My Billionaire Protector

by R. R. Banks

  What have I done?

  Slipping off the couch, I quickly find my dress and slip it on. I look around for my panties but can't seem to find them anywhere. Screw it. I don't need them. In fact, I think they're forbidden on the walk of shame I'm about to make. That's a thing, right?

  “Where are you going?”

  A lance of fear pierces my heart as I turn around and see Carter, propped up on one arm, looking at me. Even in the dying light of the fire, his eyes glitter like cold chips of diamond, yet they're still warm and inviting. I don't know how he manages to pull that one off, but he does it. And they're fixed on me, filling me with both an overwhelming sense of pleasure, and an equally horrifying sense of dread.

  “Uh... I need to get home,” I say. “I have to be at school in the morning. Meetings, remember?”

  “Can't you take the day off?”

  I shake my head. “Not all of us have the luxury of being able to blow off the day.”

  “You're loaded,” he says wryly. “You can afford it.”

  I give him a grim chuckle. “Fine. Not all of us have the luxury of being able to blow off our responsibilities to live the life of a billionaire playboy.”

  He lets out a dramatic sigh. “I forgot that you are a faithful and dutiful servant to your students.”

  “Somebody has to be.”

  “I'm seriously re-thinking the playboy lifestyle. I think I'm ready for something – more,” he says, a flirty grin touching his mouth.

  My heart nearly falls into my shoes hearing him say those words. That feeling is only intensified by the look in his eye. He looks at me, and I see nothing but earnestness and sincerity. He means it. He actually means it. What in the hell have I gotten myself into? I'd let myself get caught up in the moment with him, and re-opened Pandora's fucking Box.

  I warned myself a million times to be careful. Told myself not to get caught up, and not to give in. And certainly, not to fuck him. And yet, here we are anyway.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  “Can I see you tonight?”

  “I – uh – maybe,” I say, already knowing I'm not going to see him. “I'll call you.”

  He chuckles softly. “Yeah, I've used that line before too.”

  I find my shoes and slip them on as quickly as I can – a task that's not easy, given how hard my hands are trembling. I never heard him move, but the next thing I know, Carter is standing behind me, his body pressed to mine. I feel his warm breath on my neck, and it makes me want to lay back down with him. Snuggle and cuddle together like we used to.

  But, no. I shouldn't even be here right now. And I definitely shouldn't have ever slept with him.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  He slowly and gently zips my dress up for me, then takes me by the shoulders and turns me around. His eyes are piercing, and the look on his face is a mix of emotions. He knows I'm getting ready to walk out the door with no plans of ever seeing him again, and he’s clinging to me like a man holding onto a life preserver in the middle of a storm on the ocean.

  He doesn't want to let me go. He wants to hold onto this moment – and the moment we'd just shared.

  “I should go,” I say.

  “I'll have a car take you home.”

  “I can take a cab,” I say, shaking my head.

  “No, I'll call down for a car,” he says. “I won't have you taking a cab at this hour.”

  “Fine,” I reply. “Thank you.”

  He quickly makes the call, throws on his pants, and walks me to the elevator that will take me down to the garage with the waiting car. As the doors slide open with a soft chime, he looks into my eyes.

  “I meant it, Darby. We’re meant to be together,” he says. “You're mine. I'm yours.”

  He leans down and places a soft, chaste kiss upon my lips. I don't say anything as I step into the elevator, but my heart turns somersaults in my chest as I watch the doors close, shutting him out on the other side.

  The elevator descends, and I let out a long breath. My mind and my heart are in a fierce battle over what I should do. Over what I've done. Of all the different ways I could have screwed up, I picked the worst one. As usual.

  I really opened Pandora's Box by sleeping with him, and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to close it again.

  Even worse, I don't know that I want to.

  13

  Carter

  I walk through the office, clapping my hands. “Great job, everybody,” I call out. “We're having another great week thanks to all your hard work and dedication. You never cease to amaze me.”

  Applause and cheers ring out through the office as everybody high-fives each other. It has been a great week, and I'm happy to see that a few of my big-ticket buys have worked out.

  “To thank you for your hard work,” I say. “We are going to close the office early today. You are all instructed to head on down to Flannigan's for lunch. On me.”

  Everybody cheers and applauds louder, excited by the prospect of a free meal, and a half-day off. Who wouldn’t be?

  “There's also an open bar,” I go on. “Except for you, O'Shea, you damn drunk. I don't know if I can afford your bar tab. Kidding. Go. Enjoy yourselves, everybody. And again, thanks for all your hard work.”

  Everybody laughs, and the mood is light as they pack up their things and file out for the day. Truthfully, I'll be glad when the office is empty, and I can turn off the damn holiday music. It's driving me fucking crazy.

  “You coming?”

  I hadn't even realized Rupert was standing behind me until just then. It's like the man has had ninja training or something. Drives me up a wall sometimes – usually, only when he's sneaking up behind me though.

  “I need to make you wear a bell or something,” I say. “And no, I have something I need to do.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Oh? And what might that be?”

  “What, are you my keeper?”

