69 Million Things I Hate About You (Winning the Billionaire)

by Kira Archer

  “Okay, Mrs. H.”

  The woman looked at her, eyes wide with surprise.

  Kiersten put her elbows on the table and leaned in. “What is it you really want to do?”

  Mrs. Harrington blinked at her a few times. Kiersten could almost see her weighing her answers.

  “Usually when I come into town I attend a show, visit a few museums. Have tea.”

  Kiersten nodded. “And your tone tells me how much you enjoy doing all that. Now tell me what you really want to do.”

  It took another few seconds, but Mrs. Harrington finally looked up at her and smiled. “I read an article about these secret speakeasy clubs around the city. That sounds like fun.”

  “Done. What else?”

  Mrs. Harrington’s smile widened. “I heard there is a certain show with a group of nice Australian boys that is in town.”

  Kiersten gave her an answering smile and quickly Googled the Thunder from Down Under. “Woman after my own heart. Done,” she said, showing her the phone. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Kiersten flagged the waiter to pay their bill and then headed out with Mrs. Harrington.

  “You know, the show doesn’t start for several hours and the clubs don’t really open until later in the evening. Why don’t we head over to Bloomingdale’s and get a little something to wear on our night on the town?”

  “My dear, that might be the best idea I’ve heard from you yet.”

  They burned their way through Bloomingdale’s for the better part of the afternoon, and then hit up a salon to get completely dolled up.

  While they were sitting under the hair dryers, Mrs. Harrington’s phone buzzed about thirty seconds before Kiersten’s. Apologies from Cole.

  “Looks like his meetings are running late,” Kiersten said.

  “Typical. That boy always did work too hard.”

  “Even as a kid?”

  Dirt on Cole, straight from the source. Kiersten couldn’t pass that up.

  “Oh yes. He started with lemonade stands when he was six. Subcontracted them out to all his friends,” she said, chuckling. “He got them started, helped them get set up, made the signs, all that. Then he’d take ten percent of their earnings. Made enough for a new skateboard without having to do any of the real work.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Moved to mowing lawns, then delivering newspapers. He always had something going on, and usually came up with ways to maximize his productivity to make more money. Like with the newspapers. Folding the things took longer than actually delivering them. So he paid a couple of his buddies to prep them and then he’d hop on his bike and get them delivered.”

  “Sounds like he was a hardworking kid.”

  “Always. I worry about him sometimes. A solid work ethic is good, but he takes it too far. Well, you should know.”

  Kiersten nodded. She could, indeed, vouch that the man never stopped.

  “I always hoped he’d meet a nice girl someday and settle down.”

  Kiersten shoved aside the sudden twinge of jealousy that the thought of some other woman with him sparked.

  “But the last few women he’s dated were nothing but gold diggers who broke his heart. Makes it hard for him to date.”

  Kiersten frowned. Cole had said something similar and, once again, she realized how many of her judgments of him had been made on unfounded assumptions.

  Forty-five minutes later, they were in an Uber headed for the “super secret” location of the speakeasy Kiersten had found. To get in, they even had to knock on the door and give a code word. She tipped the hostess generously to get them a table right in front of the stage.

  Mrs. Harrington looked around the club. “Now, this is what I’m talking about.”

  The décor was definitely 1920s art deco. “Oh, and look,” Kiersten said, pointing to the menu their waitress had given them. “They specialize in twenties cocktails.”

  “I think I’ll try a Bees Knees,” Mrs. Harrington said.

  Kiersten ordered a Mary Pickford. And ordered a second round for them both just to save some time.

  Mrs. Harrington’s eyes widened, but she didn’t hesitate to start knocking back her gin cocktail with honey and citrus. “Oh,” she said, eyes watering a little. “Quite refreshing.”

  Kiersten grinned at her and sipped on her own citrusy rum concoction. She didn’t get halfway through the drink before the pleasant buzz filled her head.

  “Now, what’s the stage for?” Mrs. Harrington asked.

