Taming the Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Sierra Rose

  I thought about it, but realized that I didn’t want to go home yet either. Believe it or not, despite the fact that I’d spent the day at a golf course, I was actually having fun.

  “Santa Monica Pier,” I announced.

  “The pier?” he repeated, nodding to his driver as the limo changed course.

  “You showed me a little of your world; it’s time I show you a little of mine.”

  We spent the rest of the evening walking hand in hand along the beach (in case someone was watching, of course), talking about anything and everything as the sun first painted the sky gold, and then slipped beneath the sparkling waves. No subject was off-limits, no question was too invasive, no story was too ridiculous to tell. We rode on the giant Ferris wheel at the end of the dock seven times. By the end of the night, I had laughed more than I had in the last month combined, snacking on corn dogs and cotton candy as we collapsed on a blanket under the stars.

  “So that’s when I found out my roommate was gay,” Marcus concluded. “And coincidentally, when I discovered I was allergic to bees.”

  I snorted into my hot chocolate, setting it quickly in the sand as it dripped down my hand.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you think that’s funny? That sort of trauma to a child?”

  I couldn’t speak, I was literally laughing too hard.

  Grinning in spite of himself, he pulled off a handful of cotton candy and stuffed it into my mouth. “There. I hope you choke.”

  When I finally came up for air, he was staring peacefully out at the waves, lost in thought. I shivered slightly and pulled the jacket he’d lent me tighter around my shoulders, inadvertently leaning against him as we gazed out toward the moonlit horizon.

  “Why is Takahari such an important client to you?” I finally asked. “I mean, it’s not like you need the money—why go after him so hard?”

  Marcus stiffened beside me, and for a second I was worried I’d crossed some invisible line, but in the end, he just dropped his head—letting his hair spill over his face as he traced absentminded designs into the sand.

  “He was my father’s client,” he said quietly. “The first one he ever had. And the first one to jump ship after he died, and it was decided the company would go to me.”

  My lips parted in surprise, but I could think of nothing to say. I wished I hadn’t brought it up and spoiled his mood—but Marcus didn’t look particularly upset. More like...resigned.

  “It’s my own fault,” he said in that same, soft monotone. “My father was the only person I had left. When he died, I went into a sort of tailspin. Became the stereotype.”

  His eyes focused on each wave, holding it in his gaze until the moment it crashed.

  “Takahari isn’t wrong to doubt me. I’d doubt me too, if I were in his position. It wasn’t until just a few months ago when I found out he was pulling his investment, that I...I don’t know...snapped back into things. I sold the sports cars, hired a PR firm, came back to the States.”

  We were quiet for a while until I peeked up at him through my lashes. “You sold the sports cars?”

  His pensive mood broke with a grin. “I sold most of the sports cars.”

  “Ah, I see.” I buried my toes into the sand and stared out at the ocean, but he was looking at me now. Staring as if he’d never quite seen me before.

  After a moment’s pause, his brow suddenly furrowed and he reached for my bracelet.

  “Can I see that for a minute?” He frowned as I slipped it off and handed it to him. “It looks like there’s something etched into it, just there...”

  “Oh, no. You won’t be able to take it back.”

  My eyes widened.

  “There’s something etched into it.”

  “What does it say?”

  “‘We belong together’.”

  I smiled. “Did you do this?”

  He grinned. “Yes. To keep the farce up.”

  “Did you choose the engraving?”

  “Yes.”

  I was getting mixed signals. He told me he didn’t want a girlfriend, that this was just an act. Yet, we kissed. I mean, really passionately kissed. We had chemistry and were madly attracted to each other. Was he trying to hint in his own way that we belonged together? He didn’t want a girlfriend...and I didn’t want to date a player.

  “Does it have a hidden meaning?” I asked, hoping for a hint.

  He shrugged innocently and slipped it back on my wrist with a smile. “We can’t take it back now...it’s engraved.”

  My mouth fell open in shock as I stared down at the priceless jewels—now permanently mine.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not mad.”

  “How can I be? It was such a beautiful gesture. I love it.”

  He tilted toward me in the sand and stared down into my face, one arm wrapping casually around my back. He was close enough that I could count every hair, every fleck of gray in his ocean-green eyes. My lips parted again as my mind started racing. There weren’t any people around. We were shielded completely from view by a little inlet in the sand. There was no public reason for him to be doing this, except...

  The wind blew a strand of hair across my face, and he brushed it aside with delicate fingers, his knuckles grazing my cheek as he leaned ever so slightly forward. His mouth opened as he gazed down at my lips, shallow breaths making his chest rise and fall. A warm flush hummed through my skin, and I closed my eyes.

  I can’t believe this is happening...

  A rush of cool air poured between us and I looked up with a start to see him straightening out, eyes locked on the sand.

  “I should get you home,” he said softly.

  I blinked in surprise, shivering in the abruptly chilly night.

  “Yeah...I should get home.”

  Chapter 18

  Takahari’s golf day was the last big event Marcus and I had until the gala in the Caribbean, so he and I didn’t see each other for the next week and a half. We texted back and forth a few times. Mostly just a cursory, did you see the latest copy of Forbes? (no) and do you have your passport ready? But after the night on the beach, we gave each other a wide berth.

