Billionaire Daddy - A Standalone Novel (A Single Dad Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #6)

by Claire Adams

  I felt a rush of excitement flood through my veins. Spicy tuna rolls were among my absolute favorite foods. What were the chances?

  “Nah, I am sure it can’t beat the 5 dollar rolls from China Garden across the street that I’m used to,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though I was dying to taste one.

  When I did, I could just about cry with happiness. Perfectly soft, slightly crunchy and so, so spicy. I let out an involuntary moan.

  “Tasty?” Zayden asked, looking delighted by my reaction. “I’ll stick to plain old California rolls. I’m the victim of mundane taste buds.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said between mouthfuls. It made little sense, though. Why would he ask his chef to make spicy tuna rolls if he couldn’t handle some spice? I couldn’t be too bothered about it, however, as I was too busy putting one sushi roll after another into my mouth. I had already gobbled up an entire portion in less than five minutes. I probably looked like an uncivilized moron. Just one more…

  I had sufficiently devoured two whole portions when I heard Zayden say, “I will take it from here for the entrees, Mark. Thanks for your help tonight.”

  He handed him what looked like five 100 dollar bills and added, “Share it with the guys and thank them for me.”

  Mark took the cash, looking completely unphased, as though this was a daily occurrence. It probably was.

  When Mark left with the remaining appetizers, there was an awkward silence for a few minutes, and I almost wished I had another sushi roll there just to keep myself occupied. Zayden was looking at me straight in the eyes, not a single expression on his face. Should I say something?

  “Is that a push-up bra?”

  What? The question was so random and bizarre, I couldn’t help but snicker.

  “I don’t have to answer that question,” I said pouting.

  “Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry, as his eyes were now fixated on my breasts. “I am just a little distracted.”

  His seductive ways weren’t going to stop.

  “Let’s see what’s for dinner,” I tried changing the subject and lifted off the lids of a couple of silver containers. What the hell? The sushi could maybe just be a coincidence but there was no way that this entire dinner accidentally constituted of my absolute favorite dishes. The aroma of rich Indian spices filled the room and one small container was specifically reserved for spicy peppers.

  “You don’t look happy,” Zayden said, looking concerned.

  “No, no!” I widened my eyes. “I’m just… really surprised. I adore Indian food, and spicy peppers, and spicy anything. And you said you couldn’t even handle the sushi so how come-”

  “I called your emergency contact, some Ms. Stacey Pace this morning, asking about your dietary preference.”

  “You didn’t!” I exclaimed, feeling a mixture of amazement and slight annoyance at Stacey. She could have told me. Whose side was she on, anyway?

  “I hope you enjoy dinner,” he said, looking extremely pleased with himself.

  I enjoyed dinner, all right. Very, very reluctantly, I enjoyed the best Indian food I had ever tasted, wanting to laugh and cry and hug him all at once.

  “Dessert?” he asked after we ate.

  “I think we have exhausted my capacity to eat for tonight,” I said, sounding more regretful about not having space for dessert than I intended to. “Thank you though. This was truly fantastic. You didn’t have to go above and beyond, you know.”

  “It was nothing,” he shrugged. “Really. I didn’t have to do anything.”

  He was grinning. Right. He had help. Ugh. I felt stupid. He probably did this for every girl he tried to seduce. I had made myself sound more important than I actually was.

  “I know, but I am still grateful that you took the time to learn what I liked. You’re helping me out with this whole contract thing a lot more than I’m doing anything for you already. Don’t feel like you need to put in any effort at all, even if it’s only making a few phone calls on your part. Honestly, I would have been happy just hanging out and talking, maybe asking you for some help with an Economics paper…”

  I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud so casually. Shit. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry… I meant like, if you were interested and had nothing better to do, I could entertain you with some amateur Macroeconomics.”

  When I finally looked at him, his eyes were shining, with a tiny hint of a smile on his lips. “Macroeconomics, huh? What is your paper on?”

  “The economic benefits of progressive taxation,” I said, my eyes planted on the silverware in front of me.

  “Isn’t that a little left of center for college economics?” He sounded genuinely interested. “When I was in college, they taught us to be a lot more conservative.”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” I was finally able to look at him without flinching again. “My professor is a hardcore Republican who doesn’t believe any good could come out of taxing the rich. He accused me of being a dirty Communist. So I am writing this paper to prove him wrong.”

  “People don’t easily change their long-standing political opinions, Aria. You are probably taking a risk challenging him like that since he decides your grades.”

  “He can’t fail me for disagreeing with him, and this paper is my one chance to show him that his way isn’t the only way.”

  “Saving the world, one Econ professor at a time?” he laughed.

  “Fine, you don’t really have to help me. I just thought it would be a fun thing to do if we are going to spend so much time together. But this is your contract, we do whatever you want on your time.”

