Charmed by the Billionaire

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “What’s up, sis?” Dennis says into my ear. My other younger brother’s timing isn’t great.

  “Hey! How are you? What’s going on?”

  Before I can answer, he launches into a story about a guy he knows who works for Owen Construction who knows Nate. He’s chattering about how that made him think of me but doesn’t connect those dots to any one thing in particular. I “uh-huh” my way through the conversation while trying to write a legible note to Timothy. I manage to write something that makes sense (I think) and sign it. Manuel takes the paper, puts it in the box, and then takes the tape roll out of the junk drawer.

  “Den, I have to go. I’m so sorry. I have a flight to catch.” I put my hand on my forehead, having the sneaking suspicion I’m forgetting something.

  “Where are you going?” Dennis asks.

  “Florida.” It hits me just as Manuel pulls a strip of tape over the box’s top. “Wait! When he was home on spring break, he left one of his books here.”

  “Why are you going to Florida?” Dennis asks into my ear as I reroute to Timothy’s bedroom.

  “Uh, a fundraiser. Benji and I are about to leave for the airport.”

  “Boss man picking you up?”

  “Yes.” I sort through the books on Timothy’s bookshelf and grab the book he needs for class. “And I don’t want to miss our flight.”

  “Impossible,” Benji says as I race by. Whatever that means.

  “That book isn’t going to fit,” Manuel tells me as he winds the tape back onto the roll.

  “It’ll fit. Can you overnight the box? I’ll get you some money,” I tell him as I grab my purse. “Is twenty-five dollars enough?”

  “Cris.” Dennis sounds frustrated.

  “I’m sorry, Den. I’m not trying to ignore you. I just have a few things going on. What about your friend, again?”

  The phone vanishes from my hand and Benji says, “Dennis, Benji. How are you, man? I’ll have Cris give you a call when we’re in the air. You going to be around for a while?” A pause and then, “Yeah. You got it. Thanks.”

  Call ended, Benji slides my cell phone into the front pocket of my jeans and tucks my wallet into my purse. He follows me to the kitchen where he holds the box flaps down as Manuel applies the tape.

  “We have time to drop this off,” he tells my brother.

  “We do?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Firecracker. We do.”

  Manuel jerks his gaze from Benji to me and back again, processing the nickname. I give him a tense smile. Box tucked under one arm, Benji places his hand on my lower back. “Say bye to your brother. I’ll be in the car.”

  He then sets a kiss on the corner of my mouth and walks out the door. Now I’m left in my kitchen facing my brother’s narrowed gaze. He doesn’t look happy.

  “Don’t.” I point at him. He wants to know everything, but this might be too much to know. Especially when I don’t have time to explain. Not that I would share details. “I love you.”

  He’s normally recalcitrant, so I’m surprised by his returned “I love you too.” At least he sounds sincere when he adds, “Have a nice trip.”

  Benji

  Two hours later we’ve landed in Florida and a car is taking us to the hotel. I surprised Cris with a private jet rather than flying commercial. As she boarded our airliner, her cheeks tinged pink and her eyes crinkled at the sides. Totally worth it.

  We made a quick stop to drop the package at the post office before a cozy flight south. We didn’t have sex on the plane, but I’m not going to say it didn’t cross my mind. I want her losing her virginity to be right. Unfortunately, doing things right means not inducting Cris into the mile-high club on the first go-round. On the flight home, however, anything goes.

  I put a pin in my libido and hand the valet the keys. The hotel I booked is a ritzy, modern-day masterpiece. Nothing’s nicer than a Crane hotel.

  We check in amidst white and glass and sleek, modern furnishings in the lobby and then take the elevator to the top floor. I booked a suite, and while it’s not a honeymoon suite with a chincy, heart-shaped bed or a champagne-glass hot tub, they do have a bottle of champagne on ice and a vase filled with an assortment of flowers next to it. Nothing but class, which is exactly why I chose this hotel.

  “Mr. Owen,” Cris reads from the card. “Enjoy your stay at the Crane Hotel.” She bends to touch her nose to a delicate flower petal and inhales. “Mm.”

