Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1

by Jessica Lemmon

He shakes his head, not accepting my answer. “That was Gary’s job. That is Daniel’s job. You wanted to shut me down for another reason entirely.”

  “I don’t like cheaters,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

  “Thanks to an old boyfriend?” he guesses wrong.

  He’s fishing but using the wrong bait. “Sure.”

  The check arrives and we lock eyes for a good, long while. He pays while I finish my cappuccino.

  “You weren’t going to halt construction at Grand Marin no matter what I said or did, were you, Mr. Owen?” I ask. But I know the answer.

  He shakes his head, content to be honest. “There’s always a way to smooth out rough patches during construction, Ms. Vandemark. This isn’t my first rodeo. I have an important job to do. A reputation to uphold.”

  “A reputation for finishing early, I heard.” I grin.

  “Maybe someday you’ll find out.” His answering grin is honey-smooth. “As you now know,” he says, serious, “my reputation involves more than me. It’s the Owens I protect and serve.”

  I consider his loyalty and feel the pang of jealousy again. He has a family. A good one.

  “Is Daniel worth fighting for?” he asks of my boss.

  “What’s right is worth fighting for,” I hedge. “You can’t do whatever you want just because of your family’s last name.” A lesson I have learned over and over again.

  “Is this your own rotten-grapes experience speaking or are you envious of the haves?”

  The waiter returns and Nate signs the receipt with a flourish. When he tucks the slip into the black book, he sits back in his seat and waits for my answer.

  I don’t give him one. “Dinner was lovely. Thank you.”

  “I wanted you to see how the other side lives. We’re not so bad after all, are we?”

  We have a mini standoff. He had to have noticed the chilled veal wasn’t a new experience for me. Noticed how I viewed the braised winter chicories, duck confit and tartare with parsley root as commonplace a meal as they come.

  “It’s what I expected,” I say. “A lot of show for a little food. Expensive wine and cheap table linens.” The truth is the food was exquisite, the company enthralling, and the table linens not cheap at all.

  “Not impressed then?” he asks, but he’s smiling like he knows I’m lying.

  “Were you trying to impress me?” I’m unable to keep from bantering with him further.

  His smile gives nothing away. We’re embattled in some sort of warped foreplay that I can’t allow to wind up in the bedroom.

  Pity.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” He stands. When I turn, a broad, warm hand touches the small of my back.

  I give my ticket to the valet who scampers off to retrieve my car.

  “Until next time.” Nate lifts my hand and kisses a space between the knuckles of my index and middle fingers. It’s unexpectedly erotic. Before I accuse him of acting debonair to work an angle, he floors me with more of his signature eye contact.

  He’s close, his head angled. Electric awareness zaps between us. I want to kiss him. Push to my toes and taste his firm, full mouth. Smash my nose against his crooked one and rub up against him.

  I shouldn’t want that. I can’t afford to be close to anyone. Not after my entire life fell apart. My car arrives and I take a step away from him, the moment lost. Nate rounds my Hyundai and opens the driver’s side door. Is that disappointment in his eyes? Or challenge?

  “See you around,” he says before he closes the door.

  I pull away from the curb and smile.

  Definitely challenge.

  Chapter Eight

  Vivian

  I’m having lunch with Amber at a sidewalk cafe downtown. The homemade croissants on the chicken salad sandwiches could give Villa Moneta’s fancy-pants menu a run for its money. I finish half and debate the other buttery half before diving in, carbs be damned.

  Amber has been chattering nonstop since we sat down. I don’t mind. Changing my name made me a good listener. When I speak I have to be vague, so she’s saving me the trouble.

  “Enough about me and my life-woes,” she says suddenly. Her woes are adorable. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I complained about my mom and dad too, before Steele-Gate. Back when we were a normal family who wasn’t under investigation by the FBI. “Did you go to dinner with Nathaniel Owen yet?”

  So she did hear him ask.

  “You’ve kept quiet about that until now,” I tease as I reach for my iced tea.

  “You’re not the kind of woman who appreciates a prying friend.”