  “Well, when I was Googling around, I saw that this particular club has a floor show.” She checked her phone. “That should be starting right about now.”

  “A show?”

  Kiersten nodded. “One I guarantee you’ll love.”

  Before she finished speaking, the music in the club changed into something with a little more beat, and the spotlight hit the low stage. Several well-muscled men marched out, all wearing fitted pinstriped suits and carrying tommy guns. They playacted a little cop and rumrunner routine. And then…the clothes started coming off.

  Mrs. Harrington’s jaw dropped and she turned to Kiersten, who couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on her face.

  “I figured we might as well kill two birds with one stone,” she said, raising her voice over the beat of the music.

  “Very efficient of you, dear,” Mrs. Harrington said, raising her glass to Kiersten and downing the rest of the liquid inside.

  The men on the stage started to really get into their routine. And…Oh. Em. Gee.

  “Wooo!” Kiersten yelled, waving a twenty in the air.

  Mrs. Harrington watched, fascinated as one of the glistening, gorgeous men danced his way over to them.

  “Whip out a twenty,” Kiersten said to her.

  “That much? Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. If we run out, we’ll hit up the ATM,” she said with a grin, flashing Cole’s credit card.

  Mrs. Harrington laughed and waved a twenty…in each hand.

  “There you go,” Kiersten said.

  They tucked the cash in the guy’s G-string and catcalled him as he danced toward another table. Kiersten handed Mrs. Harrington another drink, and they toasted each other before downing them.

  Mrs. Harrington shuddered and slammed the glass down. “I think the room is spinning.”

  Kiersten laughed. “Mine too.” Somewhere deep in her consciousness she registered the thought that getting her boss’s mother smashed while drooling over half-naked men was probably not the best idea in the world, even if she was trying to get fired. But the dancing hunks in front of her and the alcohol coursing through her system made it a little hard to concentrate on logic like that. Which she quite enjoyed. It was nice not to pay attention to logic for once. She ordered them both two more drinks.

  The song ended, and the men took a beefy bow. Kiersten and Mrs. Harrington cheered along with the other women, kicking it up a notch when a new crop of men came out.

  Three songs and…well, she’d lost track of how many drinks later, she leaned over so Mrs. Harrington could hear her over the music. “So. You’ve been to a speakeasy and a strip show. Now what do you want to do?”

  Mrs. Harrington knocked back another drink and smiled. “I want to get up there with them.”

  Before Kiersten could say anything, Mrs. Harrington was on her feet and climbing up onto the low stage. Kiersten laughed. There was a small part of her that knew she should probably stop her, but the rest of her thought that was a damn fine idea.

  The men didn’t even look fazed, probably something that happened every day, though maybe not with a sixty-something-year-old woman tastefully dressed in a Chanel suit.

  They took it in stride. One of them grabbed Mrs. Harrington around the waist and started getting down and dirty while the crowd went wild. Kiersten hollered until her throat was sore.

  Then she noticed security heading toward the stage.

  “Uh oh.”

  She staggered up onto the stage he
rself and tried to get Mrs. Harrington’s attention. Difficult to do as the woman was currently having the time of her life, bumping and grinding with a Viking god a third her age.

  “Mrs. H! We have to go,” she said, pointing over at the security officers.

  “Uh oh,” Mrs. Harrington said, finally paying attention.

  “Yeah, my sentiments exactly,” Kiersten said.

  Unfortunately, getting up on the stage had been a lot easier than trying to get down when the whole world was spinning. Security made it to them before they made it back to the safety of the crowd.

  Equally unfortunate, Mrs. Harrington apparently did not like being manhandled by any authority figure not in a tear-away outfit.

  They managed to get her off the stage with Kiersten following behind, trying to calm Mrs. Harrington down and get her away from security.

