The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

by Annika Martin

  “Inspiration comes in many forms,” Theo is saying. “I’ve been trying to nail this formula with all my might. Power it out. And then one day…” He steps aside. There’s something in his hand. He raises it to the screen and a goat video flashes up. Little goats playing. Everybody laughs.

  “Oh my god, he’s gone insane,” Willow whispers.

  I’m just grinning. Theo is showing baby goat videos at a giant banquet. He’s talking about randomness, about chemical structures. How he was looking at things in a too-rigid way. How the goats at play showed him something. A way to solve the problem.

  My smile stretches ear to ear, like it might break my face.

  The people are eating it up. Well, who doesn’t love baby goats?

  He announces that they’re gearing up for clinical trials that will be expedited once they have FDA approval. He hopes they can get the new formula out into the field as quickly as possible. People clap. They all know what it means.

  “I was going at it all wrong,” he says, and that’s when he sees me. Or squints at me, like he thinks it’s maybe me. They turned the lights down for him to show the goat videos. Willow and I both wave like crazy.

  Then I do it, there in the dark. I raise my middle finger.

  I know you. I’m with you.

  His lips twitch. He’s looking right at me.

  He sees me.

  Theo, I mouth.

  “Wake-up calls come in many forms,” he says, looking directly at me now. “Sometimes baby goats show you you’re being too linear. And sometimes it’s a literal wake-up call that wakes you up to a world that’s wider than you ever imagined. Let’s never stop discovering ways to make it better and more beautiful. Thank you.” He raises the award to thunderous applause.

  “Shit,” Willow says. “He killed it.”

  I smile stupidly as he fits the mic back into the holder, as he comes off the stage and shakes a lot of hands. His gaze never leaves mine.

  Because in the end, we’re the only people in the room.

  I finally get to him, or maybe he gets to me. “You came.” He cups my cheeks, looking at me like he can’t believe it.

  “Theo—” There are too many words. So I kiss him. He groans and pulls me closer, kisses me back.

  “I was wrong,” I say, pulling away. “Wrong to just leave.”

  “No, I was wrong. I know I was wrong.”

  “But I was wrong to not believe in our power to get past it. We can figure this out. I feel like we can figure anything out. I love that we can figure anything out.”

  His eyes shine. “You can’t even imagine what it was like to see you out there. I wanted to yell.”

  “Probably good you didn’t.” I grab hold of his lapels. They feel cool and silky. “I’m home. I don’t want to leave this.” Ever, I think.

  “You’re staying? In the city?”

  “Yes.”

  He wraps his arms around me, wraps me into a hug. There are no words.

  And then we have to separate, because it’s picture time. Henry Locke, who runs the Locke empire, wants a picture with Theo. Then they bring the little dog into the picture. Then it’s Theo and some other people.

  I have to figure out what to do about the subletter. Figure out about a job. Theo may have rented the awesome space, but those are all details. I catch Theo’s eye as the press takes a few pictures of him with his award. The main thing is that I’m staying.

  Willow hands me a glass of champagne. “He made an omelet for me this morning,” she says.

  “He did?”

  “It was terrible.”

  After a lot of mingling, the party breaks up, but the night’s not over—Henry and Vicky invite Willow and Theo and me out for drinks and desserts. Henry wants to toast the partnership.

  We end up in a cozy, candlelit bar in one of the famous Locke boutique hotels. The five of us commandeer a big, comfy booth and drink to the partnership with champagne that I don’t dare ask the price of.

  We talk about the goat videos, and Willow explains a data initiative her company is doing. Vicky’s excited that I’m the Cookie Madness person. It turns out she makes jewelry, and we have fun bonding over crafty stuff while we pet the little dog, who might just be the cutest dog in the universe.

  Henry Locke can’t say enough about how much he loved Theo’s speech; he’s excited about the partnership. He compliments him on the firm’s engaging online presence, too.

  “That’s mostly Lizzie,” Theo says.

  “So that’s where you two fell for each other?” Vicky asks. “When you worked at Vossameer?”

