Just like Grey (Series ONE Complete Set): Billionaire Romance

by Jessie Cooke

  But now, this Christo guy was really starting to bug him. He began to wonder if Christo was stalking him, or if he didn’t trust Bella to do this on her own.

  Rather than pulling in, he gunned the engine and sped by the house, just as Christo, laden with a computer bag, swatches, and portfolio, turned to head indoors.

  “Hey, let’s go get some wine for tonight,” Christo suggested as he stumbled into the door with his arms full.

  Bella was coming to the front foyer with her clipboard and iPhone. Her hair had already been pinned up, a pencil stuck in it, and her glasses donned. She was in full work-mode.

  “We haven’t even started working yet,” Bella said.

  “Well, obviously some of us have started,” Christo said as his hands waved towards Bella indicating her garb.

  “Come on, Bella. We got here early.”

  “Yeah, so we could get a start on the job.”

  Christo put both hands on his hips.

  “Here’s my proposal: we work all afternoon, knock off about five. Go to the hotel and take a long, hot soak in the Jacuzzi, and then you can be my dinner date for the evening. We’ll go someplace nice. Have a great meal. Bring back some wine, maybe watch a rom-com, and call it an early night. That way we’ll be fresh and ready for tomorrow.”

  Bella shook her head.

  “No way. We can do a night on the town after we’ve done all the work, and after we get started on this decorating job. I don’t have much time to get it done since the client wants it ready in time for Christmas. The season is upon is, dear.”

  Christo stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout.

  “But Bella, we’re on vacation.”

  She knew she would give in, but she told Christo to pull in that lip and walk with her through the house and hear her ideas thus far.

  “I love this place. It’s perfect,” she said as she showed him around. “Why they would want to redecorate is beyond me.”

  “Probably just has too much money,” Christo said as he let his hand trail a chenille upholstered armchair. “You know, just like your boyfriend.”

  Bella shot him a look.

  ‘‘He’s not my boyfriend, and don’t even joke about it. I don’t want to think about him this weekend. Let’s just have some fun planning this job and enjoying a night out. We haven’t had one together in ages!”

  Christo was excited. They talked shop all the way to the hotel and while they relaxed in the hot tub, then they hit Main Street. Christo had made reservations at a place that had come highly recommended by the hotel staff. They pulled in and parked. Walking towards the restaurant, they strolled by a silver Porsche Boxster S.

  “Someday,” Christo said wistfully as he eyed the car longingly.

  “What do you know about luxury sports cars?” Bella asked surprised.

  “Not the car,” Christo smiled. “I’m dreaming of the man who most likely drives it.” Then he giggled and grabbed Bella’s hand. “Look at that,” he said, pointing to the passenger’s seat where a Victoria’s Secret box sat in full display. “Someone is in for a good night,” he joked.

  Bella’s mind flashed to Reece, but she shook the memory from her head.

  “Lucky woman,” she said.

  Christo pulled her closer to him.

  “Not any luckier than you,” he squeezed. “You are in the company of the great Christo Drake for the night, and every girl knows that if you really want to paint the town red, you do it with a gay man! Believe me, we’ll have way more fun than Mr. Porsche and his skinny-ass, Victoria Secret wearing hag! I can promise you that one!”

  She couldn’t help but laugh as well as be amazed at the fact that her friend could read her so well. How did he always know exactly what to say? Even when he didn’t know half the story!

  9

  Through the window of the nearby café, Reece watched as Bella and Christo peered into his car. He was on his phone, but he’d been placed on hold.

  As Christo put his arm around Bella’s shoulder and they laughed, Reece muttered to himself, “I wish that fucker would go away. What can I do to make that happen?”

  “Sorry, what?” the voice on the other side came.

  “Not you. I was just talking to myself. So, you’re coming, then?”

  He could hear the smile in Nicky’s voice over the miles. “You always know when I’m coming,” she said sultrily. “I’m not exactly the quiet type.”

  “Dirty girl,” Reece said quietly. “I’ll see you at the airport in a few hours.”

  “Thanks, baby! I am so excited about this!”

  “And you’re okay not to stay at the house?”

  “I don’t care where we stay, hon, as long as we’re together,” came Nicky’s response. “It’s just a shame you didn’t know the decorator would be there, and I’m still mad that you didn’t say anything to me first. I could have gotten you Bella. She’s great, and she needs the money!”

  Reece wondered how long he could keep this all going.

  “It’s okay, babe. You just have to remember: I’m not used to running my ideas by ‘the wife’, so you’ll have to cut me some slack. I am my own man; I do everything on my own. It’s just how I am.”

  “And I love it about you,” Nicky said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Bella and Christo walked, their arms around each other, past the café and into the posh restaurant next door. Reece slinked out the side door handing the waitress some notes on the way out. Certain that they were in and seated, he rushed to his car, climbed in and started the engine quickly, looking at the flowers and box with disappointment this time.

  Bella and Christo were polishing off their second bottle of wine and wiping their eyes to the ending credits of The Notebook.

  “Why do I let you talk me into this every time? It’s torture,” Bella said.

  “I know, I know,” Christo agreed. “What can I say? I’m a masochist?”

