Give Me a Day

by Zoe Ann Wood

  Give Me a Day

  Billionaires Abroad

  Zoe Ann Wood

  Copyright © 2019 by Zoe Ann Wood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Elle Thorpe at Images for Authors.

  Edited by Emmy Ellis of Studioenp.

  Created with Vellum.

  For my husband, who travels with me.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Zoe Ann Wood

  One

  Sebastian

  Sebastian hurried through the crowd of weekend tourists ambling in the large courtyard of the Museum Quarter in Vienna, trying to catch the Leopold Museum’s ridiculously early closing time. He’d meant to leave his hotel after the lunch he’d ordered to his room, but a work email had arrived, and then it was five p.m. This put him in danger of missing his opportunity to see the Egon Schiele landscape he’d donated to the museum.

  The late June day was still hot and humid, and he regretted taking his jacket with him. But in the recent years, wearing a suit had become such a habit, he felt half naked without cuff links and a tie.

  He shook his head. No use dwelling on that now.

  Veering to the side to avoid a large group of Russian seniors, he finally glimpsed his goal: the steps leading up to the museum’s entrance, where he could relax in air-conditioned serenity and just enjoy the art. He picked up his pace, just short of breaking into a run. So close now.

  A woman swerved into his path, her arms raised to hold up her phone.

  Wham.

  Sebastian slammed into her from behind, her shoulder hitting him right in the sternum.

  He grunted at the impact, then took hold of the woman’s arms to steady her on her feet; she gasped and fumbled with her phone, her dark hair obscuring her face. The phone smacked on the flagstones.

  “Entschuldigung,” he murmured, releasing her and continuing on toward the museum’s entrance. Tourists and their selfies. He’d never taken a selfie in his life. His sister insisted on photo-documenting her entire life and putting it on Instagram, but he’d forbidden her from creating an account for him. As if he had time to manage social media.

  “Thanks a lot, jerk,” a voice called from behind him, the words piercing his thoughts.

  Somehow, Sebastian knew they were directed at him.

  Stopping, he turned to face the woman who’d nearly maimed herself by stumbling around the courtyard while staring at her screen. She was pretty in a conventional, comforting sort of way, with wavy brown hair styled into a bob, her floral dress hugging a toned body.

  Even though her large sunglasses obscured her eyes, he could tell she was angry at him; her dark eyebrows pulled together, her pink lips pursed disapprovingly.

  Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What a surprise, a woman was mad at him.

  “Excuse me?” he asked without stepping closer.

  She moved forward, as he knew she would, giving him the pleasure of knowing she came to him.

  “You broke my phone.”

  Like him, she was American, judging by her accent, and in her early thirties, maybe late twenties. She brandished the device, putting it right into his face. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb of fissures spreading from one corner.

  “How?” he asked.

  “By making me drop it.”

  “You broke your phone,” he countered. “You were walking backward.” Like a lunatic. It was true, but his manners weren’t so far gone that he’d say the words out loud.

  “And you were running through a courtyard full of people! If you were looking where you were going, you wouldn’t have smashed into me.” She rubbed her shoulder at her words.

  Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Would she try to sue him for hurting her shoulder? He might have a bruise forming on his chest from getting hit himself, and nobody heard him complaining.

  “I repeat, you were walking backward, looking at your phone. No judge would rule in your favor for this.”

  Her eyebrow rose. “A judge? You think I’m going to sue you? Man, you’re a piece of work. I wanted you to say sorry for breaking my phone, but I guess that’s beyond your basic manners.”

  “I did say sorry,” he snapped back, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sun. “That’s what Entschuldigung means.” He didn’t want to get riled up, but this stranger was questioning his basic manners.

  “Whatever.” With a dramatic flourish of her hand, she turned her back on him.

  Sebastian stood still for a beat, willing himself to let it go. This was a misunderstanding, a glitch in his day, and he would not ruin his plans for it. His jaw still tense, he turned on his heels and strode—a little more carefully than before—toward the museum.

  Half an hour later, he was ushered out into the heat by the tired staff along with all other lingering visitors. It was six o’clock, and the museum was closing its doors for the evening.

  Sebastian squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun; half the courtyard was already in shadow, but the heat hadn’t let up one bit. He’d managed to see the painting he’d had delivered anonymously to the museum’s curator more than seven months ago. He’d had to wait until the scandal had died down about the stolen painting being returned, which was why he hadn’t visited the museum right after the masterpiece had been displayed.

  Now he could breathe more easily. One of his father’s sins had been put to rest, repaid and repaired. He’d stared at the Bridge VI painting, looking at it but not really seeing it, his thoughts turning to his dead father, whom he’d loved as a boy and despised as a man.

