The Brazen Billionaire

by Elana Johnson

  Nope. He wasn’t telling her that. Not only was it none of her business, it was simply too personal for him to share. He wouldn’t even tell his father, who asked about the business he’d spent his life building before he’d turned it over to Jasper.

  “I see,” she said, though she obviously couldn’t. “Well, I have to get to my next job.” She packed everything up in her bag, and he licked his lips at the slip of black lace he’d seen on top. She hadn’t wanted him to see that, and he’d put some distance between them pretty dang fast when he felt his blood heating.

  “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, though he had no idea what time she’d arrived today. The security cameras would tell him, but again, he wasn’t a creeper, nor so anal that he had to know. He didn’t need to watch her vacuum his floors or wash his windows.

  He’d probably only keep her around for a couple of months anyway. His sister, Brighton, had come to visit from Paris, where she lived with her husband and two kids, and she’d said the whole place needed sprucing up.

  “A deep clean,” she’d said when he’d looked confused and asked what she meant. “You can tell no one really lives here.”

  Her words still rang in his mind, and it had been three weeks since she’d left. He lived there. He slept there. Worked there. Ate there. Heck, he even sometimes ran on the treadmill, right there in the house.

  You can tell no one really lives here.

  Her words had eaten at him, and he’d been contemplating his life for the past twenty days. He lived. Didn’t he?

  He wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Sasha paused in front of him, concern flowing through those eyes that ate him right up. “Are you okay?”

  He fell back a step, his mind clearing without the orange-and-floral notes of her hair products in his nose. The air in the hallway was crisper too, cool and calm. “Yeah.”

  “I asked, same time tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s fine.” He moved back further so she could come out of the bathroom with her bag.

  Sasha gave him a nod and started toward the front door.

  “And you can shower here any time you want,” he called after her. He pressed his eyes closed in a long blink. Why had he shouted that? Did he have to be so obvious about everything?

  She turned toward him and said, “Thanks,” a pretty smile on her full lips. Something crossed her face and she gave her head a little shake. One eyebrow pulled down, and she said, “Would you…? Never mind.” She resumed her walk toward the door.

  Jasper practically lunged after her. “Would I what?”

  She met his eye as he came up alongside her. “I’m really late. I’ll ask you tomorrow.”

  He thought he saw a hint of redness enter her cheeks as she reached for the doorknob and scampered outside. He stood in the doorway and watched her fly down the steps and get in an older model sedan he hadn’t seen when he’d returned from lying in Tyler’s hammock.

  In the next breath, she was gone, and Jasper retreated behind the thick, wooden door, his heart a jumbled mess.

  “It’s only because of the stress you’re under,” he told himself as he went into the kitchen to find the eggs and toast Jacqueline had made for him. He couldn’t eat them, of course—what kind of savage ate cold toast that was five hours old?—and he sent another apology to her for not letting her know she didn’t need to have his breakfast ready at five-thirty the way she usually did.

  It’s fine, she answered for the second time.

  Take tomorrow off, he told her, and she accepted. He could pour a bowl of cereal as well as the next man.

  He wandered upstairs and stripped off the clothes he’d put on after his own shower. After all, he didn’t think he should go downstairs and check on the strange noises he’d heard in the nude.

  “That would’ve been a disaster,” he mumbled to himself as he fell into bed wearing only his boxers. With the bad business overnight and the way his heart was lecturing him about Sasha, it was a miracle he was able to fall asleep at all.

  Jasper loathed cooking for himself. Probably because he couldn’t find a frying pan to save his life. In his own kitchen. There was precious little food in the pantry and fridge, but he managed to find a package of hot dogs. No buns though.

  And while he was an hour from climbing back into bed after working all night, his favorite sushi place wasn’t open. His backward schedule had some definite drawbacks, including limited take-out choices and the inability to meet normal women.

  Although…his mind wandered to Sasha, and the anticipation of seeing her again kept his exhaustion at bay. He hadn’t slept great yesterday after she’d left, those eyes following him into his dreams.

