Shopping for a CEO (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 7)

by Julia Kent

  “And?”

  “My biggest fear was that being with you wasn’t real.”

  “Oh,” he says, the word like a pained sigh, as if I’ve punctured his heart. “I want to be real with you, Amanda. More than anything in the world. I thought bowing out of the wedding would save everyone from risk. I never wanted to put Declan in the position of having my life in his hands. Never wanted to put you in a place where you’d experience the—” His words break off, segmented by a harsh sound of being overcome by intensity. “Where you’d know what it’s like to watch your world turn out to be more fragile than you expected, and to see it all fall apart without being able to stop it.”

  Fragile.

  “I know.” I’m crying now, my words unfiltered, my thoughts racing as everything I feel for him rushes out of me. “I know why you walked away. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

  “Watching you risk everything just now and seeing you—oh, God—it made me understand that the biggest risk isn’t dying. It isn’t even being left behind to pick up the pieces.” He smooths my hair away from my face, his thumb on my cheekbone, his hand steadying me. “It’s the mistake of never trying.”

  I start to shiver uncontrollably.

  Andrew peels off his shirt, bobbing in the water and dipping beneath the surface. As he comes up, he urges me back from the side of the pool by an inch, and then guides one of my hands into the wet armhole.

  “Ow!” I cry out.

  I look at my hand. It’s swollen, covered in nasty welts from the scratches, and the spot he touched has two clear puncture marks.

  Horror fills his face, his hair wet and plastered against his forehead. “You fought to free the animals underwater while they did this to you?” he asks in a voice filled with disbelief.

  I shrug. But because I’m shivering, I just look like I’m twitching. All his words run through my mind in a blur, and I want to talk and touch and feel and spend every waking minute with him, but all my energy is leaking out of me so fast. Too fast.

  He takes the shirt and drapes it over my front. Gently, he moves me off the side of the pool and clasps me in an embrace, my breasts mashed up against his wet shirt. Warmth pours out of him like melted love, heated to just the right temperature. I stop shivering and let out a long, grateful sigh of relief.

  Andrew laughs, his throat working hard, his eyes so full of—dare I say it?—love. “Is this,” he says, looking pointedly at my wet, cotton-covered top, “real enough for you?”

  And then he kisses me so hard he makes me really, truly real.

  “I love you,” he rasps against my neck. “I never thought I could feel this way about anyone in my life, and I’ve been such an ass thinking that I was somehow saving you from the pain of risk with me. What I didn’t realize was that the pain of not being together was worse than the pain of losing you. I wasn’t saving you anything by walking away. I was just making life agony for us both.”

  He looks at me, his face filled with a dawning earnestness.

  “I love you too, Andrew. I truly do,” I whisper, amazed at how real the words feel.

  When he kisses me, there is a stillness like I felt minutes ago underwater, but instead of struggling not to breathe, I feel like I have inhaled all the air in the world and absorbed every bit of love.

  “There goes the maid of honor,” Marie howls. “She’s useless now! Carol, you’re her understudy. Get over there!”

  Carol looks completely confused and Andrew moves us to the edge of the lily pond pool where a set of stairs leads up. Shannon’s standing next to Declan, and both them wave, Shannon’s face split into a grin of pure joy that reflects into the courtyard like a lighthouse beam. She splits from him, walking toward me.

  “Follow me,” he says, keeping my front pressed against him, walking with a smooth, steady series of steps until we’re out of the water, where the paramedic runs over, throwing a thick fleece and wool blanket over my shoulders, finally giving me some modesty.

  “I can’t lose you again, Amanda. I’m so sorry,” Andrew says as the paramedic asks me questions and tends to the bites and scratches all over my arms. The antiseptic he spreads liberally stings, but compared to the salt water pool, it’s heaven.

  “You won’t lose me. Ever.” We share a smile I’ve been waiting to give my whole life.

  “Amanda!” Mom crushes me with a side hug. “I can’t believe how brave you were!” She turns to Andrew, her eyes red from crying. “And you!” She forces Andrew to let her hug him. He waggles his eyebrows at me over her shoulder, but he takes the embrace, giving it right back.

