Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance)

by Lemmon, Jessica

  “Gerald and I demanded to see our beautiful daughter,” Crickitt’s mother said to Shane. “It’s not Keena’s fault.”

  Shane was still working to formulate a response when Gerald rushed forward. The short wall of a man grasped Shane’s hand and gave it a solid pump. “Shane August,” he said, “I read about you in Forbes.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Shane said, pulling his hand back and testing it to see if Gerald had broken any of his fingers.

  “My wife, Chandra.”

  Crickitt’s mother stopped fussing over her daughter’s shirt collar to extend a hand. “How do you do?” She turned back to Crickitt. “We’re in town early, dear.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Crickitt said, voice flat, giving Shane a glimpse at what she must have looked like as a surly fourteen-year-old.

  The thought made him chuckle, earning smiles from her parents and a glare that could melt ice from Crickitt.

  “Oh! You’re warm. Are you all right?” Chandra swept Crickitt’s forehead with the back of her hand.

  His smile fell as he considered what her well-assuming parents interrupted. He’d been about to reestablish the perimeters of his and Crickitt’s relationship. He didn’t want to stop seeing her, looking at her: beautiful, smart, funny…but Friday night sent an alarm bell clanging in his head. She’d tipped into deep, dark family territory asking about his father’s clock, and for the first time, well…ever, he wanted to explain. Felt the words press against the walls of his chest and scream to get out.

  He’d talked about that day exactly twice, many, many years ago, and would rather never speak of it again. Yet there he’d been, standing in the foyer of his own house, about to tell Crickitt how he’d sneaked out to toilet-paper a friend’s house, how his mother had to drive to pick him up, how the slick winter road caused the accident… He’d swallowed the words down like a spoonful of glass and kept them there until Crickitt left his house.

  Despite whatever uncharacteristic “feelings” overcame him that night, Shane had no desire to time travel back to his childhood where guilt, pain, and anger met at an apex.

  “Shane August.” Chandra Day turned her sunny smile on him. There was such bald appraisal in her voice, he nearly toed the carpet. “I was so excited to learn my daughter worked for you. I read your Forbes article.” She batted her eyes. “I loved it.” Placing a hand on her husband’s back she said, “You know, Gerald has a business.”

  “I’m a brewer,” Gerald beamed. “Beer.”

  “Dad.”

  Shane started to give Crickitt a reassuring smile, but she was trying so hard to maintain control of her reaction for her parents’ sakes, he couldn’t muster more than a twitch of his lips.

  He recognized that look from Friday. While he waged an internal battle, she’d pasted on a smile and kissed him good night. She hadn’t liked it, but she didn’t push. It occurred to him for the first time she’d done that for him.

  “There are several local pubs in St. Louis,” Gerald was saying. “I’d like to peddle my ale at some of ’em, but I’m not sure where to start. Do you know anything about beer, Mr. August?”

  “I—”

  “Dad,” Crickitt said, forcefully this time. “Shane is a very busy man. You can’t expect him to drop—”

  “I have several afternoon appointments, but my evening is free,” Shane interrupted. “I’ve been meaning to treat Crickitt to dinner, given how she practically single-handedly landed our most prestigious account.”

  Crickitt frowned.

  “Would you join us?” he asked.

  Crickitt’s nostrils flared. Chandra reacted as if Shane called out the winning Powerball number.

  “If that’s okay with you.” Shane met Crickitt’s gaze. Her eyes were so full of doubt, he wanted to drop to his knees and apologize right there.

  “Of course it is!” Chandra insisted.

  “Yes, we would all be delighted,” Gerald said. “Thank you, Mr. August.”

  “Please, call me Shane.”

  * * *

  Call me Shane?

  What was he up to? Moments ago, he was dumping her, now he was treating her and her family to dinner?

  She closed her parents into her office as they meandered around lifting whatever wasn’t nailed down. A cup full of ballpoint pens, a framed picture of the new Swept logo, a small potted cactus.

