The Brave Billionaire (Clean Billionaire Beach Club Romance Book 11)

by Elana Johnson

  She shook her head, smiling all the while. “She grilled it? Like a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you this…but…I don’t like bologna.”

  Lawrence blinked at her, feigning absolute horror. “Well, I’m sure it’s because you’ve been eating it wrong.”

  “Eating it wrong?” She sent a laugh heavenward. “What does that even mean?”

  He didn’t know, and he laughed too, happier than he’d ever been when he rolled onto his back and let his laughter into the sky. And when Maizee collapsed next to him and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, Lawrence wondered how he’d ever survived a Sunday without her mouth on his.

  Eleven

  After the most perfect weekend, with the most perfect boyfriend, Maizee showed up at the bank. Again. It was almost like a dark cloud had descended on her as she drove from her place to Gladstone Financial, Getaway Bay Branch. While the front doors faced the beach, there was no salty spray to be felt, and no breeze to keep her cool.

  Just the tellers. The desks. Her glassed-in office where she was supposed to pretend like she was busy.

  She thought about another type of glassed-in object—the submarine that went around Lanai and showed people the underwater life up close and personal. She’d told Lawrence she wanted to be a tour guide for an operation like that, and she wondered if Getaway Bay had anything similar.

  Surely they must, she thought to herself as she sat at her desk and woke her computer. The Getaway Bay tourism industry had to be two or three times as big as Lanai’s, and surely there was something she could do where she wouldn’t have to stare at a screen and analyze numbers all day.

  She simply hadn’t realized that she didn’t want to stare at a screen and analyze numbers all day. She wished she’d have known that when Winn had broken up with her. Then she could still be on Lanai with her family, maybe with the glass submarine job….

  But then you wouldn’t have met Lawrence, a voice in her head said, and of course it was right. If she hadn’t left Lanai and her family, she’d probably still be wearing sweats at night, eating her way through pints of Ben & Jerry’s like they were going out of business and she was going to single-handedly save them.

  Lawrence waved to her as he reached the stairs, and she lifted her hand in return. Then she dropped it quickly and glanced around the bank like she’d done a terrible deed. By the time she looked back to the stairs, Lawrence had gone up.

  She’d never been in his office, and sudden curiosity burned through her like a flame. Could she invent a reason she needed to go up there and speak to him? Who would even ask?

  “This is Maizee Phelps,” Polly, another woman who worked at the bank, said. “She can help you with the loan application.” She flashed a smile in Maizee’s direction and left a couple standing in the doorway of Maizee’s office.

  She shoved aside her thoughts about Lawrence and jumped to her feet. “Welcome to Gladstone Financial,” she said. “Come in and sit down.” She grabbed another chair from the back of the room and pushed it close to the one already positioned at her desk.

  After closing the door, she rounded her desk and sat down too. “Tell me your names.” She smiled like she was most delighted to meet them, and after a few minutes of chit-chatting about Hawaii and the weather and how lucky they were that Tropical Storm Flo had decided to turn, she said, “So, tell me what you’re looking for in terms of a loan.”

  As she helped Barry and Elaine Alsop through the process of refinancing their home, she remembered why she’d liked this job in the first place. She did enjoy interacting with people, liked helping them and ensuring that they were taken care of, liked how powerful and in-charge she felt as she answered questions they didn’t know that she did.

  Forty minutes later, the Alsop’s left with their loan application, and Maizee sat back in her chair, feeling more accomplished than she had in weeks. She wasn’t the loser loan officer that had been dumped by the handsome branch manager after a year-long engagement, the woman who hid her face when she went in the grocery store so she wouldn’t have to see the pitying looks on people’s faces.

  She was Lawrence Gladstone’s girlfriend, and a good loan officer, and she didn’t need to hide her face from anyone.

  Turning to check her computer, she caught sight of a man walking her way.

