Lost (Bad Boys with Billions Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Clue or bait taken—I couldn’t be sure which. Regardless, I’d steered the topic away from my early years, which was just where I’d like to keep it. “None with our accuracy, plus our satellite technology allows users to see real-time cloud images from anywhere on the globe, from virtually any elevation—users can even watch the aurora borealis live.”

  “Remarkable.”

  For another thirty minutes, I patiently—even enthusiastically—answered all questions save for those focused on personal matters. When she had the balls to come right out and ask if I was seeing anyone, I ended our conversation.

  With the reporter gone, I grew bored with TV, and I’d already spent the bulk of my day web-surfing. I was antsy to get home. Worse, I needed to know if Ella was coming with me. I suppose I could have returned to her apartment for an answer, but she’d already taken way more than her fair allotment of my pride. Women came to me—not the other way around. I’d offered a handful of other contracts, but only after those ladies had indicated a desire to spend more time with me and I’d been amenable. What went down with Ella was different. In every conceivable way. She was different. Being with her was a lucid dream from which I couldn’t—didn’t want to—wake.

  Burdened by the excess energy that comes along with wanting something I was unsure I’d obtain, I grabbed my key card, then headed outside for a jog. It wasn’t the best of neighborhoods, but darkness’s cloak made me feel secure. Besides, the reporter’s article wouldn’t even hit the paper till morning, meaning I was incognito till then—especially since the jet had been tucked into a hangar.

  The sky had finally cleared and the temp was for once above freezing.

  I ran until hitting a small roadside park, where I crashed on top of a concrete picnic table. The trees’ bare branches formed a network of veins etched across the starry night sky. My own veins were exposed and raw from my attraction to Ella—attraction, hell. More like obsession.

  The deal I’d offered her was insane. If she took it to the press, the tabloids would have a field day. I could all too clearly see the headline: Billionaire Buys Bimbo.

  Only, even if Ella did decide to accompany me home, I knew better than to try to keep her forever. The example of marriage I’d seen was far from the idyllic notion Hallmark presented.

  But what did it matter? Judging by her initial reaction to my offer, she wouldn’t even be at the airport in the morning. But if she was . . .

  I smiled.

  Ella

  While Nathan and Willow played quarters on my kitchen counter, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out what had inspired Liam to want me to the tune of eighty grand—nearly eighty-three grand if I counted the way he’d made it rain money.

  My goal for the past ten months had always been to move on, to get as far away from Blaine as I could afford. Now that this opportunity had presented itself, I’d be a fool not to go, right? On the flip side, what kind of person did it make me that I was even considering prostituting myself?

  But to be fair, was it turning a trick if just last night I’d have given anything for Liam to be inside me? Maybe my true problem with this whole scenario wasn’t so much my distaste over the label Liam’s money placed on our arrangement, but something deeper. Maybe what really bothered me was his assurance that the two of us would never share more of an emotional bond than we currently did.

  His kisses had brought roaring back to life the old Ella who still believed in fairy tales. Had I been successful in tamping out the tattered remnants of her?

  Peering into my world-weary gaze, I thought so. I looked as dead as ever. Felt plenty dead, too. Yes, for the shining few moments Liam had held me, kissed me, made me breathless with longing, the old Ella had awakened. But in hindsight, it wasn’t so much my actions that had vanquished her, but Liam’s.

  At two in the morning, I realized that it was no fun being at a party when I was the only one sober. “You two crash here tonight,” I said to my guests. “The sofa’s a pullout.”

  “Yay! A sleepover!” Willow tried kissing Nathan, but he pushed her away.

  He looked at me. “Is there extra room in your bed?”

  Willow swatted him. “Are you crazy? Did you forget she’s selling herself first thing in the morning for a billion, trillion dollars? We have to keep her pure . . .” Though barely able to stand, she cradled her wine bottle between her boobs.

  “I’m not going,” I whispered.

