The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5)

by Bec Linder

  We kissed until a kid came into the library, saw us, yelped “Sorry!” and went out again. I wouldn’t have stopped even then, but I felt Max smiling against my mouth, and I pulled away to see what he found so comical.

  “Big Brother is watching,” he said. “I can’t take a breath without having it reported all the way up the food chain.”

  “You think you’re at the bottom of the food chain?” I asked. “Max, I’m pretty sure you’re the top predator in this little ecosystem.”

  He laughed. “Maybe so. God, I missed you.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I buried my face against his neck. “I feel weird.”

  “Poor Beth,” he said, stroking my back. “Too many emotions. We’ll deal with them one at a time. Have you spoken with Renzo recently?”

  “A few days ago,” I said. “He wants to come out here for a visit. I think he wants to kiss my butt until I stop being mad at him, and have some manly hugs and reconcile with you.”

  “Well, that would certainly make me very happy,” he said. “How do you feel about it?”

  “Okay, I guess,” I said. “I’m tired of being angry. I want to move on with the rest of my life. I want to work, and take care of my mother, and finish my book.”

  “And?” he asked. “Is that all?”

  I smiled, my face pressed against his skin. “Why? Do you have any ideas?”

  His hand kept moving on my back, slow and steady. “I might have a few.”

  EPILOGUE

  Max

  We got married on a cold and rainy morning in early March, in the chapel of my parents’ church on the Upper East Side, only a few blocks from their apartment. The ceremony was small and intimate, immediate family only—plus Renzo, who had flown out from California to walk Beth down the aisle.

  The morning of, I took a cab to the church to meet up with Jack, who was meant to “assist” me while I got ready. I quickly realized that he was going to be no help whatsoever. We had the use of a small sitting room, and Jack sat in a chair by the window and took a silver flask out of his suit jacket.

  “My God,” I said, draping my suit—still in its plastic dry cleaner bag—over the back of the sofa. “Does Mother know you have that?”

  “Father said I could,” he said. He unscrewed the cap and took a sip, then made a disgusted face. “Nasty.”

  “I hope that isn’t his nice Scotch,” I said. “Am I participating in the corruption of a minor? I hope you aren’t planning to get drunk before my wedding. Beth will be very disappointed.”

  Jack thought that Beth hung the stars in the sky, and I watched smugly as my barb hit home. He sighed, put the cap back on the flask, and tucked it back inside his jacket. “Fine. But after.”

  “You’re twenty,” I said. “I’m not letting you get drunk.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “I’m in college, Max. Are you honestly trying to tell me that you never had a drop of liquor until the day you turned twenty-one?”

  He had a point, but I would never admit it. Instead of responding, I tugged the bag off my suit.

  “Where is Beth, anyway?” he asked, aiming for subtlety and missing by a mile.

  “The mothers have her in their clutches,” I said. “I’ve been told I don’t get to see her until the ceremony. Some sort of taboo, apparently.” I held up my suit and cocked at an eyebrow at Jack. “You aren’t going to help me at all, are you?”

  “It’s just a suit,” he said. “It isn’t complicated. I think you can figure it out.”

  I threw a cufflink at his head.

  It had been a banner year for all of us. Beth’s first novel had been sold to a major publisher after a brief bidding war. She was making noises about quitting her job and becoming a full-time writer, but I wasn’t convinced it would actually happen. She was too cautious, and despite her protests, I knew she enjoyed her job. As for me, I had expanded the shelter and hired more staff, and was working on a smartphone app to help homeless youth. Beth’s mother had been sober for more than a year, and had moved out of the group home in November and was currently living in her own apartment. She had found a part-time job doing some bookkeeping work. We were both very proud of her. Renzo had gotten a warehouse job and was taking night classes. My mother continued to rule her household with an iron fist.

  I led a charmed life.

