Just Friends: A Summer Fling With A Billionaire Heir

by Cynthia Dane

  So they found a compromise. Since Rachel wasn’t comfortable living with him full time (yet,) and she also didn’t want him paying for even a tiny studio apartment on the edge of downtown, Zack offered to remodel the master bedroom in his art studio for Rachel to have to herself. Rent free.

  In a way, she was still reliant on him, but she had her space separate from him. She could invite her boyfriend to spend the night in her bed whenever she wanted, and she could go over and sleep in his when the moment called for it. So far, they had only spent one night apart, but Rachel loved having the option. The only problem was when she was still asleep and Zack came into his studio to start hacking away at another piece of marble. It only woke her up a little bit.

  The alarm went off. The hour for silent writing was up, and the women around the table pulled out their earbuds and stretched their arms above their heads. Rachel dropped her pen on her notebook and waited for someone else to speak.

  This was her second meeting. While she liked the other women well enough, she was still in that awkward stage of getting to know them and figuring out which ones she might like to become friends with. Another brilliant Zack plan. He had bluntly told her on the flight back to America that she needed a couple more friends. At least. Rich, coming from the guy who had one best friend and otherwise only hung out with his uncle. But he was right. Rachel couldn’t rely on Parvati all the time. She needed to find more likeminded female friends.

  “Oh, hi.” A petite woman startled Rachel from behind. “Is this the writing group? I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic killed me and then I got lost. Afraid I’m still getting to know this city.”

  The group warmly welcomed her and told her she had arrived in time for the break. The woman next to Rachel scooted over so the newcomer could bring a chair from another table. Her grin on her round face suggested she was giddy enough to write a novel over the course of the next hour.

  “I’m Madison,” the young woman said after plopping her pink spiral-bound notebook on the table. “Guess I’m working on a memoir. Anyone else?”

  Everyone looked at Rachel, the resident memoirist. “Writing a small memoir about my dating life. I’m Rachel, by the way.”

  “Really? Me too! Uh, I guess you could call it that. My girlfriend…” She froze. Everyone at the table waited for her to go on, but Madison remained petrified.

  “It’s cool,” Rachel said. “You’re not the only woman like that here.” One of the other women at the table couldn’t shut up about her girlfriends. Yes, those kinds.

  Madison smiled again. “Anyway, my girlfriend is a professional author and I’ve decided to start dabbling myself. But I needed to do it away from her, you know? Besides, we’re writing about totally different things. She writes nonfiction, and I guess I want to get a little more creative. My line of work has a lot of stuff to offer.”

  “What do you do?” the organizer asked.

  Madison hesitated again. “I work in nighttime entertainment.”

  Eyebrows raised around the table. Most of the women probably assumed that meant stripping or hostessing. Rachel glanced at the notes in Madison’s notebook and saw a few words that suggested she went a little farther than mere “look but don’t touch.” And she’s got a girlfriend? Whoa.

  “Well, welcome!” The organizer proceeded to ask how everyone did during their silent writing time. When they got to Rachel, everyone gently goaded her about the last dating story she wrote down.

  “I got to the part where I made a vow of chastity for the rest of the summer. Then I met my current boyfriend the same day.”

  Laughter rang out in the tiny coffee shop. By the time it had died down, Rachel received a text from a boyfriend with burning ears.

  “Hi, I’m early. I’m hanging out at the place across the street whenever you’re ready. No rush.”

  Rachel checked the time. There was one more writing session before the meeting officially ended, but getting that text from Zack made her anxious. We’re supposed to go up to the lake house for the night after this. One of the last hurrahs at the lake house before the days grew short and the air too cold to bother. They were predicting a cold winter. More staying in unless it was a flight to the Caribbean on the docket.

  The lake house was where it truly began for them. With any luck, a new photographer would be hiding in the bushes to get a real look at what Rachel was capable of in bed. God, I hope not. It was bad enough that Eloise nearly had a heart attack to find out Zack and Rachel were a real thing after so many months. At least Isaiah and Zack’s brothers liked her.

  Either way, it was going to be an awkward Thanksgiving. Hence the trip to the lake house before that mess began. And then it’s Christmas. We’re bringing my mother home for the holidays. Rachel was both nervous and excited. She hadn’t celebrated Christmas with her mother in years, but she knew it would be hard. That was why Zack had already arranged for two live-in nurses to stay with them and take care of Diane in shifts so Rachel wouldn’t have to fret.

  “Think I’m going to head out early, actually.” Rachel packed up her things while everyone else expressed disbelief that she was leaving so soon. “I’ll be back next week, though.”

  She waved goodbye on her way out. There, on the sidewalk across the street, was Zack’s motorcycle. And Zack perched upon it like a Calvin Klein model, phone in his hand and foot dangling over the edge of his parked bike.

  He was surprised to see Rachel so soon.

  “I did tell you that there was no rush, right?” He patted on the seat next to him. Rachel hopped on and secured her bag around her chest. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m always excited to see you.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I got excited thinking about you.”

