I lift my mug to my lips and pause before taking a drink at the vision walking through the double doors. Unless I’m having a vivid hallucination, the woman who won’t leave my head is here.
Walt is behind her. He tips his head as if to say “Well, here she is. Don’t blow it again.”
I blew it by telling her how I felt about her. I blew it by showing up in Chicago. Or maybe I blew it at least ten times before then by not reading the obvious signs that she was always on her way out. But she’s here now. That has to count for something.
My mother squeezes my forearm in support. Then she joins in the conversation with Archer and Benji, while Will sips his bourbon.
Vivian approaches me cautiously. She’s fiddling with her purse strap as her eyes flit around the room. Walt introduces himself to my family.
I hear Will say, “Steele? Your name is Walt Steele?”
Vivian’s eyes snap to mine. Those moments when I told her I knew her name, and after when she collapsed in my arms, come back to me in vivid technicolor. My arms ache to hold her and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I love her. I probably always will.
“Hi.” Her voice is quiet, but I hear strength there. She’s nothing if not strong. I expected her to bounce back from our breakup without a problem. I wonder if she’s here for closure. I’m not sure if I’m prepared for it, but here we go.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” I admit.
“Walt made me come.”
I should’ve known. He’s been cagey about her, limiting what I know. I thought he was taking her side and evidently I was right. She is here for closure. I must’ve misinterpreted the look on Walt’s face when he walked in.
“Can I get you a drink?” I offer.
She shakes her head. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“This is the most private room in the bar, although it’s about to be flooded with fifty or so people. Whatever you have to say, you should probably go on and say it.”
And fast. Maybe once my heart is shattered beyond repair, I can let her go. I have a coffee mug with a chip on the edge. I keep it because it’s my favorite. If I dropped it and it shattered into a thousand pieces, I’d finally let the damn thing go and buy a new one.
I don’t want a new one, I think as I study her face. The freckles dotting her nose. The cautious yet gentle way her brown eyes meet mine. I allow my gaze to slide past her blouse and jeans to her shoes. She’s wearing flats. Not Louboutins. Maybe this whole thing was a dream.
“Okay.” She licks her lips and adjusts her purse on her shoulder, accepting the gauntlet I’ve thrown.
I steel myself. I’m ready to hear whatever she’s going to say. So then why is my heart beating triple time? Why do I have the urge to grab her up and hug her, beg her to come home?
I manage not to do either. Instead I take long pull of my draft beer.
And wait.
Vivian
Well. This isn’t going the way I expected.
Okay, that’s not true. This is going exactly the way I expected.
I’m nervous. Nate is unavailable. His shoulders are rigid. His stubborn jaw is set. I pushed him away and this time, it was for good.
“Congratulations. On the site,” I say, off to a rocky start. “And thank you. For Walt, I mean. For not firing him.”
Nate’s eyebrows close over his nose.
“Not that you would, but I appreciate that you didn’t. I was considering moving to Chicago. For good. Walt doesn’t want me to.”
I search Nate’s face for a sign that he’d welcome me back to Ohio, to him. That there is some way to salvage what I’ve destroyed. I’m holding on to the barest flicker of hope, but he snuffs it out when he lowers his voice to speak.
“I shouldn’t have talked you into the Grand Marin position.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. I could tell by your hesitation you weren’t comfortable accepting the offer.”
I was a big fat scaredy-cat. And I left him high and dry in the process. “I should have either started right away or refused. I left you hanging.”
His eyebrows bend but I can’t figure out why. Is he sad I didn’t take it? Or have I left him hanging in another sense?
A few guests walk in and he shakes their hands. He introduces me quickly, mentioning that I work at an inspection bureau in Ohio. He tells them I “did some work for us” on one of his properties. Then he corrals me to a quieter corner of the room. He’s careful not to touch me, pointing the way for me to walk ahead of him.
“I guess this was a bad idea.” I laugh, uncomfortable. Coming here was an epically horrible idea. I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Walt called me out on being in love with Nate, and he was right, but what am I supposed to do about it? What would be the point? Why would Nate believe anything I had to say after I told him I could never love him?
“Whatever you need to say to make this trip worth it for you,” he prompts again, sounding impatient, “why don’t you go ahead and say it.” He gives me an encouraging nod, granting me an opportunity to speak freely.
I can save a hell of a lot of face, and my pride, by telling him I came by to wish him the best for his future before I head back to Ohio.
Or. I can tell him how I feel. I can be honest with him.
I can be honest with myself.
Wouldn’t that be a revelation?
I peer up at his beautifully imperfect face. A face I’ve been trying to come to terms with never seeing again. A face I never could have dreamed of missing someday. He was a billionaire with a sledgehammer in an Armani suit trying to pave a path to the bank. I was a former criminal’s daughter, hiding out where I didn’t belong.
It never would have worked.
So why am I still here?
“Viv?” His blue eyes lock onto mine. There’s a hidden emotion behind them I pray is what I think it is.
Go big or go home, isn’t that what they say?
Once upon a time I was brave enough to take huge leaps.
