Billionaires Runaway Bride (A Standalone British Billionaire Romance Novel)

by Claire Adams

  The screen door bounced a few times on the door frame before closing. I tried to fix it for her in the past, but Sienna insisted we left it.

  “It has character,” she’d always said.

  Sienna’s back was to me when I entered the kitchen. Her hair was pulled up high on her head. She reminded me of a Teletubbie when she wore her hair like that. I’d only teased her about it once before she asked if she wanted long strands of brown hair in my food.

  “Hey,” she said and glanced over her shoulder. She had a pile of egg shells next to her and she was whisking the eggs in a big metal bowl.

  “Morning,” I said and came up next to her.

  Her hazel eyes met mine. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  I rubbed my hand over my face. “Not today.”

  She wiped at her chin with the back of her hand. “Tony made some coffee. You want some eggs?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  She shot me a look. “It’s what I do, Parker. Sit your ass down and I’ll make you something.”

  I grinned. “Whatever you say.”

  Out front in the dining area, Tony was setting up the tables.

  “Hey, man,” I said.

  Tony looked over and smirked. “What’s going on?”

  I sat down at my usual table closest to the kitchen. “Not much; just can’t sleep.”

  “Sleep is overrated,” he said. He pulled up the shades of the front windows and peered out at the empty streets. Then he unlocked the front door. “Can I get you some coffee? I just finished brewing.”

  “That’d be great.”

  Tony nodded and went behind the small bar area and poured me a mug of coffee. He dropped that and a few creamers on my table. “Enjoy, man.”

  Sienna burst through the kitchen doors holding two plates of food. “Tony, can you finish prep?”

  “Sure thing, boss.” He winked at her and headed into the kitchen.

  Sienna slid the plates of food onto the table. Steam rose from my scrambled eggs and the bacon was nearly black: the perfect texture. I started in on the eggs before she even sat down.

  “Did you eat dinner last night?” she asked.

  “Yeah, early. Rachel stayed over. God, what did you add to these eggs? They’re fucking delicious.”

  She smiled proudly. “A cook never reveals her secrets.”

  We both knew that even if I had a step-by-step recipe, I’d never be able to recreate any of her dishes.

  She pierced a clump of eggs with her fork. “How’s work?”

  I shrugged. “Steady.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” she looked wistfully around the place.

  “Tourist season is around the corner,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I barely made enough last season to cover this year.”

  “Do you need money?”

  She pulled a face. “No.”

  She hated when I told her I’d loan her money. She saw it as an insult when I wanted to do the right thing and help out my oldest friend.

  I held my hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. What are your ideas?”

  Sienna constantly tried to reinvent her business, from the food to the atmosphere, but she always fell back to her roots. She didn’t want to be a flashy themed restaurant; that wasn’t her.

  “I was thinking of doing more advertising.”

  “Well, I happen to know a guy who owns a social media empire who could help.”

  She smirked. “That’s not what I was asking.”

  “Sienna,” I said, finishing up my toast. “I know you hate when other people want to help you, but setting up a website and social media accounts is easy for me. And it will take no time at all.”

  She shook her head. “What would I post on there?”

  “Your food, your face. Both equally captivating.”

  She flung a forkful of eggs at me.

  “Well, not now with that Teletubbie bun on your head,” I said, flicking the eggs back at her.

  She opened her mouth in mock surprise. “Do you want hair in your food?” She pulled her elastic out and her hair tumbled over her shoulders. “I can make that happen.”

  “Is that your secret ingredient? Because if it is, I definitely want more.”

  She laughed, and I couldn’t contain myself either.

  “All right, all right, you can help me,” she said, blotting her eyes with a napkin. “But I want you to show me how you do everything, so I won’t need to rely on you.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  We both ate in silence for a few moments.

  “How’s Rachel?” Her lip curled slightly.

  I laughed. “Was that hard for you to ask?”

  Sienna rolled her eyes. “I’m being polite.”

  Sienna didn’t like Rachel for some reason, but she never pressed the issue, and neither did I. Sienna was my best friend, and Rachel was my girlfriend. I could keep my favorite two ladies separated, just as long as they were both in my life.

  “Actually, I want to talk to you about her,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “But not here,” I said. “Tomorrow night. I’ll take you to dinner.”

  “Okay?” she drew out the word. “Can you give me a hint?”

  I smiled. She hated surprises. “Nope.”

  Chapter Two

  Sienna

  It was just past six when Tony and I started to pack up the diner for the night. We hadn’t had a customer in an hour, and I doubted anyone else was coming that night. Friday and Saturday nights tended to be the slowest since most of the tourists flocked to the clubs while the residents went to their local watering holes. I hoped Parker’s ideas for social media marketing would help bring in the customers for the busy season, or else I’d be stuck living on Ramen noodles for some time to come.

  Tony and I took separate ends of the dining room and started wiping tables.

  “What do you think he’s going to talk to you about?” Tony asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn syrup spill.

  “I bet he’s going to ask Rachel to marry him.”

