The Billionaire’s Secret Heart (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance)

by Ivy Layne

  He may have had a point. I'd been at the bar, waiting for a beer, and had shot down a co-ed so hard, she'd gone back to her friends in tears. Maybe I'd been a little harsh, but her bleached hair had reminded me of the sunlit streaks in Josephine's dirty blonde. Beside the memory of Josephine, the co-ed had looked like a plastic doll in her short, low-cut dress, her fake boobs and fake hair all shouting, "Look at me!"

  When she'd put her hand on my crotch and called me by name, I'd told her to get her hands off my cock and go slut it up somewhere else. Not the most gentlemanly response I could have given, I know. The co-ed had burst into loud sobs, running off with an exaggerated flounce that had almost tossed her tits out of her dress. Tate, standing at the other end of the bar, had grabbed my beer from the bartender, shoved it into my hand, and said, "Go back in the office before you scare away any more paying customers."

  I was too pissed off to argue. I tried to tell myself I didn't know what was wrong with me, but that was a lie. I knew exactly what was wrong. Fucking Josephine. Or, more accurately, not fucking Josephine. She'd left my bed Monday morning, and that was the last I'd seen of her. Four days with no Josephine. I'd called her Monday night, and she'd called me back, leaving a halting message asking me to call her. That was the last I'd heard from her.

  The mess at work that had kept me busy all day Monday had gotten worse by Tuesday. I'd been stuck in conferences until Tuesday night and had gone straight home to pass out. I didn't get clear of it until Wednesday afternoon. Since then, I'd called her five times. Nothing. I'd texted her. Nothing. I knew the crisis at WGC had delayed my call long enough that she would be pissed, but I'd more than made up for it since. I'd left messages asking her to call. Five of them. It was more than clear that she was done with me.

  Fuck her. At the thought, I groaned, putting my head down on my desk. I wanted to. I really did. If only it were as simple as a fuck. I didn't need Josephine to get off. The problem was, I wanted her for so much more than that. I remembered the co-ed at the bar and glared at my computer.

  Most of the women I met were like her, thinking because my family was rich and prominent, they could lead me around by my dick. The women who pursued my older brothers and cousins were subtler, better at the game. Tate and I got the young ones, the stupid college girls who thought a tight body and a willingness to fuck were all that it took.

  Unfortunately for them, Tate and I had earned our reputations. We'd fucked more than our share of greedy girls hoping to latch onto our cocks and win a shot at the easy life. I wasn't interested. I'd seen my oldest brother, Aiden, through an unhappy marriage. Elizabeth was, on the surface, the polar opposite of the blonde at the bar. Aiden's ex-wife was cultured, elegant, and ice-cold. She'd been born to marry a man like Aiden, groomed to run an estate like the one we'd grown up in, taught from birth how to catch a man like my brother. In her heart, she was no better than the girl I'd insulted. The packaging might be more refined, but Elizabeth was like all the rest, hoping to spend her life enjoying Aiden's wealth while she led him around by his dick.

  It could have worked if Aiden had lived a different life. He'd married Elizabeth, I think, under the assumption that she was the kind of woman he was supposed to marry. On the outside, she wasn't much different from my mother. Tate's mom had been a doctor, but my mother had been raised, like Elizabeth, to marry wealth. She was known for her parties, her charity balls, and lunches at the club.

  The rest of the world never saw how much she loved her family. She'd loved my father to distraction, and she'd always had time for her children. When my aunt and uncle had died, she'd taken in Gage, Vance, and Tate with open arms, treating them as if they were her own.

  My Mom had been pure love, and I think Aiden had hoped that, somehow, Elizabeth had the same inside her. When he'd realized that she didn't, and never would, he'd divorced her.

  Aiden wasn't going to settle for less than what our parents had, and neither was I. I'd been bored with easy sex and grasping women for a while. Josephine had seemed like the answer to a prayer. Too bad I wasn't the answer to one of hers.

