Lie to Me: A Contemporary Billionaire BWWM Romance

by Mia Caldwell

  They walked out together and she gave him the grand tour as soon as they left the office. It was odd to meet people who worked for him along the corridors. Most gave him a cursory look and moved on. They stopped in the housekeeping office, where Raina introduced him to a sweet and bubbly young woman, who turned out to be the head housekeeper, by the name of Kelly.

  He did not miss the wink that Kelly gave Raina before they walked out. As Raina spoke and gave him the tour, he nodded responses to Raina’s information. They walked through the hallways of the guest rooms, taking an elevator onto each of the floors. Raina pulled out her keycard and took him into one room, empty of guests.

  Christian noted the well-made king-size bed, with the sheets pulled tightly and the pillows fluffed up and arranged neatly. He liked that the standards of the rooms had been maintained. He ran his finger along the edge of the television, noting approvingly that it was free of dust.

  “The bathroom is through here,” Raina said.

  The bathroom was covered in marble and hand-crafted Italian tiles. The center piece was a Jacuzzi tub, with dozens of jets and a series of seats and water-proof pillows. Jacuzzis had never interested Christian in the past, but at that moment, he ached to hold Raina and settle into the warm water with her. He could imagine her snuggled up in his arms, her body lying on top of him.

  Goddamn it, I need to get laid. His body grew warm and he shifted about uncomfortably.

  “Is everything alright? Does the size of the hotel worry you? It is a large property. Don’t worry; we plan on hiring another maintenance man soon.”

  Christian smiled to show her that he was okay. He reminded himself to be careful. Raina had a sharp eye and was looking at him to weigh his reactions. He didn’t want to lose his job even before he had started.

  Finally, they rode the elevator to his favorite spot in all the Del Mar hotels—the rooftop terrace. The blue clouds reflected on the water of the pool, and further out to the ocean, casting shadowed tints on the surface of the water. The terrace was like a play area for the guests, with a running track and a year-round garden.

  “I could stay here all day,” Christian said.

  “I know the feeling.” She looked at him and whispered conspiratorially, “Sometimes I like to come up here after midnight, when the terrace has been locked to guests, and just look at the stars and listen to the water. Well—.” She hesitated, then added, “I used to like to do that. I haven’t done that in a long time.” He noted the sadness in her voice and wondered about it briefly. “Come on; let’s go back down. Time for us mere mortals to return to work,” Raina said, her brown eyes twinkling.

  Christian could have immersed himself in them. They walked convivially together and back into the elevator. Only the two of them were inside and he could smell her perfume, a sweet flowery fragrance that played with his senses.

  This is ridiculous, Christian thought. She was his “boss” to begin with and he had no intention of getting fired his first day on the job. Secondly, the last thing he needed was an entanglement with someone who—whether she knew it or not—was actually his employee. They rode silently back to the ground floor, and parted ways amicably in the lobby.

  “Be early tomorrow. We’re a stickler for punctuality here,” Raina said. She smiled at him and again he found himself mesmerized watching her lips part. She licked them and he almost heard himself groan audibly.

  He took a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

  She gave him a wave and he lingered a little longer just so he could watch her walk away.

  Staying on schedule was not an issue for Christian. Besides, he intended to spend as much time as possible in the hotel. As he walked under the crystal and gold chandelier hanging from the middle of the lobby, his mind was at work, weighing what he had seen today. The standards of the hotel were on par with the strict standards of the rest of the resorts and the staff appeared happy enough.

  Christian strode in long steps, unaware of the figure he cut with his easy confidence and quiet magnetism. Despite the clothes, people were drawn to him and turned to stare as he walked by. It felt good to be out of the hotel and himself again. He would feel better once he was out of the uncomfortable shirt and cap.

  He spied his black Bugatti waiting for him, parked three blocks away, with his driver—who was also his bodyguard—behind the wheel. Before he slid in, Christian looked behind him to make sure that no one who worked at the hotel was behind him. The chances were slim, but it had never hurt him in the past to be careful.

  “Hello Jim.”

  “Hey boss,” Jim said with a wide grin. “If I hadn’t seen you two hours ago, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  “I don’t recognize myself either,” Christian said and grinned back at his long time employee.

  Jim eased the car out of the parking lot and headed toward the main drag. Thirty minutes later Christian hopped out at the entrance of his condo building, and, with a wave to the doorman, took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. Though he didn’t live there, the entire building belonged to him. The penthouse apartment had been vacant and he thought it a convenient place to set himself up for the next few months.

  As soon as he walked through the front door to his expansive living room, Christian began shedding off his disguise. He tossed away the cap first and placed it on a glass table as he walked across the living room to his bedroom.

  He had gotten the cap from Jim, who asked no questions. Christian liked his driver for his discretion. Jim knew that if Christian wanted him to know something, he would tell him, thus Jim never asked a thing, which suited Christian just fine.

  Next, Christian went to the adjoining bathroom and slipped off his contact lenses and stripped out of the clothes. Only after he had taken a shower did Christian feel at ease and like himself again. His hair still looked terrible, but he could find someone to fix that in a few months.

