Lost (Bad Boys with Billions Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Attention—All hands on deck. The boss is bringing home another whore!

  If the ground opened beneath my feet, I would have willingly dove right in.

  “Ladies . . .” Liam made a formal, funny sweeping gesture that felt as out of character for him as his suit. “Welcome aboard.”

  Liam

  After settling Ella in the small aft sleeping cabin, I told Willow to stay put on the sofa where Garrett had been sleeping.

  “Owen, Luke, meet Willow. She’ll be staying with my associate, Ms. Patton.” Their eyes widened.

  “What’s up, bitches? Ready to get this party started?” Willow still wore her blue WalMart vest. She reeked of alcohol, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if she had a flask in her back pocket.

  I hoped my dark look adequately conveyed how inappropriate I found her behavior.

  Stephanie asked, “Ma’am, may I get you coffee or a Mimosa?”

  “Oh, hell yeah to that Mimosa.”

  So much for my look having conveyed a goddamned thing. “She’ll have coffee and a Danish. Thanks, Stephanie. Please, tell the captain we’re good to go.”

  This wasn’t the first time I’d brought home a new employee. The reason I preferred hiring women to dating them was simple—when it came time to let go, it was as easy as ending a business transaction. Garrett handled their termination, leaving me free to get on with whatever I chose. The women were more than adequately compensated for their time, and though Garrett often lectured me on the fact that legally, I was skating on paper-thin ice, I didn’t care. That’s what I paid him for—to fortify that ice and make sure it remained rock solid.

  In the aft cabin, I shut the door, leaned against it and released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding since the previous day. I’d gotten the girl. It no longer mattered that I’d gotten her onboard in the most despicable way I’d ever handled a female companion. All that mattered was righting my recent wrongs and making her feel safe in my arms—as if her being with me wasn’t a mistake.

  The pilot had put us back in takeoff position. Unless I wanted to fall on my ass, I needed to sit. I buckled myself into the seat opposite Ella’s sofa. “Fasten your seat belt.”

  “I shouldn’t have done this.” She followed my lead, fastening hers as well.

  “Bullshit. You made the right decision.” If I’d had mere damage control to do after my idiotic showboating on her coffee table, I now had to start over where we were concerned. But how did I tell her that she’d come to mean more to me in the few days we’d known each other than in the years I’d known everyone else on this plane? Christ, my mouth was dry. My hands were clammy. More than anything, I wanted to go to her, pull her into my arms and beg for the second chance I didn’t deserve. Only that led me back to the credo that had landed me where I was today—I don’t beg. Even for a girl as amazing as Ella. To do so would mean backsliding into the embarrassment I used to be.

  The engines screamed.

  I usually found a takeoff’s rocket launch exhilarating. Now, it merely represented one more thing keeping me from her. She looked frightened. Small planes weren’t as solid-feeling as the big boys, and they took getting used to. I wanted to draw her onto my lap, stroke her hair, hold her hand. I wanted to do what any normal boyfriend would. Unfortunately, I wasn’t her boyfriend, but her employer. Fuck. What had I done?

  By the time we’d leveled off, and the town of Rose Springs might as well have been a quaint, miniature hamlet located anywhere on the globe that had rolling hills and trees, I asked, “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” She shook her head.

  “Ella, I’m sorry.” I unbuckled my seat belt to move to her sofa. “I know I botched this whole thing start to finish. If you’d give me a chance, I’ll try making things right.” Nothing. No blink. No sign that she’d even heard me.

  “Okay . . .” I thought I’d try taking her hand, and succeeded, but what was the point when it felt like holding a raw pork chop? I’d been prepared to be patient, but now she was just pissing me off. “I’m paying you a lot of money to at least be nice to me, Ella. Do you think you could meet me halfway?”

  “Oh my God—you don’t get it, do you?” Her voice carried a shrill tone that I hoped the others couldn’t hear. “You never had to pay for me to be nice to you. In fact, that whole line sounds pathetic. You think your money buys you respect, but all it really does is expose you as a sad little boy.”

