowly and deliberately together, and his arms are out from under my shirt, wrapped around me now, holding me ever closer as he enters me sweetly, again and again.

  The night air is getting cold, but I don’t feel it. I only feel him — his arms, his lips, his sex, and his love, warming and comforting me.

  “So, you switched the medications for me, huh?” I ask.

  His eyes are half closed and his voice is quiet as he says, “Yeah, I did.”

  “That was very sweet of you. I don’t suppose you happened to get a look at my scans.”

  “What was that?” he asks, his eyes opening.

  “It doesn’t matter right now,” I tell him.

  So here we are, somewhere between fucking and having sex and making love at the top of a broken-down Ferris wheel.

  I’m out of a job, he’s suspended, but probably out of a job, too, and I’m still dying.

  But I’m not dying today.

  Today, I’m just learning to breathe.

  Epilogue

  Grace

  A lot can change in five years.

  After I lost my job, I got a lot of calls from people who had heard what I was trying to do at M.E. If that press conference was good for anything — debatable — at very least, it boosted my public image.

&
nbsp; Still, it’s taken me this long to find a position that I really wanted to take.

  I moved out of the city after Jace was told that he would keep his license, but he was fired from the hospital. There was nothing left for either of us there.

  I’m waiting in Jace’s office for him to show up. Apparently, one of his patients came down with pneumonia, a result of chemotherapy’s assault on her immune system.

  After a while, though, he finally comes in, saying, “Hey, Grace. How are you this morning?”

  “Annoyed,” I tell him. “When I agreed to marry you, you told me that you’d give me the world, and now look at me.”

  “I think you look great,” he says, scanning over the file in his hand.

  “Whatever,” I tell him. “Your 10 o’clock is waiting in your office, and Mr. Landau called to say that he’s going to need you to come by. I guess his nurse called in sick and he can’t make it to the door on his own.”

  “The help can’t make it to the door?”

  “No, the patient,” I tell him. “You’re really going to do the grammar thing with me right now?”

  “Give him a call and let him know that I can get out there on my lunch break,” he says.

  “After your 10 o’clock,” I tell him, “you’re clear for the rest of the day.”

  He stops before entering his office and says, “You know, in New York, I maintained a very busy schedule. Of course, I had competent help back then, too.”

  He stops laughing when the stapler I throw dents the wall near his head.

  “Jeez,” he says. “Calm down. I was just kidding.”

  “So was I,” I tell him, looking back down at the crossword puzzle in front of me. “If I was serious, you’d probably be on the ground right now.”

  Okay, so maybe being the secretary to my husband of three years isn’t the most glamorous job in the world, and I should know; I used to have one that was a lot closer to that particular peak.

  I finally heard back from the station I’ve been wooing for the last few years or so, and they’re bringing me in for a second interview. Hopefully, that means I can stop treading water as Jace’s assistant — a term that I cling to dearly — and get back to doing what I’m good at.

  Ironic as it may seem, after all the time I spent trying to put the now defunct Memento Entertainment in a position to acquire KJBP, I’ve found myself in a position where KJBP is trying to acquire me. I just hope it’s not Andrew asking the questions, or I think my chances might not be so great.

  It only took the station five years to start taking me seriously.

  Jace finishes up with the patient in his office and calls me in through the open door.

  I get up and bring my purse, as there are no more patients in the office to see.

  I’ve been telling him that we should have opened up his office a little closer to one of the major parts of the city, but he’s gotten to be very adamant about his free time nowadays.

  “Yes, Doctor?” I ask in my best Marilyn Monroe voice.

  “Sit down,” he says. “Your scans finally came in.”

  He tells me that the oligodendroglioma is still in my head, but that it doesn’t seem to have shown any significant signs of growth. He’s been giving me the same speech for the last five years.

  “I know you’d like to hear something different,” he says, “but with this thing being as slow growing as it is, it’s not likely we’re going to see much change month-to-month.”

  “Yeah,” I respond absently.

  “I have good news, though,” he says. “There’s a clinical trial coming up and I should be able to get you into it.”

  I just start laughing.

  “Are we going to have to go through the whole you being disbarred or whatever the hell it is they do to doctors again?” I ask.

  “Disbarment is what they do to lawyers,” he says. “With doctors, they take away your license, and no, you actually qualify for this one. I won’t have to break any laws or ethical codes to get you in.”

  “You’re still nailing your patient, though,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, but I hardly think that’s relevant to the trial,” he says. “Besides, if you’ve never bothered to notice, I always fill out your paperwork under the name Zoe Brinkman.”

  “Zoe Brinkman?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “It was a girl I used to date before I met Melissa. She was totally out of her head, but she was a demon in the sack.”

  I think I may have rubbed off on him a little too much over the years.

