Bad Hookup: Billionaire’s Club Book 4

by Elise Faber

  He wondered if there were any concerts coming up.

  Bas certainly wouldn’t mind spending the night cuddled next to her as she danced to her favorite songs.

  Hell, he was so gone for her already that he could picture the smile on her face and the joy in her eyes as she listened and he wouldn’t even care if it was some hideous boy band or pop duo. Bas would do whatever it took to make her happy.

  Sap, he imagined Kelsey saying.

  Damn straight, he was.

  Rachel was special, and he intended to treat her that way.

  Okay, so flowers and—oh—chocolates. Dinner and some nights out. What else? A documentary showing?

  He opened his inbox. He could have sworn that he’d gotten an email inviting him to a film festival recently—

  The knock at the door interrupted his searching.

  His assistant—yes, hilariously or not, he had an assistant as the . . . assistant. Puns or not, Keiran waited for Bas to tell him to come in then opened the door and stuck his head through the gap. “There’s a delivery for you.”

  Awesome. He’d been waiting on several boxes of files. “Thanks, Key. Just put them on the table.”

  Keiran nodded and disappeared then came back into Bas’s office with full hands . . . they just weren’t full of what he’d expected. Instead of files, Keiran carried a black garment bag, a small silver bag from a well-known men’s clothing store, and a medium-sized box.

  “Uh.” Bas shook himself. “Thanks, Keiran. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  His assistant left with a nod and shut the door behind him.

  “What the hell?” Sebastian muttered, pushing up from his chair and walking over to the conference table that took up one half of his office.

  He unzipped the garment bag first. Inside was a suit identical to the one he was wearing, except it was made from a fabric he’d never seen in the store before. Bas might drive a Toyota, but he didn’t skimp on his suits. Hell, half his luxury car budget had probably gone into his closet.

  Those suits were also pretty much the single thing he did to follow in his brother’s footsteps. As in, he went to the same small tailor that Devon had and still frequented. It was in the South Bay and the suits that came out of that little shop were as good as any luxury store. Cost about as much, too, but Devon and later Bas both swore by them.

  It had only taken purchasing one suit from somewhere else—and a really long day spent pulling at the inseam, trying to adjust the too-tight shoulders, attempting to ignore the itchy waistband—for Sebastian to realize the error of his ways.

  He didn’t buy anywhere else now.

  Even Clay had started ordering his suits from the same shop.

  And since he hadn’t ordered a new suit, the person who’d sent it obviously knew and understood Bas’s obsession.

  It was the exact suit he favored, just in a pattern he’d never seen and probably would have never ordered for himself. An almost navy blue with a subtle brown pinstripe, the fabric was different and . . . it was awesome.

  As were the soft blue tie and the crisp white button-down.

  He also still didn’t know who’d sent it.

  Bas slipped the suit from the garment bag and hung it on the back of his door.

  That was when he saw the note.

  The cream envelope had his name scribbled on the front and for a second, Sebastian thought that perhaps Clay had sent the suit as a thank you or a bonus. But the note wasn’t from his boss.

  Bas,

  Heather always keeps an extra suit in her office for just these circumstances. I did some snooping while you were in the shower. Hope you like this one.

  -Rach

  P.S. I like the stubble look as well. It goes with what’s in the bag. (You’ll see.) Let me know if you’re free tonight so we can get lumbersexual.

  Lumbersexual?

  “What the—?” He shook his head and opened the bag. Jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt were inside, along with a pair of boots that were probably way too cool for him, but he’d rock them anyway.

  Another note was stuck in one boot.

  If you’re free tonight . . . we get to use what’s in the box.

  Okay, so Sebastian could get behind the sound of that.

  Then he opened the lid.

  An ax was inside.

  Uhhh . . .

  He lifted it up, holding it by the handle. It was surprisingly light and since he felt like he could reasonably assume that Rachel didn’t want to go on an ax-murdering spree . . . and that this little dinky ax wouldn’t be of much use for that anyway. . .

  Thankfully, before his mind could go further down that particular stretch, Bas’s phone rang.

  Still holding the ax, he answered it without looking at the screen. “Sebastian speaking.”

  “I thought you liked Bas.”

  Rachel’s voice immediately made a smile break out on his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

  “Hi.” Her tone had gentled. “I have to admit, and will probably need to turn in my feminist card for it, but I like it when you call me sweetheart.”

  His smile widened. “I’m glad.”

  “So,” she said, now almost brusquely. “I’m guessing you’ve gotten my present by now?”

  “They’re amazing,” he replied. Well, the ax was confusing, but the suit and clothes were incredible. “It’s way too much, sweetheart. You really shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It’s my fault that you were caught out in the media in a disgracefully wrinkled suit.”

  He snorted. “Worth it.” A beat. “Plus, your idea is brilliant. I’m going to start making sure that Clay has an extra suit in his office, just in case.”

  “And you,” she said.

  “And me,” he agreed. “But I did have a question about—”

  “Lumbersexual or the ax?”

