RYKER (Rogue Billionaires, Book Two)

by Olivia Chase

  I spin around and face him. “Don’t say that again.”

  He throws his hands back and shrugs. “I’m just sayin’. If you decide on giving her up, I’ll support you, if you truly feel that’s what’s best, but I think you’re discrediting your abilities, Ethan. And your wants.”

  “My wants don’t factor in, Wilson. When have I ever gotten what I wanted in this life?”

  “You’ve gotten everything.”

  “Everything except the one thing I wanted most, and you know it.” I sound like a bitter man, and I know it. Yes, I realize I have a lot more than most people. I’m grateful for it, but what does it matter having everything money could buy if you can’t commit to sharing it with anyone?

  Wilson sits at the counter to eat, digging in. “Mmm, really good.”

  I don’t say anything. He’s trying to make me think. I won’t do it.

  “You can’t keep souls apart, Ethan.” He shakes his head, looking down at his food. “No matter what you do. You can try, but they’ll always find each other again.”

  Fuck me, the guilt. “Yes, I know that separating them is going to suck.” Lilly Belle without Penelope would be traumatic at first, but hopefully she won’t remember a thing since she’s still so young. I scoop up some chicken, testing it before I serve a plate for Penelope. My creation tastes pretty damn good.

  “I was talking about the three of you.”

  Before I can formulate a reply in the way of “stay out of my business, you old fart,” she appears at the kitchen door dressed in pink pajamas. “Something smells so good, I had to come down.” Penelope waves at us, and Lilly Belle begins a chair dance at the sound of her voice so hard, I think she’s going to fly out of her seat. “Sweet pea!” Penelope makes a beeline for the baby.

  “I was just bringing you dinner,” I say, while simultaneously hoping that she did not hear any part of that conversation. While Wilson reaches for a placemat, napkin, and silverware to set down next to him, I lay the plate on top and pour her a glass of water.

  “I’m starving. Wow, this looks five-star-restaurant-worthy!” Penelope takes a seat and digs in like a hellhound tearing into its kill. Holy shit, the girl can eat. It occurs to me that I’ve never taken her anywhere for dinner. So many amazing restaurants in NYC. I’m suddenly filled with the desire to show them all to her, but I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  “Ethan is good at many things,” Wilson says. I give him the “stop, please” look and take my seat next to Penelope. The four of us, sitting together at the table, eating a home-cooked meal. Four of us—my butler, the nanny, the foster child, and me. They eat and talk while I can only sit here staring at them as though their voices are coming from behind glass, and I’m outside of myself.

  Wilson’s right—we’re like a family.

  I’m about to stand and excuse myself. I can’t take feeling like I’ve been given something good. Good, wholesome things don’t come to me. They don’t. I didn’t get that card growing up. But I decide, for once, not to run away from what I’m feeling.

  Stay and fight it.

  Stay and give in.

  So, I do. And it’s the best time I’ve had in a long time.

  That evening, I decide to do it again. Push past the fear. Take things to the next level with Penelope. What’s the worst that could happen? If it doesn’t work out, which it probably won’t, then my life goes back to the way it was before. Nothing lost. In business, there’s a saying: you don’t invest more than you’re willing to lose. I haven’t completely invested in Penelope and me at this point. I’ve been on the fence, but tonight showed me there could be more.

  And I’m fucking terrified.

  I arrive at her room right at midnight. All is quiet, except for the sounds of tapping on her laptop. Checking her room, I find it locked. Disappointed, I’m ready to turn around, convinced that she doesn’t think it’s wise to move forward, she’s changed her mind, when I remember that’s not how I came in last time. The bathroom door to the hallway gives way.

  I walk in quietly, knocking on the door. “Hey,” I say, trying not to scare her. “You’re working.”

  “Yeah, trying to catch up. I love what you did to my website. Thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. There was too much clutter. You want your home page to sell an idea, something that your client could get if they used you as a PR person, not your actual service. For example, ‘With us, you get peace of mind.’”

