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

by Imani King

  “I know. I don’t know who I was trying to fool. My friend and I—” I gestured to Tracy, who was on the other side of the room eating a puff pastry and making eyes at the cute young waiter. “We thought it would be fun to create some alternate identities.”

  “Oh yeah? You’ve got a whole alternate identity?” He raised one amazingly sexy eyebrow and smiled.

  I stuck out my hand for a formal handshake and launched into my terrible British accent one more time. “I’m the Baroness Mildred Weatherby, heir to the Band-Aid fortune. My great-grandfather invented them. I collect fine art, and I spend my summers in Tahiti. I’m also the first black woman to climb Mount Everest.”

  “That’s an impressive fake identity.” He squeezed my hand tighter and narrowed his eyes. “So who are you really, Baroness Weatherby?”

  “I’m Maya. Maya Hamilton.”

  “So why the alter ego, Maya? Is this party that boring?”

  “I just feel like a fish out of water.” I shrugged and pulled at the hem of my red dress. “I’m a preschool teacher surrounded by the fanciest people in Manhattan. And there are literally seven people of color in this room. I’ve counted.”

  “Yeah, you definitely have a point there. This is not a diverse room.” Dylan sighed and looked out at the sea of white people in expensive outfits.

  “I’m probably being too blunt. It’s a habit of mine. Which is probably another reason why I don’t belong at these types of parties.”

  “No, no. I like your bluntness,” he told me. “And if you want to know the truth, I hate these types of parties. People are so stuck in their little bubbles, and they like it that way. They only talk to people who are exactly the same as they are. And they are – to be blunt – some of the most boring people on the planet. This conversation is infinitely more interesting than any conversation I’ve ever had at one of these things.”

  “Well, I’m flattered, I guess. But I’m not a novelty. I don’t want to be the regular middle class girl that’s here to entertain the rich folks.” I narrowed my eyes at him and smiled. “To be blunt.”

  “Does it make you feel better to know that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room by a landslide? Or is that too blunt?”

  I felt my cheeks redden and my face flush. “Thanks,” I muttered. I shouldn’t have reacted so strongly to his compliment, but the way his eyes fixated on me made me feel vulnerable in a way I wasn’t used to.

  “I mean it,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I’d like to see you again, Maya. We can meet on your turf. Wherever you feel comfortable.”

  I searched for something to say, but my mind felt torn between two very different emotions. On the one hand, I wanted to tell him that I was flattered but not interested, that the last thing I was looking for was a date. But as I looked into Dylan’s green eyes, another part of me wanted to rip his shirt off right in the middle of the Metropolitan Museum and check out what his body looked like underneath his impeccably tailored tuxedo.

  “Well, I...” Before I could get another word out, some sort of appetizer was shoved in front of my face. I looked beyond the little fried ball hovering before my eyes and saw Tracy, her face practically exploding with excitement.

  “Maya... three things,” she said, pushing the appetizer closer to my mouth. “Number one, eat this. I have no idea what it is, but it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever eaten, for real. Number two, I got that waiter’s number. His name is Andre and I know this sounds crazy but I swear I think I’m in love.”

  Tracy kept on gushing about Andre, completely oblivious to the fact that Dylan was standing right next to me. She was talking so fast that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, so I ate the appetizer in silence. And Tracy was right—whatever it was, it was incredible. I waited for her to take a breath, then I quickly spoke.

  “Tracy, this is Dylan.” I grabbed her arm and squeezed it hard. She turned to Dylan and her eyes widened.

  “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I got over-excited about that appetizer. And the waiter who gave it to me. Dylan? Nice to meet you.”

  Dylan shook Tracy’s hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you too, Tracy. And I might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that’s a stuffed mushroom.”

  “Whatever it is, I want about a hundred more. But I should...” Tracy looked at me, then back at Dylan, and bit her lip. “I should leave you two alone. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Well, now that you’re here, you can’t leave us hanging,” I said. “What’s the third thing you wanted to tell me? You’ve eaten the best appetizer on the planet, fell instantly in love with a waiter, and... what else?”

  “Oh! Yeah, you’re gonna love this, Maya. They’re doing a silent auction to raise money for charity, and one of the things you can win is a painting by that artist you like, Elena What’s-her-name. She loves that lady,” Tracy said, turning to Dylan.

  “Elena Reid? No way!” I got so excited at the prospect of winning a painting by Elena Reid that I almost dropped my champagne glass. The first time I saw one of her watercolor paintings, in a museum in Chelsea, I’d stared at it for at least thirty minutes. “How does a silent auction work?” I turned to Dylan, figuring he’d know.

  Dylan explained that all I had to do was write down my bid for the painting on the bid sheet, and then whoever had the highest bid won the painting. Of course, I didn’t think I was going to win, not when I was bidding against a room full of high rollers with unlimited budgets. But I had to try. I thought long and hard about how much money I could possibly pony up, and realized that my limit was a measly 300 dollars. I wrote it down on the sheet along with my anonymous bid number and shrugged.