  The ceremony was scheduled to start at 10:30. By 10:00, I was dressed and starting to get nervous. It was ridiculous, of course. There was nothing to be nervous about. I was getting married to the woman of my dreams, and I couldn’t wait to start our life together. But my palms were sweating nonetheless. I bounced one leg against the floor, jiggling my knee in an anxious stutter, until Jack looked up from his phone and said, “Good God, Max, knock it off.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Wedding day jitters.”

  He sighed. “She isn’t going to change her mind. You aren’t going to flub your vows. Everything is going to be perfect and magical. The mothers will cry. Father will probably cry, too, although he’ll pretend that he isn’t. Rosemary will continue to be insufferable. Stop worrying.”

  There was a knock at the door. Jack, probably eager for a distraction from my worrying, leaped up to answer. I heard the door open, and then Jack saying, “You aren’t supposed to be in here.”

  “I don’t think Max will mind,” a woman said.

  That was Beth’s voice. I turned around in my chair, and there she was: radiant, lovely. Her white gown was simple and unadorned, a strapless sheath that bared her shoulders and drew attention to her long, graceful neck.

  Everything about her was perfect.

  “You look really pretty,” Jack was saying, awkward as always in the presence of his true love.

  “Jack, get out,” I said. “Go see what the mothers are doing.”

  “They’re fussing over Renzo’s suit,” Beth said. “They’ve decided there’s nothing else they can do for me. Jack, I’m sure they would welcome your input.”

  “Do you think so?” he asked, looking extraordinarily pleased that Beth thought he could be good for something.

  “They’re in the room right across the hall,” she said. “You can tell them I sent you.”

  He skedaddled, and I looked at Beth, impressed as always with how neatly she handled him. “The little brother whisperer,” I said.

  “It’s a gift,” she said. “Oh, Max. You look so handsome.”

  I stood and crossed the room to close the door behind her. Whatever words passed between us, I wanted them to be private. “I’m afraid to touch you,” I said. “I might ruin something.”

  She laughed. “I’m afraid to sit down. If your mother notices any wrinkles during the ceremony, I’m not sure I’ll escape with my life.”

  “She’s not that bad,” I said, feeling guilty. I settled my hands, very carefully, on Beth’s hips. My mother had wholeheartedly adopted Beth into the family, and seemed to think it was her duty to fuss over Beth just as much as she fussed over the rest of us.

  “You know I love your mother,” she said. “Although, I have to say, I wish she didn’t get along quite so well with my mother.”

  “They are pretty terrifying,” I agreed. “But once the wedding’s over, we can pretend that we’re on our honeymoon for the next six months, and avoid both of them altogether.”

  “You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” she said. “How am I supposed to know what to pack?”

  “All you need is a swimsuit and a toothbrush,” I said. “I’m not going to let you leave our hotel room.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said, smiling up at me. I gave into temptation and bent my head to kiss her, but she turned her face away, laughing. “You can’t! You’ll get my lipstick all over you.”

  “Oh, fine,” I said, disgruntled.

  “After,” she said. “I’ll leave lipstick prints everywhere. You’ll have to scrub yourself down with baby oil before you can go out in public.” She curled her hands around my wrists, still at her waist, and squeezed
gently. “Max, I’m so happy to be marrying you.”

  “And it only took us nine years,” I said. “Who knows where we’ll be in another nine?”

  “Still happy,” she said, and I did kiss her then, lipstick be damned.

  THE END

  <<< >>>

  Thank you for reading The Billionaire’s Allure! I hope you enjoyed it.

  If you liked this story, please consider leaving a review! As an indie author, word of mouth is very important to me, and I greatly appreciate any and all reviews.

  This book was the final installment in the Silver Cross Club series. The first book in my next series, a rock star romance, will be released later in 2015. If you’d like to read an excerpt, just turn the page!

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  I always welcome email from readers: linderbec@gmail.com

  A Sneak Preview

  Leah groaned and rolled over in bed. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut. Tiny gnomes were drilling holes into her frontal lobe. She knew she’d done something crazy last night, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was.