  And oh, how quickly she ducked then, definitely hiding her face behind the monitor of her computer. Her stomach swooped and her blood turned to ice.

  What in the world was Winthrop Porter doing here?

  This was her island, and he had no right to be here. Anger simmered in her veins now, melting the ice and encouraging her to lift her eyes above the monitor.

  He was gone.

  She tried to recall what he’d looked like as he’d walked toward her. Angry? Purposeful? Nervous?

  Why had he come from Lanai?

  She half-stood at her desk, her calves quivering with the effort it took to perch like that in her heels. “And where did he go?” He wasn’t anywhere to be found in the bank that she could see. Not the lobby. Not in line. Not talking to a teller.

  Not sitting at someone else’s desk.

  Which left only one place he could’ve gone—and that was upstairs.

  With trembling fingers, she left her office and approached Polly’s desk. She helped customers with new debit cards and opening new accounts. “Did you see that man who just walked in?” she asked. “Tall, sort of blonde, sort of not, blue eyes?”

  “Yes, he asked to see Mister Gladstone.”

  Maizee spun toward the staircase, and it suddenly seemed so ominous. “Did he say why?”

  “Said he had an appointment. I pointed him in the right direction.” Polly put her hand on Maizee’s arm, which caused Maizee to jolt and jump away from her. “Why? Who is he?”

  Maizee didn’t want to answer. She also didn’t want to run into Winn, nor did she want to be in this building while her ex-fiancé and her current boyfriend were chatting. “My ex-boyfriend,” she said, downplaying the relationship she’d had with Winn. “Polly, I need to run out for a bit. If anyone comes in for me, will you get their name and number?”

  “Sure thing.” Polly wore a look of compassion on her face, and she didn’t ask another question before Maizee practically bolted for the door.

  Maizee didn’t return to work that day, and Lawrence didn’t text. Worry ate at her skin, gnawed at her stomach until she was sure she wouldn’t be able to go in tomorrow either.

  Maybe Lawrence had truly had some business with Winn.

  Maybe neither of them knew she hadn’t come back to work.

  Maybe Lawrence was simply waiting for her to make the first move again.

  So many maybe’s, and Maizee didn’t want to think about any of them. So she pulled into the theater in town, bought herself a solo ticket to whatever was playing next, and then treated herself to the largest bucket of buttered popcorn available.

  The movie didn’t do much to distract her, but she did take the leftover popcorn home and turn it into something even more delectable—caramel buttered theater popcorn—with some butter, brown sugar, and marshmallows.

  She changed into a pair of yoga pants and a Back to the Future T-shirt she’d bought at one of those funny online boutiques. As she stirred the caramel over the popcorn, Roger sat obediently at the no-dogs line, just outside of the kitchen. He didn’t even bark, and as Maizee chewed through warm, gooey, buttery popcorn, she tried to say, “This isn’t for dogs, bud.”

  Afternoon would soon fade to evening, and she stood over the kitchen sink, looking out her back window as she ate another handful of popcorn. What was she going to do? Why hadn’t Lawrence texted?

  In the end, Roger’s patience won out, and she gave him a single puff of popcorn. Then she pulled her hair up into a rough ponytail, leashed the pup, and stuffed a handful of dog treats in her pocket. “Let’s go for a walk, boy,” she told him, and he near
ly pulled her to the ground in his enthusiasm to leave the house. Maybe he’d gotten a sugar rush already.

  She’d reached the end of the block when a sleek, navy-as-midnight Mercedes-Benz rounded the corner at a crawl. A moment later, the driver braked hard, bringing the car to a stop. Maizee had stopped too, and her first thought was about what she was wearing.

  Lawrence got out of the car before she could so much as release her hair from its hideous ponytail. “Hey,” he said easily as if he saw her in such dire conditions every day. “You left work early?”

  “You’re just now finding out?” she asked. “I left at ten o’clock this morning.”

  Lawrence slowed in his approach toward her. “Why’s that?”

