Accidental Triplets - A Secret Babies for the Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 4)

by Layla Valentine

  “Wow,” I said, taking the tablet and scrolling down the page. “These gossip mongers work fast.”

  “You have no idea,” said Travis. “That went up less than ten minutes after the picture was taken.”

  I closed the flap of the tablet case and tossed the thing onto the table with no small amount of disgust.

  “These people need to get real jobs.”

  “Those are real jobs,” said Travis. “And they make good money pushing this stuff.”

  “The less I know about it, the better.”

  Travis shook his head again, seeming to suggest that he felt like I just didn't get it.

  “My point is that they're already talking about you two as an item. And the talk is reaching a boiling point. If nothing ends up happening, then the gossipers will get bored and move onto something else.”

  “Which is what I want.”

  “No, it's not. If you and Nina did come out as a couple, however, it'd be more than striking while the iron was hot; it'd be like striking while the iron was, like…in the middle of the sun or something.”

  “Seems like it'd be hard to strike an iron in the middle of the sun.”

  “You get what I'm saying. I mean, I'm getting tingles thinking about the effect a relationship between you two would have on your sales. It'd make this joint line of yours the top-selling line of the year, easy. And it'd even translate into whatever you end up putting out under just your name later in the year.”

  “I don't know,” I said. “Just seems cynical. Manipulative.”

  “It's just playing the game,” said Travis. “And it's not like you have to marry her or anything. Just get a few shots of you two holding hands, maybe giving her a peck in front of some trendy restaurant downtown. Hell, maybe a shot of you two on a beach in southern France or something. Then, in a couple of months, you two can split, and that'll be that.”

  I took a drink, considering his words.

  “I knew I hired you to think differently than I do,” I said. “But I guess I didn't know just what I was getting into.”

  “It's what I'm here for,” he said with another smile.

  “This is a lot to process,” I said, standing up. “Let me think it over.”

  “Think it over all you like,” said Travis. “But all you're going to realize is just how right I am.”

  “For my sake, I hope you're as wrong as it gets.”

  “I won't be, but you're welcome to hope,” he said, flashing another smirk. “Oh, one more thing—we're narrowing things down for the charity line competition.”

  “Very nice,” I said, pleased to hear this. “How many are we down to?”

  “Ten,” said Travis. “Want to take a look?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Send me the finalists.”

  “As always,” said Travis, reaching into his bag, “I'm one step ahead of you.”

  He pulled out another, smaller tablet and placed it on the table.

  “Password is ilovetravis—all one word, lowercase.”

  “Cute.”

  “It's got all the information on there with the last ten contestants. And I don't want to rush you, but we should make a decision soon. The publicist from the charity's been breathing down my neck about being able to get started on all this.”

  I took the tablet and slipped it into my suit jacket pocket.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need another drink.”

  Chapter 4

  Rhys

  I weaved through the crowd, eager to put as much distance as possible between me and the conversation I'd just had with Travis. Thinking about dating Nina, if even just as a ruse, was too much for me to deal with at the moment. Reporters tried to flag me down in the hallway leading to the main entry room of the convention center, and I did my best to give them as little as possible on my way to the bar—the place where I really wanted to be at that moment.

  “Mr. Cole!” shouted a petite, pretty brunette in a very, very tight dress, a tablet in her hand.

  I clenched my jaw just a bit. I wanted to be on my way, but it wouldn't look good to blast past every reporter asking for a word—Travis was right in that sense.

  I stopped, and a beaming smile formed on the girl's face as she realized that she was going to have a few minutes to chat with me.

  “Hi. Hi!” she said, shooting out her immaculately manicured hand. “I'm Kelsey Shannon with Fashion Fiend. How are you, Mr. Cole?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “You mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “It's why I stopped.”

  Her beaming smile dropped for a split second before shooting back up.

  “Um, anyway, your show tonight was awesome; people are already raving about it. How do you feel about how everything went tonight?”

  “Ah, I'm very pleased. I have a very professional crew, and they know how to put on a good show.”

  “I see,” she said.

  I got the impression that she was hoping for something a little more…vivacious.

  “And Nina Wauters,” she went on, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her name. “What was it like working with her? What sort of influence did her personality have on the line?”

  “Well, Kelsey,” I started. “Nina did bring a certain…panache to my work. At first, I was a little hesitant to establish a partnership, but she quickly proved herself a wonderful asset.”

  Kelsey's eyes narrowed, like I'd just thrown out a tasty morsel for her to chew on.

  “You were hesitant at first? Why is that?”

  I winced internally, realizing what I'd done.

  “We have different styles,” I said, brushing past any matters of personality conflicts. “But in the end, we were able to come up with something that took the best of both of our personal aesthetics, without having to compromise too much. I'm more than happy with how things turned out.”

  A small bit of disappointment played on her features. She was clearly hoping for a little more gossip. Then, she apparently decided to throw all pretenses aside and to just go for it.