  “You have to,” Nathan said. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn sadness lurked behind his tone, almost as if maybe he didn’t want me to go, but thought it for the best. “People like us don’t get these kinds of opportunities. Do you want to work at Wal-Mart the rest of your life?”

  Hugging myself, I asked, “What would be so wrong about that? It’s good, honest work. I make people smile.”

  “Yeah . . .” He stepped close enough to trace my frown. I was so tired, I didn’t have the energy to stop him. “But does that job ever make you smile?”

  Long after I’d closed myself into my room, his question haunted me.

  I tugged the sheet and comforter up to my chin and stared at the ceiling. As usual, I’d left the overhead light and the dresser lamp on, only the combination didn’t seem adequate to banish the dark from my soul. I couldn’t get warm. In fact, the only time in recent memory that I recalled not being cold was when I’d snuggled alongside Liam. That fact now poisoned me with doubt. If I went, I’d be farther from Blaine than I’d ever imagined possible. I didn’t fear Liam. The ugly truth was that despite his harsh words, if he were sleeping next to me now, I’d be pressing myself to him again.

  But that presented a problem.

  I was a dead girl, and last I’d heard, coffins didn’t come ready-made for two.

  Liam

  Monday morning at six o’clock, I showered, and then dressed in the suit I’d last worn on Friday. I tossed the jeans and plaid shirt I’d purchased from Ella’s Wal-Mart in the trash. They held nothing but bad memories. By now, I realized that if she hadn’t already, she probably wasn’t going to show.

  I’d always liked to think that everything happened for a reason. It was the only way to make sense of the chaos from my early life. But if that were the case, then why had I met Ella? Why couldn’t I get her blueberry gaze from my mind?

  Times like these were when I wished for a true friend. I had many acquaintances, but no one I could really talk to—until meeting her. Then I’d blown any chance I might have had with her by bringing up that contract. How was I supposed to know that unlike every other woman on Earth, she had an aversion to money?

  Besides, if I had been able to purchase her affection, would it cease to mean anything?

  Why did it matter so much when I wanted nothing to do with a long-term commitment?

  Christ . . . I was sick of obsessing over her, sick of this suffocating room, but most of all, sick of myself.

  In the motel diner, I ate breakfast in the same booth where we’d sat.

  I rode to the airport with the same cabbie who’d driven me to her apartment.

  And then I stepped onboard my jet feeling as if I were stepping into another world.

  The air smelled clean—like new carpet and the polished mahogany wood trim I’d custom ordered. The rich scent of fresh-baked pastries overrode the hint of jet fuel. The engines’ hum usually comforted me, as it signaled either the beginning of an anticipated trip or finally going home. Now, though, it meant failure, as the one thing I’d wanted to achieve clearly wasn’t happening.

  My team looked refreshed from their weekend at a reportedly posh Little Rock hotel, as did my three-member flight crew, who’d stayed in a nearby rented condo to supervise the work being done to the plane.

  Had I been smart, I would have stayed with them. Or hell, chartered a flight to return me to California while they took care of business. I could have spent the weekend catching up on sleep.

  “Would you like coffee or a mimosa, Mr. St
one?” My flight attendant, Stephanie, carried

  a pastry-laden silver tray to the cabin’s main table. She was six months pregnant and married to my copilot.

  “Nothing for now, thanks.” I couldn’t tell her acid indigestion was burning a hole through my gut.

  “There you are.” Luke Corbitt, my director of Special Projects, helped himself to a cream-filled Danish, then slid into his favorite window seat. “Long time, no see.”

  I shook his hand. “Did you snag that meeting with Rock-It?”

  “We did, and it’s a go, but to seal the deal, I had to promise Kate and her family a 49ers game in your suite.”

  “Good job.” Kate Lawson had designed a dance app we’d been after for a while. She used to operate out of Silicon Valley, but her mom got sick, and she’d moved home to care for her. It filled me with quiet satisfaction that we’d be able to help her carry on with her groundbreaking work.

