How to Lasso a Billionaire

by Katharine Sadler

  No. No fucking way was that going to happen. He would stop it. He didn't know how, but he'd fucking figure it out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "No," Brianne said, and backed away from the dress Raymond held out to her. "It's way out of my price range."

  Raymond smiled. "It isn't your price range, Mason. It's the boss man's price range."

  "Shouldn't you get back to the office?" As much as she appreciated Raymond's input on what type of clothes to buy, she wasn't going to be talked into wasting Jude's money. Jude had asked Raymond to make sure she got some new clothes, said it was only fair considering she would have worn a uniform for the waitressing job. Which was true, but there was no way her waitressing uniform would have cost anywhere near what even one of those dresses cost. "I can find my own clothes, I promise."

  "Getting you the right clothes for the job is my job," he said, all seriousness. "It might not seem important to you, but appearances are everything in Vegas, and I'm not going to let you bring down the appearance of Jude's office. You are the face most people see first."

  He was right, but surely she could present a good face for the office without spending a week's wages on a dress. "I'll get what I need. I'll just get it from the department store across town. No one will know the difference unless they peek at the tags. I can give you my receipts and get reimbursed for the amount a uniform would have cost." She would pay for everything else she bought with her own money, even if it meant working overtime.

  Raymond wrinkled his nose like she'd suggested living in the woods for a week with no tent. "Jude didn't send you here with the company credit card for you to get department store clothes. I don't know what the deal is between you two, but Jude is a good guy and a great boss. He has high expectations for his employees, one of them being that when he asks for something to happen, we make it happen. I'm not going to let him down just because you're afraid of couture."

  She didn't doubt Raymond knew what he was talking about, and it was tempting to blow as much money as possible to pay Jude back for what he'd done to Max, but she just couldn't do that. It felt too much like stealing, and she wouldn't be a thief. "I'm sorry, Raymond. I can't spend this much money on clothes, even if it's not my money."

  He huffed and rolled his eyes heaven ward, as if asking for assistance from a higher power. When he looked back at Bri, his expression softened. "I get it, Brianne. I do. At least try the dress on while we're here. We can get your size and measurements figured out, as well as what styles and colors will be most appropriate for the job, and then you'll know exactly what to look for at the department store."

  She couldn't argue with that. She had no idea how to dress for her temporary job and the temptation to put on that beautiful dress even just one time was more than she could deny. "Okay, but just a few things. I'm only going to get a couple of outfits to hold me over until I get my first paycheck."

  Raymond's smile threatened to break his handsome face. He and the saleswoman loaded her up with five dresses, all of which seemed better suited for cocktail hour than work, but Raymond assured her that in the world of casino administration the dress code was very different from the rest of the business world.

  The dressing room was larger than Isla's kitchen, and had its own lush velvet couch, just in case trying on clothes became too exhausting and she needed to sit and rest. She undressed quickly, not looking in the mirror, because dressing room mirrors had a way of highlighting every flaw, and pulled on the first dress.

  Red, shimmery material slid down her body, hugging her curves in all the right ways, the skirt swinging out to a flirty swish. Her cleavage wasn't on display at all, but the dress accentuated her curves and made her feel sexier than she'd ever felt before. She grabbed the professional jacket and slid it on over the dress, loving the way it nipped in at the waist and made her hourglass figure shine.

  She smoothed her hands over her hips, the silky material feeling like heaven, and imagined Jude's reaction to her in this dress, imagined his hands on her hips. Her chest tightened and her core tingled as she flashed back to him on the dance floor, the way he'd looked at her like she was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. She sucked in a breath and pushed the memory away. Because that's all it would ever be. A good memory.

  She popped onto her tip toes to get an idea of what the outfit would look like with heels and she fell in love.

  "Let's see it," Raymond shouted.

  She stepped outside and spun. Raymond and the saleswoman, Lucy, cheered.

  "Honey, you need some heels. What's your size?" Lucy asked.

  Bri told her, and then she had heels, in every color of the rainbow, to try on with the dresses. She didn't love everything she tried on, and some of the outfits didn't flatter her body type or her complexion, but she loved the majority of them. Her heart cracked just the tiniest bit knowing she'd have to leave them all behind. She pushed the sadness away and enjoyed getting dolled up and looking beautiful.

  When she was done, her cheeks ached from smiling so much. "I've got to get back to work," Raymond said. "But first, I want you to meet a friend of mine."

  It was already after two and Bri knew it would take over an hour to get to the department store on the other side of town by bus.

  "Okay," she said. "If it's quick, I'd love to meet one of your friends."

  "In a hurry?" he asked, walking with her out of the store.

  "Buses are slow. I don't want my trip to the department store to take all night."

  He smiled. "I guarantee, the detour will be worth it."

  #

  "What do you think?" Charity spun the chair until Bri faced the mirror. She gasped. Her hair, always one of her favorite parts, bounced and shone with a beauty she'd never seen in it before.

  Her curls were smooth, her hair lightened a bit with highlights. The shorter length, to just below her shoulder blades, allowed her hair to be fuller, less weighted down. The absolute glory of it, though, had to be the magic of Charity.

