Autumn Rolls a Seven (Billionaire Baby Club Book 2)

by Jasinda Wilder

  Laurel spluttered. “Wait, what?”

  I quickly related the list and the whole conversation with his assistant, secretary, or whatever, and everyone was suitably disgusted, horrified, appalled, and outraged.

  “So, Chateau Marmont,” I started again.

  “Ooh, that place is killer,” Kat said. “Super swanky.”

  “No kidding.” I waved a hand. “Under other circumstances, or with someone else, I’d have been all about it. I got Charles to tell me what he was looking for, what he wanted, and mentioned the Harriet estate. Again I repeat, I was sipping. Maybe four sips, total, maybe. And I was just feeling…off. Like I’d slammed a dozen shots in a row. Woozy, spinny, seeing double, off-kilter, everything. From two glasses over two hours, with a lot of water, and then less than a quarter glass of wine? No way. I wanted to go home. He was trying to get me to go up to his room.” I closed my eyes and tried to remember. “It’s hard to recall much past coming out of the bathroom. It’s all dark, like…not a blur, not blackout, just…fuzzy. Faint. I didn’t know what was going on, I just knew I didn’t want to be with him. And then suddenly Seven was there. I heard his voice and I knew it was him, and he just…saved me. After that, it’s black. Nothing. Just waking up in that bed.”

  “That sounds like a drug for sure,” Teddy said. “Oooh, that bastard.”

  “Guys like him, they figure they can do whatever they want,” Laurel said. “Maybe he’s a sicko, like he gets off on raping unconscious girls, and figures he can drug them and rape them and get away with it. A certain disgraced comedian comes to mind. He’s probably gotten away with it for years. He probably has an arrangement with somebody to put the drug into the drink without anyone else knowing, so it can’t be traced directly to him.”

  “That’s what Seven said.” I shrugged. “I dunno. He didn’t like the idea of it being someone on staff, because that place is super swanky, like the hangout for celebs and all that, and why would anyone who works there risk something like that? But when you’re talking a whale as rich and powerful as our boy Chuck? Rules get bent, I guess.”

  Laurel held me by the arms. “Okay, well, I’m glad Seven was there to save you.”

  “Me too.”

  “But I have to know.”

  I sighed a laugh. “Yes, Laurel. His cock is every bit as magnificent as the rest of him.”

  She turned away, bent to brace against a nearby desk. “You’re one of my best friends, Autumn. I swear, girl, I love you to pieces. But right now, I kind of hate you.”

  “Would it help if I lied and said he had a micropenis and was terrible at cunnilingus, and that his cum strongly resembled old mushy banana?”

  She gagged. “Ew, Autumn, what the fuck? Old…mushy…banana. God, I’m gonna be sick.” She straightened, breathing slowly through her nose. “No, that doesn’t help, because I know it’s a lie. I’d rather be jealous that you experienced the truth of his glory.”

  I laughed. “It was pretty glorious.”

  “His cock, the orgasms, what? I need more details. Can you draw his penis for me? Or, wait, I know, we can find a porn star with a dick that’s close. For research purposes.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “I NEED TO KNOW MORE.”

  I threw her hands off. “Laurel, god, I had no idea you had such a hard-on for Seven St. John.”

  She hissed. “It’s been my little secret for years.” She pulled her laptop out of her bag, held it open in one palm and navigated the cursor with the other; she went into her files and opened up a folder with a banal, generic title, which proved to be full of photos of Seven, mostly from magazines and tabloids.

  She clicked one photo and maximized it to full size—it was Seven in the ring, after a win, dripping sweat, shredded to fighting weight, fists raised over his head as his opponent lay KO’d at his feet. Seven had his mouth guard half out, clenched between his molars, a triumphant, primal grin on his face.

  “I would give anything to see this man naked. Why him, I don’t know. He’s just…” She shuddered, making a hissing noise. “Yeah. I was at this fight. I took this photo with my phone.”

  I eyed her. “You…were at a boxing match?”