  Bas laughed. “Either. Both.”

  “I am woman, hear me roar. I can throw an ax like Thor.”

  He leaned against the table. “Um, I hate to ruin your rhyme, but Thor actually has a hammer.”

  “Details, details. But”—she hesitated and Sebastian’s heart pulsed when her voice went tentative—“I just thought it might be fun to try that ax throwing thing?”

  Ax throwing?

  “I—”

  “It’s stupid, I know. But there’s this place outside the city where you can like go throw axes at a target. You like rent a lane for an hour. There’s food and beer and—” She broke off. “Never mind. This was a stupid idea.”

  “Rachel.”

  “Forget I said anything.” Her breath rattled through the speaker on his phone. “And for God’s sake, forget about the ax. Just forget—”

  “Rachel.”

  She stopped talking.

  “Do you know what I was doing before your way too generous delivery appeared in my office?”

  “No,” she squeaked.

  “I was planning all the ways I wanted to romance and seduce you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I had dinner and flowers—what’s your favorite kind, by the way?”

  “Tulips,” she said, almost shyly. “Yellow, if you can find them.”

  “Yellow tulips,” he repeated. “Got it. But back to me and you for a moment. Before your package came, I’d been making a list of all the things I wanted to do for you.”

  “For me?” she asked. “Not to?”

  He smirked. “Well, the things I want to do to you are obvious, yeah? I was trying to plan some dates to win you over and make you actually like me.”

  She giggled. “I already do like you.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “So . . .” Rachel trailed off.

  “So, I’d love to go chuck some axes with you.”

  “And you’ll wear the flannel?”

  “Do lumberjacks turn you on?” he asked, thinking of all the ways he could work that angle.

  “Sure. But I just really w
ant to see you not in a suit.”

  “Sweetheart, does this morning not count? Or were you just not paying attention?”

  “Oh, I was paying attention, but flannel is sexy.”

  “Along with throwing axes.”

  He could feel her shrug. “Yup.”

  “Okay. Should I meet you there or pick you up?”

  If she was surprised by his agreement, Rachel didn’t let on. Instead, they spent a few minutes working out details before he hung up with a promise from her to not buy him any more presents.

  He had a hell of a lot to make up for on that front.

  Here he’d been thinking of all the ways to romance her, and she’d wooed him in return.

  Wooed?

  Hell, that should have made him feel emasculated, right? But Bas couldn’t find that particular feeling within him. Rather, he was touched that she’d done something so thoughtful and kind without expecting anything in return.

  It was all too much, but it was also certainly the nicest thing that anyone had ever done for him.

  Which made him want to do the same for her.

  Sebastian pulled up his text messages, scrolled down to the chain he had going with his boss, and figured what the hell did he have to lose at this point? He wasn’t going to hide his feelings for Rachel. Not when she was so important.

  Not work related, but can you pick Heather’s brain for me? I want to get Rachel something really special that she wouldn’t buy for herself.

  Clay’s reply came less than a minute later.

  It’s like that, is it?

  Yes, it was. He liked Rachel—so damned much.

  It’s like that. And also so much more.

  A minute of silence that almost killed him then Clay wrote back.

  According to Heather, these.

  Clay attached a link. Another buzz came before Sebastian could open it.

  My wife also says that if you hurt Rachel, she will personally disembowel you.

  Bas didn’t have a problem with that.

  If I do hurt Rachel, I’ll stand still and let Heather do it.

  A moment passed before:

  I was going to tell you not to ruin the perfect duo Heather and I had set up to run the world, but I don’t think I need to. Be open. Trust yourself. And just love her as she deserves to be loved.

  Love her?

  Did he?

  Could he?

  But how could he not?

  Clay sent another message.

  Fuck me, that was deep. But seriously, Sebastian—work less and play more.

  Despite the truth circling in his brain, the obvious, yet somehow still shocking truth, Sebastian managed to find his voice.

  Pot meet kettle.

  Clay’s final message made Bas snort.

  Let’s work on it together.

  And he attached a video of two pigeons tag-teaming the thievery of a bag of potato chips . . . from inside a very busy store.

  See, I’m working less and wasting all sorts of time on social media now.

  Sebastian thought that the less work thing might actually be working for his boss.

  It had found him a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, after all.

  And that sounded pretty damned good.

  Bas opened the link and started shopping.

  SEVENTEEN

  RACHEL

  * * *

  OKAY, jokes aside, the lumbersexual thing really did do it for her.

  Rachel was seriously enjoying the view of the flannel tightening over Bas’s shoulders as he lifted his arms to throw the ax.

  That thunking sound of it hitting and sinking into the wood was hot, too.

  Very manly and masculine and—

  “Are you looking at my butt?” Bas asked, turning around and catching her in her obvious appraisal. His eyes twinkled in amusement.

  She crossed her arms. “Yeah? And so what if I was?”

  “I would say, I’ve been checking out your ass, too.”