  She peeled one eye open and looked at the clock on her nightstand. 11:21. Great.

  Not that she had anything she needed to do. It was the principle of the thing. She was an adult now, or—at least technically. She didn’t feel much like an adult. When she was younger, she’d always thought that grown-ups had all the answers and were never confused or uncertain about anything, and that she too would magically become all-knowing and wise, but it hadn’t happened yet. Maybe it never would. Maybe everyone was just as scared and lost as she was.

  What a depressing thought.

  She staggered out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror. She’d been too drunk to take off her makeup before she passed out the night before, and her mascara was smeared halfway down her face. Her hair looked like rats had been nesting in it. There was some sort of bruise on her neck, and she leaned closer to get a better look at it, probing it gently with her fingertips.

  Not a bruise—a spectacular love bite.

  Right: the bar, the guy, the ridiculously incendiary sex in the alleyway.

  Did functioning grown-ups have ill-advised one night stands with strangers they had just met? Probably not.

  At least she had remembered to use a condom.

  She needed at least a gallon of coffee before she was prepared to cope with existence. She went out into the kitchen and found half a pot of coffee waiting for her, still hot. God bless Luka. It was probably several hours old by now, but she would drink radiator sludge at this point as long as it had caffeine. She poured herself a huge mug and leaned against the counter to chug it. Definitely old. It tasted better than the inside of her mouth did, though.

  As the caffeine worked its way through her veins, Leah noticed a piece of paper sitting beside the coffee maker, covered in Luka’s sloppy handwriting. She picked it up and squinted at it.

  Drink ALL of the coffee, the note read—ALL was underlined several times—and then give me a call. I think I found you a gig.

  Yeah right—as if she could wait that long. She was going to call Luka right away. As soon as she found her phone.

  After fifteen minutes of searching, she finally found it in the top drawer of the bathroom vanity. Good thinking, drunk Leah. Definitely an appropriate place to stash your phone: right next to Luka’s shaving cream.

  She’d finished the second cup of coffee by then. Good enough. She dialed Luka’s number and waited impatiently for him to answer.

  He picked up on the third ring. “Still alive, I take it?”

  “Yeah, because I party so hearty,” Leah said. Fucking Luka acted like it was time to call Alcoholics Anonymous every time she had more to drink than a beer or two. She got it, but it was still really irritating. “This was the first time I’ve been out in a month! Just because you’re old and domesticated now—”

  “Right, okay, not the point,” Luka said. “You got my note?”

  “Yeah,” Leah said. “What’s this alleged gig?”

  “Hardly alleged,” Luka said. “Straight from the horse’s mouth. Sean told me about it this morning. He’s got that friend in that band, you know, the guys who made it big—”

  “Crayola Markers or something,” Leah said. “Colored Pencils.”

  “No, that’s Mika’s band,” Luka said. “I’m talking about The Saving Graces. Anyway, so Sean told me their bassist just quit, mid-tour, and they’re in L.A. for like two days and they need a replacement. So they’re doing auditions today. I really think you should go.”

  “I don’t want to be in another band,” Leah said. The first time had worked out just great. She wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to go down that road again.

  “That’s stupid,” Luka said. “You’re good at it, and you love it, and if you spend the rest of your life just working bullshit office jobs it will be a complete fucking waste. Look, I know that what happened with us was horrible, but that’s not, like—that was just Corey, okay? Not every situation is going to be like that. And I’m tired of you moping around the apartment.”

  “I don’t mope,” Leah said, which was a blatant lie. “And it wasn’t just Corey, it was everything, it was the shitty van with the heater that never worked, and the shitty restaurant food, and the shitty shows where the crowd hated us, and the like—not showering, and—”

  “These guys have buses, and I think they can afford to feed you,” Luka said. “I’m done talking to you about this. The audition starts at 3. Get a pen and write down the address.”

