Billionaire Bad Boys: The Company Ink Series

by Kira Blakely

  “You and Ted seem close,” I tell him.

  “Well, he was more of a father to me than my father ever was.”

  I want to know more but decide not to pry. “Is that why you chose Ted to run this place?”

  “That, and the fact that he loves dogs.”

  “I can see that.”

  “He was the one who gave me the dog I used to have. He was a Labrador. I named him Todd.”

  “Nice name.”

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “We have lots of dogs back home,” I answer. “We have a farm, after all.”

  “I see.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t own a dog at my apartment. But they do allow cats, so I have one. A silver tabby named Siberia. She’s three now. And I have three goldfish. They all get along somehow.”

  “You really do love animals, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” I admit with a sheepish grin. “Is that so bad?”

  “No.” Nathan shakes his head. “I think it’s great that you love something so much.”

  Is that admiration I hear in his voice? Or is it envy?

  “Surely, you must also have something you love,” I tell him.

  “Love is a strong word.”

  That I can’t deny.

  “There are a lot of things I enjoy, though,” he adds. “For example, I’m enjoying spending time with you right now.”

  My heart skips a beat at the way he looks at me. I look away.

  “Did you bring me here just to show off and impress me?” I ask.

  “Is it working?”

  I don’t answer. But yes, I’m impressed. No guy has ever given me more than a bunch of flowers before. True, the dog shelter isn’t exactly mine, but it feels like a gift to me.

  The best gift.

  “And also to prove to you that I’m not as heartless as you think.”

  I look at him, a pang of guilt stabbing me in the gut. “I’m really sorry I called you–”

  “It’s okay,” Nathan cuts me off. “You were being true to yourself. I can’t fault you for that. Actually, you’re the first woman I’ve been with who’s acted that way. It’s refreshing.”

  I smile. And to think I was feeling scared that he might get me fired because I spoke my mind.

  Just then, my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I only had a salad, which apparently has already been digested. It’s embarrassing, but Nathan just chuckles.

  “Shall we grab something to eat?” he asks, standing up. “Actually, I’m hungry, too. I didn’t really get to eat dinner.”

  I get up and shake the dust from the back of my skirt. “Why were you at the Marriott?”

  “I was supposed to meet an investor, but he canceled at the last minute. I was on the phone with him when I saw you leaving.”

  “You noticed me leaving?” I thought no one did.

  “I think I’d notice you anywhere.”

  My heart skips another beat.

  “Then I saw that guy go after you…”

  “Barry Baker,” I inform. “He’s a member of the paparazzi. We’ve bumped into each other a few times before, though I loathe to put him in the same line of work.”

  “Of course, not. You’re a professional. He’s a con.”

  “That he is,” I agree.

  At the memory of what he did to me, I cringe. “I can’t believe I let him kiss me.”

  Nathan turns to me, touching my cheek. “Let me wipe that memory away.”

  And the next thing I know, his lips are on mine. Unlike last night, this kiss is soft, gentle.

  And yet, it has a stronger effect on me, making my heart race.

  Like before, I can’t resist. I can only surrender, my eyes closing as I kiss him back feebly, my lips parting to let his in.

  His tongue explores slowly, thoroughly, wiping every trace of that horrid mouth-to-mouth – I don’t dare call it a kiss – from earlier away. And when he’s done, he leaves me warm and melting.

  Wanting more.

  But my stomach grumbles again.

  Nathan gives another chuckle. “Come on.”

  He grabs my arm and we start walking, but after a few steps, he stops to answer his ringing phone.

  “Hello.”

  I try not to eavesdrop, watching his expression instead. He seems concerned. Worried, even?

  After the call, he looks at me with a frown. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. The investor wants to meet me now.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll drop you off back in town, but I’ll have to cancel that dinner.”

  I wave my hands. “No problem. I don’t mind really.”

  “I feel bad, though. Can we have dinner tomorrow, instead?”

  I only pause to think for a moment. “Yeah. Sounds good. I have work at noon but I’m free in the evening.”

  “Great. Why don’t you give me your number so I can call you to let you know what time I’ll pick you up and where?”

  “Sure.”

  I do that. He gives me his number as well then smiles at me. A genuine smile. Not a grin.

  A breathtaking smile.

  “It’s a date, then.”

  ****

  A date?

  As I lie on my bed in my apartment, staring at the ceiling, I still can’t believe that I’m going on a date with Nathan Landers.

  Me, an ordinary woman who grew up on a farm and works for a magazine, going on a date with a billionaire entrepreneur?

  What would Pam say?

  Nah. I know what she’ll say. She’ll say I’m asking for trouble, that I should know better than to go out with a man whose only intention is to get me in bed.

  But is that really his only intention?

  He said I’m not like the other girls he’s been with…

  What if he’s just saying that?

  What if he wants to stop fooling around and start a serious relationship with me? It’s not unlikely to happen.

  Is it what you want to happen?

  That question makes me pause. Is it? Do I want to be in a relationship with Nathan Landers?

  Have I fallen for him?