  She shrugged innocently. “A friend’s dad had front row seats, but business had him in Tokyo that night, so he gave the tickets to my friend, and she brought me. She’s engaged to a UFC fighter, and she goes to matches all the time. She assured me I would have the time of my life. And god, I did. It was gross, but fascinating. And the boxers are yummy.”

  “I just can’t see you at a boxing match,” I said. “Honestly, I always assumed you were the faint at the sight of blood type.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That would be pretty problematic one week a month, wouldn’t it? No, I don’t faint at the sight of blood. I’m not that much of a diva.”

  Lizzy just snorted. “Yeah, babe, you are.”

  I took the laptop from her and clicked through her photos of Seven. “I can’t believe you have a secret folder of pictures of him. That’s kinda creepy.”

  “He’s my secret celebrity crush, okay?” She seemed oddly embarrassed. Usually, she just owned whatever it was that would normally embarrass anyone else. “So, if you don’t end up with him, can we set aside girl code and let me get a shot at him? I just want one night. That’s it.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The idea of Laurel in bed with Seven made something unpleasant skitter across my insides, and I didn’t like the sensation or what it boded for my future feelings.

  Unfortunately, Laurel was plenty observant. “You like him.”

  I made my features carefully blank. “I do not.”

  She just sighed, making a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “It’s okay. You can have him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks, Laurel.”

  She took the laptop back, hesitated a moment, selected all the photos in the file except then one she’d taken, Air Dropped them to me, and then deleted them off of her laptop. “I’m keeping the one I took as a reminder.”

  “Laurel, it’s not even like that—”

  She smiled at me. “Yes, it is. I can tell.” She patted me on the cheek. “I’ll find a new celebrity crush. It would be weird if I continued to masturbate to fantasies of my best friend’s boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, but if he was, that would be weird.”

  She seemed…serious. And Laurel was rarely serious. She kept things light, funny, effervescent, and inappropriate. “Just do one thing for me. Okay?”

  I knew better than to agree outright without knowing what she was about to say. “Um, what would that be?”

  “Give him a big, wet, slow, sloppy blowjob, and tell him it’s for me.”

  “That is…weird.”

  She sighed. “I was gonna say beg him to fuck you doggy style, but I thought that might be too much. So I settled for the blowjob.”

  “Funny, I settled for a blowjob this morning, myself,” I said, laughing. “He was on a break from sex and didn’t have any condoms. So we were stuck messing around.”

  “On a break from sex? How is even that hot?” Laurel bit her lip. “Was he rough, or gentle? I see him being rough, but just rough enough to be hot, not rough enough to be problematic.”

  I was getting a little uncomfortable, at this point. “Um. You’re…not wrong.”

  “I knew it. I fucking knew it.” She sighed deeply, closed her laptop. “I bet he’s the kind of guy you don’t mind blowing. Like, he’s so hot and gets so into it, and his cock is so beautiful and perfect that you just…actually like it.” She sighed yet again. “Did you like it?

  I struggled with an answer. “Laurel, you’re not being funny, are you?”

  “Not a bit. I’ve never met him, and I never expected to. It really was just a…celebrity crush. But then you meet him, you get to do all the things…” She shrugged. “It’s a funny old world.”

  “Is it going to be weird? If it’s weird, I’ll cut things off.”

&nbs
p; She pointed a finger at me, suddenly explosive. “You will not! You will enjoy the shit out of every second you get with him, especially if he’s a halfway decent guy. And no, don’t tell me. I’d rather assume he’s an asshole, but if he rescued you and brought you home and took care of you, and didn’t take advantage of you when you were drunk, then clearly he’s a decent guy.” She was nose to nose with me, not a hint of humor in her expression. “You will enjoy him. For me. And it won’t be weird, because I’ll find someone else to be borderline obsessed with.” She smiled at me then, and was it me, or was the smile the tiniest bit sad? “I take that back. Not for me, for you. I know you have stuff you don’t talk about, and that’s fine. We all love you anyway. But you deserve to be happy. So be happy with this guy.”

