Lost (Bad Boys with Billions Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “I love it. Every once in a while Yvonne—my boss—grabs their chowder for our lunch.”

  “Should I order two?” My first inclination had been to take her to the swankiest waterfront place in town, but then I’d changed my mind. I’d thought about not what would make me feel comfortable and in control, but what she’d like.

  “Yes, please—I mean, assuming you’d like some, too.”

  I paid, then carried our red plastic tray with its spoons and two hollowed-out sourdough bread-loaf bowls to a picnic table.

  We sat opposite each other. I wanted—needed—to talk about last night, but the right words wouldn’t come. Instead, I said, “The last time I sat at a picnic table was on the Fourth of July with my mom and dad.”

  “That sounds nice. You had a holiday picnic?”

  Not exactly. “That’s what Mom planned, but there’d been a lot of guys fishing on the river and they’d left chicken livers and worms and bait fish all over the rocks. The smell attracted flies, and that set my dad on edge. My mom had cooked this huge spread—homemade potato salad and fried chicken. Coleslaw and a fancy fruit salad.” The deeper into the story I fell, the higher my anxiety rose, but across the table, Ella listened with rapt interest. Instinct told me that if we were to stand a chance at taking things further, I had to somehow stumble through. “She’d carved the watermelon into a little basket. It was almost my eleventh birthday, and I—”

  “What day’s it on? Your birthday?”

  “July seventeenth. I always thought it sucked, because I never got to have cupcakes at school.”

  “Aw . . .” The fact that it was clear she genuinely felt sorry for the little boy I’d once been spurred me forward. She had to learn the rest. She had to know what had made me into the mess I now was. “I’ll make you cupcakes.”

  “That’d be great.” But would we still be together then? Christ, had we even made it through a single twenty-four-hour period without one of us getting spooked?

  “What happened next? A big fireworks show?”

  In a manner of speaking. “Dad bitched through the whole meal about the flies. Mom played it cool, like she didn’t care. I had a friend with me—Owen. You met him on the plane.”

  She took a spoonful of her chowder. “I didn’t realize you two went back that far.”

  I nodded. “When it came time for dessert, Mom pulled out this Tupperware tray loaded with cupcakes. They were fancy—little flags on them and plastic army guys. I thought they were as cool as her carved fruit bowl. I’d spent a lot of time at Owen’s, but this was one of the few times he’d hung out with my family. I remember being so proud of my mom. She’d looked so pretty with her dark hair up in a ponytail, and she’d worn a red sundress . . .” My chest grew tight and my eyes stung.

  “I’d like to meet her one day.”

  I pressed my lips tight. No one wished for that more than me. “Th-the flies. They were bad. One l-landed on my dad’s cupcake and he smashed it into Mom’s fancy fruit bowl.”

  Ella covered her gaping mouth with her hands. “That’s awful.”

  “‘Goddamned flies,’ he’d said. ‘Woman, can’t you do anything right? Is it really so goddamned hard to find a place to eat without an insect swarm?’” Despite the night’s chill, beads of sweat popped out on my forehead and upper lip. “Mom apologized over and over, but he couldn’t be placated. Every time a fly landed on anything—a fork, a plastic cup of lemonade, a cupcake, Mom’s watermelon bowl, he pitched it, not caring where it landed. The coleslaw landed too close to a fisherman’s tackle. He marched over and told my dad to clean it up. My dad told him to fuck off. Owen’s family was pretty much perfect, like the Brady Bunch without the blended family, and he started to cry. What does my dad do? Tells him to shut the fuck up, too.”

  “Oh my God . . .”

  “Yeah, so my dad and this fisherman start circling each other and throwing punches. Only Dad was a Marine, so two blows later, this guy was decked out. The guy’s wife runs over, and she starts wailing about how my dad killed her husband, then—”

  Ella dropped her latest spoonful. “Was he dead?”