  I shake my head. No. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve only just met the man. Well, yes, I’ve seen him several times before, but I’ve only just spoken to him last night.

  And you kissed him.

  No. He kissed me.

  And tonight?

  Fine. We kissed.

  Two nights. Two kisses.

  So what? Technically, the first one doesn’t count. Even if it does, it doesn’t matter.

  He’s attractive. I can’t deny that. And he’s not what I expected. But I haven’t fallen for him.

  Yet.

  Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.

  Shut up. It’s just a date. Nothing more.

  Just a date…

  I sit up, suddenly realizing something. Not counting dinner with Barry tonight, which I want to forget about, I haven’t been on a date in ages. I’ve been doing my best to stay away from men, in fact, not wanting to have to break anyone’s heart, including mine, when I finally get my chance to travel the world with my camera.

  Well, it’s not like I was the one who asked Nathan to go out with me.

  A date, huh?

  I pick up the framed picture on my desk, sighing.

  “Big brother, I’m counting on you to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  A Hornet’s Nest

  So far, so good.

  Nathan called me this morning, saying he’ll pick me up at six-thirty at the art gallery and that he can’t wait to see me again.

  I know. I know. It may be a lie. Just another of those sweet lines from his book that don’t mean anything. But my heart skipped a few beats just the same.

  My event finished on time at two, so I was able to go home, take a shower and change. In the end, I chose a beaded little black dress. Chic. Classic.

  I even had time to go to the salon to have my hair styled and my nails done.

&nbs
p; Now, I’m ready. Well, almost.

  I just have to buy myself a fresh pack of tissues from the convenience store because the old one just ran out, and you never know when you might need a tissue or two.

  I already have the safety pins Mattie gave me in my purse and some tape in case I need to do any temporary fixes.

  I’m not taking any chances.

  I head over to the convenience store. Moments later, I come out.

  Now, I’m ready.

  I cross the street and start walking. The art gallery isn’t far away and I still have – I glance at my watch – thirty-three minutes. Enough time to look at some paintings while waiting for my date.

  Excited but trying to keep myself calm, I put one foot in front of the other, “The Greatest” by Sia playing in my head.

  Suddenly, the music screeches to a stop and so do I, a familiar sight coming into view from across the street.

  A pickup truck.

  Not just any pickup truck.

  Rusty red. A faded bumper sticker saying ‘Born To Be Wild’ above the dent.

  A dent caused by the fence one stormy night.

  The fence on the farm back home.

  Yup, I know that truck. There’s only one of its kind in the world.

  My brother’s truck.

  The question is: What is it doing here in Boston?

  I cross the street to investigate. And that’s when I see the old couple inside the café, the woman in her mid-50s with graying hair and glasses, the man in his early 60s, his hair bald and his mustache white, his worn brown leather jacket the same one he’s been wearing for the past twenty years.

  Alice and Charlie Willis.

  My parents.

  What are they doing here?

  They haven’t noticed me. They’re busy talking to someone. A man in his forties with black hair.

  I’ve never seen him before.

  Well, at least, my Dad is talking. My Mom’s quiet as usual. She always looks so small and timid beside my stocky, loud father.

  She seems more timid than usual, though. She seems…scared.

  She seems nervous, too, her hands twisting the hem of her shirt.

  But why?

  Who are they talking to? Why are they here? Why didn’t they tell me they’d be here?

  They usually call when they come to town.

  Unless…they don’t want to see me? Why wouldn’t they? I’m the only child they have left – the only family they have left, in fact. And the last time we spoke on the phone, everything was fine.

  There shouldn’t be a reason why they don’t want to see me.

  There’s one more thing bothering me.

  Why did they drive my brother’s pick-up truck? My Dad hates driving that thing. And he hasn’t touched it – no one has – since Jack died.

  Something isn’t right. And I have to find out what.

  I enter the café, and as soon as my mother’s eyes meet with mine, hers wide and full of anxiety, my suspicion is confirmed.

  Something’s wrong.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask as I approach the table.

  My Mom stands up and gives me a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, what a surprise.”

  “What are you doing here?” my father asks grumpily.

  He’s only grumpy when the Red Sox lose. Or he’s hiding something.

  “I live here, Dad,” I tell him. “Have you forgotten?”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asks.

  “We were gonna call you, but we didn’t want to disturb you,” my mother says, stroking my cheek. “Oh, you look so beautiful.”

  She’s trying to butter me up which means Dad’s done something I don’t like.

  And I already have a feeling what it is.

  “Dad, why is Jack’s pickup truck in front?”

  “What pickup truck?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about. Rusty Red. With a dent.”

  “Oh, that dent can be fixed easily,” the stranger at the table speaks. “After that, all it needs is a new coat of paint and it will be as good as new.”

  I look at him. “I’m sorry. I’m Samantha Willis, their daughter. You are?”

  “George Harding.” He shakes my hand. “I contacted your father a few days ago about a pickup truck he was selling, and I asked him to bring it here so I could buy it. It looks better than I thought.”

