The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy

by Kingsley, Claire

  I showered off the effects of Inda’s torture and dressed, feeling like I might be missing something. It was Sunday, so I didn’t have any meetings. I’d worked out. Was there something else on my calendar?

  With an unflattering squeak, I dove for my phone and swiped to my calendar. There it was, on my schedule for ten thirty. I couldn’t believe it had slipped my mind, but at least I wasn’t late. I never missed Drag Queen Brunch. And this time, I had a lot to talk about.

  I paused with my phone still in my hand and stared out the window. DQB was at Mordecai’s Bistro, over on Las Palomas Boulevard. Not here in Bluewater. Certainly not in my house. Which meant I was supposed to bring Jude.

  DQB was girl time. Sacred. It was when we shared the good, the bad, and the ugly of our lives. Asked for advice or gave it. Dished about dates and told each other the truths we kept from the outside world.

  How could I do that if Jude was standing ten feet away? Especially when he was one of the things I was desperate to talk to my friends about?

  Although the queens would have an absolute field day with him. That was tempting.

  Before last night, I probably would have gone without him. Taken it off my calendar so he’d think it was canceled, then left my phone behind so if he checked up on me with his GPS tracker, he’d think I was home.

  But last night had happened. And although we didn’t have proof that I’d been the target of that black SUV, I wasn’t stupid or childish enough to risk my safety by going alone.

  With a heavy sigh, I texted Jude.

  17

  Cameron

  I’d been worried that seeing Jude today would be awkward, and sure enough, it was. For me. Not him. He showed no signs of discomfort. He was his usual slightly aloof, professional self.

  He didn’t arrive on his motorcycle—which I decided was good—and I took him up on his offer to drive. I sat next to him in his SUV, hands folded in my lap. I’d opted for a custom-tailored lilac blouse and high-waisted slacks. Oversize sunglasses and lavender stilettos were my nod to the fabulousness that was DQB. I dressed like a CEO whenever I went out in public, regardless of the day of the week. That was my image. Sleek. Smart. In control.

  Not that I was feeling any of those things today. But I was hoping the clothes would help.

  I walked into Mordecai’s just behind Jude and spotted my friends at our regular horseshoe-shaped booth at the back. As usual, the place was busy, the noisy hum of dozens of conversations filling the air.

  Crimson Delilah, a queen rocking an Ariel-red wig, zebra stripe pantsuit, and lace-up platform boots was at the front. Her heavily mascaraed eyes widened when they landed on Jude.

  He gave her a short nod, then gave me his I need to check the place out look.

  “Darling, who is this big tall hunk you brought with you?” Crimson Delilah asked, appraising Jude with open appreciation.

  “He’s security,” I said.

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked with an arch of her perfectly microbladed eyebrow.

  “He just needs to take a quick look around. It’s what he does.”

  “Be my guest,” she said to Jude with a flourish, then turned back to me. “Have fun, my little ginger. The girls are already back there.”

  “Thanks.”

  Instead of waiting for Jude to decide Mordecai’s was safe enough for me to take my seat, I beelined for the back and slid into the booth next to Luna. I swiped off my sunglasses and started talking fast.

  “I really need to talk to you but I have to make this fast and I know how crazy this is going to sound but I was almost hit by a car last night and that isn’t my biggest problem, so can we get that out of the way and just say it happened and I didn’t get hurt and I realize it’s insane that I’m more concerned about something else when I might have been the target of a hit and run attempt less than twenty-four hours ago but I can’t help it.”

  I took a deep breath and smoothed my features, restoring my calm and collected façade while Jude got closer. My friends stared at me in silence. Luna’s eyes were wide, and I could practically see her about to tell me to tune into my breath. Emily’s eyebrows lifted and she slowly set her bloody Mary back on the table.