  Which was ridiculous really. He knew nothing about her. “Yet you hired her sight unseen to clean your house. Gave her access to the whole thing.”

  Maybe he was too trusting. Lara had certainly taken advantage of him. He pushed her from his thoughts at the same time he gave up on trying to find something to eat in his own house. He opened the drawer beside the fridge—which housed all his favorite energy drinks, bottled water, and more soda than a human should ever consume—and pulled out a stack of take-out menus.

  After leafing through them, he tossed them back in the drawer. “Why do I even have these?” None of them were for places that were open. He toyed with the idea of texting Sasha. She did work for him….

  He put the idea out of his mind. Jasper didn’t need to come off as a self-absorbed, stuck-up guy who didn’t get out of his mansion much, even if it was true. Maybe just the not-getting-out-of-his-house part. He could benefit from leaving the premises more often.

  Opening the fridge again, he muttered, “You go to the Nine-0 meetings.” He glanced at the door and saw a carton of eggs. He could probably put together a plate of eggs and toast himself.

  He cracked and whisked and found a frying pan in the fifth cupboard he opened. “And the beach,” he continued talking to himself. “And out to dinner everyday. Okay, sometimes.”

  His breakfast came at dinnertime, and his routine of waking, showering, checking email and his schedule for the day was almost as easy as breathing. He left the house then, usually, and went to grab something to eat. Sometimes he ordered in, as evidenced by the take-out menus that were for places closed in the morning.

  Something didn’t smell right, and he spun back to the stove. Smoke lifted from the pan, and he hadn’t even poured the eggs in yet. He frowned, trying to figure out what to do. Oil? Butter?

  He yanked open the fridge and couldn’t see anything of the sort. So he grabbed the bowl where he’d cracked a few eggs and dumped them into the hot pan.

  A searing, scorching sound lifted into the air, and the eggs started to boil. Boil. That certainly wasn’t right, and the smell went from a little bit of metal smokiness to downright disgusting burnt egg stench.

  He actually gagged and pulled the pan off the flame, hoping that would help. It didn’t, but the eggs settled into an even surface. No way he could eat them though. He’d never eat in this house again, actually, not with that horrible aroma hanging around.

  Laughter sounded behind him and he turned toward the arched entryway to find Sasha standing there in a dark gray pair of leggings that emphasized the length of her legs, and an equally form-fitting top in the same color, with a slash of bright blue across the stomach and chest.

  He pulled in a breath, regretting it when that overcooked egg smell got trapped in his nostrils.

  “It’s nice to know you can’t cook,” she said, putting her bag on the kitchen counter with a smile that showed her perfectly white teeth.

  “We all have flaws,” he said, moving to block the offending eggs. He wondered how he could find out hers without coming on too strong or being a jerk.

  She lifted the list and asked, “You have a theater room in the basement?”

  He nodded with a shrug attached. “I’m having a party on the weekend.” You should come. Could he say that? To his houseke
eper of two days? Didn’t feel like it, and he bit the invitation back.

  Her face tightened, and the smile disappeared. “I’m still okay to shower after I finish?”

  “Of course. I’ll put a new towel in there.” Panic poured through him. He might have to text Jacqueline and find out where the clean towels were. They somehow showed up in Jasper’s bathroom each week, and while he did know where the washer and dryer were, Jacqueline took care of laundry and food. And cooking.

  She couldn’t stay in the mornings to do the cleaning she’d been doing for a decade because her son had just been diagnosed with diabetes, and she needed to be home with him in the mornings to check his sugar levels, administer insulin, and take him to doctor’s appointments.

  So she came early-early in the morning and made his breakfast, and she’d been coming on Sunday afternoons—he thought. He was pretty sure it was Sunday that his laundry was taken and then brought back folded and smelling like the tropical flowers Hawaii boasted to the world.

  “I’m gonna head up to bed,” he said.

  “I’ll be quiet.”

  “Oh, you’ll be in the basement. I won’t hear you if you close the door.”

