My French Billionaire (In Bed with a Billionaire Book 5)

by Marian Tee

  But this woman ---

  Had she even bothered to look at her face in the mirror?

  “Sir?”

  He recalled himself with an effort, and seeing that she was still waiting for an answer, Christien said finally, “No, I’m sorry, I was just---” Staring because you look like a clown-turned-bogeyman come to life? He smiled politely. “Anyway, that’s all.”

  “Alright then.” The woman flashed him another dimpled smile. “I’ll be back with your order in a few.”

  He watched her walk away, absently noting the attractive and entirely natural sway of her hips. She was boyishly slender, with barely-there curves. Since this was a bar, he immediately discounted the possibility that she hadn’t matured into full womanhood yet.

  Either she was on a really strict diet, Christien thought, or she hadn’t enough to eat.

  The latter possibility disturbed him, and he didn’t understand why.

  With her back to him as she worked on the coffee machine, he continued to study her, taking note of the way her hands moved with brisk efficiency.

  A woman after his own heart, he thought.

  Another customer came over, asking her for a glass of water, and she didn’t seem to notice at all how the other woman had ended up gaping at the sight of her.

  Christien knew when a person was and wasn’t faking it – how could he not when he had been faking being human his entire life – and the waitress…was the real deal. Her lack of vanity – of sheer self-awareness – was astounding.

  The billionaire was about to turn away when he realized a couple of things.

  One: the other woman had noticed him.

  Two: she had also noticed him noticing the waitress –

  Three: and she didn’t like it.

  As the waitress gave the customer her glass of water, the woman flashed her a catty smile. “Thanks.”

  “Our pleasure to---”

  The woman cut her off with a laugh. “That’s funny.”

  The waitress didn’t lose her smile, only asking easily, “What is?”

  Christien’s jaw clenched. It was one thing to be unaware or uncaring of her looks, but how could she not know when she was being mocked?

  “You don’t exactly make a pleasurable sight, you know? Don’t you know you could be scaring customers away with your---” She gestured to the waitress’ face, saying with a light shudder, “I don’t even know what to call your makeup. It’s just so---” She shuddered again then glanced at Christien with a derisive smile that invited him to share her scorn.

  When he didn’t smile back, her face hardened, and the billionaire realized then that he might have only made it worse for the waitress.

  And he didn’t like it.

  He didn’t like it at all.

  Christien stood up as the woman faced the waitress again, and he reached her side just as she opened her mouth.

  “I’d think twice if I were you,” he said softly. The woman’s eyes blazed, but before she could say anything else, he turned to the waitress, asking politely, “Can I follow up on the coffee?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry, it will be with you in a minute.”

  As she turned away, the billionaire glanced back at the other woman. “Fuck off.”

  Her gaze turned murderous. “Who the hell do you---”

  He cut her off, saying quietly, “If you’re lucky, you wouldn’t need to know who I am – and what I can do to you – if you manage to piss me off even more than you’re already doing now.” Leaning back, he said pleasantly, “This is the only warning you’ll get.” And the billionaire’s blue eyes turned arctic. “So if you want to do what’s good for you – fuck off.”

  The waitress returned with his coffee and pancakes in hand just as the other woman stalked off. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her gaze drifted towards the woman who had just left the bar, slamming the door shut angrily behind her. “Umm, what did you tell her?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Really.”

  The tone spoke of amusement and skepticism, and when the billionaire glanced up---

  She winked at him.

  What the---

  “Enjoy your meal.” She disappeared into the kitchen before he could think of how to react.

  Christien stared down at his plate, bemused. What the hell?

  Reaching for his fork and knife, he methodically cut himself a slice of syrup-glazed pancake and took a bite. Had that woman actually winked at him?

  In the corner of his eye, he saw her walk back into the bar, talking with another female server.

  Don’t look, don’t fucking look, Christien warned himself.

  But he could not stop himself.

  He glanced up, their eyes met –

  And she winked at him again.

  Unbelievable.

  Christien whipped his gaze away and blindly reached for his coffee. He had it halfway to his lips before realizing he had reached for the syrup bottle in mistake.

  Ah, fuck.

  The winking maniac giggled while the other female server smirked.

  Christien grimly concentrated on his food. This was what he got, he thought with self-disgust, for being so foolish as to follow the fucking end of a rainbow. Did he really believe a stupid myth could grant his wish?

  As he reached for his coffee – the right one, this time – he saw a guy in overalls come up to the counter asking for a beer.

  “Sure.” The part clown, part-winking maniac walked to the beer tap, which was next to the billionaire. This time, however, Christien wasn’t stupid enough to look up again. Fool me thrice, he thought with self-contempt, and shame on us both.

  As she filled a mug with beer, she started chatting with the guy in overalls about the weather, a local event in the town, and just about everything under the sun.

  She chatted and chatted and chatted, and she didn’t seem to notice at all that the guy in overalls had a trapped expression on his face, or that his eyes had begun to glaze.