  Theo and I exchange glances.

  “It’s a long story,” I say.

  Willow snorts.

  Playfully, Vicky narrows her eyes. “Okay, you don’t have to tell. Now…”

  I have a feeling she’s going to extract every detail someday. And I wouldn’t mind it. I like her. Mia would like her, too.

  I go home with Theo after the party breaks up. We kiss in the limo and then later in the elevator. Theo slides his hands over my hips. “I just want to rip this off you.”

  “Don’t you dare! It’s my favorite dress ever!”

  He chuckles.

  In the end, he doesn’t rip it off. He carries me to his bedroom and he undoes the zipper for me, kissing my back every few inches.

  We make love in his big bed with the moon shining in the arch-top windows. Afterward I tell him about going over the bridge, and thinking about what he said, and we dream together of how we want things to be with us.

  “We’re talking about our relationship,” I say. “It seems so weird. But in a good way.”

  “A very good way.” He touches his finger to the tip of my nose. “And you know what I’m going to do tomorrow morning?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m going to make us omelets!”

  “Hmm!” I say, trying to sound excited.

  The next morning, we collaborate on the omelets, thankfully. He’s surprised at the things he was doing wrong.

  I put in a call to my parents. It’s a hard call—they’re crushed I’m not coming but they’re thrilled I might have a space. Theo told me it’s still empty. It’s something else we’ll work out. I promise to come visit soon for a nice long time. A late Three Musketeers celebration. I’ll bring special cookies.

  Later that morning, we head to my old place. With the help of Derek and Mia and a few other guys Theo rounded up, we make quick work of unloading my carefully packed truck and putting all my stuff back in my room. The subletter hasn’t moved in yet, luckily, and Theo has a place to offer her—apparently, Vossameer owns a few apartments to put up overseas visitors, and one of them will be open for a couple of months.

  After everybody leaves, Theo and I drink lemonade on our couch. Mia comes out in her outrageous delivery girl uniform. “Don’t you dare laugh. Don’t even.” She thanks Theo again for offering the subletter a temporary free apartment.

  “Everything’s perfect,” I say.

  “Except the conundrum window,” Mia says. “Beware, it’s almost summer.”

  We explain the horrible dilemma of the window to Theo—too hot when it’s closed, too stinky when it’s open.

  He goes over, but he doesn’t seem to be looking out the window. He’s looking at the part of the wall next to the window, studying one of Mia’s cross-stitches, hanging right next to it. “What is this?” He takes it off the hook.

  Mia turns to me, jaw hanging open. It’s here I realize—that’s the Sex with me is a dirty, savage affair. Utterly uncivilized cross-stitch.

  He turns, holding the thing up. “Care to explain?”

  “Um, no?” I squeak.

  He smiles his sexy, stern smile.

  “Gotta go,” Mia says, getting out of there.

  I lock up behind her, and Theo presses me to the door. “You are a totally impudent wake-up-call girl who needs to be taught a lesson,” he rumbles.

  “Am I?” I start unbuttoning his shir
t. “Am I, really?”

  In fact, I am. All afternoon I am.

  Epilogue

  Theo

  New Year’s Day; eight months later

  Fargo, North Dakota

  * * *

  I stand at the front of the tiny prairie church, adjusting my cuff links. There’s a fiddler, a friend of the Cooper family, playing wedding songs in the corner.

  I adjust my sleeve, trying to get it even with the other sleeve.

  Willow pokes me in the back. “They’re fine! You’re perfect!”

  I turn to face her.

  Per-fect, she mouths.

  She’s standing up with me as my best woman, in a blue gown that matches Mia’s, who’s over on the bride’s side. Lizzie’s side.

  Lots of our Manhattan friends came out for this. Henry Locke provided the Locke jet and pilot as a kind of wedding gift, so that everybody could ride here together. He and I have become quite friendly, and the four of us hang out all the time.