  The throaty sound reminds me of the shower we had together a few days ago and wow, does that reroute my thoughts. I adjust my dick but don’t linger the way he’d like, before blowing out a calming breath as I take in the view from our floor. I was promised oceanfront. I am not disappointed.

  “Amazing,” she says from beside me. “A few hours ago I was in my house, and now we’re overlooking a blue ocean. Isn’t life incredible?”

  I smile at her simple yet poignant observation. “Want to dip your toes in?”

  Her face lights up. “More than anything.” Then she frowns. “But I can’t. I have to finalize a few things for the event tonight. We’re registered as VIP guests, but Marla asked us check in the moment we arrive. There could be a photo op. If so, we need to know where to show up and choose what you’re wearing. You might want to coordinate with your dad and brothers, but I imagine everyone will wear suits.” While she’s talking, she flips open her suitcase and drags out her laptop. Shoving the flower vase and champagne aside, she opens the computer on the table and bends over it. “And then we’ll have to—hey!”

  Her exclamation was due to my shutting the laptop before she could log in.

  “Beach,” I instruct.

  “Just because we are in an enormous, beautiful suite overlooking the blue water and white sand of the Gulf Coast doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do. Last I checked, I’m still employed by you. These events don’t exactly run themselves.”

  See what I mean about her not letting people take care of her? I palm her arm.

  “As my life assistant coach, you should recognize I need a little vitamin sea right now. As in water. As in ocean. This weekend isn’t going to be about you corralling my schedule. I didn’t invite you to work your tail off doing the usual administrative duties.”

  “Work hours, remember?”

  “We’re in neutral territory. Work hours aren’t written in stone this weekend.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and walk her to the window again. “Think of them as written in the sand.”

  Just when I think she’s taking in the spectacular view, she sighs.

  “If I could send one email…” She gives me a slightly guilty smile. “You can’t keep me from working.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “What about you? You’re the workaholic. Is it killing you not to check in with Josie?”

  A little. But I’m fighting the urge with both hands.

  “Of course not. I’m here with you. What else is there to do?”

  It’s the right answer. She smiles at her shoes. “I guess I can email Marla when we come back to the room.”

  “Nate’s assistant has handled everything. If I’m supposed to show up for a photo opportunity, or a speech, or a fucking parade, she’ll let me know. Your only job while you’re here is to have a good time on my arm and by my side.”

  “We should probably talk about that.” She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “I can’t literally be on your arm. Not with your family here.”

  While I agree it might require explaining, I also don’t plan on groping her in public. “Trust me, Cris, they’re not going to notice. You come to almost every event I attend as it is. Nobody expects me to drag a date to Florida for a fundraiser. They’re going to look at you and see my best friend. My coach. And if they ask why you’re not running around working your fool head off, tell them I gave you the weekend off. After all, it’s the truth.”

  Fluorescent orange strings spilling from her open suitcase capture my attention. I
pluck the teeny-tiny bikini top and dangle it between us. “Is this the swimwear your brother warned me about?”

  She grabs the bikini top and slams the suitcase shut. I wrestle with the lid of the suitcase while she makes a meager attempt (while giggling) to keep it closed. My strength bests hers. I pull out two scraps of fabric. Tiny triangles make up the top and bottoms of a bikini I absolutely cannot wait to see her wearing.

  “You’re going to need a lot of sunscreen if you wear this.” I grin.

  “Maybe I should buy a new one. I forgot how much daylight is out there.”

  “Over my dead body.” I toss the bikini on the bed and rub my hands together. “The best way to ensure we don’t miss an inch of skin is for you to get naked. I’ll apply the sunscreen and then you can put on your bathing suit.”

  Hands on her hips, she cocks her head to one side. “Oh, is that how it works?”

  “Totally how it works,” I say as earnestly as I’m able. “Strip.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cris

  I’m sun-kissed and smiling after having bought a dress on a complete whim.