  “This needs water,” Chandra said before returning the plant to the top of the file cabinet. “What a lovely setup, and you’re doing so well. This is much better than peddling someone else’s wares, don’t you agree?”

  Only her mother could reduce being one of the top national earners of a reputable direct sales company to the visual of selling trinkets out of a wheelbarrow.

  “What are you two doing here?” Crickitt asked, forcing herself to be pleasant.

  “We wanted to see where you work,” Chandra said with overt innocence. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “We are very proud of you, sweetheart,” her dad said, reaching to pinch her cheek. Years of practice had taught her well. She easily dodged the incoming pincers.

  “Nothing is wrong with it, Mom, but you really should have called. I was in the middle of a meeting with my boss.”

  “He’s such a generous man,” Chandra said. “Offering to include us in your congratulatory dinner.”

  “Very generous,” her father parroted, making himself at home in a chair.

  Crickitt rolled her eyes.

  Chapter 29

  …so generous,” Crickitt’s mother repeated for the umpteenth time, now from the backseat of the town car Shane arranged for them.

  The driver took them downtown to the Palisades, a ritzy restaurant fifty floors into the night sky, and impossible to get into if one was less elite.

  Her parents pressed their noses to the windows, doing their best impression of country mice in a not-so-big city. She was glad to see them, but their early arrival by several days hadn’t been the best timing.

  Whatever words Shane hadn’t said, thanks to her parents’ interruption, continued to rattle around Crickitt’s head. And since he’d given her the remainder of the day off to spend with them, she hadn’t had the chance to confront him. She had a feeling the conversation was far from finished.

  A maître d’ with pointy features and a pained smile led them through the plush dining room humming with quiet chatter and the ringing of crystal stemware.

  “Mr. August reserved the Parisian Room for the four of you,” the man commented, ushering them through a wide, curtained doorway. Chandra entered first, gasping her approval.

  The room mirrored Shane’s house. Black and cream in color, and no more homey than a private suite in a hotel. A plush seating area with a couch and two chairs rested in a corner next to a fireplace. Across from it, a mahogany bar with gleaming bottles lined the wall. And their table, set to impress with white bone china and more forks than Chandra and Gerald Day had in their cutlery drawer, was in a leather C-shaped booth.

  “Gorgeous,” Chandra said beside her.

  Crickitt agreed, but the décor was long forgotten the moment she met Shane’s eyes across the room. He abandoned the bar to greet them, dressed in charcoal slacks and a pale blue shirt.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Day, please, come in.”

  “Gerald, make me a hot toddy!” Chandra cooed, dragging him to the bar.

  Shane watched them, his relaxed smile fading as he turned back to Crickitt. “Thank you for coming.”

  Like she had a choice. “It’s nice of you to entertain them while they’re in town.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Look, Shane—”

  “I owe you an explanation,” he interrupted. “The truth is—”

  “Gerald! Leave it alone!”

  They turned in the direction of her mother’s voice. Gerald stood in the corner of the room rubbing the leaves on a tall, potted tree. “It’s real!”

  Shane’s gentle laughter rolled through her. Placing a hand on
her elbow, he led her to the table. “Maybe we should eat first.”

  The moment the waiter left to fetch their drinks, Gerald started in about his “beer business,” which Crickitt knew was more of a retirement hobby than any viable means of income. He told the story of how he got his start brewing ale, a story Crickitt had heard a hundred times, involving a guy named Polly, a bathtub, and a hefty fine.

  Shane genuinely listened, commenting on occasion, asking frequent questions, joining in on her father’s contagious laughter. Like she had before, she marveled at how well Shane blended in with everyone. Her father never meshed with Ronald. Their interactions were forced, tense. Dull. Whereas anyone who watched these two carry on would assume they were old fishing buddies.