  I'll admit, I was taking her brush-off with little grace and a lot of sulking. I'd always been on the other side, though I never said I'd call when I wasn't going to. But I'd slept with women and then blown them off. It's pretty much all I'd done until Josephine. I couldn't quite believe she was doing it to me.

  The door to the office cracked open and Tate stuck his head inside. "Is it safe to come in, or are you going to make me cry?" he asked.

  I grunted in response, hoping he'd take that to mean he should leave. It was not my day. He came in and shut the door firmly behind him.

  "Are you going to sulk in here all night?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the desk. I didn't answer. "Did you at least get through the receipts?" I continued to ignore him.

  "Why don't you just go over to her place and ask her what's up?" he asked in an overly reasonable tone of voice. I glared at him.

  "Because I'm not going to beg," I said, hearing the false bravado. I was a mess, and I worried I was precariously close to doing exactly that. "Would you go ask some girl why she hadn't called?" I asked.

  "Hell no," Tate said. "But I never give a fuck about the girls I date. Well, not true. A fuck is all I give. I'm more than happy for them to ghost on me. Anyway, I thought Josephine wasn't 'some girl'. I thought she was different."

  I shrugged. I knew if I said what I was thinking, that I'd thought she was different, that she wasn't just some girl, I'd only sound even more pathetic. Briefly, I thought about dumping the accounting, going out to the bar, and getting wasted. Maybe picking up some random girl and fucking her.

  The thought left my mind as soon as it entered. I was sulking, but I wasn't an idiot. If there was a chance of working things out with Josephine, I wasn't going to ruin it by fucking someone else, especially when I didn't want another woman. I could still get wasted, but I closed down that idea as well. All that would get me was hung over and more miserable than I already was.

  "I have to get through this shit," I said, shuffling through the receipts in front of me and hoping Tate would take the hint. He did, clapping me on the back once before leaving.

  "She's just a girl," he said, shutting the door behind him. Narrowing my eyes at the accounting program on my screen, I blocked out thoughts of Josephine and forced myself to get to work.

  Chapter Nine

  Josephine

  "The doorbell is ringing," Emily shouted from the kitchen. I was just out of the shower, my hair in a towel, putting lotion on. I knew Em hated to answer the door, but I wasn't in any condition to do it myself.

  "You have to get it," I shouted back. She must have answered it, because I didn't hear anything else. Curious, I finished with the lotion, put on my thick terrycloth robe, and pulled a comb through my hair before going to see who was at our door. I knew that for a lot of people, Thursday night was the beginning of the weekend, but not for me. I had a full day of classes the next day and zero desire to go out. I emerged from the bathroom to find Emily standing in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at a man who wasn't Holden but looked almost exactly like him. This must be the cousin. Tate.

  "Can I help you?" I asked, trying to think of a reason Holden's cousin would be in my apartment. It was pretty clear Holden wasn't interested in me anymore. Why would he send his cousin over here?

  Tate's blue eyes were locked on Emily, an odd, slightly bemused expression on his face. When she snapped her fingers in front of him, I knew he must be making her nervous. Emily was only rude when she was nervous. He gave her a slow smile and caught her snapping fingers in his, turning them so he could kiss the back of her hand. Swoon. Emily's cheeks flared pink, and she snatched back her hand.

  "Hello?" I said, not sure I wanted to interrupt whatever was going on between Tate and my so very shy roommate. Tate looked smitten. But Emily was not the girl for him. Em was gorgeous, taller than me, very curvy, with straight, shiny dark ha
ir, and clear gray eyes fringed with lashes so thick, she never needed mascara.

  But she didn't date, barely went out, and would have no idea how to handle a man like Tate Winters. If he was anything like Holden, he'd use Emily and toss her away. She didn't need her first experience with a guy to end in a broken heart.

  Suddenly worried, I stepped between them, gently pushing Em behind me. Looking up, I met Tate's eyes and asked, "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

  Just the sight of him, so much like Holden, was painful. He crossed his arms over his chest and said,

  "I told him you wouldn't be worth it. That you'd just end up like all the others. But even I didn't think you'd use him and then blow him off."