  “How charming,” I tell him. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re going to get me into the trial without lying this time, except when it comes to my name or the fact that we’re married, right?”

  “Actually,” he says, “none of that’s going to matter. I called Dr. Marcum and he’s going to recommend your inclusion into the trial so we don’t have to falsify anything.”

  “Yeah, except any and all records of me ever being his patient,” I scoff.

  “I sent him your file so he could send it to them,” Jace says. “You’re already in if you want to be in.”

  “What kind of drug is it?” I ask. “Is it going to be better or worse than the chemo?”

  “Part of the fun is finding out,” he says, and I’m now convinced that me rubbing off on him at all is a bad idea.

  “All right,” I tell him, “but if it puts me in a bed unable to move, I’m going to have to insist on breast massages at least three times a day.”

  “I’ll check with your trial doctors,” he says, and looks back to the paperwork on his desk.

  A lot can certainly change in five years, but a lot stays the same, too.

  I turned him down that night at the junkyard, but I did eventually relent and allow him to marry me — part of the deal was that he had to say it like that whenever he told anybody.

  “You want to head to Mr. Landau’s place with me?” he asks, finishing up signing whatever it is that he’s signing. “There’s lunch in it for you if you do.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” I say. “I’ll go with you and you can eat out.”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  I give him my corniest wink, saying, “Is it?”

  “You know,” he says, “I could swear I’m married to a teenage boy.”

  “That’s disgusting. You’re way too old to be with a teenager.”

  So, this is our life. We work together, we live together, I make juvenile comments, and we laugh about them together.

  All in all, it’s not so bad.

  The only thing I really miss when I left the city, and this was a surprise to me, was Mags.

  Yeah, she was my secretary — excuse me, assistant — and I never really treated her that well, but she was always there in the background making my life run just a little bit smoother.

  The good news for her is that she finally landed herself a millionaire, though he’s a lot younger than what she had in mind. Still though, she tells me, with the sheer volume of alcohol he consumes on a daily basis, it can’t be too long until he keels over.

  I guess you’ve got to have goals.

  Jace finishes up and we walk out of the office together. I forward any calls to my office to my cell phone, though I’m not anticipating any calls.

  “So, after I start at the station, what are you going to do for a secretary?” I ask.

  “I thought you were very adamant about being called an assistant,” he says.

  “I am, but I’m sure whatever bimbo you hire is hardly going to measure up to my incredible skills.”

  “You are by far,” he says, “the worst assistant I’ve ever had.”

  “You do remember that Yuri got you fired from your last job, right?”

  “Yeah, but at least she knew where the pens were,” he says. “I’ve got someone lined up. I still have to do a final interview, but she comes highly recommended.”

  “It’s nobody I know, is it?” I ask.

  “You don�
��t know anybody,” he says.

  “I have friends.”

  “Oh, right,” he says, “your coven. Forgive me if I don’t count the hateful women you bring over to my house as anybody.”

  “They’re not hateful,” I tell him. “They’re spirited.”

  “So, I was thinking,” Jace says. “After your clinical trial, maybe we could start trying to build our family a little bigger.”

  This is about the only thing we argue about anymore. Okay, we argue quite a bit about a great many things, but this is the only topic that isn’t complete bullshit.

  “You keep saying that we should build our family,” I tell him, “but what you’re forgetting is that it’s my vag that family’s going to have to come out of, and I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to figure out what that must be like, but I’ve seen pictures and it doesn’t look great.”

  “I’m a doctor,” he says. “I’ve seen women give birth before.”

  “Yeah? How was it?”

  “It was thoroughly disturbing,” he says, “but I hear they give you some pretty killer drugs.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I tell him.

  We pull up to Mr. Landau’s house, and Jace asks me if I’m coming in.

  “Why? So he can stare at my boobs while you’re doing unspeakable things to him in the name of medicine?”

  “Give the guy a break,” Jace says. “He’s got cancer. He may never see a nice pair again.”

  “I have a brain tumor,” I tell him. “Does that mean that I get to scope out all the junk I want?”

  “Are you coming in or not?”

  “Fine,” I groan, “but I’m going to have to insist on some quid pro quo.”

  “Well,” Jace says, “you may have to do most of the work, but I’m sure Mr. Landau would be all right with that.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  Jace gets out of the car, and hesitantly, I get out as well.

  We walk up to the house, and I can’t help but think how much differently my life would have been if any other doctor had walked into the room that day I had my first seizure.

  Attraction often has more to do with proximity than it does with any kind of actual chemistry, but with Jace, somehow I’ve found both.

  He’s still a pain in my ass, but I do love him. Yeah, it’s probably going to be a while before he convinces me to squeeze out a kid or two, and it’s just as possible that that never happens, but I do know that I’m glad to be spending my life with him.