The Billionaires: The Bosses

by Calista Fox

  “But he didn’t have a car?”

  “He had a scooter! So both Phillip and Colin were on the back, holding on to each other and the bartender for dear life while he whizzed through rush-hour traffic, zipping right down the road between vehicles so that they were literally flanked by cars and Colin was screaming—screaming—bloody murder.”

  “Now that’d make a great YouTube video.”

  “Indeed. If only Phillip was coordinated enough to hold on and film at the same time.”

  “But they bought new clothes and had a wonderful dinner.”

  “Not even close. The bartender wigged from all the girlish screeching and clinging and at the first available U-ey took them right back to the hotel. They were so traumatized by the ‘harrowing’ experience, they refused to leave their room that night and raided the minibar. This incredibly classy Lord & Taylor and Harrods couple devoured Pringles and M&M’s and sucked down every champagne and wine split and tiny bottle of booze in the fridge. They were plastered and ridiculously hungover in the morning.”

  Christian chuckled. “Who hasn’t been there before?”

  “Apparently, Drs. Phillip and Colin Holdsworth. It was quite the rude awakening for them both.”

  “See, that’s the problem with Oxford,” Christian humorously mused. “They don’t teach their grad students how to successfully conquer the minibar.”

  “Or how to not let out more bloodcurdling screams when they see the bill at checkout.”

  He nodded. “Now that was probably a harrowing experience.”

  “The upcharge alone. Not to mention the service fee and taxation.”

  Christian tsked. “Likely would have been cheaper to buy suits in town than hunker down in their room.”

  “Sure, but you simply cannot convince them it would have been worth the Freddy Krueger scooter incident.”

  Christian said, “You’re a very enthralling storyteller.”

  “Just relaying their epic vacation disasters.”

  “Well, we’re not going to have to worry about any of that on our travels.”

  Her brow crooked. “How can you be so sure? The airline could easily lose our luggage and we’ll all be fucked.”

  “Hard for them to lose our luggage when we’re not flying commercial. I’m chartering a jet. Your clothes will be safely stored onboard, never to be separated from you.”

  She stared at him for endless moments. Christian wasn’t quite sure in which direction her thoughts ran, so he sipped his champagne while she gaped.

  Eventually, she came around and said, “We’re flying on a private jet?”

  “Gulfstream. Very well appointed. You’ll like it. No miniature bottles of hooch, though. All full-size.”

  “Wow.” She reached for her own glass and sipped much more gingerly than before. As though she was suddenly wary of getting tipsy. Like her glittery vision of a private plane would turn into a pumpkin if she didn’t keep her wits about her.

  Christian said, “I’ll take care of all the details. You just have to narrow down your thoughts on locales. You’re a bit all over the place. No problem there, but you haven’t really hit upon anything that lights you up. So far, these are all destinations your friends have told you about.”

  “That’s because I’ve never been anywhere, Christian.”

  “Not true. You lived in San Francisco and are now in Manhattan, Bayli. Top global destinations. Ask anyone. Ask the Japanese.”

  She laughed. “You just had to bring that up.” Though she couldn’t disagree, and he knew it. “Put that way, I do feel a bit worldlier than I did five seconds ago.”

  “Perspective is everything, sweetheart.”

  Bayli leaned in close and said, “Thank you for not judging, Christian Davila.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Never.”

  FOURTEEN

  Rory felt a surge of excitement when he crossed the dining room, spying Christian and Bayli in a private moment. Sort of lost in each other’s eyes. That was Christian and his romantic nature.

  Typically, Rory would have smirked over such sappiness. But not this time. He found it riveting that Bayli looked so taken … and so did Christian.

  Something brewed amongst the three of them that wasn’t Rory and Christian’s norm. Because Bayli Styles wasn’t their norm.

  She was striking in ways that went well beyond physical attractiveness. And all that inner vibrancy called to Rory. Along with the way Christian was in tune with her as well.