  He sank into a deep, comfortable chair and looked around approvingly. His assistant had done a good job furnishing the place on such short notice.

  His mind drifted to his interview with Raina. One thing was for sure; despite his irritation at Roger for bungling the management of his properties, the next month or two would be interesting. He wondered how he would keep his desire for her in check as they worked together.

  Fortunately, it was likely their paths would not cross too often.

  Or is that “Unfortunately”? His subconscious chided him.

  Christian surprised himself with that thought. His last relationship had ended so poorly he had sworn off relationships completely. The last thing he needed was to start wanting to get close to a woman.

  Women invariably disappointed him. Most wanted him for his money and the power his name held. After the last girlfriend, who’d turned out to be just another gold-digger, he had given up on finding a woman who would like him for himself.

  He couldn’t blame them though, he acknowledged wryly. His name opened up doors to all the swankiest parties of the year. But women often got a shock when Christian refused to attend those types of events, preferring to spend the evening ordering in, or at a quaint private restaurant. All his relationships—if you could call them that, ended when both parties realized that they could not get what they wanted from the other.

  Women wanted a prize and Christian wanted honesty.

  While Christian was generous with his money, he was less so with his time, and he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the trivial frivolity and trappings that came with wealth, which appealed strongly to most women.

  Or, at least the women I’ve met. The thought appeared out of nowhere. He wondered if that type of life would appeal to Raina. For some reason, he doubted it.

  He realized fleetingly that his position as a maintenance man would give him a chance to meet normal, women like Raina and Kelly. Women who, like himself, had charted their own paths in life and worked for everything they had.

  Yes, Christian th
ought with a rueful smile, he would enjoy getting to know Ms. Raina McMillan.

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  Excerpt From Paris and the Prince

  Paris and the Prince

  Alexander

  Crown Prince Alexander Lennox absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. He could already feel his mind drifting as the old man in front of him talked endlessly about things that didn't actually matter to anyone in the long run.

  Diplomatic missions were always such a hassle—ceremonial meetings with stuffy and self-important people, all for optics, accomplishing very little. Days like these meant just another day spent envying his younger brothers, who despite sharing the royal Lennox name, were allowed to slack off and party away their teens and twenties.

  It might have sounded conceited, but Prince Alexander spent a lot of time thinking about the fact that he’d never had much of a life. His royal duty—that’s what his life had always consisted of.

  As the oldest son, he had been expected to join Dalvana's Royal Navy right out of University, quickly rise through the ranks to captain his own ship, and begin acting as a distinguished and proper diplomat when he wasn't in service, and that was precisely what he had done. Had he ever stopped to think about whether it was what he wanted? No, not really… but would it have mattered if he had? He asked himself the question, his brows furrowing, but he knew the answer the moment the thought entered his head.

  His whole life had been planned out from the moment he was born, right down to the woman he would marry. His life was boring; privileged, extraordinary, newsworthy even… but boring. He'd never quite been able to shake the sense that he'd been sleepwalking through his entire adulthood.

  The French diplomat in front of Alexander cleared his throat, drawing his attention to the fact that he'd been staring off into the distance and out the window at the stunning Parisian views for far longer than was probably appropriate or could be chalked up to deep and thoughtful musings.

  The elderly statesman pointed to the table where Alexander's phone was now buzzing its way across the table and was on the verge of falling to the floor. Alexander muttered a half-hearted apology and grabbed it before it tumbled over the edge.

  Ahh, his “darling” fiancé Whitney's name on the caller ID; there was no suppressing an Olympic-level eye roll as he pressed the “ignore” button and stuffed the phone back into his suit-jacket pocket.

  “My apologies, sir. Please continue.” Alexander gave the diplomat the charming smile that had helped land him on the cover of People magazine’s “Most Beautiful” issue. It was a smile that naturally won people over and helped him get his way.

  As the man continued his soliloquy, Alexander felt his mind drifting once more, this time to the caller ID on his persistently ringing phone. Whitney Bishop-St. Claire. He couldn't even stand her name. They had been betrothed at birth by their parents in a handshake agreement that included increasing trade between the two tiny European nations of Dalvana and Estia.

  When they had been kids, Whitney had bossed him around, demanding he give her all of his favorite toys. She had been spoiled and deceitful as a child, and as an adult her behavior had not improved. Starting at age ten, Alexander had begun begging his parents to break the engagement, but forested Estia supplied their coastal country of Dalvana with all of its lumber, and angering Whitney’s parents and causing a trade disruption between the countries was a non-starter. Calling off the engagement simply wasn't an option, or so he had been told over, and over, again.

  In all these years, Whitney had never stopped being bossy, but what she had become was a drunk.

  She believed it was her royal duty to be a cliché modern princess: drinking, smoking, attending all the most important gallery openings and fashion shows, while being seen tumbling out of limousines and stumbling up red carpets. While Alexander spent his days commanding an entire naval fleet, Whitney threw plates of food at unsuspecting waiters and slept until three in the afternoon.