  "Thank you so much," Bri said to the older woman. "I don't know how you made my hair look so beautiful."

  "It was already beautiful. I just gave it the freedom to shine."

  Charity helped Bri out of her cape and Bri stood to face her. Impetuously, she threw my arms around Charity. "Thank you."

  Charity hugged her back with a laugh. "Raymond was right about you," she said, stepping out of the hug. "You are a sweetheart. Don't let Vegas kill that sweetness."

  "I won't." Bri hoped she could keep that promise.

  Charity held a large plastic bag out to Bri. "Here are some products for you to use to keep your hair lovely."

  Bri held up a hand, embarrassed. Raymond had introduced Bri to Charity at the high-end salon on the second floor of Hole in the Wall casino, and both Raymond and Charity had sworn that the first cut was always free. Bri hadn't entirely believed them, but she hadn't wanted to call them liars either. "I appreciate everything you've done, but I can't afford all those products."

  Charity waved a hand, her nose crinkled. "These are samples and leftovers, honey. They're going in the trash if you don't take them."

  Bri smiled and reached for the bag, more excited about samples and leftovers than she was about her new look. "Thank you. Can I pay you something for what you've done?"

  She waved Bri off. "It's free. Nothing to worry about. Now go, Raymond said you have a busy day."

  Bri insisted that Charity accept a generous tip and left the salon. She wished she could just go home, eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and go to bed. Just the thought of a long bus ride and more shopping made her feet hurt.

  She headed out to the lobby and the front entrance of the casino. She turned left and started toward the bus stop a block down, but stopped when someone yelled her name. She turned to see a man, about her father's age if he were still alive, in a black suit, a familiar black car behind him.

  She sighed and walked over to him, forcing a smile. "Hi, Mr. Horne."

  "Raymond ask
ed me to drive you to the mall across town. And please, Ms. Mason, call me Philip."

  Bri fought the urge to stomp her foot and demand he admit Raymond had nothing to do with this car. If Jude had sent it, she could refuse it with no guilt. Since Raymond sent it, likely just to be nice, she couldn't turn it down, especially not when she so desperately wanted to finish her shopping and get home. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

  Once she was seated in the car, she texted Raymond to thank him for sending the car.

  Raymond didn't respond until Philip had parked in front of the entrance to a large department store. Boss man sent the car, Mason, but I'll take the credit. Xoxo

  Damn it, she knew it. "Thank you for bringing me here, Mr. Horne. I can take the bus back to the strip."

  "That won't be necessary," the older man said. "I'm happy to wait here for you."

  "I'll probably be at least an hour. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

  "Not at all. This is my job, Ms. Mason."

  "I appreciate that, but I'm just one employee. You must have other people to drive, and I'm perfectly capable of taking the bus back. There's really no need for you to wait."

  He frowned. "I don't have anything else to do at the moment. I'm happy to drive you and . . . Well, I hate to mention this, but I really need the work. My wife is unemployed currently, we have two girls in college, and Mr. Cassidy is planning to let me go if he can't find more of a use for me. The only thing preventing my family from being homeless is this job."

  Philip didn't meet her eyes as he spun that sad story. The diamond stud in his right ear, the diamond-studded watch on his wrist, and the Italian leather shoes on his feet would suggest he was nowhere near homeless, but she wasn't sure enough to call him out as a liar. "In that case, I'd very much appreciate a ride home. Thank you, Philip."

  "Thank you, Ms. Mason," he said with a wink. He gave Bri his number and asked her to call when she was ready to leave. As annoyed as she was by Jude demanding she rely on his car service, she couldn't deny she appreciated the convenience of having a car at her disposal. She also couldn't deny the warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge that he worried about her and wanted to take care of her. She hated that her enemy made her feel that way, but she couldn't deny it.

  Shopping had never been Bri's favorite thing to do. Given her choice, she'd much rather play tennis, or watch tennis, or read about tennis, or wax her eyebrows. Really, she'd rather do just about anything other than shop. And she'd already done more shopping in one day than she'd previously done in six months.

  Unfortunately, she couldn't show up at work in what she'd been wearing. It took her fifteen minutes just to find a section of a store that might have the right clothes and then it took her two hours to find two outfits that looked even remotely like what Raymond had helped her find. By the time she made it back outside, she was ready to get back to Isla's, have a drink or three, and pass out.

  "Good shopping?" Philip asked as he opened her door. He raised his eyebrow at her one small bag.

  "That's an oxymoron for me," she said as she sank into the seat. "Thank you for picking me up."

  She rubbed her temples and tried to ignore her growling stomach as Philip started the car. "Can I take you anywhere else, Miss Mason?"

  "Just home, please."

  "It's after seven. Are you sure I can't take you somewhere to get some food?"

  She groaned, thinking about her empty refrigerator and her nearly empty wallet. Another night of peanut butter and jelly wasn't much to look forward to. "No. Thank you, Philip. I have food at my apartment."

  "Very good, Ma'am," Philip said as he pulled away from the curb. Bri rested her head on the seat and sighed. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep as the car rumbled toward the freeway.

