Dylan: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (The Corbett Billionaire Brothers)

by Imani King

  Dylan

  The Corbett Billionaire Brothers

  By Imani King

  © 2015 Imani King

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue: Six Years Later

  More About Imani:

  Chapter One

  Maya

  I didn’t have any plans for Friday night, as usual. All I wanted to do was stay home, get cheap Chinese delivery and watch Netflix in my pajamas. I’d already changed into my most comfy sweatshirt when my roommate Tracy came busting through the door like a bat out of hell.

  “Maya! You don’t have a date tonight, do you?” She had a wild look in her eyes, and I knew what that look meant: it meant that she was going to try to talk me into some crazy adventure. And the last thing I wanted was to go on one of Tracy’s adventures.

  “Does it look like I have a date?” I looked down at my faded sweatshirt and the plate of cheese and crackers sitting next to me on the couch and shrugged. “When was the last time I had a date?”

  “Way, way too long,” Tracy said, shaking her head. “But that’s not the point.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’ve set me up with someone, Tracy. I told you a thousand times, I’m not interested—”

  She cut me off. “Don’t worry, your status as terminally single isn’t in danger. This doesn’t have anything to do with men. We’ve got tickets to a winter gala at the Metropolitan Museum.” She dragged out the word gala as she wiggled her eyebrows at me. “It’s black tie, baby.”

  I popped a piece of cheese in my mouth and sighed. I was really looking forward to just binge watching a dumb TV show in my pajamas, but it seemed like Tracy had other plans.

  “How’d you get tickets to a gala?”

  “How do you think? From my boss!” She pulled an envelope covered in fancy gold foil out of her purse and waved it in the air in front of me. “He bought these tickets like months ago, but now he can’t go, so he just chucked them on my desk like they were nothing and told me to take a friend and have fun. Maya, these tickets cost thousands, and I mean thousands of dollars.”

  This wasn’t the first time Tracy had received a crazy gift from her boss. He worked in finance and liked to throw around money, and since Tracy was his secretary she often got cool stuff from him: last minute tickets to a Knicks game, a fancy bottle of wine. I had a feeling that the guy wanted to be more than just her boss, really, but that was none of my business.

  I sighed and picked up a cracker, then put it back down. “I don’t know... isn’t it snowing outside? I mean, do we really want to trudge through all that in fancy clothes, then take the train into Manhattan? And I’m exhausted, Tracy, for real. The kids at the preschool were out of their minds today. It always happens, right before Christmas break they all go crazy for some reason.” I flopped back on the couch dramatically and sighed. “I don’t think I have the energy in me.”

  “Maya Hamilton, you are so full of lame excuses I can’t even stand it.” Tracy put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “I don’t think I even have anything to wear to a black tie gala. Do I need like a ball gown or something?” I knew I was being a stick in the mud, but I couldn’t help myself. I was in a mood. For the first time ever I was going to spend Christmas away from my family, and the boyfriend I thought I was going to spend the holidays with turned out to be... well, he turned out to be someone very different from who I thought he was. So I was in no mood for fun adventures or holiday cheer. I just wanted to lay under a blanket and wait for springtime.

  “I’ve got something you can wear, Maya. I mean, we’re not gonna make the best dressed list or anything, but we can make it work. Oh!” Tracy’s eyes got wider and she ran into her room, shouting, “You can wear that red dress I got at the vintage shop in SoHo!” She emerged a few seconds later with the red dress, and held it up in front of me, smiling like a maniac. “Please, please, say you’ll go, Maya. I mean, seriously, what else were you going to do tonight?”

  I answered her truthfully, even though I felt dumb saying it. “I was going to eat fried rice and re-watch season one of Scandal.”

  Tracy pitched her head back and laughed. “Do not tell me that you’re going to turn down a chance to hobnob with famous people and drink champagne and eat caviar so you can re-watch a TV show you’ve already watched. Don’t even say it. I don’t accept it.” She pushed her palm out in front of me and squinted her eyes like she was in pain. “Maya, I know you’ve been down in the dumps since you broke up with Shawn. But something’s gotta give. Do you realize that you’ve been wearing that nasty sweatshirt every night for over a week? And there’s a chocolate stain on it! And I know we haven’t had chocolate ice cream in the freezer for a long time. A very long time.” She sighed and shook her head.

  I looked down at my sweatshirt and came face to face with the chocolate stain. How had I missed that? As I stared at that greasy spot of old ice cream, I felt overwhelmed with shame. I was being ridiculous, and I knew it. “I know, Tracy. I’ve been kind of a mess lately. You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “And you love going to the Met, Maya.”