  My hand stopped scrubbing for a moment. “There’s no way Parker would ask her that. They’ve only been together for a year.” Parker wouldn’t think of marrying that gold-digger. It was one thing to date that skank, but another thing completely to sign his billions away to her.

  “A lot of people get married in less time,” Tony said.

  “Yeah, but not Parker.”

  “He seems to really like her.”

  “That’s fine, but he won’t be stupid enough to marry her. He’s just having fun.” I could think of a dozen girls Parker would have more fun with than stuck-up Rachel, but that was his decision.

  “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  I turned to face him and crossed my arms over my chest. “Definitely not. I’m just a concerned friend, that’s all.”

  Tony grinned that stupid grin of his, and I huffed then turned away from him, starting in on the next table.

  “Well, if you were jealous, I wouldn’t hold that against you. Rachel seems very materialistic.”

  Glad I wasn’t the only one who saw that. But I was done talking about Rachel.

  “He probably wants to ask my opinion on a present for her or something.”

  “Is that why he’s taking you out to a fancy place? To talk about gifts?”

  I whirled around. “What do you mean a ‘fancy place?’”

  Tony pressed his lips together. “Aw, man, I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “I’m not getting in the middle of this; call him yourself.”

  And that’s exactly what I did. I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and pressed the screen for his number.

  Tony grinned again, and I threw my dirty rag at him before Parker picked up the phone.

  “Yes, Sienna?”

  “Where are we going tonight?”

  “Somewhe
re you can’t wear jeans.”

  I hated dressing up, and he knew that. “No jeans? Where are you taking me, Parker Liston?”

  “If you ask again, we’re not going,” he teased. “I never ask you to dress up, but it's a nicer place. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

  “I feel out of place anywhere that’s not a diner or a bar.”

  “I know you have one or two dresses. Pick one, and I’ll see you tonight.”

  I groaned into the phone. “Fine. See you then.”

  “Did he tell you?” Tony asked from the kitchen.

  “No,” I said. “Next time, give me a heads-up.”

  He poked his head out so I could see him through the pass-through from the kitchen. “That’s what I was doing.”

  He disappeared again, and I smiled. But it quickly fell away when I thought of Parker proposing to Rachel.

  Almost an hour later, I stood in front of my closet wearing a thong and a black bra. They were the only matching pair of underwear I owned. I supposed if Parker was going to make me dress up, I’d go all out. And he was wrong. I had more than two dress options. But none of them had seen any action in some time. I put five dresses on my bed and stared at them. I picked up a black three-quarter sleeved one and regarded it. I’d worn it to a memorial service for my uncle about a year ago.

  I tossed that to the side. As much as it would kill me to hear Parker tell me about his proposal to Rachel, I wasn’t giving up yet.

  There was a lace-covered cherry-red dress, but that was my date dress. The one that said, “Let’s skip this meal and fuck.” Not that I’d been on a date in a while, and I definitely hadn’t met any guys I wanted to skip right to the bedroom with. And this wasn’t a date—Parker had made it clear this was about him and Rachel.

  Gag me.

  That left me with three dresses. Two were black, and the last one was a cap-sleeve dress that had a tight, navy blue bodice with a flowy skirt. It was a good mix of my casual style but fancy enough for whichever restaurant Parker had chosen.

  I slipped it on and was surprised to know it still fit. With the number of bacon cheeseburgers I consumed on a weekly basis, I almost thought I’d have to go with the stretchier black ones. It even completely covered the tattoo that stretched from my left hip down my thigh.

  I grabbed a pair of black heels and slipped them on. While they did wonders for accentuating the lean muscles in my legs, I knew my feet would be killing me by the time I got to the restaurant. I kicked them off and tossed them onto the bed. I’d put them on at the last possible second. I hoped the table had a long tablecloth because those puppies would be coming off the second I sat down.

  I threw on a layer of concealer and foundation before applying some mascara and lip gloss. Looking in the mirror, I scowled. I looked like the type of girls that Parker took out all the time. I wished he would have opted to take me to a bar, but I supposed he needed to spend his money somehow.

  I brushed my hair until it went from a tangled rat’s nest to glossy waves that cascaded over my shoulders.

  I’d just put down the brush when my doorbell rang.

  I scooped up the heels from my bed and headed for the door.

  When I opened the front door, Parker was standing there in a black shirt and black suit pants. His dirty-blond hair was slicked back tonight instead of styled like he normally wore it. I wondered if I should have picked a different dress.

  Parker leaned forward and looked into the space. “Is Sienna here? About yea tall. And normally dresses like a truck driver.”

  I punched him in the arm. “Let’s go, loser.”

  He laughed as I passed him. He closed the door behind me and we headed out to his car.

  “Did you forget your shoes?” he asked.

  I held them up by their straps; my bare feet smacked over the driveway. “I have them right here.”

  “Shouldn’t they be on your feet?” He held the door open for me and I got into his Porsche.

  It was my favorite of his cars because it drove the fastest. And Parker knew I liked to go fast.