  Lizzy and Kat, who knew Laurel the best of all of us, were staring at Laurel as if she’d grown a second head.

  “Laurel, have you been drinking?” Lizzy asked. “No judgment if you have.”

  Laurel gave her a side-eye glare and a middle finger. “Here I am, giving you a rare glimpse of the beating heart beneath the ice, and you ask if I’m drinking?”

  Lizzy held her hands up, palms out. “I’m sorry, Laurel. I just wasn’t sure what I was seeing.”

  Laurel glanced at the enormous vintage wall clock that was the centerpiece of the office decor. “Shit, I have a showing to get to.” She went to the mirror, adjusted her hair, touched up her makeup, and let out a breath. Her eyes went to me. “Appreciate this, Autumn. If he has a heart and a personality to match his looks, you’ve got yourself a unicorn. And if you catch yourself a unicorn, you don’t let it get away. You hold on to that magic for dear life.”

  She hooked her Birkin over her elbow and left, giving a finger wiggle wave over her shoulder on the way.

  “Hidden depths from Laurel McGillis,” Kat said. “Who knew?”

  “She’s not shallow,” Lizzy said, gazing thoughtfully in the direction of the door. “She just hides it well.”

  “Why would you want to hide that?” Teddy asked.

  “You’ve never met her mother or father,” Kat answered. “She was raised like a princess. Coddled, pampered, served, given everything you could ask for…except love and affection. She grew up with the children of stars, went to private European academies with literal royalty. Vapidity and shallowness were sort of…de rigeur, you might say. It was easier to pretend to be like everyone else than to stand out as different. No one expects someone who grew up like her to have anything like actual depth, much less emotional sophistication. So she hides it. I think it’s also some kind of protection from people expecting things of her.”

  Lizzy’s phone chimed, and she checked it. “Autumn, we have work to do. The owners accepted the offer.”

  We were busy then, Lizzy and I, setting up the purchase agreement and closing dates and everything. My mind was focused on the task at hand, but of course, under the surface, wheels were spinning.

  Seven of them, you might say.

  8

  Saturday, eight in the morning. Sacred time. No alarms, don’t call me, I’m not working out, I’m not meeting you for breakfast. I’m sleeping in, eating a bagel slathered with cream cheese, and drinking a whole pot of coffee by myself. Watching stupid reality TV shows I’ve saved all week.

  Except, my phone rang. I ignored it, rolled over, go back to sleep. It ranf again, and I groaned. Fumbled for it on my nightstand.

  I perked up when I saw the ID of the caller: 7; yes, I have him saved in my phone as the numeral.

  I cleared my throat, wiped sleep crusties out of my eyes. Because did I mention he was FaceTiming me? Lay down, fluffed my hair just so.

  I answered. “Hey.”

  He was outside; in a car, it looked like. Something convertible. He had classic black Ray-Bans on, a black ball cap on backward, a tuft of hair peeking through the snapback opening. “Rise and shine, morning glory. We’ve got a date.”

  I did my best to look as annoyed as I would be if he were anyone else waking me up on a Saturday morning. “It’s eight o’clock in the morning. On Saturday.”

  “I’ve been up for two and a half hours already.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yippee for you. God, you aren’t one of those people are you? Get up at the perforated colon of dawn every single goddamn day, acting all chipper and joyful and yammering on about how much you’ve already accomplished with your fucking day.”

  He chuckled, a gravelly rumble. “No. I’ve just habitually gotten up at five thirty since I was in high school. That was the only time I could get to the gym to work the bag, because I had wrestling, football, or track after school. Wake up at the same time every day for long enough, and the body just does it on its own. Put me in a hammock on the beach on a deserted island, I’ll still wake up at five thirty.”

  “I mourn for you.”

  He laughed outright at that. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t know what I’m missing, though, since I’ve literally never slept in.”

