One Night With a Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “I like traveling,” Kylie lied. “I like seeing new places.”

  “Bullshit,” Daphne said. “This is my fourth national tour, and I know the only thing you’re going to see is the back of the tour bus and my greenroom. So why not spit a little truth for me?”

  Fair enough. “You’re high profile, and this’ll look good on my résumé.” Not entirely the truth again, but a little more mercenary.

  That seemed to make Daphne happy. She touched the side of her nose in an aha moment and then pointed at Kylie. “Now I get you. All right, then,” Daphne said, getting to her feet. She seemed to be coming down off of whatever high she’d been on, and was almost normal. “I suppose I should get that fussy dick Powers and see what he thinks.” She winked at Kylie and gave a toss of her limp platinum hair.

  And Kylie found herself smiling. When Daphne was playful like this, it was easy to see why she was so popular.

  Daphne opened the door to the conference room and stuck her head out. “Powers, get your ass over here,” she bellowed down the hall, and Kylie winced. But Daphne’s method was effective. A moment later, Mr. Powers appeared in his stuffy little suit and took a look at Daphne. He eyed her critically, and then grabbed her chin and turned her face, checking it from the right and the left.

  To Kylie’s surprise, Daphne was docile and stood for the humiliating treatment. When Powers grabbed one of Daphne’s arms and examined it, then peered into Daphne’s eyes, it reminded Kylie of someone purchasing a horse. Kylie couldn’t help but murmur, “Do you want to check her teeth, too?”

  Daphne giggled.

  Powers looked over at Kylie, his brows drawing together. “Did you do something to her teeth?”

  “Inside joke,” Daphne said, and then held her skinny arms wide. “So what do you think?”

  Powers looked over at Kylie, then back at Daphne, then back at Kylie again. “You’re hired. Send your salary demands to the personnel office.”

  “You and me are gonna be great friends, Fat Marilyn,” Daphne announced, and then pulled out a flask.

  Somehow, Fat Marilyn doubts that, Kylie thought to herself, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Daphne, just a little. She had to be miserable as hell on the inside to be such a mess on the outside.

  —

  Once Kylie had accepted the offer, she was steered toward the Human Resources offices. There, she’d signed contracts and talked salary and all the nitty-gritty details of her job details that both Mr. Powers and Daphne were too important to go over. To Kylie’s surprise, no one batted an eye at her salary demands, just agreed and set a start date. The money was a sum that made her happy, even if it meant touring for the next four months. The fact that they paid her demand without haggling told her she’d have to earn every last penny, though.

  —

  Still pleased with her new employment, she packed up her gear and headed back out to the street. Instead of returning to her friend’s apartment, though, she took a cab to the outskirts of L.A., deep into the quiet suburbs. “Wait here,” she told the cab-driver. “I promise I won’t be more than twenty minutes.”

  “The meter keeps running,” he told her.

  Kylie didn’t have a car, so it wasn’t like she could argue over the price. “Fine. Just stay, okay?”

  He turned up the radio and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Sucking in a breath, Kylie headed into the nursing home.

  As soon as she stepped through the doors, the cool waft of air-conditioning touched her sweating brow. The sterile white tile floors were a blinding white, the walls a comforting pink. It almost distracted from the big locked automated glass doors that were only accessible via a keycard.

  Kylie went to the visiting window and signed in. She handed the clipboard to the attendant. “I’m here to see Sloane Etherton.”

  “Just a moment,” the girl at the window said. She turned in her chair and pulled a folder that was tagged with a yellow slip. “I’m supposed to remind you that your last payment didn’t go through.” She gave Kylie an apologetic look. “Do you need to talk to the billing department to make arrangements?”

  She shook her head. “No, I can make a catch-up payment now. I . . . had some financial difficulty for the last few months.” Kylie pulled out her checkbook and began to write. “Everything should be fine now. I just signed a contract for a new job and I get my first advance payment on Monday.” Or as soon as she could finagle something from Mr. Powers. “Can I postdate the check?”