  He shrugs. “It's part of my job.”

  “Your job description seems to keep expanding,” I say and chuckle.

  “I am a multi-faceted kind of guy,” he says.

  “Apparently.”

  “You're going to see her, aren't you?” he asks, a mischievous smirk on his face.

  “Who?”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “A certain Miss Darby White?”

  I let out a long breath and smirk. I can never pull one over on Rupert. The guy can read me like a book.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “I haven't heard from her in a few days. I thought it might be a good idea to go and check on her.”

  “How'd your date go the other night?”

  “I thought it went well,” I say, recalling that night, unable to keep the smile off my face. “I thought it went really well.”

  “And she hasn't called you in a few days?”

  I shrug. “Nope.”

  “Maybe you're losing your touch,” Rupert says, a smirk on his face. “Not quite the stud you used to be.”

  I laugh. “Screw you, buddy.”

  Rupert turns to me, his expression serious. “What is your end game with her here?”

  “I really don't know right now,” I say.

  “And have you talked to Pops yet?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet. But, I know I'm going to need to,” I say. “It's on my to-do list.”

  “Yeah you do,” he says. “Especially if Ahab finds out you're diddling his sister again.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say. “Heading down to Flannigan's?”

  He nods. “Thought I'd put in an appearance,” he says. “Somebody from upper management should probably put in a little face time.”

  “Oh, is that what you are?” I ask. “Upper management?”

  He shrugs. “I'm a lot of things. Wear a lot of hats,” he replies.

  “That you do. Okay, good,” I say. “Make sure they stay in line and don't drink me out of house and home.”

  Rupert laughs
. “Please,” he says. “I plan on taking full advantage of the open bar. If anybody is going to bankrupt you with their bar tab, it's going to be me.”

  He laughs as he walks out. I'm grinning as I step back into my office and take care of a few last-minute things that need to be done. I check my watch and grimace. I need to get going if I'm going to make it on time.

  * * *

  The doorway to her classroom is standing wide open when I get there, and I can hear the voices of the kids spilling out into the hall. I motion for the man behind me to stop where he is.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  I look up and see an older woman hustling toward me. She's got gray hair pulled back into a severe bun, dark eyes, and an overbearing demeanor. Must be administration.

  “Good afternoon,” I say. “Carter Bishop.”

  “Evelyn Matthews,” she says. “Principal Evelyn Matthews. Mind telling me what's going on here?”

  She motions toward the man behind me with the pallet full of art supplies.

  “Well, I understand that the art program here at Jefferson has come under some severe budget cuts. As a result, I've heard that basic, necessary supplies have run out,” I say. “I work with the Ravere Group –”

  “I don't care who you work with,” she snaps. “You can't just bring this in here. You don't have proper authorization.”

  She stands up a little straighter, obviously challenging me to some sort of dick measuring contest. If there's one thing I've learned about middle management and administrator types, it's that they don't like having anybody else on their turf. They're overly protective of their little fiefdoms, and Principal Evelyn Matthews appears to be reinforcing that stereotype.

  I give her a wry grin. “Oh, but I do,” I say. “Have proper authorization, that is.”

  I slip the sheet of paper out of my inside jacket pocket and hand it over to her. It's a letter from the district superintendent. When I'd called him and told him that I wanted to privately fund the art program at Jefferson, he'd been more than thrilled. He's a big believer in the arts programs, and hates seeing them get slashed down to nothing. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he invests with me, and I've made him enough money that he can now retire and live comfortably anytime he wants.

  “As you can see,” I say. “Your boss was very enthusiastic and appreciative of my interest and contribution.”

  She frowns, obviously upset about not being in the loop on this decision. Fucking administrators. She obviously doesn't like not having control over every single thing that happens in her fiefdom. Too bad. I prefer getting shit done to dealing with middle-management, bureaucratic-bullshit types, who need to have their finger in every pie to feel relevant and important.

  “I wasn't told about this,” she says.

  I shrug. “Then I suggest you take it up with your boss,” I say. “And, I'd also like to point out that the agreement I reached with Superintendent Gray explicitly names Darby White as administrator of the supplies I'm donating. Nothing is to be done with them without her direct authorization.”

  “This is not how it works, Mr. Bishop,” she says, her voice carrying a hard edge to it, obviously determined to stand her ground, and defend her turf.

  I give her a smirk. “Afraid it is. See the letter. Also, I'll send you the signed agreement for you to keep on hand, if you'd like,” I say. “Maybe, you can frame it and hang it in your office.”

  She glowers at me, her face darkening with anger. I've only known the woman for ninety seconds and I already really don't like her. I can't imagine what it would be like to have to work for her. Honestly, given the fact that Darby is wealthy in her own right and doesn't need to deal with irritating middle-management types like Principal Evelyn Matthews, I don't know why she does it.

  But, when I hear Darby's voice, and the sound of her students laughing, I think I start to understand why. If only a little bit.

  “I have twenty pallets of supplies to start things off,” I say.

