All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  “I like putting on the black and white.”

  “You look sexy in a tux. And now, finally, I can put my hands all over you while wearing that tux. You know I’ve had fantasies about the two of us?”

  “Do tell?”

  “One of them involves us all dressed up and—well, it’s silly.”

  “Now I really want to hear this. Is it kinky?”

  “No. Though I do have a kinky fantasy, too. Which would you rather hear about?”

  “Maybe we could act out the kinky one tonight?”

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. “Let’s do it!”

  13

  Becca air-kissed the duchess of some foreign country she had forgotten the name of and promised her she’d call when she next got to that part of the world. The woman clasped a diamond-heavy hand about Becca’s and nodded, then floated off in her pink chiffon to chat with the next person who would have to endure her whiskey breath.

  They were only serving champagne, craft beer, and water, so Becca had to wonder if the woman had a flask tucked in her particularly abundant bosom, or if her bodyguard, who flanked her closely, was the supplier.

  As for Becca’s bodyguard… She glanced about the ballroom, knowing she wouldn’t immediately see Hawk. There were too many people, all glitzed to the nines and chatting and dancing and laughing. But she knew he saw her. His name wasn’t Hawk because he had been born with it—okay, so he had been born with it. She’d asked him about it once. Family name. But he also saw everything, like a hawk. And his ability to swoop in and save the day was unmeasured, as far as she was concerned.

  Feeling in need of rescue at sight of the head of the library commissioner who was in line to receive donations from JUSTGIVE, she clutched her fingers around her opposite wrist. He had a habit of nattering on about his six pre-teen girls. Forever.

  Turning, Becca slipped between a couple of tuxedoed men, dashed to the right, and glided down a hallway that led toward the curving gallery that opened onto the balcony. Having successfully dodged the latest report on half a dozen little girls, she smiled widely as she walked out onto the balcony. Only one couple, about thirty feet down the way, stood out here. It was nearing midnight, and the night was cloudy with a bit of brisk wind, but she needed this moment to herself. So she’d endure the shiver that already crept up her neck.

  She’d purposely handed Hawk her phone before entering the event this evening. She hadn’t wanted to receive another threatening text and have to deal with that while putting on her game face and acting the genial heiress who was interested in talking about the latest plans for her charitable contributions.

  She loved giving the Wylde family money away. But it was, at times, a lot of work, both physically and emotionally. And events like this tended to drain her more than if she’d spent a night at a club with the Jesster dancing until she couldn’t feel her toes anymore. The schmoozing never ended. And she could never know who was being truthful and genuine or just working her for a nice-sized check.

  A man in a dark suit and equally dark sunglasses approached and she turned to lean her elbows on the marble balustrade, smiling as his warmth invaded her personal space.

  “You know,” she said, looking out across the cityscape. A multitude of lights challenged the stars for their brilliance. “One of those fantasies I mentioned to you last night was a sort of Cinderella thing where you find me alone on the balcony and kiss me at midnight.”

  Hawk checked his watch and placed both palms to the balustrade, keeping his chin up and his eyes searching the sky. At least she suspected that was the direction he looked. He stood a good foot away from her. Ever aware of propriety. At least, when she wasn’t grabbing his hand or surprise kissing him in an elevator.

  “It is midnight,” he said.

  “I dare you to kiss me,” she said on a teasing rise.

  “You know if I do, a camera will flash.”

  “What if I don’t care?”

  “You do care, Becca.”

  “Not even a little.” She adjusted his bow tie and smoothed her fingers over the white satin triangle in his pocket. “Abandon worry, Hawk. Just live for one night.”

  “I live every moment I am near you.” The sensual timbre in his voice slid over her as if he just traced his fingers over her skin.

  Becca licked her lips. She needed that kiss. But she wouldn’t beg for it. “Then allow me to live through you. Tell me one of your fantasies about us?”

