Billionaire Bad Boys: The Company Ink Series

by Kira Blakely

  “Says the woman who’s won the Prettiest Face award at the company party three years in a row.”

  Mattie smiles. “I have an expert opinion then.”

  She’s got a point. Still, me, a chick? Sure, I’ve got a tiny waist and long legs, but my boobs aren’t as big as I’d like them to be, and my hair has got a mind of its own.

  I don’t feel like arguing with Mattie over such a trivial thing, though.

  Change of topic. “Anyway, we’re here to work.”

  “That we are,” she agrees. “And speaking of work, I think I see someone over there that I’d like to ask a few questions.”

  And she’s gone, the crowd parting for her and then immediately shifting back into place like the steady flow of the tide.

  Count on Mattie to walk up to the wealthy and the powerful like she was just walking up to a tree.

  Confidence. She has that, alright. She probably got my share as well.

  Work, my mind tells me.

  Right. Break’s over.

  I continue taking pictures.

  “Smile for the camera.”

  One picture here. Another there. One more. Two more. Three more. I’ve lost count.

  That’s the beauty of digital cameras. You can take as many pictures as you want, and someone else can just decide later which ones are worth keeping and which ones can be deleted with the push of a button.

  At least, as many pictures as you can until the batteries run out.

  The battery icon starts to flash, so I turn off the camera and get the spare batteries from a pouch inside my purse.

  I’m a professional. I’m always ready.

  I’ve barely put in one of the new batteries, though, when I hear a buzz through the crowd. I look up, my breath catching as I see the man descending the staircase.

  He’s here.

  Nathan Landers. Head of Landers Innovations. An IT magnate only six years in the making. A self-made man. Time Magazine’s incumbent Person of the Year.

  Fascinating.

  He holds himself like a lion. Noble. Magnificent. Dangerous. Forbidding. Confidence and power come off him in waves, demanding attention, commanding compliance. And yet he moves like a wolf, a silent force of lean muscle. Suave. Sexy.

  Wild.

  He may be in a crisp, tailored suit, and he may act like the perfect gentleman, but something tells me he’s never been tamed.

  Maybe he can never be tamed.

  Just like a wild animal that can never be captured and one can only hope to take a good picture of.

  A picture.

  As if I’ve been splashed by a bucket of icy water, I spring into action, preparing my camera. I must have been too much in a hurry, though, because the next battery slipped from my hands, and when I knelt down to pick it up, I was frozen again by a startling sound.

  A sound one never wants to hear.

  That of fabric tearing at the seams, my side bursting open to reveal skin, particularly the side of one bare breast.

  Shit.

  ****

  “It’s hopeless,” I say to myself with an exasperated sigh ten minutes later.

  Or has it been twenty? Thirty?

  It seems like an eternity since I’ve locked myself inside a cubicle in the ladies’ room, running there like mad as soon as I found out I had a tear on the side of my gown.

  I never should have worn this gown.

  If I had at least two safety pins, this would have been manageable. But no.

  All I have in my purse are extra batteries and memory cards for my camera, my wallet, my phone, a small pack of tissues, the keys to my apartment, my comb, and my lipstick. That’s it. I bet not even MacGyver can do anything with these.

  To make matters worse, I didn’t wear a bra since this gown has only one strap and a sheer back. I am wearing bra petals, but they’re no use now, are they? I mean, they only cover your breasts from the front, not from the sides.

  I don’t even have a blazer or a cardigan or a shrug. I usually wear one over my gown, but nope, not tonight. Tonight, I only chose to bring a thin shawl because it’s been a hot day and the air was still warm when I left my apartment.

  Believe me, I’ve tried everything I can do with that shawl. I wrapped it around my chest, but it looks funny. I tried tearing a piece of it so I can make some sort of patch, but no. It seems the fabric of my shawl is tougher than my gown.

  What’s a girl left to do?

  I have only two options – go back to the ballroom with my ‘peek-a-boo’ dress and finish my job, or go home. My editor, Nancy, will be mad but hey, I can’t help it.

  There’s no way I’m going back in there looking like this.

  Even Cinderella in her torn after-midnight dress looked better. At least, none of her private parts were sticking out.

  My mind made up, I send Mattie a message. She must be wondering where I am after all.

  Going home. Emergency but nothing serious. I’ll explain later. Sorry.

  Taking a deep breath, I exit the cubicle. Mrs. Hen is there, and she throws me a curious glance then a disapproving one. What? Has she been here as long as I have been?

  Surely, she doesn’t think I’ve done something naughty.

  Does she?

  Ignoring her, I leave, one hand still under my right armpit as a first aid measure, just to keep the tear from getting bigger and turning into a gaping hole.

  Now, all I have to do is make a sharp turn and a bee line for the exit, and I’ll be out of the woods. Easy.

  But then I never expected to see Nathan Landers running towards me or to have him grabbing my arm before I can even open my mouth to say a word.

  And I have a few words I’d like to say.

  Like, ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Why me?’