  “Nice.” Zack handed her a helmet and pulled his over his head. “Keep thinking about how excited you are while we ride to the lake. I’ve got plans for you, Rachel Taylor?”

  “Oh, yeah?” Rachel squeezed her arms around him. Always a thrill to feel this firm body against mine. Yes! “What kind of plans do you have, exactly?”

  “Let’s say I read that dirty novel you wouldn’t shut up about and got some ideas!”

  The bike purred between Rachel’s legs. “What kind of ideas? Bondage or spanking?”

  Zack revved the engine. “Both!” Before Rachel could respond, they pulled away from the sidewalk and merged into light traffic.

  Rachel couldn’t deny how much she loved this life she now lived with a man like Zack Feldman. Five months ago, one year ago, she never would have believed that she could be this happy and content in not only a relationship, but her life as well. Was it really only five months ago when she woke up next to a man who thought a hot date was asking her for the crap he saw in porn?

  Now she had a boyfriend – and future husband – who not only made her feel like a queen every second they were together, but encouraged her to explore her creative side while respecting the boundaries that usually drove others away.

  Sometimes she felt like she lived in a real Bollywood movie, the kind where the absolute impossible happened to the lights and sounds of exquisite dance numbers. Other times she felt like she lived in a dramatic Japanese TV show that was more like a mournful ballad than a happy reprise. Then Rachel came back down to Earth and reminded herself that life was always more complicated – and easier – than fiction.

  Just like her relationship with Zack had always been more complicated than just friends.

  They sped down the highway, Rachel’s heart leaping into her throat from both the adrenaline rush and the fantasy that she could spend the rest of her life with this man, her best friend in the whole world. (Sorry, Parvati.)

  Rachel had always believed that a woman should be best friends with her life partner. She never thought it could possibly come true.

  THE END

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  We hope you enjoyed JUST FRIENDS Please enjoy this bonus preview of DOM VS. DOMME, set in the same universe and starring the characters Ian and Kathryn.

  Dom Vs Domme #1: BITE ME

  CHAPTER 1

  KATHRYN

  Do you see that guy over there in the Armani suit? No, no, not the balding man with a bit of a hunch. I’m talking about the much younger, much better looking guy who looks like a spoiled prince on the verge of getting his way again.

  Yeah. That guy.

  That’s Ian Mathers. And I hate him.

  Sounds childish, doesn’t it? I admit being around that man makes me feel immature as hell. Whenever I see that smug face, all I can think about is screaming at him that he’s really not all that.

  I wish I didn’t have to see him today. I told my dad that this was a terrible idea. Not that the Mathers don’t have their shit together. By all accounts, they’re doing fine, even for an empire ran by a divorced couple and their only son. That old balding guy there is Dominic Mathers, Ian’s father. He’s not a bad guy, I guess. Hell, I really like the ex-wife Caroline. There’s a woman who knows her worth and doesn’t take shit from nobody. My kind of role model.

  Somehow, though, those two seemingly decent people managed to raise an insufferable son. See? He’s noticed me. Now he’s coming over here and…

  “Morning, Kathryn.” If the man had a fedora, he’d be tipping it. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. How are you doing?”

  My assistant sneaks through the conference room door with my coffee. Anita isn’t much younger than me, but you would think a decade separated us from how mousy and demure she is. A lot of people mistake her for my little sister even though I’m the only child in this branch of the Alison family tree.

  I take the coffee from her, grateful to have something to occupy my body with. When I’m annoyed I get fidgety, and I really don’t need Ian seeing me anxious around him. We may be on the same side during this meeting, but I don’t need him holding my nerves over my head.

  Because he totally would.

  “I’m decent.” At least that’s the truth. Things could be worse, but things could also be way better. I only have so much patience in the day. “Are the Andrews here yet?”

  Ian looks at his watch, as if that will answer my question. “Doesn’t seem so. We still have fifteen minutes, though.”

  I can already tell that this is going to be a long day. The Andrews, a power couple who own multiple properties in the city, are looking to do something with one of the downtown hotels. Just so happens that the Mathers are up the ass of hospitality. So, it makes sense that Dominic and Ian are interested in buying The Grand, if only to add it to the many hotels in their domain.

  When my father approached me about it, however, I thought he was nuts.

  “Dominic and I had drinks the other night,” he said two weeks ago, lying back in his leather chair smoking a cigar and drinking his nightly brandy. He was in his office, one of the coziest spaces in the family house on the outskirts of town. We’re one of the only billionaire families who keep our roost in the city limits. Most of the others have houses up in the Hills, farther out in the mountains or in other states – meanwhile, they keep penthouses, apartments, and even small manors in the city for when they stay here. I moved out a long while ago to set up residence in the cutest three-bedroom overlooking the river… oh, right, my dad.

  Where was I?

  “The Mathers want to buy The Grand, but they’re not just going to overhaul it like they do everything else. They want to turn it into a cultural center. Part hotel, part museum. That’s where he brought me in, see? They want to buy the property, but Dominic wants us to help with the remodel and get the public on board. They’re particular about their historical sites.”