  This painting was the lynchpin that had started it all, the trigger that had led him to discover just how crooked his father had been. Several years ago, he’d come across a news article on stolen artwork completely by chance, scrolling through his newsfeed while his car had been stuck in traffic. His driver’s quiet music had faded into silence while he’d stared at the photo of the painting that had hung in his father’s home office for as long as he could remember.

  It would take more than returning a painting to really reverse the damage his father had caused in the world, but it was a start.

  Loosening his tie in the heat, Sebastian descended the staircase to the courtyard, making his way toward one of the arches that led to the street outside. With a call, he could have his driver collect him, but the evening was too fine to waste time in the heavy traffic that filled the Austrian capital’s inner-city streets.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a flowery dress. What was she still doing here? Wary of being spotted—the last thing he needed was some stranger with poor motor skills yelling at him again—he allowed himself a quick glance in her direction. The woman was sitting at the edge of the shallow pool, seemingly oblivious to a pair of children splashing behind her. She was staring down at her lap—clearly lo
oking at her broken phone.

  Sebastian’s gut clenched with guilt. Maybe she was supposed to meet someone and now couldn’t get through to them?

  He slowed to a stop despite his rational mind telling him to walk away; this was none of his business. People broke their phones every day, then they went out and bought new ones. It wasn’t a big deal.

  Only the woman lifted a wadded-up tissue to her eyes and blotted her tears, then heaved a sigh worthy of a stage actress—but she wasn’t playing a role. She still hadn’t noticed him; Sebastian was sure she wouldn’t appreciate knowing she had an audience.

  Maybe he could offer her his phone to call whomever she was waiting for. A boyfriend. A girlfriend. A husband.

  Sebastian shook his head to keep himself from wondering whether or not she was single, then marched toward her before his mind took him someplace even more ridiculous.

  To his surprise, the words that came out of his mouth when he sat next to her were, “Do you need money?”

  She started, jerking away, then lifted her face to stare at him.

  Ah, man. Her lovely brown eyes were red-rimmed, and her mascara had smudged on one eyelid. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, she narrowed her eyes in recognition.

  “You.” She spat the word as though it was filthy and proceeded to stuff her used tissues and phone into her handbag. Surging to her feet, she turned to walk away.

  Sebastian caught her hand, standing himself. “No, wait. I didn’t mean…”

  And wow, he was actually stuttering. He swallowed his pride, squared his shoulders and said, “I meant for the phone. You said I broke it. Let me help you replace it.”

  It was the least he could do, he figured, then remembered it wasn’t his fault her phone was broken. This was getting confusing, fast.

  Taking out his wallet, he let go of her hand and pulled out two crisp purple notes. “Here, this should cover it.”

  She didn’t take the money. Sebastian looked at the two bills and back at her; she was staring at the money like she was afraid it would bite her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I— Who are you? Why are you carrying that much money around?” She squinted up at him, her cheeks flushed pink—from the heat? From embarrassment?

  Sebastian had no way of knowing. But he wasn’t about to go through the whole ‘Oh my, you’re Sebastian Lynch’ debate with a woman he’d barely met, so he ignored her first question and said, “To pay for things. Now, here.” He thrust the money toward her, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.

  If someone saw him giving the money to her, she would be an easy target for pickpockets or worse.

  He gave himself a firm mental slap. She was not his problem. He would hand her the money—as soon as she deigned to take it—and be on his way, never to see her again.

  And if the thought pinched at something behind his ribs, he was way too busy to deal with it at the moment. He had a meeting to prepare for and emails to answer. Leading a multi-million dollar company required work.

  She still wasn’t taking the money. No, she was frowning at him as though he’d grown an extra head, chewing the inside of her cheek. She’d pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. There were small indentations on either side of her nose where they’d sat. What a strange thing to notice.

  There was something about her that had him leaning an inch toward her, trying to catch her elusive scent. Something floral to go with her dress, maybe…

  “Fine.” She plucked the bills from his fingers, hurriedly stuffing them into her purse. “Thank you. I guess.” Cocking her head to the side, she swept her dark gaze over his shoulders and down to his shoes. “I really hope you’re not in the Mafia. You’re not, are you?”

  He had to chuckle at this. “No.” Then he thought about it and added, “But I’d hardly tell you if I was.”

  The truth was his entire net worth wasn’t as clean as he wanted it to be. His own successful company’s business records were spotless, of course, but there was the issue of his recent inheritance. He’d inherited billions of dollars from his father, and he was afraid not one of them had been fairly earned.