  Her words cut, not just because of her mean-spirited delivery, but because they were true. She’d touched a nerve very few others—if any, in recent memory—had. The more money I’d made, the more my past had been glossed over until nothing remained of the hell I remembered. She hadn’t cornered the market on pain. “You know the real reason I offered to pay you?”

  “Because you’re afraid the only thing I find attractive about you is your goddamned money?”

  “Fuck you.” Her caustic remark proved a direct hit on everything I’d worked so hard to overcome. I’d paid consultants to teach me to walk with a swagger and talk with ease. I had people pick out my clothes in order to look powerful and choose what I ate for optimum nutrition. To the outside world, I look confident and polished. We barely knew each other, so how had she already discovered what no one else had?

  Or had they?

  Did everyone on this plane—in my carefully constructed world—know I was a fraud?

  Make no mistake, I was the brains behind a billion-dollar multimedia juggernaut, but what exactly did that even mean? At this point, I could liquidate every asset and still earn more in an hour than most people do in a year. I wasn’t bragging; it was fact. But for all that money, what did I really own of value? Sitting in that motel room, I realized Ella was the only thing I’d ever wanted, and at the moment, couldn’t have—well, technically, I supposed I could have her, but what was the point in having sex with a cold pork chop?

  She asked, “Is this how the next month is going to be? If so, I want out now.”

  “No. Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “I just need you to be you—the guy who drew me a bath and let me wear his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. The guy who yelled at me to get out of the cold and who refused to do me on the principle that it wouldn’t be right. I liked that guy. I could talk to that guy. I thought we’d related. But this . . . now . . .” She bowed her head. “I don’t know what to think. I’m so confused.”

  I leaned my head back, covering my face with my hands. “You think I’m not?” As the miles droned on, I doubted my decision to bring her into my life even more.

  She must have been exhausted, as she slipped into a fitful sleep.

  When the plane hit turbulence, I eased her against me for safekeeping. Was it my imagination, or in my arms had she calmed?

  An hour later, she stirred. For a moment, her eyes narrowed as if she was frightened or confused. Then she saw me, recognized the fact that she’d used my chest for a pillow, then shook her head. Her new expression was what I could only guess to be begrudging acceptance of our situation.

  “Got anything to eat on this flying heap?” Her faint smile made me swell with hope. “I mean, I’ve been on way better rides.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Oh—and for whatever snacks you find, I’m gonna need wasabi mustard.”

  “You would . . .” Her request took us full circle to the day I’d first met her in the snack bar. She’d been so sweet to handle my special order. I remembered trying to tip her, and having her refuse my offer. Who did that? She was the real deal, and I wouldn’t let her down—I wouldn’t beg for her affections, but I would make her feel like the most protected and cherished woman in the world. I’d vanquish her demons and bring her wholly back into this world. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  I could have used the intercom to ask Stephanie to bring us something, but I wanted to do this myself.

  In the main cabin, I found Willow passed out on the sofa. She’d removed her Wa
l-Mart vest. Her hot-pink, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt said Eat Me! on the front. She snored louder than the basset hound I used to have as a kid.

  Owen, Luke and Garrett sat at the booth-style table. They all had half-eaten omelets and bowls of fresh fruit salad in front of them.

  Stephanie must have been in the cockpit.

  One of Garrett’s most admirable qualities was that he’d always told it to me straight. On this occasion, he held up the tradition. “What have you done, Liam? If I’m going to legally cover your ass, be straight with me.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think.” I took a cold-cut platter from the galley fridge and a jar of the custom-blend wasabi I always had on hand. I tucked a loaf of stone-cut wheat bread under my arm.

  “From where I’m sitting, that looks pretty bad to me . . .” Having kept his voice low, Owen nodded to Willow.

  I conceded that Willow was a mistake. “At her core, I think she’s an all-right kid.”

  “She’s not even eighteen?” Luke dropped his cards to hold up his hands. “For the record, I want no part of this.”