  “We’re not supposed to accept postdated checks.”

  “Well, I’m leaving the state in a few days to go on tour, so I won’t be here to pay in person,” Kylie snapped, annoyed. “So either you take a postdated check or you take no check.”

  But it seemed she’d said a magical word. The receptionist’s head lifted, her eyes wide. “Tour?”

  “With Daphne Petty,” Kylie said, writing out the dollar amount for two months of fees. It’d wipe her account, but she was low on choices. “And I’m sure I could get you tickets.” She ripped the check free and held it out to the girl. “If you can take a postdated check.”

  “I’m sure I can misplace it for a few days,” she said with a grin, plucking the check from Kylie’s hands.

  Five minutes later, she was admitted to the back and down a quiet hall. The attendant at her side held her Nana’s records. “Miss Sloane has been a little difficult lately, Miss Daniels.”

  “You know my nana,” Kylie said tightly. “She’s never been an easy woman.” Heck, difficult was probably one of her good days.

  The attendant didn’t crack a smile. “She keeps trying to leave. You know that sort of thing is frowned upon.”

  “She can barely walk and she’s senile,” Kylie said, unhappy. This wasn’t the first time she’d been told this about Nana Sloane. “I don’t see how she is attempting an escape.”

  “Unfortunately we get that a lot with the elderly dementia patients,” the attendant told her. “They get confused as to where they are and try to leave. It’s why we have to keep the place locked down. Sometimes they get creative, though, like your nana, and that’s when things become a problem.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Kylie said, a tension headache threatening to crush her. “But—”

  “I know. She has dementia. We know it’s a losing battle,” the attendant said gently. “But we still like to try and drive the concept home if possible.”

  She understood, even if she knew it was impossible. No one came out a winner where Nana Sloane was concerned. Kylie nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Is she okay otherwise?”

  “Other than the usual ailments that an elderly demented woman has? Sure. She’s unhappy when she’s lucid, she’s confused when she’s not, and she frightens the other patients.”

  “Sounds great.” She grimaced, picturing her bitter grandma railing at the other residents. “What about today?”

  “Today was a bad day,” the attendant said. “She’s heavily sedated at the moment, but if you stick around for a few hours—”

  “I can’t,” Kylie said, relieved to hear that there wouldn’t be a messy confrontation. Not today. “I’ll just pop in to see her and go.”

  The man nodded and opened the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll take you back out.”

  Kylie stepped into her grandmother’s room, feeling the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The room was utterly silent and clean. A picture of Kylie’s mother, long deceased, was next to the bed. There was no picture of Kylie’s father, or of Kylie. But that didn’t surprise her—she’d never been Nana Sloane’s favorite person.

  You’re a burden, Kylie Daniels. I have to work two jobs just to put enough food on the table to feed your fat ass. The least you can do is be grateful. If only your mother were here.

  She squelched the hateful memories and pulled up a chair next to her grandmother’s bed and took the woman’s hand in her own. Nana’s hand was fragile and so utterly small in her own, her
skin dry like paper.

  “Hi, Nana,” Kylie whispered. “I hope you’re doing well. I just got a job going on tour, so I’m not going to be able to visit much for a few months.” Not that her nana noticed if Kylie was there or not. Most days she was lost in her own mind, or looking for her long-dead daughter. Kylie rubbed her fingers against her nana’s palm. “But the good news is that you’re all paid up and my new job should allow you to stay here for a long time. I know you don’t like it at this place, but they have the best care. They really do. I’m going to make sure that you’re taken care of. It’s my responsibility, and I’m not going to shirk it.” She pressed her mouth to the old woman’s limp hand. “Be good while I’m gone, okay?”

  She held her grandmother’s hand for another minute, lost in thought and worried about burdens and family, and the weight of responsibility. Nana Sloane didn’t wake up. It wasn’t a bad thing. When Nana was asleep, she was peaceful. Almost sweet. She wasn’t spitting nasty words at Kylie, screaming that she didn’t belong here, or sobbing uncontrollably. Kylie could deal with the snide comments about her weight. She could deal with the jabs about her hair, or her slutty clothing. But when Nana wept as if her heart was broken, her dreams shattered? It nearly broke Kylie, too.