  But that was a story for another day.

  The woman was staring at his mouth, he was sure of it. And now he couldn’t help but look at hers, pink and inviting as it was. He should get moving right about now, leave her be and let her return to whomever she’d been waiting for.

  Glancing at his watch, he cleared his throat. “Well, I should really…”

  “Yeah, of course,” she said, a little too quickly, taking a step back. “I’ll just find a…” She paused, then gave a little laugh. “I wanted to find the nearest Apple store on my phone. I guess I’ll…” She turned toward the exit from the courtyard. “I’ll ask someone when I get to the shopping area.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes for a beat. This day was never going to end. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up the map app. “I’ll walk you to the store.”

  Her wary gaze rested on him. And he understood. She was a woman traveling alone in a strange city, so receiving help from a strange man who’d just handed her a thousand euro had to be triggering all her alarms.

  So he offered her his phone. “Were you waiting for someone just now?” he asked. “You can call them to tell them what happened.”

  But she shook her head. “Nobody to call.” She thought about it, then added, “Not in this time zone, anyway.”

  Did that mean she had a boyfriend back in the States? Sebastian wanted to pry but resisted the impulse. “Come on,” he said instead. “I’ll escort you to the Apple store. We’ll keep to busy streets so you won’t be uncomfortable.”

  Without waiting to see if she’d follow, he strode toward the courtyard’s exit. If she bolted, he’d be out a thousand euro and a chunk of his pride. He could survive both those hits, no problem.

  But something inside him stirred to life when she caught up and fell into step beside him.

  Two

  Lori

  Her nameless companion kept up a brisk pace, his long legs eating the distance so she had to skip and hurry to keep up. By the time they passed by the Albertina Museum, she was out of breath and panting in the humid heat. This is what happens when you don’t stay in shape.

  “Excuse me,” she gasped, reaching for the man’s arm. “Can we— I need a break.”

  He hadn’t said a word to her since they’d left the Museum Quarter, and he’d seemed lost in thought. Now he focused his startling blue eyes on her, then glanced around them as if he’d only now noticed where they were.

  “Of course,” he said. “Do you need to sit down?”

  Lori winced. Did she look like she was about to pass out? “No, that’s fine. It’s just…” She waved at him, searching for words. “Your legs are longer than mine.”

  His gaze dipped below her waist, and she had to resist the urge to squirm in place. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought a flicker of interest passed over his expression. It was gone a moment later—he was back to frowning at her.

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Okay. I’m fine now. We can move again.”

  He resumed walking at a slower pace; she appreciated the gesture and was by now relatively sure he wouldn’t drag her into a dark alley and steal her kidneys. They walked down a busy Viennese street, a tram rattling by with the distinct sound of a bell.

  “How far do we have to go?” she asked.

  He quirked a small smile and sent her a sideways glance. “Not far.”

  Funny. “Do you have a habit of escorting strange women around foreign cities?” She wasn’t sure why her voice had taken on a snippy tone. But she kind of liked being helped by this tall gentleman—even though he was the one who’d broken her phone in the first place.

  Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been catastrophic that her phone’s screen cracked and died. But she needed to take photos of her trip in Vienna—her future depended on it—and she didn
’t own a second camera. She also hadn’t brought her laptop to Austria, since this was supposed to be a relaxing, fun holiday.

  “You’re unique in that regard,” the man answered, his expression serious, though his voice had perhaps turned a shade warmer. Or maybe she was imagining things and he was really racing toward that store to get rid of her as soon as possible.

  Unique, though. She liked the sound of that, and beamed at him, teeth and all. He blinked, and his step faltered for a moment. Then he turned away, focusing instead on one of the many horse-drawn carriages that rumbled along Vienna’s cobbled streets.

  She took advantage of his distraction to study him. His wheat-blond hair was short enough that it barely needed styling, and his jaw had that yummy afternoon shadow to it. He was very tall, had almost a foot on her five-foot-three height, so she was forced to constantly look up at him. If they’d met through work, she’d have been wearing heels that would have lessened the height difference slightly, but she was in her sensible ballerina flats—walking around the city all day was no joke.

  “Are you here as a tourist?” she asked, suddenly wanting to keep their stilted conversation flowing.

  Who was this man? His suit seemed appallingly expensive, and if she wasn’t mistaken, those were platinum cuff links on his wrists. Not to mention the fact that he was carrying around five hundred euro bills; Lori had never even seen one, let alone possessed it.

  “No, I’m here for business,” he replied. And then shut up, offering no more information than that.