Beauty and the Billionaire (BILLIONAIRE BOYS CLUB NOVEL)

by Clare, Jessica

  “Before I gave you my heart and you stomped it to pieces?”

  Gretchen turned, her eyes wide in shock. “I—”

  “I’m kidding,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’ll be honest, I wish things could be different between you and me. But even what we had before was better than what we have now. I know you don’t care for me the way I care for you. And that’s fine, Gretchen. But it hurts me that we can’t even be friends anymore. I’d rather we acknowledge the problem, move past it, and get back to being just Gretchen and Cooper.”

  Her eyes began to water again, and she sniffed, reaching for the wads of Kleenex she had stuffed in her apron. “I’m so sorry, Coop.”

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t apologize.” He reached out and pulled her into a friendly, warm hug. “I’m sorry I got all weird on you when you needed a friend the most.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, sniffing hard. “You’re such a good friend. I’m not normally this emotional.”

  “I know,” he said dryly, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

  She clung to him for a moment, enjoying the hug and the simple comfort of a friend. “I’m glad that we’re going to go back to just being Gretchen and Coop,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “And I’m sorry I didn’t fall in love with you. If I could have picked to fall in love with someone, it would have been you.”

  He chuckled, and for once, there was no pain or sadness in it. “It’s okay, Gretch. I know you’re in love with Buchanan. It was obvious as soon as I saw him with you. You lit up around him in a way I’ve never seen. I’ve had a few weeks to get over you now.”

  She smiled over his shoulder, opening her eyes and gazing out into the coffee shop.

  Behind them, a scarred man in a long tailored jacket stood in the doorway of the coffee shop, a dozen roses in his hand. He wore sunglasses despite the cloudy weather, as if it might obscure the scars on his face—and he was watching her hug it out with Cooper. Then, he took the glasses off, and she felt sick with dread.

  Hunter’s heart was in his eyes, and it was being broken all over again.

  The man had shit timing.

  “Hunter,” Gretchen gasped, pulling away from Cooper.

  Hunter’s mouth tightened. He said nothing, simply turned and walked back out of the coffee shop. As she watched him disappear into the crowd, he tossed the roses into the nearest waste bin.

  She felt as thrown away as those roses in that moment. Everything was all messed up again.

  Even as she asked herself why she cared, Gretchen pulled out of Cooper’s embrace and dashed out from behind the counter, crossing the coffee shop quickly and bursting through the door.

  The streets were busy, but not so busy that she couldn’t pick Hunter’s bulkier form out of the group. That, and his stiff, angry stance and the way people paused when they glanced at his face.

  She raced after him. “Hunter!”

  He ignored her, his shoulders set.

  “Hunter Buchanan.” Gretchen planted her feet, fists clenched. “Turn around, damn it, or I’m going to run straight into all this traffic.”

  He slowly turned around, a good twenty feet from her on the bustling sidewalk. He didn’t move forward and his hands were stuffed into his coat pockets. “What do you want?”

  She paused at the icy tone of his voice. “You were bringing me flowers?”

  “I was not.”

  “Really? I suppose you just throw flowers into every garbage can outside of a coffee shop, then?”

  When he flushed, she had to hide her grin of delight. Why was it that she loved teasing Hunter so very, very much? She’d fallen back into her comfortable sense of joy with him, forgetting all about that he’d broken her heart.

  “I threw them away,” he bit out after a moment.

  “I noticed. You shouldn’t have.”

  “Why not? It’s clear you’ve moved on. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.” His jaw clenched furiously.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Were you coming to apologize?”

  He gave her a mutinous look.

  “Then why does it matter if I’ve moved on? You made it clear you just wanted my body. You think I’m for sale.”

  “I was wrong. I should have trusted you.” He looked so tortured that she softened for a moment. Just a moment.

  “You should have. You should have believed that you can’t buy my affection.”

  “What other choice does a man like me have?”