  “I really do.” One of my favorite things in the world, actually, was strolling through the Met, being in the presence of some of the greatest pieces of art in the world. I knew I should go to the gala, and that I’d hate myself if I stayed home. I stood up and took the red dress from Tracy and draped it over my shoulders.

  “That’s going to look incredible on you,” she said, pushing me down the hallway. “Now go get your ass in the shower and get ready before you change your mind.”

  “But I didn’t say yes yet!”

  Tracy grabbed the dress out of my hands and pushed me into the bathroom, then chucked a towel at me. “Saying no isn’t an option. We’re talking about a black tie gala here, Maya! At the Met! This is going to be off the damn hook! I’m talking Cinderella style luxury.”

  “Technically, Cinderella was poor and wore rags, you know.”

  “Fine. Then consider me your fairy godmother. I’m granting one evening of glitz and glamour to this poor little creature in a chocolate-stained sweatshirt.” Tracy patted my face, then turned and left the room, shouting over her shoulder, “And hurry up, Cinderella! We’ve gotta leave in an hour!”

  * * * * *

  The cab sped down Madison Avenue on the way to the Met, and with every block we passed, my stomach
grew tighter with nervous excitement. I knew we were going to have a fun night – drinking champagne, probably seeing our fair share of celebrities – but I also knew that whether I liked it or not, I was going to feel awkward and out of place. I’d been lucky enough to experience the fancy side of New York City a few times thanks to Tracy’s rich boss, and there was always something strange about it. In a word, I just didn’t belong. I was just a regular girl who grew up in a little house in Atlanta, and rich people could practically smell the normalcy on me.

  Tracy turned to me and furrowed her brow. “Do you think we should get out of the cab a couple of blocks away? I feel like everyone else is going to be showing up in limos or something. And here we are pulling up in a yellow cab like a couple of nerds.” Obviously Tracy was having the same worries as I was. For a moment, I thought it wasn’t a bad idea, but then I thought better of myself.

  “No way.” I wiggled my bare leg under my coat and shook my head. “I’m not freezing my butt off to save face. If the wealthy snobs of Manhattan think cabs are tacky, that’s their problem.”

  Tracy looked at me and laughed. “Yes! That’s the Maya I know. I think you’re getting your mojo back already.”

  “This dress helps,” I said, running my fingers over the red sequined hemline that stuck out from underneath my winter coat. “I actually feel pretty good. Better than I have in a while. Thanks for forcing me to go out tonight, Tracy. I think I really needed this.”

  “Anything for my girl,” she said. The cab pulled up in front of The Met and I felt my stomach twist. “Now are you ready to have some fun?”

  I took a deep breath and clutched my purse like my life depended on it. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

  I stepped out of the cab and looked up at the gorgeous facade of the Metropolitan Museum, illuminated with lights. I knew it was going to be a memorable night. But I had no idea how completely my life was about to change.

  Chapter Two

  Dylan

  “Mr. Corbett, don’t forget, you have tickets to the Met gala tonight.” Heather, my personal assistant, dropped an envelope covered in gold foil on my desk, and I looked at it warily.

  “I actually did forget. Isn’t this phone supposed to remind me about these things?” I clicked on my calendar app and my phone locked up immediately. I’d just gotten a new iPhone less than two months ago, and it was already turning into a glorified paperweight. I shook it around and lightly bumped it against the surface of my desk, but the screen stayed black.

  “It starts in an hour, sir. Your tuxedo is back from the dry cleaners and is hanging in your closet. Are you bringing a date? Should I call a car service to pick her up?” Heather reached for her phone, but I stopped her.

  “No, no date tonight, Heather. I’m going solo.” I opened the envelope and pulled out two tickets, then flopped them down on my desk. “Actually, Heather, do you want these tickets? I don’t really feel like going.”

  “Sorry, I’ve already got plans with my boyfriend. But you should go, Mr. Corbett.” She had an ink pen in her hand, which she pointed at me as if she was scolding me. “You need to get out and have some fun.”

  “You’re probably right, Heather.” I sighed and leaned back in my chair. I’d spent the better part of a month avoiding social events, opting instead to stay home and watch TV. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me – I just felt over it. Over going on dates with women who were only interested in my money and the allure of my family’s name. Over boring conversations. Over empty sex. I wanted something more, something real. I didn’t think I’d find it at the Met’s Winter Gala, but I had to start somewhere. There’s only so much Netflix a man can watch. “Yeah, what the hell. I’ll go.”

  Chapter Three

  Maya

  There are fancy parties, and then there are fancy parties. The Met’s Winter Ball, however, was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The entire place was lit up with cool blue lights, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the sparkling snowflakes that adorned the tables were made out of actual diamonds. Tracy and I saw two bonafide movie stars before we’d even managed to check our coats, and as we stood sipping champagne in the corner, I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Ok, this is definitely better than staying home and watching Scandal,” I said to Tracy.

