Plain and the Billionaire's Seduction (Plain Jane Series Book 3)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “No more bodyguarding for you, Ms. Coleman. I hope you haven’t traded in your weapons?”

  Calista startled. She hadn’t been paying attention. Or so Julius thought. “Of course not. I have a Walther PPK strapped to my thigh.” Close to retirement, the COO reared back in surprise. Calista wasn’t done with shocking the man. “A woman should always be prepared to defend herself. By any means necessary.”

  “Ah! A quote from the French intellectual, Jean-Paul Sartre.” The COO raised his glass of amber liquid pleased with himself and clearly impressed with Calista.

  “I got it from Malcolm X.” Calista saluted with a glass of water.

  Across the table, Erica laughed. “Good for you, Calista, and what a chauvinistic thing to say, Leonard. Would you have asked that to a man?” Erica said sweetly, then winked over her drink at Calista.

  What the…?

  “Probably not,” he admitted. “I’ve never met a female bodyguard. Didn’t know they existed.” Leonard scoffed.

  Calista smiled tightly. “We’re not unicorns. We do exist, and I was good at my job,” she said with pride.

  “She saved me, twice.” Julius joined the conversation.

  Her frosty glare flicked his way. “Don’t count on me saving your life a third time.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’d save me as I’d save you. It’s instinctual for someone you love.” Conversation halted. Julius didn’t care. Calista had his complete attention. The frost in her eyes thawed along with the iron in her spine. Softness replaced rigidity and a smile tugged at her lips.

  “Have you repaired the yacht, Julius?”

  And the cold front returned with a vengeance. If he could reach out and gag Erica, he would. “I plan on selling it as soon as it’s repaired. An attempted kidnapping and murdered crewman on the maiden voyage is bad luck.”

  Dinner arrived. The servers brought a light repast of assorted tapas plates. Julius had never been more grateful until Erica opened her mouth again. She tsked. “What a shame. You and I had such a lovely time before we were interrupted.”

  Calista rose. Julius followed. She wasn’t leaving without him. Tonight, they were fixing this shit between them. Tonight, she was coming home with him. He followed her out of the ballroom, snatching her arm and pulling her to the side the moment they crossed the threshold into the hallway. “I’m not letting you escape,” he whispered, surprised she wasn’t putting up a fight.

  “I’m not escaping. I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  Now he felt like an ass. Calista extricated herself from his arm and headed down the hallway toward the restrooms. He watched her go and signaled Sunny to follow.

  Chapter Eight

  T hat bitch! Trying to bait Calista into leaping across the table and strangling her ass was low. That wasn’t why she rushed to the bathroom. She was fine, her stomach calm, until the server placed some type of shrimp dish a tad too close. One whiff and her stomach flipped, then flopped. She nearly gagged. Seconds away from humiliating herself, she headed to the bathroom. She needed to make a doctor’s appointment ASAP. This was not normal.

  I should’ve stayed and hurled on Erica. A vision of projectile vomit arching across the table and splattering all over Erica’s A-line, V-neck spaghetti strap black satin gown made Calista laugh. Erica’s long blond hair piled high on her head and diamond chandelier earrings twinkling brightly coated with puke. It was a fantasy, but the way Calista’s stomach had lurched, it could have been a reality.

  Calista had taken a surreptitious glance around the room for Rhodes as she left and didn’t spot him. Relief snaked through her. Her feelings for Rhodes had ended before Julius came into her life. That didn’t mean she wanted to rub it in his face. Rhodes was a good man and hurting him was the last thing she wanted.

  She’d rushed into the bathroom, past the few women fixing their makeup and washing their hands, and made a bee-line for the first available stall. Vomiting in a public toilet was the worst! What did you grab? Your hair? The toilet? The railing on the wall? Add dry heaving instead of actually vomiting and God, she wanted to curl up on the bathroom floor in the stall and die. Finally, after forever, her body stopped trying to expel the lining of her stomach and quieted. Calista was a trembling sweaty mess. Luckily, she was in the handicapped stall with its own sink. She mopped up, emptied her bladder—hovering over the toilet in a gown, talk about a logistical nightmare. Sweet Jesus! Somehow, she managed not to disgrace herself and made a bull’s-eye in the toilet. In the process of fixing her hair and her makeup, the bathroom door banged open and a troop entered, three, maybe four women.