  It probably would have been okay, except that Mrs. Harrington decided the security officer escorting her to the door was mighty handsome himself. She wrapped an arm around his neck and tried a few of the new dance moves she’d just picked up. Kiersten tried the new evasion techniques she’d learned. And neither of them were remotely sober enough to attempt anything.

  Things went fuzzy for a few minutes. There were more men. More uniforms. More fuzzy moments. Glimpses of Mrs. Harrington surrounded by men, having the time of her life.

  Then the car doors slammed and Kiersten realized they were in the back of a cop car.

  They looked at each other, eyes wide. And then both dissolved into giggles. They leaned against each other, laughing until their sides hurt. When they finally caught their breath, Mrs. Harrington looked around them again.

  “I think we just got arrested.”

  Kiersten nodded. “I think you’re right.”

  “Well…that’s new.”

  That set Kiersten off giggling again. “Hey,” she said after a few more laughs. “What’s your first name? Mrs. Harrylon…Harriestown…” She paused and narrowed her eyes, trying to force the right name out of her brain. “Harrington…iz a long name.”

  “Harriet,” she said, nodding and pointing at herself.

  “Your name is Harriet Harrington?”

  “Yes. How’s that for a mouthful?”

  Kiersten giggled again. “I’m gonna call ya Harry, k?”

  “Harry. I think I like that. What do I call you?”

  Kiersten shrugged. “You should ask your son. He calls me lots of things.”

  Mrs. Harrington’s eyes widened. “Like what?” she asked, in the same tone of voice a seven-year-old might use when an adult is telling them a secret about Santa.

  “Oh, just lots of things. Like Kristy. And Kesty. And Krispin.”

  “Ooo, I like that one. I’m gonna call you Krispin, too.”

  “Deal,” Kiersten said, laughing until she hiccupped.

  “Now what do we do?” Mrs. Harrington asked.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” Kiersten slurred, leaning over like she was going to whisper in the other woman’s ear. “I dunno. Never been arrested before.”

  “Me either,” Mrs. Harrington whisper-shouted, like it was a huge secret she didn’t want people to know.

  “I think we get a phone call,” Kiersten said.

  “Oh good. We can call Cole. He’ll come get us.”

  “Good idea,” Kiersten said. Then she froze, a glaring realization sobering her up a bit.

  “Um, wait. Bad idea. Very bad idea.”

  Mrs. Harrington looked at her, squinting her eyes like she was trying to bring Kiersten into focus.

  “Why?”

  Kiersten had known why not a second ago. But now she couldn’t quite grasp the reason.

  “I dunno. Let’s call him.”

  “Good idea,” Mrs. Harrington said. “I just have to throw up first.”

  “Don’ worry. I’ll dial,” Kiersten said. She patted herself down and fuzzily realized she didn’t have her phone on her. “Where’s my phone?”

  Mrs. H moaned and looked down into her purse. “I don’t remember eating that.”

  “Do you have my phone?” Kiersten asked.

  Mrs. H looked back into her purse and then held the bag out to Kiersten. She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure the black lump beneath Mrs. H’s lunch was her phone. “Ah nuts. I think I need a new phone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cole glanced at the unfamiliar number on his phone. “Is that them?” Brooks asked.

  Cole shook his head. He had a bad feeling. He’d been texting Kiersten and his mother for the last hour and neither one had answered. Kiersten might be on her crusade to the unemployment, or new employment, line, but he didn’t think she’d purposely worry him, especially when she had his mother with her. And he knew his mother wouldn’t ignore his calls.

  He’d hoped they had just used his box seats to see the new Broadway production that was playing. But the longer they went without answering him, the more concerned he got.

  “No, I don’t know who it is.”

  He swiped to answer. “Cole Harrington.”

  He listened to the man on the other end of the phone, his eyes going wide as the officer relayed what had happened.

  Brooks looked at him and mouthed, “What’s going on?”

  “Yes, she’s my mother. Yes, officer.”

  Brooks’s eyes widened farther.

  “I’m sorry, can you say that again?”

