Billionaire Protector: A Dark Romance

by Nikki Chase

  “Of course I was. She did make me do most of the work after all. When you saw me working late at night at the office, that was me wrapping up the research for this presentation. I was also the one who had to prepare the PowerPoint slides and the corresponding key points,” she says.

  “But…?” I prompt her to continue her line of thought as we reach the X-ray machine. I pull my laptop out of the bag, remove my shoes and watch, and place everything on two trays.

  “But I’ve learned that it’s better to look forward than it is to look back. Anger only holds you back,” she says while she puts her own stuff on another tray and lines it up to be screened.

  I think about her words as I walk through the metal detector. In my world, people hold grudges, make revenge their sole purpose in life, and call it honor.

  I’ve heard the tired cliché about how grudges only hurt yourself and how much healthier it is to let go, but I’ve always dismissed it as hippie drivel. “That’s the kind of thing a sucker would say,” as Uncle Harry would say. But Emily’s far from a sucker. She’s a survivor.

  “Have you had breakfast?” I ask when she emerges from the metal detector. There are a few restaurants along the way from here to the gate and I can already see a few of them.

  “No, I was in a rush this morning,” she says, putting her dainty little feet back into her black flats and pulling her bag straps onto her shoulder. She flicks her blonde hair back to remove the strands caught underneath the straps, exposing the graceful column of her neck.

  “Want to grab something to eat?” I look away and run my fingers through my hair, coaxing my brain to get rid of the image that just flashed through my mind, of her skin on my lips, soft and warm and flushed red with desire.

  “What do you feel like having?” She looks around as we walk side by side in the general direction of our boarding gate.

  Well, you. But barring that…

  “Anything. We still have about one hour until boarding, so that’s plenty of time for anything you want.” Winking at her, I say, “We can put it on the company credit card.”

  “Wow. First the seat upgrade, and now free breakfast? I can get used to this,” she says, grinning from ear to ear.

  I bite my tongue, stopping myself from saying something about how much I can get used to traveling with her myself. Instead, I just smile at her.

  I know I shouldn’t have seated her next to me if I really want to keep my distance from her, but fuck is it hard. It’s one thing to recognize that I should stay away, and it’s a completely different thing to do it. It’s like there’s a gravitational force pulling me toward her and, as much as I try, I can’t resist it.

  “How about that cafe over there?” She points in the direction of a little coffee shop. It has a brightly lit display stand, lined with pastries and sandwiches. The smell of coffee fills the air, wafting up from the paper cups people hold between their palms.

  “Looks good,” I say.

  “Look, there are even tables over there. We can use your laptop to go through some of the presentation material. I have the flash drive in my bag,” she says.

  “Okay. Do you know what you want to order?”

  “A plain glazed donut and a Diet Coke,” she says.

  “Okay. Take a seat and I’ll bring everything to the table.” When she opens her mouth to protest, I say, “This place might fill up soon and one of us should reserve a table. I’m the one with the credit card.” I pull the card out of my wallet and hold it up between two fingers for her to see, giving her a big smile. “So just sit back and relax.”

  When I get to the table, she has covered three-quarters of the table with pieces of paper, her notes and references. She hurriedly pushes them out of the way when she sees me approach with a tray of food and beverages. I fire up my laptop and listen to her methodically explain the material to me in between little bites of her glazed donut.

  The presentation is about trends in luxury hospitality, specifically how travelers increasingly focus more on services and experiences rather than physical products. Emily has done a great job in finding solid, relevant data to back up her arguments. The slides are accompanied by the appropriate graphs and charts, all of which illustrate her key talking points well.

  I ask a few questions in the beginning, but it soon becomes apparent that she knows her stuff, as I watch her speak so passionately about the work she’s been doing for the past few weeks. We haven’t discussed who’s going to do the actual presentation or if we’re going to share the responsibility, but I feel like she can handle the material well enough to present it in front of an audience.

  I have to admit, I didn’t expect Emily to do this well at her job.

  This is strange for me to admit because, let’s be honest, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the opportunities that I have without my father. I often get criticized over that, as if I have any control over it or as if it invalidates my hard work.

  But I realize now that I’ve been doing the same thing to Emily. Because I gave her the job for reasons other than her actual qualifications, I never expected her to excel. But she has, and it’s all because she has worked her cute little ass off.

  “Is that our flight?” Emily says, pausing her speech about the latest research on global marketing initiatives. She points her index finger up and stares into the distance, frozen in place as she perks her ears up to listen to the announcement.

  I use the time to check her out while she’s not looking, trying to absorb and remember as much detail as I can about the way she looks this morning.

  I’ll let her be in charge of making sure we don’t miss our flight. She has proven to be reliable enough so far in handling whatever life shoots her way, and I feel like I can relax for once, knowing she’s capable of making sure things go smoothly.

  It kills me that I can’t just tell her: I can really get used to this, too.

  12

  Emily

  I open my eyes to see my boss’ bare abs. I blink a few times.

  Am I dreaming?