  “And what do you have to say about the rumors that you and Nina are an item?”

  I made my tone as stern and clear as I could.

  “They're just rumors.”

  Her eyes went wide for a moment, and that was that.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  Kelsey looked away for a moment before turning off her tablet and tucking it under her arm.

  “What I would really, really love,” she said, inching a bit closer to me, “would be to have a little more of a…private interview.”

  “Is that so?” I asked.

  Her eyes narrowed seductively, and she placed her manicured hand on my forearm.

  “Something a little more…exclusive.”

  I’d predicted that it would only be a matter of time before this particular reporter put the moves on. I looked her over, taking in her attractive figure, her face that was beautiful enough to be on the runway, but the idea of casual sex just didn't appeal to me anymore. It had had its appeal when I was in my twenties, but now, it just bored me.

  “I'll have to pass,” I said. “If you have any more questions, feel free to send them to my assistant. Thank you, Kelsey.”

  I turned in just enough time to see the beginning of a very disappointed expression on her face. I soon reached the bar and slid into the corner stool, flagging down the bartender as I did.

  “Good evening, Mr. Cole,” said the bartender. “Congratulations on the show tonight. What can I get you?”

  “Something stiff.”

  “Got it.”

  My reputation as a whiskey drinker seemed to precede me wherever I went. The bartender placed a glass of something amber-colored and delicious in front of me and, glass in hand, I turned around at the bar and took in the scene.

  To my left was a pair of models from the show, both now dressed in their evening wear. Once they saw that I was next to them, they turned their eyes
towards me, both of them flashing me the same hungry, sexual glance that Kelsey had only moments ago. But I only gave them the most polite and disinterested of smiles before turning my attention to the rest of the bar.

  I watched as eyes locked onto me, all around the room. But unlike with Nina, who was surrounded by eager fans, my reputation as someone who didn't have much to say to the press worked in my favor. With any luck, I'd be able to enjoy my drink in peace, only having to field a handful of obligatory interviews, before going back home to get started on the next phase of my work.

  Travis's words lingered in my mind as I watched Nina work the crowd. Was he right? Did I really need to spend less time focusing on my craft and my business, and more time focusing on publicity? I couldn't imagine why that would be. After all, I had a well-paid staff in charge of that very thing.

  But as I watched Nina flit from group to group, chatting eagerly and sitting patiently for any selfie that was requested of her, I couldn't help but wonder if there was something to what Travis had to say. This was a joint enterprise between her and me, after all—a working relationship. And didn't all good relationships involve couples who complemented one another, whose strengths matched the other's faults, and vice-versa?

  Sipping my drink, I imagined vacationing with Nina, strutting around on some beach in southern France, pretending that I was annoyed by the paparazzi but secretly knowing that I was playing them, getting what I wanted without them even realizing. The thought appealed to some Machiavellian part of me, and I couldn't help but feel a slight smile form on my lips.

  And then there was the matter of the charity line. I was taking a chance putting out a cruelty-free-focused line, but it was something I believed in. I knew there was a chance it might not have the same mainstream appeal as my normal work, but it was a risk I'd been more than willing to take. Still, a little strategic publicity might not hurt. A little gossip about Nina and I could be just the thing to give the new line the boost it needed.

  That, and the perfect designer.

  I slipped the tablet out of my suit jacket pocket and typed in the password Travis had given me, shaking my head as I did. On the main screen was a PDF file with a list of the final ten rookie designers. I started from the top and worked my way down the submitted designs.

  They were good. But mostly just…good. Going down the list, I spotted more than a few designs that indicated serious talent and potential, but none of them seemed quite right for the project—none of them seemed have the “It” factor I was looking for. After all, whoever I chose was going to be working at my side for the next few months, and I wanted to be certain that whoever I chose was going to be worthy of the resources that I'd be placing at their disposal.

  After a time, I reached the bottom of the list. I was a little discouraged by this point—I'd trusted my staff to narrow the list down to the best of the best, and so far, not a one had caught my eye.

  Feeling more than a little disappointed, I tapped onto the final applicant: a girl by the name of Cassidy May.

  My eyes went wide as I looked over her work. It was impressive. The designs were classy and elegant, but not old-fashioned or stuffy. They were cutting-edge, but not too avant-garde—the types of clothing a woman could wear and feel hip and sexy in without feeling as though she was making too much of a statement. My eyes lingered on the evening gown, a strapless number with a long, seductive slit up the side. In my mind's eye, I could picture one of my models wearing the outfit, sauntering down the catwalk.

  I scanned her personal information. Cassidy was native to Oregon and a graduate of the San Bravado Institute of Design. That meant she knew the city; I wouldn't need to allow time for her to acclimate like I would if I were to pull some fresh-out-of-college girl here from the Midwest.

  At the same time, she didn't have much work to her name. Her portfolio was impressive, sure, but she hadn't done more than show a few pieces here and there. This pleased me. Here, I had the raw talent that had somehow slipped under the radar—just what I was looking for.