  Leah did it, so conditioned by a lifetime of being bossed around by Luka that she was completely unable to disobey a direct command. After Luka hung up, she stood there for a minute staring at the address.

  The Saving Graces. Right.

  What a stupid name for a band.

  That settled it. Leah couldn’t play for a band with a name that dumb. She wasn’t going to let Luka bully her into it.

  Fuck Luka, anyway. Leah liked her office job. It was uncomplicated and easy. She showed up at 8:30 and left at 5, and she didn’t have to talk to anyone except the nice lady in the next cubicle over, Sandra, who had pictures of her grandkids on her desk and always gave Leah those little hard candies in the gold wrappers. Nobody yelled at her, or got high and puked in the back of the van, or spent all of their food money on weed. It was fine.

  She turned on the television and drank the rest of the coffee while she watched Nancy Grace yell about something. Nancy’s hair was so round and shiny. Leah wondered if she could make hers do that. Probably with a lot of hairspray.

  She looked at the clock on the wall. 12:53.

  Still plenty of time to get in the shower and make it to the audition.

  Not that she was going. Just hypothetically.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the couch, trying to force her mind to go blank as the TV blathered on. She didn’t want to think about anything. Her brain didn’t cooperate with her, though. It presented her with an image of the guy from last night, smiling at her, hiking her skirt up around her waist and saying, I don’t usually do things like this. Leah had wrapped her arms around his neck and said, Neither do I.

  God, what a crazy night. She hadn’t hooked up with a random stranger like that since her failed stint in community college. It wasn’t that she was opposed to the idea; she’d just lacked the opportunity. She’d spent most of the last three years touring. Fooling around with fans was a bad idea; fooling around with her band-mates, even worse.

  She hadn’t even learned the guy’s name.

  Her phone buzzed. She opened her eyes and glanced down at the screen. Luka, of course. If I come home and you’re still there I will kick your ass.

  That was an empty threat if Leah had ever heard one. Luka wasn’t going to do a thing to her. Whine a lot, maybe. He could be pretty irritating.
<
br />   She would be a lot more willing to go if the audition weren’t in fucking Burbank. Traffic on the Five was always a nightmare.

  Her phone buzzed again. Scared?

  The most irritating thing about Luka was that even though she knew when he was trying to manipulate her, it usually still worked.

  She turned off her phone and tossed it on the coffee table, and turned up the volume on the television. She planned to still be sitting there, greasy, unbathed, and disgusting, when Luka got home. It served him right. It was none of his business what she did or didn’t do, as long as she paid her half of the rent, and she did, every month, on time.

  That was the problem with family: they never quit meddling.

  She looked at the clock. 1:07.

  Heaving a sigh, Leah got up and headed for the shower.

  * * *

  She made it to the audition ten minutes early, which ended up being a terrible idea, because there was nothing to do but sit around in the lobby and stare at the competition. There had to be twenty people waiting in the cramped room, mostly men, clutching their instruments and giving each other the evil eye. They were all dressed to the nines in the latest hipster attire of choice. Leah looked down at her old band t-shirt and baggy Levi’s. Probably not cool enough. Whatever.

  She found a seat in the corner of the room and waited. Ordinarily this was when she would be getting nervous, but since she didn’t actually want the job, she felt oddly calm. Everyone else in the room was clearly sweating bullets, but Leah was just there to check things out. Stay in the loop, or whatever. Gawk at these Saving Graces guys. She wondered if Making It Big left a visible sign on a person, like a tattoo or a scar. Marked by experience.

  The door opened. A woman wearing thick-framed glasses emerged, carrying a clipboard. Probably a PA of some sort. “Okay, everyone, thanks for coming today,” she said. “We’ll get through this as quickly as possible. I’m sure you all have other things to do. Please write your name on this sheet of paper. We’ll go in alphabetical order.”