  The golden tan of his skin, the lines of his muscles, the soft fuzz that starts from around his belly button and travels south to disappear into his jeans… God, I want to pull that waistband down and see where it leads.

  Okay, the details are way too vivid for this to be a dream.

  I look up to see him pulling a wheeled carry-on bag from the overhead compartment above our row of seats, his arm muscles bulging from the strain. Standing behind him is a little old lady who has her white hair up in a neat bun. She’s thanking him a little too profusely, which means the bag Cole is handling now probably belongs to her. She’s wearing a floral white dress and a pair of black slip-on loafers.

  As if in a trance, my eyes are drawn toward the veins trailing beautifully up and down Cole’s arms. I’m so out of it I don’t even see him putting the bag down on the floor and turning my way. I can neither confirm nor deny reports saying that my mouth may be hanging open with a bit of drool on my lips as this is happening.

  “Hey, you.” Cole flashes me his pearly white teeth and looks right at me, which wakes me right up.

  “Uh.” I blink and close my mouth. I wrap the big, soft blanket provided by the flight attendant around me in a way that hides my mouth. In a covert operation worthy of a feature in a James Bond movie, I discreetly wipe my lips clean before anything starts creeping down my chin. I look up at him and, as casually as I can, say, “Hey.”

  “Had a good nap?” He rests his powerful forearm on top of the seat beside mine, the aisle seat where he sat throughout the entire flight. The entire fabulous flight.

  “The best nap.”

  As soon as we got on board and I plopped down in my plush window seat, I was floating on cloud nine, literally.

  I looked out the window as the rising sun changed the colors of the sky. The entire time, a friendly, chatty flight attendant called Becky kept me well supplied with crackers and cheeses. I almost regretted filling my belly with the donut and Diet C
oke I had at the airport. Almost.

  And then, before I knew it, I was out cold. I wanted to be awake for every minute of my First Class experience, but I guess I was exhausted. I’d worked my ass off last night, knowing I was going to be almost entirely responsible for the presentation.

  It’s just such a big responsibility and I want to make sure I do it right. It took the big, comfy chair and pampering from Becky to finally make me sleep.

  I don’t want to sound snooty, but people who complain about flying got it wrong. Flying doesn’t suck; flying coach does. I mean, I’ve only ever flown two other times in my life — to visit my grandmother and to return home after that — but that’s what I can conclude based on personal experience.

  As we leave the plane in single file and enter the airport, the little old lady engages Cole in conversation. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I can tell she speaks with an accent, perhaps Eastern European.

  Cole holds his phone up in one hand, trying to entertain the lady while surreptitiously glancing at his phone. I smile at his little predicament and wonder why I was ever afraid of him.

  I turn on my own phone and see a message notification.

  Lily Saunders: OMG FIRST CLASS?!?!?!

  Lily Saunders: SRSLY WHAT IS IT BETWEEN YOU TWO???

  I roll my eyes. It’s just like Lily to overreact. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her about my last-minute seat switch before the flight.

  Okay, I admit I have noticed Cole treating me really nicely today. And of course I like him. Who wouldn’t? The problem is, I can’t help but feel like we come from two completely different worlds and he wouldn’t ever take me seriously, even if he is interested in me to some degree.

  And that’s just not what I’m looking for right now. Having experienced the real thing, I don’t have any patience for superficial relationships anymore.

  Here are the things I do look for in a guy: resilience, resourcefulness, and reliability. I call them the three Rs.

  Having gone through a couple of tough times in my life, I know money is a necessity. But at this point in my life, I feel like I can take care of myself just fine without a man. It’s important to me that I don’t depend on anyone else for my survival, because I may find myself in a situation where I’m all I have.

  So I don’t care how much money Cole Foster has. As far as I’m concerned, the guy has had everything in his life handed to him on a silver platter. The most difficult day in his life probably involves something like his favorite suit being stuck at the dry cleaner’s, forcing him to wear his second favorite suit instead. Oh, the tragedy. I could weep.

  Don’t get me wrong. I like his personality. He’s smart, funny, sweet, and confident. I’m just looking for someone with a little bit more grit than the average spoiled trust fund kid.

  It’s important to me that my man bounces back when life gets him down. Because life is going to suck sometimes and in that moment I’ll need — no, I’ll want someone strong beside me. Someone with actual inner strength, not someone who’s used to paying other people money to solve all his problems.

  But there’s no need for Lily to know all those things. I stand by the baggage claim carousel, pausing to think of a way to get her to tell me what I want to know without showing my cards.

  Emily Webb: There’s nothing between Cole and me

  Emily Webb: I swear

  Emily Webb: Have you heard anything about Steffi?

  Lily Saunders: They say she found a foreign boyfriend and she’s moving abroad

  Emily Webb: So are they saying that she was cheating on Cole then?

  Emily Webb: Lol

  The rumors circulating in the office are crazy. I doubt there was ever really anything between Cole and Steffi. Nobody can hide a long-term, ongoing relationship so well that the only time they were ever seen together was one drunken night many years ago.

  I glance at the conveyor belt, which is already moving. Our bags should come out any time now. Beside me, Cole stands by a trolley, still deep in conversation with his new friend, the little old lady. I turn my attention back to my phone.