  Spritzy is at my feet, licking my stocking-covered toes.

  “Mr. McCormick! Mr. McCormick!” shouts Jordan, who is running over, cradling a wet wool sock.

  Wait.

  That’s Muffin.

  Andrew, James, Declan and Terry all turn toward the little man, who approaches James.

  “Thank you so, so much, Mr. McCormick, for saving my precious Muffin! You were so brave to use that pool skimmer and to pluck her out of her watery grave. I am forever in your debt.”

  And then he bows and actually takes James’ hand, kissing his ring.

  “What?!” I am about to blow a gasket. Jordan must hear me going nuclear, because he slowly cranes his neck toward me, eyes bulging out with the hard look of sanctimony.

  Andrew tries not to laugh, but I can feel his body bouncing with mirth. “Hashtag doghater,” he whispers in my ear, giving me an affectionate squeeze.

  I growl back.

  “You!” Jordan’s fingers are long, like a surgeon’s, and when he points at me I feel like an accused witch in a seventeenth century Salem trial. “You tried to kill my Muffin again.”

  “Oh, brother,” I mutter. “OW!” I squeal as the paramedic puts something that stings all over a bite. The physical pain doesn’t distract me from the indignity of being unfairly accused yet again.

  He turns to James, red-faced and righteous. “When we went on our date, she threw rocks at my mama’s little dog! And now she she tried to drown Muffin!”

  “She saved your dog!” Andrew says, starting to stand up and confront Jordan, who is shaking as hard as his mama’s teacup chihuahua now.

  I reach up with my good hand and pull Andrew back to the chair next to mine. “Not worth it. Don’t even try to reason with him.”

  “Hold on,” Andrew says, halting. “Date? Did he say date? You dated him?”

  “Yes. For work.”

  Whatever laughter Andrew has been holding back comes rushing out, his body bent in half, his gloriously unclothed chest and back on display as he lets it all out.

  “And—” Andrew gasps “—I was worried about...” He’s so amused by all of it that I can’t help but join in, our laughter more than just relief. We’re joyfully celebrating the unspoken brilliance of living each minute and taking what life throws our way. No more guessing. No more fear.

  Not when we’re together.

  And then he sweeps in for an exuberant kiss that is so nakedly passionate and marvelously delicious that whatever pain I’m in fades away in the presence of his whole self.

  In the sunlight.

  In July.

  As Jordan shakes James’ hand and bows again, I overhear him say, “I’m happy to do your next son’s wedding as a thank you to you for your courage, but you’ll have to keep her away from my Muffin.”

  I’m about to give Jordan a piece of my mind when a great shhh-shhh-shhh begins in the distance in the sky. We all stare up, following the source of the sound.

  The black helicopter has no markings of any kind as it descends onto the lawn, the whoop-whoop-whoop of the blades making the air feel like it’s sliced into pieces, as if sound itself were being chopped. The helicopter pilot’s face is obscured as he comes into focus. This is not an Anterdec helicopter, and yet in all the images I’ve seen of the President of the United States of America’s helicopter, there’s always been a circular seal. A sign.

  A mark
er.

  Declan excuses himself from a talk with his dad and my mom and marches with determination toward us, Marie wending her way through the crowd to intervene.

  “What is going on?” she shouts. You have to raise your voice, because the chopper is so close, engines still on.

  Declan cups his hand and bends to her, saying something in her ear.

  Her eyes go wide with exhilaration and her hands clap over her mouth.

  “No!”

  “Yes!” he calls back.

  “You—he—he is here?” Marie screams, giddy. “This will save the wedding! No one will remember naked Amanda now!”

  “I will,” Andrew shouts.

  My mom blushes.

  “But they’ll remember that the President of the United States came to my—er, your—wedding! Everyone! Everyone!” Marie shouts, trying to get the crowd’s attention. “The President of the United States is in that helicopter! He’s a guest at the wedding!”

  “We need to go talk to him first!” Declan shouts to Marie, his voice loud enough for me to hear over the blades. He pulls Shannon out from the cluster of people hovering around the pool.

  They do not stop. Shannon’s dress is swept up in the rush of air, her train heavy and twisting, her tartan plaid accents ruined by the blast of air flow. Shannon and Declan share a look of anticipation, an Are you sure? interlude that they both confirm with twin nods of determination.