  She woke when the car stopped and her door swung open. She sat up, ready to grab her bag and get out, but Jude slid in next to her, his large body filling the car and taking all the air out of it.

  The door shut and Jude faced straight ahead, as though Bri wasn't there. Had Philip forgotten Bri was in the car?

  "Hello, Mr. Cassidy," she said, hating how husky her voice sounded. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  He turned to her and his smirk was downright devilish. "You have a dinner meeting with me every night this week. Have you forgotten?" How was it possible to make such a utilitarian statement sound so dirty?

  Her cheeks heated and she wished for some sort of anti-blush cream so that she could appear as calm and collected and unaffected as Jude did. "It's late," she said. "I should get home."

  The car stopped again, and the door opened. Jude stepped out and offered his hand. "Will you join me? Or would you prefer to sit in the car all night?"

  It only took a glance out the window to see they were on Isla's street, outside her building. Bri crossed her fingers that Jude would get back in the car after he'd helped her out. She ignored his hand, slid across the seat and stepped out onto the street next to him.

  "I will call you when Miss Mason and I are ready to leave," Jude said to Philip.

  Bri stopped on the sidewalk as Philip got into the car. "Wait. What's going on? Why aren't you going with him?"

  Jude huffed as though she'd asked him to clean the sidewalk with his tongue. She blushed again. She really needed to stop thinking about his tongue. "I'm going to take you out, but I'm sure you'd like to change first."

  She popped her hands on her hips, the shopping bag over one elbow making her stance somewhat less intimidating than she'd have liked. "It's late and I'm tired. If you'd like to come upstairs with me, I'm sure we can discuss business in less time than the dinner would take."

  His expression softened as he studied her. She must look like shit, exhausted and frazzled, her new haircut not enough to fix either. "Let me take you out, Brianne. You haven't been paid yet and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich doesn't count as dinner."

  She gasped. "Raymond tattled on me?"

  His lips wobbled, but he didn't give into a smile, which was the right choice for his continued survival. "He's concerned about you, Brianne. As am I. You can't do a good job as my assistant if you're weak from hunger."

  She rolled her eyes, finding it nearly impossible to stay mad at him. "I'm fine, Jude. I have plenty of food. It might not be gourmet, but it's enough to ensure I won't die of starvation."

  He took three steps toward her, until she was warmed by his body heat. She wanted to back up. She needed to back up, but she refused to let him think he intimidated her. He lowered his head until his lips were a millimeter from hers, breathing in her exhalations. She closed her eyes and her body tightened like a tuning fork.

  "If you'd gotten the job as a cocktail server, you'd have been given a free meal every day. I'm merely ensuring you have no room to argue that I shortchanged you in any way by hiring you as my temporary assistant."

  Her eyes popped open, only to see him stepping into the building and striding toward the elevator, ridiculous smirk in place. She huffed and turned, choosing to take the stairs rather than share an elevator with him. His laughter followed her up the stairwell. He was the worst. Feeding her like it was part of her employee package. But he was also the best, because he'd found out she hadn't eaten, and he'd cared enough to stop what he was doing and join her for dinner. He was the worst because she was already starting to get used to his face and the warmth of his body, to miss it while she climbed the stairs and wondered what might have happened if she'd stepped onto that elevator. He was the best, because her stomach ached with hunger and he'd promised to feed her. And he was the worst because . . . She could quickly become attached to him in ways that went beyond the physical.

  She saw the door to Isla's apartment wide open as soon as she stepped into the hallway. Jude had a key? That was a situation that needed rectifying. Immediately.

  Bri stormed into the apartment, ready to remind him of her right to privacy, and stopped just inside, because her friend's tiny
apartment had been taken over by garment bags and shoe boxes. The boxes and bags all bore the name of the boutique she and Raymond had visited and took up most of the kitchen. Yet Jude, seated on the bed, hands behind him to support his weight as he leaned back, seemed to take up the whole place. She closed the door behind her and pulled in a deep breath.

  "You can't do this, Jude. You can't just bulldoze your way into my personal space or into my private life." She held out a hand. "Please give me the key."

  Jude stood. "Isla gave me this key for emergencies. I'm keeping it, but if you don't want me to use it while you're here, I won't."

  "Thank you," she said, a bit surprised by how easily that had gone. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I've got my own clothes."

  He glanced at the bag in her hand and smirked. "I'm not sure whatever you bought from the mall truly qualifies as clothes."

  And she got annoyed all over again. "They're perfectly fine for the majority of the population who aren't billionaires, Jude. I'm sorry if they don't rise to your standards, but you should be more concerned about how I do my job than about how I look doing my job."

  His smirk tightened to a frown. "Appearances matter, Brianne, especially in Vegas. I need you to look like you work for a top-tier casino owner, not a two-bit pawn shop."

  Annoyed? Nope. She was gearing up to code red level mad. "Right. You built a business on my brother's idea, got rich, and now you're better than me? You keep talking about my clothes, but why don't you just admit that I'm not good enough for you, Jude? Why don't you just admit that you regret ever sinking so low as to kiss me, as to make promises to me you never had any intention of keeping."

  "Promises?" he asked, confused. At least his angry glare had receded.