  Business talk was behind them by dessert. Shane had requested coffees for everyone, a separate set of condiments for Crickitt. The waiter returned, announcing, “Soy milk and whipped cream,” as he settled the extra dishes next to her mug.

  “How thoughtful,” Chandra said with an approving smile.

  Crickitt stirred her coffee.

  “Are you married, Shane?”

  “Mom!” Crickitt jerked, mortified, clanking her spoon onto the edge of the mug and sending coffee onto the white tablecloth.

  “What? It’s a fair question.” Chandra batted her eyes at Shane. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

  Yes, she does.

  “I’m not married, never have been,” Shane answered.

  Chandra dipped her chin toward Crickitt. “You probably know my daughter is single.”

  “Of no fault of her own,” her dad interjected.

  Maybe no one would notice if she crawled under the table for the remainder of this conversation.

  “That’s true. She’ll see that one day,” her mother continued as if Crickitt wasn’t there. “When some wonderful man snaps her up and doesn’t let her go.”

  “Unlike that idiot she was married to for a decade,” Gerald grumbled.

  Crickitt lifted a hand to massage her temple, but Shane stopped her, pulling her hand into his and gently stroking her fingers. She flicked a look at her mother who watched their interaction with bald interest.

  “You appreciate her,” Chandra said.

  “I do. I’m not the best at showing it, but I do.”

  Crickitt tugged her hand out of his. She wasn’t sure what was going on here, but she’d had about enough. “You guys are probably ready to go, aren’t you?” She aimed the question at her parents.

  Gerald paused, his coffee cup hovering in front of his lips. Chandra frowned.

  “You had a long car ride today.” Crickitt gave her mother a meaningful nod.

  “Oh, oh! Yes, that’s true,” Chandra said, nodding in return. She faked a yawn. “The drive was tiring, wasn’t it, Gerald? We should get going.”

  Dutifully, Gerald put his coffee down and stood. “Thanks for dinner, Shane. And thanks for the business tips.”

  “I’d like to try your ale sometime,” Shane said.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Okay, then,” Crickitt blurted, eyes on the exit. She wanted to get out of here before the three of them planned a family vacation. “See you tomorrow, Shane.”

  “No, no.” Chandra waved her napkin frantically as she stood. “You stay. Don’t let us old folks curtail your evening.”

  Shane was out of his seat before she could argue. “We did have a few things to go over.”

  Her blood ran cold. This morning’s conversation wasn’t forgotten. Only postponed.

  “You keep Mr. August, er—Shane,” Chandra said with a plump smile in his direction, “company. We’ll see you at home.” She elbowed Gerald and he reached for his wallet.

  “I’ll give you some cab money.”

  “Dad, I have money.”

  “I’ll see her home, Gerald,” Shane said, corralling them to the door. “I won’t keep her too late.”

  Chandra waved a hand. “Just because we’re staying at her apartment does not mean she has a curfew.”

  “I think I will take that cab.” Crickitt snatched the outstretched bills from her father.

  Her mother pulled her to one side. “You stay as long as he needs you, you hear?”

  Pimped out by my own parents. “Yes, Mother.”

  They vanished behind the curtain and Crickitt turned to find Shane stepping up to the bar. “Drink?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, anything but.

  In the seating area, Shane settled onto the couch. Crickitt plopped into an adjacent chair rather than sit at his side. One arduous minute passed as she searched the room for something to focus on. Her eyes returned to Shane, who said nothing, his elbows on his knees as he studied his intertwined fingers.

  A lead vest of dread weighed down her shoulders. Someone needed to start this conversation.

  “I know you probably feel guilty because I cried this morning,” she blurted. “But dragging it out is making it worse. If you want to break up with me—even though I’m not sure we were officially seeing each other—then you should do it. And get it over with.” She could hardly believe she’d just said that.

  “Is that what you want?”

  It was the last thing on earth she wanted. “What I don’t want is to be blindsided again.”