  “I know, I love it, seriously.” She closes the laptop and stands, pushing her hair behind her ears, wrapping her arms around herself. Unsure gesture. I guess I should explain why I’m here.

  “I wanted to ask you something.” I walk in and take her by the hand. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out with me. Sometime this week, whenever you have time.”

  She sniffs a laugh. “I don’t know.”

  Not the answer I was hoping for. “You don’t know?”

  “Yeah, my boss…he says I’m not allowed to have a social life while working here, you know. He specifically said I have to act like the baby’s mom, and that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

  “Doing. It’s what you’ve been successfully doing.” I pull her in close. “How about I talk to your boss and pull a few strings. Would you go out with me then?”

  “I think that would be acceptable, but will your nanny let you go out?”

  “My nanny? You mean…”

  “You know…Wilson—your nanny.” She bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I know you think you’re too old for one, but I don’t know…he keeps a pretty close watch on you. You better ask him for permission just in case.” She’s fucking with me. I pinch her waist just for that remark.

  Her laughs lights up the room. I take her face and kiss her cheeks, her forehead, then her lips. That wasn’t so bad, asking her out on a date. Delicate arms wrap around my shoulders, drawing me in. “Thank you for the invitation. I thought you’d never ask. And for coming to my room again. I’ve been fantasizing about it for weeks.”

  “Have you now?” I kiss her deeply, tasting her lips and tongue and drawing from her strong energy tonight. It’s so nice to see her feeling herself again. I’m immediately hard and wanting her.

  “Yes. I’ve had this great balcony all this time and haven’t used it not even once.” Evil smile. Wicked woman.

  “We need to fix that immediately,” I say, taking her hand, the comforter off her bed, and trailing it behind us onto the balcony. The quarter moon is just visible above the tall buildings, and the city is alive, as usual. I sit in the big chair outside and slide her onto my lap. Now she can feel my solid hardness for herself.

  No more talking. No dirty words this time, either.

  Something has clicked on inside of me, and I don’t feel the need right now. Tonight is different. I slide my hands up her tank top, cupping her breasts and feeling the slight weight to them, pinching her nipples and playing with them while she writhes against me with her ass pressed against my crotch. The pants come off, the shirt too, everything until we’re both naked underneath the comforter against the city skyline. Feels good.

  Alive.

  The fall chill breezes over us, but under the blanket, we’re warm and growing hotter, as she slides her slick, wet pussy over my cock, taking it in her hand and guiding it into her. She’s tight and warm and pulsating with need, and I can’t exercise any patience.

  I drive into her—hard—without waiting.

  She moans and leans back against my chest, her head on my shoulder, and the whole thing happens quickly, as I pat my fingers against her core and rub her in circles with increasing urgency. My woman. I won’t deny myself anymore. Whatever happens, happens. Fuck it. And it does, as she makes love to me under the moon, over the bustling city, bouncing on my cock and taking us to that next level.

  And I don’t mean the orgasm that rises and ebbs over her at that moment or the way she calls out my name while she’s coming so hard, she has to hold onto my head to
keep from sliding off my cock. I’m not talking about how quickly it takes me to spill my seed deep into her, something that rarely happens thanks to how desensitized I can be with some women. I’m talking about this—her—us—changing me.

  I’m talking about loving her.

  Penelope

  When I first arrived here, I was turned down, told “no.”

  Now I’m sitting in a limo next to the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met—complicated and difficult, yeah—but also sweet at times. The same man who told me to leave on the first day. I literally had nothing to wear when our date night arrived. I didn’t exactly bring going-out clothes to the Townsend Mansion for my nanny position, so Ethan sent me off earlier today to buy something to wear for dinner. Even though he handed me $500 in cash to spend, I found a pretty black lace dress for just under $100, and I paid for it myself.