  “Nah. By the time we’d loaded the car, he was back on his feet, ready for a second round. Mom was crying; the guy’s wife was shouting; Owen sat in the backseat of our Ford King Cab, sucking his thumb. When we got home, there was a cop car in our driveway. Witnesses said the other guy threw the first punch, so Dad was off the hook. Instead of taking this blessing to turn a new leaf, he marched right inside the house and proceeded to tell Mom what a stupid bitch she was for having a picnic next to a fucking dirty-ass, fly-infested river. After that bit of family fun, when it got dark, Dad took me and Owen down the street to watch the neighborhood fireworks show at the high school football field. When we got back, Dad needed to take a leak, but Mom had locked herself in the bathroom. We only had one, so he did what any normal father would do—he kicked the door in.” Remembering what came next forced the air from my lungs.

  “Well?” By this time, Ella had finished her meal and placed her leftover bread on the tray. “Was your poor mom in the tub? I’ll bet he scared her half to death.”

  More like all the way.

  “Liam? You okay?”

  How many years had it been since I’d told anyone this story? If ever? My throat filled with concrete and all I could see were her vacant eyes.

  Ella rounded the table and sat beside me on the wooden bench. Her arm wasn’t long enough to wrap around my shoulders, so she linked her arm with mine and squeezed my hand. “What happened?”

  “She lay crumpled on the floor. Dead. Her skin was so . . .” Tears stung my eyes and I couldn’t breathe. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t breathe. Why had I told her? Stupid, stupid. I never should have opened myself up. Exposing myself like this was bound to be my own personal relationship suicide. But the joke was on me, because Ella and I officially shared nothing. For all I knew about her, she might as well be the woman behind the food truck register. If I’d had an ounce of self-preservation, I’d have not only stopped there, but told Ella I wouldn’t be seeing her again. Instead, like an idiot, I blathered on. “She OD’d on the pain meds Dad took for his war wounds. The bastard called her weak, but I thought what she’d done was brave. She left a note apologizing to me. She asked me to make something of myself, so I never had to take anyone’s shit . . .”

  Ella’s gaze shimmered in the park’s dim lights.

  “The reason I never stay with any one woman for too long? It’s because I have this thing.” I tapped my temple. “I have to leave them, before they leave me.”

  Ella

  I wanted to sob for Liam—for the little boy who’d somehow found the strength to not just go on after what his mother had done, but build an empire that now employed thousands. Why wasn’t he out sharing his story? He could be such an inspiration to anyone who’d lost a loved one to suicide. But I could ask myself the same question when it came to spousal abuse. Like me, I suppose the last thing he wanted was to advertise his pain.

  “Swing your legs around,” I said. I stood, helping him move when my words didn’t seem to compute. Once he sat with his back facing the table, I straddled him—not in a sexual way, but to get as close as possible to him in this painfully public setting. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him like he’d held me so many times.

  “When I heard Willow had died,” he said, “even though I knew her overdose had most likely been an accident, it brought me back to that awful place with my mom. You and I—we were finally connecting. I couldn’t—”

  “Shh . . .” I kissed him quiet. “Let’s forget that night happened—not the good parts, but Willow dying and that fight at the end.”

  He nodded. “Good idea.”

  I snuggled my cheek into the crook of his neck. He smelled impossibly good. Like an expensive leathery and citrus blend of which I could never get enough. “Know where I’d like to be right now?”

  He made an effort to laugh. “Don
’t have a clue.”

  “Your beach house.”

  He cupped his hands to my cheeks, kissing me so soft and sweet that the pleasurable rush was almost more than I could bear. “Just so happens that I could arrange that.”

  “If I’d thought for a second you couldn’t,” I teased, “I never would’ve asked.”

  Two hours later, we shared the circular sofa that wrapped around the beach house’s copperhooded fireplace. Liam’s caretakers had made a salad, chilled sangria, and popped a Mexican casserole in the oven. The heavenly scent made my stomach growl.

  While staring into the fire’s glow, waiting the final thirty minutes for our meal to bake, I used Liam’s lap for a pillow. He stroked my hair. He’d tossed an afghan over me, and I was so warm and cozy that I struggled to believe that all of this was true.