  He wasn't making any sense. I heard his words, but I couldn't get them to fall in the right order in my head. Me using Holden? What the hell was he talking about?

  "She didn't use him," Emily cut in as she stepped out from behind me. She was pissed of, her back stiff, one arm wrapped around herself and the other raised, finger pointing at Tate in stabs of motion as she lectured, "Jo didn't use him. He used her! He took her out, swept her off her feet, and then didn't call. That's the definition of blowing someone off."

  Tate looked from Emily to me, then back to Emily. He shook his head at her and grabbed her fingers again, holding her hand in his as he said, "Monday and Tuesday weren't his fault. We had a huge blow-up at work and he was stuck putting out fires until Wednesday morning. And he still managed to call your girl."

  "Yeah, once. That was it. She never heard from him again," Emily shouted, trying to wrestle her hand back from him, this time unsuccessfully.

  I could speak for myself, probably should have, but I was fascinated by the interaction between Emily and Tate. Not that I was letting it go on. She deserved better. But I couldn't remember the last time I saw her go head to head with a stranger. Friends or teammates on a project, sure. But not strangers, especially strange men.

  "He's called her three fucking times a day," Tate said, tugging on Em's hand for emphasis. "Left her messages. Now, he looks like someone kicked his fucking puppy, and I'm pissed."

  I stared at Tate in shock as he looked at me and demanded, "What is wrong with you?"

  I didn't say a thing, my head reeling. He had not called me three times a day. He'd called me once, and I'd called him back. I may have even texted him—something I hadn't told Emily—and he hadn't responded to that either. Before I could jump in to defend myself, Emily wrenched her hand out of Tate's grip and yelled,

  "Nothing is wrong with her. She came back on Monday all moony eyed over your cousin, then he blew her off and went out with some redhead. What's wrong with him?"

  "He didn't go out with anyone," Tate said, looking at Emily as if she were unhinged.

  "Darren showed Jo a picture. I looked it up. Tuesday night, he was out with a redhead while Jo was crying herself to sleep."

  "Hey," I said, affronted. They both looked at me, annoyed I'd interrupted. "He doesn't need to hear that part," I directed to Em. She set her jaw and folded her arms, resolute.

  "It's the truth," she said. "He should know what a jerk his cousin is."

  "Show me the picture," Tate said. "Holden didn't go out with anyone Tuesday night. He was shut up in the office with me, dealing with a crisis."

  Emily pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped on the screen for a minute, then shoved it at Tate. He studied the picture for a second before hooting with laughter. He handed her back her phone, pulled out his own, tapped a few times, and showed Emily the screen.

  "That picture is a reprint. And here's Holden, with me, his brother Jacob, and his sister, Charlie," he said, sounding smug as Em studied his phone with a suspicious gaze. She shoved the phone back at him without a comment. Finally, Tate looked at me.

  "He's called you. Seriously, he called multiple times."

  Afraid to hope he was telling the truth, I stared a him for almost a full minute before walking to the kitchen table, picking up my phone, and handing it to him.

  "Take a look," I said. "I haven't gotten a call since Monday night."

  Tate tapped his way through my phone, I'm sure checking the call history and text messages. He finally said, "You could have erased them."

  I threw my hands in the air, then grabbed my phone back. "Why would I do that? I'm not the one playing a game here."

  "Someone is," Tate said, an ominous tone in his voice. "Because Holden definitely called you. I know his phone works. I used it myself this morning, and he'd know if something was wrong with it."

  "I've made calls on mine. Look." I handed the phone back to Tate. "I texted Holden yesterday."

  Emily gave me an accusing look. "You didn't tell me that."

  I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat. I normally told her everything, but she'd been so pissed at him on my behalf, I hadn't wanted to confess my weakness.

  "Sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't stop myself."

  Emily, never one to hold a grudge, at least not against me, wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze, whispering back, "Something is up. I actually believe him."

  "I kind of do too," I said, afraid to hope Tate might be telling the truth. I'd missed Holden with a hollow ache that was only getting worse. It was too much to imagine he might be feeling the same way.

