Billionaire for Hire (For Hire)

by Cat Johnson

  I noticed she’d been a bit more delicate than I had. She’d managed to keep her jelly and crumbs contained in the napkin while mine splattered the pavement.

  “Don’t mock a man in ecstasy,” I warned.

  “I’m not. It’s just nice to find someone who appreciates a Montauk institution as much as I do. I’m afraid that not one of those women at the party last night would even come near this thing.”

  “Their loss.” I’d choose a woman I could dive into a box of pastries with over one who tried to survive on black coffee any day of the week.

  She took another bite and shot a squirt of red jelly onto her hand, which she quickly licked off before her gaze cut to me and her cheeks flushed. “That was completely crude of me. I’m sorry.”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You can lick jelly in front of me any time.”

  “Thank you. You as well.” She licked her fingers one more time as I enjoyed the sight.

  “I will. Thanks.” I grinned and reached for my coffee cup, which I’d set on the ground when I’d abandoned it in favor of the croissant. “Nothing like Montauk Bake Shop’s hot coffee and jelly croissants.”

  “I would normally agree but I’m not sure it’s worth that line just for the coffee. But I’m a happy girl with the croissant. Thank you.”

  I noticed Alex had carried a stainless steel travel coffee cup with her.

  “Bring that cup over here.” I pulled the plastic top off my own paper to-go cup.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t take your croissant and your coffee too.”

  “Come on. There’s plenty to share. I got a large.” And that was another reason I loved this place. A freaking large coffee was exactly that—a large coffee and I didn’t have to speak in another language just to order it.

  She tipped her head to one side, eyeing the liquid in my cup. “Cream and sugar in there?” she asked.

  “Yup. Both. And plenty of it.” I waited.

  Was she an artificial sweetener and skim milk girl or could we share coffee with all the good old-fashioned decadent additions?

  “Thank God. If you drank it with no sugar, I would have had to say no.” She popped the top off her reusable cup and thrust it forward. “I’d love some.

  I gladly filled it. She’d passed the coffee test with flying colors. I wondered what else we had in common.

  She drew in a long sip and groaned. “That’s good. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re most welcome.” Small talk over pastries and coffee with Alex might be the best date I’d been on in a while, even if this wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a date. I decided to extend our interlude and start a conversation that had to do with more than our food. “So, what did you think of last night’s party?”

  “I think it was a success. The organization brought in a lot of donations.”

  I laughed. “Okay, now take off your organizer’s hat and answer again. Did you enjoy it? Did you speak with anyone interesting?”

  “Besides you, you mean?” She smiled.

  “Besides me.” Though I liked how she was thinking.

  “It was definitely an interesting mix of people. More so than usual thanks to the Russian component in attendance.”

  I raised my gaze and found her watching me.

  What should I say? If I were a normal guest, I shouldn’t know even half as much about the Russians as I did.

  “You’re right.” I nodded. “It was an interesting mix of people.”

  There. That reply was generic enough it shouldn’t tip my hand.

  She cocked a brow high. “It’s okay. You can be honest.”

  I nearly choked. I cut my gaze to her. “Honest about what?”

  “I saw you watching them. I understand. She’s not only gorgeous, she’s a freaking heiress. Hell, I was staring at her too.”

  Relief hit me. She wasn’t talking about my Russian at all. She was referring to the other Russian. Viktoria.

  Calmer now that we weren’t in dangerous territory where I might spill some of Zane’s secrets about Mordashov, I relaxed.

  “Eh, I guess she’s okay, if gorgeous and rich are your type, that is.” I grinned, teasing.

  “Isn’t gorgeous and rich everyone’s type?” she asked.

  I lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. I have more of an affinity for women with jelly on their face.”

  Her eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hand. “Do I?”

  Smiling, I reached out. “Here. Let me.”

  She lowered her hand and I brushed a thumb over the faint red smear. It didn’t come off and I did probably the worst thing one person could do to another, especially someone they barely knew. I licked my thumb then rubbed off the stain.

  Okay, yeah, that felt way too intimate. I leaned back. “Got it.”

  Pink cheeked, she said, “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” I cleared my throat. “So, you heading out today? Unless you live out here—in which case, I’m jealous.”

  She laughed. “I don’t live out here, unfortunately. I’m heading back to the city in a bit. It’s been a nice weekend at the beach but it’s time for Cinderella to get back to reality.”

  “I’m heading back today too.”

  “Manhattan?” she asked.

  “Jersey City, actually. But I’ve got the best view of Manhattan you’ve ever seen from my apartment.”

  “Nice.” She nodded. “You know, if you’re interested, there’s another charity event next weekend. It’s at the New York Center for Independent Publishing on 44th Street. Gorgeous old building. Beautiful architecture. The event is a reading by Billy Collins. He’s hysterical.”

  I nodded. “He is. I’ve seen him perform. Years ago. What day is this event?”

  “Friday night. Eight o’clock performance followed by a reception.”

