by Amelia Wilde
He offers me his hand to shake as well. “Gregory. Ms. Chandler, would you step over to my desk for just a moment?”
Jett’s by my side as I follow Gregory to his desk. He opens a drawer and pulls out a tablet, sleek and thin. It looks like an iPad, except it has some kind of scanner built into the bottom.
He swipes at the screen for a moment, and when he turns it toward me the first thing I see is a picture of my own face. It looks like my last driver’s license photo, and I glance over at Jett. He gives me a subtle nod.
Gregory indicates the scanner at the bottom. “If you would, just press your thumb here until the green bar appears.”
When I put my thumb against the scanner, a green line blooms from the center of the screen and unfurls out toward the edges. When it gets there, it blinks three times.
“Wonderful. Now—” Gregory produces a stylus. “Could you sign on the dotted line?”
“Sure.”
I sign my name where a dotted line has appeared below my picture and a bunch of other information about me.
“It’s absolutely secure,” Jett says. He must have seen my eyes widen.
“Thank you,” Gregory says and puts the tablet back into the drawer. Then he turns to one of the side walls.
A green light blinks above what looks like a piece of the paneling, and then it slides open to reveal a hallway.
“Mr. Brandon. Ms. Chandler.” Gregory returns to his desk.
Jett gestures for me to proceed into the hall.
I’m so curious I think my heart might fly out of my chest, but it’s so quiet that I don’t want to ask any questions.
Jett follows me through the door, and it slides closed behind us.
In the hallway, there are six other doors. Jett steps up to the second one on the left, then presses his hand into a panel at about shoulder height.
That door slides into the wall. The room inside is small, with a kind of safe set into the back wall. There’s just enough room for an ornate antique chair and a small table in the center.
“Come on in,” Jett says, going to the safe and pressing his hand to another scanner. The safe pops open, and Jett takes out a small wooden box. I think it’s a jewelry box until he opens it.
Inside are two keys.
“This is an access point to the Swiss bank that handles the bulk of my personal accounts,” he says, and I glance up at his face. He’s concentrating on the keys. “The money that Harvey was stealing from the States came from a set of accounts that only holds a fraction of my wealth.”
I shake my head a little. Where is this going?
“These keys can be used to access the vault at the Swiss bank’s physical location.” He picks one up and presses it into my palm. “This one is yours.”
“Jett, I don’t—”
“I want you to know, with every ounce of your being, that I trust you.”
My hands shake a little. “I can’t—”
“You can take it, and you will.” He pulls another small box from his pocket. This one is a jewelry box, and inside is a delicate chain. Jett puts the key box on the table and holds out his hand. I put the key in it like it’s on fire.
He threads the chain through the top of the key, then steps forward and reaches around my neck, fastening it while I hold up my hair.
“I trust you,” he repeats, and then I’m in his arms, and he’s kissing me hard. The weight of the key is comforting against my collarbone.
Then he breaks the kiss. “I love you, Angelica.”
My world explodes with joy.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jett
Angelica’s face is flushed with happiness when we leave the secure building. On the way out, I give her another surprise. “Just so you know, any time you need anything, you can come to this building and go into my safe. When you signed that pad and entered your finger, I was adding you to the security system so you can always enter. I keep an amount of cash in case of emergency in the safe, as well.”
She shakes her head. “You’re too much.”
“You’re too much. You—” I lose the words I want to say just looking at her face. “You changed everything.”
We get into the car and Angelica leans up against me as Stuart steers us into the traffic. Her chest rises and falls, her breath calm. My own chest opens up, my heart overflows. I’ll never say it to any of my friends—not Connor—but there’s no better feeling in the whole damn world than being in love.
Than being in love with Angelica.
It’s so fucking clear to me now that everything else I thought was love was just mutual lust, a business transaction that was ultimately hollow, a risk not worth taking.
“Wait,” she says as we go past the usual turn for the penthouse. “Where are we going? My place?”
“Oh, right. We’re not going back to my place.
“Okay.”
“Or yours.”
She sits up straight, eyes shining. “Where, then?”
I turn toward the front of the Town Car. “Stuart?”
He brings the car to a stop at the next light, then pulls something off the front seat and hands it back to me.
“Jett, what did you—?”
I hold up the garment bag in front of Angelica and unzip it, revealing an evening dress in dusky rose. I’ll tell her later that I bought it for her the week after we met, and I’ve been saving it all along for something special.
This is it.
“Do you want me to look away?”
“No,” she says with a wicked smile, then starts stripping off her jacket. I glance in the rearview mirror. Stuart’s eyes are locked on the road.
Good man.
Angelica is down to her bra and panties in less than thirty seconds. Then she reaches for the dress.
“Wait.”
She pauses, her hands in the air, and gives me a look.
I put the bag on the seat next to me and lean over, running my hands over the curves of her waist. I am never, for as long as I live, going to pass up the chance to worship her body in every possible way.”
“Jett....”