  Thankfully, her nana’s lined face remained slack, a bit of drool pooling at the corners of her mouth.

  So Kylie left.

  Seeing Nana Sloane was good for her, though. It helped Kylie focus. Made her determined. It was a reminder of what she was working for. She might hate touring and never having a place to call her own, but as long as her nana was safe and looked after, well, that was all Kylie could ask for. She’d been a burden to the woman in her younger years, and now it was Kylie’s time to return the favor.

  No matter how much it sucked the life out of her.

  TWO

  If Cade Archer could have predicted how he’d spend his thirtieth birthday, he’d have only been part right. Surrounded by the Brotherhood, the secret society he’d been in since college? Check. Playing a hand of poker in a smoky cellar beneath a club he owned? Check. The men chewing on cigars and discussing business strategies as usual?

  Not so much.

  “Check this shit out,” Reese Durham said, pushing a sonogram picture toward the center of the table. “He’s got a dick like a baby’s arm.”

  Griffin Verdi picked up the photo and squinted at it. “You sure that’s not, in fact, the baby’s arm?”

  “Nope.” Reese chewed on the end of his cigar¸ looking quite pleased with himself. “Reese Junior’s packing some major heat.”

  Griffin rolled his eyes and tossed the picture back down. Undeterred, Reese snatched it up and offered it to Hunter. “So when are you and Gretchen thinking about children?”

  “Maybe next year,” Hunter said, studying the photo. “After the wedding.”

  “No children for us yet,” Logan said. “Brontë wants to finish her degree first. I’m certainly in no rush.”

  “Amen,” Griffin said. After a moment, he added, “Though I wouldn’t mind if Maylee and I had a happy accident.”

  At his side, Jonathan Lyons dropped a handful of chips onto the pile. “Violet and I are hoping for a happy accident. Maybe sooner than later.”

  “Ha,” Reese said, and punched Jonathan in the arm affably. “Go for it. Raw-dog her, man. Our kids can nanny swap.”

  “That is a horrid term,” Griffin said. “Raw . . . dog?”

  “Bareback—”

  “I know! Good grief, I know.”

  Cade just shook his head and picked through his cards. Definitely not what he’d have expected for his thirtieth birthday. He’d pictured spending it with his friends, of course, but talking about babies and marriages? Not exactly. Hardened bachelor Reese had turned from ladies’ man to future daddy and expert on everything husband-related.

  In fact, everyone in their small circle had more or less settled down in the last year.

  Everyone except Cade.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t date. Okay, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in women. He was. Actually, there was one in particular he’d been messed up over for the last, oh, fifteen years or so. He was just waiting for the right one to come around to the idea of being with him.

  He thought of Daphne, her wicked smile and devilish attitude, the way she’d draped her arms around him so sweetly . . . and then he thought of the time she’d OD’d in his arms, limp and cold, her lips tinged with blue.

  Maybe marriage and a happy-ever-after just wasn’t in the cards for someone like him. He pushed a handful of chips into the center of the table. “Raising you, Jon.”

  “Bastard,” Jon said with a grin, and the topic returned to cards once more.

  Cade checked his phone discreetly as the others put in their bids. Daphne was supposed to text him when she was out of her practice session. The last time they’d talked—via hastily typed texts—she’d told him she had long dance-routine numbers she had to endure for her upcoming concert and this weekend were dress rehearsals. But she wanted to do something for his birthday, she’d said. She’d buzz him and let him know her schedule.

  But that was days ago, and Daphne had never called.

  And here he was, thirty and alone. That should have told him something right there. That when it was convenient for Daphne, she liked Cade around. And when it wasn’t . . . he wasn’t even on her radar.

  Maybe someday he’d learn. With a small sigh of disgust, Cade tossed another set of chips into the pot. “In.”