  “The tween set’s gonna love it.” Owen Mitchell, my VP of Marketing, shook my hand as well. We’d known each other since kindergarten. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d crashed at his house when life had been too intense at mine. “Oh—and Al’s people faxed Carol his signed contracts, so we’re good to go with the WeatherVane promos just as soon as Production gets us a script.”

  “Great. Thanks.” The Al Owen referred to was Al Roker. Carol is my personal assistant. The three guys and I had been in Manhattan taking a meeting with Al while handling a few other issues on Friday. The meeting with Kate had turned out to be a happy coincidence as Luke had planned a meeting with her later that month, but was able to move it up when we’d made the emergency landing.

  My chief legal advisor, Garrett “Tank” Marsden, emerged from the bathroom looking mold green. He waved before collapsing on the built-in sofa. “Hey, boss.”

  “That must’ve been some meeting with Kate.”

  Luke snorted. “The only meeting Garrett took was with a twenty-year-old bottle of scotch and a blonde who couldn’t have been much older.” Owen and Luke high-fived.

  Garrett groaned.

  Normally, I would have joined in the chatter, but all I could think about was Ella. What had gotten into me to showboat? My whole reasoning for staying behind at the Shamrock Inn had been to hide. Just spend a few days out of the tsunami that had become my life. All I’d wanted was to hole up in that room, watching bad TV, eating bad food and enjoying my solitude. Then, I’d had to get bored and check out that bar. The rest, as they say, was history.

  “Gentlemen . . .” Having pulled up the stairs and closed the cabin door, Stephanie stood near the galley. Her pregnancy hadn’t kept her from wearing her trademark heels. “The captain asked me to tell you we’ll be taking off at eight as scheduled, so if you’ll please take your seats, I’ll let him know we’re secured for takeoff.”

  “Thanks, Steph.” The main cabin sat fourteen comfortably, so I took the aft cabin and crashed on that sofa, hoping to sleep the whole ride home. I had to raze Ella from my memory. Right now, tracing the oval window’s outline, I wondered if our whole meeting had been a dream.

  Outside, I watched as a member of the airport maintenance crew signaled us onto the runway.

  My throat knotted, but that was the extent of emotion I was willing to give the girl.

  My brief time with Ella had been torture, like being adrift, rolling up and down with her emotional waves—only occasionally, the clouds parted, making way for the sun and glassy calm. But those times had been fleeting. It was the torture I held with me now.

  We were prepped for takeoff with the pilot revving the engines when he suddenly powered down. A few minutes later, a knock sounded on my door. “Mr. Stone? May I come in?”

  “Sure.” I sat straighter. “What’s up?” Had the engine failed again?

  Beyond my open door, Luke and Owen were engrossed in a poker game and Garrett softly snored.

  Secretly wishing our sudden stop might have had something to do with Ella, I glanced out the window, only to see no signs of her chasing us down the runway as she would have had we starred in a romantic comedy.

  Stephanie knelt next to me, speaking in a discreet tone. “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Stone, but the captain said airport security just radioed him that a Ms. Ella Patton is in their lobby, claiming that she was supposed to be on this flight with you? The captain told them—”

  “Turn the plane around.” She’s here.

  Tears stung my eyes and relief shimmered through me like heat rising from blacktop on a hot summer day. As much as I’d claimed I didn’t care that she wasn’t with me, of course I did. I was no longer the sad little boy who received socks for Christmas. I got the best gift of all—Ella.

  “Please have the captain tell security to bring her aboard.”

  Ella

  I’d be lucky if I got through this without puking. My stomach was on fire.

  “Ready?” Willow asked. “You know what to say about needing me there for emotional support?”

  “Stop.” I tugged at the hem of my ratty T-shirt, wishing I’d made up my mind soon enough to have at least worn a sweater, and my lone pair of good jeans. The airport lobby wasn’t fancy, but it was a huge step up from my apartment or Wal-Mart’s break room. I’d been in the snack bar’s storeroom when I’d yawned, and then sat on a box filled with cans of nacho cheese when exhaustion took hold. More than anything in the world, at that moment, I’d just wanted to sleep the way I had that one night with Liam. Oh—I told myself this was all about the money, and getting farther away from Blaine, but my secret reality was that I craved a glimmer more of the peace Liam had provided. I craved his emerald eyes and lopsided smile. I craved the man I’d first met who’d been simple and honest and as poor as me. Even though I now knew that man had never existed, I had to find out if the rest of him did. Was the man who’d kissed me the real Liam? Or the guy who’d made cash rain? I had to know.

