Four Secret Babies - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 7)

by Layla Valentine

  Jordan raised his palms, ceding the point. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” he said. “I have plenty of guilty pleasures of my own.”

  I was intrigued.

  “Let’s hear it,” I said, sitting back. “You know one of my guilty pleasures now. It’s only fair that I know one of yours.”

  Jordan seemed so…cool. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything in his free time other than partying, chasing girls, maybe sneaking in a workout here and there.

  “Fine,” he said. “Fair’s fair, I suppose.”

  He grasped the leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder and placed it on his lap. With a few deft movements, he undid the gold clasp and reached in. He pulled out a book of his own and placed in on the table between us.

  I glanced down at the cover, which depicted an action-filled scene of blimps and dragons flying through an aerial battleground, weapons fire blasting from the blimps, streams of flames blazing from the mouths of the dragons. Explosions filled the air all around them. Above the scene were the words Clockwork Conspiracy: The Gilded Army in ornate, raised letters.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Is this one of those books where it’s a futuristic Victorian London?”

  “It’s called steampunk,” he said through a grin. “This is actually steampunk fantasy, to be precise.”

  I glanced back and forth between the book and Jordan, the contrast of Mr. Cool and the nerd fodder on the table almost too much to take in.

  “Okay,” I said. “I think you might have me beat. Not exactly the kind of books I’d expect a guy like you to be reading.”

  “I went through a bit of a nerd phase in middle school. Old habits die hard.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of books would you expect a ‘guy like me’ to be reading?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I never even really figured you to be a reader. I’m surprised to see you here at Blue Line.”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I love this place. Love coming here for a few hours on a Sunday afternoon and losing myself in a book, a cup of coffee nearby. Sometimes I even read books that don’t have dragons on the cover.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Same here. I love this place. Though I think our schedules might be a little mismatched—explains why I haven’t seen you.”

  “And here we are,” he said. “Bumping into one another.”

  That was fine with me. Despite having only known Jordan for a day or so, I was already finding myself slipping into easy, comfortable conversation with him. It wasn’t all laid-back, however—that crackle in the air was still there. And judging by the way his eyes lingered on my face, I could sense he was having some of the same heated thoughts as me.

  “So,” he said, crossing his legs and taking his cup of coffee into his hands. “What’s on the docket for today, chef?”

  I smiled. “You can call me Chloe, you know.”

  “I like ‘chef,’” he said. “Makes you seem more authoritative.”

  I chuckled. “To answer your question, not much,” I said. “Just killing some time before I have to go to your dad’s place and get dinner figured out.”

  “Any big ideas so far?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I did classic last night. Maybe today I should be more adventurous.”

  “That would be, what, some kind of deconstructed something? I’m always behind in the food trends.”

  “That right?” I asked. “I would’ve thought someone like you would be a connoisseur of stuff like that. Don’t you rich guys like to indulge in the finer things?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But there are different kinds of ‘finer things’ that I’m more interested in.”

  The playful little smirk on his face let me know what he was referring to. The hot blush returned to my cheeks, and I found myself falling under his spell all over again. I should’ve known better, but between that gorgeous face, those blue eyes, not to mention the hint of the toned, sculpted body that I was sure was under that tight T-shirt of his, I couldn’t help myself.

  I scooped up my latte and took a slow sip, my eyes on the bustle of pedestrians on the downtown streets outside. I let the coffee linger on my tongue for a few moments, composing myself in the meantime.

  “Speaking of food,” said Jordan. “What are your plans for lunch?”

  “Probably the same thing I do every day—make myself a quick sandwich or something at your place before starting on the meal prep.”

  Jordan shook his head slowly. “I think you can do better than cramming down a sandwich before starting work,” he said. “How do you feel about seafood?”

  “Love it,” I said. “And in a coastal city like this, it’s just to die for. Not to mention I worked at a seafood place back when I was younger, so I’ve got a good palate for it.”

  “Good,” said Jordan. “Because I was thinking about grabbing a bite at the Pearl before I went out for the evening.”

  I raised my eyebrows. The Pearl was one of the newest restaurants in town—hip, trendy, and expensive. But it was supposed to be amazing. My mouth was already watering at the thought of eating lobster for lunch. But I wasn’t the son of a billionaire—a place like the Pearl wasn’t exactly in my budget.

  “That sounds nice,” I said. “But I can’t really swing a place like that on a whim. Gotta watch the bottom line, you know?”

  Jordan crinkled his brow. For a moment, I wondered if he was trying to wrap his mind around the idea of someone needing to be careful with their money.

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “This is on me.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Sure. I mean, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Of course, I don’t have to,” he said. “It’s my treat. You’re going to be making me plenty of meals over the next few days, least I can do is buy you one.”

  I wanted to protest more—the idea of someone lavishing an expensive lunch on me sat strangely—but I could tell that Jordan wasn’t the type to take no for an answer.

  “Okay,” I said. “A lobster roll does sound really good.”

  “There you go,” said Jordan. “Let’s get these coffees to go. I’m hungry.”

