The Firstborn Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)

by Virginia Nelson

  But he didn’t answer, leaving her to wonder if he’d ever gotten his phone back.

  When there was a knock at her door, she wondered if it was yet another random delivery from Foster. So far, her table was overflowing. After the cosmetics and skin care stuff, he’d sent her an online order of various groceries, because he knew she was trapped, and another flower arrangement. It looked like a breakfast wake to her career was happening in her dining room.

  But she was surprised when she spotted Harper out the peep hole. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I was coming in for a surprise visit. Then I saw the news. Have you seen the news? Are you okay?” Harper dropped an overnight bag on the floor and headed over to the table to snag a muffin.

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Natalie answered, only a little sarcastically.

  Harper tilted her head and sniffed. “You smell funky. Have you showered?”

  Scowling at her best friend, Natalie snatched the muffin back. “No muffins if you’re going to insult me.”

  “Is it insulting if it is true? No, in all seriousness, I came to check on you in your hour of need because I got the impression you were kinda down in the dumps. The PJs in the afternoon confirm my assumption that I’m here in your hour of need. Or at the very least your hour of sad.”

  Natalie gave her the muffin back and flopped on the couch. “No, to answer your question. I have not seen the news. I shut it off somewhere around gold-digging whore, if I remember correctly.”

  “Aw, sweetie. No one called you a whore. They can’t say that on television. That said, they’re not even talking about you as of what I last heard. They’re talking about Foster Boyd.” Harper bit into the muffin, interrupting her own story, and then her eyes rolled back. After chewing and swallowing, she added. “Have you tried these? They’re amazing.”

  “They’re guilt muffins. I haven’t eaten any guilt muffins, no, but I’m assuming they’re salty with the tears of my stupidity,” Natalie snarked.

  Harper snorted. “No, you’re the one who is salty. Seriously, though, you shouldn’t watch the news. On the upside, your life should be returning to normal and your consulting with the Boyds must be working since they diffused this situation with more grace than I can remember any celebrity using in the past. On the downside, I’m going to have to throat punch Foster Boyd, if I ever meet him. Which I probably won’t, because he’s a billionaire, and I’m so totally not in his social circles.”

  Harper joined Natalie on the couch and Natalie tried to sort through her words. “Wait, what?”

  “Foster. He made a statement and now the news isn’t interested in you.”

  “But—” Natalie leapt to her feet, moving to the window. Sure enough, the press was gone except for one guy who was clearly packing up his stuff to leave. “The press has been practically living on my sidewalk. What could he possibly have said?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Harper said. “The important part is that they’re gone and you can go back to life as usual.”

  Natalie turned and grabbed for her remote. Harper, apparently foreseeing the action, dropped her muffin onto the carpet and lunged for the small piece of plastic. The ensuing wrestling match only lasted a few seconds before Natalie triumphed, waving the remote around in pleasure. “Ha!”

  “Seriously, you’re probably better off not watching the news. I love you, and what he said isn’t important.” Harper, who usually joked around and otherwise made light of everything, suddenly looked serious and tense. Natalie’s stomach bottomed out, and her fingertips tingled. Whatever he’d said, it must be bad for Harper to worry about her seeing it.

  Which meant she had to see it.

  “I’m good. I’m a big girl. Sticks and stones and all that,” Natalie assured Harper while she turned on the television.

  “He’s an idiot,” Harper said. “He owes you more muffins. Do you have to see what he said to understand—”

  But Natalie tuned her out, focusing on the news. It took a few minutes for it to cycle back to the celebrity gossip, but then the newscaster announced, “And as usual, the Boyd twins are making news. The Firstborn Prince took a moment to speak with a reporter today, and he had this to say…”

  The smaller screen next to the newscaster went from a still shot of the twins together to video of Foster. He looked tired, Natalie noticed. As if maybe all the stress of the situation had been translated to him as well and he was losing sleep, worrying about it and her.

