Cocky: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Ashlee Price

  “I’ll have my driver go and get a change of clothes for you.”

  Apparently my matter-of-fact tone surprises her. She leans back and gawks down at me, then over at the clock. “It’s nearly eleven. Your driver is still working?”

  I crinkle my nose. “He works when I need him.”

  “That’s a bit jerk-ish, isn’t it?

  “Is that even a word?”

  “Probably not.”

  “If you’re hesitant to give him your key, don’t worry about it. I had his background thoroughly checked by agencies you’d rather not know about, and he’s seen far worse than your version of tighty whities.” I reach for my cell phone and tell her, “Go on, tell me what you want. He’ll bring it back to you.”

  She eyes me a second, mostly in disbelief I think, then groans. “I really don’t want to move.”

  My lips twitch. “Then don’t.” I can’t believe I’m urging her to stay here. At my sanctum sanctorum.

  It’s been a month for firsts.

  “Dammit,” she grumbles, then rumbles off a list of clothes she’ll need, as well as requesting he get her briefcase from the kitchen worktop.

  “Key?” I ask.

  “Under the mat.”

  I gawk at her a second. “Please tell me you’re not being serious. You keep a key under the mat? Are you asking to be robbed in the middle of the night?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “If I’m in the apartment, I have another two deadbolts I use to lock myself in. Don’t worry.”

  “Too late,” I tell her with a grunt as I type everything into the message and wait for Walt, my driver, to reply. When he does, I smile. “He’s on his way.”

  She sighs and settles back against me as I switch off the light. It’s crazy how right she feels there, and it’s disturbing too. I’m not one of those sons-of-bitches who refuses to sleep with his latest lover, but I do prefer to sleep alone. Mostly because I wake up several times in the night and prefer not to have anyone witness me wandering around in an effort to get back to sleep.

  But tonight, I really need Grazia to be here.

  It’s crazy, and I know it, but I’m past caring.

  We relax under the covers. Her body warms mine and I warm hers. We’re close as can be, curled into one another like this isn’t the first time we’ve been here but the hundredth. As I nod off back to sleep, my phone buzzes. It’s on silent mode but I hear the vibration. Reaching for it blindly in the dark, I eye the ID and grimace.

  “What’s wrong, Walt?” Grazia stirs at my side, and I can sense her wakefulness at my words. Sighing, I prod my driver when he fails to respond, “Walt? Any reason for the call?”

  “Sir, I…” His voice drops off. “It’s on fire.”

  His reply has me stiffening. “What is?”

  “The building. It’s all—” He clears his throat. “There’s been a…”

  It’s not often Walt is lost for words. “How bad?”

  “They’ve just managed to put it out. It’s bad, sir. The place is a shell.”

  Holy Mother of God, if I hadn’t gone there tonight, if I hadn’t felt like staying at my place instead of hers… she could have been there.

  She might have died. I might have, too, if we’d stayed there.

  I curl an arm about her, pulling her tightly to my side. “Thanks for letting me know, Walt.”

  “Of course, sir. Please tell Miss Fabiola I’m very sorry for her loss.”

  “I will.” Swallowing thickly, I press a rough kiss to the top of her head. “Grazia,” I whisper, my voice thick with regret and fear for what might have been. “I’m so sorry, but I have bad news…”

  To be continued…

  DESIGNER FOR THE BILLIONAIRE

  A Billionaire Romance Novel

  (Contemporary Romance Novels)

  Book 4

  THE HEART’S PATTERN

  By: Ashlee Price

  Description

  When Grazia’s world is tipped upside down, rescue comes in the form of handsome billionaire, Marshall Levitt.

  Their relationship had an odd beginning, but somewhere along the way, their powerful attraction has changed, surprising both of them in the process.

  Marshall has proved she can depend on him, that she can rely on him in a crisis, but when it comes to her heart, can she trust him enough to let him take hold of it and keep it forever?