  Over the summer, my PI figured out exactly where in St. Thomas Lizzie’s ex was living, and we tipped off the cops. The guy was extradited to the United States to stand trial, and while Lizzie didn’t get all her money back, she got some. Enough to take over the space I found for her and stand on her own with the bakery.

  Lizzie’s mother, Fredericka, sits in the front. I catch her eye and she smiles. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the past few weeks of my being here, celebrating Christmas and doing wedding prep.

  The way the Coopers have brought me into the family—this feeling of being part of her generous family—is something I never dreamed of for myself. Something I never expected when I fell in love with Lizzie.

  I can’t remember the last time I had a real Christmas. To me, Christmas was always a pain in the ass, with extra obligations and most of my favorite restaurants being annoyingly closed. Something to get through.

  But an actual Christmas? The Coopers do every dorky thing there is—the mistletoe, the singing, the whole nine yards. There have been dinners and presents. There have been long, snowy walks and even skating on the river, with hot apple cider breaks. And caroling.

  And I’ve loved it all.

  The Coopers were sad Lizzie didn’t move back home, but they were thrilled she found a place for Cookie Madness.

  And really, they’re fine. Lizzie’s parents are a hugely romantic pair with a rich, fun life full of friends. And they never stop learning and growing. This spring they’ll be taking a month-long trip to a French chateau to learn some kind of foodie technique. Food is definitely a family passion.

  Sometimes I secretly study Lizzie’s parents for clues of how to have a good marriage—out at dinner, sitting around the fire, when we drop by the pizzeria. Lizzie laughed when I told her that, but I never saw a successful marriage up close, and that’s what I want for us.

  There are dark pink flowers all around the church—peonies. That’s Lizzie’s favorite flower, as it turns out. She told me once that they make her happy—the color, the shape, the size, the scent. So I’m thinking flowers might not be so useless after all.

  The music changes and I straighten. Everybody twists around, waiting for Lizzie to appear with her father, Joe, who will be walking her down the aisle.

  My pulse races. I have the urge to adjust my cufflinks again.

  But then the doors open and there’s Lizzie, madly gorgeous in a white dress and elegant hairdo, smiling brightly, clutching a riot of peonies. My nervousness goes, and everything’s right. Because she’s with me. Whatever happens, we’re in it together.

  I love you, she mouths.

  I whisper it back. I love you.

  Because we’re two dragon fighters, traipsing through life together. Falling off the map together.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading Theo and Lizzie’s story! I hope you love them as much as I do.

  * * *

  Max Hilton is my high school nemesis turned billionaire. And tomorrow I deliver his lunch order.

  In a cat costume.

  You know he’s going to love it. He’ll smile that smirky smile, sitting there all superior in his gleaming tower, the wealthiest and most notorious playboy in all of NYC.

  I’m almost ready to quit my lunch delivery job, but then my friend tosses me a copy of the pick-up guide he wrote. Now it’s my new bible—for how to bring him to his knees!

  Grab Breaking the Billionaire’s Rules!

  “…so hilarious that my jaw was hurting. It made my heart so full and happy. I couldn't stop smiling and swooning. A must read of 2019.”

  ~PPs Bookshelf

  * * *

  Want more fun and romance? And news, freebies, prizes, early reads and more?

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  * * *

  Turn the page for a peek at Breaking the Billionaire’s Rules!

  Breaking the Billionaire’s Rules sneak peek!

  Mia

  My roommate Kelsey swings open the door to our apartment before I can finish unlocking it. “Oh my god, I nearly dropped my phone when you texted,” she says. “I can’t even imagine!”

  “Right?” I throw my hat and scarf onto the couch. “Don’t bother to hide your horror, because it’ll be ten times worse than you think.”

  “Uh!” She pulls me into a quick hug.

  “I feel sick every time I imagine how it’ll be.”

  Kelsey lets me go. “Who even does that?” Her fists are balled, her lips pursed into an angry little rosebud. She’s a dancer with awesome powers of emoting. “He just wants to crush you! He wants to demolish your dignity like a house of cards!”

  “Okay, you can hide your horror a little.”