  Then suddenly, he stops, his blue eyes locking with mine so that my breath is stolen before I can catch it. And as I part my lips to speak, he does the unthinkable.

  He pins me against the wall and kisses me.

  French. Long. Hard.

  And all I can do is stand there like a statue, unable to respond or resist.

  What the hell?

  I hear footsteps approaching and I panic. But he places one arm around me tightly. He’s warning me not to run.

  And a few seconds later, I find out why.

  There’s another woman. If I’m not mistaken, she’s Cassandra Rockford. Her father is the head of Rockford Financial. Her brother is a senator.

  Not someone you want to mess with, and yet, here I am, on the receiving end of her scathing glare that reminds me of Medusa’s.

  Finally, she leaves, stomping her feet like a spoiled, little girl who just lost an argument about whose doll was prettier. Off to Daddy, no doubt.

  Uh-oh.

  I push Nathan away. “Excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I thought it’s obvious.” He wipes his lips, now redder from my lipstick, with the back of his hand. “I just kissed you.”

  I blush furiously, the feel of his lips and tongue on mine still lingering, but that doesn’t mean I’m no longer annoyed.

  “You mean you used me. You were trying to get away from Casey Rockford, weren’t you? That’s why you were running.”

  He smiles. “Smart girl.”

  I ignore the compliment. “She saw us.”

  “Um…That was the point.”

  I frown. “And now, she’ll think I stole you from her.”

  “But I never was hers and now, thanks to you, I never will be.” He sighs in relief. “No offense, but you girls can’t take a hint sometimes.”

  I gape in disbelief. “I’m sure you led her on.”

  “Probably.”

  He isn’t even denying it. Jerk.

  “You used me,” I remind him.

  Nathan grins. “And I believe you’ve been well compensated.”

  What the…?

  I mean, I know he’s Nathan Landers bu
t no one has the right to kiss me without my permission.

  Without thinking, I raise my hand to slap him only to stop when I hear more fabric tearing.

  “Shit.”

  At this rate, I’ll be going home in rags.

  “Shit is right.” Nathan shakes his head.

  Of all the people to see me like this, why does it have to be him?

  “Need a new gown? I’m pretty sure I have one upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” I feel confused.

  “I’ve got a room upstairs. Penthouse. If you come with me, I’ll loan you a gown.”

  I blink. “You have a gown?”

  “I have everything a woman needs.” He starts walking towards the elevator. “Are you coming or not? Of course, if you’d rather go home like that and give the driver a treat, you’re welcome to do so. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Maybe he’ll even give you a discount.”

  Nope. He’s neither a lion nor a wolf. He has no honor.

  He’s a despicable raccoon.

  “Well?”

  The elevator doors open and I make my choice. I have no choice, really. I rush into the elevator and he follows, the wide grin on his face making me feel like cornered prey.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  In the Lion’s Den

  The elevator ride is long.

  Thirty-six floors up long.

  Longer because I’m with a stranger who I can feel staring at me like a hawk.

  Longer because I hate enclosed spaces.

  That’s right. I’m claustrophobic. Don’t ask me why.

  My Mom says I was probably conceived with it. After all, I was so eager to come out of her womb. I wouldn’t know. I was in a blissful state of ignorance then.

  I wish I was still in that state now. Then I wouldn’t be imagining the walls and the ceiling closing in on me, sucking the air out of me, threatening to crush me.

  Shit.

  Breathe, Samantha. It will be over soon.

  19…20…21…

  It’s taking too long.

  I close my eyes and start playing the first song that comes to my head.

  If you love somebody, better tell them while they’re here, ‘cause they might just…

  “Are you alright?” Nathan asks me.

  Right. I forgot I’m not alone.

  I look at him and nod. That’s the best I can do, my throat still too dry for me to speak.

  He doesn’t look like he believes me but says nothing more.

  31…32…

  I’ve had the highest mountains. I’ve had the deepest rivers. I take it in but don’t look down.

  Finally, I hear a beep and the doors open. I rush out, forcing air into my lungs like a whale that’s been underwater for nearly too long.

  Afterwards, I square my shoulders and follow Nathan – or should I call him Mr. Landers? – down the hall. I stick out my chin, too, trying to look dignified – as dignified as I can with the gaping hole at the side of my gown – to make up for that moment of weakness in the elevator.

  I break my silence. “Do you have a penthouse suite in every hotel or just this one?”

  “Not every hotel.”

  Okay.

  “And no.”

  “No?” No to what?

  “No, I don’t bring every woman I meet to my hotel suite.”

  I’m not sure want to think of that.

  “Just to be clear, you didn’t bring me. I came. And only for the gown, which you owe me.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I owe you?”

  “It’s the least you can do after tearing this one.”

  He chuckles as he gets his key.

  “What?”

  “If I tore your gown, you wouldn’t still be wearing it.”

  I blush but push the image away.

  “But by all means, let’s get you into a new gown.”

  He opens the door and steps into the room, the lights turning on as he slips the key into the holder. I follow, eyes growing wide at the sheer size and elegance of the suite.