I kiss her, soft and slow, and she moans into my mouth, starts to press the length of her body against mine....
And I have to pull away.
She groans in frustration. “Why?”
“We’re almost there.”
She points an accusing finger at me. “You did that on purpose.”
“Not entirely. I just can’t resist you.”
“Good.”
She leans over me, and for a moment I think she might straddle me, which would just be icing on the cake. Instead, she runs her lips along my jawline, then snatches up the garment bag from the other side of me.
“Vixen.”
“I never claimed otherwise.”
She shimmies into the dress, which looks stunning even when she’s sitting in the backseat of the Town Car. I can’t wait to get her home. Her place, mine—I don’t care.
But first—this.
Stuart pulls up in front of the main entrance of the Swan and stays seated, like I discussed with him earlier. I get out and go around to Angelica’s door, open it, and hold my hand out to her. She takes it with a wide smile.
“Back to first-date territory?”
“Plus a little extra.”
There’s a photographer from one of the gossip magazines outside the main entrance, leaning up against the wall, and I take my time leading her in. Before we go in the door, I dip her back and kiss her again, the click of the shutter carrying over the traffic noises.
I want everyone to see.
I want everyone to know.
I don’t give a shit what news breaks in the coming days and weeks. I want the world to know I love Angelica Chandler.
I’d shout it out right now, but there’s something I need to do first. For her. For me.
When I break the kiss and lift her back up to standing, we’re both a little breathless. Giddy. Electricity arcs between
our hands.
“Did you get us the same table?” Angelica jokes as we head into the lobby, but then she sees who’s standing inside and her jaw drops.
“Mom? Adam?”
Her mother and brother are both dressed to the nines, her mother beaming and radiant in something midnight blue, her brother in a suit I had sent over for him this morning. It only took a little dishonesty on my part, which I’m sure Angelica will forgive—their numbers were the very first ones saved in her phone.
“Honey,” her mother says, wrapping Angelica in her arms. I see instantly from whom she gets her good looks. Her mother pats her back, then steps back and sizes me up. “Jett Brandon,” she says, a little wonderingly. Then she laughs, deep and rich. “I can see why she fell for you.”
“Mom!”
Adam steps forward and shakes my hand. “Adam Chandler,” he says with a sheepish smile. I give him a firm shake and a nod.
“Are we ready?” I say, getting an enthusiastic nod from Angelica’s mother and a slightly more subdued one from Adam.
“Jett,” Angelica says, linking her arm through mine. “What are we—?”
“You’ll see, I promise.”
I lead them down one of the hallways off the lobby, taking us past the main dining rooms to one of the more opulent rooms for rent. There are about twenty tables inside, and when we come through the door, Angelica’s mother gasps.
Each of the tables is set with glittering centerpieces, candles, the works—and gathered near the door is a crowd. Connor is here, most of my best friends, and Angelica’s, too—even her boss couldn’t hide her excitement when I told her about the event. The woman might be cold-hearted, but inviting her will make things easier for Angelica in the long run, I hope.
Not that she’ll need to work, if she doesn’t want to.
That’s beside the point.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, and everyone applauds like we’re royalty. When they quiet down, I continue. “I want to introduce to you the love of my life, the woman who makes me better in every way, the woman I hope will never leave my side: Angelica Chandler.”
In the crescendo of their applause, Angelica turns to me, pulls my face down to hers, and kisses me like our forever is just beginning.
Epilogue
Angelica
It’s been six months with Jett.
Six gorgeous, beautiful months waking up next to his perfect body. I usually wake up first in the mornings, but he hears me stirring. The sight of his green eyes lighting up with joy to see me is one of the greatest pleasures of my life.
“How do you feel?” he says sleepily, rolling over onto his back and stretching his muscular arms over his head.
“I feel...so free!”
He rolls over and kisses me on the cheek, then leaps out of bed and heads for the bathroom to brush his teeth. I’m on his heels in an instant.
“Tell me you’re not going to the office.”
“I’m going to the office,” he says, then turns around with a grin and sweeps me off my feet, carrying me with him into the master bathroom.
“Are you really?”
“Hell no! It’s your first day without that job in, what, four years?”
Last Friday was my last day at Sisterspark. Hadley shed a single tear at my going-away party. Turns out her heart isn’t made of solid ice, after all. Although, maybe it is—she’s probably going to have to take on some of my workload until they find someone to replace me.
Doesn’t matter!
“It’s my first day without a job in thirteen years,” I say, picking up my own toothbrush. “I’ve been working since I was fourteen.”
“Thirteen years? That’s far too long, sweet thing.”
“I’m going to spend all day lying around,” I say decisively, knowing that Jett is never going to go for it. “I’m going to put on yoga pants and watch every single movie on Netflix that I’ve ever wanted to watch, and I’m not going to think about Sisterspark or Hadley even once....”
Jett spits into the sink and rinses his toothbrush, turning to me with a gleaming smile as he hands me mine. “Or we could do something else.”
“Like what?”