  I freeze. So it’s true. I had a feeling that was it when I saw the envelope on the table.

  “Dad?” I look at my father, my voice trembling. “You sold Jack’s truck?”

  “I’m sorry,” George says. “But who’s Jack?”

  “My older brother,” I answer. “He died a few years ago.”

  “Oh.” George looks sorry he asked.

  “That’s right,” my father says. “He died. So he’s not gonna need that truck anymore, is he?”

  I can’t speak. I can’t breathe, tears pooling in my eyes. How dare he say that?

  “Sam…” I feel my mother’s hands on my shoulders.

  They’re not comforting. They’re restraining, knowing I’m about to burst.

  “And you know I can’t drive that thing,” my father goes on. “And neither can you.”

  “Things have been tough on the farm, Sam,” my mother adds softly. “A lot of the chickens died because of some disease, and we need the money.”

  “You could have at least told me,” I say. “You know I would have done anything just so we wouldn’t have to sell Jack’s truck.”

  “That’s why we didn’t tell you.” My mother rubs my arms. “We didn’t want to bother you.”

  “I would rather you bothered me instead of hurting me like this.” Tears trickle down my cheeks. “How could you think of selling Jack’s truck without letting me know, knowing that I’d be devastated?”

  “That’s exactly why we didn’t tell you, damn it.” My father raises his voice, causing a few heads to turn. “I knew you were gonna cry and put up a fuss. You’re not a little girl anymore. Grow up.”

  Mom moves behind him. “Charlie…”

  Dad looks at me. “Jack’s dead. There’s nothing you can do about it. So just fucking move on, alright?”

  For a moment, I don’t move. I can’t. In all my twenty-six years, my father’s never spoken to me that way. Yet, he just did in a public place in front of a dozen strangers.

  When the shock fades, the pain sets in. Then the anger.

  “I don’t expect you to understand, Dad. After all, you’re not the one he read stories and wrote letters to. You’re not the one whose scraped knees he tended, whose bruises he kissed away. You’re not the one who cried when he went to college and cried even harder when he went to Africa. In fact, he’s been long dead to you, Dad, ever since he decided to live his life as his own and not how you wanted him to.”

  My mother comes over to me. “Sam…”

  I shrug off her hand, my gaze, blurred with tears, still on my Dad.

  “It may just be a truck to you, but for me, it stands for so much, for everything he loved. And that can’t be measured in money. And you know what else can’t be measured in money, Dad? The love and respect of your daughter. And now, you’ve lost it, too.”

  I turn on my heel, leaving. I ignore my Mom calling after me, knowing she wants to come after me but can’t because she has to stay by my father’s side. And I ignore the people in the café whose stares are stabbing my back like daggers.

  I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.

  Captured

  I only start caring again an hour later.

  By then, it’s dark both inside and outside my apartment.

  I’m hungry.

  And I’ve missed my date.

  Nathan called me 23 times, but I didn’t answer any of them. I was too busy crying, mourning Jack’s loss, the loss of his truck, and the loss of the strong bond I had with my parents.

  All lost.

  He sent me a bunch of messages, too, mostly ‘Where are you?’ and
‘Are you okay?’ The last one was sent sixteen minutes ago.

  He probably already gave up. Of course, he did.

  I’m just another woman, after all. And I’m sure he has so many others he can call.

  I turn on the lights and look at the mirror.

  Well, so much for getting all dolled up. Not that I still look like a doll, my hair a mess and my eyes red and swollen, my make-up ruined.

  Nothing I can do about a missed date. I can, however, do something about my grumbling stomach.

  Besides, food always makes you feel better.

  I fix myself up as best as I can then head out. I’m still wearing the black dress, though it’s stained with tears now. I’m too tired to change. Maybe later after I’ve had my meal and before another shower.

  As I walk, my hands tucked into the pockets of my sweater, I think of Jack.

  He was my older brother, my only brother. Older by four years.

  He always wanted to be a vet. He loved animals and told me all about them. That was how I fell in love with animals, too.

  My Dad wanted him to stay on the farm, to look after our animals. But he didn’t want to. Jack volunteered to be part of a mission to take care of endangered animals in Africa. Five years ago, he died there of malaria. We got the news through the mail then his ashes were shipped to us like some parcel.

  I never got to say goodbye.

  I must have been so deep in my thoughts because I don’t notice a car approaching until it’s right beside me, the door opening to let out its six-foot tall passenger in a gray coat.

  “Nathan?”

  I must dreaming. Am I?

  “I was worried about you.” The touch on my arm lets me know he is real. “You didn’t answer my calls or my messages.”

  “I’m sorry. I…”

  I don’t know why, but seeing him is making me feel like crying again and I don’t want him to see me crying.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks, the concern clear in his voice.

  I look at him. “I just…”

  I thought I’d lost you, too.

  That’s what I want to say, but the words die in my throat.

  “I’m sorry. Something…just came up and I–”

  “It’s okay.” He grabs my hand. “You can tell me all about it over dinner and drinks. How does that sound?”

  I nod. “It sounds perfect.”