  “Oh, but you enjoy the fact that I’m tortured too, so that makes you a sado-masochist.”

  “Wonder if your client is into any of that stuff? Did you find a dungeon or anything in the house? What if he has, like, a secret sex chamber? Oh my god, I’m getting hot just thinking about him in full leather gear telling me to call him ‘master’.”

  Bella’s phone lit up with a message. It was Nicky.

  Check out the view. A picture that seemed to be taken from a balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico accompanied the text.

  Bella texted back, Beautiful.

  A surprise from Reece, was the next text.

  Lucky girl. Enjoy! I’m stuck watching The Notebook with Christo for the millionth time . . . but a girl can’t complain.

  Wine?

  Several bottles.

  Makes you cry more.

  Yep. You?

  Champagne with Reece . . . and chocolate and . . .

  What?

  Talk to you tomorrow.

  “Bitch,” Bella joked.

  “What was that all about?” Christo asked.

  “Nicky, rubbing our nose in the fact that she’s got this great rich boyfriend.”

  “Oh, yeah, what’s she doing?”

  “Looking out over the Gulf of Mexico drinking champagne and eating chocolate.”

  “No wonder the long face,” Christo remarked.

  Bella narrowed her eyes at him, but only for a second.

  “I don’t begrudge her that happiness. It’s great. I’m happy for her.”

  “Liar” he says with a big smile on his face. “But you know what will fix that?”

  “What?”

  “More wine.”

  “No way. Two bottles is my limit. Besides, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  “Come on. It’s early yet. . . and wine fixes everything. For a short time anyway.”

  “There is nothing to fix. I’m perfectly happy,” Bella lied.

  “Whatever you say sweetie. That fucking Nicky--out with my man,” Christo joked as he faked a pout.

 
Bella threw him a glance.

  “Your man?”

  Christo nodded enthusiastically. “He just doesn’t know it yet, but one day my dear. One day.”

  Bella stood up and kissed her friend on the cheek. “I do love you, Christo. Good night. Get a good night’s sleep because tomorrow, we gotta be ready to rumble!” She threw her hands out dramatically and Christo joined her in the laughter.

  As she drifted off to sleep, however, Bella wrestled with the guilt of not telling Christo about her connection with Reece. She was too afraid—afraid he’d see her differently; afraid it would get back to Nicky; afraid to admit that she really was that kind of girl. Bella’s eyes glazed over with dreams of what might have been.

  The next day went smoothly, and with Christo’s help, Bella was able to leave schematics and detailed drawings with swatches and colors for the client, who had specifically asked the firm to keep his identity anonymous. Of course this did nothing but fan the flames of Christo’s and Bella’s imagination. Finding no pictures in the house added to the intrigue, and they began coming up with various possible identities.

  “Perhaps he’s a member of the Royal Family who vacations here because he has an affinity for Westerns,” Christo had created.

  “Or maybe he’s a movie star who escapes to South Padre instead of the Hamptons or wherever. It’s too much the same scene with the same money, etc.”

  “Yeah. Or maybe he’s a Silicon Valley guy with so much money he has houses all over the coastlines.”

  Bella found herself giggling as their stories got more outrageous the closer they got to home.

  “You know this means we’ve been in the car too long,” she said.

  “Undoubtedly,” Christo remarked. “You need to be asking him to fly you out there. After all, time is money . . . and he seems to have plenty of both.”

  “Good idea!” Bella said. “Perhaps I’ll mention it. I really need to get there next weekend too, as long as the designs are accepted and all lights are green for go!”

  “They will be. He’s gonna love it!”

  And sure enough, he did. Reece was infinitely impressed. He had faith in Bella, already knew he liked her style, but her finesse and artist’s eye was very pleasing. And when he learned of her request to fly out the following weekend, he had his assistant book her first class with no hesitation.

  “First class!” Bella squealed to Christo when the e-ticket came through her email. “I’ve never flown first class. How many drinks can we get?”

  “There’s no ‘we’ this weekend, doll. You’ll be flying solo.”

  Bella’s joy dance stopped abruptly.

  “No. It won’t be the same. I need my muse,” she smiled.

  “Well, your muse has a big meeting. Potentially life-changing.”

  “Do tell!”

  Christo proceeded to enlighten her to his news. An agent for a well-heeled art collector had contacted him and requested a meeting. Apparently, this collector had requested the services of Christo for a specific creation he’d like to commission Christo to do.

  “We’re meeting this weekend so that I can get more details, but the price that was thrown around was enough to make me feel a little lightheaded.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Don’t know yet. Guess I’ll get the details this weekend, but we’re meeting at Fearling’s. That’s enough to let me know what kind of cash this guy has for this project.”

  Bella was excited for her friend, and she could see just how much it meant to Christo. Not to mention that he wore the flattery of this quite well.

  Bella’s phone began to sing the happy tune she’d programmed for Nicky. She answered with a smile.

  “What’s up?” Bella said.

  “Just checking in on my friend,” Nicky answered. “You know, I’ve been thinking: we haven’t had a girls’ night in forever.”