  For a moment, she was dumbfounded. What did he mean, a man like him? Then, she realized he meant his face. Did he truly think he was so very hideous that he’d have to purchase affection? Sure, he was scarred, and the scars weren’t pretty. They distorted the one side of his face, but they couldn’t hide the fact that Hunter had a delicious body and a generous, sensitive soul. She remembered his long fingers caressing the petals of a flower and the way he’d smiled as if it were something new and joyous to him to be happy.

  Her heart ached. “You’re not ugly, Hunter. Not to me.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe that,” he said in a cold voice. “I’ve had a lifetime of being reassured that I’m only wanted for my fortune.”

  “Well, if you don’t believe that, then I guess you don’t have much faith in me,” Gretchen said, her voice light. “And that hurts me that you think I’m that shallow and mercenary.”

  For a moment, he looked stricken. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Didn’t you? You’re saying I’m an awful person who will only fuck a man if he’s got a fat wallet.” People on the street were starting to stare at them, but she ignored them. If Hunter could stand out here in the middle of New York City having a frank conversation with her, then she certainly could, too. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

  He scowled. “Not bad enough, it seems. I see you’ve already moved on to your friend.”

  Fury pushed through her and she stomped her way toward him. “Ugh! Will you just listen to yourself for a moment? You’re so convinced that you’re some sort of hideous beast that you think that someone can’t possibly see the true you inside. Yeah, well I saw the true you, buddy.”

  Hunter said nothing, but he didn’t pull away. He simply watched her.

  She was close enough to touch him now, and she stabbed a finger at his chest. “I saw a man who isolates himself because he’s worried about making other people uncomfortable. I saw a man who doesn’t leave his house very often, but makes sure that the staff is well paid. I saw a man who works all day tirelessly and tends to roses because he enjoys their beauty. I saw a man who expects perfection in himself but is okay with others treating him like dirt. I see a man who shuts out the world because he’s so afraid of getting hurt again. And you tell me I’m the one with the problem? How about you look in the mirror?”

  Astonishment crossed his face and his mouth slackened.

  “How about you take a long, hard look at that asshole butler of yours? How about you hire someone who you actually enjoy being around? You’re a wonderful person, Hunter. You’re shy but you’re incredibly giving and thoughtful, and you have a poetic soul under all that muscle. If you’re lonely, it’s because you’ve isolated yourself. You have friends!” she exclaimed. “Your buddies thought you were happy at the dinner party and I saw their faces. They were happy for you. Why can’t you be happy for you?”

  And she jabbed him in the chest with her finger again.

  Hunter caught her hand. She was momentarily astonished at how warm he was against her cold skin, and longing flared through her. But when he lifted her hand to try and kiss the palm, she wriggled free.

  “No, Hunter,” Gretchen said quietly. “I care about you, I really do. But I’m still mad at you.”

  “I want you with me, Gretchen. If you can forgive me for what I said, I want you at my
side. I just have a hard time believing that someone as perfect as you would want to be with someone like me.” He looked pained at her rejection, his scars stark on his face.

  She wanted to kiss him and make him feel better. She wanted to grab him by his tailored lapels and shake some sense into him. So she just shook her head.

  “Am I too late?” Hunter asked in a low, intense voice, full of pain. “Is that it? You’ve moved on? To him?”

  Gretchen gave him an exasperated look. “I was sad and Cooper was comforting me. We’re just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.”

  “You were sad?” His attention focused on her words. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  For some reason, his face broke into one of his rare smiles.

  And she found herself smiling back at him. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “But you’ll forgive me.”

  “Not today.”

  “Tomorrow, then.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

  “Maybe not tomorrow. I’m still deciding,” Gretchen told him playfully, and began to walk back to the coffee shop. “You need to make some changes first, though.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “Good!” she called over her shoulder. “And next time, don’t throw away my roses!”