  “Oh yeah? Pretty good soundproofing down there?”

  “The best,” he said before he realized it probably sounded like bragging. “I mean—didn’t you want to ask me something yesterday?” The thought of what she could possibly want from him had plagued him since he’d woken late yesterday afternoon.

  He bit back a yawn as she studied him.

  “Yeah, um, about that.” She shifted her feet and tucked a non-existent piece of hair behind her ear. “I was just thinking it would be nice if we got to know each other a little bit more. I mean, I’m working here now, and I don’t even know you.”

  He blinked and stared, everything he’d speculated about flying out of his head. He hadn’t expected her to ask him out.

  “Like, maybe just coffee or something,” she hastened to add. “So these little exchanges aren’t so awkward.” She gave a nervous giggle and clenched her arms across her middle.

  “Yeah, sure, I drink coffee.” He gave himself a mental shake. I drink coffee? He drew in a deep breath and tried to figure out how to interact with a woman again. It had been a long time for him, and his last relationship had been with a fellow Nine-0 member and utterly boring. Before that, he’d found all of his girlfriends online as he spent an astronomical amount of time on the computer and Internet for work.

  And chatting through an app or even text was not the same as being face-to-face with a woman with his heart crashing against his ribs like waves against the lava cliffs on the other side of the island.

  She smiled, the gesture lighting the whole kitchen, and ducked her head. “All right. Coffee. You’ve got my number.” She moved past him effortlessly and collected the bucket of supplies and the vacuum.

  He simply watched, maybe a little stalkerishly. Jasper jumped into motion as she lugged everything toward him. “Let me help you.” He took the vacuum and led her to the doorway behind the main staircase that led into the basement. “Here we go.”

  A blast of stale air hit him when he opened the door, and he honestly wasn’t sure which was worse—that or the burnt egg smell still filling the house.

  With the vacuum at the bottom of the steps and Sasha getting to work, Jasper climbed back to the main floor and then up to his private suite on the second floor, one more item on his to-do list before he could sleep: Invite people over for the party this weekend.

  Chapter Three

  Sasha finished wiping the order counter, where sticky rings from her fruity drinks always seemed to be. It was mid-afternoon, and a lull had hit. Tawny had texted that morning after her beach yoga class.

  A simple message, really. So? Beach Club at three. Update wanted.

  And Sasha had an update. She tossed the washcloth into the sink at the back of the stand and untied her apron. “Maddy, I’m running out for an hour. You’ll be okay?”

  The thirty-year-old Polynesian woman waved the hand holding the knife. She tossed a smile over her shoulder and said, “Go. I’ll be fine,” and continued chopping pineapple.

  Relief rushed through Sasha that she’d found Maddy last summer. The woman had saved Sasha so much stress when it came to The Straw. She worked hard, and she never called in sick, was never late, and Sasha never worried about her taking money from the till while she was gone.

  She jumped in her car and drove around the curve in the island to another inlet, this one busier than the one where The Straw sat. A line stretched in front of Two Coconuts, another drink stand and her biggest competition.

  But not really. Since they were on different beaches, it wasn’t like she lost customers to them. But when Fisher DuPont had built his huge hotel on this bay instead of the adjoining one, he automatically brought more vacationers, tourists, and thus customers, to Two Coconuts.

  She eyed the other drink stand, suddenly thirsty, and cast a look toward the bay to see if her friends had shown up yet. It didn’t look like it, so she joined the line and studied the menu. “Guava and banana?” She shook her head. Didn’t Mo know that combination would make people sick?

  Not your job, she chanted as she inched forward. “I’ll take the Fruity Foursome,” she said. “Large. Frozen, with a straw.”

  The girl smiled at her and rang up her purchase while calling the order over her shoulder. Sasha tried not to look like she was drinking in the details of the inner workings of the shop. But Mo wasn’t there, and this teen girl had probably just come on after her last high school class for the day.