  Tate finished with my phone and handed it back. "Holden didn't get that text," he said. "I was with him when you sent it. We were in the office, and both of our phones were out. I would have seen it come in."

  I stared down at my phone, my mind turning the odd problem over and over, looking for an answer. There was no way the phone had spontaneously decided to malfunction on specific calls. If it were broken, it would be dropping calls randomly. Not one phone number. Pulling up my call history, I double-checked Holden's record and found it wasn't blocked.

  I liked solving puzzles. Like a sleepwalker, my brain occupied with the mystery, I headed for my laptop in the living room. I took a cable from the drawer in the coffee table, hooked my phone to my computer, and opened a jailbreak program that would let me get into the operating system of the phone. Everything looked normal. Whatever was wrong was hiding from me.

  Following a hunch, I opened a virus program a friend had been working on. Emily, peering over my shoulder, said, "Good call."

  The program took a few minutes to run, and the three of us watched its progress on my screen, our breath held as numbers rolled by, a line of green getting longer as the software scanned my phone and found nothing. I started to sit back, defeated, when a red STOP sign popped up and my laptop gave an angry beep.

  VIRUS DETECTED

  "What the hell?" I asked. I gave the program the order to quarantine the virus so I could take a closer look. When it was done, I opened it up to study the code. A few lines in, and I was seeing red. That bastard. Surging to my feet, I pushed past Emily. I had to get dressed. I had some geek ass to kick.

  "What?" Emily asked, following me down the hall. "What did you find?"

  "That was Darren's virus," I said, searching through my drawers for clothes. I dragged on my jeans, pulled a sweatshirt over my head, and shoved flip flops on my feet.

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "Positive. He has signatures all over his code. I gave him a hard time about it and told him it was sloppy and he'd better never make a virus, or he'd get caught in a second. He's too smart to be so dumb."

  "What an asshole," she said, turning to Tate, who had waited for us at the end of the hall. She said, "Darren is the one who showed her that picture of Holden with his sister. He has a crush on Jo, and she turned him down."

  "I'm going to kill that little shit," I said.

  Tate stepped in front of me as I stormed to the door of my apartment. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, looking like he was stifling a laugh.

  "Get out of my way," I said, stepping to the side. Tate mirrored me, clearly not willing to let me leave until I answered his question. "I'm goi
ng to Darren's to kick his ass."

  "No, you're not," he said. "Holden would kill me if I let anything happen to you. Let me call him."

  "No," I said. "This whole thing is my fault. I gave Darren my phone. I never thought he'd do something like this. He made me miserable for days. He knew I was miserable. I thought he was my friend."

  I stepped to the side again, trying to get around Tate. He easily blocked me. "Holden will understand," he said. "Let's go to the club, and you can explain."

  "Sure," I said, my vision going red as I thought about what Darren had done. "After I talk to Darren."

  "I'm driving," Tate said, taking my arm in his hand.

  "What?" Emily and I asked in unison.

  "Do you think I'm going to let you confront this guy on your own? If you won't talk to Holden first, I'm at least going to watch your back."

  "I'm coming too," Emily said from behind me. I looked at her in shock. Jumping into the middle of a drama was not Emily's style. "Well, I'm not letting you go off with him." She pointed at Tate like he was a serial killer holding me at knifepoint.

  "Fine," I said.

  I didn't care. I just wanted to get moving. Darren wasn't my best friend, but we'd known each other for two years. I wouldn't fully believe he could have done something like this until he admitted it to my face.

  Chapter Ten

  Josephine

  Tate drove us to Darren's apartment, me in the front seat and Emily in the back, leaning forward so she was more between us than behind.

  "I heard you're working on a new physics engine. And that you've written advancements in emergent gaming into Syndrome 2," she said, the pulse thudding in the side of her neck. I'd expected Em to disappear into the backseat once her anger at Tate had drained away. I should have known her curiosity about their company would prod her to speak despite her shyness.