  “Shut the hell up,” I said to my former college suitemate and a man I’d made very rich. “If I had to guess, she’s in her early twenties. As is Ella. They both agreed to sign anything we put in front of them.”

  “Why can’t you just date like a normal guy?” Owen double-fisted pastries. He’d also shared our UC-Berkeley suite and used to weigh damn near four hundred pounds. DropTwenty was one of my first app designs, and it had worked so well that Owen dropped two hundred. Selling that had given me the seed money to launch Phoenix, and I’d never looked back.

  “Point of fact,” I said, “I’m not a normal guy. None of us are. That’s why we’re cruising around in a G6, and half the other bozos we graduated with still live in their mother’s basements. Now, Garrett, can you draw up the papers or not?”

  “Already working on it . . .” He had his laptop open on one of the smaller tables and typed furiously. We’d picked Garrett up twelve years ago when Luke started going out with his sister, Jennie. Luke and Jennie were now married, with three rug rats.

  When I said I didn’t have friends, it was because I viewed these three guys as brothers— to a point. They were by no means yes men, but they also weren’t people I ran to when sharing my innermost thoughts. Those, I’d kept for myself, with the lone exception of talking about my dad to Ella.

  “Anyway . . . fuck all of you.” I took a butter knife from one of the galley drawers and a bottle of Dom from the fridge. “Don’t bother me till we’re about to land.”

  Owen gave me a cornball salute.

  Ella

  What was I doing?

  As I had the previous night, I found myself peering at my own reflection in the mirror— only, this time, from a tiny bathroom while soaring high above the earth. Rocketing faster and faster toward a Blaine-free future. No matter how twisted my current situation was, I couldn’t lose sight of the fact that once we landed in California, Blaine might as well be a million miles away. From that distance, he could never hurt me again.

  A knock sounded on the door, startling me. Liam asked, “You okay?”

  “I-I’m good. Just a sec.” I splashed cold water on my face, then dried it with a blue tea towel that had PHOENIX embroidered in orange across the bottom. After readjusting my ponytail so it at least hung straight, I left the bathroom.

  “Hey . . .” Across from my sofa was an armchair and small side table. Liam had set up a picnic with a deli tray on steroids. It featured perfectly rolled slices of turkey, roast beef and ham; three different cheeses, one of which I recognized as baby Swiss; five varieties of olives and six different pickles. I recognized the bread as being from a Rose Springs mill. It was allnatural and cost ten bucks a loaf. I’d never tried it, but Wal-Mart carried it in their local foods section. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I grabbed a little of everything.” He popped the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon. I’d seen it only in music videos. “I forgot glasses. Mind drinking from the bottle?”

  I shook my head.

  “Want a whole or half a sandwich?” He sat in the chair facing our feast, slathering mustard on the bread.

  “Half, please.” I took the champagne bottle and swigged and swigged, then the plane hit a pocket of turbulence and I choked.

  Liam took the bottle, setting it in an ingenious holder sunk in the table’s corner, then rubbed my back. “You okay?”

  I might have nodded in agreement, but inside, beyond choking, I was a wreck. Every time I looked in his eyes or saw that rogue chunk of hair fall, he was once again Liam—the guy who’d lifted me from the Dead Zone, making me once again want not just more, but everything. But to what end? Odds were that at the close of our contracted thirty days, he’d have grown bored with me and be ready to move on to his next flavor. Where did that leave me? Back on the street—only with a security blanket of cash that I’d have earned on my back. That fact shamed me, and it considerably cheapened the few genuine moments Liam and I had shared.

  “Voilà.” He handed me my half sandwich with much aplomb. “I dare you not to love this.”

  I took a bite. Heat rose in my cheeks when he watched me chew.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said so softly I couldn’t be sure he’d said it at all. He literally sat on the edge of his seat, not yet taking a bite of his own sandwich, while waiting to see if I liked mine, I assumed. “Well? What’s the verdict?”