  Yes, yes, sure, a historical site. Just because a couple presidents stayed there in the 19th century…

  “This is a huge chance for us. For you. I don’t have time to deal with this on top of my other projects, so I want you to take control of our side.”

  I had been excited at the time. My father has trusted me more when it comes to the family business ventures. Right now I run the show at multiple art galleries, since the Alisons are all about the cultural arts. My mother, before she moved to Germany, used to joke that my father’s family had three hands: one dipped in museums, another dipped into art galleries, and the third one patting themselves on the back for enriching the cultural prospects of the little guy. The most annoying kind of philanthropists.

  Regardless, I was pretty stoked to take on a project like overhauling the museum part of The Grand. I may only be twenty-seven, but I have a double degree in business and art history. I am a master of grant writing. I single-handedly, I shit you not, recovered government funding for the local libraries in one of the low-income neighborhoods around here. Nobody else was going to do it, and I wasn’t going to stand to see more kids go without books and educational internet access while the local fat cats smoked more cigars. Sure, I could’ve cut them a check. Except this was better for their long-term bottom line, and I try to be a bit more active than taking a passive interest in donations. I mean, who do you think I am… a Mathers?

  “Kathryn,” Ian says as I attempt to turn around and go fiddle in the women’s restroom for fifteen minutes. “I trust that you’re ready for the meeting?”

  I look over my shoulder, right into those troublemaking hazel eyes. Ian cleans up well, but I know how much he stinks beneath those nice threads. “What the hell do you think? I haven’t spent the past week piecing together proposals and investments because I’m bored.”

  “No. Hardly. I don’t expect a woman like you to be bored.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shrugs, as if nothing about me really matters. “Calm down. I know you haven’t dropped the ball on this. I’m giving you a hard time.”

  It would be reassuring if it weren’t so damn condescending. He’s so good at that. Talking to you and making you feel ten times dumber about a subject than you did before. Like I don’t know I work my ass off! Just ask Anita. She works ten hours a day cleaning up after me. If it weren’t for Anita, my schedule would be a total mess.

  Just to make matters worse, the jerk winks at me before turning around and going to reconfirm something with his father. A wink. A fucking wink.

  A wink shouldn’t bristle me.

  A wink is nothing. More condescension.

  More… whatever it is he sometimes does to me.

  God, I can’t stand being around the man. When he’s not making me want to gag on his toxic smug, he’s making my knees tremble from those quick looks and quicker grins.

  I can’t believe it. Even after twelve years, I’m still hot for the bastard.

  ***

  Hang on, let me back up a minute.

  Once upon a time, back when a horny teenage girl named Kathryn was getting as much action as she could, she went to a gala hosted by Dominic Mathers.

  Ian was there. Ian Mathers, the seventeen-year-old heartthrob that every girl in our academy was throwing themselves at. Rumor was he had a good dick. Of course, to a stupid girl, a “good dick” meant anything that we could at least feel. Since Ian is two years older than me, I hadn’t seen much of him at school outside of the soccer games I went to in the autumn. Ian never stood out to me until I saw him up close at his father’s gala.

  Even back then he was clean-cut and muscular. Nah, he’s not a body-builder, but he’s got some nice, cut muscles that make most women salivate. I sure did when I was fifteen. Since our dads were school friends, my father went out of his way to int
roduce me.

  I had met Ian before, but that was before puberty, when he was a scrawny kid who looked no more interesting than a beanpole with shaggy hair. Post-puberty Ian, on the other hand, looked like a young prince ready to sweep a girl like me off her feet. I was used to boys who thought they would get whatever they wanted from me. Sure, I indulged some. I wasn’t a virgin when I saw Ian that night. I’m not proud that I was having sex by fifteen, but I don’ regret it.

  So there was this guy. Ian Mathers, the guy everyone said was sweet and handsome and well talented if you know what I mean. One of my friends said she was lab partners with his ex-girlfriend. “He makes her come twice in a row,” she exclaimed more than once. I was lucky to come from my own hand at that age.

  Do you see where I’m going with this? When I shook Ian’s hand that night at the gala, I batted my eyelashes and made sure one of the sparkly black straps of my dress fell off my shoulder. Oh, trust me, he looked at it. And then he looked at my body as if he were going to devour it whole.

  A half hour later he asked me to dance. His hands felt strong and sturdy on my frame, even though we danced a respectable distance apart. We didn’t say anything. I think he barely knew my name, and I didn’t care about any of his details. All I cared about were his eyes on my chest and his hand on my ass.

  We were horny teenagers, okay?

  Another half hour later, we were in a coat closet making out like bunnies. Or is that humping like bunnies? Either way, I was feeling things I rarely felt with any other boy. Like the burning need to fuck.

  It was gonna be quick and dirty. The boy had a condom with him, and he was putting it on before I could offer him a blowjob.

  Guess what? It’s a good thing I forwent that, because his dick had barely touched my thigh when he groaned and that was the end of everything.