  A server trailed behind Rory with a loaded tray as he made his way down the short line of steps to the back corner where Christian and Bayli were huddled in a booth. Rory had showered in the private bathroom adjacent to his office and changed into a suit and tie. It was edging toward half past ten and the kitchen would be closing at eleven. While the food orders were still pouring in and would continue to, Rory’s competent staff had everything under control. So he was joining Christian and Bayli for dinner.

  Another unique moment when it came to the two men and a woman they were both interested in. Christian didn’t believe in tying up a table for romantic purposes, and neither did Rory. If they ever occupied a coveted seat during business hours, it was to hobnob with, impress, or influence someone.

  Clearly, Christian was still working every angle with Bayli. Then again, so was Rory. He’d already sent out meaty sea scallops with a sweet-and-spicy chili sauce. Caesar salads with a newly concocted, decadent anchovy dressing. Lobster bisque with succulent chunks of lobster meat in the center and drizzled with crème fraîche and cognac. Dinner was a surf and turf sampler. More aphrodisiacs.

  Bayli tore her gaze from Christian as Rory approached their table. She smiled brightly, making his pulse jump.

  Rory stood to the side as the server delivered the food, starting with the lady, of course.

  Who instantly scooted out of the small booth and leapt to her feet. “Oh, my God, Rory!” she hissed under her breath. Pointing to her plate, she said, “Those prawns still have their heads and legs attached and those long, curly antenna things. Their beady little eyes are staring at me.”

  Christian laughed. “Really, Bayli, Phillip and Colin would be so proud of your ‘girlish screeching.’”

  She shot him a feisty look. “I don’t eat food that can actually see me about to devour it.”

  “Well, in the prawns’ defense,” Rory lightly jested, “they are dead. And who are Phillip and Colin?”

  “Friends of mine,” she said, “who basically find themselves in every whacky travel or dining scenario imaginable, excluding, I believe, still having the heads on their crustaceans.”

  “Sit,” Rory instructed. “I’ll show you how to eat them.”

  “I don’t know,” she hedged. “They already got a good look at me. They’ll remember me; I’m sure of it. And come back to haunt me at a later date.”

  “I was the one who chose them for this esteemed sacrifice,” Rory told her. “I promise they’ll be too busy haunting me to bother with you. Now. Sit.”

  She slid back into the booth. Christian grinned at him. Rory chuckled. Then he eased into the booth on the other side of Bayli. The server left them and Rory said, “Damn good thing I only laid out the lobster tails instead of the whole lobster. And, thankfully, the cow stopped mooing before I cooked each filet mignon.”

  “Rory,” she scolded. “You could be insulting vegetarians at this very moment.”

  “Not in this restaurant.” He glanced around. Returned his gaze to her. “We’re in a steakhouse, honey.”

  “Right.” She sighed. “Good point.”

  “I will concede that we’ve found New Yorkers aren’t overwhelmingly receptive to eating their prawns with the heads on,” Christian said. “They’re not big on getting down and dirty, which you have to in order to enjoy this delicacy.”

  Bayli blanched. “Did you just say that you eat the heads?”

  While she stared at her plate, aghast, Rory explained, “It’s an eclectic flavor expl
osion. I’d give you all the technical terms of what you’re actually eating, but then you might not try it.”

  “Oh, fuck, I’m not trying it even without the graphic description!” she blurted.

  Rory said, “It’s more of a southern thing, I’ll admit. And big in Asia, not to mention shrimping towns the world over. But, Bayli, the culinary experience isn’t just about eating your typical, everyday fare. Diversity goes a long way. Like soft-shell crab. You can eat the shell.”

  “Rory, that’s disgusting.”

  He gently squeezed her thigh under the table. “Variety is the spice of life, or haven’t you heard?”

  “Hey, I got all kinds of adventurous the other day at the salad bar and tried beets for the very first time.”

  God, he wanted to kiss her! In that full-on, who-gives-a-rip-that-there’s-an-audience sort of way. Like at the farmers’ market.

  Christian said, “Just let him demonstrate with the prawns.”