  Dinner had been so nice and relaxed; I had almost forgotten why I was there. We weren’t just two people hanging out and getting to know each other, he was paying me to do this. We weren’t friends. We weren’t anything. I was his employee. Why did I ever think he would be interested in my stupid – I jumped as I felt his hand over mine. Suddenly, without any warning, my mind went completely blank and I felt a jolt of electricity run through my veins. His hands were strong but tender, his long, slender fingers completely engulfing mine. He was twiddling his thumb against mine and I felt a sensation in a place that had no right to react to what was happening. I couldn’t remember what I was thinking about or what we were talking about. All I knew was that I wished that my body didn’t react to his touch the way it did. I squeaked involuntarily and pulled my hand away gently.

  What the hell was that? Once more, I had trouble looking him in the eye. This time for completely different reasons.

  It felt like an eternity had passed by the time he finally said, “I’ll help you with your paper. Every night after dinner we will work on it together. Okay?”

  When I met his bright blue eyes again, he was flashing me a genuine smile and my heartbeat picked up. How embarrassing. Snap out of it, woman! Agreeing to help me with homework was just one of many tricks in his big game plan of getting my clothes off, just like organizing a custom dinner with my favorite dishes. He wasn’t interested in my food choices or my paper or my world views or my economics professor. I would be an idiot to let myself believe otherwise. He had made no attempt to hide his motives behind this entire set-up, and if I let myself get confused into thinking he actually cared about me, only I would be to blame when I got hurt in the end. Staying grounded through these six months seemed like a harder task right now than it ever had before, but I had to be strong and take this for what it was to him; a game.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to betray my train of thought.

  “And one of these days,” he added. “I would be happy to come to your apartment for some pizza and Bud Light. We can do the Netflix thing as well if it makes you feel normal.”

  “All right.”

  ---

  When I finally got home that night, however, I started panicking. Zayden Sinclair, in my house? The living room floor was covered in magazines, and Stacey and Nick would scrutinize him to no end,
and our TV was not even a flat screen. The couch was 50 years old, a gift from Nick’s now deceased grandmother. Maybe I could get him to change his mind…

  As I covered myself with blankets, my thoughts drifted away from the apartment to that moment during dinner when his thumb was rubbing against mine. Laden with desire, I softly rubbed my fingers against each other. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I could not let him have this kind of an effect on me. This was exactly what he was trying to accomplish, and I knew better than to let him have what he wanted. With the firm decision to actively block any compromising thoughts of him, I closed my eyes.

  That didn’t stop me from dreaming compromising dreams all night, though.

  Chapter Six

  ZAYDEN

  I was surprised by Aria’s progress on her paper so far. Over the past few years running the company, I had grown cynical of women, and the thought of them as intellectual beings had not crossed my mind since my MBA days. It probably had to do with not working with many smart ones. But man, this girl was bright. Had I not been dallying with her with the intention of getting into her pants, I might even have offered her a long-term analyst position at the bank. She would crawl up the ranks quickly with her out-of-the-box thinking and passionate articulations of ideas on the impact of individual economic status on large-scale growth of a national economy. Unfortunately, some other institution would be lucky to have her as an asset, since I had already decided on utilizing a whole different set of her talents; hopefully she had those talents, even though she was a virgin. Oh, who was I kidding, I was going to enjoy every minute of it even if she just lay there like a rock. Getting her to lay down next to me was going to be the hardest part.

  I was doing everything I could; researching her favorite cuisines, offering to hang out in her comfort zone, even helping her with homework. But it wasn’t enough. I had to do more. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration and logged onto the MBA homepage of my alma mater.

  If I submitted her abstract for publication in their Economist Tribune, they would jump to accept it purely based on my recommendation. I could gladly throw some money at them if that helped, but I did more than enough to uphold the university’s financial standing. There was no way they would decline something that came from me. I had to be careful, though, in letting her know just how much influence I had on their decision. She needed to know that it would not have happened without me, but her pride would suffer if she didn’t feel she merited the publication. In order to get her running into my arms, I had to find the perfect balance between the two.

  I had begun working on the submission when she walked in.

  “It’s almost 6, did you want me here tonight?”

  “Of course, every night. Didn’t we go over this?” I looked up at her.

  She frowned. “You just look busy is all, I wasn’t sure-”

  “Seriously, every night.”

  “Did you get a chance to go through my paper yet?”

  “Yes.” I chose my words very carefully. “It’s promising, but certainly needs more work and some solid data.”

  She bought my bluff and her face fell. All the better for when she would finally learn about the publication. I felt a rush of excitement. If that didn’t do it, I didn’t know what would.

  “I knew it,” she said in a disappointed voice. “I am sorry for putting you through reading that crap. You don’t have to help me with it if it’s beyond hope. I don’t want to waste your time on something that sucks.”

  “If you only knew how much time I waste on things that sucked,” I winked.

  She gasped. “That’s awful. And 23.”

  “Huh?” 23 what? What was she talking about?

  “Since the beginning of our contract, you have objectified or insulted women a total of 23 times.”

  “You’ve been counting?” I widened my eyes.