  He glanced to the side. Still no more than the one couple out on the balcony, but dozens of partiers milled just on the other side of the glass doors. “Okay. But it’s not a sex fantasy. Though I do have those about you.”

  “I should hope so. So, what is it?”

  “We’re sailing on a bright Sunday afternoon. I’ve got a sweet little yacht, and I’m skilled with the rigging. Which is a total fantasy because I know nothing about boats. But my father always wanted a boat, you know? He used to tell me about how he’d sailed in the Navy and how having his own sailboat would mean freedom. That he wouldn’t have to live by anyone else’s terms. And I want to live that fantasy for him. Live on my own terms.”

  “With me by your side?”

  He nodded. “At least, on a date. I’m not sure you’d be interested in sailing around the world with me.”

  “Certainly not with a man who has no clue about sailing. I don't have a death wish.”

  His smile flashed white at her. “Fair enough. I’ll have to learn. But it’s a challenge I look forward to. It’s what I’m saving for.”

  “A yacht?”

  “Something small that’ll fit me and one other. Maybe a dog, someday.”

  “That’s awesome. You should take your dad on your maiden voyage.”

  Hawk looked away, out over the glittering Manhattan lights. “He’s dead. My mother, too.”

  “I’m so sorry. Recent?”

  He shook his head. “They died when I was ten. Home break-in. The robber had a gun.”

  “Oh, Hawk.” She put her arms around his waist and hugged him.

  “Becca, watch it. If I didn’t think the kiss was safe, I don’t think a hug is either.”

  “I don’t care. I want to hug the ten-year-old boy who lost his parents. My mother died when I was eight. I feel as though I lost my father the same day. I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

  He gently pushed her back and looked down at her. Still, she couldn’t see his eyes to read them. Though, his jaw tensed.

  Becca could but search her reflection in the sunglasses lenses. “Did you have relatives to go live with after…?”

  “Foster homes. And…I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Not here. Okay?”

  “Fine. But there is one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him, and he didn’t pull away, so she slid her hand along his cheek and made the kiss deeper. It was an I understand kiss. A comforting embrace. And it didn’t matter who took a picture because she couldn’t not touch him right now and try to convey how she felt toward him.

  But when she pulled away, he glanced over her shoulder.

  “We’re safe,” she said, “because I wished on that one star up there that we'd have a moment of privacy.”

  “I mean it,” he said. “Someday, I will take you for a cruise on my boat.”

  “I won’t refuse you. Promise. But I should get back inside. I really need to find Madame DuMond and thank her. She wrote a check for five million to JUSTGIVE last month.”

  Hawk crossed his hands before him and nodded.

  “Bodyguard mode, activated,” Becca said with a chuckle. “We’ll resume this conversation later. Okay?”

  He shrugged.

  “We will,” she said. Because he’d given her a part of his heart tonight by telling her about his parents. She wanted to respect that gift, but also, make him realize that they were more alike than different.

  14

>   The private dressing room at Macy’s was walled in pink-and-gray-striped silk. Silk-cushioned chairs bracketed a marble-topped table set with a silver service and a video screen with internet access. Becca sipped champagne while the Jesster pranced in the latest five-inch heel from Louboutin. Jessica loved the red-soled shoes, and owned a pair signed by Christian Louboutin. Becca preferred Charlotte Olympia’s heels. Right now she wore a black velvet pair with a kitty face on the toes. So fun.

  “Get them,” Becca said and gestured toward the other pairs stacked on the table before them. “These, too. I think you need the pink ones for clubbing. The sandals for doing the Hamptons with your cousins. And you can’t not get those suede thigh-high boots.”

  “They’re so precious.” Jess sat and popped a tiny macaron into her mouth. The store served to-die-for bittersweet chocolate macarons made by their own personal ex-Parisian baker. It was worth the shoe venture for the sweets alone. “You getting anything? You’ve only tried on the one pair.”