  My stomach growled as I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything but toast and jam all day. Food was sounding better and better by the second.

  Jordan and I packed up our things and brought our coffees to the front counter. The barista transferred them to some to-go cups, and we were off. We stepped out onto the sidewalk, the streets of downtown San Bravado busy with men and women zipping here and there. The day was sunny, and the weather was perfect, as always.

  “Let’s do it,” said Jordan.

  “Let’s,” I said.

  But as we started off, a thought popped into my head, sharp and insistent.

  Was this a date?

  Chapter 4

  Chloe

  We spent the brief walk to the Pearl discussing our mutual tastes in tacky books, teasing each other a bit here and there. As much fun as talking with Jordan was, in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think about how different he and I were. Jordan was a rich-kid playboy, not a care in the world other than figuring out which club to check out that evening, and probably having to decide between whichever girl was throwing herself at him once he arrived.

  Sure, it was lunch, but I couldn’t ignore the sexual tension building between us. Part of me knew that I needed to put up some boundaries, to make sure that whatever this was didn’t go beyond a friendly lunch here and there. But another part of me wanted to relax and go with the flow, to let whatever happened happen.

  We arrived at the Pearl, the little restaurant a charming place situated on the boardwalk overlooking the ocean. The all-glass façade gave us a clear look into the bustling lunch scene, and I immediately wondered if we were even going to be able to be seated.

  “Looks full,” I said as we stood in front of the restaurant. “You want to try someplace else? Maybe someplace
where we might be able to get a table?”

  Jordan curled his mouth into a grin, one that suggested I was worrying over nothing. “Leave the logistics to me. All you need to do is make sure you’re ready to eat.”

  That I was. The smell of fresh seafood wafted out from the restaurant, making me even hungrier. Jordan pulled the door open, the din of the lunch crowd filling the air. The two of us approached the host stand, where a perky, pretty blonde turned her attention to Jordan and me. Her eyes lingered on Jordan for several long moments, causing a tinge of jealousy to run through me.

  “Hi!” she said. “Welcome to the Pearl.”

  “Table for two,” said Jordan. “Preferably something outside.”

  “Okay,” she said, glancing over at the small computer on the host stand. “What name is the reservation under?”

  “Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” said Jordan, his voice cool and unbothered.

  “You don’t have a reservation?” she asked. “Well, we’re about full up.”

  “For lunch?” I asked.

  “For the day,” the hostess said. “The next few days, actually.”

  I turned to Jordan.

  “We can grab a sandwich somewhere. It’s no big deal.”

  But Jordan was undeterred.

  “What’s your name, darling?” asked Jordan.

  “Um, Annie,” she said.

  Jordan leaned in on the stand, and as he did, I watched two little red pools of blush appear on the hostess’s cheeks. I felt insecure watching this, knowing that it was the same sort of blush that I was guilty of whenever Jordan turned on the charm.

  “Annie, I’m sure you’re full, but I’m here with a very good friend, one of the best chefs in the city, actually. And she was really, really looking forward to a lobster roll. So, I was wondering if you could find an open table for two under the name King.”

  Her eyes lit up as Jordan spoke the magic word.

  “Wait,” she said. “Are you Jordan King? Of the Kings?”

  “Sure am,” said Jordan.

  “Oh, oh,” she said, taken aback, her eyes shooting toward the computer as she almost frantically swiped the screen. “I didn’t know. Let me…let me see if I can find something for you.”

  Moments later, the hostess nodded.

  “I think I can move some reservations around.”

  “Like I said, a table outside would be perfect. I’d really appreciate it.”

  More swiping.

  “Okay,” she said with a smile. “I think something opened up.”

  She grabbed a couple of menus and gestured toward the patio.

  “Right this way, Mr. King.”

  “Thanks so much, Annie,” Jordan said with a wink. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Happy to help,” she said.

  The hostess led us through the busy dining floor and out onto the patio. The commotion of the restaurant was much less bothersome out on the patio. Outside, the chatter of the diners and the sounds of the service staff were muffled, replaced by the gentle noises of the boardwalk, the lapping waves soft in the distance, the caw of gulls in the air.

  “Here you are,” she said gesturing to a small table closest to the boardwalk. “Enjoy.”

  Jordan gave her one more wink, and we took our seats.

  “Well,” I said once we’d settled in. “That was impressive. Like you’ve got the keys to the kingdom.”

  “I’m not big on name-dropping,” he said. “But when my friend’s hungry, I’m not afraid to drop the ‘K’ word and grease the wheels.”

  I gave a half-smile, feeling of two minds about the issue. Sure, dropping Daddy’s name was a total rich-kid move, but it did get us the best table in the hottest restaurant in town. And I was so hungry that I had to restrain myself from snatching a biscuit from a nearby table.

  “Well, I appreciate it,” I said, taking up the menu and giving it a look.

  “Get whatever you want,” he said. “Don’t even look at the prices.”

  I felt uncomfortable; I wasn’t used to guys treating me like this. And I sensed that Jordan could tell.