  If she can’t believe in him, then what options does she have? Can she let him go, or will the idea of being without the man who fires her blood like no other change her thinking and help her come to the most important decision of her life…?

  Chapter One – Grazia

  It’s been four months since I lost everything.

  Since my apartment burned to the ground, since I lost months’ worth of work for my business and a decade’s worth of designs for my passion: fashion design.

  Worse than the financial setback, I lost memories. The doll my Nonna gave me when I was four, the photo album loaded with pictures of some of the best years of my childhood—high school. I lost my prom dress and the books my stepfather gave me when I was little.

  Worse than that, I lost the roof over my head.

  The place I’d made my home since college.

  I lost dreams, hopes, goals.

  Devastated is too miserly a word to describe how the entire situation affected me, and the truth is, without Marshall, I’m not entirely sure I’d have been able to cope with the loss.

  It wasn’t just my home, it was my business. Everything, all my party stock, all the dresses that were ready to sell, went up in flames with the rest of my stuff. I’ve never leaned on a man before, but I leaned on Marshall, and he didn’t let me down.

  In the biggest leap of faith in my life, I didn’t fall. I can’t quantify how relieved I am about that. I trusted, and Marshall was there.

  A shudder works through me, as it often does when I think back to those early days after the fire. Almost like she knows what I’m going through, Jessie presses a hand to my shoulder and asks, “Hey, where did you go?”

  I blink up at her. “Nowhere,” I lie.

  “Yeah, right.” She eyes me askance, disbelief written on her features. “Pull that with someone who doesn’t know you as well.”

  I shrug. “Seriously.”

  “Lies, all lies,” she teases gently. “I hate it when you disappear on me.”

  “Not as much as I hate it when I disappear.” I purse my lips. “I was just thinking about things, that’s all.”

  “I gathered as much, and by things, you mean your life.”

  “You’re annoyingly accurate, aren’t you?” I glower at her. “Can’t a woman have a little privacy when she’s thinking?”

  Jessie grins. “Of course, but you’re the one who’s so transparent. I can’t help knowing what’s going on behind that pretty face of yours.”

  Rolling my eyes at her, I grumble, “I can’t believe I pay you to be a pain in my ass.”

  Her grin turns into a cheeky laugh. “I’m lucky, aren’t I?”

  “You’re damn well more than lucky.” My lips twitch, and I reach over and squeeze her hand. “But then, I’m lucky too. Who else would put up with my shit?”

  “Apparently Marshall,” Jessie retorts, a twinkle sparking in her eyes as she turns left.

  “Stop digging.”

  “A girl can try.”

  I ignore her attempt at worming more information out of me. “You need to take the next right here.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she chides.

  “No, it’s your second.”

  She chuckles. “Look, it isn’t my fault you’re a control freak when it comes to these vans.”

  “Wouldn’t you be? The insurance premiums on these rentals are a nightmare.” I sniff.

  “You’re only letting me drive because you’re too worn out from your after-hours jiggery pokery sessions.”

  That has me blinking, as well as thanking Christ that my other employees are at
the venue already and not listening to Jessie dissect my private life. “Jiggery pokery? What the hell is that?” Hey, it’s not a crime to buy some time.

  It’s her turn to sniff at me. “Sex. Lots of it. In lots of different positions and orifices with Marshall, the sex god.”

  My cheeks heat. “Jessie, for Christ’s sake.” When she takes the next right and starts to pull in to a space allocated for us, relief floods me—escaping this conversation is my idea of wonderful. I’ve been managing to avoid it for the past four months, and I’ll keep on doing it for as long as I can. “Let’s get started.”

  “Yeah, we’ll get started, but this isn’t over.” For the first time, there’s something other than humor in her tone. There’s concern. I can avoid the humor, swerve past it with ease, but the concern? Shit, if she’s really worried about me, then my days of avoidance are over.

  I reach for her hand and squeeze her fingers. “I’m okay, Jessie.”