  But then his words penetrated Natalie’s brain. “It is comical really,” Foster was saying. “I’ve dated how many models and actresses? And the press actually believed that I was sexting an image consultant? Come on, who actually believed that? Clearly, it was a slow news day and some intrepid reporter had nothing better to do than fabricate the whole thing. Look, Sam,” Foster said to the reporter, leaning in as if sharing a confidence. “I promise, if you found pictures of a woman on my phone, she was someone a little more well-known than a washed-up image consultant, you know what I’m saying?”

  The reporter laughed and then leaned closer to Foster. “Care to share who the pictures were of, then, Mr. Boyd?”

  Foster shot a charming grin at the camera. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He winked and the still frame of the twins popped back up. The newscaster had more to say, but Natalie turned off the television.

  Her legs had turned to lead and she dropped onto the couch. “Well, that explains why the press isn’t camping out at my house anymore,” she managed, trying a fake laugh.

  When Harper leaned in to hug her, Natalie held one hand up in self-defense. “No, really, I’m fine.”

  If Harper hugged her, she might cry. She didn’t want to cry.

  She’d gone into the situation knowing what and who Foster was, so why did it surprise her to hear him publicly deny he’d be connected to a woman like her? He hadn’t said anything that the public would be surprised by—and she shouldn’t be surprised, either.

  Even if she’d felt like they were starting to have something.

  It wasn’t his fault she’d built castles in the air. Not really.

  Plus, who knew? Maybe he was just saying all that to make the press leave her alone and get rid of the scandal.

  He didn’t have to sound so damn believable when he said it, if that were the truth.

  Shaking her head, she faced Harper. “Well, since most of the day is gone anyway, it isn’t like he can expect me to come to work. And you’re in town. I’ve missed you. Do you wanna go out to dinner?”

  Harper’s face looked sad, as if she knew that Natalie was faking it, but she simply shook her head. “I’m in more of a movies and takeout mood. Wanna just chill here in our pajamas and have a slumber party?”

  “I’ve got alcohol,” Natalie said with a small smile. “Plus, I’m already dressed for the occasion.”

  “I’ll go get changed,” Harper said, snagging her overnight bag and heading toward the bathroom. “You sure you’re okay, champ?”

  Natalie powered up her smile, sure she could fake it until she was okay. “I’m good. I’m glad you’re here, Harp.”

  “Me, too,” said her best friend before disappearing into the hallway.

  Grabbing her phone, Natalie checked it for texts. There was one, from Foster. I fixed things in the best way I knew how. Like I told you, we don’t look for the press, they find us. I told them what they wanted to hear, and your life should be back to normal. See you at work tomorrow?

  She looked out the window, breathing slowly a few times while she collected the shards of her pride again. If there was one thing she was getting super good at, it was rebuilding her pride after it took a hit.

  See you then, she texted back.

  But for tonight, she’d drink a little with her best friend and let herself be sad. She really needed to remember who he was and not get distracted by who she wished he was. It was better this way, really. No illusions.

  No princes who fell in l
ove with paupers. Just real life. And some days…

  Real life sucked.

  Chapter Ten

  From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v1

  Rule #5: Something I often tell my clients is that they have to own their past. You’ve made mistakes, and the media documented them. You can’t change any of that, but you can move forward past what was done. Taking ownership gives you the power to move forward, and people respect and consider the ones who do own up to their mistakes brave. Be brave. Do not let old ghosts haunt you by simply shaking the skeletons out of the closet. It’s easy!

  In the two weeks since what she liked to think of as “The Great Cell Phone Debacle,” working with the Boyd twins had been relatively uneventful. They’d stuck to her directions, and both twins were following her rules without complaint. She’d even had an inquiry from a potential client outside their company and scheduled a lunch to meet with them to hammer out details. All in all, things were going wonderfully. As far as distracting Conner…

  She’d been somewhat less than successful in that endeavor, but she laid the blame for that firmly at Foster’s feet. For someone who wanted her to distract his brother, he sure did keep her busy doing anything but.