  “Twenty – we don't have that kind of storage space,” she says, a note of triumph in her voice. “You'll have to return them.”

  “I anticipated that,” I say. “Which is why I’ve rented an off-site storage facility. The extra supplies will be kept there.”

  Matthews is fuming, which only serves to amuse me. There really is nothing wrong with what I'm doing. In fact, she should be grateful that I'm helping fund a program that helps the students in her school. Obviously, the only thing she can see though, is that somebody is treading on her little piece of turf, and it pisses her off.

  “What's going on?”

  I turn and see Darby standing in the doorway of her classroom, an uncertain and somewhat scared, look on her face. Matthews looks at her, flashing her a scowl, as if this is somehow her fault. I have a feeling the principal doesn't like Darby for reasons outside of what I'm doing.

  “It seems that Mr. Bishop has chosen to become a benefactor for your little program,” Matthews says.

  The fact that she seeks to diminish what Darby does by calling it her “little program,” infuriates me to no end.

  “You know, maybe, just maybe, if you actually took the time to appreciate what Ms. White is doing here, and see the positive impact she's having on the lives of her students, the morale around the school would improve,” I say, my voice cold. “Maybe, if you took an active interest in the lives of the kids that go here, people would like you better.”

  “Just who do you think you are?” Matthews growls.

  “I'm the guy who can have your job with the snap of a finger,” I say, my gaze locked onto hers.

  Matthews' eyes narrow, and she looks like she's about to argue further, but decides to fall silent instead. She looks away from me, obviously knowing she's been beaten.

  Darby watches the whole exchange with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open. I get the impression that people don't usually speak to Matthews like that. They probably should though. The woman needs to be taken down a peg or twelve.

  Her eyes slowly turn to the pallet behind me, and a smile crosses her face, and she clamps her hands over her mouth. Her eyes shimmer with tears and her cheeks flush with color.

  “Oh my God,” she says, her voice muffled from behind her hands. “I don't even know what to say.”

  Matthews lets out a derisive snort. “I'd say he's wasting his money.”

  I round on the principal and give her a scowl. “It's my money to waste, is it not?”

  The older woman fixes me with a steely gaze and raises her chin defiantly. She's a tough old bird, I’ll give her that. I can't help but respect it, even if I think she's repugnant as a person.

  “I suppose it is,” she sneers.

  “It's kind of sad,” I say.

  “What's sad?”

  “That you can't see the joy art brings to the world,” I say. “That you're so bitter that you can't see the joy Ms. White here brings to her students. She's trying to bring a little happiness and beauty into this world – into this school. You’d think that would make you happy.”

  “I may have no choice but to accept your charity for this unnecessary program,” Matthews huffs. “But, I certainly don't have to stand here and accept your disrespectful attitude, Mr. Bishop. You are to leave my school grounds immediately.”

  “Actually,” I say and chuckle, “if you read the final paragraph of the Superintendent's letter, you'll see that as the benefactor of this program, I am entitled to be on school grounds, if only to ensure that the supplies I'm donating are being put to the proper use.”

  “This is outrageous,” she huffs.

  I shrug. “Take it up with your boss,” I say. “But, I doubt it's going to do any good. He and I have a pretty good relationship. Which means, you should probably get used to seeing me around.”

  Matthews looks stricken, but quickly composes herself, giving me a deep, hateful scowl. I just stand there and smile politely at her. Without another word, she turns and huffs off down the hall.

 
I turn to Darby, who is doing her best to hide the smile on her face. She grabs me by the arm and quickly pulls me into her classroom, and shuts the door. Once we're inside, she bursts into laughter. She's laughing so hard, she doubles over. I look around the room and see all her students standing frozen, looking back at us, curious expressions on their faces. I give them all a small wave.

  “Not to worry, she's not having a nervous breakdown or anything,” I say. “I just told her a really funny joke.”

  “You're Carter Bishop,” I hear one girl say. “You're in the tabloids more often than the Kardashians.”

  “And yet, I've never put out a sex tape,” I say. “Let that be a lesson to you all that –”

  Darby punches me in the arm. “Carter,” she hisses, but can't keep the smile off her face.

  The classroom erupts into laughter all around us. Darby can't help but shake her head and join in. Eventually, the laughter fades away, but the eyes of the students remain fixed on me, their expressions curious. Clasping my hands behind my back, I walk around the room. Some of their work is incredible, and blows me away. There is some real talent in Darby's classroom, and I can't help but see her artistic influence in some of their work.

  “You kids are amazing,” I say. “There is some genuinely amazing work being done in here. You should all be proud of yourselves.”

  “Mr. Bishop here is part of the Ravere Group,” Darby says. “I've told you all about them, have I not?”

  The students all nod their heads and I see the light of excitement in their eyes. Some of them, I can tell, have dreams about going through the program. And I think a few of them have a real shot.

  “Over the next few months, I plan on getting to know you all,” I say. “And evaluating your work. Of course, Ms. White is more of an authority than I am on the merits of art, so I will be leaning heavily on her for input. But, I want to advance some of you to a candidacy into the Ravere Group's program.”