Bad Billionaires Box Set

by Elise Faber

  Clay packed up his things and was on his plane on the tarmac of the Berlin-Tegel Airport within an hour.

  He didn’t see Heather before he left, and that was a good thing because he had a snowball’s chance in hell of explaining the fucking catastrophe that had occurred in her hotel room.

  I was responsible for my family’s death. Super smooth.

  I’ve been obsessed with making sure doors are locked since I left ours open when I was eight. Ridiculous, actions, woe-is-me attitude.

  My sister, my brother, my mother, my father died because of me.

  The truth.

  The horrible, gut-churning truth.

  It had been his fault.

  “We’re cleared for departure, Mr. Steele,” the flight attendant said. “Can I get you another drink before we strap in?”

  “No. Thanks, Julian,” he said, despite the fact that his glass of whiskey was empty. He allowed himself one day a year to numb the memories. One day to pretend his life wasn’t—

  This.

  “Fuck,” he said between gritted teeth as he leaned back in his seat, ready to force himself to catch a few hours of sleep before he pulled out his laptop and got to work. Now that the Pierce deal was off the table, he needed to figure out his next step.

  He could spend some time reconsidering the contract with the military, but he didn’t necessarily want to be tied up with NDAs and non-compete clauses.

  Even if the money was good.

  The plane began to move, speeding along the tarmac and lifting into the air.

  Maybe he would take a second look at the start-up based out of Sacramento. It was close to his headquarters in San Francisco and had shown a lot of promise.

  Clay let his eyes slide closed and kept running through his list of potential projects as the plane leveled out and his mind, now focused on reports and data and numbers, drifted off into peaceful blackness.

  The peace didn’t last as long as he would have hoped.

  Mainly because Clay’s laptop was back in Heather’s hotel room, so he couldn’t use work to distract himself once he’d woken.

  He turned on his phone, wanting to text her.

  Except, he didn’t have a clue what he should say. Hey, let’s just ignore my meltdown and oh, by the way, can you snag my laptop for me? Maybe overnight it? Or bring it back to the States for me?

  Fuck that. He’d just buy a new one. He was nearly a billionaire, could afford to burn through some of that capital.

  Yup. That was his plan.

  Plus, his work was constantly backed up onto a secure server, so that wouldn’t be an issue. He’d get back to San Francisco, have Sebastian pick him up a new computer, and he’d forget everything about Vegas and Berlin.

  Done.

  Even better, he’d have Sebastian buy him one now, so it was ready and waiting when he got home.

  He opened his messages, began typing one out to his assistant.

  Two words in, his phone buzzed. The little banner at the top showing the message was from Heather.

  A photo.

  Clay’s mood brightened a little, his imagination running wild with the potential picture she might have sent.

  Of course, he realized he was an idiot three seconds later when he actually opened the message and saw the photograph.

  Not naked. Not sexy.

  A picture of their files—neatly stacked, though still very wrinkled—along with a promise to return his share to him when she finished her trip.

  He should have known better, because putting herself at risk was definitely not Heather’s M.O. And parading that type of picture of herself across the beast that was the Internet and cell service was a risky thing to do.

  Heather wasn’t a risk taker.

  Except, his mind rebelled, she had married him at some point during a drunken one-night stand. But then again, he’d taken that same plunge, and he was pretty much the biggest stick-in-the-mud around.

  His phone buzzed again, drawing his focus back to the important things at hand.

  Literally. In his hand.

  His mouth twitched, thinking Heather would have appreciated the pun.

  It would have been accompanied by a roll of her eyes, of course, but the pale blue would have been laced with amusement, her lips would have quirked into a smile, lush and kissable.

  He actually laughed out loud when he studied Heather’s next picture, drawing Julian’s focus.

  Clay raised a hand, letting the attendant know he could keep reading his book then returned his gaze to the photo. His laptop was “restrained” with a pair of . . . panty hose? Eyes had been drawn on two Post-It notes that were now stuck to the cover and a curling iron was aimed threateningly at the charging port. A ransom note had been propped up in one corner of the frame, Return the license or else. MY LAWYER.

  He snorted, couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried.

  It was just so ridiculous.

  It was just perfect.

  He sent a gif, a child shaking his head firmly in the negative. Then added, No. MY lawyer.

  Three dots appeared mere seconds after his text went through, and another picture popped up only moments after that.

  More laughter bubbled up in his chest.

  One manicured hand held his trussed laptop over a trashcan.

  You drive a hard bargain, he wrote. But no.

  A picture of a broken fingernail. Your files ruined my manicure. You owe me. MY LAWYER

  I believe they were our files, he replied. And no, MY lawyer.

  A buzz. You’re not funny.

  But you are, he typed.

  If you add ‘funny looking’ to that statement, I might just stab you.

  He sent another gif, this time of a creepy-looking serial killer. Now, you’ve gone and tempted me.

  She shot back a gif of a woman peering between two bushes. I’m watching you.

  Clay chuckled as another text came through.

  But seriously, I can ship your laptop home. Or I can just bring it when I return in two days.

  Will you personally deliver it? he texted, adding a gif of waggling eyebrows.