  Lily Saunders: That’s exactly what they’re saying!

  Lily Saunders: Is it true?

  Lily Saunders: Is that why you know?

  Lily Saunders: OMG

  Lily Saunders: OMG WAS STEFFI CHEATING ON COLE WHILE HE WAS CHEATING ON HER WITH YOU???

  Emily Webb: What

  Emily Webb: NO. NONE OF THAT IS TRUE.

  Lily Saunders: Awww

  Lily Saunders: Are you sure?

  Emily Webb: YES

  Emily Webb: Is it really that weird for me to fly First Class?

  Lily Saunders: It’s pretty weird

  Lily Saunders: He usually takes the private jet if he’s traveling with Mr. Foster

  Lily Saunders: If he flies commercial he likes to sit alone in First Class

  Lily Saunders: You know Steffi’s seat was supposed to be in coach

  Emily Webb: Hey my bag is here

  Emily Webb: Gtg :D

  I slip my phone back into my shoulder bag. Just as I start to grab my suitcase off the conveyor belt, Cole appears beside me and picks it up effortlessly.

  “I thought you were busy,” I say, grinning at him.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, loading my suitcase onto the trolley, right on top of his own suitcase. “You’re not jealous of Linda as well, are you?” To my surprise, he wraps his arm around the little old lady and pulls her close.

  “You have yourself a nice young man here,” Linda says, smiling at me. “You look adorable together.”

  “Oh, we’re not actually together,” I say, looking at Cole for help in clarifying the situation.

  “I was just joking, Linda,” Cole says, laughing. “Emily here is my colleague and we’re here for a conference.” He gestures at the two of us and says, “Emily, this is Linda. Linda, this is Emily.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say to the friendly old lady.

  “Nice to meet you too,” she says. “But that is bullshit. The two of you look like you belong together. Listen to me, you’ll make a great couple and you’ll make beautiful kids together. Trust me. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. When you get to my age, there are some things that you just know.”

  I laugh, not expecting the frail-looking lady to curse and tell our love fortunes.

  “See? I tried to tell her,” Cole says, shrugging in defeat.

  “It’s very nice to meet the two of you,” Linda says. “My grandson is waiting for me so I should go. Thank you, Cole, for helping me with my bags.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Cole says, rubbing her arm and smiling at her.

  “Enjoy your trip.” Winking, Linda says, “You’re both young and healthy. Do something naughty.”

  Cole gasps in mock horror, covering his mouth with his hands. He makes a big display out of looking around suspiciously and exclaims, “Linda! Watch what you’re saying in public!”

  I laugh. I didn’t expect to see Cole act like such a goof. I have to say I kind of like this side of him.

  “She thinks you’re funny,” Linda says to Cole, “which means you have a chance. And I see the way she looks at you. She likes you. But don’t lose my number. If she says no, you can always come to me.”

  “I won’t lose your number, Linda. Promise,” Cole says with a wide grin on his face.

  Linda cackles as she walks away, the pink and purple flowers on her white dress swaying as she slowly and carefully navigates the busy terminal.

  “Wow. Two numbers in one morning,” I say while dodging other travelers as we follow the signs to the taxi loading area.

  “It’s a slow day,” Cole says, laughing. I can’t tell if he’s serious. After all, a guy like him must get female attention all the time.

  “She’s a nice lady,” I say.

  “Yeah. She reminds me of my grandmother, who died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I hope I didn’t
just say the wrong thing and make things awkward.

  “Thanks,” he says quietly.

  “You’re different,” I blurt out. “I mean, I’d never imagine the usual you that I see in the office flirting with a foul-mouthed geriatric.”

  “Hey, don’t you dare call her names. Linda is a wonderful, beautiful lady of a mature age,” Cole says, laughing. He shrugs. “The office is for working. Outside of the office is…for everything else.”

  13

  Cole

  By the time we roll our suitcases into Trident Hotel, where the conference is held, all notion of me staying away from Emily has disappeared.

  I’m having too much fun getting to know her and telling her some of my own stories — nothing too hardcore, though, as she probably doesn’t even realize a whole other dangerous world exists alongside hers in San Francisco.

  The point is, it’s impossible to walk away when I feel so much connection with her and I can tell she’s having a good time too.

  I know this is going to hurt like a bitch when we fly home and I go back to just seeing her at the office. But it’s only three days. Today, tomorrow, and the day after that. We fly home that same night on Wednesday. What’s the worst that can happen?

  Besides, I don’t know when I’m ever going to get another opportunity like this, to spend time with her without worrying about people watching us.

  Here in Seattle, nobody knows me. That feels liberating, in a way.

  Unfortunately, that also means the guy manning the hotel front desk also doesn’t know me, which means we have to wait in line to check in.

  “Seems really busy today,” Emily says. She pulls on her cardigan for warmth, obviously not used to the weather, which is a little more humid and chilly here.

  “The front desk is always busy on conference days. Most attendees probably checked in yesterday, so it’s likely quieter now compared to yesterday,” I say.