  “Sounds interesting. Are there tickets still available, do you know?” I asked, more interested in the fact that she’d be there than Billy Collins.

  “I think I’ll be able to squeeze you in.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I know the marketing director of the not-for-profit.”

  Her smile and joke had me guessing, “Would that be you, perchance?”

  “Sadly no. I’m just a volunteer.”

  “Never say just a volunteer. It’s the most important job title a person can hold.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And as for the event, it’s a date.”

  She reacted to the word date. I watched her expression morph from surprise to what I’d like to think was satisfaction.

  She smiled. “It’s a date.”

  Now all I had to do was keep my date with Alex on the down low so I didn’t get a lecture from Zane since she was on my No Date List from him.

  That made going out with her even more enticing.

  Zane should have known better. Breaking the rules was the only thing I liked better than rising to a challenge.

  Silly man.

  EIGHT

  Since she needed to contact me regarding the event, Alex now had my digits and I had hers.

  Looking down at my cell phone, at the contact listing I’d created after she’d typed in her number, I smiled and hit to open a new message window.

  How about I pick you up for the event?

  I took it as a good sign when the bubbles immediately appeared in the text box telling me she was typing back. I had no patience for waiting when I was excited about something, so I was more than happy when her response came back right away.

  In Queens?! Thanks but that’s crazy. I’ll meet you there.

  To say I was disappointed was an understatement. Her elusiveness made me want to pick her up even more.

  I’m fine with crazy. I’ll pick you up.

  I sent her my reply, realizing that being in a relationship with a woman in Queens while I lived in Jersey was going to add a logistical challenge, but again, I loved a good challenge.

  In a relationship. That train of thought made me
pause.

  What did I want from this thing with Alex?

  I thought about it and about her. I could see us together even though I knew next to nothing about her. Not even her last name.

  That had put a damper on any cyber research since I couldn’t even look her up on Instagram if I didn’t have her last name.

  I’d already been through the Hamptons event website and hadn’t found her name on any list of guests or staff.

  That did seem a bit odd since I would have thought they’d at least list the names of all the volunteers, but no Alexandra.

  Since Zane’s assignment had given me a healthy dose of doubt and paranoia about who people were and were not at that event, I might have been suspicious of Alex after not seeing her name listed if I hadn’t seen her there, seated at the check-in table next to one of the event organizers.

  She’d had her hands all over the tickets and the donor checks. They must trust her, so I should be able to trust her as well. If she were pretending to be someone she wasn’t, the organization was in more peril then I was.

  I quickly dismissed any remaining shadow of suspicion and returned to my dilemma—getting to know more about my lovely escort for the evening. I couldn’t learn more about her online, so I’d have to do it the old fashioned way—in person on our date.

  I liked this girl. I didn’t know if she was rich or poor, gainfully employed or not, and I didn’t care.

  That I felt the strongest connection with her while we’d both been covered with jelly proved there was something there between us. Chemistry. Fate. Coincidence. Serendipity.

  I didn’t know what. All I knew was that any woman who knew about the hidden gem that was Montauk Bake Shop, and appreciated it as much as I did, was a person worth getting to know better.

  I’d been more interested in my conversation with Alex sitting on the bench on the sidewalk than I had with any of the party chatter.

  She was the only person I’d really enjoyed speaking with while at an event teeming with the elite of the Hamptons charity party circuit.

  Beauties and billionaires, both international and domestic, had been at that event and not one of them had inspired me to want to see them again except for Alex.

  Even the visit to my family on my way home had shown me I was too far removed from the world of high society now to enjoy it for long.

  Eyeball deep in my publishing companies, with a bit of Zane’s intrigue thrown in, I had next to nothing in common to discuss with my family who was completely wrapped up in Hamptons society. Our lives revolved around completely different things.

  I was interested in speculating about Jeff Bezos’s next acquisition, while they were wondering who was selling or buying which properties. I was waiting for the next industry-changing announcement from Amazon and what it would mean to the state of publishing, and they were chatting about who’d gotten divorced recently.

  It was painfully obvious that trying to be a working-class Hearst, as well as a Hearst trust-fund heir, was a two-sided coin and I was going to have to become adept at balancing both worlds.

  I had a suspicion regarding which world Alex belonged to, even without knowing her last name or anything more about her, and that was fine with me.

  Preferred actually.

  If I was going to start a relationship, I wanted it to be grounded in the real world. I might still end up fodder for gossip, unavoidable given my last name, but I could deal with it with the right woman by my side.

  I leaned back in my chair and realized I’d been making a lot of assumptions here. Alex might not be interested in anything more than getting me and my money to this next fundraiser. But somehow I didn’t think that was true.

  I’d find out either way soon enough. Tonight, probably.

  I heard the text alert and glanced down.

  Stop! I’ll meet you inside the front door at 7:30. I have your ticket.

  She still wasn’t going to let me drive her to the event.

  Maybe there was something wrong with me that I always had to have my way. Perhaps my privileged upbringing was to blame. Whatever the case, I couldn’t let this thing go.