  Daisy’s face scrunched into an expression of unconcealed confusion. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Tracking Jude’s movement from the corner of my eye, I mentally calculated the distance between us multiplied by the approximate decibel level. My spine stayed stick straight, my hands folded, until I was reasonably sure he wouldn’t hear me.

  I leaned forward and splayed my hands on the table, my voice low as the words once again tumbled out in a rush. “I ran into Aldrich and Jude saved me from being hit by a car and before he left last night he kissed me on the forehead and I don’t know what it means and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind.”

  So much for time spent tinkering and a good workout for calming me down. I felt like I was falling apart.

  Jude came closer, finishing his sweep of the restaurant. I straightened my back and smoothed my hair.

  My friends kept staring at me while Lady Raquel came over to our table. She was our favorite server here at Mordecai’s. Today’s look included a bright pink wig and long pink dress trimmed with fluffy white feathers.

  “Bloody Mary or mimosa for you, honey?” she asked. “And tell me about the blush you’re wearing, because your face is all kinds of sexy pink.”

  Jude paused next to our booth and everyone’s faces slowly turned toward him. He gave me his everything looks good nod. “Ladies.”

  “Mercy,” Lady Raquel said, watching him walk to the front of the restaurant where he took up a position against the wall.

  “He’s security,” I said lamely.

  “Is he, now? How about I bring you one of each.” Lady Raquel swept away, her feathery dress swishing.

  I opened my mouth, another round of verbal vomit already racing its way up my throat, but Luna laid a gentle hand on my arm.

  “Slow down,” she said. “Maybe breathe first.”

  “Can we go back to the part about the hit and run?” Emily asked.

  “I’m kind of fixated on the forehead kiss right now,” Daisy said. “Although I really want to know if you punched Aldrich when you saw him. Or did you let Jude punch him?”

  I took Luna’s advice and breathed deeply before trying to speak again. “There was no punching. I didn’t want to confront him about the you-know-what in public.”

  “And what about the hit and run?” Luna asked gently.

  “We were outside Wynwood Walls and an SUV swerved onto the sidewalk. Jude got me out of the way. The SUV hit a parked car, then drove off. It was probably just a shitty driver.”

  “But maybe it wasn’t,” Emily said.

  I nodded in acknowledgment. “Maybe it wasn’t. And I know that represents a giant problem in my life and it’s what I should be concentrating on.”

  “But the forehead kiss,” Daisy said, her eyes flicking toward Jude. “Why forehead kiss? What’s that about?”

  Emily and Luna glanced in Jude’s direction.

  “Stop looking at him,” I hissed, and their gazes snapped back to me. I took another breath. “He took me home afterward and we talked a little. Before he left, he asked if I was sure I was okay, and he kissed my forehead.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Luna said.

  “It felt like a pity kiss,” I said miserably.

  Lady Raquel brought my two drinks and set them in front of me.

  “And you wanted him to rip your clothes off and destroy your body in an adrenaline-fueled lust fest,” Daisy said.

  “Of course not.” I was such a liar. “That would have been completely unprofessional.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “Do you want to know what your problem is?”

  I actually did, and I knew my attempts to maintain my composed image in between letting my crazy out weren’t doing me any favors. “What?”

 
“You’re too worried about professionalism,” Daisy said. “If you want the man to fuck your brains out, start by fucking his brains out and I’m sure he’ll happily return the favor.”

  “That’s terrible advice,” I said.

  “This isn’t just about sex, is it?” Luna asked. “You like him.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear, opted for the bloody Mary, and took a sip. Could I admit it out loud? Even to them?

  And I was still mentally berating myself for letting this get to me in the midst of my other problems.

  A female voice carried over from the booth next to us. “How are we feeling about butt stuff lately?”

  I gasped. The one thing in the world that could distract me from my current emotional turmoil was the second reason my friends and I loved coming to Mordecai’s. The first was, of course, the best drag queens in the business, coupled with a fabulous bloody Mary and great brunch menu.

  The second was seated in the booth next to us. Our weird obsession. The romance novelists.