  Aside from working with Foster to ensure his public statements and social media were on track, he’d given her a tidy bonus to hold a seminar for some of the corporate execs at Boyd Cosmetics. He’d also had her work one on one with their marketing team to discuss brand identity and recovery from the ad mess over Young cologne. They’d taken her Ageless idea, and were building a whole new brand that would use the scandal to further the sales rather than trying to squash the stories.

  During all of it, she’d been brought to his penthouse rooms more than once to meet in the boardroom there, but she’d only been in his personal rooms a few times, and then in passing. Since they had a nine-thirty meeting planned, he’d asked her to stay in one of the rooms downstairs. The schedule he’d messaged included her joining him for breakfast before the marketing team met in his personal boardroom that day. Which was how she found herself guided inside his penthouse by a doorman. Usually, when she saw him in the morning, he was at the door waiting for her. The man seemed to run on sheer energy, so she was surprised to find herself standing in the entryway alone.

  She called out his name, but no one responded, so she began to wander through the penthouse looking for him.

  The penthouse was posh, but she’d expected as much from a man dubbed a prince by the media. The walls in the living room suggested he’d hired a female interior decorator or he had slightly feminine tastes. They were a slate gray, with a delicate forest pattern painted on in white. The trees swirled through the room, coming to a focal point at the creamy white ornate fireplace. A large mirror with a white frame hung above the fireplace, but it didn’t look like he’d been using it for fires. More decorative than anything else, if she could guess.

  She called his name again, this time a bit louder. The couch was comfortable looking. Overstuffed, in a color almost like the gray of the walls, but a shade darker. A slight hint of blue kept her from dubbing the color charcoal. Accent pillows were situated at visually appealing points along the couch, and all in all the room invited her to sit, grab a book, get relaxed.

  Still no sign of Foster. Strolling along the room, she came to a point where it opened up into a kitchen. Again, grandly appointed, as he’d clearly spared no expense on the room. The walls were darker, there, a visibly darker blue that both contrasted and worked with the colors in the living room. Cool tones, but warmed up in the dining room with rich woods. An elegant chandelier made of sparkling crystal hung low over the table. It’d be a pain to clean that, but she doubted Foster spent a lot of time cleaning his house.

  She’d come to a hallway which she assumed led back to his bedroom. She didn’t know Foster well enough to go into his bedroom, she told herself. Then again, the man had put his face in her crotch. Wasn’t that bedroom visit variety acquaintanceship?

  She swallowed hard. Would he be mad if she went back there looking for him? Deciding to risk it, she called his name again before pausing in an open doorway. She found Foster in his bedroom, lying on the bed, perfectly still. He was sleeping on his back, mouth slightly ajar. His chest was exposed in all its masculine beauty, but a sheet hid him from the waist down. Buffy lifted her head from her position at her master’s side and her tongue lolled out as she slowly stood, stretched, and then bounded off the bed. The dog brushed past Natalie, headed toward the rest of the house, leaving Natalie alone with a sleeping Foster. She considered Foster’s most private space, resisting from considering the man even though she wanted to stare.

  There was an actual sitting room attached to his bedroom, again in that lovely shade of blue, and it was lined with bookshelves her fingers itched to explore. Another comfortable-looking couch sat in that room, this one white with dark pillows that were just a hair darker than the wall color. They were velvety looking, and she could imagine lying on that couch, her head on a fuzzy pillow, reading a book as the sun rose before she began her day. She figured that was what the designer intended—a room that invited someone to relax and rejuvenate.

  She was so lost in her consideration of his space and what it said about him that when he said her name, she jumped.

  His laughter had her flushing red. “You slept in,” she managed.

  “The meeting was canceled, so I shut off my alarm. Didn’t you get the message?”