Am I still?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nate
Vivian is twisting her fingers. I can tell this is hard for her. Regret washes over her face with every breath she takes. I’ve now accepted she’s here for closure. There’s one last thing she needs to say to me. I won’t make this harder for her. I don’t want to hurt her any more than she’s been hurting herself.
I never planned on falling in love with her. I planned on having her in my bed. And once she was there, I made damn sure she didn’t have a reason to leave right away. What grew between us was more than great sex. We had a connection. Maybe as kids who grew up surrounded by addicts. Maybe as people who know what it’s like to have a lot and have a little—even if we experienced it in the opposite order.
But our “connection” was one-sided. She wasn’t ready. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that you can’t make someone ready just because you are. They have their own timeline. I don’t want anyone pressing me to change before I’m ready. Vivian doesn’t want that either.
But damn, she’s going to take a lifetime to recover from.
“When my father was arrested,” she starts, her voice strong and her eyes on her hands, “and then sentenced, I watched my life rip at the seams. I blamed myself for the demise of the company. For the friends and relationships lost. For standing by while he tore down our family’s future brick by brick.” She takes a breath and continues. “Mom died. Walt was using. And then Dad died. By then I was clumsily making my way. I couldn’t trust myself in a high-powered, intense job, and I couldn’t trust myself in a relationship. I knew I’d sacrifice anything to keep Walt and myself afloat, to protect what family I had left.”
I give her a sad smile. I completely understand.
“And then I did.” She makes a cute face and my heart squeezes. “I became what I needed: bulletproof.”
Keep going, beautiful. You’re doing great.
“
I came here tonight to be honest with you, Nate.”
Here we go. I swallow thickly, realize I’m parched, and take a swallow of beer. I need something stronger. After this shindig I’m buying a bottle of whiskey. Archer and Benji won’t ask me to explain, but they will help me drink it.
“Love hurts. That’s the speech I gave myself.” Her gaze wanders as she adds thoughtfully, “Is there anything worse than lying to yourself? If you don’t tell yourself the truth, how can you be honest with anyone else?” Her eyes finally meet mine. I suddenly wish I were bulletproof.
“But it’s not love that hurts. It’s losing love that hurts. I know better than anyone, because I lost you.” I’m nodding while she talks, hoping to get through this as swiftly and painlessly as possible. So I can buy my whiskey and drown my misery. So caught up in what I thought she was going to say, I have to stop nodding and rewind that last bit.
“What was that?” The room has grown louder as guests have come in. Maybe I misheard her.
“I love you,” she says. “And I lost you because I was too stupid to tell you how I felt. To risk not being bulletproof. To risk letting you love me.” She smiles, but it has a sad quality. “I love you, Nate.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You do?”
“I do.” She cups my face with both hands. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I know you deserve better than what I can offer. You deserve someone whole, not in pieces. You deserve—”
I press my index finger over her lips and shake my head. “You, Vivian Vandemark, don’t get to decide what I deserve and don’t deserve.”
Her smile appears from behind my finger. She tugs my hand away.
“I love you, Nate Owen. I love you and I’m so, so sorry I pushed you away. I didn’t know what I had—what I deserved. It was you. All along.”
Her voice fades into a whisper and her eyes mist over. I’m in shock, and might be having a very vivid dream. Maybe I’m still in Benji’s guest bedroom asleep and hungover. But in case I’m not, I should clear something up.
“I have been so heartsick over you I couldn’t breathe. I wanted you and I had no idea what to do to win you back. I was too damn afraid of scaring you off again.”
“You didn’t scare me. I scared myself.” Her hands slide down to my neck and come to rest on my chest. I missed her touch. “I can’t say for sure this is the last time I’ll screw up, but I can promise I’ll never stop loving you. I thought I was protecting my heart. That backfired terribly.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I grip her waist, ignoring the din of the background voices and music. “I think you’re doing fine.”
I bend and capture her mouth with mine, my eyes slipping closed as I drink her in. Her warm vanilla scent wraps around me as she clings to my neck. She’s all I’ve wanted—all I’ve needed—for several days, weeks, hell, a lifetime. I’m vaguely aware of background commentary coming from Benji. Someone claps and others join in. Walt yells, “Finally!”
When I open my eyes, there’s only Vivian. The cute freckles decorating her nose. Her silken dark hair brushing my arms. Her slim waist trapped between my palms. I itch for more of her. I want to tear off her dress and be skin to skin with her—as close as humanly possible. Me inside her. Us becoming one. It’s been too long.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” she asks, and what kills me is that she sounds sincere.
I sweep her hair aside and cradle her jaw. “I love you too much to let a little thing like you leaving me stand in our way.”
She laughs.
“Happiness looks good on you.”
“You look good on me.” Her smile fades. “I have one more question.”
“Yes is my answer. No matter what.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.” Her smile broadens.
“It doesn’t matter.” I have no idea what she wants. Does she want to move in with me? Want me to move here? Want me to buy a boat and sail the Caribbean? Don a set of pasties and climb on the pub’s bar top? “If it keeps a smile on your face, it’ll be worth it.”
“Can I…” She licks her lips, trying to be brave. She’s struggling. Vulnerability is new for her. She’s never been safe before. She had the illusion of safety, but money, for the amazing things it provides, never makes you truly safe. That comes from within.