  They were a group of four women who met here regularly to discuss their work. Sometimes they typed away on laptops while sipping coffee or cocktails. Other times they chatted about characters, plot points, tropes, and twists. From the time we’d realized who they were we’d started devouring their books and eavesdropping on their conversations, eager for a hint of what was to come for our favorite characters.

  I’d been so caught up in my own internal drama, I hadn’t even noticed they were next to us.

  “I’m always down for butt stuff,” one of the ladies said in an excited voice more than slightly too loud for the conversation topic.

  “Just watch the hands,” another one said. “If his fingers are involved, make sure they don’t wind up on her face or in her mouth. Also, does anyone need more coffee? Because I do.”

  “Me, always,” the enthusiastic one said. “And hard yes to watching the hands.”

  Daisy’s face lit up with excitement and she mouthed, One of them is writing anal.

  I stifled a laugh, but felt a little better. We were ridiculous. Four of the wealthiest women in the country—CEO, goal-getter, stiletto-wearing badasses—who also loved to hang on every word while four authors discussed their craft, and giggle at discussions of kinky sex in fiction.

  “I’m just not sure if it fits,” the first one said. “And as often as my kids make poop jokes, I don’t know if I can make anything with butts sexy.”

  “If the story needs an edge, you can always take their sexytimes outdoors,” the fourth woman said. “I wrote sex in a garden shed once. Readers loved it.”

  “Outside. That’s not a bad idea.”

  “Oh my god you guys I think I just deleted my entire book. No, wait. False alarm. It’s here. But has anyone seen my phone?”

  “It’s next to your drink.”

  “I should probably switch to water.”

  “Okay, ladies, are we ready to sprint? We have word counts to meet.”

  “Twenty-five minutes on the clock. Go.”

  “Damn, nothing about Salvio,” Daisy said. “I was hoping they’d drop some hints about his next book.”

  “Sorry, Cam,” Luna said. “You were saying?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just not sure what I’m feeling right now. Or what I’m supposed to be feeling. I kind of thought there might be a little something there, but he’s my bodyguard. And I don’t know if he feels anything, or if he’s just doing his job. And I shouldn’t be feeling anything anyway.”

  “Was there just a forehead kiss?” Daisy asked, her eyes narrowing. “Or was there touching?”

  “There was touching.” Unconsciously I brushed my cheek with my fingers. “He touched my face. And kissed my temple, too.”

  “Well, that changes everything,” Emily said.

  “It does? Why?”

  Emily leaned closer. “A forehead kiss and a temple kiss are totally different.”

  “That’s true,” Luna said, nodding excitedly. “A forehead kiss is nurturing and protective. It can still be sexy, but if you’re not sure about his intentions, it can be difficult to interpret.”

  “A temple kiss, though, that’s a little more romantic,” Emily said. “Especially if he was touching your face.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. I’m probably just having a delayed reaction to last night’s trauma.”

  I risked a quick glance at him. He’d melted into the background, somehow inconspicuous despite being as tall as the queens in platform heels.

  A romantic gesture? Had it been? I wasn’t entirely sure if Jude even liked me all that much. We got along fine, but was there something else there?

  Was that what I wanted?

  I wasn’t sure about that, either.

  18

  Jude

  On the surface, things were business as usual with Cameron. Her schedule had been jam-packed with meetings, conference calls, and debriefings from her R&D staff. She went in early and stayed late. Went straight home after work and stayed there.

  I could see what she was doing. Her guardedness couldn’t hide the fact that the hit and run had rattled her. She felt out of control, and I had a very strong feeling that when Cameron Whitbury felt out of control, she dove into the things she could control.

  Specifically work.

  By Thursday, Brandy was giving me worried looks. Friday I heard Cameron tell Brandy to make sure her schedule was clear for the weekend. She had too much work to do.