  “Maybe I’ll get lucky,” I said, tapping my finger over the name “Elena Reid” at the top of the sheet of paper. “Maybe 300 is the magic number.”

  “You really want that painting, don’t you?” Dylan cocked his head to one side and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? What does Elena Reid mean to you?”

  “Well, she’s originally from Atlanta, just a stone’s throw from where I grew up, so her success is kind-of a source of hometown pride for me. But it’s more than that. She’s just...” I didn’t know how to explain to Dylan the way I felt about her paintings “She’s real, you know? When I look at one of her paintings, I can feel what she was feeling when she made it. The sadness, or the joy, or the confusion... They’re not just pretty pictures. They mean something. And I feel like most of the time we get caught up in regular day-to-day stuff like work and doing laundry and all of that, and we kind-of forget how wondrous the world can be. But her paintings remind me of that. I know this sounds cheesy, but...”

  “It’s not cheesy, Maya. I get it. And I think it’s beautiful.” Dylan paused for a moment, and I thought he was going to continue speaking, but he didn’t. He just looked at me, hard. My body felt light and tingly under his steady gaze, and my heart thrummed inside my chest. Finally, he spoke again. “I hope you win the painting.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice coming out shakier than I’d intended. I downed the rest of my champagne and was about to grab another glass from a nearby waiter when a young guy with a large camera appeared in front of us.

  “Mr. Corbett, can I get your picture for the society pages website?” The photographer hoisted the camera up to his face and twisted the focusing ring on the front. I shuffled my feet to the right to get out of the way, but then I felt Dylan’s hand slip around my waist and pull me close to him.

  “Go right ahead, Jimmy,” Dylan said, squeezing my hip. “Get a picture of me and my lovely date.”

  I smiled for the camera, and after the flash went off I whispered to Dylan, “I’m not your date.”

  “Not yet,” he whispered back, as his hand moved lower down my hip. A shiver went up my spine as the camera flashed again.

  “Thanks, Mr. Corbett,” the photographer said, then he whipped out a pad of paper and turned to me. “And ma’am, can I get your name? For the society pages website.”


  “Oh, sure. It’s... it’s Mildred. Mildred Weatherby.” I heard Dylan let out a low chuckle next to me, and I turned to him and winked.

  “The Baroness Mildred Weatherby, actually,” Dylan said, giving me a little wink in return. “Write that down, Jimmy.”

  The photographer left, and I snatched another glass of champagne and turned back to Dylan. “Well, I probably won’t win that painting, but at least Baroness Weatherby made it into the society pages. That’s a pretty cool souvenir.” Dylan was giving me that look again, the look that made my insides feel all fluttery. He stared at me hard, biting his lip, and a sly smile spread over his face. “What?” I said, feeling self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I like you, Maya. I really would like to see you again.” He stepped an inch closer to me, and I stepped an inch back.

  “I’m flattered. But I don’t...” I shook my head. “I’m not available.”

  “You’re in a relationship?”

  I shook my head again and sighed. “No, I’m not.”

  “You don’t find me attractive?” I sensed a tinge of cockiness in his voice when he said this. He knew damn well he was attractive.

  “No, it’s not... I mean, I...” I tumbled over my words. “You’re attractive. It’s just... I’m not looking to date anyone. I’m just not.”

  “I can be very persuasive, Maya.” He smiled at me and arched his eyebrow, and I could feel my defenses shattering around me. I knew this guy was trouble. Delicious, impossibly sexy trouble. And I didn’t want any trouble. The last thing I needed was to get my heart broken by a gorgeous rich dude in a fancy suit.

  “I’m sorry, I... I have to go to the restroom.” I needed to get away from him, away from those green eyes and that deep, velvety voice that made me want to take chances I wasn’t ready to take. I started to turn away from him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  “Please don’t leave without saying goodbye, Maya. Promise?” His lips were just inches from mine, and I could feel his warm breath on my face.

  “I promise. I... yeah. I promise.”

  I hightailed it to the bathroom and splashed a little cold water on my face, then stood staring at myself in the mirror. “Get it together,” I whispered to my reflection. It had been fun to talk and flirt with Dylan Corbett, but that was just a fantasy. Like Cinderella, come midnight I’d have to go back to my real life and leave all the glitz and glamour of the gala behind.

  I found Tracy, who was hovering around Andre the waiter like a lost puppy, and she immediately asked me what was up with Dylan. I told her the same thing I’d been trying to tell myself: Nothing was up. He was just a cute guy that I’d had a conversation with. Ok, not just a cute guy. An out of this world gorgeous guy. But ultimately he was a stranger I’d never see again, and that was the way it was supposed to be.

  Still, every time I turned around, I saw him looking at me from across the room. No matter who else he was talking to, his eyes always seemed to find me in the crowd. Even when I couldn’t see him, I could feel him. And I liked that feeling way too much. I let myself, just for a minute, think about running across the room and grabbing him, standing up on my tip toes and putting my lips against his. I imagined the feel of the slight stubble against his chiseled jawline as I ran my finger along it, and the softness of his mouth. His hands pulling me close. His arms wrapping me up, squeezing me, melting into him...