  Cole wasn’t sure if he should laugh or swear at the top of his lungs. I mean, how the hell was a man supposed to react when told his mother had been arrested. In a strip club. For manhandling the performers, assaulting the officers, resisting arrest, and…defiling a police vehicle?

  “Yes, I understand. I’ll be right down.”

  He hung up the phone, head reeling. Never in his wildest imagination…

  “What’s going on?” Brooks asked again.

  “That was a nice police officer informing me that my mother and assistant were arrested. At a strip club. For accosting the dancers.”

  Brooks’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to say something. Closed it. Opened it again.

  “Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”

  He sighed and headed for the door. To go bail his mother out of jail.

  He was never going to let her live this down.

  When he got to the jail, he filled out all the paperwork and paid the fine to get both his mother and Kiersten out of the slammer. He assumed they’d come out contrite and embarrassed for what they’d done. Guess he forgot what happened when people assumed something.

  They came stumbling out, arms around each other, laughing their asses off. Until they looked up and saw him.

  “There he is,” Kiersten said. She marched up to him, grabbed his face, and planted a huge kiss right on his lips. If he hadn’t been so stunned, and standing in a jailhouse with his mother and several amused officers watching, he might have taken a bit more advantage of an opening like that. Then again, she was so drunk the fumes were making his eyes water. Probably not the best time to be making moves on his errant assistant.

  “Told ya I’d do it, Harry,” Kiersten yelled back to his mother.

  “You go, Krispin!” his mother said.

  Okay, what the actual fuck?

  He opened his mouth to say something, took another look at “Harry” and “Krispin” giggling like twelve-year-olds at a slumber party, and shook his head. When Kiersten sobered up, they were going to have a conversation about appropriate pastimes for his mother. Until then… He sighed. He’d just hope he could get them home without one, or both, of them vomiting all over the car.

  Speaking of which…

  “Who ‘defiled the police vehicle’?”

  His mother raised her hand. “Sorry. My purse was full.” She held it out to him, but he held up a hand.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Oh, and I need a new phone,” Kiersten said, wrapping her arm around his.

  “What happened to yours?”


  “It’s in her purse.” She jerked her thumb toward his mother, who gave him a dazed smile.

  He opened his mouth to respond and then just shook his head. “Let’s go.”

  He marched them out to the car, ignoring Luke’s surprised expression as he wrangled them inside. It took him a few minutes to get them settled, facing forward, in their own seats, with both feet on the ground, even with Luke’s help.

  “Seat belts,” Cole said, when he finally got them situated. His mother grimaced, but managed to get hers on.

  Kiersten, on the other hand, grabbed the shoulder strap and stared at it like she’d never seen one before in her life. Cole sighed, took it from her, and buckled her in before sitting beside her and buckling his own. Luke watched the process in the rearview mirror, his eyes so wide his eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. Cole scowled. “Just drive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Luke said, his lips twitching.

  Cole sighed but couldn’t blame the man. He was about to lose it himself. Never in his life had he ever seen his mother even remotely out of control. Even at his sister’s funeral, when he had been a sobbing wreck, her grief had been kept in hand, dignified. Yet a few hours with Kiersten and suddenly his mother was doing a damn good impression of a drunken groupie on a rock tour.

  “If either of you needs to vomit, roll down the window.”

  “I’ll be fine,” his mother said. “I’m going to need a new purse, though.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that,” he said dryly. “How about you?” he asked Kiersten, who was still holding on to his arm.

  “I’m good. I left my purse at home.”

  He bit his lip. “No, I meant, how do you feel?”

  “No vomiting for me, thanks.” She cuddled up against his shoulder. “You know, you’re kind of handsome when you aren’t being an ass.”

  His mouth dropped open.

  “Told you,” his mother said. “He was always a nice boy. He has pretty eyes, too.”

  He stared at her over the top of Kiersten’s head, completely speechless. Kiersten took his face in her hand and turned him back to her. “He does have pretty eyes. Always liked ’em.”