  I wince. Amber’s and my relationship is surface, and she just pointed a finger at that obvious fact. Marnie and I have no boundaries. There’s no need for them since she knows the truth.

  “I went to dinner with him last week,” I tell Amber. No reason not to tell her about it. Nothing happened. I feel a smidge of disappointment as I consider that fact.

  “He’s incredibly good-looking. How did I not know that?”

  “It wasn’t like Daniel and Gary came into the office swooning over how hot Nate is.”

  “Nate, huh?” Her eyebrows jump. I throw her a bone.

  “At first I took Daniel at his word and assumed Owen was another powerful rich guy trying to take more of what he doesn’t deserve. I suspect our dinner was mostly about Nate staying in my good graces, but I have to admit, I think he actually believes in what he’s doing.”

  He sounded passionate about his construction project, and almost humble when it came to the Owens.

  “Those shoes seemed more like he was trying to wedge his way into your skirt, not your good graces.”

  She’s usually not this frank. It’s refreshing. Am I intimidating? I smile sadly. Maybe I overcorrected when I tried to be aloof.

  “I’m not interested in Nate.” More like I refuse to be interested in him.

  “Really?” Her frown is genuine. “Not to be presumptuous, but you don’t think he’d be fun?”

  I laugh instead of envisioning how fun sleeping with him would be. If our banter over dinner, the gentle way he slipped my shoes onto my feet, and the combustible energy between us when he didn’t kiss me was anything to go by, we’d bring down the house if we slept together. I shiver at the thought and adjust myself in my seat to cover for it.

  “Men like him are more work than they are fun, Am,” I say pragmatically, trying to convince both of us.

  She smiles warmly when I use the shortened form of her name. Definitely, I need to loosen up. “I’m glad we did this. You eat at your desk so often I wasn’t sure you’d accept a lunch invitation.”

  “I appreciate you asking.” I mean it. It’s nice having a friend. “We’ll do this more.”

  “Good. Actually…” Her pausing gives me pause. “I was going to ask you for a favor.”

  Ah. I remember why I was keeping to myself now.

  My smile is plastic. “Oh?”

  “Daniel asked me to attend a function on Saturday but my sister is having a baby shower. I know, a baby shower on a Saturday night? It’s inhumane.”

  I agree.

  “Anyway”—she waves a hand—“It’s at the art institute. Daniel needs someone who’s good at mingling to be the ‘face of our division.’”

  I bet. Daniel and “mingling” go together like foie gras and peanut butter. “You were going to be his date?”

  “I’m trying to eat.” She holds two fingers to her lips and pretends to be nauseous, which is pretty funny. “Would you mind going in my place? It’s a paid gig, and I’d feel better telling him I can’t do it if I could offer you up as my replacement.”

  “You mean human sacrifice?”

  She chuckles. “To be clear, Daniel won’t be your date either.”

  “Good. I’d hate to be sick on this lovely croissant.”

  “But he’ll want you to stay close so you can bail him out of any uncomfortable conversations.”

  I could do that. Mingling
at functions used to be second nature to me. I could use the extra pay. Plus, and this is what ultimately tips me, a boujie gathering will attract a lot of fancy folk. The Owens might be in attendance.

  “What’s the actual date?” Not that I have plans on any Saturday night.

  After she tells me, I hear myself accept with, “I could use the overtime.”

  “Thanks, Vivian!” She brightens. “If I can return the favor, let me know.”

  My heart races at the possibility of seeing Nate again. How disturbing. I frown.

  “The dress code is black and white,” she tells me before returning to her own sandwich. “I’m sure Daniel will wear that horrible suit that makes him look like an undertaker.”

  I know just the one she means.

  “And, hey, the Owens might even be there.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  “I guess anything’s possible,” I say as if I hadn’t thought of it yet.

  I smile before taking another bite of my sandwich. I’ll have to wear a dress Nate hasn’t seen yet.

  Just in case.