  When we arrive at the restaurant called Hamel’s, a nice tapas-style place, people watch us arrive. At the door and inside, everyone knows Ethan by name, and it’s the first time I really feel like I’m with someone famous. He looks amazing in his nice pants, shirt, and dinner jacket. It’s an old-fashioned style that he pulls off because he’s got great hair, an impeccable taste for clothes, and because he just looks…rich.

  Women watch us. Some lift their hands halfway in tentative greeting then think twice about hugging or double-kissing on the cheek when they see that he’s with someone. Not just someone—me. I’m not going to lie, I feel out of place. This fancy place and these fancy people—it’s not me, but I’m excited that he asked me out.

  Doesn’t this change our employer/employee arrangement, though?

  Didn’t that change the moment he came into my room at night checking for locked doors?

  I’m not going to analyze the implications of this date. I’m nervous enough as it is. I’m just going to enjoy my time with him despite my growing worries.

  Our table is near the back in a cozy corner near a fireplace. When he orders wine for us and raises his glass for a toast “to autumn in New York,” I clink glasses and try to remember to breathe deeply. Okay, he doesn’t just look snazzy and rich, he looks hot. I’m just going to say it—sexy as fuck. And he’s mine.

  I let that sink in—I have the attention of the hottest billionaire in the city.

  Ho.

  Lee.

  Crap.

  And it all feels incredible. Being out. Talking like an adult, dressed like an adult, having adult conversations. Though I worry about Lilly at home, like did she go to sleep okay and is she giving Wilson a hard time? I ground myself on Ethan’s shimmery blue eyes. “Everything okay for you?” he asks.

  “Are you kidding?” My eyes widen. “This is fantastic. Totally amazing. I love the décor. It’s so…”

  “New York.”

  “Exactly.” With the tall ceilings and people still dressed the way they went to work, dark corners, and mini magical bulbs everywhere.

  “Well, you look beautiful. Not that you don’t always, but tonight, you’re glowing. And that dress…hmmm…” He tilts his head to check out my ass, which sends sparks of electricity shooting through my body. My mind starts thinking about what could happen later when we get home.

  To his place, I should say.

  The Townsend Mansion isn’t my home, though I sometimes forget that. It’s going to be hard going back to my own little place one day after experiencing what could be…I guess I’ve gotten pretty spoiled. “Hmm, you don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Townsend.”

  “So, we’ve known each other for almost a month now,” he says after we order several plates of different foods to try. “Tell me what your goals are. I know you’re working on your PR business, but what else?”

  “Well…” I begin to tell him about building my career first then finding the right guy, settling down, and buying a house somewhere upstate to start a family. I get quiet then, because as much as we have felt like a family on a few occasions, Lilly Belle is not my daughter, and there’s a good chance I’ll never see her again after this gig is over with.

  The thought dampens my mood for a moment but I force a smile and ask, “What about you?”

  I don’t know why he looks surprised that I’m asking him this. I mean, I was bound to reciprocate the question. Yet, a dark look eclipses his face, as he presses his lips together and shakes his head softly. “I don’t think about the things I want. I just focus on the present mostly.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t pine over what I don’t have. I don’t mind that others dream, but it’s not me.”

  “So you don’t have goals?”

  “Of course I do—business goals, but my personal life is my business life. They’re one and the same.”

  I’m not even sure I understand what he means, but I stay quiet, because I can see that he’s reanalyzing what he said.

  Finally, he shrugs. “I used to yearn, a long time ago, but that’s not me anymore.”

  Cryptic. Heartbreaking. A man with no dreams for his life. How quickly our date has turned somber, but I think it’s good that we’re at least talking about it. I don’t push for answers. Whatever is plaguing him, I know it’s a byproduct of his former life. There’s deep pain there, and the caretaking, maternal side of me wants to make it go away. But I wonder…could Ethan ever truly be happy? He’s a deeply wounded man.

  Is it possible for one person to absorb grief away from another?

  Covering his hand with mine, I say, “If I could take away your pain, whatever it is, I would in a heartbeat.”

  Lips press into a sad, regretful smile. “You already have.”