  —

  When poker wrapped up for the evening, Cade found himself walking out with Reese, who’d won the majority of hands that night and had also been celebrating the success of his celebrity cruise line and his plans to partner with a movie studio for character cruise lines based off of popular TV shows and movies. He was in a great mood as they walked out, while Cade was quiet, lost in thought.

  “Hey, man,” Reese said, catching Cade’s attention. “Everything all right with you?”

  “Always,” Cade said, smiling. Really, he didn’t have much to complain about. Business was great, his charities were having a record year, and he was healthy. There was nothing that should make him discontent or unhappy.

  And yet, he felt unsettled. Moody. Envious of his friends and their happiness, perhaps.

  “You’re just kinda quiet lately.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just thinking. Nothing important.”

  “You busy this weekend? Me and Audrey are heading up to the cabin. Hope that’s okay with you.”

  Cade’s getaway cabin? Where they’d met? He grinned. “You know I gave you carte blanche when it comes to that place.”

  “Yeah, Audrey’s been having a bad week. Hormones.” Reese grimaced. “Thought I’d bring her back to the love nest and let her relax this weekend. You’re welcome to come.”

  And be a third wheel? Watching as they cuddle? He was happy as hell for Reese, but he had a hard time looking at healthy, joyful Audrey, because every time he looked at her, he saw Daphne. Or rather, who he wanted Daphne to be.

  Because once upon a time, Daphne had been plump and beautiful and lighthearted. And he’d loved her. Now? Now he didn’t know how he felt. Obsessed, maybe. Desperate? Maybe that, too.

  He checked his phone again. Still no text from Daphne. No missed calls. Nothing. Damn it. He knew she was busy, but he was, too. Didn’t she give a shit? At all?

  “Hey? Hello?” A hand waved in front of his face.

  “Sorry.” Cade gave Reese a sheepish look. “Just distracted lately.”

  “Cabin? This weekend?”

  Cade shook his head. “Pass. You and Audrey have fun. I have plans.” Hopefully.

  “You’re spending time with Daphne, aren’t you?” Reese’s tone was disgusted.

  For a moment, he thought about denying it. He knew Reese didn’t understand Cade’s fixation with the pop star. Maybe he thought it was a fling that Cade was hoping would res
urge again. But the truth was, Cade had been in love with Daphne since he was fifteen, when they were both trailer rats without a nickel to rub together. And now that she was in trouble, it was hard to just cut her off and wish her the best. Not when they’d slept together eight months ago . . . and then she’d tried to kill herself. Hell, he was still messed up over that himself. So he said, “She needs me.”

  “She needs a reality check,” Reese said.

  “It’s difficult,” Cade told him. Difficult to talk about, and difficult to understand. Sometimes he got it. He understood why she’d succumbed to the fast-paced lifestyle. Like Daphne, he’d grown up as trash. The poorest kid on a dirt-poor block, he’d run barefoot with the neighborhood kids and had always kept a close eye on the Petty twins, pretty redheads a few years younger than him. Daphne Petty had been his first kiss, his first love, his first, well, everything. She’d been so special—talented, funny, smart, and with a way of drawing people in and making them notice her. When Cade left for college on a scholarship, he’d asked Daphne to wait for him. He’d make his way in the world and he’d come back and rescue her from their small town. Except Daphne hadn’t waited. She’d met a music producer, and the next thing Cade knew, the girl he’d been in love with was on the radio. She’d slimmed down to nothing, dyed her hair an outrageous shade, pranced around on TV in bikinis, and sold millions of albums.

  He’d been so proud of her at first—Daphne had a fun sense of humor, and it came through in her quirky songs. But as time passed and he became busier with his own business, they drifted apart. Daphne grew more and more ensconced in the music business, and even though she’d been a healthy redhead at one point, now she had wild hair, a stick-thin figure, and fake breasts. And a coke habit.

  He still loved her. Always would. But when her “quirkiness” started showing up in tabloids with pictures of her doing lines and trips to rehab? He worried about her. Tried to help her stay on the straight and narrow as much as he could, from afar.