  Nate

  “An evening under the stars,” Benji reads from the invitation sitting on my desk. He stopped by Grand Marin to take me to lunch but I’ve yet to finish returning emails. “So original.”

  “Those events are all the same,” I say distractedly before closing my laptop.

  “When are you going to hire a new assistant?” My brother sounds peeved. He has no problem handing over his to-do list. Archer and I tend to hold ours close. Archer because he’s a control freak and me…for sort of the same reason. It’s hard to trust someone else with my baby, aka whatever site I’m currently building. I wasn’t kidding when I told Vivian I do my own dirty work.

  “That last email I fired off was in response to a new virtual assistant,” I inform Benji. “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic,” he answers, deadpan. “Took you long enough.”

  I have a shit-ton of work to do. I’m fooling myself trying to handle it on my own. My last virtual assistant, Sylvia, quit after she became pregnant. “I’ve been busy.”

  “You like doing everything yourself. Admit it.”

  “It’s the hustler in me.” I pocket my keys and lock my temporary office. The drywall I demolished has been replaced. Beck wasn’t happy about having to redo the job, but he did it anyway. Benji hasn’t let me live it down.

  He knocks on the wall as he walks by. “Did you see her again?”

  “Beyond dinner?” I ask. No use pretending I don’t know who he’s talking about. “No.”

  “Really.” As he holds the door open for me, I blank my expression for clues that I give a fuck. I do, so I’m careful not to bat an eyelid.

  I walk toward my Tesla, sweat already beading my brow. It’s a scorcher today. I’m anticipating settling into its perfectly cooled interior. Gotta love technology.

  “You’re interested, though,” he observes. “I can tell.”

  “I’m interested in Vivian Vandemark because I like to keep bureaus close.” That and the warm vanilla scent on her skin drives me wild. After dinner, when I was standing at the valet station with her, I saw the exact moment her eyes darkened. She wanted me to kiss her. Her lips parted and she tilted her head ever so slightly. She was silently begging, and I’ll bet you a thousand dollars she had no idea she was doing it.

  I didn’t give in, which I’ve regretted more than once. I can’t decide if I was testing her or testing myself.

  “Well, then, I suggest you RSVP yes to the Stargazer event Saturday on behalf of Owen Construction.” My brother plunges his hands into his pants pockets.

  “Why? Because you’d rather not?”

  “I’ll go with you if you want.” He shrugs.

  “And do what, pencil pusher?” A joke. He’s great in a group of stiffs and, unlike me, everyone likes him instantly. It’s the big-ass grin that makes him approachable, or it could be his perfectly straight nose. My large frame and crooked facial features tend to spook the locals. But not Vivian, I think with a smug curve of my lips.

  “A representative of CRBI will probably be there, you know.”

  I hadn’t considered Vivian might be in attendance. My interest spikes. I try to hide it with a blasé, “And?”

  “Like you don’t want to see the woman consuming your every thought.”

  Every other thought, maybe, but not every.

  “Haven’t seen you this distracted in a while. Not since Deb—”

  “That was a long time ago, Benji.” Eons. And the only way she ever “consumed” me was praying-mantis style. “I don’t fraternize anymore. A dinner here or a professional function there is acceptable. A full-on affair?” I shake my head but it’s hard to do when my entire body is screaming YES. An affair with Vivian is too tame a term for what would happen if we wound up in bed together. We’d incinerate the sheets to ash. Cinders would burn for days…

  “Sure, Nate. Whatever you say.”

  “Don’t push me,” I warn, pointing at the car for him to get in. “Unless you’d like me to start asking a bunch of questions about Cristin.”

  “Ask away,” he says easily as he slides into the car. “She’s a family friend, and arguably my closest ally.”

  “Ally. Could you be more of a robot?” I reverse out of Grand Marin, vowing to take my car in for a bath today. Have to clean her up since I’ll be visiting the art institute on Saturday.

  “I’m exercising the control you evidently can’t,” Benji says. “Keeping my business and my private life sequestered. Cris is a close friend and a professional. If I came on to her, she’d—”

  “Faint dead away,” I finish for him.