  Say you won’t. Promise you won’t.

  But Shane didn’t say anything; only fell silent, his lips pressing into a thin line.

  “This morning—” she started.

  “Can we forget this morning?” Shane gave her a beseeching look.

  She’d love to, but… “Not until you tell me what you were about to say.”

  He licked his lips. “It was a mistake.”

  Crickitt was tempted to search her chest for a knife. No matter what happened in the future with them, she’d never think of making love to Shane as “a mistake.”

  Shane met her eyes, his growing wide as he took in her pained expression. “Not that, Crickitt.” He shook his head. “I mean this morning. What happened in my office. It was a mistake.”

  Relief swamped her. She closed her eyes and blew out the breath she’d been holding.

  “I freaked out.” He lifted his eyes. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

  Her heart went from hammering to melting. Had Mr. Forbes really just admitted he was stupid? And sorry?

  “Forgive me?”

  She searched his amber eyes. Oh, she wanted to say yes. Just say yes and ignore the last seventy-two hours.

  So do it.

  But if he kicked her out of his house over a clock, how could she be sure he wouldn’t do it again, and over something equally unimportant?

  You’re afraid.

  She was. Terrified.

  He slid to his knees in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I can’t…Crickitt, please?”

  She brought a palm to his face and he leaned into it. The shuttered distance in his eyes replaced by so much regret, it made her heart ache. By the time she’d moved her fingers to his hair, she already knew what she’d say.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  His eyes sank closed and he pulled her into his arms. She went, hating and loving how perfect they fit together.

  “Come home with me,” he murmured into her hair.

  She closed her eyes against his shoulder, feeling the steady thump-thump of his heart against her chest. There were several good reasons to say no. But she couldn’t.

  So she didn’t.

  * * *

  “Thread count?” Shane’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “That’s what you’re going with?”

  She’d admit, asking about his Egyptian cotton sheets wasn’t the best conversation starter. Especially after the electrifying roll around on top of them.

  “I can’t help it,” she said. “I like your bed.”

  He cupped her hip with his palm, a certain seriousness in his small smile. “I like you being in my bed.”

  This is the way it’d been all evening. He was gentler, his
touch more sincere. As if every caress held something…more.

  Dangerous thinking.

  He met her eyes, watching her intently. “Stay.”

  Keep it light. Casual, she warned herself. She tossed out the first excuse she could think of. “My parents.”

  “What are you, sixteen? Like they haven’t figured out what we’ve been doing for the last three hours?”

  There was a thought. She made a face.

  Just when she thought the weighty moment had vanished, Shane moved a curl away from her eye and there it was again. The intense look on his face highlighting the spark behind his eyes. That spark excited her…and made her nervous.

  She forced a casual smile. “Yes, but we can all pretend you and I spent the evening playing board games if I go home now.”

  He sighed, and she hoped he wouldn’t press the issue further. “Board games, huh?” His hand slid from her hip to her stomach and up to her breast. He leaned in. “Who’s winning?” he whispered against her lips.

  You. Definitely you. “I am,” she breathed.

  He kissed her briefly, brushed his thumb over her sensitized flesh. “But I have one more turn.”

  He kissed her again, his teasing lips mimicking the movements of his fingers.

  “One more,” she whispered, her resolve crumbling. Before he could kiss the sense right out of her, she caught his face with her hand. “Then home.”

  She thought he might argue for a second, and Lord help her if he did because she was about to agree to stay, consequences be damned. But he only grinned, pushing past her hand, a feeble attempt to keep his lips from hers, and said, “Deal.” Then he closed his mouth over hers.

  An hour later, Shane stood on Crickitt’s front porch, lingering over her lips for an unhurried kiss good night. “Not too late to change your mind and come back home with me.”

  “Or you could go home and I could go inside,” she said, but made no effort to unhook her hands from around his neck.

  “If you can live with yourself for sending me away, then I’ll go.”