  The red and gold damask kitten heel reminded Becca of something an eighteenth-century woman might have worn beneath her poufy skirt. “Oh, yes. I’m all about the Manolos.”

  “You tired from the event last night? I didn’t see you chatting with as many people as usual. But you know what I did see?” Jess teased the corner of her mouth with a forefinger.

  “Jack MacMillian with an uber-boobed blonde on each arm?” The trust-fund model/stockbroker had a reputation for preferring them blonde and plastic.

  “No, I saw Miss Rebecca Wylde kissing her bodyguard.”

  Becca choked on a sip of champagne.

  “Oh yes.” Jess wriggled on the chaise like a woman well-armed with the most salacious gossip. “It looked like a good kiss, too.”

  “Shit. I didn’t think anyone was watching.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I saw the two of you canoodling on the balcony and just as you kissed him, I had the sense to toss my dinner roll across the gallery. All eyes landed on the lady whose hair it bounced off of.”

  “Seriously?” A giggle spilled out. “Oh, Jess, I love you.”

  “Right? I was the only one looking out the balcony door at the moment. The couple down the way were making out and only had eyes—and tongues—for each another. And now you need to fill me in on what the hell?”

  “It was just a kiss.”

  “It looked like an I’ve-been-here-before kiss to me. If you are keeping a secret about screwing your bodyguard, Becca, so help me…”

  “We’ve had sex,” Becca blurted out. Then she tilted back the rest of her champagne and shook her head to take on the bubbly head rush. “A lot of sex.”

  The Jesster’s jaw dropped open. Her eyes, perfectly shadowed with Chanel’s latest aubergine, could not have opened wider. “Sweetie, I know you've had fantasies about getting up in that man’s business. Because, mercy, he has all the right muscles in all the right places. But what are you doing? You can’t let the public see the two of you together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s wrong. It is so wrong. He’s like…so old.”

  “He’s thirty-two, Jess. Four years older than me.”

  “Are you sure? He looks older.”

  “It’s called an air of authority. But also, it's because he’s served in the military and probably went through hell.”

  “So you’re what, fulfilling some kind of hero fetish?”

  “Jess, seriously? Clinton Hawk is handsome.”

  “Not arguing that one.”

  “And kind.”

  “Coming from a chick who he’s delivered home as she pukes over his shoulder, I can’t argue with his kindness streak.”

  “And what that man can do with his tongue…” Becca sighed, but she knew she wouldn’t win Jess over. The girl had her standards. She never dated out of her social class. As Becca had hers. They were the same as Jess’s. Always had been. Always…

  Just the fact that she thought in terms of social classes disturbed her now. She thought she'd gone beyond the need to label others and keep track of who sat higher on the ladder than the next with JUSTGIVE. Heading a charitable organization grounded a person and gave them a new outlook. But, apparently, entitlement wasn't something she'd ever cast off completely. It didn’t bother her that Hawk wasn’t a billionaire, or that he was her employee.

  Maybe.

  If it didn’t, then she shouldn’t have a problem with announcing it to the public, right? No. She liked to keep the relationships she thought could last longer than a hook up private for as long as possible. Going public always tended to change the dynamics and fuck things up. No matter the man’s social standing.

  “Just be careful, Becca. If the paparazzi get a shot of the two of you swapping spit, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Yes, yes. But why? What was so wrong with the idea of two people who genuinely cared about one another hooking up? Did they have to be the same social class? That was stupid. Or so she was learning.

  Stupid or not, she did know what greased the media engine's gears. And she had just spurted out a lot of grease.

  “He’s not a mistake,” Becca said carefully. “We’re having fun with it. You know I don’t do the commitment thing.”

  Jess nodded, clearly not convinced. She popped another macaron into her mouth and slid backward to slouch against the tufted chaise. “Remember that one guy you dated that wanted you forever?” she said in a horrific, creepy tone.

  How could Becca forget? It had been less than a year ago. “I think he was a touch psycho.”