  Sasha paid and stepped to the side, still watching the people inside the hut. It wasn’t bigger than The Straw, but Mo had four people working at the moment, and they had better blenders than she did. Her Fruity Foursome took about five minutes before it was handed to her in a tall, slim Styrofoam cup to keep it cold.

  She took a sip of the tart and sweet combination, glad she hadn’t opted for something new. She loved this combination of orange, strawberry, banana, and mango, and she’d put something similar on her menu over a year ago.

  The sun didn’t feel particularly warm that day, and a bit of cloud cover had moved in. Sasha gazed out over the bay, her absolute favorite place in the whole world. The warm sand covered her sandaled feet as she headed toward the Beach Club’s usual spot on the edge of Sweet Breeze’s private beach, and she found Esther there already.

  “Hey.” Sasha dropped to the sand beside her. “Am I early?”

  “No, they’re running late,” she said. “I guess Stacey had some problem in the gardens and Tawny’s locking up her bike.” Esther reached over and stroked back Sasha’s loose hair. “You okay?”

  Sasha appreciated the gesture. Though Esther was only a few years older than her, she felt like a wiser older sister. Sasha had never kept anything from her, but she hadn’t told anyone about her financial troubles. Not even the women in the Beach Club.

  A few minutes later, Tawny gave an exaggerated sigh as she laid out her towel. “There must be some sort of convention at Sweet Breeze. There’s so many people on the trails.”

  “There is,” Esther said. “Something about eye doctors. Researchers? Something.” She focused on her phone and Sasha watched Stacey as she came down the beach.

  As soon as she arrived, Sasha would be expected to give the update. Winnie had texted to say she couldn’t make it but wanted to know if she needed to drop off her fifty dollars.

  Stacey had barely arrived when Tawny pulled a twenty dollar bill from her beach bag and waved it around. “So?”

  Sasha grinned and made a grab for the money. Tawny yanked it away, her eyes bright and teasing.

  “That’s mine,” Sasha said.

  “Really?” Tawny laughed and handed it over. “He said yes?”

  “How did you ask him?” Stacey asked.

  “I suggested coffee,” Sasha said. “And made it sort of like ‘hey, I don’t know you at all,
but you’re asleep upstairs while I work, and it’s kind of awkward.’” Sasha lifted one shoulder in a shrug and took another drink of her smoothie. “He said he drank coffee. I’m waiting for him to text me for when we’ll go.”

  “He hasn’t texted you yet?” Esther asked.

  “He sleeps during the day,” Sasha said, a pinch starting just behind her lungs. That was why she hadn’t heard from him yet. “But he said yes.” She waggled her fingers. “So pass over the cash.”

  Stacey and Esther both handed her their money with wide smiles on their faces. “That’s great,” Stacey said. “Really, Sasha. What if you guys end up falling in love?”

  Sasha scoffed, the idea absolutely ridiculous. So maybe Jasper was ridiculously good-looking. And she found it hilarious and endearing that he couldn’t even scramble eggs, though she supposed her natural talent in the kitchen didn’t extend to everyone.

  “It’s just coffee,” she told her friends—and herself—as she folded the cash and put it in her pocket. If she left now, she could get over to the electric company and pay her bill before she had to be back at The Straw.

  She started to stand and her phone chimed.

  “Is that him?” Tawny asked, her voice carrying too much interest.

  “I’m sure it’s—” Sasha cut off as she saw Jasper’s name on the screen. “He said, how about coffee tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Tawny jumped up and took Sasha’s phone from her. She read the message as if she didn’t believe Sasha and then asked, “Are you free tonight?”

  “I’d need to talk to Macey, and it depends on how busy we are.”

  “You can sneak away for an hour.” Tawny started tapping on the screen, dictating as she went. “I have to check with my staff.” She wiggled her eyebrows under her sunglasses. “See? You’re the boss, but you’re a nice person too.”

  “Thanks, Tawny,” Sasha said in a monotone. But honestly, she was glad someone else was responding, because she honestly couldn’t believe he’d said yes. That he’d texted. That she’d even asked him in the first place.