  Having eaten a diet consisting mostly of bologna and white bread for months, what I thought was that I’d died and gone to sandwich nirvana. I closed my eyes and smiled. The meats blended perfectly with whatever exotic cheeses he’d used, and he’d added just enough olives, pickles and mustard to give it zest but not be overpowering. Even the bread felt sumptuous on my tongue.

  “You love it, don’t you?” Reddening, I nodded.

  “Good. There’s so much more I want to share with you. Tonight—after my secretary finds you some clothes—I’m taking you out to my favorite Italian restaurant. It’s a hole-in-thewall mom-and-pop kind of place that only seats about twenty. It takes most people months to land a reservation, but Mamma Tucci knows me and lets me sit at the family’s table in the kitchen.”

  His plan sounded dreamy—assuming we were a normal couple, heading out for a normal date, but we weren’t that couple. We were a freak show of his own making.

  Having lost my appetite, I set my sandwich on the tray’s edge. “So far, you’ve scheduled a wardrobe change for me and dinner, but when do we fuck?”

  He winced. “Ell . . .”

  “Don’t even try acting like any of this is normal. I’m not a total idiot—nor, I assume, is anyone else on this plane. All of your friends are probably out there right now, assuming I’ve already blown you a half-dozen times this morning, right?”

  “Wrong.” A muscle ticked in his clean-shaven jaw. I missed his scruffy beard. “You being here isn’t about sex. It’s . . .” He leveled me with his emerald stare and took my hands, stroking my palms with his thumbs, in the process igniting the same slow-burning, achy yearning he had awakened while kissing me. He made me feel like a small child who’d been taught not to play with fire, yet he was my own personal equivalent of a pretty box of matches. “I don’t know how to explain it. I know you’ve been hurt. I want to heal you.”

  On that ridiculous note, I drank more champagne. “No one’s going to ever fix what’s wrong with me—not even you.”

  His gaze served as a direct challenge and I didn’t back down. “You think I can’t make you want me?”

  My reaction to his blustering claim was to roll my eyes.

  I wanted to ask how he thought making me want him would serve as a magic elixir to cure my internal bleeding. At best, even if Liam and I did forge some sort of emotional bond, all he could do was provide a temporary bandage. Physical wanting—longing—was in no way the issue. I could rationalize that. But my body told a different story. Sometimes, I felt as if my past wa
s so dark that for self-preservation, my body wouldn’t allow physical relations. What he didn’t know—would never know, if I had any say in the matter—was that for the rest of my life I would carry Blaine’s cruel seal. All the money in the world couldn’t fix what that man had done. And maybe, the part of me deep down who was seriously screwed up wouldn’t want to even try. Blaine’s scars served as a constant reminder to never again fully trust anyone. My time with Liam would be nothing more than a temporary vacation from the hell my life had become. Plain and simple—if I never again trusted, I never again got hurt.

  When the plane landed at a private airport on the outskirts of San Francisco, my initial reaction was that I wanted to escape. The curious—even hostile—stares from Liam’s associates made both my stomach and heart hurt. These men looked down on me, judged me, when they knew nothing about me. My clothes and hair made me feel self-conscious—especially when I stood next to the self-assured and glowing flight attendant who’d opened the cabin door and lowered the steps.

  The woman who’d introduced herself as Stephanie was nice to me, but I suspected only because she was paid to be nice to everyone Liam brought aboard.

  Outside, the air smelled different.

  A light breeze carried a hint of brine and a rich, earthy peat scent I found invigorating. It was chilly, but not cold enough that I’d need anything more than a sweatshirt to stay warm. What I wanted was Liam’s old red plaid shirt he’d shared from what felt like a hundred lifetimes ago.

  From across the tarmac, four vehicles approached. All sleek sedans, all shades of gray, navy or black.

  Liam and his businessman posse huddled while Willow and I stood there feeling like idiots. Well—I couldn’t speak for her, but I know I wasn’t feeling like a rock star. The situation was beyond strange.

  “What’re we supposed to do now?” Willow asked.