  Marrying her was the furthest thing from his mind, yet even as he sat here in this meeting with the French diplomat, their countries—Estia and Dalvana—were preparing for their royal nuptials. “Your wedding,” his mother liked to remind him, “Will bring over 3 billion dollars in tourist and advertising revenue this year alone!” The cameras of the world would be trained on their little monarchy, and it would be their chance to sell the kingdom as the next hot vacation spot for jet-setters and starlets.

  Every meeting regarding the wedding seemed to lead to one unmistakable conclusion: there was no getting out of it. Alexander could feel his stomach rolling at the mere thought of being tied for life to Whitney, and it was making him nauseous, so it was time to go back to pretending to listen to the man drone on about an exchange of priceless art. He hoped the diplomat wouldn’t notice how green he looked around the gills.

  The phone continued to buzz persistently in his chest pocket.

  Paris

  As the plane touched down on the tarmac at Charles De Gaulle Airport, Paris Martell felt a distinct buzz of panic in her chest. She reminded herself that statistically she was far likelier to die in a car crash on the highway than in an airplane.

  Her traitorous brain also reminded her that the most likely time for a plane to crash was on take-off or landing.

  “Damn it,” she muttered to herself. “Today is not a good day to die.”

  The elderly woman who was her seatmate shot her a suspicious and terrified look. “Don’t worry!” Paris said with forced cheerfulness. “Just talking to myself!”

  The woman did not look comforted.

  Now would not be a good time to be tackled by an air marshal, Paris! She chided herself.

  Paris in Paris. It was a life-long dream.

  As a kid, she used to travel all over the United States with her mom, so generally, travel was second-nature. Her mom was a nightclub singer, sometimes getting a headline gig, but mostly a few opening acts, and she made her living driving from state to state, chasing the next job, and hauling her three kids along with her. But not once in her whole life had anyone in her family ever travelled outside of the US, let alone left the continent.

  As a kid, every time she had to start at a new school (17 schools in 12 years, by her last count) she always hung her head whenever she had to be introduced to the class.

  “Paris! What an unusual name!” The new teacher would inevitably exclaim. “Were your parents fans of Greek mythology?”

  By fifth grade Paris had learned to answer “yes” to that question. It was better than telling everyone that her mom had thought it cute to name her kids after the town they’d been conceived in.

  Worst of all, thought Paris, I wasn’t even conceived in Paris, France—I was conceived in Paris, Texas. Still, it could have been worse, she supposed. She could have been conceived in Milwaukee or Albuquerque. Her sister, Atlanta, and brother, Orlando, had gotten off relatively easy too. Thank goodness her mom had stopped there.

  Though after all the teasing she’d had as a kid about being conceived in the “City of Lights,” Paris—the city—had taken on almost mythical proportions. She had sworn that someday—someday—she’d get there.

  And now? Someday was here.

  As a first year medical student, and the first person in her family to go to college, Paris had been elated when she’d been chosen—out of all 200 students in her cohort—to attend the prestigious Salon de la Formation Médicale conference in Paris, France.

  Sure, she'd have to attend a few lectures, but she'd actually get to sight-see the rest of the time! Once she finished medical school and started her residency, she knew that chances to travel would be few and far between.

  Paris didn't know any of the other students that been chosen to come on this trip, but that didn't really matter. All she was interested in was checking out the city, practicing her rusty French, and maybe learning a little bit about the history of European medicine while she was in Paris.
Realistically, she knew that this trip was going to be a whirlwind mostly focused on classes, but there was always the chance that she would get to climb up the Eiffel Tower, or perhaps even wander the Louvre for a few hours after a glass of wine at a cafe.

  Ah, daydreams. Paris opened her eyes as the plane landed with a jolt, shaking her out of her reverie. She muttered a little prayer to thank God for the safe landing, finally loosening her grip on the arm rests.

  Struggling with her oversize suitcase, Paris had barely even made it off the plane before she was being jostled in the massive crowds at France’s busiest airport. The student group she was with was nice enough to make sure she didn't get lost initially, but there was nothing romantic about the City of Lights when you are being herded like cattle onto a smelly bus bound for a discount motel in a very questionable corner of the city. Some of the sights from her tour book flew by her via the tiny window in the back of the bus, but she didn't have time to register anything, as she was mostly too busy trying to not throw up from nervousness and motion-sickness.

  What were obviously the posh areas of Paris quickly disappeared, leading to a far more seedy side of the city that Paris could have lived her entire life without seeing. However, she reminded herself, free was free, and as long as she could keep herself from puking all over the nice blonde girl sitting next to her, she was determined to have the time of her life.

  If she ever got off the damn bus, that was…

  Thomas, Alexander’s bodyguard, spoke quietly into the microphone hidden within the sleeve of his coat. Alexander had been through this routine a thousand times: his people had already cleared out this entire wing of the Louvre just so he could spend some time amongst the paintings without being assassinated by a rogue killer who happened to be waiting there for the Crown Prince of Dalvana to stop by.

  But now, they were sweeping the museum a second time, just to be sure no one had snuck by any of the fifty men surrounding the outside of the buildings. It was tedious.