  “I mean, she’s not even pretty. She’s plain. Ordinary. I don’t get it.”

  “She’s exotic.”

  “Alright. I’ll give you that. She’s mixed, a mutt, you know, half whatever, half black. Put high cheekbones on a dog and it becomes exotic.” Laughter.

  They are not talking about me.

  “Girl, stop it.” The troop moved to the sinks.

  “And she’s fat! Who would’ve thought Julius Morgan went for chubby?”

  “They call it curvy now.”

  “Those hips are huge, not curvy.”

  “Stop! She’s like…” The woman paused, foot tapping a tune on the tiled floor. “A ten-twelve.”

  I’m an eight!

  “That’s still double-digits. Any woman larger than a size six is fat.”

  “All I know is I came here to land Julius Morgan and I find some other chick beat me to the punch. Damn. And I did my research. There’s nothing on social media about him liking black girls.”

  “Did you see the diamonds on her? Whew! That is more than like.”

  “Did he buy them?”

  “No way she could afford them.”

  “It’s jungle fever. The novelty will wear off and he’ll be back on the market.”

  “I hope. When I heard Erica Bryn had set her sights on Julius Morgan, I thought it was a done deal. But when she showed up around town without him on her arm, I thought there was a chance, until whatever the new chick’s name is showed up. Can’t a gold digger get a break?” The woman laughed and the others joined her. “Who the hell is she anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but I got a grand that he dumps her by Halloween.”

  Calista lived in a world where everyone was a size two and perfect. Perfect skin, perfect figure, perfect life, perfect lie. She lived in a world where she had always been the servant and never served. She lived in a world where her face had always pressed against the wrong side of the glass, always looking in at what she didn’t have, never looking out at what she wanted. She was Cinder-fucking-rella with no prince in sight, because he was a snake.

  As the bidding started, Calista opened the stall. “I want in on that action.” She exited the stall ready to rip heads and bury her heels ankle deep inside assholes.

  Startled gazes swung her way, four women—bleached blondes, a brunette, and a bleached redhead. Frankly, all four were beautiful and dressed provocatively in low-cut gowns, making the quartet stand out. They did not lack for attention they obviously sought, yet they huddled in the bathroom bitching about Calista.

  “I’d like in on that bet, Iris.”

  The voice came from Calista’s right, two stalls down. Her head whipped in that direction to find Erica exiting a stall with all the grace of Kate Middleton entering Westminster Abbey. Keeping eye contact with the women, Erica crossed to the sink. She dropped her clutch on the counter and stuck her hand under the automatic soap dispenser.

  Was she a part of this tête-à-tête? Calista studied all of them, unsure how to play this. She crossed to the sink, sandwiching the quartet between herself and Erica.

  “I bet one hundred grand that you bitter bitches don’t get invited to another party, function, release, showing, ever again.” Erica’s honeyed delivery had all the finesse of a silver dagger gliding across their throats. They were dead in the water and they knew it.

  “What?”
>
  “No!”

  “Please, Erica.”

  “Why do you care?” Iris, the redhead, snapped.

  Erica dried her hands on a linen towel. “I care because…” Lips pressed into a thin line, she paused.

  Calista waited to hear the answer, certain Erica didn’t have the balls to admit the truth.

  Erica folded her arms and proved Calista wrong. “She’s my sister.”

  “Phhleeasse. You don’t have a sister.” The brunette cackled.

  “Especially not her,” Iris added, raking Calista with a scathing glance as if the possibility couldn’t be tolerated.