  “I think okay is a relative concept. You’re doing fine considering what’s happened this year.”

  I pull a face. “Marshall’s helped me get through a lot of it.”

  “He’s a miracle worker, huh?” She cocks a disbelieving eyebrow. “It’s not like you to let a man help you so much.” She clucks her tongue. “That sounds bad.” She amends, “It’s not like you to let anyone help you at all, never mind a man. A rich one.”

  “We’re dating. Who else should help me?” I hedge, but I know exactly what she means.

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  I sigh. “I’m not playing dumb, exactly. Look, when it happened I was with him. He just… He took charge. I was in shock at how much stuff I’d lost, at how many things I’d never see again. I wasn’t even thinking financially at the time, I was just horrified by how many memories had been destroyed. I was too out of it to even cry, dammit. I sat there, in bed because he’d sent his driver over to my place to pick up some stuff for me, and listened to him tell me I’d lost everything.” I jerk a shoulder. “Then he took over.”

  “And he’s been taking over ever since.” Jessie narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t deny it.”

  “I won’t.” I purse my lips. “It’s been nice not having to be in control of everything.”

  “Yeah, and you can see why I’m concerned, can’t you? Therein lies the rub, because you, my little control freak, usually dislike it when someone takes over something on your behalf. You only let me take some of your workload because you hate technology and I deal with it so you don’t have to. If it weren’t for your inability to switch the damn tablet on, I’m sure you wouldn’t let me handle as much as I do.”

  Because she’s right, I don’t argue, just wrinkle my nose. Hell, she’s right in more ways than one.

  “What’s different about Marshall, Grazia?” she asks me softly. “Why are you letting him take charge?”

  It takes me a few minutes to reply, and when I do, my weariness is evident. “Because I’m tired.”

  “You’re depressed,” she immediately contests.

  I shrug. “Maybe I am. I still feel like I’m in shock after what happened. An electrical fault. A goddamn loose wire, and suddenly my life is up in flames.”

  “It was up in flames far before that. Everything was changing when you let Marshall in.”

  My lips tighten at that. “What can I say to that?”

  “Maybe admit that I’m not talking bullshit.” She peers at me, a worried frown puckering her brow. “Maybe admit that he means more to you than you let on.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper. “I don’t know what he means to me. I still don’t. I know he makes me do things I wouldn’t expect of myself.

  “When he asked me to be his mistress, I wanted to slap him, not date him. Then somewhere, out of nowhere, I was telling him I’d never be a man’s mistress, but a girlfriend was another matter entirely…”

  Before I can continue, she butts in, “You don’t exactly do that either, though, Grazia. Be a guy’s girlfriend, I mean.”

  She’s right. “I know. Everything got weird after that. I just… I wanted him. Suddenly I needed him, and even when I had to sign that non-disclosure agreement to have him, I did it. Things have been out of my hands ever since.” I’m telling her no less than the truth. “I didn’t expect to still be with him all these months later, though. I mean, why would I? I figured it would be a brief affair.”

  “But it isn’t.”

  “No. I mean it could still be classed as such. We’ve only been dating just over four months, but I’m living with him, Jessie.” And then, making the admission like it’s poisonous, I whisper, “And I like it.”

  She looks as astonished by that admission as I feel. She clears her throat. “Well, I’m glad, Grazia. I really am.”

  “Don’t be glad. I’m not. I don’t get it, and I want to understand why I let him in the way I do.”

  “Maybe you’re just meant to be together.”

  I snort at that. “Don’t be painting a happily-ever-after for me and him, Jessie. That’s not where this is going.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he’s Marshall Levitt and I’m a nobody.”

  “You’re not a nobody. You’re Grazia Fabiola. And he has to be with someone.”

  “No, that’s just it. He doesn’t.”

  “Yeah, he does. Unless he wants a very lonely life. He couldn’t do much better than you, Grazia. You’re loyal to a fault, honest, faithful… A guy like him, with what he has, those have to be highly valued traits.”

