Caitlyn, you’ve arrived, you’ve done it. Four years of back-breaking studying and unpaid internships was absolutely worth it to see my name on that desk. Chief of myself, that’s my unofficial title, but nobody has to know that, right? When this thing is up and running, I’ll have a whole host of employees, anyway.
Editor. The dream.
Chapter Three
Caitlyn
Mornings are not my favorite part of the day. Especially when morning, where I am, is late afternoon in yesterday’s time. The sound of birdsong resonates around the loft, loudly announcing that it is indeed time to get up, but my eyes strongly oppose any attempt at opening them. They remain on UK time and they are not having any of my nonsense.
Only a good cup of tea can bring me out of my fog. Strong tea. I’d packed a packet of Yorkshire’s finest in my suitcase, but that still sits, un-emptied, downstairs. Maybe my hosts have thought to stock up for their English guest.
I stumble over to the kitchen. After a quick shower last night I’d thrown on my favorite Muppets t-shirt, stashed in my backpack for emergencies, and a pair of undies I’d put in for the same reason and sunk under the covers. There had been absolutely zero inclination to unpack.
“Holy fuck!”
My foot careens into a butt sticking out from under the sink. A not unattractive butt. Firm and well-proportioned. It is wearing jeans with a hint of tight, white boxer shorts. The brand name of which is displayed along the elastic for everyone to see. Well, when I say everyone, that’s going on the assumption that it’s only me and the butt in the loft right now, and even then that’s one too many.
“Ow!” The butt, either reacting to my foot having given it a good shove or hearing my less than ladylike cry, veers towards me before revealing the rest of the body attached to it.
“Fu-uck.” This time the word slips out more quietly as my brain takes in the situation. Him. From the plane. I’d recognize that body anywhere and, let’s be honest, I’ve seen most of it, close up.
The ten-gallon hat having presumably been given back to its owner, a head full of wild, dark curls are revealed, in all their glory. He’s neither rootin’ nor tootin’ like he was in that bathroom yesterday, but fuck it if it isn’t my Cowboy.
“Morning,” he says rubbing his butt and grinning at me, not in the slightest bit bothered by the fact that I’ve just found him hiding under the sink in my kitchen. American stalkers are brazen. I didn’t realize I’d be needing a bodyguard on the first day. He’s also not wearing a t-shirt and those abs are scrambling my brain.
“Cowboy.” My mouth, entirely independent from the rest of my body, decides to throw me under the bus.
“What?” He looks at me, blankly.
“Nothing.” I grab the first thing that comes to hand to protect myself and end up brandishing a wooden spatula at him. Dangerous. “Um, what are you doing in my kitchen? And why are you half-naked?”
The man is a god. Perfectly formed. A person cannot possibly be expected to concentrate on their tea and toast when faced with that body. A flush rises in my chest and my nipples do, well, what nipples do upon such splendor. I put one arm tightly across my chest.
My body wants to have an urgent conversation about this guy, but I’m not listening. My brain is assessing the situation, especially as I had never expected to see the stranger from the plane again. Has he tracked me down? Stolen my address from my wallet? No, nothing I own has this address on it, only my phone, and I definitely had that on me when I arrived.
I take a step back. Has he come back to finish the job? Congratulations Caitlyn you’ve lived in America less than one day and you’ve already managed to insult the boss’ daughter and find yourself a handsome, sexy, stalker. None of this was in the job description.
“No, not the spatula.” He chuckles and puts his hands up. “My bad, I didn’t know you’d moved in yet, I was just checking the plumbing under the sink.” He holds out a dusty hand. “Enrico Baresi, everyone calls me Hank.”
Baresi. Another one? They’re everywhere. He doesn’t recognize me. Thank God for beer goggles. The state he was in yesterday, it’s not surprising he has no memory of me.
Say something, woman. “Well, Hi Hank Baresi, I’m Caitlyn Walsh. Nice to meet you.” We’re still shaking hands, and my deadly weapon is still being waved at him. I lower the spatula and take back my hand. He grins. Trust has been instilled.