  “Why not her, Iris? You’re dying to ask, so I’ll put you out of your misery. God knows you’re going to the tabloids as soon as I kick your ass out of here. Daddy screwed the maid and she’s”—Erica pointed at Calista—“the result. Six years older than me. He left her part of the company and the Fifth Avenue townhouse. Now, you can go. I’d say see you around, but that’s not going to happen, so this is good riddance to your skanky ass, and take your trolls with you.”

  Three filed out quickly. Iris lingered. She stepped closer to Erica, her voice dropped low. “I’m sorry.”

  Erica planted her hands on her hips. Not a trace of anger showed on her beautiful face. Not a trace of warmth in her icy green eyes. “How stupid are you to apologize to me when you insulted her?”

  Stunned, Iris slowly spun Calista’s way. She took a hesitant step toward Calista who wasn’t having it. She held up her hand. “Stop. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.” Calista pointed to the exit. “Leave.”

  Iris finally got the hint and quit while she was way behind.

  Alone at last, even though other women filed in, Calista eyed Erica. “Why?” She didn’t think she needed to add more to the question.

  Erica tucked her clutch under her arm and shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  “Yeah. I know. However…” Calista was suddenly out of words.

  Erica sighed. “I don’t lie unnecessarily. It’s pointless. We share a father.” She rubbed the back of her neck and squared her shoulders. “I can’t ignore you. You can’t ignore me. There are several votes coming up and I’m reaching out to you first before anyone else. We need to get on the same page before we lose the company our father created.”

  Compelling argument. “Lose the company to who?”

  “Vultures are always swarming. That includes Julius Morgan.”

  Calista had a moment of indignation. She checked it because while calling Julius a vulture irked her sensibilities, it took a vulture to know a vulture. Pot calling the kettle black, Erica ran in the same circles. Frankly, it was a compliment.

  “It’s my suggestion you get to know the company you inherited before we both lose it.”

  “You want me at Bryn Co.?” Calista let her skepticism show.

  “No. But I have no choice. It could be worse. Dad gave the shares to family and not a stranger.”

  Erica baited her for what reason? Oh, Calista could list a few. Though, she wasn’t wrong about the company. “Alright. I’ll be there sometime this week.” Better to keep the plan flexible. “I want to learn everything.” Not simply what Erica wanted her to know, especially since they were in the red.

  “Fine.” Erica conceded through her gritted teeth.

  Calista wasn’t done, not quite even though pain sliced through her abdomen. “Why did you hire Rhodes?”

  “Initially to get under your skin. However, he’s proven to be extremely capable.”

  Calista remembered how capable he was. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  Erica’s head cocked to the side with a smirk gracing her lips. “Why do you care when you’re with the man I had designs on?”

  “I care because he’s a good guy and doesn’t deserve to be used.”

  “Like you used him?”

  The hell she did! “I didn’t use Rhodes. We had a casual thing. He wanted more. I didn’t.”

  A single blond eyebrow arched. “Because the billionaire came along. I don’t blame you.”

  “That’s not true!” The bathroom door swung open and more women filed in. This wasn’t the place for this discussion. “It was over before Julius.” She just hadn’t gotten around to telling Rhodes until after Julius had appeared on the scene, bleeding out on the sidewalk.

  “That’s not what he said.” Erica teased in a singsong voice and crossed into the anteroom of the ladies’ room.

  Calista was on her tail. She had another question. “The yacht.” Calista threw out even though they weren’t alone there either. A few women sat at vanities repairing their makeup.

  Erica paused, and turned slowly. A smirk twisting her lips. “Yes?”

  It was a mistake to ask but Calista couldn’t help herself. Even as a wave of dizziness slammed into her and the room turned suddenly hot, she had to know. “The kiss.” She gritted the words out between clenched teeth as a cramp fisted her stomach. “I need to know.” The room dipped and did a Tilt-A-Whirl, then righted itself.

  Erica’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned into a mulish line, then she sighed and seemed to reconsider. “Calista, you do not appear well.”

  Calista didn’t want or need her concern. All she needed was an answer. Unfortunately, her knees wobbled, and the edges of her vision dimmed.

  “Calista!” Erica’s voice came from a thousand miles away, yet her hands were on her shoulders, catching her as the world went sideways along with her body. She crumpled, though denied the reality of the mosaic tile rushing toward her. This was gonna hurt. Somehow, Erica slid under her, buffeting the landing.

  “Call 9-1-1!” someone shouted and people scrambled around her.

  “I’m fine,” she slurred and pushed at Erica to set her free.

  “I don’t know you well, yet I’m certain you’re not the fainting type.” Erica smoothed the hair off Calista’s face.

  “You’re right about that.” She tried to say around her tongue that was too thick in her mouth.

  “What happened!” Julius roared above her head. “I got you. Whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it. I swear.”

  The strength in the arms now cradling her, the hard chest beneath her cheek replacing Erica’s lap, the warmth and security of the body surrounding her, and the absolute conviction in his words followed her into the darkness.

  Chapter Nine

  T hey had been in this position before. Julius had been flat on his back from two bullets delivered by a hitman hired by his stepmother. On the sidewalk, Calista hovered over him, her hands pressed against his bleeding wounds until the ambulance had arrived and the paramedics took over. That hadn’t been enough to stop her from climbing in and holding his hand for the ride to the hospital.

  Calista wanted to hate his presence now, request he be thrown out of the ambulance on his ass, but his hand holding hers and his face filling her vision both calmed her racing heart and her knotted abdomen. Later, she’d admonish herself. At this moment, she needed him.

  She winced at the prick of a needle in her arm. The paramedic shouted numbers and shouted at Julius to back up and let them work. They wanted him out of the way, but she refused to let his hand go, even as they wheeled her into the back of the ambulance.

  Everything hurt. Her stomach was a cramped knot and her throat was raw. Curling into a ball was the only thing that helped.

  “Are you the husband?” an ER nurse asked when they arrived at the hospital.

  “No,” Calista answered. “He’s not my husband.”

  “You have to step outside while we examine the patient and get a history,” the nurse stated, all business.

  Julius squeezed her hand and leaned close. “I’ll be right outside. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He started to move away, but she couldn’t let him go.

  Not much frightened her. The betrayal of her body, the loss of control over herself and her environment, terrified her. “Stay.” She looked away from the surprise on his face to gla
nce at the nurse. “He stays.”

  The nurse nodded as the doctor entered the room. “I’m Dr. Berget, the ER attending physician. What’s going on with you.” Five feet even with a head full of gray hair and a no-nonsense, cut to the chase attitude, Calista guessed the physician to be in her mid-fifties. And immediately liked her.

  “I can’t stop throwing up. I haven’t been able to keep anything down in three days,” she told the doctor. “I could keep liquids down, but now that comes up too. I’m extremely nauseous and my stomach is one big cramp.”

  Dr. Berget studied the monitors. “Any pre-existing conditions? Family history of stomach issues?”

  “No. Well… My father recently died of pancreatic cancer and my mother has dementia.”

  “You haven’t kept anything solid down for three days? Before that, when was your last bowel movement?”

  Slightly embarrassed, she answered. “Two days ago. I’m regular.”

  “No diarrhea?” the doctor questioned.

  “None.”

  “Last period?”

  “Ten days ago, approximately.”

  “Normal?”

  Um… It wasn’t as heavy as usual and shorter, but— “Yeah.”

  “Alright. The nurse will draw blood for some lab work. Hopefully, it will give us a better picture of what’s going on with you.”

  “No CT scan to see what’s happening to my insides?” Calista asked. Her opinion of the doctor diminished. A CT scan was the least she could do while waiting for the lab results.

  “Not until the labs are back. I’ll get you something for the pain and nausea that’ll help you relax and make you sleepy.”

  It was better than nothing. “Thanks.”

  The doctor exited. Julius patted her hand and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” She couldn’t help the neediness in her voice or clutching his hand tighter.