  Marie shoos them, her wrists flicking like shotguns. “Go! Go! Of course you need to greet him. My goodness!” She turns to me with a look of exaltation. “Please tell me Jessica Coffin is seeing this!” she begs. “And Monica Raleigh!”

  “Monica who?’

  “Steve’s mother!”

  “Oh.”

  “Bet she’ll never have the President of the United States at Steve’s wedding! She brags about knowing a state senator. Hah!”

  Shannon and Declan have put me in the worst position possible right now. As they both make their way to the helicopter, I know what they’re about to do.

  Andrew has his arm around me, helping to keep the blanket about my shoulders, and he leans in and says, “They’re headed to Vegas for a quickie wedding. This is delicious to watch. Marie is about to get five lifetimes of karma.”

  All I can do is lean against his shoulder and rest.

  And cringe.

  Declan boards first, the wind picking up his kilt and oh, sweet creator, he most certainly is commando. I thought Shannon was exaggerating when she talked about the size of Declan’s, ah...ego, but she was telling the truth.

  The whole truth.

  The whole long, thick truth.

  I reach over for Andrew’s thigh and slide my hand up, meeting the soft flesh of, um, confirmation that he, too, went authentic. Truthiness never felt so...

  “Is that an offer?” he shouts, his hand slipping to my ribs as I scramble to grab the sliding blanket. Immediately, he rights it, wrapping me protectively in the only item that keeps me from reliving my public nakedness. I give his thigh a squeeze and he kisses my temple, his cheek resting against me, his body relaxing into mine.

  “Mr. President!” Marie screams, waving her tartan fan.

  Behind us, I see Jason ambling on the grass toward Marie, walking with the steady, strong steps of a warrior, Chuckles in his arms.

  Shannon climbs into the helicopter and what happens next is so fast it will take me a solid month to reconstruct it properly.

  The helicopter begins to lift, Shannon’s train hanging down just a few feet from the open door to the passenger area. Declan bends down to grab it and Marie takes off at a little jog, her high heels making that difficult.

  The helicopter lifts five feet. Then ten feet, and stops, hovering for seconds.

  “Where are you going, Mr. President?” she screams, her jog turning into a canter I haven’t seen since I learned horsemanship at Girl Scout camp in fourth grade.

  I bury my face in Andrew’s chest.

  “This is painful to watch!” I shout.

  “She deserves it,” Andrew shouts back.

  I turn back. It’s like rubbernecking. I know I shouldn’t look, but curiosity gets the better of me. Besides, I’m going to hear about this for the rest of my life. Might as well actually witness it so I can know the truth before it gets wildly distorted.

  The helicopter lurches up, about two more feet, as Marie reaches the spot where it just was, her shoes in the deep grooves in the green grass where the landing gear just rested.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she screams. “WHERE IS THE PRESIDENT?”

  Declan gives Marie a handsome, victorious grin and waves like he’s the Prince of Wales. Shannon’s head peeks out behind him and she shouts, “I love you!”

  “What?” Marie shouts. “Where is the president? I have a seat for him down here, right next to me!”

  And then Shannon answers with one word.

  One simple, earth-shattering word.

  “ELOPE!” she screams as the helicopter lifts, up, up, up, with Marie staring into the sky, her face a mask of dawning horror.

  My heart ripples with Marie’s pain.

  Until I look back and see Jessica Coffin, her head bent down with text neck, typing away furiously on her phone, grinning like the Joker.

  “WHERE ARE YOU GOING!” Marie shouts, jumping up in the sky as if she could grab the bottom edge of the helicopter. “GET BACK HERE!”

  As the chopper gains height and starts to move forward, away to the west, Jason reaches Marie. He watches the helicopter, his hand shielding his eyes, then looks at Marie, who is shaking her fist in the air.

  The blades no longer producing overwhelming noise, it’s possible to hear her.

  “ELOPE? THEY CAN’T ELOPE! GET THEM BACK HERE, JASON! THEY ARE RUINING MY WEDDING!”