  I felt bad about leaving the snack bar in the lurch—especially since my regulars had been there. I’d kissed my favorite on his cheek and thanked him for all he’d done. Then we’d bolted.

  The airport security guard who’d stopped us from running out to the tarmac, and told us to stay put on the tan leather sofa, was back. “Which one of you is Ella?” I cautiously raised my hand.

  “You can come with me.”

  Willow narrowed her eyes. “What the fuck? Your name’s Julie . . .”

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “It’s not. There are things I haven’t told you, okay? Let me talk to Liam, and I’ll see if he’ll let you come, too. Just wait here, okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever.” She flung herself back down on the sofa.

  The security guard led me outside to the jet where a woman opened the door and let down a perfect mini-staircase, then Liam was stepping out to meet me. Like in the pictures Willow had found, he wore a suit, only that lock of hair that was forever falling over his left eye was back to its old tricks. It reminded me of the Liam I’d first met, who’d worn a red plaid shirt.

  That Frisbee in my belly soared.

  I smiled.

  He didn’t.

  My Frisbee clattered onto the blacktop.

  “I thought you weren’t coming.” He looked so intimidating in his suit and shiny black leather shoes—like the billionaire he was. I didn’t care. I just focused on that naughty lock of hair, and the way his cobalt-blue shirt and green-flecked tie did amazing tricks with his eyes.

  “Me, too. But . . .” I need to try kissing you again. And to see if my finally being able to sleep through the night, but only alongside you, was just a fluke. “Can we skip the business part, and just have it be you and me?”

  “No. You’ll have to sign nondisclosure forms.”

  I bowed my head and sighed. What was I doing? This whole scene wasn’t me. I’d been with a powerful man and gotten hurt—bad. I’d have lifelong scars to prove it. Did I really need to put myself through this?

  He looked past me. “Is that your friend Willo
w?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Willow pushing her way past the guard, then making a mad dash for me. “Julie! Did you ask?”

  “Ma’am!” the guard shouted. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa . . .” Liam put himself between Willow and the guard. “There’s no need for weapons. Both of these ladies are with me.”

  Breathing heavily, but smiling, Willow asked, “Does that mean I can come?” Liam covered his face with his hands and groaned.

  A big, burly guy, also wearing a suit and shiny shoes, stepped off the plane, but he stood too fast and hit his head. He appeared to mouth Fuck before rubbing the top of his head and walking our way. “Liam, is there a problem?”

  “Christ . . .” Liam turned to the man I assumed was his friend. “Garrett—meet Ms. Ella Patton and Ms. Willow. They are, ah, friends of mine who will need accommodations. If you would, work up the necessary paperwork. Ms. Patton will be classified as a contract labor employee with a starting salary of twenty K per week. Initial contract to last thirty days with an option to renew. Ms. Willow will not be an employee, but she’s welcome to reside with Ms. Patton for the duration of our contract—however long that may be.”

  The longer Liam droned on, the cheaper I felt. Didn’t he know the sad truth was that I’d have stayed with him for free? At least for a little while. Long enough to figure out which version was the real man.

  “. . . Ms. Patton will also need a car and wardrobe—Carol should be able to help with that.”

  “Got it.”

  “Sound good, ladies?”

  “What about my car?” Willow asked. “And our apartments and stuff?”

  Liam pressed his lips tight. I remembered that look. It was the one signaling he was about to blow. “Garrett, could you also tie up those loose ends?”

  “Sure.” He removed a slick-looking phone from his suit’s chest pocket, then tapped out a message at a furious pace. I could only imagine what it said. Probably something like: