Mending Images With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 4)

by Lorin Grace

  “I agree. But as you have learned, it’s a jungle out there, and I am not sure there is someone out there like our moms for me.”

  “That’s my line.”

  He yawned. “Good night. Stay and read if you want.” He bent down and hugged his cousin. Preston didn’t look back as he headed for his suite. Although the house was technically his father’s, he saw no reason to live elsewhere as his parents spent less than forty days a year at the primary residence. He was hardly the stereotypical son who hadn’t left the nest. As soon as he married, the house would be his to use as he wished. His parents had had the transfer documents drafted at the time of his first engagement.

  He checked the security logs. Other than Felicia, only staff had been in the house today. Yvette had been escorted to and from the guesthouse to collect some items she claimed to have left behind. The security officer had noted the items consisted of a coffee mug and T-shirt from a fun run wadded up under the sink. She would not be allowed back again. He sent a text to Gale Henderson’s phone.

  Goodnight. Hope you sleep well. If you take the dress and my jacket down to the doorman in the morning, I’ll have my dry-cleaner take care of them.

  He only had to wait a moment before the answering text came.

  — Don’t worry. I already sent out your coat. It will be delivered to your office at Harmon Towers.

  What about the dress?

  — I don’t know that it should be saved.

  But every woman should have a little black dress.

  — Maybe. Thank you for the ride.

  Good night.

  Supposed to be easy. What if someone looked at one of their phones? Abbie insisted everything appeared authentic. Perhaps he should have inquired what authentic looked like to her. He shouldn’t have to work harder for her attention than he did other women’s.

  seven

  “I don’t like it. Do you know how dangerous this type of job is?” Alex paced her apartment.

  “I don’t consider spider-covered flowers or notes left on a bed dangerous.” Abbie opened the third of the three dress boxes delivered that morning. Preston had good taste, and all the dresses he’d sent over were better than the black dress she had happily discarded. The first two skimmed the top of her knees. She held the third dress up to see that it fell an inch below her knee, a length she much preferred as too many football games played with her brothers had left her with more than one scar on her knees.

  “Not that kind of danger.” Alex pointed at the dress. “That kind of danger. He’s already figured out your style. You can’t fake this type of relationship without some of your own emotions getting involved.”

  “You’ve been listening to Adam.” She set the longer dress aside to try on. The September job had messed with his head. “Don’t worry. I don’t have a crush on him or anything. Preston is stuck on image. I think he was surprised when I didn’t drool all over him last night in the restaurant. Like every woman should fall for his hazel eyes, athletic build, and pocketbook.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “Hazel? See? I told you undercover work is dangerous.”

  “Face it. Even you knew that detail.” Abbie partially shut the bedroom door so she could change but still talk. The unmistakable thump of Alex leaning back against the wall outside her door reassured her. They had talked like this ever since they were five and their mother had explained how Abbie needed privacy.

  “Yes, I knew he had hazel eyes from the reporters. Dazzling hazel, I believe, but that is not the point.”

  Abbie twirled in front of the mirror. She was in love with a dress. Her mother would never believe it. Mom still pictured Abbie as a tomboy, not a lace type of girl. “The point is, you are now taking your overprotectiveness into my job. You will always be my number-one twin. But someday we will have other people in our lives. Use this job as your practice time to loosen your ties with me a little.”

  “Ditto for you, sis. Have I ever gone out on a date that was good enough for you?”

  “Don’t go there. I let you get married in the first grade. And I have never threatened any of your dates. You need to stop expecting women to understand you the way I do.”

  She emerged from the bedroom, satisfied when Alex crossed his arms and scowled. If it were up to him, she would wear a potato sack.

  “How does he even know your size?”

  “I don’t know. I had a consultation with the wedding-dress designer this morning. I think the only thing he didn’t measure was my little toe. I’m sure Preston could have found out my size from him. Fortunately, Mateo, the designer, had a dress started. It’s the dress I’d want if I really got married. I wonder if Preston will let me keep the gown for someday.”

  “Abbs, you are talking weddings. Real ones. What if you don’t catch the stalker in the next few weeks? Have you thought about that? You’ll be walking down the aisle like some actress.” Alex flopped onto the couch.

  “And you will be helpless to do anything.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Don’t worry, I doubt it will get that far. But I should let you know he is proposing Monday night. I am not sure where or when. I asked him to keep the details a surprise, but after last night, I am not sure it’s wise.”

  “Are you telling me there will be some PDA?”

  Abbie nodded. “A proposal without a display of affection would be unbelievable.”

  “I don’t like it, Abbs. I don’t like it at all.”

  “I know, but the stalker needs to be found. Preston isn’t my favorite person in the world, but he isn’t half bad in the ten seconds when he forgets to be a stuck-up suit or trust-fund kid. And even if I think he is going about choosing a wife wrong, he still should be able to have a chance.”

  Confusion clouded Alex’s face. “A chance for what?”

  “To find his happily ever after. Which he can’t do as long as the stalker is out there.” Abbie returned to her room to change into something else.

  Walking along the Lakefront trail eating an ice cream cone wasn’t on Preston’s list of first-date ideas. But then, Abbie wasn’t as high maintenance as most of his former girlfriends. The Saturday-afternoon outing included watching a Little League game—a far cry from watching the game from the private box at Wrigley Field, but more fun.

  Abbie claimed not to know kids on either team, but she did cheer for the blue team more often. Preston had played some sports at the boarding school, but he never participated in the type of team sports where parents cheered for their kids. Mum and Dad did manage to show up for the annual polo game against their rival school. Abbie had grown up in a different world, one where parents didn’t have to keep guard against crazies in search of kidnapping money or where the nanny knew more about first words and first steps than the mother did.

  Abbie broke into his thoughts. “It is perfect kite-flying weather. Have you ever flown a kite?”

  “Of course I have.” In the privacy of his backyard.

  “Don’t look so insulted. You hadn’t bought a dog from a stand either. And ketchup? You are a disgrace to your city.” Her mellow, vibrant laugh caused a longing for something he didn’t know existed.

  “I happen to like ketchup.” Preston thought the vendor had called him a tourist under his breath.

  When she laughed again and touched his arm, he had to remind himself she only acted the part. But the warmth in her touch was very real. No woman had touched him that way since his sophomore year at Harvard. Brita had come from Sweden and hadn’t realized who he was when they’d started their relationship. The three weeks before she figured out his net worth comprised the most real relationship he’d ever had. Even screening potential girlfriends hadn’t helped him find that elusive connection. “Do you want to fly kites?”

  “Cricket Hill has the best kite flying. A few wee
ks ago they held a kite festival there. It will be perfect if we can find kites.”

  Preston pulled out his phone and asked the search engine where to buy a kite. “There’s a store a couple miles from here. Do you want my driver to get them, or go pick one out?”

  Abbie rolled her eyes. “You have to pick out your own kite. Unless you are making it. Making one is the best.”

  “You’ve made kites?”

  “Mom’s a master. She builds these box kites that make everyone else stop and look.”

  Preston finished his cone and took her hand. There were callouses. Abbie’s hands didn’t have the spongy, overlotioned feel of Yvette’s or anyone else’s he’d dated. Didn’t she worry about her skin? He added lotion to his list of possible gifts. Felicia could help him find a scent fitting for Abbie.

  As for the rest of the gifts, he doubted some of his standards would work. A diamond necklace or tennis bracelet? He had a hard time picturing her wearing either.

  They found the shop. It didn’t take long before Abbie chose a butterfly kite costing less than twenty dollars. Preston showed her a kite ten times the price.

  “No, that is a stunt kite for more experienced fliers. There is no point in wasting money on more than we need. The butterfly is more than enough. One of the twelve-dollar triangle kites would work, but I figured you could afford to spoil me a little bit.”

  Preston shook his head. He had no reference for dealing with her.

  He paid for the kite.

  At the end of their date, he realized he’d spent less than fifty dollars for an entire day of fun. Grandmother’s oft-repeated statement that money didn’t buy happiness floated through his memory.

  eight

  The new black dress made her want to twirl like a three-year-old. Abbie propped her phone on the counter and twirled so Mandy could see it over the video conference.

  “Oh, so sexy modest! If I didn’t look like a whale, I would steal it from your closet. You rock the modern-princess look.”

  “And I can carry under it. The last one left no place for a gun.” Abbie put her hand on her hip, as close to the gun in her thigh holster as she was going to get.

  “Don’t go ruining the picture. I mean, I know you always carry, but I’d rather not think of you in a dress with a gun.” Mandy made a face.

  “Remember, this whole weekend is part of my job as bodyguard—only at the moment I am guarding myself.”

  “Anything odd happen yet?”

  “A black rose showed up in an unmarked floral box at the doorman’s desk, with a note saying I should stay away from Preston. A service delivered it, but so far no new leads. Dad has the PI guys running down Preston’s lists of exes. A couple are promising. One woman he dated about five years ago posted a blog about how he ruined her life, but they can’t find her.”

  Candace’s face joined Mandy’s on the screen. “Love the dress. He picked it out?”

  “I haven’t asked. I’m sure he has people for that sort of thing.” Abbie bent to adjust the straps on her low heels. She would need to return the pairs of high heels she’d purchased as she couldn’t run in them, leaving her to wonder how actresses did it in ’80s detective shows. “He probably hasn’t even seen it. Do you think I need a jacket or something with it? It’s going to be below sixty degrees by eleven.”

  “I say no. Then he can offer you his coat,” said Candace.

  Mandy took the phone from Candace. “I have something you can borrow. I hear Alex in the other room with Daniel. I think he is leaving. He could bring it over.” She turned from the phone and gave Candace directions about where to find a particular shawl in her closet.

  “Preston is supposed to be here in twenty, so Alex will need to hurry.” She didn’t want to face her twin again. Sunday, all her brothers had ganged up on her at dinner, reminding her not to make Adam’s mistake. The fact that she’d only stayed for two hours didn’t help. Dad and Andrew were her only supporters. Mom claimed she had no opinion. She had been almost glad to need to leave early to meet Preston for the evening.

  “It’s two buildings over. He’ll make it.” Mandy looked satisfied. Abbie was willing to put up with a little extra primping if it gave her friend some relief from the boredom of bed rest.

  “What are you doing tonight, another movie?”

  “No, I am going to play ‘track Preston’ on social media. I got good at tracking billionaires last year. I can’t wait to see the proposal. After he sees you in that dress, I bet you two chick flicks and a pound of chocolates he wishes he was proposing for real.”

  Abbie checked her hair in the mirror. The curling rod had done its job. She hadn’t been this nervous for a date since prom, which was ridiculous. Other than the family dinner, she’d spent the entire weekend with Preston, including a church service. More than once it became apparent that her lifestyle puzzled him. But ditto for her. He didn’t even know how to order a proper hot dog! And who looked at $600 kites if they were not a serious hobbyist? “If we were really dating, there wouldn’t be a date today. He is cute enough but has a silver spoon fused to his backbone. He is nothing like Daniel. I have the feeling he has never seen how the 99 percent live.”

  “Too bad you didn’t meet him when you were seven. You could have set him straight.” Mandy smiled like she did whenever she was thinking of her husband. It was cute how she still got all sappy-eyed.

  The bell buzzed. “That must be Alex. Talk later.”

  Her brother handed her the silk shawl. “Not much defense against a cold breeze. I still don’t like you taking Harmon’s job. Candace and Mandy are acting like you never date and this is real.”

  “We went over this on Saturday and yesterday. I know the difference.” Abbie played with the shawl in the mirror. The little rosebuds added color to the ensemble. Wearing black to be engaged in reminded her of some sort of odd funeral.

  “I don’t see why you had to live here.”

  “I miss you too. In fact, I put your favorite protein drink in my grocery order by mistake. There’s one waiting in the fridge.”

  A knock sounded. Abbie shooed her brother into the kitchen and signaled for him to stay.

  He’d known the dress was perfect for her. It was worth getting Mateo peeved at him for being woken up before noon and every extra dollar the designer required. Preston handed over the single red rose he brought, going for a simpler tone than his usual style. “I hope this rose is more acceptable than the one delivered this morning.”

  Abbie brought the flower to her nose. “Come in while I see if I can find a vase.” Cupboards banged, and water ran in the sink. She returned carrying a soda bottle. The rose leaned to one side. “Furnished apartment didn’t include a bud vase. It was this or a drinking glass.”

  “Remind me to buy you a vase.”

  A slight pink blush added color to her cheeks. It wasn’t the first time she blushed this weekend, and he found he enjoyed it. Most of the women he dated rarely blushed, although he suspected the Russian model could on command.

  “You don’t need to buy me a vase or even bring me roses. But thank you.”

  A tall, broad-shouldered man Preston didn’t recognize walked out of the kitchen carrying a drink. “Abbs, do you want me to leave these here or take them all with me?”

  She wouldn’t move into the guesthouse, but she would keep food for some guy in her fridge? Abbie glared at the man for a moment before turning back to Preston. “My twin, Mr. Alexander.”

  The handshake was too firm to be friendly. “Mr. Alexander. Nice to meet you.”

  Abbie gave her brother a warning glare. “Alex, will you lock up when you leave? I don’t think I need a bodyguard from Hastings following me out of the building when one of Simon Dermot’s men is likely to be the driver.”

  Alex folded his arms and leaned against the
wall. “Sure, sis.” He locked eyes with Preston. “Take care of her.” If this was the type of reception Abbie’s male friends usually received, it was no wonder she was still single. One mystery solved. Poor Abbie. Dating must be a nightmare with a brother who guarded her so closely.

  They crossed the hall to the elevator.

  “Sorry.”

  “Does he do that often?”

  The elevator door opened, and they stepped in.

  “He isn’t very keen on me taking this particular job. One of the joys of four brothers is their ability to scare off undedicated dates. The other is if we lose the basketball game, it always gets blamed on me since I’m the short one.”

  “So why Mr. Alexander and not Hastings?”

  “It is easier around the office to have Mr. Adam, Mr. Alan, Mr. Alexander, and Mr. Andrew than have five Mr. Hastings.”

  “Alex doesn’t approve of this job?”

  “None of my brothers do. Adam was in a similar situation a couple of years ago when the lines got blurry and he was not himself for a while after.”

  The elevator opened to the lobby, and Preston escorted Abbie to the waiting car. Being an only child, he envied the camaraderie Abbie shared with her brothers. Felicia was only a cousin, and he had never felt protective of her. He felt concern, but he would never get involved in her personal life.

  The conversation at the restaurant lagged as Abbie made the switch into Gale mode. Interesting he hadn’t noticed the difference before. Gale’s personality was softer than the bodyguard’s. Which one was real, or were both a show?