  “Never? Not once?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, not really. I may not always get out of bed at five thirty, but I’m awake.”

  “That’s really sad.” I heard myself talking but I had zero influence over what was coming out of my mouth. “I’ll teach you how to sleep in.”

  “And I’ll teach you how to enjoy rising early.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Is this where you say better men than me have tried and failed?”

  I snorted. “If there’s a better man than you, Seven St. John, I haven’t met him.”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “I’m trying to figure out how to take that. Either you’re being sarcastic and that’s an insult, or you genuinely haven’t met anyone better than me, in which case…damn girl, you need to get out more because most people I’ve met classify me as a grade-A asshole, or…possible but least likely, you mean it and I’m just not sure how to take it.”

  “I, um.” Damn this runaway mouth of mine. “The honest answer is, I mean it. I think you put up a front for most people, but it’s not really you.”

  He grinned. “I guess I like that option. In that case, thank you, Autumn.” He pulled his hat off, scraped a hand over his hair, replaced the hat. “So, how long until you’re ready?”

  “Wait, what? What do you mean, ready?”

  He flipped the camera to front-facing, revealing that he was in a parking spot outside my building, feet up on the open window of whatever car he was driving. It looked like a truck of some kind, a vintage one. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell what it was. “I mean, how long until you’re ready?” He lifted a cardboard box. “I have enough coffee here for twenty people, and, because it’s my cheat day…” He showed a box of donuts. “Breakfast.”

  I groaned. “I haven’t had a real donut in weeks. Months, maybe.”

  He flicked open the box, made a show of selecting one, a bear claw. Rotated the camera again and took a huge bite. “Well…come and get one.”

  I sighed. “I could use a shower. My hair is a mess. I’d need makeup. You’re looking at twenty minutes at best.”

  He mused. “Not gonna work for me. I’m very impatient, you see. So how about you skip the shower and makeup? It’s just you and me, and…” He lifted the phone to show the back seat, and a huge wicker basket thereon, “a picnic. So ride dirty. Put your hair in one of those sexy messy buns, throw on some yoga pants and a T-shirt, and get your fine ass down here, hot stuff.”

  I stared at him. “Are you for real?”

  “I always for real, Autumn.”

  “You want to go on a picnic date with me all scrubby?”

  “Hell yeah. I’m here for the real deal you, Autumn. I don’t need fancy dresses and elaborate makeup to think you’re the hottest thing to walk this planet since…ever.”

  I sighed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would.”

  “Then you’re nuts.”

  He just shrugged, as if to say so what?

  I laughed.
“Okay, fine. But when I look like a hobo, just remember you asked for it.”

  He smirked. “Maybe I’m into hobos.”

  I huffed. “Well, then, I better not introduce you to my mother, or you might dump me for her.” Boy, my mouth was really on a roll. Bringing up my mother? What the fuck was wrong with me?

  He didn’t quite laugh at that, perhaps sensing or hearing the patina of bitterness. “Just get down here before I eat all the donuts.”

  I ended the call with him and rolled out of bed. I opted for a quick ho bath of the ol’ undercarriage and armpits because I could ride dirty without necessarily riding stanky, put on deodorant, dragged a brush through my hair and put it in a ponytail and pulled the pony through the back of a hat, a denim ball cap bedazzled to within an inch of its life. I categorically refused to wear yoga pants in public unless I was at the gym, so I stuffed, squished, and jumped my way into legging-tight jeans, shrugged into a tight green muscle shirt-style tank top—braless, for his benefit. I switched my stuff from my expensive purse to a more worn and loved cinch-top sack purse. Some comfortable sandals, my sunglasses, and I was ready in record time.

  I snapped a selfie and sent it to Zoe. Picnic date with Seven. Haven’t showered, no makeup, no bra, and it’s 8:15 on a Saturday morning. WHO EVEN AM I RIGHT NOW?

  She responded nearly instantly, as I was waiting for the elevator. IDK, but I’m equal parts worried and excited. You look HOT! Go get him, girl!