“Yeah. I’m renovating a house up the road. Just got back from a trip to Europe with my brother yesterday, I didn’t know you’d moved in yet, sorry. I, uh, needed to check the sink to see how I’d done the plumbing.” He grabs his t-shirt and slips it on, covering up those delicious abs. To be fair, I’m definitely staring at them.
“Oh, you’re a builder then?” How do they say it in American? “Construction. You work in the construction business, do you?” The words are coming out but nothing is processing. I’ve seen this man’s dick. His big, big dick. Kind of felt it too, rubbing up against my back. My lady-parts do a jump for joy at the memory and my hand slams down onto the counter to hold on for dear life.
“Oh no, that’s just a hobby. I’m your new boss, well more of a colleague to be exact. This place is mine. I bought it and renovated it. The End, the magazine, it’s all my idea. Well, my father’s idea, but I’m running it.”
Fuck, Caitlyn. You nearly banged your boss.
Of course, karma isn’t going to thank me for walking away instead of taking advantage of this man in his inebriated state. Yesterday his dick had danced around in front of me and he’d fondled my clit in a public bathroom and today I find myself standing in front of him in a fucking Muppets t-shirt, boobs unleashed, hair resembling Big Bird’s butt.
Perfect.
“I am so excited about it; this is an amazing opportunity, honestly, my dream job.”
His eyes crinkle up at the sides, and my vagina melts into a puddle of warm desire. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Look, I’ve really got to get back to work, I was just wondering, why did you call me Cowboy?”
“I … uh …” Make something up. Anything. Lie. “I was on the same flight as you yesterday.” You idiot.
Hank’s face turns puce, right back to his ears. “Ah.”
Why didn’t you just lie? He clearly has no memory of you and the way he held your clitoris and grazed his lips along the back of your neck. Stop thinking about it. Stoppit.
“Yeah.” His eyes glaze over. His brain surely taking a moment to process the fact that I’ve seen his cock. In all its glory. I’ve even fondled it somewhat, over his trousers, whilst he was sticking his tongue down my throat, although that part seems to elude him.
“Cool, cool. Well, I’ve got to get going.” He steps away, can’t leave fast enough. “Jen tells me she’s showing you around this afternoon. We won’t start work on the magazine until Monday, so you know, take a few days to get acquainted with the place. Did she tell you about the car? The Audi out the front, the black one, that’s yours to use as you see fit. Insured, everything.” He backs away as he is speaking, the words spurting out one after the other without pausing for breath.
“Oh, okay, thanks. Uh, see you Monday.”
“Yeah, great meeting you, Caitlyn.” He does finger guns and then instantly regrets it and puts them awkwardly back into their holsters without even blowing on them. “Looking forward to working together.”
“With all of our clothes on,” I reply, trying to break the awkwardness with a bit of humor. I should stop talking now.
He frowns for a second, then flashes another grin at me. “Fully dressed, got it. Bye Caitlyn.”
He leaves the apartment so fast he practically flies down the stairway like a fireman on a pole, can’t get away from me quick enough.
Chapter Four
Hank
Enzo always knows what to do. He’s been solving my problems ever since I peed my pants in first grade.
I throw myself down on the plush sofa in his waiting room. “Is he in?”
>
“He’s on a call, Hank.” Evelyn has her orders, you don’t just barge in and bother the CEO, but this is me.
I push out my bottom lip and quiver it a bit. “You sure?”
“Don’t you give me those puppy dog eyes, Enrico Baresi.” She buzzes me through. Nobody can resist my charm, not even Evelyn, and she’s as hard as nails.
“What’s up, Fuckwit?” says Enzo. Being the youngest child has certain advantages but four older brothers isn’t one of them. It was decided very early on that Fuckwit was my name and they’ve never faltered.
I go to take a deep breath, center myself, but it comes out as more of a resigned sigh. “I have a little situation.”
“It’s called a dick, you have a little dick.”
“Hilarious. I can see why they made you CEO.”