  “Ooh, maybe Kerry Washington will show up here tonight. Which, if she does, you better not go all fan-girl and embarrass me.” Tracy cut me a sideways look and shook her finger at me.

  “I seriously doubt we’ll see her.” I scanned the room, then turned to Tracy and whispered quietly under my breath. “I mean, I’ve only seen like five black people here, and that’s being generous. This is like a commercial for the world’s most expensive sunscreen.”

  “Yeah, I know, this isn’t really our scene, but it’s fun to pretend,” she said.

  “Maybe we should come up with fake names and fake identities for the night. I mean, nobody knows us here anyway. It’ll be fun.” I put on a phony British accent and continued. “I’ll be the Baroness Mildred Weatherby, great-granddaughter of Nathaniel Weatherby, the inventor of Band-Aids. I collect fine art and spend my summers in Tahiti.”

  “Ooh, ok.” Tracy scrunched up her nose and thought a moment. “I’ll be Bianca Gray. I’m really famous in, like, Japan or something. And I live on a yacht, so my whole life is one big summer vacation.”

  “Nice. I want Mildred Weatherby to be the first African American woman to do... something. I’ve always wanted to be the first to do something. The first black woman to climb to the top of Mount Everest maybe.”

  “Speaking of black folks, Baroness Mildred, have you feasted your eyes on that fine young specimen over there, by the Christmas tree?” Tracy narrowed her eyes and grinned. “I think I’m going to go talk him up. Ask him how his stocks are doing or something.”

  “He’s holding a tray of appetizers, Tracy. I think he’s a waiter.”

  Tracy dropped her fake accent and gave me a devious grin. “Well, whatever, he’s a hot waiter. I’m gonna go get some appetizers. And hopefully his phone number.”

  “Ok, but don’t leave me by myself for too long.” I shook my finger at her. “I mean it, Tracy. I didn’t agree to come here so I could stand in a corner alone.”

  Tracy assured me she’d be back as soon as she sealed the deal with the hot waiter, then she left me alone. I awkwardly sipped champagne as I looked around the room, debating whether or not I wanted to try to talk to anyone. I spied a group of women, their faces pulled tight from too much plastic surgery, and decided I might as well try out my new Baroness persona. I was just about to saunter over and say hello, when I heard a man’s voice, deep and resonant, in my ear.

  “Hello. Enjoying the party?”

  Without turning to look, I launched into my fake British accent. “Oh yes, it’s just splendid. Simply splendid.” I took another sip of my drink and turned to the person standing next to me. And when my eyes met his, I almost choked on my champagne.

  This man was gorgeous, with a capital G. He was tall, with dark hair and green eyes that glimmered like emeralds. And his mouth... I don’t know what it was about his mouth, but it just begged to be kissed. Yes, there were movie stars at the gala, impossibly hunky men whose faces I’d seen on billboards in Times Square, but this man put them all to shame. As I stared into his electric green eyes, my hands began to tremble and I felt my face get hot.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, flashing me a total panty-melting smile. “I should introduce myself. I’m Dylan. Dylan Corbett. And you are?”

  I’d already used that stupid British accent, so I figured I might as well keep my charade going. It might be fun, I figured, to play pretend while chatting up some dreamy stranger. “Mildred,” I said, suddenly wishing I’d picked a slightly more attractive name. “Um, Mildred Weatherby.”

  “You have a lovely accent, Mildred.” He flashed me another irresistible smile, and I felt my knees go a little weak. “Where are you from?”

&nbs
p; “Oh, you know, Britain,” I said. “Across the pond.” I shrugged and hoped he wouldn’t ask me too much about myself. I hadn’t really thought the whole fake persona thing through, and I had no idea what to say. I hoped he wouldn’t ask me too many personal questions.

  “Is that right? What part?”

  Crap. Another question. “Well, I... uh...” Looking into Dylan Corbett’s crystal clear green eyes, I could barely remember where I was actually from, let alone the name of a specific place in another country. My mind reeled. Suddenly I couldn’t remember if I’d said Britain, or France. Was I even using the right accent? Dumbfounded, I decided to give up my charade.

  “I’m... I’m sorry.” I sighed and let my voice become my own again. “I’m from Atlanta, actually. Georgia. I mean, I’m originally from Atlanta, but I live here in New York now. And now I’m rambling. I was just... this is embarrassing. I thought it would be fun to try out an accent. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  Dylan laughed, then leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “I knew you weren’t British. That accent was pretty terrible. I enjoyed it, though. You sounded like a deranged Mary Poppins.”