  “You okay over there?” he asked.

  “I, um, looked at the prices,” I said. “And I think I might stick to appetizers.”

  Jordan shook his head, making it clear that wasn’t an option.

  “Someone’s not used to being treated.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said. “The last guy I dated was big on sharing. So having a guy tell me I can get whatever I want is a bit of a change of pace.”

  Jordan raised his copper eyebrows.

  “Well, this isn’t a date—this is a friend buying you lunch.”

  Oh, dammit.

  “I mean, I’m not saying that’s what this is. I’m comparing…you know.”

  I felt my face heat up by the second. Then Jordan flashed another one of those killer smiles, letting me know he was joking around.

  “I know,” he said. “Just don’t be shy. If something looks good, you get it.”

  But before I had a chance to look at the menu, the waiter appeared, letting us know about the specials and asking if we’d like something to drink.

  “I’ll take an Old Fashioned,” Jordan said.

  “Just sparkling water for me. With lime.”

  The waiter jotted this down.

  “And I think we’re ready,” said Jordan. “The lady will have the lobster roll, and I’ll take the surf and turf—rare on the steak. And some crab cakes to start off.”

  The waiter took this all down too. And as he did, I broke Jordan’s rule and looked at the prices. My eyes went wide as I realized how out of my budget this place was. The waiter took the menus and was off.

  “‘The lady will have’?” I asked. “Someone’s out of step with the times.”

  “You had lobster rolls on the brain. I figured I’d make it easier for you. And I’ve had it here before. You’re not going to be upset once you take that first bite.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said, secretly happy that he’d saved me the trouble of hemming and hawing over the options.

  “So,” said Jordan. “There’s a price for this lunch.”

  “Is that right?” I asked. “And what might that be?”

  “I want to know more about you,” he said.

  “Oh,” I replied. “Not sure what there is to say.”

  “Plenty, I’m sure,” he said. “How about we start with where you’re from?”

  “I’m from here,” I said. “Well, not the city itself. I grew up in Arroyo Negro.”

  The expression on Jordan’s face signaled that he knew what this meant. Arroyo Negro was one of San Bravado’s more, well, humble neighborhoods. My upbringing was a happy one, no doubt, but very lower-middle-class.

  “A place like that must be like another planet to someone like you, I suppose,” I said.

  “I bet it had its perks,” he said. “Probably much quieter, fewer tech millionaires zipping around on motorized scooters.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t always dreamed of coming to San Bravado and trying to make it big here.”

  “And how’s that coming along?”

  “Good, I think.”

  At that moment, the server returned and placed our drinks in front of us. I took a slow sip of my sparkling water, letting the citrusy bubbles play on my tongue before swallowing.

  “You think?” asked Jordan. “You seem to be doing pretty well from where I’m sitting.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong—I love working for your father. It’s just that this all happened so suddenly. One minute I’m slinging steaks and the next I’m the personal chef to one of the wealthiest men in the country. It’s been such a great experience that sometimes I feel like it’s all a dream that I’m going to wake up from at any minute. Or…”

  Jordan raised his eyebrows.

  “Or?”

  “Or…that your dad will find out that he hired a to
tal newbie and come to his senses.”

  “That’s something you don’t need to worry about,” said Jordan.

  “Is that right?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. My dad has an eye for talent. And he doesn’t go in for charity cases. If he hired you, it’s because he recognized something in you that maybe you don’t even see.”

  I said nothing, considering Jordan’s words. At that moment, the waiter returned and placed a plate of crab cakes in the middle of the table. The cakes looked delicious. They were toasted golden brown and seated in a pool of rich, white remoulade, a small salad off to the side.

  “Here,” said Jordan, pushing the plate toward me. “Give these a taste and tell me what you think.”

  I didn’t need any convincing. I took my fork and sliced off a chunk of one of the cakes. After dipping it in the remoulade, I popped it into my mouth and slowly chewed and swallowed.

  “Amazing,” I said. “Texture is perfect—a mild crunchiness on the outside, soft and tender interior. Meat’s fresh as it gets, seeded Dijon really adds something extra and surprising. And the remoulade is divine—the perfect balance of savory with the tartness from the…tastes like cayenne powder? Interesting without being intrusive.”

  “See?” said Jordan. “Spoken like someone who knows what the hell she’s talking about. Ask me to describe it, and I’d be stuck with ‘fishy or not fishy.’”

  “Well,” I said with a grin. “Crab isn’t a fish, so you’d be out of luck there.”

  “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more knowledgeable,” he said, matching my grin with one of his own.

  We gobbled up the crab cakes, each bite somehow more delicious than the last.

  “Damn,” I said. “Good stuff.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

  The moment hung in the air, Jordan’s eyes locked onto mine. Tension built by the second, and I ended up looking away, the heat from his stare almost too much.

  “Okay,” I said. “I told you about myself. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Fair enough,” said Jordan. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything, really,” I said. “You live a life that I can’t even imagine—parties, expensive restaurants, night after night of clubbing. And no job to worry about.”