  Leaning forward, I searched online for directions to the venue. Then expanded the map that came up in the search results to include bars and restaurants nearby.

  If I couldn’t convince her to let me pick her up, the least I could do was buy her dinner.

  I grabbed my cell and punched in another text.

  How about we meet for dinner before the show?

  The bubbles appeared again, right after I sent the text, just as I new they would.

  You are persistent, aren’t you?

  I smiled and typed in my reply.

  It’s my best quality.

  As expected, her reply was quick and sharp.

  Not sure I agree but okay. When and where?

  Victorious, I typed in the name and address of the restaurant I’d found online and a time.

  She responded with a short but encouraging K and that was that. Dinner and a show—okay, a fundraising event that included a reading. Close enough to a show to make me believe this was definitely an official date.

  Finally satisfied with the plans for the evening, I secured reservations for us, then got back to work. I had a long list of things to get through today and with the date with Alex on the horizon, no way was I working late tonight.

  NINE

  If I had any doubt about classifying tonight as a date, it was erased the moment Alex walked into the restaurant.

  A woman didn’t look that good for just any old charity event. This was definitely date attire.

  Her red dress had every eye in the place turned toward her when she walked through the door, mine included.

  I’d arrived early and was waiting at the bar.

  The color caught my attention but it was the woman who held it. The fabric clung to her every curve, but it was the whole package rather than the dress itself that made her irresistible.

  My gaze swept down her body, from the swell of her breasts above the plunging neckline, all the way down to the red high heels that gave me all sorts of inappropriate ideas. Maybe I was a sexist pig but I couldn’t help myself.

  Swallowing hard I forced my focus back up to her face and man, she was gorgeous.

  She’d been pretty before, but tonight, with her hair swept up to expose the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, and makeup that made her eyes stand out like beacons beckoning me to move closer, she was breathtaking.

  I’d had the pleasure of spotting her before she saw me so I could fully appreciate her unobserved.

  When I finally got my head on straight, I stood and moved toward her just as she noticed me and smiled.

  That smile brought my attention to her lush lips. I had to fight the urge to kiss them as I leaned in and brushed a chaste kiss to each of her cheeks.

  “Hey. You look great.” That I managed to sound smooth even as I was lusting after her was a testament to the sheer number of dates I’d been on in my life. Pleasantries were second nature at this point.

  “Thank you.” The sexy as sin woman before me managed to look shy, almost embarrassed at the compliment as her gaze dropped away from mine. She finally brought her eyes back up. “So do you.”

  I liked the glimpse of the uncertain girl I’d gotten to know on that bench over jelly croissants.

  “This old thing?” I smiled and frowned down at the suit I’d had custom made in Milan last time I was there. It cost more than I used to pay in rent on my Manhattan apartment before I moved—and that was no small sum.

  She rolled her eyes at my corny joke, and I didn’t blame her one bit.

  “The table will be ready in a few minutes. What can I get you to drink?” I set my hand on her elbow to steer her toward the spot where I’d left my drink on the bar.

  “Um. I’m not sure.” She hesitated. “A glass of white wine maybe?”

  “White wine, it is.” I flagged down the server and ordered as she slid on
to a barstool and laid her small purse on the bar.

  Her gaze quickly swept the space, taking in everything. The bar patrons. The staff. The diners in the adjoining space. Even the back exit.

  When her gaze finally landed again on me, she smiled and broke eye contact once more, looking shy that I’d been watching her.

  I found the dichotomy within her intriguing. Not just tonight but since I’d first met her at the Hamptons fundraiser.

  I remembered how she’d been organized and efficient, juggling the uber-rich and their money at the check in desk all while keeping the event chairs happy.

  And tonight she was all cool sophistication in dress and appearance, head held high as she strutted through the front door and spoke with the hostess . . . until she saw me.

  Then, through the cracks, slipped out the shy, indecisive part of her. She’d gone from a sharp smart woman to one who grew uncomfortable at receiving a compliment and couldn’t decide if she wanted a drink or not.

  Was it me? Did I make her nervous? And if so, why?

  Maybe it was because she liked me. I enjoyed that idea—probably too much. Not because I wanted to make Alex uncomfortable, but because I loved the idea that she might be attracted to me.

  The way she looked tonight, combined with the way I felt—we’d be combustible if she wanted me even half as much as I wanted her.

  The server delivered the wine and Alex reached out and took one tentative sip. She caught me staring at her and put down the glass, fidgeting on her stool.

  Shit. I needed to take it down a notch. She was the first woman I’d been interested in—I mean really interested in—in a long time. The last thing I wanted to do was send her running.

  If it meant I had to tone down my usual level of first date charm, I would.

  I sipped at my beer—a local craft brew—and considered how to play this. Cool indifference? Professional?

  Fuck it. I couldn’t help myself. I said, “You really do look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  As expected, the compliment meant I’d sacrificed eye contact with her as her focus skittered away again.

  Time to bring her back to me . . . I changed the subject to something she’d be more comfortable with.