  I have? I’m delighted to hear that. It makes me feel sturdier on such shaky ground.

  After that, we talk about more light-hearted subjects such as where we went to school and the rather insignificant boyfriends and girlfriends we’ve each had. That’s one thing we have in common—neither of us has ever been in love before. Me, because I just haven’t had time, being the oldest and helping my mom take care of the family, but Ethan, because he hasn’t let anyone into his life. Instead of relationships, he’s had a string of quick conquests, a fact I’m trying hard not to think about right now.

  My phone rings during dinner. It’s my mom, but I decline the call.

  “Is that important? Answer it,” he says.

  “It’s just my mom.”

  “I don’t mind. Your mom is important to you.” To you. Aren’t moms important to most people?

  My mother calls again, which is weird and insistent, so I pick up. “Mom? Can I call you back. I’m in the middle of dinner.” She sounds frantic and stuffy-nosed, as though she’s been crying, and something about her tone makes me still and listen. “I mean, I’m sorry. Tell me what’s up.”

  She’s in danger of losing the house. She doesn’t know what to do. My dad’s been out for weeks looking for a job. I had no idea he had lost his previous one at the auto repair. Suddenly, the warm tones and New York City ambience around me feel out of place. I’m not this high-profile socialite. I’m a simple girl from the suburbs, and my parents are going through a hard time while I pretend to be the girlfriend of a rich man.

  “Okay, Mom, just stay calm, alright? I’ll wire you money tonight,” I promise her. “I’ll call you when I get back to the house.”

  After the call, Ethan looks up. “Everything alright?”

  “She’s behind three months on her mortgage payment,” I explain.

  “How much is it?” he asks.

  No. I know where he’s going with this, and it’s not going to happen. “I don’t know,” I lie. “But my whole next paycheck will go to her, or my siblings won’t even have any food or clothes. God, this sucks. Be glad you have no idea what this feels like.”

  “Let me help, Penelope.”

  “No. No way. This is not your problem, and I was already going to help her out. It’s why I took this job.” I feel strange telling him that, because nannies are supposed to
look so cheerful and happy to be living in your home, taking care of children who aren’t ours, but yes, the truth is—we’re usually in need of money.

  “Can I at least give you an advance on your paycheck? It’s Tuesday. You don’t get paid until Friday. That way, she’ll have the money by tomorrow?” he says.

  I appreciate that he’s trying to help, so I nod. “That’s fine. Thanks, Ethan.”

  But now our dinner has been dampened twice. And now, the question I’ve been pushing away every day begins to creep into my thoughts. The whole way back, in our car ride, he holds my hand, but I’m dying to know—is he giving Lilly Belle up for adoption? I’m dying to know. Dying for him to finally divulge.

  Why should it matter?

  She’s not my child. I’m not her mother. Am I just stressed because my mother called me freaking out, or because Ethan had the chance to tell me about the adoption during dinner but he didn’t? Is it because I’m falling for a man who’s emotionally unavailable? The exact crux of my stress tonight is undefined, and maybe it’s just my current mood, but suddenly, I need to know the answer.

  I’m tired of waiting.

  When we get back to his house, I pause at the stairs while he hangs our coats and says goodnight to Wilson. I enjoy the air of silence and tranquility before it all changes. His answer will determine so much. I need to know if I’m to move on in my life. The fact is, I’ve grown attached to him and to Lilly Belle.

  There—truth.

  It shouldn’t have happened but it did. “Ethan, I need to ask you something.”

  “Can it wait ‘til I’m upstairs and changed?”

  “Not really. It’s been bothering me for a while. I wasn’t supposed to know, but I overheard your mom. I’ve acted like I don’t know. Maybe it’s not even my business, but…are you giving up Lilly Belle for adoption?”

  Ethan slows down, stops, and stares at me. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Right here, the night your mom came to the door. There was reference to finding her a good home.”

  I can almost hear him swallow in the dark and quiet foyer. “You’re right, it’s not your business, but if you must know—I haven’t decided yet.”