“They made me CEO because I’m the only Baresi son who never complains about little situations. I fix them.”
“It’s Leo’s fault. He gave me a sleeping pill on the plane yesterday–”
“Wait, let me just stop you right there. You accepted pills from Leo?” He lifts his head and stares at me in desperation. “Our brother, Leo.” I look down at my feet, avoiding his icy glare. He has a point. Leo isn’t exactly known for being sober, or reliable, or trustworthy in any way. Enzo’s right, he’s always right. Why the hell had I done that?
“Yes, Leo. I know, it was dumb. Anyway, so then, for laughs, he spikes my drink.”
He shuffles the papers on his desk, pushes his reading glasses back up his nose and stares at me down them. “I don’t know if I want to hear the rest of this story.”
“You don’t, but I shall continue. From what I’ve been told, I stole a cowboy hat and locked myself in a toilet. There may have been public nudity.” Okay, there was definitely public nudity, but confessing that would involve Enzo shouting at me and my head is pounding right now.
“May? For fuck’s sake, Hank. Tell me you didn’t have sex with anybody? Did you use protection? Did anybody film it?”
“I don’t think so. I think I remember a woman, in the bathroom with me.” Fuck. There was a woman. A hot, sexy, blonde woman. Or maybe she was a brunette. She had tits, I remember that. “Yeah, there was definitely a woman. I don’t think we fucked though.”
A retching sound emanates from Enzo’s throat; he grabs his bottle of water. “You don’t think you fucked anybody. Great. So why exactly are you here?”
“That’s not the problem.” And here we are at the crux of the issue, the real reason for my visit. My chest tightens. Why can I not even breathe around this man? He’s the good brother, the one who used to pull my other brothers off of me. We’re grown men now, but just being in his presence stresses me out.
“That’s not the problem? What, was this a prelude to you having a public orgy on live TV?”
As if I’d do that, in a country where my dad owns seventy-five percent of the media. Give me some credit. “No. you know that hotshot British journalist you hired to work on my magazine?”
“Yes. You didn’t sleep with her, did you? Papa’s going to be pissed.”
“No, God no. Not that I wouldn’t, she’s cute.” I don’t have much to go on, just a literal kick up the butt and a five-minute conversation, but I wouldn’t say no to getting to know her better. “No, I mean she saw everything. She was on the plane.”
“You want me to fire her because she saw your cock at half-mast?” My eyes drop to my much-maligned penis. Don’t listen to him, big guy, you do your best.
“No. I wanted to know what to do about it.”
“Does she know you know she saw your wilted cock?” My hand sinks instinctively to my crotch. His jibes hurt. My penis shrinks into itself, just like it did growing up when my brothers all decided they were going to use my crotch for batting practice.
“She brought it up, called me Cowboy.” Like it hadn’t even fazed her.
“I like this woman already. Listen, fuckwit, you’re going to just have to get over it. This is your absolute final chance with Papa, and you only got it because for some unknown reason, you’re Mama’s favorite little guy. So suck it up and go to work. Now get. I have real grown-up work to do. And go get your mild-mannered cock tested for all the things.”
There’s no denying that Enzo made a good argument. Caitlyn was quite blasé about what she’d seen. And our relationship is purely business. This doesn’t have to be a problem. It’s fine, we’ll be fine. So she’s seen my cock. It’s probably all over the internet by now, anyway. Just like the last time.
I picture her in that oversized T-shirt she’d been wearing this morning and the way she’d looked at me when I stood up. My gut does a little roll. Those wild, frizzy curls and that accent.
No. We’ll keep things purely professional and it’ll stay that way. I don’t need to rock the boat right now. I need the magazine because I need my allowance. Replacement flooring, especially the good stuff, doesn’t pay for itself.
I head back down to my truck and my phone rings, La Cucaracha. “Yes, Ted.”
“Hank, it’s Ted.” Hi, Ted. “Are you back from Europe?”
“Yup.”
“Great, I need a hand this afternoon and you’re the only person who can help.”