  “Not consciously until about 17,” she shrugged helplessly.

  “Does it really bother you that much?”

  “Men are all a bunch of pigs who cannot think without their dicks for more than five seconds in a row,” she said with so much feisty passion; she was turning me on. “How did that feel?”

  “Like the truth,” I smiled.

  She pursed her lips. “You are beyond hope.”

  “Your paper doesn’t suck,” I replied without thinking.

  “But you just said-”

  “I said it could use some work, which is what we are going to do. Don’t worry.”

  “Can we do it without being sexist?” She bit her lips, as though she didn’t really mean to say that. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were sexist.”

  “You straight up called me a sexist. That’s not implying anything,” I frowned. I really wasn’t. I just had been searching for a woman who could match my intelligence, and I had yet to meet one in the financial industry. I still hired plenty of women and they all got equal pay. Aria was intriguing though.

  She mumbled something inaudible.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” she flashed me the brightest smile she could muster. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “You keep offering to make me coffee, what’s your game?” I eyed her suspiciously.

  She looked furious. “My ‘game’, is giving you some caffeine for energy while you seem to be working hard on whatever big, important thing you’re working on. It’s called being nice; some people do it sometimes without an alternative agenda in mind.”

  Oh. Shit. I must have hit the wrong button.

  “I did not mean to offend you,” I said, after a few moments. “I’ll take that cup of coffee.”

  She walked out without saying a word, and I felt a strange emotion that I couldn’t quite identify. Remorse? That couldn’t be true, why would I feel guilty about questioning her motives? Everyone had ulterior motives. I was doing so many nice things for Aria, and not a single one of them without the intention of fucking her. Am I so horrible to assume she was attempting to do the same for some unspecified intentions?

  Yes, yes I was. It was just coffee. For the second time in the last 24 hours, Aria Roberts had unintentionally managed to make me question my cynicism. I was starting to believe that this girl was simply a terrible influence. Another, much smaller part of me was intrigued by the very possibility that I could question my outlook on life. That thing she had said about objectifying women, for instance. It stuck with me. I wasn’t deluded enough to think myself innocent of such behavior, but 23 times in just a few days’ worth of conversation with a single person? That felt like a little too much, even for me. I would have to be very conscious of that around her from now on, especially if I was going to seduce her. It was essential that she believed that it was a good idea.

  ---

  By the time she returned, I had already heard back from the Economics Journal.

  “I have good news,” I said as soon as she walked in.

  “I’m out of the contract and now you’re just going to loan me the money out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked with a straight face.

  Technically, she didn’t have to do anything significant as a part of the deal, so I was surprised by her attitude. I felt a surge of rage begin to bubble up when I made the mistake of catching her eyes. They were shining and there was a slight hint of a dimple on her soft cheeks. She was joking.

  “We both know that I don’t have that good of a heart,” I said.

  “I think you have a better heart than you think you do,” she shrugged.

  Hearing those words made me feel way better than it should have. She thought I was a good person? That wasn’t something I was used to. The best I got from people, as far as positive reactions go, was fearful reverence. People respected what I had done with the company, they were impressed by how successful I had managed to become at a relatively young age. Never, or at least not in a very long time, had somebody actually appreciated my character. Not even me, I realized. After my dad passed away, all my morals began to
intertwine together into a deeply gray area, where right or wrong only differed in the dollar value it brought to the company. Or in my personal life, on how easily and frequently it got new women to my bedroom. My dad was the person who always kept me on my toes and insisted on a regular morality check. After he passed on, it almost didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Who should I have to be a good person for since he was no longer there? Mom wasn’t anything close to the epitome of any virtue; more importantly, she couldn’t care less what kind of a person I was turning into, as long as I showered her with gifts and nice, fat checks.

  What Aria had just said really startled me, because the truth of the matter was that my heart had nothing to do with anything I was doing for her; a whole other organ was responsible for my actions. But she knew that. And I had never made any attempts to conceal my true intentions. That’s what surprised me the most; she thought I was a decent person, despite my intentions! Maybe she was just sucking up to me, maybe she just needed something, maybe she was just playing a game. The cynical part of me had all these suspicions, but somehow they didn’t seem to matter in the face of the knowledge that there was at least one person in the planet that didn’t think I was a total and complete douchebag. And that meant a whole lot more to me than it should have. Which made me wonder if what I was supposed to tell her next was a good idea.

  “You are getting published,” I said as though I was merely complementing her hair.

  She looked confused for a few seconds, and then looked behind her as if to check if I was talking to someone else. Then she looked at me, followed by my computer and I watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened in realization and her whole face turned as bright as the daylight. Her gasp was loud enough to echo throughout the whole office building, and she probably realized that and covered her mouth.

  “How?” It came out as a little squeal.

  “I sent your abstract to the Economics Journal.”

  “The Economics Journal?” She was practically shouting.

  “Yep, it’s published at my alma mater.”

  “Of course!” she exclaimed, realizing where I had gone to school. “But, but, would they just like-“