“Can you…” I prompt.
She bites down on her plush bottom lip, losing her nerve. I lean in closer, my lips over the shell of her ear.
“Come home with me?” I guess. “Marry me? Take over Grand Marin, or hell, build your own Grand Marin?” I pull away to find her eyes wide with surprise but brimming with yearning. She wants some or all of those things. She’s only now allowed to herself to want them.
“Marry me?” Her voice is a croak of disbelief.
“All right.” I nod. “I’ll marry you. On one condition.”
Shock and joy burst onto her face like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. Who knew joy was lurking behind her sharp-as-a-knife sass? “What condition?”
“You choose where we live. Chicago. Clear Ridge. The moon. I don’t care anymore. I can live anywhere, but only if I’m making a life with you.”
Her mouth hits mine and she strangles my neck in her attempt to be closer. Someone yells for us to “Get a room.” Archer. I’d recognize his pessimistic grumble anywhere.
“That’s a good idea,” I call back to him. My hand around her waist, I turn to go. “Archer will cover for me.”
Arch gives me a “yeah, yeah” eye roll and waves me off. He has my back. He always has.
“Nate, we don’t have to leave,” Vivian whispers as I guide her to the exit.
“Oh, yes we do. We have a week to make up for. A lot of naked moments were missed.”
“Oh,” she purrs. She wraps my arms around her waist and leads us outside. “Your hotel or mine?”
“You choose,” I tell her. Once outside, she stops and digs in her purse. Slipping off her flats, she replaces them with a pair of shoes I recognize. The Louboutins I bought her. “You brought them.”
She stuffs the flats into her purse and takes my hand. “When Prince Charming gives you shoes, you keep them.”
“Is that the moral of the story?” I lower my face to hers.
“No,” she whispers against my lips. “The moral of the story is no matter where you go, there you are. So you’d damn well better make the best of it.”
“I like that.” I steal another kiss.
“I love you. I won’t ever deny myself again. Not now that I know what lies on the other side of it. Life is better with you. I don’t want anything but you for the rest of my life.”
My heart unfurls like a banner.
“You’re for me, Nathaniel Owen.”
“So are you, Vivian Vandemark.” And soon, I think with a wicked curve of my lips, she’ll be changing her last name yet again.
This time so she can take mine.
Keep reading for a peek at Benji’s and Cris’s story: Charmed by the Billionaire…
Charmed by the Billionaire PREVIEW
Charmed by the Billionaire
Chapter One
Cris
Working for Benjamin Owen is agony. Pure agony.
Not in the “my boss is an A-hole” sort of way, which would be easier, but in the “my boss is my best friend” way, which is much, much worse. Especially when said boss doesn’t acknowledge me beyond his friend and life assistant.
Pardon me, life assistant coach.
He’s been vocal about the title adjustment, most notably to his brothers, who likely have observed me shadowing Benji’s every footfall like a devoted Labradoodle.
“Can I treat you to lunch, coach?” Benji strolls into his kitchen where I’m waiting on the one-cup coffee maker to finish sputtering java into my travel mug.
Coach. I don’t like that nickname.
There’s nothing alluring or feminine or even personal about it. Not that I expect him to address me as “h
oney” or “gorgeous.” That would be unprofessional. But it would be alluring and feminine and possibly personal. If he bothered to notice that I was, in fact, a woman.
Sigh.
“You’re looking at my lunch.” I elevate my mug of coffee, and his mouth pulls down at the corners. I’ve yet to give you a full picture of Benjamin “Benji” Owen. Let me do that now.
The basic stats: he’s thirty-three years old, having just turned thirty-three on October thirteenth. He’s six-feet, one-inch tall if you don’t count his hair, which is fantastic. It’s thick, ink-black, and tousled into a stylish, want-to-run-your-fingers-through-it mass on top of his head, but short in the back with groomed, neat sideburns that aren’t too long or too short. Eyebrows: dark, arched and expressive. Eyes: brown but not just any brown. Caramel brown, almost golden when the sun hits them right. Lashes: enviably long. Nose: straight, narrow but not pointy. Mouth…
Give me a second to pull myself together.
Cue full-body shivers.
Mouth. Straight white teeth thanks to braces when he was a teenager, full lips almost always parked in an appreciative, happy grin, or a smirk hinting that an appreciative, happy grin is about to emerge.
Clothes: divine. I’ve never met a man who dresses as impeccably as Benji. Sure, his brothers dress well, but Archer and Nate do it in a rote way. Benji’s outfits are carefully selected. His shoes are Salvatore Ferragamos, which cost between one and two grand per pair. His shirts are almost always button-down, usually a checked pattern, and his trousers encase long, strong legs. He’s slim, but not “skinny” and boasting a body I’ve admired when he wears a lot less. Like when he’s swimming in his pool or we go jogging together. You could whittle wood with his calf muscles. His torso arrows down to a V marked by delineating lines at his hipbones. And—brace yourself—there’s a tattoo on his flank—between his ribs. The words “carpe diem” are etched there in stylish cursive—his own handwriting.
Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1 Page 24