“A date.”
“A date to where? The Swan? Or, wait, that Italian place I took you to as a surprise?” I brush my teeth with a grin, my heart bursting with heat and light and excitement.
Jett steps over to the shower and turns it on, both rainfall shower heads cascading down onto the intricate tilework. He steps in and works the water through his dark hair, then beckons for me to follow him. My tank and panties are on the floor in an instant.
“I was actually thinking we could go somewhere better.”
“Where?” I say, spreading soap over his perfectly toned chest.
“Italy.”
“Italy?”
“You liked that Italian place, didn’t you? Plus, Italy is close to a lot of other wonderful countries, like France, and the United Kingdom, and Germany....”
I stop Jett’s words with a kiss that almost knocks him over. His hands slide right down over my ass.
“When do we leave?” I say when I can bring myself to stop kissing him. “Seriously, when do we leave?”
“My private plane is already fueled up and ready to go,” he laughs. “I just need to do one thing before we leave.”
“What’s that?”
“Make you mine.”
Dirty Rumor
A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
Chapter One
Carolyn
Nobody wants to work past five o’clock on a Friday. Nobody even wants to shop past five o’clock on a Friday, if the lack of foot traffic in my boutique is any indication.
I spent most of the afternoon in the back stockroom making floor selections from an arrival of original pieces delivered earlier in the week from a couple of European designers. Most of the designs were rejects, but there were a few standouts among the array spread out in front of me that I wanted to rotate through inventory.
It’s certainly not the most glamorous work one expects to see a woman whose net worth hovers around a billion dollars doing on a Friday afternoon. My friend Quinn is one of the few who doesn’t roll her eyes when we chat about the hours I keep at the store. She didn’t come from money, and even though she’s married to a Pierce, she still goes into work every day.
Well, on most days, that is. I know she and her husband have a fondness for traveling. Who wouldn’t when it’s on a private jet and money is no object?
I tap my painted fingernails against the countertop next to the cash register and scan the store for any couture pieces that appear to be out of place on the racks or eclectic artwork on the walls—also for sale—that might need straightening, but, as usual, everything appears perfect—still. It was perfect when I sent Natalie, one of the four girls I hired to cover the register when I’m not here, home at four. No reason why it should look any different only an hour later, especially since not a single customer has walked through the door during that time.
The computer beckons.
It’s situated on a classy desk, the monitor sunk in low so it’s not obvious to any customers from where they stand for check-out, and it has a thin, sleek keyboard that rests beside it on the brushed metal surface.
I jiggle the mouse—one of those futuristic affairs that came packaged with the computer when I purchased it—and the screen wakes up, the boutique’s logo hovering in the middle of a white expanse. The logo design features a stylized flower, one that I spent two weeks going back and forth on with the designer before it was finalized. I simply love my store’s logo, and it’s undoubtedly one of my favorite parts of owning this store.
The password is so ingrained in my muscle memory that I hardly remember the letters, so it only takes a fraction of a second before the desktop, pristinely organized, pops into view. Chrome browser, password-protected, private window that won’t record anything, and I’m logging on to Rainflower Blue, the website nobo
dy—not a single person—knows that I own and run.
Running the boutique is a nice change from working among the top echelons of a marketing firm, but it’s just another job front that occupies my time, acting as a placeholder for what I really do. Conveniently, a lot of my friends shop here, and while they shop, we chat. Visit. Gossip.
That’s the business model for Rainflower Blue. It’s what draws people in—the majority of them are wealthy and powerful, the type of person who might click on an unassuming advertisement for a premium-priced item.
Not advertising. Not shopping.
Rumors.
I own and administer the online home for the rumor mill of the ultra-wealthy. The fact that I profit handsomely from it is just icing on the cake.
The door to the boutique opens, the bell hanging gracefully over top of it tinkling clearly, and my heart leaps into my throat. Without a second thought, I hit the commands to close the browser window and paste on a bright smile to welcome a customer.
When my brain finally registers who’s just entered the boutique out of the autumn sunlight, my smile turns genuine. “Jess! Oh, my God!”
She looks absolutely fabulous, her auburn hair piled on top of her head in a bun that’s somehow messy and perfectly styled at the same time, and she’s wearing a navy sheath dress that sets off the jade color of her eyes. She was always the more rough-and-tumble one in our friend group, but damn—a year as a princess, or queen, or whatever she is—has been good to her. And motherhood doesn’t seem to have slowed her down. At all.
Jess spins around, her purse strap slung slickly over her shoulder, and then she spreads her arms out wide in anticipation of a hug. “I had to come see my former roomie’s new boutique!”
I quickly hurry around the table, my grin spreading from ear to ear, my arms stretched out for a hug. “What do you think? Are you a boutique person now?”
Jess hugs me, and then she turns to assess my selection and wrinkles her nose a bit. “I’ll be honest—my clothes are usually brought to me. I don’t go to them.” Then she bursts out laughing. “It’s cute, Carrie!”