  A gif back, this time a comedian mouthing the word “Nope.”

  He countered that with puppy dog eyes.

  Doesn’t work on the woman with the heart of steel.

  Heart of Steele, he thought before shaking his head at the romantic, idiotic pun. Then he typed, Your heart isn’t hard, Heather.

  And . . . nothing. She didn’t reply. Not for a full two minutes. Two minutes that somehow became the longest two minutes of his life, but then he saw the dot-dot-dot flicker to life below his last text, settling the unease in his gut.

  This thing between them wasn’t over.

  Just so you know, I’m not going to ask any questions about this morning. Another pause, another buzz. Except—

  His breath caught.

  Except ask if are you’re okay.

  He stared at those six words, and for the first time since his family had been taken from him, answered truthfully.

  I’m working on it.

  Her words appeared a heartbeat later and somehow, they managed to make things a little better, to ease the weight of the baggage he carried on his soul just slightly, just enough that he could breathe a bit easier.

  Fair enough.

  She’d made it easy, even without knowing the demons he was battling, giving him permission to grieve, telling him it was okay that he was flawed and imperfect.

  Telling him that someday everything might just be perfectly fine.

  Also, she wrote, I sent you something, so check your email. For now, I’m off to a meeting. See you in San Francisco.

  That sounds like it should be a Sinatra song.

  True. A beat. Bye, Clay.

  Bye, sweetheart.

  Not. Your. Sweetheart.

  Clay drifted along at thirty thousand feet, wearing a smile he’d thought impossible just hours before, his heart lighter for the first time in ages.

/>   He thought he just might keep Heather O’Keith.

  Especially when he opened his email and saw what she’d sent him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Heather

  Heather grinned at the thought of Clay opening his email to find the steamy romance novel she’d gifted him.

  The book was one of her favorites—both hysterical and hot as hell—and she hoped he’d actually read it. The man could use an excuse to laugh.

  She knew that because she’d spent the hour after her shower researching.

  And not the Pierce files, which Rachel was organizing, but finding out every bit of information she could about Clay, Steele Technologies, and his life growing up. She probably should have begun the search months ago, when he’d come blazing into the picture, all sex appeal and disruption to her normal business ventures. But she’d been swamped since she’d taken over RoboTech from her brother Jordan.

  Excuses, she knew.

  Because really, she’d been running.

  Avoiding.

  Losing herself in work because it was a hell of a lot easier than risking her heart.

  And her heart had liked Clay from the moment she’d first seen him all broody and self-assured at a conference. His words and demeanor had been like ice upon introduction, but somehow, he’d managed to drum up enough charm to steal her client from her.

  Her body had liked the way he looked. Her brain had been alternately furious and intrigued.

  No one bested her.

  But Clay had.

  And that made it easier for her to compartmentalize him. To shove him far, far away from her tender insides.

  Tender insides?

  Holy balls of Batman, she was losing it. Ab-so-lute-ly losing her mind.

  The bottom line was Clay made her feel vulnerable. It was as simple as that.

  And if there was one thing Heather O’Keith couldn’t stand, it was feeling vulnerable.

  Dammit. She almost wished she could say the reason she avoided men and sex was because she’d been burned badly. It would be so much easier to lament a broken heart or trash a shitty boyfriend who’d dumped her via a Post-It, a la Sex in the City.

  But she didn’t have a Post-It breakup or a broken heart sob story.

  She was just really, really good at keeping people at a distance.

  Plus, parents, man, they seriously fucked people up.

  Still, feelings aside, the Internet was a vast place, and there was plenty of information about Clay and Steele Technologies exploding into the market as they’d made one good business decision after another. Then there were the typical top ten hottest bachelor lists from Page Six and similar, and shots of Clay with a parade of gorgeous women on his arm at various events.

  Everything was exactly as expected.

  Until she stumbled upon an old newspaper article from more than twenty years before and everything, suddenly, became crystal clear.

  Heather knew she should close the page. Not only was it a horrible invasion of Clay’s privacy—one that he hadn’t wanted to share—she’d just been texting him an hour before promising to not ask any questions. Now she was reading a graphic article describing how his entire family had been murdered before his eight-year-old eyes.

  A home invasion.

  Failed security measures—someone had left the front door unlocked, and the perpetrators had walked right in.

  Clay was the only survivor.

  Her heart broke for him, for the scared little boy. She sniffed and dashed away a tear, knowing that crying on Clay’s behalf was a useless gesture at this point. The horrific deed was done, the pain already caused.

  There was no going back.

  But she still hurt for him.

  And that was Heather’s deepest darkest secret, the soft spot she hid from the world.

  She cared.

  About all the things.

  Sometimes it was just easier to pretend she didn’t.

  Her phone buzzed, and she answered, assuming it was Rachel calling to say the car was ready. “Yo, what up?”

  “Hey, sis.” Jordan’s voice was amused. “Is that how you answer all those important business calls?”

  She rolled her eyes. “So says the man who escapes to the beach anytime he wants.”

  Jordan scoffed. “Not since you commandeered my plane.”

  The familiar argument had Heather grinning. “It’s the company’s plane, remember?”