  “You can snap the heads off if you want,” Rory told her. “Or take a bite. I recommend doing it quickly. There’s a burst of … liquid. Don’t be surprised.”

  “What kind of liquid?” Her pretty face screwed into a semi-tortured look. “And by burst, do you mean it’s going to squirt all over the place and I’m going to gag?”

  Rory reached for one of his prawns and bit into it. Chewed, savored. Swallowed. “No gagging involved. It’s really very good. And you’ll love the fire-roasted lemon aioli.”

  “Oh, good Lord.” She slid her glance to Christian. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  “For him to be the one to gross you out. Now that we have that out of the way…” He reached for a prawn and chomped down.

  “Jesus Christ!” she quietly squealed. “Oh, that’s just so, so wrong!”

  Rory finished off his first prawn and went for another. “At least try one,” he insisted. “It’ll give you your first color commentary for the show.”

  “Sure,” she dryly said. “I’ll get tons of mileage out of heaving in a fancy steakhouse owned by the two men who hired me to host their cooking show.”

  Rory told her, “No one’s currently watching. Do it before someone whips out a camera and you’ve got yet another YouTube video to go viral.”

  “That’s your vid,” she corrected. “No one knows it’s me you’re kissing.”

  “Just a matter of time,” he assured her.

  She looked at Christian again, who said, “If you’re hoping I’m going to bail you out on this one, you’re wrong. Try it.”

  Rory saw her work down a lump of fear or disgust or angst—he wasn’t sure which was more accurate.

  Then she followed suit and took a healthy bite out of her prawn.

  Her eyes popped.

  Her hand flew to her mouth.

  But she chewed. Swallowed. Tawny eyes still outrageously wide.

  “See, not so bad…,” Christian slyly coaxed.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Rory laughed. “She didn’t spit it into her napkin. She likes it.”

  Bayli chewed some more, then slowly nodded. “It’s … sweet. Like, unexpectedly sweet. And you’re right. There’s a huge burst of flavor. Holy cow. It just floods the mouth and it’s so deliciously sweet.…” She shook her head. “I need better adjectives. I can’t just say something’s sweet. I need to be able to target all the nuances and really describe what something tastes like.”

  “Don’t expect it to just happen overnight,” Rory told her. “We’ll work on it.”

  “Wow, Rory,” she said as she peeled away the shell and dipped the prawn into the lemon aioli. “You do have a knack for goading me into things.”

  “I prefer to think of it as broadening your horizons.”

  She stared contemplatively at him, and Rory wondered if she was mulling over what he’d said to her when he’d been deep inside her on Sunday. About what he really wanted to do to her. That thought spiked his testosterone and he tore his gaze from her and glanced at Christian over her head. His friend wore an intense expression, as though considering all the sexual possibilities as well.

  Rory’s eyes dropped to meet Bayli’s once more. “Try the oysters.”

  “Not a chance,” she said without so much as blinking.

  He grinned. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

  “I know you’re all about me trying new things, but I’m not going to cave to everything.”

  “We’ll see about that.” And he knew his grin turned mischievous. “Start with the oysters.”

  “They’re slimy.”

  “They’re not slimy. Let Christian show you how to shoot ’em.”

  She shifted slightly in her seat. “Fine. If you’ll eat one, so will I.”

  “That’s not much of a challenge you’re issuing,” Christian told her. “I like them.” He reached for one and used the seafood fork to loosen the shucked oyster away from the shell. Then he spooned on a bit of the red wine and shallot vinaigrette, put the shell to his bottom lip, tilted back his head, and sucked down the oyster.

  Bayli squirmed a little in her seat. “What if mine doesn’t go down that smoothly?”

  “Give it a whirl,” Rory said as he prepped one for her. “Just let it slide down your throat.”

  She inhaled deeply. Took the shell from him. Let out a stream of air, then perfectly imitated Christian.

  Rory didn’t miss the shiver down her spine. Nor did Christian, he was sure.

  “Oh…,” Bayli said on a long sigh. “That was … I … That was … so exhilarating.”