  She scowled at him. “Clearly I didn’t. Why else would I be standing in your bedroom?”

  He rose slowly from the bed, one hand holding the sheet in place at his waist in a way that was hell on her sanity. One little slip and he’d be nude. Him naked while she was fully clothed struck her as terrifically erotic and she swallowed hard, licking her lips to moisten them since her mouth had gone dry.

  “I can think of a few reasons,” he responded. His smile was full of sin as he said the words, and she froze like a deer in the headlights.

  She was in a room with a mostly naked Foster Boyd. And, if she was entirely honest with herself, she didn’t really want to leave. Memories of their moments in her apartment before they’d been interrupted flooded back into her mind, drowning her in possibilities and temptation. They’d made a deal, hadn’t they? One and done?

  So what would it hurt if she kept standing there, hoping he’d cross the space between them?

  She reminded herself that he’d said he wouldn’t be with a woman like her, that she deserved better than what he was offering. Yeah, maybe he’d done it to get the press off her back, but he should’ve done it in a nicer way or something, at least if he cared about her at all. And she deserved someone who cared… But right then—the reasons why she should scramble out of the room seemed outweighed by the very real connection sizzling between them. She could think of a few reasons to be in his bedroom, too, and none of them were innocent.

  On one hand, if she gave into temptation and had sex with him, she would be a fool. He wasn’t offering her anything beyond a roll in the hay. On the other hand, wasn’t it more empowering to take what she wanted?

  She was torn and didn’t say a thing. The silence stretched between them and Foster ran a hand through his hair, stretching out all of those glorious muscles. “I’m guessing by the look on your face that you can think of a few interesting reasons to be in my bedroom, too, Natalie.”

  She could’ve turned around and left the room. Left his penthouse altogether. She could have very easily walked away or laughed his words off. He was joking, after all, right?

  But she didn’t want to. For once, she wanted to do something wild and reckless. She wanted to be with Foster Boyd more than she wanted her next breath. So why not take what she wanted?

  “I can think of a few,” she replied, sealing her fate with the playful words.

  He came closer, crowding her with his strength and primal energy. She tilted her head back, meeting his hungry gaze.

  �
��Oh, really…”

  …

  When Natalie called his name, he’d heard her and snapped awake. He’d just been dreaming of her, so for a second he thought he’d imagined it. But then it came again, closer this time, and he put two and two together rather quickly. She must not have gotten his message, and she had come in for the meeting.

  And just like that, he became aware that she was in his space and he was naked and that he shouldn’t do a thing about those facts as they were unrelated.

  But were they?

  Would she come to the bedroom looking for him? What would her response be when she saw him? The temptation to see was too much for him, so he closed his eyes, listening to her progress through the house. When she’d made it as far as the bedroom, her presence woke Buffy, who’d been snoring at his side.

  The dog stood and stretched, and Foster had to work really hard not to open his eyes and alert Natalie of the fact that he was wide awake. One thing was clear and had been for a while—Natalie Stolen, the image consultant he’d hired to distract Connor, was not distracting Connor.

  But she was doing a helluva job at distracting him.

  When she admitted she could think of a few reasons that she’d be in his bedroom, he couldn’t resist answering, “Oh, really?” when in fact he was doing a mental fist bump. This woman drove him to distraction, attracting him with her wit, her intelligence, and the memory of her taste on his tongue as she unraveled. Reaching out, he fingered one of her golden mermaid locks. Depending on which direction he moved it, it almost changed color in the light coming through his bedroom windows. Gold. Now red. Now gold.

  Her hair was fascinating. She was in his space and she seemed to want to stay as much as he wanted her to stay.

  When he tugged her closer, he found her soft and warm. Her arm slid around his neck, and her smile met his.

  Her breathing hitched before she said softly, “Hey.”

  “Hi,” he answered, dragging his hand over her hair. For curls as wild as hers, he was surprised by the softness of it under his palm. All of her was soft.