  Jason is very clearly trying to reconcile what he just saw with the reality of his wife’s Momzilla tantrum.

  “This is better than cheesy reality television,” Andrew whispers.

  “Did you know,” my mother says, her voice carrying on the wind as if she were addressing someone near her. I turn around to see her talking to Carol, Terry and James. “Did you know that people who elope are more than twelve times as likely to divorce versus those who marry with a wedding of two hundred or more guests?”

  “I eloped,” Carol snaps.

  “Elena and I had more than two hundred guests at our wedding and were happily married for more than twenty years,” James says with a wistful sigh.

  “I eloped,” my mom admits, giving me a nervous look. “And we know how that turned out.”

  I watch the receding helicopter in the sky. Somehow, I don’t think this elopement meets any statistical category, though. Shannon and Declan are their own standard deviation. Or two.

  “ANDREW!” Marie’s voice splits the air like a cannonball. I’ve never seen her this angry. Not even that time in high school when we got sent home from high school for rearranging the letters on the school sign. Instead of “Congratulations Warriors Hockey” it said, “Congratulations Hairy Coworkers.”

  Andrew’s eyes fly open like he’s a human experimentation victim with lid retractors attached. “What? Why me?”

  “YOU NEED TO GET ANTERDEC’S HELICOPTER NOW. NOW. NOW NOW NOW.”

  “I’m sorry, Marie. The helicopter is being used right now in central America to help deliver medical supplies for a corporate humanitarian mission.”

  “THAT IS NO EXCUSE. WE HAVE MORE IMPORTANT PROBLEMS HERE. CALL IT BACK.”

  Marie has one volume right now.

  “Honey,” Jason says, trying to soothe her. “We can’t do anything about this. Shannon and Declan decided they want to get away and—”

  “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT! I AM NOT MISSING WATCHING MY DAUGHTER GET MARRIED. I DID NOT SPEND THE LAST YEAR OF MY LIFE RESEARCHING TARTAN THONGS FOR THIS!”

  Jason gives Marie’s ass an appraising look. “Tartan thongs?”

  Andrew slides his hand on my butt.
“Tartan thongs?” he whispers.

  “We were forced to match.”

  “Why not go commando like we kilt wearers?”

  “We tried! Marie wouldn’t let us. Said if we didn’t have balls, we couldn’t go commando.”

  “You have balls,” Andrew says. “Bigger than most men’s.”

  Can’t say I disagree.

  “But not mine,” he adds.

  “JASON! CALL THE POLICE AND REPORT A KIDNAPPING!”

  “Shannon hasn’t been kidnapped, Marie,” he says with a weary sigh.

  “MY WEDDING HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!”

  “Oh, God.” Jason burrows his fingers into his sporran and pulls out a half-used roll of antacids. He carefully peels off the entire remainder of the wrapping and pops all of the pieces into his mouth at once.

  See? Aerosolized Xanax would come in handy now, wouldn’t it?

  “WHERE ARE THEY GOING?” Marie is screaming, enraged beyond the point of all reason, and I really do wish she’d hired that elephant and trainer after all, because an animal tranquilizer gun would come in handy right about now.

  James, my mom, and Jason all put up their hands in a gesture of ignorance.

  Carol and Terry are drinking Champagne near the fountain. The caterers look like they’ve pretty much picked up on the fact that there won’t be an actual marriage ceremony given the sudden escape of the bride and groom, so they’re putting out food.

  Hamish is standing next to Amy, his hot soccer player legs half-bare, kilt ending at the knees and Agnes is on the ground, bent down in—huh? Is she doing yoga? Why would a ninetysomething woman be doing yoga at a wedding, in a suit?

  Her red hat slides under Hamish’s legs and she shoves her arm in the air, brushing against his kilt. Hamish looks down, one eyebrow flying high in consternation.

  “He’s authentic, Corrine!” Agnes gives her old friend a thumbs’ up. Corrine hobbles over and smiles down at Agnes.

  “I owe you ten bucks,” Agnes adds with a disagreeable sigh.

  “Here. We’ll call it even,” Corrine says, fishing in her purse for a powder compact, her knees popping as she bends downs. “Take this, open the mirror, and angle it just so—”