  “He could always get a dog if he wants someone loyal, honest, and faithful in his life.” I roll my eyes at her. “We need to get to work.”

  “I know, but I…” She purses her lips. “Look, don’t go mad, but I want to meet him.”

  I wince. “Do you have to?”

  “Yeah. I do. I want to see you together. I need to know you’re safe with him.”

  That has me scowling. “Of course I am. He’s been looking after me since the fire, Jessie.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve never seen you so ill at ease and so content at the same time.” She jerks a shoulder. “It’s unnerving as hell. It’s like you’re at peace but then you have a burr under the saddle which is totally wrecking your calm.”

  It’s a good metaphor, because that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m happy but I know I shouldn’t be. It puts me on edge and it wrecks my calm.

  “Maybe if I saw you together, I could see why,” she continues earnestly.

  That she cares fills me with warmth. She’s always been more than an employee; since the early days of her working with me, we’ve been friends. I reach for her, leaning forward to drag her into a warm hug.

  “Thank you for giving a damn,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

  “Of course I do!” she chides. “Hell, if you hadn’t had Marshall to prop you up these last months, I’d have been there. You know that, right?”

  My lips twitch. “I do. But I’m glad I didn’t have to impose. I’m not sure I’d have fit in your apartment with you and your roommate.”

  She smacks my arm. “I’d have made space for you.” A wink wends its way to me. “You could also have slept with Chris. He has plenty of room in his bed, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded having a guest.”

  Laughter bursts from me, because Chris is most definitely a cutie and most definitely gay.

  Both of us sigh, thinking the same thought—what a damn waste for the females of the city.

  “Please,” she urges. “I won’t push, but let me see you together so I can feel a little more at ease.”

  I nod. “I’ll sort something out.”

  “Thanks, Grazia.”

  Her smile makes me feel like an ungrateful bitch. Here she is worrying over me, and I hadn’t realized.

  As I climb out of the rented van, a helicopter flies overhead and I peer up at the sky. It’s far away enough that the rumble isn’t inordinately loud, but its presence is still obvious.

>   I watch the little blip make a landing on top of the building, and can’t help but wonder which guest has just arrived.

  This event is an unusual one. It’s a reception for a wedding where the actual ceremony took place a few months ago.

  Stranger things have happened, though, so it’s not too out there. The rest of the crew have been setting up all day. There’s a Chinese theme to the reception, or more precisely, the tea ceremony.

  On rushes dotted around the venue, we’ve hired actors to perform the tea ceremony, brewing green, oolong, red, and black teas, as well as white, yellow, Pu-erh, and flower teas.

  Finding people capable of learning the ancient art in an afternoon had been interesting. I’d almost taken over a stand myself! But we’d found seven actors with enough brains to handle the intricacies.

  The interesting thing about the tea ceremony in Chinese culture, most specifically at Chinese weddings, is the respectful thanks that are passed from the bride and groom to the parents as they serve the tea.

  In traditional Chinese culture, the children are fully independent when they marry, and only then.

  The bride’s great-grandmother is Chinese, and this entire rigmarole is for her.

  I can see disaster brewing, truth be told. The bride is trying to embrace that part of her ancestry, but a great-grandmother who knows her culture inside out can and will poke holes in the actors’ performances.

  That’s something I’m really dreading. A crotchety old woman bitching because one of the actors isn’t pouring some tea right.

  I want to roll my eyes at the notion, but it’s actually very important this goes well. We’ve managed to hire two employees from a Chinese tea shop on the Lower East Side. They seem to know what they’re doing, and they’ll be helping the other seven as they go through the intricate moves.

  “I guess we’d best pretend this doesn’t have ‘disaster waiting to happen’ written all over it,” Jessie tells me cheerfully as she rounds the side of the van with a big box in her arms.

  She’s incorrigible enough without me laughing at her, but laugh I do. “I know, I was just thinking that.” I open the back door and grab another box.