  Maizee glanced up and down the street, uncomfortable out in the open now when she wasn’t before. The addition of Lawrence to her sleepy neighborhood changed everything, and Maizee wasn’t sure if she liked that or not.

  He closed the distance between them and took one of her hands in his. “You look fantastic.”

  “I’m wearing a shirt that says ‘Save the Clock Tower.’” She scoffed, ridiculous tears pressing up and behind her eyes.

  “I like Back to the Future,” he said with a slow smile. “Why’d you leave early today?”

  “Winthrop Porter arrived,” she said, snapping the P’s in his name. “And I freaked out. Didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to think about what you two were talking about.” She pressed her forehead to his breastbone, almost desperate to know what they’d talked about but too embarrassed to ask.

  He stroked his free hand down the back of her head and took Roger’s leash from her. “Let’s walk, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart.

  Maizee didn’t know what to do with the tenderness in his voice, but when he stepped, so did she. He went to his car first and turned off the ignition. “It’ll be okay here, right?”

  “It’s not a high-crime neighborhood.”

  “I just meant here on the curb.” He peered at her as if she’d revealed something crucial. “Oh, wow.”

  “What?”

  Lawrence straightened and let Roger weave back and forth in front of them, something Maizee would’ve never done. The terrier was supposed to walk on her left side, not in front or behind her, but beside her. She didn’t have the energy to say anything. So what if her dog developed bad habits? It wasn’t like she walked him every day.

  Lawrence’s feet ate up half a block before he spoke again. “Does my money…bother you?”

  “Bother me?”

  “It changes how you view me.”

  “Well, uh, yeah. You’re a billionaire. You own and operate a multi-billion dollar financial institution.”

  “And yet, I’ve been challenging myself to do things I’ve never done.” He didn’t look at her and Roger continued to do whatever he pleased.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  He took a deep breath. “It means that money doesn’t make a person infallible.”

  “I know you’re not perfect.”

  “Do you?” He stopped and looked at her, tugging Roger to let him know he needed to come back. “If you knew I was coming over tonight, what would you be wearing?”

  Maizee stared at him. “Not this.”

  “Exactly.” He fingered the hem of her T-shirt, which somehow sent chills through her whole body. “But I like this. I like seeing you be you.”

  Maizee thought about the heaping bucket of caramel corn on her kitchen counter and how she would’ve thrown it in the dishwasher last minute just to hide it from him. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  Lawrence chuckled and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “I am not looking for the perfect woman. I’m looking for the perfect woman for me.”

  She frowned, sifting through what he could possibly mean by that. So she missed him leaning toward her until his mouth grazed hers. Then he kissed her like she was the perfect woman for him, and she forgot that she was wearing sweat pants and that her breath probably smelled and tasted like burnt, old popcorn kernels.

  “Mm,” he said, his mouth barely leaving hers. “You taste like sugar.” He kissed her again, right there on the street for anyone to see.

  “I like you, Maizee Phelps,” he whispered next. “Just the way you are.” He tucked her into his side, turned, and walked back toward her house.

  Maizee went with him, because his kisses had turned her muscles to marshmallows, and she feared she might not be able to stand up by herself.

  She wasn’t sure she believed him. No man had ever liked her just the way she was. Winn had made that very clear.

  Twelve

  Lawrence found the source of the sugar sitting on Maizee’s kitchen counter. “Holy lava rocks. What is this?” He picked up the movie theater bucket of popcorn, but it was covered in the most delectable looking caramel he’d ever seen.

  “I always bring the leftovers home and make caramel corn,” she said, as if every human being on Earth knew about this and did it.

  But Lawrence continued to gaze that the concoction with wonder. “Why have I been throwing away my popcorn for forty-one years?”

  Maizee finally laughed, and she scooped up a handful of the caramel corn. “Eat it. It’s not bad.”