  Outside, a storm had rolled in. Rain hammered the windows, and the wind and ocean roared. I worried this deep contentment was me being delusional. If Liam and I ventured beyond these glass walls, would reality pound us harder than the waves crashing against the shore? “Know what I like best about dating a billionaire?”

  “What?”

  “The fact that your money actually does buy time. Realistically, how long would it have taken to drive out here, stock up on groceries and firewood, cook dinner and make the fire?”

  “Way too long. But wait—can I take that as an admission that you’re changing your official stance on money being the root of all evil?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far . . .” Blaine had been awfully rich, and beyond evil. But Liam was in a different stratosphere in terms of money and his intrinsic goodness. “But you’re starting to sway me toward your side.”

  He rested his arm on my back, bending his hand around to hold mine.

  We sat entwined, basking in the fire’s warmth, until the oven timer signaled us with a cheery ding that dinner was ready to be served.

  While I tossed the salad with the homemade honey-mustard dressing Penny had provided, Liam donned mitts and took the main course from the oven. He scooped massive portions onto two plates, sprinkled both with freshly grated cheddar, then carried them to the table.

  I met him there with cloth napkins and silverware I’d found by trial and error in the third drawer from the left of the sink.

  “I think there’s cheese bread I was supposed to put under the broiler.” Liam tossed his napkin to the table. “Be right back.”

  “Stay.” I caught his hand as he passed. “We have plenty.” Though in that moment, I’d referred to the food, I did feel extraordinarily blessed. I did have plenty. And then I thought about Nathan, sitting in our apartment all alone. I was a selfish bitch for being happy when he was no doubt sad.

  “I know, but I also forgot the sangria. Penny’s is the best.”

  He soon returned with two cobalt-stemmed, chunky glasses filled with chilled wine and fruit. “The first time I had sangria was in Cabo. Owen, Garrett and I had just cashed our first serious check, and we were ready to party. We got good and liquored up on tequila shots, then Garrett suggested we find hookers. Well, Owen was sort of pre-engaged to his now wife, Natalie, and didn’t think this was such a hot idea due to STDs. Garrett called us pussies, then took off to shop for his fantasy Latin lover. Owen and I headed back to the hotel and crashed. The next morning, Owen and I were having breakfast in our suite when this dude walks out of Garrett’s room—only he’s carrying a wig and heels and wearing a sequined dress. I swear, I nearly peed myself when Garrett stumbles out after the guy, asking for a goodbye kiss. Once he saw his dream date was a dude, he barfed in a potted palm, then didn’t come out of his room till dark. To this day, he swears nothing happened, but Owen and I figure at the very least, he had to have gotten . . .” He stopped laughing to look at me. “What’s wrong? You’re not even smiling, and this is one of my best stories.”

  “Sorry . . .” I toyed with a cherry tomato. “Guess my mind was on something else. And anyway, no offense, but Garrett’s an ass.”

  Liam snorted. “You’ve got that right. But I guess it comes with the territory, and at least he’s damned good at what he does.”

  “I suppose.”

  “What’re you thinking about that’s better than my hooker story?”

  “You probably don’t want to know.” What guy on the planet wanted to hear a girl’s thoughts on another guy?

  “This doesn’t sound good.”

  “See? That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “Christ . . .” He tossed his fork clattering to his plate. “I would give anything for an hour of normal conversation between us. No shocking revelations or anything depressing, just plain old talking about politics or movies or fuck, I don’t know—whether you like cats or dogs.”

  His outburst scared me. It was the sort of thing Blaine might have done. But in fairness, I couldn’t expect Liam to keep an even keel 100 percent of the time—especially not after all we’d recently been through. I licked my lips. “I’m worried about Nathan, okay? He was close to Willow, too. I should be there for him.”

  “Perfect . . .” He shoved back his chair and left the table to stare out the dark window.

  “He’s my friend. I just wish I’d told him I wasn’t going to be home tonight.”

  “I wish you’d stop referring to the rattrap you share with that kid as home.”

  “I don’t get this about you—how one minute, you’re this amazing, self-assured rock, and the next, you’re acting like a petty, jealous teen.”