  She didn’t look back as she went inside the coffee shop, but she could have sworn she’d heard him chuckle before she closed the door. A hint of a smile touched her face.

  They were good. Sort of. They weren’t great. Hunter needed to come out of his shell. But they were starting in the right direction.

  And she smiled.

  ***

  The next day, as Gretchen walked into the coffee shop, she was met by a surprising scene.

  Every table was covered in enormous vases full of roses. The interior of the cafe looked more like a florist, and customers were milling around, sniffing the flowers and exclaiming in wonder as they held their lattes.

  Every rose was exactly the same color—that icy pale blue-purple that she’d come to associate with Blue Girl. It was the rose she’d told Hunter that she liked the best.

  Gretchen unwound her scarf from her neck, feeling warmth throughout her bones. She headed to the counter, unable to stop grinning. She knew who those were from and what they meant.

  And while she couldn’t be bought, well, it was a start.

  Cooper gave her a relieved look as she arrived. “Thank God you’re here. Did you see this mess?”

  “Mess?” she inquired innocently. “I think they’re beautiful.”

  “The first delivery showed up a few hours ago, and they’ve been coming in all morning. I think someone bought every purple rose in the entire city.”

  “Blue,” she corrected him absently, pulling a long-stemmed rose from one of the vases and smelling it. “They’re blue.”

  “Well, there’s no name for the recipient. No sender. Just flowers coming in from every single florist in all of Manhattan. It’s crazy.” He looked frazzled.

  Gretchen dragged her fingertips across the bud of the rose, feeling the soft petals and smiling. “I think it’s sweet.”

  “I don’t know what to do with all of them.”

  “Give them out to customers,” she said, taking scissors and snipping the stem from the rose in her hand and tucking it safely into the pocket of her apron. She’d take this one home tonight.

  ***

  The next day, dozens of yellow roses showed up. The day after that, white roses with pink edges and a delicious scent that was so thick it made her nearly dizzy with delight. The roses never came with a card, but that was okay. Gretchen knew who they were for. Each day, she’d carefully take one of the flowers, wrap it in tissue and tuck it into her apron, and then take it home and press it between the pages of a book, carefully preserving it.

  She didn’t work for the next two days, but she still passed by the coffee shop, unable to stop her curiosity.

  No roses. For some reason, that made her smile even more broadly. Hunter knew when she was working and made sure the flowers were delivered just for her. That was sweet.

  She spent her days off with Audrey, baking, cleaning Audrey’s apartment as payment for letting her live there, and shopping. Her normally capable sister seemed a bit morose and stressed, and Gretchen wondered if Audrey was worried about Daphne. The rest of the family had written off Daphne long ago, but Audrey refused to give up on her twin. Every time Daphne sauntered back into their lives, Audrey was the one who paid the price.

  Gretchen had invited Kat to lunch, but Kat had called off, citing work. Gretchen suspected her agent was still mad at her since canceling contracts had meant that it cost Kat money, too. And her agent was probably not very pleased with the mess she’d scraped together for the last Astronaut Bill book, but she didn’t care.

  She wasn’t writing a single thing and, for once, she felt wonderfully, gloriously free. She hadn’t realized how unhappy writing had made her until she no longer let it rule her life.

  Maybe, like Hunter, she was still figuring out parts of herself.

  ***

  The roses continued for a week and a half, until one day Gretchen walked into the cafe and saw only one bouquet sitting on the counter. The roses were the deepest, darkest velvety red, and she immediately recognized them—Papa Meilland.

  “Well,” Cooper said as she came around to the back of the counter, tying on her apron. “We finally got a note with the roses.”

  “We did?” Gretchen perked up, her hands suddenly twitching with want. “Where is it?”

  Cooper’s brow furrowed. “How’d you know it was for you?”

  “Just a hunch. Now, where’s my letter? Gimme.” She made a grabbing motion at him.