  “Not bad,” Lawrence echoed, plucking a few pieces out of the bucket and putting them in his mouth. It was sweet and salty, soft and crunchy, everything he wanted in a late night snack. Or a five-thirty p.m. snack.

  “This is amazing,” he said, twisting toward Maizee to find her finger-combing out her hair. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he liked the messy look, the wisps of blonde hair spilling out, the way it exposed her neck.

  He liked the funky T-shirt and the tight exercise pants. She seemed real, and he craved real after a day of dressed up, stuffy men, frustrating phone calls with his father, and negotiations on a deal that should’ve finalized by five o’clock.

  Pushing out a breath, he asked, “Can we sit outside?”

  “Rough day?” She went first and bypassed the picnic table where they’d eaten pizza and talked about the flower farm in the hills.

  “Actually, yes.” If he couldn’t get her to talk, he’d do it. Opening up last time had helped, and maybe before he left tonight, he could figure out why she’d left in the morning, gone to a movie alone, and then made caramel corn.

  She sat in one of two swings in an ancient swing set, the chains creaking with the addition of her weight. Lawrence joined her, but with some measure of trepidation squirreling through him. “I asked Winthrop to come meet with me, because his branch is….”

  Lawrence wasn’t quite sure how to classify it—and it wasn’t really any of Maizee’s business anyway. But he wanted to share his life with her, and his work was a big part of his life.

  “Failing?” she supplied.

  “You knew?”

  “I know he struts around the place like he’s you,” she said. “All while more and more people take their money and go somewhere else.”

  He pushed himself back with his toes. “That was all the meeting was about. He didn’t mention you, and neither did I.”

  “How kind of him,” she bit out. Lawrence looked at her. “He knows I transferred here, to this branch.” Hurt passed through her eyes, and Lawrence wanted to gather it all into his arms and fling it into the ocean, where it would wash away and never bother her again.

  She shook her head and looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not wasting any more of my time on Winthrop Porter.”

  Lawrence was glad to hear that, but he also heard the irritation and pain in her voice, and he knew without a doubt that she was not ready to fall in love again. He questioned why he’d allowed himself to fall so quickly, and again the idea that she was the perfect woman for him wouldn’t leave his mind.

  “Then my father called, and I answered it,” he said, going on to detail the hour-long conversation about the Austin Exchange, and what angle Lawrence might play next. “But I don�
��t play angles.”

  Maizee stalled herself in the swing until they were side-by-side, and she reached for his hand. “You don’t play games, that’s true.” She sounded softer, more like herself. “So what happened?”

  “Well, the acquisition didn’t go through today,” he said. “I’ll have to get up early and get on the phone again.” He swung back and forth with her. Back and forth. “I hate talking on the phone.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You’re really good at it.”

  “How would you know?” he teased. “I always text you.”

  “You wrote an article about it once,” she said. “In the company newsletter.”

  Lawrence had absolutely no recollection of that, but he didn’t say so. The fact that Maizee knew that added another insight into why she’d placed him so high up on a pedestal. She’d known him first as the CEO, the owner, the boss.

  So he’d just have to work at getting her to see him as Lawrence Gladstone, a regular man who happened to have a lot of money. But still a regular man, with fears and worries and dreams.

  “So I think I’d like to try sea kayaking next,” he said.

  “Yeah?” She beamed at him.

  “Yeah. But we can have the Coast Guard on speed dial, right?”

  Maizee laughed, tipping her head back and revealing that lovely neck once more. But Lawrence didn’t join her, because he really wasn’t kidding. He’d call one of his SEAL buddies, just to let him know when they were going out and where they’d be.

  He was cautious, that was all.

  Oh, and he wanted to live to kiss Maizee again too.

  They swung for a bit longer, and Maizee finally stood up. “You hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Good, take me to dinner.” She skipped ahead of him into the house, and by the time he entered through the back door, she was gone. He knew right where she was though: changing her clothes, and freshening up her makeup, and putting on her jewelry.