  The guy had the billionaire’s pity, but as for the woman---

  Either this woman was plain dense, Christien thought, or she had unbelievably thick skin.

  “Oh, and you know what? There was this video on YouTube---” She handed the guy his beer as she continued to talking. “And I just remembered it now when I glanced outside---” But she was no longer talking to anybody, the guy in overalls having left as soon as he had his beer in his hands.

  “Oh.”

  Schmuck, the billionaire thought. He turned slightly to the side to reach for his coffee, only to realize his mistake too late when their gazes accidentally clashed.

  Her brown eyes lit up.

  Fuck.

  Christien swiftly turned away, but she was quicker, coming up to him and picking up from where she left off with the guy in overalls. “You heard what I was talking about, right?”

  “Actually---”

  “The clip on YouTube I watched was pretty mind-blowing if you really think about it.”

  “I see.” Two words to signify polite discouragement, and it had always worked – except now.

  She pointed behind him. “Look out the window, sir.”

  I’d rather not. It was what he wanted to say, but because rudeness had never been part of his DNA, Christien found himself slowly turning around on his stool.

  “Do you see it?” the waitress asked eagerly.

  “The truck about to park?”

  She giggled. “No, sir. There!” She pointed towards the window, her arm brushing against his shoulder.

  He followed the line of her fingers---

  “Now, do you see it?”

  ---and froze.

  “Did you know,” the woman shared in a conspiring tone, “that no two persons are able to see the exact same rainbow?”

  The billionaire didn’t answer.

  “And that’s not all,” she said eagerly. “Even our own eyes see different rainbows! It’s all because of the angle, you
see.”

  The billionaire slowly turned away from the sight.

  “Pun unintended, but it’s funny, right?” The waitress was giggling now. “The eyes, you see? Get it?”

  The billionaire closed his eyes, almost as if in pain.

  Oh, yes.

  He got it alright.

  And only three words came to mind.

  Three words.

  Three goddamn words.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  He slowly reached for his coffee, wishing it were bourbon instead because he sure as hell needed a shot now. It wasn’t God sending him a message from the heavens, after all. Rather, it was Death, playing a joke on him.

  What are you blaming me for, his good old friend protested in an injured tone inside his mind. You seemed to want a rainbow so much. So there you are.

  Christien’s blue eyes returned to the waitress.

  And so there she was.

  He knew, of course, that no one was holding a gun to his head to do anything about her. They were strangers and they could stay that way. No therapist in this world would tell him that he was required to follow through based on a single imaginary conversation---

  Then what’s the problem, Death asked reasonably. Just pretend you didn’t hear anything at all. Just pretend you didn’t see her, your rainbow---

  The fingers curled around the handle of the coffee cup tightened.

  A moment later, the waitress let out a frightened gasp.

  He looked down almost dumbly, belatedly realizing he had actually destroyed the handle in his grip. A moment later, scalding-hot liquid flowed over his skin, and he cursed under his breath.

  Another moment, and she was there---

  Your rainbow, Death said once more, ever so helpfully, and slyly.

  The waitress fussed over him like a mothering hen, taking him to the kitchen behind the counter, putting his hand under the faucet, and clucking away the whole time.

  You’re like the Incredible Hulk.

  Then they must make quite the pair, since she looked like Krusty the Clown’s long-lost sister, minus the green hair.

  Were you imagining strangling someone?

  Myself, the billionaire thought broodingly, for ending up with a woman who was part-rainbow, part-clown, part-winking-maniac.

  His little mutant, in other words.

  Afterwards, the woman unfolded a chair and made him sit. “Now wait there,” she ordered, “while I go get the first aid kit.”

  He was tempted to answer with ‘Oui, Mama,’ but managed to restrict himself to a nod.

  The other men in the kitchen were gazing at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, and most surprisingly of all – jealousy.

  Christien gazed back at them expressionlessly. What the hell did they have to be jealous of?

  “I’m back,” he heard the waitress say as she returned to the kitchen.

  The faces of the younger men around him brightened.

  The truth dawned – and nearly knocked him out cold. Were they fucking serious? They were really jealous of him – over the little mutant?

  “Let’s get you treated.” The waitress snapped the first aid kit open and started treating his burn. Again, the precision and speed in which she moved became the object of his reluctant fascination. How could she be so damn good at working and have no idea her makeup could only appeal to Freddie Krueger and company?

  After loosely securing a strip of gauze around his hand, the woman handed the billionaire a couple of pills, saying, “In case the pain becomes too much to bear, you can take this.” She paused then added severely, “I can trust you not to overdose on this, right?”

  Instead of answering, he heard himself respond with his own question. “What’s your name?”

  “Kharis.”

  Before he could say anything else, she added, “It’s spelled K-H-A-R-I-S, by the way.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s Greek for grace.”

  “Ah.”

  “Grace, like one of the Graces, minor deities in Greek mythology?”

  “How interesting,” he said politely. And it was, since she had given him all that when the billionaire had only asked for her name.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  She beamed at him right after, and he returned it with another polite smile. At least one of them was happy, the billionaire thought.