  “Fair enough, but since we’re on the topic of qualities we’d like to change in each other, I don’t like how you’re seeing me, sleeping with me, but still living with Nathan.”

  “He’s a nice guy . . .”

  Liam laughed. “I’m sure. He’s the best.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Which is why he gave you a ring for Christmas?”

  I had no witty comeback for that. “Look, he was there for me when you weren’t. That means something.”

  “You sure know how to aim for the jugular.”

  “Oh—like you don’t?”

  He crossed his arms and glared at me.

  I crossed my arms and glared right back. Only I saw my reflection in the window and looked so ridiculous with my mean-girl pose that I couldn’t help but laugh, and then he was laughing, and closing the distance between us, and drawing me into a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m so insecure where you’re concerned.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” I rested my cheek against his solid chest, breathing him in. “You have the same effect on me.”

  “What do we do about this apparent insecurity epidemic?”

  “I know what I want to do . . .” On my tiptoes, I kissed him, and the anger faded until all that remained was the heat there’d always been. I wanted a do-over of Saturday night to banish my thoughts of Nathan and Willow. I wanted to think of nothing but pure pleasure. Not of Friday’s funeral, but of this moment’s bliss.

  He kissed me once more, then held out his hand.

  I eased my fingers between his and while the wind and rain battered the cliffside house, he led me up the staircase and tumbling onto the bed. We kissed and kissed, but when he slid his hand under my T-shirt, I tensed. “I want—need—to keep my shirt on.”

  He rolled away from me and groaned. “Here we go again. What’s it been? Literally two minutes since our last argument?”

  “That was more like bickering.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes . . .” Because I wasn’t ready to reveal the whole truth about the monster Blaine had helped me become. Liam saw me as the unblemished beauty Mimi and Rocco had created, but the truth was far less appealing. When he saw my reality, would he freak out? Call for his pilot to ferry me away? He lived in the land of perfection and the moment he saw what horror I was hiding, he’d realize what I’d all along known—I didn’t fit in.

  “Ell . . .” Liam traced
my collarbone. I shivered from the power of his simple touch. “What’re you hiding? You look perfect.”

  I sat up, in the process, tugging a pillow toward me to hold over my breasts. “That’s what Blaine wanted everyone to think. He wanted me perfect on the outside, but fucked up on the inside—where it counts.”

  “Babe, no . . .”

  My pulse hammered. What should I do? Try putting him off indefinitely? But what was the point? It wasn’t like the issue was going anywhere. If the two of us were to share any further intimacy, in a way, he had a right to know.

  “Ella . . . whatever you’re hiding can’t be that bad.” He tugged at my shirt. “Come on, let me see.”

  I left the bed. I needed that disconnect. The distance.

  I couldn’t have him near me, where I might be too close to accurately read his response.

  After dropping the pillow to the wood floor, I steadied my trembling hands by clenching my T-shirt’s hem. I can do this, I coached. And actually, if he blanched, that would be good. I’d know that the two of us were never meant to be, rather than finding it out sometime down the road.

  “Need me to help?” he asked from the bed’s edge.

  I shook my head. Dragging up the worn and faded cotton of my T-shirt and hoodie was no big deal. Neither was tugging it over my head. I stood before him in my utilitarian white cotton bra that I’d chosen for coverage as opposed to style and I raised my chin, daring him to belittle me. Inside, Blaine’s memory reduced me to quivering jelly. My heart was once again that of a caged bird. I lifted my hands to my back. My fingers were icy beneath the garment’s wide band. I unlatched one hook, and then two and three and four. While deciding whether to run or carry on, I held the sides together for the longest time.

  Liam’s emerald gaze never left mine. What was he thinking? Was what he imagined I was hiding better or worse than my actual scars?

  I forced a deep, shuddering breath, and then went for it. For the first time since being with my husband, I stood before a man with my breasts bared. Awaiting Liam’s reaction, time stood still. But then his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted and I knew, knew, he found me as abhorrent as I found myself.