  I did, however, see quite a lot of his minions.

  Fancy-looking people in fancy-looking suits buzzed in and out of the apartment like locusts, humming with increased activity in the days leading up to take-off. One woman took all my measurements while another delivered a pair of empty suitcases and offered me a spray tan. Some carted in boxes of shoes and asked me some questions about my capacity to scuba dive, while still others offered to sit me down and take me through a synopsis of Takahari’s merger on the off-chance he’d ask my opinion of the finer points of the consolidation. This, I politely declined. I figured Takahari knew I didn’t give a shit about the legalese, and that blatant disregard was part of my charm. Marcus’ robots didn’t seem to find it as endearing as I would have liked, but they held their collective tongue.

  They all seemed to be named some variation of Charles—even the women. I handled them as courteously as I could. But by the time the last one swept out of the living room the night before we were to depart, I sank into the sofa with the sinking feeling like I’d maybe gotten in a little bit over my head.

  “Are automatons four through nine gone yet?” Amanda called from the next room. She had been about as impressed with Marcus’ entourage as I was.

  “They’re gone,” I called back. A second later, she joined me on the couch. “You know, I understand the importance of this weekend for Marcus’ company, I really do. And I’d never claim to fully comprehend the logistics involved in joining two international conglomerates...”

  “But?” she prompted.

  “...but I do not understand what that has to do with the state of my cuticles.”

  She nodded wisely. “I lost focus about the time one of them started lecturing me on the merits of kale.”

  “Was that Chuck with the
mustache?”

  “Charleigh with the...well, also with the mustache.”

  I pressed my fists into my eyes and stifled an exasperated shriek. “Amanda, what the fuck am I doing here? I don’t want to be responsible for all this!”

  She looked at me solemnly. “With great power, comes great—”

  “Don’t quote Spiderman at me, I’m being serious.” I stared around the crowded apartment at a loss. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

  She scooted closer to me on the couch and patted my knee sympathetically. “Bex, you’re going to be fine. Everything going on here—the merger, the company—you’re not responsible for any of it. Marcus asked you to come along for the ride and pretend to be his girlfriend. Drink some cocktails, make the old man laugh with your unsophisticated wiles.” She winked. “And it’s all done in forty-eight hours. It’s going to be a breeze.”

  Deevus hopped up onto my lap and waved his tail in my face. “Sure, a breeze,” I echoed with a self-righteous sniff. “All I have to do is convince a resort full of the wealthiest people in the world that I’m supposed to be there. That I’m a mover and a shaker, just like them.”

  Amanda considered this for a moment. “Try not to talk so much.”

  I laughed and smacked her with a pillow as Deevus leaped for safety.

  She chuckled and dodged, but her eyes grew thoughtful as they landed on my empty, unused luggage. “You know, I have to admit—it’s a ballsy move. Especially considering your track record.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean—my track record?”

  She shrugged. “You look before you leap.”

  “As the proverb instructs us...”

  “No, I mean...you never actually leap. You just stand there. Like a stunted frog.” She yawned and stretched back onto the couch. “Or like...a startled antelope.”

  I watched the wheels turning with concern.

  “It’s like if the Brothers Grimm did a series with Lisa Frank. That’s how you see the world. I’m trying to compliment you.” She tossed back her hair and grinned. “This is you taking the plunge. It makes me proud!”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  She shrugged. “Sharon and I talk.”

  “Stop,” I advised, “before it turns you.”

  “You know, you actually have to pack those.” She cocked her head at the two suitcases angled toward us by the door, and I stifled a small shudder. I was starting to feel like they were watching me, like they knew I didn’t have enough nice things to fill them.

  “That’s the least of my problems,” I stalled. “Did I tell you he’s flying us there on his own little plane?”

  My blood ran cold at the prospect. Aside from sharks and certain types of shellfish, I had no bigger fear in the world than flying. I had successfully avoided it almost my entire life, routinely convincing increasingly suspicious friends that a road trip would be much more fun than hurling our bodies at breakneck speeds through the air. The only time I hadn’t managed to talk my way out of it, I’d tripped on the moving sidewalk in the terminal, careened into a glass railing, and spend most of the actual flight drifting in and out of consciousness as anxious flight attendants hovered above. Needless to say, it had been a one-way ticket.

  “Wow, no you didn’t.” Amanda’s eyes grew wide. “Can’t exactly road trip to the islands, can you? But it’s a private jet. Won’t that make it better?”

  I threw up my hands in despair. “No! Would you rather place your life in the hands of something really big—full of people you can sacrifice and eat in case it crashes—or something really, really small? So small that they won’t find it when it slips into the warm waters north of Cuba, and the occupants are preyed upon by bull sharks and—”

  “And mollusks, yeah I hear you.” She nodded knowingly, cooling my rising panic before it could really get off the ground. “Fortunately, your brilliant best friend already anticipated this little snag, and I packed you one hell of a carry-on...”