Half an hour later, I’m standing on his doorstep, toolbox in hand, waiting for my orders.
“What do you need fixing?”
“Why do you assume I need something fixing?” There’s no need to reply, I know what my friends want when they ask me for a hand. “Okay, well, it’s not anything that needs fixing, exactly. I need your help assembling some furniture. Turns out I don’t own a screwdriver, or understand instructions.”
Ted and Claire are probably the only ones out of our little gang of friends who have already turned into grownups. Proper jobs, well for Ted anyway, a junior partner in his father’s law firm, marriage and now a baby on the way. Their house is much like the ones we all grew up in, except fewer bedrooms. They’re the only ones with a full-time staff too. It’s like the guy who used to get drunk and jerk around with me and the guy is now morphing into his dad.
He takes me up to the nursery; identical pieces of wood are strewn around the room. “Did you … did you take everything out of the box?” Why would he do that? Why?
“Claire said I have to put together the crib, and something called a changing station, so that I bond with the baby and acknowledge that I’m going to be a father. I love my wife don’t get me wrong, she’s my everything, but she looks like the size of a house and I haven’t slept in two weeks because of the snoring, it’s like an allergic elephant and she is mean, Hank, real mean. But sure, building furniture is going to make me feel like a dad.”
Obviously fatherhood wasn’t going swimmingly for Ted. I thank my lucky stars that I didn’t do anything stupid in that airplane bathroom last night. Instinctively, I grab hold of my wallet. Why then, if I’m so sure of my innocence, do I have a sinking feeling I’d been checking for condoms in it?
“Give me the instructions. I’m assuming I have to get this done quietly and without telling anybody.” I wink at him. My friends and I have spent our lives getting each other out of trouble, especially when it came to girlfriends.
The four musketeers. Ted, Jonny, Chad and me. The rich kids in a world where nobody has less than at least a few million in the bank. Except me. Apart from my allowance, my inheritance is gone. A billionaire by association.
He nods nervously and rubs his hands together. “She must never know, Hank, she must never know.”
After a good hour of assemblage and a few extra nuts and bolts from my stock to secure everything tightly, we had a nursery all set up and ready to welcome Ted and Claire’s baby. We decide to celebrate with a beer on the terrace. Well, it’s only fair I should receive some compensation.
“So have you met your new Editor-in-chief yet?”
“Oh yeah, we’ve met.” Ted loves a good story, especially one involving me being high and naked.
He
’s not disappointed by my tale of drunken hijinks, ten thousand feet up. “Leo’s a dick.”
“Yup.” My second oldest brother is a drunk and a womanizer, on his third wife and probably already sleeping with the fourth. He is also second in command, after Enzo, both in and out of the job. Not counting my father, of course, the supreme leader of everyone.
“So what’s she like this Caitlyn?” He raises his eyebrows.
Does he want her credentials or her bra size? “You mean, is she hot?”
“No.” He laughs nervously. “Yes, of course I do. I’m a married man now; I have to live vicariously through my single friends and their disastrous love lives.”
“Yeah, maybe. She’s a colleague; you know I don’t want to think of her like that.” If I say it enough times, to enough people it will be true. As long as she never stares at my body like she was doing this morning or calls me cowboy with that accent again.
“You. Hank Baresi. The man who famously once announced that he only dated models doesn’t want to objectify women?”
“She comes highly recommended, top of her class at college. Degree in journalism, masters in photography. I need her on my side. I’m not going to fuck it up by sleeping with her.”
“Plus, she’s already seen your dick.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Why has everyone got in in for my dick today?.
“The number of women you’ve slept with it’s probably worn down and covered in pustules.” I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works. You can’t wear down a penis. Can you?
“I haven’t slept with that many women.”
“Hank, you know that Jason Derulo song about women in every country. That’s you man, he wrote that song about you.”
Ted’s obviously jealous; he’s only ever known Claire, in the biblical sense. I choose not to rise to any more remarks about my penis or my sex-life today. “I’m well-traveled.”
The Billionaire & the Princess Page 2