  Her demeanor was calm and collected. Her voice steady on phone calls and in her many meetings. The only outward sign that Cameron was struggling was her shoe choice. She’d been playing it safe, wearing simple black or nude heels every day.

  If she’d been feeling confident, or letting her subtle rebellious streak out, she’d have been wearing something flashier on her feet. I’d already figured out that her shoes matched her mood.

  I was also pretty sure I shouldn’t have kissed her after the hit and run.

  It hadn’t been a real kiss. I hadn’t gone anywhere near her mouth. But I felt like I’d crossed a line with her and now she was making it abundantly clear where we stood. Keeping me at a distance so I wouldn’t get too close—wouldn’t get too familiar.

  It fucking sucked.

  So while she spent the week buried in her job, I spent the week sticking to mine.

  Friday I accompanied her home. She said she’d see me Monday.

  That sucked too.

  Two days without her. I wasn’t sure how I’d let things get to this point, but the thought of having to wait until Monday to see her again made me feel like shit. Was this what I’d been reduced to? Pining for the company of my client—a woman who clearly had no interest in me beyond our professional relationship?

  The air felt particularly heavy tonight and distant peals of thunder rumbled offshore. After seeing Cameron off, I stopped for takeout, then went home.

  My food smelled good, but I set it aside while I did a quick Cameron check. Not that I needed to. I hadn’t been gone very long, and she never left Bluewater without me. But I did it anyway. It looked like she was next door, at her friend Luna’s house.

  That was good. I liked that she wasn’t alone.

  I settled in with my food and turned on my secret guilty pleasure, The Great British Baking Show. There was a simplicity to it that I liked. No drama or backstabbing. Just amateur bakers engaging in good-natured competition.

  Maybe I liked it because the show had an air of normalcy to it. They were just ordinary people—talented people, certainly, but average citizens. They had regular jobs, regular homes, regular families. Even though it was a competition, there was a peacefulness to it that made it relaxing to watch.

  Two episodes in—what an exciting life I led—my phone dinged with a text. I scrambled to check it in case it was Cameron, although I didn’t know why she’d text me on a Friday evening when she didn’t have anything on her schedule until Monday.

  Derek: Found
something new on the ex. Check your email.

  Me: Thanks.

  I opened Derek’s email. My eyes narrowed at his brief explanation. He’d sent an attachment with more details. It would be easier to read on my laptop, but right when I got up to get it out, my phone rang in my hand.

  This time it was Cameron. My danger instinct went crazy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jude? Someone was in my house.”

  I was already grabbing my keys. “Where are you?”

  “In my bedroom. They were in here, Jude. In my room.”

  The fear in her voice made everything come into sharp focus. Lightning flashed outside and thunder cracked.

  “Stay calm. Do you think they’re still in the house?”

  “I don’t think so. I had dinner at Luna’s and when I came home, I felt weird. I can’t explain it. So I looked around, checked all the rooms. I didn’t see anyone. But then I came in here.”

  “Where are Nicholas and Inda?”

  “Out somewhere. Date night.”

  “Did you call enclave security?”

  “No, I called you first.”

  A swell of emotion hit me in the chest. She’d called me first. “Okay, good. Call them. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay. Hurry.”

  I shoved on a pair of boots, grabbed my helmet, and rushed outside into the pouring rain. My bike engine roared to life and the tires screeched on the wet pavement as I gunned it out of there.

  My shirt was soaked before I’d gone the first mile—my SUV would have been a better choice in the rain—but I didn’t give a shit. The bike was faster, and all that mattered was getting to Cameron.

  I paused at the gate to the Bluewater enclave while security waved me through. Then I tore down the empty tree-lined road, crossed the bridge over the canal, and raced to her house.

  I came as close to dumping my bike as I ever had when I skidded to a stop next to a Bluewater security vehicle. It was still pouring, the heavy rain making her entire driveway an enormous puddle. I pushed down the kickstand, pulled off my helmet, and Cameron’s front door flew open.