  “Maya, are you even listening to me?” Tracy gave me a hard poke on the arm, and I shook my head and turned to her. “They’re announcing the silent auction winners in the next room. Don’t you want to find out if you won?”

  I followed Tracy through the doorway and there was Dylan, on the other side of the room, talking to an older man with a dramatic comb-over hairdo. He immediately saw me, raised his glass, and smiled. I smiled back and found an out of the way spot by the wall. A woman at the front of the room in a floor-length ball gown addressed the crowd through a microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for making this year’s gala such a huge success. As you know, all proceeds from our silent auction go to local charities for children in need, and I’m pleased to announce that we’ve raised nearly three times the amount we did last year, thanks in part to one very generous bidder in particular. Now, without further ado...”

  The woman began listing out all the items up for auction, along with the winning bid number and amount. And as soon as I started to hear the totals, I knew there was no way I was going to win that painting. People had bid tens and even hundreds of thousands of dollars on those items. I felt embarrassed that I’d even written down a bid for a measly 300 dollars. The people running the auction must’ve thought I was out of my mind.

  “And last but certainly not least,” the woman announced, “Silent Night, an original painting donated by Atlanta artist Elena Reid.” Tracy nudged me with her elbow, and I turned to her and shook my head.

  “This was certainly a surprise,” the woman continued. “We received a record breaking bid of one million dollars for this item, from anonymous bidder 352. Bidder 352, we thank you so much for your extremely generous donation.”

  A million dollars? I actually laughed out loud, just for a second, then slapped my palm quickly over my mouth. From across the room, Dylan caught my eye and I gave him a dramatic shrug. Oh well, I thought. Maybe I can score a cheap Elena Reid poster. I turned back to Tracy and sighed.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’ve had all the fantasy I can take.” I grabbed her arm and steered us through the doorway toward the coat check room.

  “Don’t you want to say goodbye to your hunky new friend?” Maya wiggled her eyebrows at me and gave me a toothy grin.

  I thought of the promise I made to Dylan, to not leave without saying goodbye. But what was the point of an awkward goodbye? It was better to just sneak away. He’d forget all about me in a day or two, and hopefully I’d do the same.

  “Nah, let’s just go,” I said.

  I fell asleep in the cab on the way back to Brooklyn, exhausted from standing in high heels and tipsy from too much champagne. And of course, Dylan Corbett was waiting for me in my dreams, his sexy damn eyes cutting right through me. But in my dream, I didn’t say no. I didn’t resist him, didn’t run from him. He whispered my name and I let myself fall into him, his mouth finding me, making me his. I felt a surge of heat rush through my body, and as my eyes fluttered open I half-expected to see Dylan’s face. Instead, I saw a cab driver with a bushy beard furrowing his brow at me.

  “Ma’am? It’s time to wake up. You’re home.”

  Chapter Four

  Dylan

  Maya left without saying goodbye. I saw her rushing out: A flash of a red dress, her dark curls cascading over her smooth brown shoulders. I made my way through the thick crowd of people in the auction room and headed for the exit, trying to catch her, but I was a minute too late. I ran down the steps of the Met just in time to see her close the door of a cab, and then she was gone.

  She said she wasn’t interested, but I was interested, too interested to just let her go. She was so different from the women I was used to – she said things that mattered, and she told the truth. I couldn’t count how many bland conversations I’d had with the women I usually dated. Next to Maya, they all seemed like robots programmed to be polite and boring. No opinions. No humor. No passion. But Maya wasn’t like that.

  I thought about what she’d told me, that she wasn’t a novelty, some regular girl that could entertain rich people. But she wasn’t a novelty, not to me. Yes, she was different, but that wasn’t really what captivated me. I liked her because she was real. And damn, she was beautiful.

  I stayed up late that night, searching the internet for a way to contact her. She wasn’t in the online white pages, and all the social media accounts I found for Maya Hamilton were set to private and completely locked down. All I could see was one profile photo, a picture of Maya holding a gray cat and smiling into the cam
era. She had her hair up, exposing her high cheekbones, and there was a faint hint of lipstick staining her full lips. I stared at those delicious lips and the wide, expressive brown eyes above them, and wondered if I could really just give up on a face that beautiful.

  No, I couldn’t give up. No fucking way.

  If there was anyone who could help me track down Maya, it was my personal assistant, Heather. Her boyfriend was a computer programmer who worked at the Google offices in Chelsea. He had to have a few tricks up his sleeve.

  It was after midnight, but I called Heather anyway. She answered on the fourth ring, and let out a long, exasperated sigh before saying hello.

  “Heather, it’s Dylan. I know I promised never to call you after ten o’clock unless it was an emergency, but I really need your help. Actually, I need your boyfriend’s help.”