  “No. She’d—”

  “Orgasm instantly.”

  “Jesus, Nate.” He sounds perturbed, but not because of my lewd comment. If you ask him, he’ll say he doesn’t like to think of Cris that way. If you ask me, I think it’s because he very much likes to think of Cris that way. It’s a shame he won’t let himself have nice things.

  What Benji lost as a kid was unwarranted, unexpected. Devastating. His parents were professionals—his mom was a nurse and his dad was a doctor. Talk about two people who should live as long as possible.

  Meanwhile my parents were destroying themselves and the people around them. How long were a junkie and his codependent wife meant to live? Who were they helping? Not long, and no one are the answers. Anyway, Benji has a wound and it keeps him from letting himself be too comfortable.

  “Vivian’s an orphan,” I say before I mean to. “She mentioned she was parentless at dinner, but she was an adult when it happened.” Whatever “it” was. I didn’t ask. I haven’t shaken the idea she’s hiding something from me, but why does it matter? Like Benji, I should keep my personal life and business life sequestered.

  Unfortunately, I like amalgamation.

  “A woman who works at CRBI is destined for a frumpy husband who sells insurance.”

  I make a face like I ate an olive—I hate olives.

  “If you saw her, you’d never say that,” I grumble. I don’t like the idea of Vivian with a frumpy anything. Including her wardrobe. She dusted off her finest frock for our dinner together. I noticed, but didn’t mention it. She wanted me to notice, but not mention it. I was merely obeying her wishes.

  “I took her to Villa Moneta,” I tell my brother as I drive.

  “Villa Moneta.” Benji whistles. “Fancy place if all you were trying to do is keep her in your pocket.”

  “I wanted to observe her in that environment.”

  “Harsh, Nate. If you wanted to make her uncomfortable, why not invite her to the Owen house for dinner?”

  “That’s just it,” I say, my mind on her behavior at dinner. “She wasn’t uncomfortable. She wasn’t impressed. She didn’t ask what a single item was on her plate. She casually mentioned the wine. The label was in French and the name of it rolled off her tongue.”

  Sexiest words I’ve ever heard in my life.

  “So ci
ty employees can’t be sophisticated?”

  “When have you known me to be a snob?”

  “Never.” He shakes his head.

  “That’s right. Never. As a guy who came from nothing, I recall vividly how difficult it was to learn the ropes of high society. She was comfortable. An eight-course meal didn’t ruffle a single one of her fine feathers.”

  “Cris didn’t grow up in wealth either, and she’s comfortable in those sorts of circumstances. Maybe Vivian used to work with a wealthy family.”

  “Maybe.” But the idea of something bigger and more secretive won’t leave me alone. I want to know more about her. I have since the moment she stomped onto my work site. I know I should leave it alone, but when it comes to her I can’t seem to help myself.

  “I was upper middle class, you were dirt poor, and we do fine blending in with these people.”

  “Benji, we are these people.” I pull to a stop in front of Club Nine. We’re picking up Archer for an Owen brother powwow before his club’s grand opening. “Speaking of, a cigar has had our name on it since you skipped having one on Lainey’s birthday.”

  “No can do. Cris doesn’t like to smell cigar on me when I go back to the office.”

  I keep my pot/kettle comment to myself.

  Chapter Nine

  Vivian

  The Stargazer function began at seven. I arrived at six o’clock with Daniel, feeling awkward for several reasons. Firstly, we looked like we arrived together as a couple even though I drove separately, and secondly, this crowd is a blast from my past.

  My father dragged our family to who-knows-how-many business functions to celebrate his accomplishments. Whether it was a dinner or there was a podium or it was an excuse to get hammered like this one, they were basically the same. Rich folk like to see and be seen. They like other people to know who they are. I was one of them before my father went down in a blaze of shame. There’s a thought.

  I sweep my hand down my dress and consider I’d fit in better if it had six more inches of length and fewer sequins. I stand out, but not because my dress is gaudy. Because it’s fun. No one here is dressed for fun.