  Her head tilted curiously to the side. “What about you? What’s your name?”

  “Christien,” he murmured.

  “Oh. French?”

  “Half.”

  “And the other half?”

  He said reluctantly, “Greek.”

  The woman gasped. “But I’m Greek, too!”

  I know, the billionaire thought, and that’s why I didn’t want to say I was.

  “It’s like we’re soul mates,” she added.

  The billionaire managed to hold back a sigh, thinking it was exactly the kind of rubbish he imagined she’d say.

  “My last name is Stamos. What about yours?”

  He gave her his most courteous smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She didn’t miss a beat, saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Christien It Doesn’t Matter.”

  It was unexpected enough to turn his smile into a brief grin, and she grinned back at him.

  “Thank you for the treatment,” he told her as he took his wallet out and placed a couple of bills on the kitchen island. Standing up, he said his politely, “For my meal.”

  “This is so much more,” she began.

  “Keep it please.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Is that it, boy, Death asked.

  The billionaire didn’t answer. At this point, he had more questions than anything else, and the only thing that was clear to him was that tomorrow was another day.

  And maybe then---

  Maybe then he would know.

  Having returned to the inn, the billionaire decided to keep himself away from the woman for the rest of the day, a choice that was – disappointingly – not much of a hardship.

  Unlike how it had been with his friends, the billionaire couldn’t help thinking – and comparing. He remembered how Nick Christakos had been when his childhood girlfriend had dumped the Greek billionaire for another twin, remembered how Derek Christopoulos couldn’t stop talking about Jaike the first time he met her.

  And then there was him, Christien thought ironically, with his little mutant. Not a single sexual spark, not even an iota of attraction.

  But---

  She did fascinate him.

  He would give her that at least.

  And while she did repel him, too, well – it wasn't like he could help that. She was repelling to look at, with her clownish makeup. And no other woman had been able to repel and intrigue him at the same time, so that should count as something.

  Shouldn’t it?

  Chapter 4

  It was almost midnight the next day when he returned to Howdy, now dimly lit and fully packed. The town’s Saturday night crowd consisted mostly of teenagers and young adults, all of them drunk while cheerfully dancing to a Spotify-sourced playlist. Christien towered over all of them easily, however, allowing the billionaire to spot her right away.

  She was working behind the counter again and still looking like a clown. It occurred to him then that her uniform – the same one she had worn yesterday – was different from the other female servers. She had on a checkered shirt, suspenders, a tough-looking leather belt, and brown pants.

  She could probably have passed as a dead ringer for Westworld’s Dolores Abernathy, the billionaire thought, if only she also wasn’t wearing the kind of makeup that made her look like she was auditioning for a bit role in The Walking Dead.

  So why was that? Surely the woman yesterday hadn’t been the first to laugh in her face about her face? And why was she dressed differently from the other women making up the staff?

  The longer he studied her, the more he realized how lit
tle he knew of her---

  But why does that matter, Death quizzed him in his mind, when you don’t believe she’s the rainbow you’re looking for?

  Christien ignored the imaginary mocking words that ran through his mind. He had no answer for it anyway. Right now, all he knew was that he owed this to all the people who were foolish enough to hope he had the strength to never let go.

  And so for better or for worse, he must believe that this little mutant of his –

  The billionaire took a seat across Kharis. “Good evening, Ms. Stamos.”

  A startled look crossed her face, which unfortunately made her look even more awful than usual.

  Despite the horrible makeup---

  Her friendly dimpled smile reappeared after a moment, and she said cheerfully, “Howdy.”

  And the horrible accent---

  “Mr. It Doesn’t Matter, right?”

  And horrible sense of humor –

  He had to believe Kharis Stamos was the woman he was looking for.

  For better or for worse, he reminded himself stoically, and so with this the billionaire summoned a polite smile to his lips, murmuring, “You must be tired after serving this crowd.”

  “Not really. I like working here.” She handed him a menu, but when he shook his head, she asked, “You don’t want anything?”

  Her visibly astonished face had him staring. Did she never get tired, Christien wondered, of wearing her heart on her sleeve the entire time?

  She suddenly winked at him, the sight hauling him back to reality. Unbelievably, it also had color flushing the billionaire’s high-boned cheeks, and Christien was torn between disbelief and irritation.

  But through this---

  His heart had also started beating hard and fast.

  Because…

  He looked at her. She winked at him another time, and again it left him incredulous and irritated –

  And so his heart beat even harder and faster.

  How long had it been since he had felt genuine irritation? How long had it been since something, much less someone, had been able to catch him off guard?

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

  Instead of answering her, he heard himself ask, “What time does your shift end?”

  Her grotesquely shaded lips curved in a knowing smile, and he was half-revolted, half-fascinated by the sight. How in hell could this woman not care that the thick multiple slashes of her lipstick had made her mouth as dangerously cavernous as that shark from Jaws?