  “Details. Details,” he said, and she could picture him waving his hand through the air.

  “So, what’s on fire?” she asked.

  Confusion filled Jordan’s tone. “Huh?”

  “You usually call me with a crisis.” She closed her laptop then pressed the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could stow it in her tote bag.

  “Lies,” Jordan replied. “Plus, I can handle my own crises. And anyway, can’t I just call my sister to say hi?”

  Heather plunked onto the edge of the bed. “Well, I guess you can.”

  “Fuck.” All teasing drained out of Jordan’s voice. “I’ve been a really shitty brother, haven’t I?”

  “What?” she asked. “That’s not what I meant at all, Jordan. It’s just that—”

  “I only call you when I have a problem? Shit, I’m sorry. I know I suck.”

  “Jor, bud. It’s not that.” She gripped the phone tightly, hating that she’d let her mouth run and now he was feeling guilty. “You’ve had a hell of a couple of years. I shouldn’t have assumed that—”

  “I’d have my head up my ass?”

  And the tension broke.

  Heather felt her lips tug up. “Maybe. Or maybe not?” They both laughed. “Head-ass position aside, how’s Abby?”

  “Working too hard. Loving being a mom of three.”

  Heather lay back, crossing her ankles so they hung off the end of the bed. “That sounds like her.”

  “She misses you, and Hunter is requesting an Auntie day when you’re back in town.”

  “Done.”

  “So.” The two letters were serious.

  She closed her eyes, so tired from the previous night that she could have fallen asleep right then and there. “So what?”

  “Are you okay?”

  Her lids flew open. “I’m fine. Why?”

  He coughed, and she pictured him running his hand through his hair, mussing the blond locks. He did that when he was stressed or uncomfortable, and she always had to resist straightening the mess he’d made of his ‘do. But it was one of those quintessentially Jordan things that made him so damned endearing.

  A giant teddy bear had nothing on him.

  “Well,” he said, “it’s probably stupid, but I just had the feeling that I needed to call you because you . . . never mind. It definitely is stupid.”

  “No.” She sat up. “What is it?”

  “Well—” He sighed. “It’s just . . . Abby was up all night with Carter yesterday. He was running a fever and was a total snot monster, and she’s already exhausted from the baby not sleeping. But she was trying to do it all anyway, even slept in his room so he wouldn’t wake me up. And I just thought, Abby’s my wife. She knows I’m here, that I would walk through fire for her, and she is still trying to shoulder it all herself.”

  Tenderness for the big lug swept through her. “Well, knowing you, I’m sure you took a lot of that burden back.”

  “Hunter and I tucked her into bed with new pajamas and free reign over the Netflix account.”

  Heather laughed.

  Jordan did too before growing solemn again. “So anyway, it just occurred to me”—a squawk pierced through her cell’s speaker—“dang, give me a second to grab Carter. I don’t want Abby to get up again.” Rustling filled the airwaves, alternating with Carter’s babbling and Jordan’s soft, “Hi, buddy.”

  A minute later, Jordan came back onto the line. “Okay, he’s good for a bit. Hunter is entertaining him.”

  Heather grinned. “Well, we all know that Hunter is Carter’s
favorite person.”

  “True,” her brother agreed. “And so anyway, my meandering point is that Abby has me and Hunter and Carter, but who do you have? Dad is useless. Your mom is—well, your mom. But more than that, you’re my sister, Heather, and I worry that I’ve been so wrapped up with my own life that you might be feeling—”

  Her pulse thudded in response to the words.

  “I just . . . had this feeling that you might need me, okay?” He blew out a breath. “So now you can tell me I’m crazy.”

  Her heart melted. “Oh, Jor.”

  His laugh was forced. “Stupid, see? You don’t need anyone, Heather. You’re the strongest, most self-sufficient person I’ve ever met.”

  If he only knew her weakness when it came to Clay, when it came to him, to Hunter and Abby and all her friends.

  Strong wasn’t the right word for it.

  Fragile and self-conscious was more like it.

  Had she said the right thing? Or more likely, had she put her foot in her mouth again? Was she a good friend? Was she too cold? Too distant? Of course, she was, she’d spent her whole life perfecting that distance.

  But the worst, the most nagging, dastardly question of all . . .

  Could anyone really, truly love her?

  “Yeah, well, appearances aren’t always what they seem.”

  “Heath,” Jordan said. “What can I do—?”

  “Dad!” Hunter yelled in the background. “Carter pooped!”

  “And that’s my cue,” she said, forced lightness in her tone. “But if you really want to do something for me, you can take me to see the new Captain Marvel movie when it comes out. Abby’s hopeless with superheroes.”

  “Just a second, bud.” Jordan’s voice was muffled before he came back on, talking over a babbling Carter. “Not all superheroes. She really, really likes Thor.”

  Heather made a fake vomiting sound.

  “Regardless,” he said over her, “you’re on for the movie. But Heather?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you do something for me in return?”

  Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and calm settled over her soul. She was good at that, good at accomplishing tasks, at doing something for someone else. “Of course, I can.”

  “Will you just . . . will you pick up the phone when I call?”