  Her thighs pressed together. Rory’s cock instantly swelled.

  She reached for another, only this time sprinkling his special hot-sauce creation on the oyster. She shivered again as it went down.

  “Kind of a rush,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

  Rory’s head lowered and he whispered, “I won’t steer you wrong.”

  Her gaze locked with his again. “You’re mistaking my hesitation for lack of trust. That’s not it at all. I’m just not used to all of this, you know? The five-star dining experience, the exotic food, the heat that’s radiating from the two of you…”

  She shifted her attention to Christian. “I’m really not hungry for food anymore.”

  “Fine by me.” He snatched the napkin from his lap and set it on the table. “Rory?”

  “Pierre will package up the untouched food for the homeless. I think that’s his favorite closing chore.”

  Rory stood and offered his hand to Bayli.

  “I need to step into the restroom to wash my hands,” she said.

  “Same with us. We’ll meet you in the foyer.”

  She collected her wrap and clutch, ascended the three steps that led up to the main floor, and then wound her way through tables and the bar before disappearing from sight.

  Rory said to Christian, “This isn’t going to be anything like our past affairs. She’s—”

  “Everything we’ve ever wanted in a woman?” Christian joined Rory and buttoned his suit jacket. “And you’re wondering if she really knows what she’s getting herself into.”

  “You aren’t?”

  Christian’s jaw clenched. Then he said, “We’re both good at sensing what’s not enough, what’s too much. That’s why we work so well together. That’s why we’ll both make sure she gets exactly what she needs.”

  Rory grinned. “Many, many orgasms.”

  * * *

  Bayli stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw one hell of an excited woman staring back at her. Well, she looked nervous, too. Not overly nervous, just that sort of oh, shit, do I really know what I’m doing? sort of nervous.

  But yes. She really did know what she was doing. Mostly.

  Okay, there was still a hint of the unknown lingering in the far recesses of her mind. Yet nothing powerful enough to overshadow the excitement. Christian Davila and Rory St. James were going to take her to one of their apartments and do incredibly wicked things to her.

  Anticipation
shot through her, igniting against her clit and deep in her core.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, though she was the only one presently in the ladies’ room.

  Her knees weakened and her inner thighs burned. And the trio wasn’t even out of the restaurant yet!

  She tidied up, used an individually packaged toothbrush and paste, then swilled some mouthwash. Tried to collect herself as best as possible, but Bayli was teeming with eagerness and a blazing euphoria wrapped around two absurdly sexy men she had no doubt would go to any length to pleasure her.

  And oh, dear God, how she wanted them both!

  With the excitement rushing through her, she met her men in the entryway and preceded them out into the crisp late-summer air. Not brisk enough to be considered fall, but wonderfully refreshing on her hot, tingling skin. For Christ’s sake, she could break out in a sweat in an igloo when Christian and Rory flanked her and she inhaled each of their distinct yet complementary scents.

  Was that somehow planned? Did they shop for cologne together to make sure they both created the perfect aroma to seduce a woman’s olfactory neurons?

  She stifled a giggle. Now she was getting giddy with expectations, innately knowing each one would be exceeded this evening.

  Christian’s stretch Jag arrived curbside and he slipped in first, then Bayli, followed by Rory.

  Could they tell how thrilled she was? How anxious in a really good way? In fact, she wondered how she’d survive the ride to Christian’s building. The ride in the elevator up to his apartment. The ride of her life they were about to take her on …

  Bayli swallowed down the lump of enthusiasm in her throat and forced herself to sit still when, in actuality, her body was already beginning to vibrate. She was practically desperate for them. Wanted to lose herself in their touch, their kisses, their sinful words.

  “You okay?” Rory asked in a low tone.

  She was wiggling a bit between them. Couldn’t help herself.

  “Sure,” she said. “Contrary to everything I’ve told you from the moment you met me, I’m completely used to being on my way to some den of iniquity with two incredibly gorgeous men who are likely mentally plotting even as I speak how they’re going to make me come.”