  “A touch? That man had dove into the pool. I’m so glad you had the sense to get away from him.”

  If Becca remembered correctly, she had dated Presley Cole only a month after hiring Hawk. And only twice. That had been enough to catch the narcissistic vibes wafting off him like radiation from a damaged power plant. She'd told him thanks, but not interested. Then he’d started texting her dozens of times daily and calling and stalking her building. Hawk had swiftly put an end to it. How? She didn’t care. The harassment had stopped, and that was all that had mattered.

  “I’ve made some bad calls,” Becca agreed. “But Hawk isn't one of them.”

  “We’ll see. Oh! Remember that night you went home with that paparazzo? What was his name?”

  “Jackson something or other. I was feeling down on myself that night and he…I don’t know. I wonder if he put something in my drink. I never go home with members of the paparazzi.”

  “Rule number one: never date the photogs,” Jess reiterated.

  “Only a fool would be so foolish.”

  That had been before she’d hired Hawk, and about two weeks after the attempted kidnapping. Becca had gone out with Jess after her friend had practically dragged her out because she needed to get back onto the scene and fake it until she could make it. It had been good to have a few drinks, dance, and not think about a masked man holding a gun to her temple. Until she’d started to think about it. She’d planted herself at the bar and when Jackson had sat down next to her and told her about a time when he’d been robbed at gunpoint she had related to him.

  Then she’d gone home with him. And slept with him. And…usually when she went to a man’s place, she left after the sex. She didn’t do the waking in the morning and slipping out into daylight thing. She preferred the walk of shame under the cover of darkness.

  Except, she had slept through the night and had woken feeling groggy. Like the morning after a full dose of Nyquil. It was always hard to shake that antihistamine fog. She’d dressed and called the limo and had managed to slip out of Jackson’s apartment unnoticed.

  But now that she thought more about that mistake, she had to wonder about something. The man made his living taking photographs of celebrities. He’d had a couple of fancy cameras sitting on his bedroom dresser. She’d plainly said that she did not want him snapping her pic, and he’d asked her why she didn’t trust him.

  Had he taken
some shots of her while she slept? Admittedly, the sleep of the dead. She might not have heard the flash or click of the aperture. And she had lain in his bed naked after the not-so-terrible sex.

  “Oh, my God.” Becca felt the blood drain down from her face. Her heart chilled.

  “What, sweetie? Oh, we’re out of champagne. I echo your OMG!”

  “No, it’s not that. I just had a weird thought. It’s nothing.”

  She hadn't told Jess about the threatening texts. Hawk had asked her not to. And much as Jess had protected her at the ball, she knew a tossed dinner roll would not serve effective ammunition in this case.

  Becca’s hand shook as she reached for the box of Manolos and then tugged her purse onto her lap to give herself something to do to avoid Jess’s gaze. She pulled out her credit card.

  “Should we call it a day?” She cast her friend a smile. She didn’t want Jess asking the questions she was scared to face right now. She had to get home. To scream. To make sense of this. “I’ll treat you to those Louboutins.”

  “Seriously? Love you, Becca.”

  Becca slipped into the back seat of the limo, and Hawk closed the door behind her. He told the driver to wait. He stood outside the car, waiting, watching as Jess got into another limo. When she was inside, the door closed, and the vehicle had rolled off, only then did Hawk climb into the passenger seat of the limo and give the good to go.

  Instead of remarking that he should probably get his Christmas bonus from Jess for all the times he’d looked after her, Becca busied herself with her phone, scrolling through texts, but not reading them. She wanted to look busy, and Hawk generally didn’t talk to her when she was.

  Had Jackson taken nude shots of her while she slept? Was he the anonymous texter who was now threatening her? Hell, he was blackmailing her. She had to tell Hawk. But then she’d have to tell him the whole sordid story, and she didn’t want him to think any less of her than he must already for all the times he’d watched her leave a club destined for a one-night stand.