  The reception area alone is larger than my entire apartment, and I can tell the statue in the corner costs more than what I earn in a year.

  Nathan disappears, returning after a few minutes with gowns draped over one arm.

  “You can have whichever one you like.”

  I look at them. Beautiful gowns. Luxurious fabrics. Expensive.

  “Are they your sister’s?” I ask out of curiosity.

  He grins. “I don’t have a sister.”

  Where, then, did he get all these gowns? Did he just have them lying around?

  Then it hits me. Of course. They probably belonged to the women he brought up here.

  “Don’t worry,” he tells me. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  I wonder how they could have left such expensive gowns behind. What did they wear going home? New, even more expensive gowns? Hotel robes?

  Honestly, I don’t feel like wearing any of the gowns. The idea of wearing a gown previously – and I don’t even know how recently – worn by a woman Nathan once slept with unsettles me. I’m still in need of new clothes, though, and a beggar can’t have much to choose from, so I bring the gowns to the bathroom.

  I try them on.

  The first two are too small. The third too big. The fourth? Too flashy. The last one, a black lace gown, seems just right.

  Except for one thing: it’s too revealing.

  The back that dips down to the waist I can take, but the slit that goes up to mid-thigh? Not sure.

  Then again, I have no choice. Better to have some skin showing down there than up here.

  “Great choice,” Nathan says when he sees me.

  And yet his words make me think the opposite, his gaze making me feel uncomfortable as it sweeps over me from head to toe.

  “I’m sure its original owner wore it better,” I say to diffuse the tension.

  “Honestly, I can’t remember.”

  He’s honest. I’ll give him that. And yet, I can feel that it makes him even more dangerous.

  I glance at my watch. “Mr. Landers, I…”

  “Nathan,” he corrects me. “You’re not one of my employees, so call me Nathan.”

  “Nathan,” I repeat. It sounds weird when I say it out loud. “Thank you for the gown.”

  “I thought I owed it to you.”

  Right.

  “Besides, it’s not like I can wear it.”

  No. He can’t.

  “I better go,” I tell him. “I –”

  “Drink?” He offers me a glass of red wine. “Or would you rather have champagne?”

  I shake my head. “I should go.”

  “Should or want to?”

  “Should,” I answer. “And want to.”

  He seems puzzled. “Are you going back downstairs?”

  “No.”

  Everyone will just be wondering why I’m wearing a new gown. Worse, what if someone recognizes the gown? What if the woman who owns it is down there? It’s possible.

  Besides, I’ve already told Mattie I’ve headed home.

  “Is there someone waiting back home?”

  Just my cat. And my goldfish. “No.”

  “Then I don’t see why you should hurry back.” He takes a step forward. “Or why you should want to.”

  He takes my hand, placing the glass of wine in it. “Just one drink. Indulge me.”

  It seems I, again, have no choice. “You always have your way, don’t you?”

  “Always.”

  Again with the unflinching honesty.

  Oh, what the heck? It’s just one glass, and I didn’t have any champagne downstairs – I don’t drink while working – so it shouldn’t be a problem.

  I take a sip. Sweet. But not too sweet. And smooth, drifting down my throat.

  “Take a seat.” He gestures towards one of the velvet bar stools at the bar facing the window.

  I obey because I have to admit my feet are starting to ache in my heels.
r />   He sits beside me, glass of Scotch in hand. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

  I resist. “Why do you want to know?”

  “If you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I’ll find out.

  I frown. The rich are so spoiled, aren’t they?

  “It’s Sam,” I inform.

  “Samantha?”

  I nod.

  “And you’re a photographer?”

  I look at him. How did he know?

  “I’ve seen you at several events. You always have that big purse and that camera around your neck.”

  He noticed? I always thought the guests at the events I covered never paid any attention to me.

  I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I take pictures for Prima Vida magazine.”

  “Ah. Is it good?”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “You sound like you’d rather be doing something else.”

  I shrug. “Well, we can’t all get our way, can we?”

  “You resent the rich?”

  “Resent? No.” I shake my head. “I just find them…” Boring, I want to say. “Not interesting enough.”

  “And do you think of me that way?”

  No. Nathan Landers is anything but boring. That’s probably why he stands out from the crowd.

  “You’re…interesting enough.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  I look away, taking another sip of wine.

  Shit. I can’t believe he just forced a compliment out of me. He’s sly, this one.

  I change the topic. “Plus, rich people can be selfish sometimes. Not that I wish they’d give me money. I just wish they’d spend their money more wisely, like use more of it to help make the world a better place.”

  “How would you spend your money if you were rich?” he asks.

  I don’t think twice. “I’d build animal shelters and reserves.”

  His eyebrows crease. “You’d rather help animals than people?”

  I frown, not liking his tone. “Animals are just as important, you know.”

  “How?”

  How? “The wild ones maintain our environment, keep the natural balance. And the domestic ones give us companionship.”

  “We can make robot pets as companions.”

  “Robots?” I can’t imagine a kid playing in the mud with a machine.