  He smirked when her cheeks went pink then turned and made a show of bending to pick up his final ax, taking his time to aim and throw. It hit the target but didn’t actually stick into the wood, just a few inches left of the bull’s-eye.

  Ax throwing, she’d found out, was harder than she’d expected.

  Just throw a sharp object at some wood, it couldn’t be that tough.

  Ha.

  She’d ended up missing the target completely, hitting with the wrong side of the ax totally, or not throwing it hard enough for it to bury itself in the wood.

  But after her third turn, she’d started to get the hang of it, and it was actually really fun.

  Or maybe that was being with Sebastian.

  He had shrugged when the ax fell and walked forward to collect them from the target and the floor. He set them on the counter at the front of the lane then picked up his beer and settled next to her on the bench she was watching from.

  “How’s yours?” he asked, pointing at her beer. “Apricot, right?”

  Rachel smiled. “Normally, I’d make fun of someone ordering a fruity beer like this, but Sera actually got me hooked on this brand.”

  “Really? Seraphina likes beer?” he asked and winced. “Sorry. It’s just she seems so—”

  “Barbie-like?”

  Sebastian made a face. “I—uh—”

  Rachel laughed. “It’s fine. Plus, Sera would be the first to tell you that she resembles the blond-haired, pink-adorned doll, but the similarities end on the surface. She’s a beer-drinking, sports-watching woman . . . who also happens to adore romance novels and Desperate Housewives.”

  “That’s an interesting combination.”

  Rachel grinned at him. “What can I say? I love all those things, too. Well, I’m a huge fan of hockey and definitely love television dramas and romance novels. And I don’t mind a beer here or there, but I mostly prefer wine.” She laughed. “Anyway, I really need to shut up now, because this has to seriously be the most boring conversation ever.”

  Bas’s voice went almost hard. “Never shut up. I love hearing you talk.”

  Her brows lifted. “You seriously want to hear me expound on television dramas.”

  Blue-gray irises met hers. “Sweetheart, I want to hear anything you have to say.”

  Aw. This man. Seriously. Just. This. Man.

  She cupped his cheek, sliding closer to stare deeply into his eyes. “Okay,” she murmured. “I won’t shut up.” A beat. “Also, how do you feel about curly fries?”

  Bas tipped his face down to kiss the tip of her nose. “I think curly fries sound awesome. I’ll order them.” He stood and tugged her to her feet. “Now, go throw some axes so I can watch my sexy girl’s ass.”

  His girl.

  Yeah. She could get used to that.

  DESPITE HER ATTEMPTS for the opposite, Sebastian left her at her door that evening.

  “I’m trying to date you, woman,” he grumbled when she’d tugged him inside her apartment and all but jumped into his arms. “Not get in your pants.”

  Worth it though, especially when he turned to pin her against the door and kissed the ever-loving sense out of her.

  “But what if I want you in my pants?” she’d asked and had been thrilled when he’d groaned and dropped his forehead to the panel.

  “Killing me, sweetheart.”

  “I think you’re sexy,” she’d said and been rewarded with another kiss.

  But then he really had left.

  And taken her heart with him.

  How in the hell could a woman like her, with a past like hers, with a track record for the people she’d trusted . . . how could she have fallen in love so quickly?

  She should be cautious, should be protecting herself, should be running and screaming in the other direction.

  Except, she had learned to trust over the last year and a half. Rachel had made friends who supported her, who had invited her into their hearts and opened their arms to hold her tight, to help wrench her
from her past.

  They helped her see that there were good people, good men in the world.

  And she knew that Sebastian was so, so different from Preston.

  But she also knew that she was in way over her head with Bas and bound to make a mess of this.

  She’d pulled out her laptop.

  It was time to muster the resources of the Sextant.

  Heather, despite the late hour in Berlin, was the first to answer the call. “I just knew you were going to call me,” she said. “Oh my God. I’ve been gone all of four days, what the hell is going on with my unflappable assistant?”

  “I—”

  Abby logged on, baby Emma sound asleep on one shoulder. “Non-book club video-chat session,” she crowed. “All the drama. Heather, what did you do now? You’d better not be divorcing Clay again, I don’t care if he—”

  “Abby,” Heather interrupted. “Rachel made the call.”

  “What?” Abby froze, but as always managed to recover herself quickly. Hazel eyes pinned Rachel in place through the laptop screen. “You. Drama. Dish. Now.”

  Bec’s face appeared midway through that declaration. “Did having all those babies scramble your use of the English language?”

  Abby smirked. “Probably.” She bent to kiss Emma’s head. “But still worth it.”

  Bec pretended to puke, but she was smiling. “What’d you do now, Heather?”

  Heather threw her hands up. “I didn’t do anything! Why does everyone keep asking that?”

  Clay’s head popped into the frame of Heather’s camera as he kissed her on the cheek. He looked extra yummy in his workout clothes. “I’m out of here.” He turned to wave at them. “For the record, she did do something . . . or rather someone.”