  “What’s wrong? Reece busy?” Bella realized that sounded bitterer than she’d intended, so she tried to smooth it. “Not that I blame you; that hunk of man, I’d want him keeping me busy too!”

  “It’s true: I do love his company, but it’d be nice to catch up with you. And yes, he’s busy this weekend, so what better opportunity? How about it?”

  “Well,” Bella began, “believe it or not, I have a full weekend planned, but . . . wait a second. I have an idea.”

  10

  There was little more that Reece Hamilton loved to do besides drive, especially when he was driving his Porsche. He’d dreamed of owning one ever since he was a little kid, growing up in a single-parent household, struggling to make ends meet while his mother cleaned houses like the ones he now owned. That was one thing people always said about him, too.

  “Reece Hamilton may be one rich bastard, but he never forgets where he came from.”

  He believed in giving back to his community, and he believed in doing whatever he could to help others’ dreams come true, and at the moment, he was working on making Bella’s dreams come true as well as a few of his own.

  Smiling, he revved the engine up to 80 mph; the last haul before he hit South Padre Island, and the interstate was an open road, no traffic—or traffic cops—in sight. He glanced at the passenger’s seat and experienced a moment of déjà vu. There sat another batch of flowers—this time calla lilies and a few other exotics, slender and yonic symbols in his eyes making his ache for Bella even more intense. There sat the familiar pink stripes of Victoria’s Secret, and . . . a little something extra.

  Lost in thought and images of what he would do to Bella once he had her in his arms, he found himself turning onto Fountain Way sooner than he thought possible. A sensible Ford Fusion with rental tags sat in the circular driveway, and Reece salivated at the thought of Bella mounting him in his king-sized round floating bed in the master bedroom suite.

  Suddenly, he braked. Nicky stood in the doorway calling back inside. Bella walked to the door where they picked up the conversation and began a giggle, neither one of the aware of the Porsche that had braked just beyond their view.

  “Are you kidding me?!” Reece asked through clenched teeth before he gunned the engine escaping his neighborhood for the second weekend in a row. “How hard is it for me to get her alone?” he asked himself, and his temperature rose along with his speedometer as, too late, he noticed the blue lights flashing behind him.

  He pulled over right at the sign that reminded him he was in a residential zone, slammed his hands on the steering wheel, and looked forlornly at the flowers and champagne that would be wasted once again.

  The cop approached slowly. “License and registration please.”

  “Hello, officer. Was I speeding?” Reece asked innocently.

  “Were you speeding? Man, you were twice over the limit. Guess you can’t really feel it in such a sleek machine, though. You in a hurry, bub?”

  Reece wasn’t sure how much cynicism he was getting from the cop, but he pressed on. “Yes, I am in a hurry. I was just on my way to see my mother in hospital.”

  “You take champagne and chocolate to your mom when she’s in the hospital? Celebrating she’s there or celebrating she’s not dead?” The officer had raised an eyebrow at Reece, causing him to want to give himself a mental slap for being so dumb.

  “She is a very decadent woman,” he offered.

  The cop started laughing.

  “Sorry, bub, but I’ve got to book you. I see from your license tag you’re from Dallas. You’ll have to come back here for court unless you decide not to contest it and pay the fine. It won’t be cheap, by the way, but judging from your car, you can handle it.”

  Reece allowed himself a sigh. “Officer, do you have a wife?”

  “Sure do. Why?”

  “Because I won’t be needing these anymore,” he said, and he tried to hand the flowers and bag over to the officer through the window.

  “You know, technically, this could be interpreted as bribing a police officer. I can lock you up for that,” the burly officer replied as h
e eyed Reece hesitantly.

  “I’m not bribing you,” Reece countered. “I’m just trying to get rid of these. Either you take them, or the next trash bin is getting them. I don’t need them anymore.”

  The officer’s face softened around his eyes. “Looks like you’ve had yourself one helluva day.”

  Reece nodded. “And—no offence, but it just got worse when you pulled me over.”

  “Listen, Mr. Hamilton. I think I can turn your day around. We’ve all been where you are, and it ain’t no joke. Luckily for you, it just so happens to be my wife’s birthday, so I’m going to let you off the hook.”

  Reece’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see through any sort of ruse; it was part of what made him a good businessman—he could smell a skunk a hundred miles away.

  The officer continued.

  “You just make sure when you drive back through town you don’t attract any attention. Any more, I mean. The Porsche does it on its own.”

  “Are you joking with me?” Reece asked.

  “Not a lick. In fact, you just saved me a lot of time trying to find a present—which she’d most likely hate anyway—and have me coming out smelling like roses . . . or whatever the hell kind of flowers these are.”

  “How long you been married?” Reece asked.

  “Too fucking long,” the officer replied. “Now, you have a nice day, Mr. Hamilton. And just remember… they’re not worth it.”

  The policeman took the bag and the flowers and gave Reece a two-fingered salute before he headed back to his car. Reece sat replaying what just happened in his head, amazed at how horrible and then how great his luck had been all within a span of ten minutes.

  As the policeman eased out from behind the Porsche, he tweeted his siren and waved again at Reece, who signaled back with one finger. He replayed the cop’s words: Just remember: they’re not worth it.