  When he got in the car, I answered him. “It’s enough that you got me into a dress. The heels go on when we get there.”

  He smirked. “Whatever you say.”

  “If you had to wear these stilts all the time, you’d be complaining, too.”

  “Remember, I did try on my mom’s heels during that scavenger hunt junior year.”

  “Ohhh!” I said pointing at him. “I totally forgot about that.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “They weren’t that bad.”’

  I laughed. “You had to wear them for like, a minute. Don’t try and pretend you have enough experience to argue with me.”

  “Argue with you?” he said in mock surprise. “Never.”

  “So, where are you taking me?” I asked.

  “Valencia’s,” he said.

  As a restaurant owner, I made a point to know the up-and-coming places nearby. I didn’t have a lot of competition in the diner business, but Valencia’s was completely out of Sunny Daes’ orbit.

  “Valencia’s?” I said, stunned.

  “Yup.”

  “You mean the Italian joint that books reservations a year in advance?”

  “That’s the place.”

  I turned in my seat to face him. “Did you have a reservation for a year?” Had he intended to take Rachel there and she backed out? I couldn’t imagine that she would pass up a chance to go to Valencia’s, but I also didn’t pretend to know what was going on in her gold-digger head.

  “No way, I got them yesterday.”

  It wasn’t the first time Parker used his money to his advantage. And in this case, it was to our advantage. I was obsessed with that place and had always wanted to go. I didn’t remember ever mentioning that to Parker before. Had I?

  “Must be nice,” I said.

  “It is nice.” He squeezed my hand. “I have the opportunity to take my best friend out for a fancy dinner. I’ll call that a win.”

  I smiled and settled back into my seat, slowly extracting my hand from his. I flexed it in my lap and tried to shove down the resulting fluttering in my stomach.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, Parker pulled into the valet line and got out. I scrambled to strap on the heels before the valet opened my door.

  The young valet reached his hand out to help me, but Parker was already there, politely offering himself to help me. The valet stepped aside and Parker gave him the keys to the car.

  I took Parker’s outstretched hand and stood on wobbly legs. It took me a second to get used to my extra five inches of height. Parker tucked my arm under his, serving as a solid being for me to rest my weight on until I could walk normally.

  I looked up at the otherwise normal, seemingly innocuous brick building that housed the best Italian cuisine for miles. People flocked to Valencia’s all year round. And now I was going to get the opportunity to experience it, too.

  Inside, Parker led me to the hostess station. The woman at the desk balked when she saw him.

  I rolled my eyes. It was the signature reaction of any female when they saw Parker for the first time. He had great genetics. Too bad none of them knew him when he was a gangly, pimple-faced teenager. I didn’t hold that against him, at least not all the time. I did, however, keep a particularly embarrassing photo stored on my phone that I liked to show him whenever I felt his ego needed to be checked.

  She picked up two menus. “Follow me, Mr. Liston.”

  She hadn’t bothered to glance at me once. I wondered if Rachel would have gotten the same response. Had I worn the wrong outfit?

  We were seated in the back of the restaurant near a roaring fire. There was just enough of the heat to make me feel right at home when I settled into my seat.

  “Your server will be around shortly to take your drink order and inform you of the specials,” the hostess said.

  “Thank you,” Parker said.

  The woman’s mouth spread int
o an overly wide grin. I stifled a laugh into my hand as she walked away.

  Parker looked at me. “This place is nice, right?”

  “I bet you take all the girls here,” I teased.

  “I actually haven’t been here before,” he admitted.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I couldn’t help feeling flattered that I was the only person he’d taken to Valencia’s. It made it a little more special.

  Parker ordered a bottle of wine for the table and the server returned quickly.

  I looked down at the table as the server poured me a glass.

  We placed our order for an antipasto plate while we decided on dinner. I was going to take advantage of Parker’s unlimited funds for once; I had a feeling coming to Valencia’s wasn’t going to be a regular occurrence.

  There were several utensils in front of me, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “This is the first time I’ve been to a place that had more than one fork.”

  “I believe that,” he said smirking.

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “Har har. Seriously, though, as kids did you ever imagine going to a place like this? Our parents would have never come to such a fancy restaurant.”

  “I always did,” he said.

  “Really.”

  He nodded. “I always wanted to. Remember that place downtown, Deluca’s?”

  Deluca’s was like the Valencia’s of our neighborhood, but to kid’s eyes. It couldn’t have been this fancy.

  “I used to walk by it after practice at school in the afternoons. I’d watched the servers cleaning wine glasses through the windows. For some reason drinking out of a wine glass was the epitome of higher living.” He smiled to himself. “I knew someday I’d get out of there and make something of myself.”

  “And you did.”

  “Yes, I did,” he said.

  “Times have changed,” I noted.

  He raised his glass, and I took mine. “To old friends,” he toasted.

  We clinked the crystal glasses and I took a sip of wine. The taste was full bodied with a hint of fruit. Sure beat the nine dollar bottle I bought myself on special occasions.

  I placed my glass down on the table. “Just as long as those friends don’t change too much.”