  Chapter 19

  As per my instructions, I had my cab pull up along a back entrance I never knew existed at LAX and made my way past the main hangers to a smaller runway full of town cars and tiny private planes. Instead of metal detectors and frazzled-looking parents, there were mini-red carpets and floating trays of champagne. A stately porter wearing a suit that cost as much as my car pulled my bags from the trunk before I’d even realized what was happening, and the second I set foot on the tarmac, I was under siege.

  “Miss White, did you remember your passport?”

  “Miss White, were you able to take a look at the itinerary we sent over?”

  “Miss White, are you by chance allergic to mushrooms?”

  I rotated around, mumbling confused, half-formed answers, when I suddenly saw Marcus walking toward me from behind the plane. My face broke into a huge smile and I realized, with a bit of relief, that I was actually excited to see him. I wasn’t sure if I would be after our rather abrupt farewell on the beach. In truth, I didn’t know what I would be feeling.

  That was one of the reasons I had come prepared.

  The second he saw me smile, his face brightened with a huge, boyish grin. He must have been as nervous as I was.

  “Miss White,” he mimicked the tone of the minions as he got closer, “has anyone told you that you look absolutely ravishing today?”

  “Why, Mr. Taylor, aren’t you the sweetest? Thank you so much for the lovely compliment.” I couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. “Damn, your eyes are gorgeous. I could get so lost in them.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re so fine. I can see why you have your choice of women. What woman wouldn’t want to jump your bones? Hell, I wouldn’t mind joining the Mile-High Club with you right about now.” I squeezed his butt. “Interested?”

  I think I might have slurred that last part.

  His whole face changed in an instant. “This isn’t like you at all. Are you drunk?”

  I dropped my voice conspiratorially. “Um, maybe a little. Not a lot. Just a little. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

  “Why?”

  “You see, I have this fear of flying. And I almost didn’t come. But then I didn’t want to disappoint you. We made a deal, and I knew I had to get my ass to the Caribbean. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  “I’ve been drunk a few times myself. Guess the shoe is on the other foot.”

  “Mr. Taylor,” the pilot interrupted.

  Marcus put his arm almost protectively around my shoulders as I swayed slightly in place.

  “We’re ready for takeoff when you are,” the pilot said.

  “Thank you, Jim.” Marcus led me toward a tiny ramp away from the bustling flight crew, fighting to keep a straight face all the while. Once we were relatively alone, he took me gently by the arm and pulled me closer. “You should’ve told me you were afraid to fly.”

  “What else would you have done? Get me some Valium and knock me out?”

  Eyes darting suspiciously around, I held my purse between us and opened it a crack so he could peek inside. About twenty vodka shooters, courtesy of my concerned roommate, clinked together as I brought the bag protectively back to my chest.

  “Shit, Rebecca!” His eyes widened in bemused disbelief. “How many have you already had?”

  “Just six,” I whispered. “And keep your voice down. I don’t want them confiscated.”

  “Why would you—”

  “You don’t understand. It was this or a concussion.” My voice grew sullen as I remembered. “Like last time...”

  “A concussion? Rebecca, I don’t know what you’re—”

  “I said to keep your voice down.”

  Two hands shot out and took me firmly by the shoulders. “Rebecca White.” He lowered his beautiful eyes down to mine. “I own the plane. Nothing’s going to get confiscated. You can bring whatever you want. That’s not what concerns me right now.”

  “Marcus...that’s brilliant!”

&n
bsp; “What concerns me is why you felt the need to drug yourself before takeoff. Is this like another irrational peacock phobia? Should I be worried?”

  I cocked my head to the side and studied him seriously. The edges around his hair had begun to blur, but other than that, I felt like I was on top of my game.

  I stepped toward him. “Tell me something...how did that day begin? Did you just wake up, peer out over your copy of The Gilded Faithful, and say, ‘You know what, this grass needs, a peacock!’”

  He pursed his lips. “I’m getting you on the plane.”

  “I’m getting you on the plane!”

  “Mr. Taylor,” the pilot was back, “might I have a moment—”

  “Not now, Jimmy.”

  “Marcus, stop this nonsense at once! Indulge the man!”

  Two pairs of eyes flew my way, and I thought it best I excuse myself to the cabin.

  All I knew about private planes was what I’d learned from the movies, but I’d like to think that between my natural street smarts and the pint of vodka rolling around in my stomach, I played it pretty cool. When the stewardess came round and asked me if I’d like a glass of champagne, I politely declined, asking only where the extra life vests were kept so that I might fashion myself a raft. She disappeared soon after and I never saw her again. A few minutes after Marcus came on board, we strapped ourselves to the chairs and the flying deathmobile shot off into the heavens.

  “Rebecca?” A deliberate pause. “Rebecca, are you still with me?”

  I opened my eyes to see the striking face of an ethereal billionaire staring back at me.

  “Did anybody ever tell you how beautiful you are?” I asked.

  “You’re being so nice and giving me so many compliments. I’m enjoying this.”

  “Maybe you should keep me all liquored up. I’m a much better time.”

  He laughed.

  “Hey, Marcus. What did you think of our kiss? Was it all part of the fake girlfriend act? To really fool those doubters? Or was it for real? And I can only ask you this now because I’m shit-faced.”