  “No, I can’t hide it. I hate him so much on your behalf, I want to burst!”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “You guys, do I need to call the overacting drama police?” My friend and former roomie, Lizzie, comes in from the other room.

  “Oh my god, Lizzie!” I give her a big squeeze.

  “I called in the cavalry,” Kelsey says.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Lizzie tries.

  I raise a brow. “This is a man who woke up one day and thought, ‘I’m rich and famous and I can have anything I want, and what I most want is for my old high school nemesis to be forced to deliver sandwiches to me in my office. In a friggin’ cat suit.’”

  “You can’t be sure he requested you personally,” Lizzie says.

  “The office said as much when I tried to switch. It was a specific request for me to be the one to handle that building. It’s that or I lose the job. And not just one time—no, no, no. Ongoing deliveries. You know it’s him.” I unbutton my coat. “It’ll be the worst ten-year high school reunion ever.”

  Confession: I’ve spent a truly unhealthy amount of time imagining running-into-Max scenarios. They always involve me wearing an amazing gown; possibly a tiara. And our high school hostilities are so insignificant to me, I’m having trouble remembering them. I’m all, Max who? But in such a gracious way. My career is going so gangbusters that everything from high school is a dim footnote.

  Unfortunately, ten years out from our graduation from The Soho High School for the Performing Arts (aka SHSPA, aka the Shiz) I don’t have much to show for my career.

  “Well, pizza’s coming, so there’s that,” Lizzie says.

  “Heart eyes.” I peel off my winter coat, stripping down to the Meow Squad cat suit I’m forced to wear on my lunch delivery route.

  I look up and catch them staring at it, and I can tell they’re imagining it—what it will feel like. What is there to say to that?

  Then Kelsey says the one thing you can say to that. “You’re not alone.”

  I take a deep breath. My knotted shoulders relax a smidge. These girls are everything to me. Two best friends who are in it with me. “Thank you.”

>   I go to my room to change into my favorite sloth T-shirt and bright pink yoga pants, and then I go back out and curl up on the couch.

  Kelsey gives me a beer. Her purple fingernails match perfectly with the purple streaks in her jet-black hair. “CLC,” she says. Carb-loving comfort.

  Lizzie snuggles in next to me on the other side. “Were you just mortified?”

  I retell the moment of discovery. One second I’m standing out at the Meow Squad truck, waiting for tomorrow’s delivery assignment, feeling pretty happy about my life. Sure, I have a job where I have to dress as a cat and deliver food-truck orders to office workers, but it’s a part-time job with insurance, the holy grail for up-and-coming actresses.

  And then the next moment, I see Maximillion Plaza on the roster.

  And the sun goes behind the clouds.

  And shadows move across the land at terrifying speeds.

  Giant birds with dinosaur faces screech across the sky.

  “And I’m like, no friggin’ way! You know he found out. I swear to you, the day I first tried on the outfit, the biggest thing on my mind was not how stupid I looked, or how grateful I got hired and all of that. My first thought was, what are the chances I’ll ever have to deliver to Max Hilton? A million-something people in Manhattan, what are the chances Max orders from Meow Squad, and I end up with the delivery? Maximillion Plaza wasn’t even in the Meow Squad delivery area when I first started. I thought I’d be safe. I should’ve known.”

  Lizzie winces. “Maybe he wants to apologize?”

  “No way. Trust me—no apologies will be forthcoming. He’s rubbing his hands in sweet anticipation.”

  “Was it that bad?” Kelsey asks.

  “He once baked dirt into a brownie she had to eat on stage,” Lizzie says. She’s heard all of the stories. “She took a bite and she had to keep chewing—”

  “—and it was dry and weird and gritty, and I so wanted to spit it out,” I say. “Though to be fair, I did put a remote-control squeaking mouse cat toy in his piano right before his freshman recital. And I made it scrabble around while he played Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat. A sweet, quiet piece.” I snicker, remembering. “Of course he didn’t react. Nothing fazes Max. He has a protective titanium exoskeleton.”