  He dropped a cream envelope into her hand. It simply had a large G printed on the front, and the back was sealed. Hastily, she tore the envelope open and was surprised at the sight of the paper inside.

  It was soft, yellow with age, and wrinkled. Gretchen sucked in a breath as she carefully removed the folded paper with reverent hands.

  “What is that?” Cooper asked, peering over her shoulder. “Looks old.”

  “It’s a letter,” Gretchen said in a soft voice. “And it’s very old.” She touched it with reverent fingers, remembering the contents of the letters at Buchanan Manor. “I need a moment in private.”

  “Sure,” Cooper told her, giving her a puzzled look.

  She raced to the back room and then shut herself into Cooper’s office, sitting at his messy desk. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the letter and began to read.

  My lovely Lulabelle,

  I never thought a day could seem longer than twenty-four hours. Once, I cursed that the days were so short, for they seemed to rush past. I have found a way, though, to make the day seem interminably long, for the hours to slow to molasses and minutes to crawl past as if unmoving.

  I simply need to be parted from you.

  I miss you, my darling. I miss you so very much that my heart aches in my breast. I long for you, for your body next to mine. I long to wake up and feel your hair against my cheek, to taste your sweet breath against mine, to hear your warm and happy laughter. I miss your body, of course, but it is your mind and your spirit I miss most of all. It is you who brings the light and warmth into my life. I am cast into darkness without you at my side.

  And so I sit, watching the minutes descend into hours, and count the days until you return to my arms. I live for the day that I can see your brilliant smile again, touch your lips to mine, and know that we will never be parted again. I know that day will come soon, and my aching heart is eased at this.

  All my love,

  Benedict

  Tears pooling in her eyes, Gretchen clutched the letter to her chest. No raunchy words of love this time. No longing for sex. Just a simple, aching
loneliness that spoke to her soul. She hadn’t seen this letter before. Had it been at the back of the box that she’d been unable to get to? Had Hunter read through them, thinking of her? Looking for just the right letter to soften her heart?

  It had worked. It had worked wonderfully.

  She looked over the letter again, touching it with amazed, trembling fingers. She’d ripped open the envelope in her haste and now she regretted that move. She wanted to keep it and press it into her scrapbook like she had with the roses. Gretchen carefully folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.

  There was an address printed in the top left-hand corner. A return address.

  Curious, she read it. Then she read it again.

  And then she bolted from her seat. Rushing back into the main room of the cafe, she shrugged her jacket back on, winding her scarf around her neck once more. “I have to run out, Cooper.”

  He gave her a concerned look, a frown wrinkling his brow. “You coming back?”

  “I am. I just need to see something,” she told him, and rushed out the door before he could question her further.

  Gretchen raced down the streets of New York City, her heart pounding as she wove through the crowds. SoHo was always busy this time of day, but she didn’t pay attention to anyone. Instead, she was lost in thought, running her thumb over the green embossed return address on the envelope.

  She took the subway toward Madison Avenue. Envelope in hand, it took her a few minutes to locate the building, and then she entered, eyes wide, as she read the placard at the front of the office building.

  Buchanan Real Estate—4th floor.

  He had an office here in the city? She thought he only worked out of his house. In the entire month she’d stayed with him, he hadn’t left it. Mystified, she entered the elevator.

  The fourth floor was a bit of a surprise. Not because it wasn’t the Buchanan offices at all—it was—but that the walls seemed to be made entirely of glass. For a man who prized his privacy, this struck her as either bizarre . . . or deliberate. Glass panels displayed the waiting room of the office, with six chairs neatly lined up next to end tables that were covered in real estate magazines. Fresh roses decorated each table, and at the far end was a reception desk. If she headed further down the main hall, the glass walls continued, and she could see straight into Hunter’s office. She touched her fingertips to the glass, staring at the office. It was set up exactly the same as his office at home, right down to the mirrors on the wall, the enormous TV, and the vase of roses at his side.