  I didn't need to take any more time to think the matter over. My gut had made a decision, and I'd gotten far enough in my line of work to know that when your gut makes a call, you listen.

  Taking my phone out of my pocket, I dialed up Travis.

  “Travis,” I said. “I had a look over the designers you gave me. I think we have a winner.”

  Chapter 5

  Cassidy

  “…and that's when he asked if I wanted to go to Paris!”

  “Are you effing serious?”

  “Yep! I mean, it's all so sudden, kind of, but he has a work event there and there's a plus-one, so he figured it was meant to be!”

  “And you two are gonna fly to Paris, just like that?”

  “I mean, the date went so well, it just seems right.”

  “I'm so envious that I kind of want to scream.”

  “I wouldn't blame you if you did.”

  It was three days after the Cole X Wauters show, and I was on the phone to Erin, eagerly taking in the details of her date with Ryan. Though, from how she told it, the date sounded more like a weekend-long love-in. Their dinner together had turned to cocktails, which turned to dessert, which turned to…a different kind of dessert. Evidently, the crush that Erin had for Ryan was more than mutual; all it took was one date for the volcano to blow. And “blow” it did.

  I was more than eager to take it all in second-hand. My own dating life was a total wasteland, so hearing about the romantic exploits of my friends was about as close as I got these days.

  “Anyway, enough about me,” said Erin. “How was the show?”

  “It was totally amazing,” I said, pacing back and forth across the floor of my tiny apartment. “Cole and Wauters were there, and the clothes were just awesome. I'd kill to work for either one of them.”

  “And was Mr. Cole looking just as hot as ever?”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “He was like a god standing up there. He's so gorgeous, it's like he's not even real.”

  “And he was there after the show? Why didn't you make a move?”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, my tone one of total disbelief. “You're asking why I didn't just waltz up to a billionaire fashion king and ask him if he wanted to have a drink?”

  “Why not? Worst you can get is a ‘no.' And besides, you're a total babe. He'd be an idiot to turn you down.”

  “You're nice,” I said. “Way too nice. I bet a guy like Rhys Cole has his own person harem of models. He probably just goes backstage and is like, ‘hmm, that one, that one, and…why the hell not—that one too.’ And they just follow him off, tittering or something.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Erin. “I doubt that's true. He's probably surrounded by divas all day and would kill to have a conversation with a girl like you who doesn't have her head up her ass.”

  “Or he'd think I was so boring that he'd send for his bodyguards to take me away. Besides, I didn't do any of that. Once the show was over, I had a drink and pretty much fled the scene. There were so many rich people and models and celebrities there that I felt like I might get found out as a commoner at any second.”

  “You're so down on yourself!” said Erin. “I think you need a little dose of irrational self-confidence—you're gonna need it if you're going to make a name for yourself in the fashion scene.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “But then again,” Erin added, “I hear that Cole and that Wauters chick are, like, an item or something.”

  “Nina Wauters?” I asked, disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

  “I mean, it's just gossip blog stuff, but that's what the talk is.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “They're both fashion royalty—a match made in heaven.”

  “Any word back from them about your entry into that contest?”

  “Nope, not a word,” I said. “Guess I didn't make the cut.”

  “You never know…”

  Just then, a beep sounded from
my phone. It was an incoming call from a number I didn't have in my contacts.

  “Um, I'm getting a call in,” I said. “Unlisted number.”

  “Just let it go to voicemail,” Erin said. “If it's important, they'll call back.”

  “I can't,” I said. “Might be one of the new girls at work. I'll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, fine,” said Erin. “Later!”

  I said my goodbyes and switched over to the other call. Erin was right—it probably wasn't worth answering. But I had a strange feeling that I should take it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi!” came the chipper, male voice on the other end of the line. “Is this Cassidy May?”

  “It is. May I ask who's calling?”

  “My name's Travis Wise. I'm with Cole Apparel. I'm Mr. Cole's personal assistant.”

  My heart felt like it came to a sharp and immediate stop.

  At my surely awkward silence, he asked, “How are you today?”

  “Good…” I said, frozen in place.

  “Wonderful,” he said. “I'm calling to inform you that Mr. Cole and his closest staff have finished looking over the finalists for the Cole Apparel design competition, and, well, you made the cut.”

  It took all of the self-control I had not to drop the phone and pass out, right then and there.

  “You mean I'm in the running? Like, it's me and a few other people?”

  “No, I mean it's you—you're the winner.”

  Now, I officially was speechless.

  “Mr. Cole personally looked over your work,” Travis continued, seemingly picking up on the fact that I was simply unable to speak. “And he was very, very impressed. We were going to take the rest of the week to review the finalists, but once he saw yours, he said that he didn't need to—you were the one.”

  A sudden flash of realization came over me.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “This is a joke, right? This is some of the girls at work playing a prank or something. I get it, very funny.”