  I packed a simple black frock I’ve worn over and over again, but it didn’t feel like the right dress to wear to the event. Even though we haven’t gone “all the way,” being physical with Benji has made me more aware of my body. After he applied the sunscreen in our room, watching unabashedly as I tied the strings on my teeny bikini, I realized I finally have someone to dress up for. A plain black dress wasn’t going to cut it tonight.

  I hug the dress bag to my chest and smile to myself as I step into the elevator. I can’t wait to surprise him when I show up in this hot little number. A woman steps in after me, and it takes me all of a nanosecond to recognize the director of the event: Marla Hearst.

  “Cris!” She regards me from her height. But then, I’m petite, so everyone is tall to me. It’s no wonder why he went out with her casually once or twice. She’s beautiful and professional.

  “Marla. Hi. I didn’t expect you to be at the Crane Hotel.” I expected her to stay where the event was being held. Or maybe hoped is a better word.

  “Ugh. No. I prefer to stay offsite. It’s so wonderful to see you. Looks like you’ve been enjoying the sun. You’re almost sunburned.” She wrinkles her pert nose. “I hope the garment in that bag isn’t red or pink. It’ll make your face look the same color.”

  I try to hold my smile while my stomach flips. The dress I bought for tonight is red. I glance down at the opaque bag in my arms and pray she’s wrong. Steamed lobster wasn’t the look I was going for.

  “My dress is cool blue,” she continues with an elegant sweep of her hand before pressing the elevator button for her floor—one below mine. “Cool tones of blue and green are the rage right now. Who decides this stuff?” She laughs heartily. I echo her laughter, or try to anyway. It’s hard to be jovial after learning I dropped way too much money on a dress that isn’t “all the rage” this season.

  The doors slide open and she leaves the elevator, turning to wiggle her fingers in a wave. Before the doors shut, she catches them with manicured fingernails and pokes her face through the gap. “I have a few things for you to handle if you’re available. As Benji’s assistant, you’re always so organized. I’ll email you! See you tonight.”

  She’s gone before I can argue I’m not working tonight. I frown down at the garment bag, feeling like a soot-covered Cinderella who’s been swamped with menial tasks moments before the ball.

  With a sigh, I step out of the elevator on the top floor and angle toward the suite. Benji is sliding in the key card as I approach.

  “How did I beat you up here?” His eyes go to the garment bag in my arms. “Shopping spree?”

  “Something like that. I’m going to return it. It was spur-of-the-moment, anyway.” I turn on my heel for the elevator, but he catches my elbow.

  “Not before I see it. You almost didn’t wear the bikini, and you looked amazing in it.”

  I admit, that was nice to hear.

  He pushes open the suite door and gestures for me to walk in ahead of him. I do, unsure how I feel about tonight. About being his date. About Marla. About the red dress or my red skin. How did a run-in with someone he had a romantic encounter with throw me off so completely? It shouldn’t matter. There’s no reason to behave like a jealous girlfriend when I’m not his girlfriend.

  Neither should it have mattered when I saw him with Trish. And that mattered way too much. I need to screw my head on straight before I let what we’re doing mean something it shouldn’t. It’s as easy as making a decision.

  And so, I decide.

  “Honestly, this dress is a tad fancy for this event.”

  “What color is it?” He hoists an eyebrow, which makes him look rakish.

  “Red.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Well, yes, of course. That’s why I bought it.”

  “Then wear it. Tonight’s special. Or have you forgotten?”

  Rather than admit the surrendering of my virginity was the last thing on my mind when I ran into his supermodel ex who was content to treat me like I was “the help,” I say, “Of course I haven’t forgotten.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, widening his stance. “Let’s see it.”

  I press the plastic closer, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s just a dress.”

  “It’s a red dress. A woman buys a red dress because she’s feeling sexy. Why don’t you try it on for me? I’ll give you my honest opinion.”

  “Then you would see it before the fundraiser and ruin the surprise!” I’m smiling as I reprimand him. I love the way he justified my purchase. That he’s encouraging me to wear a dress I love. His slow grin also tells me something else. I just revealed I bought the dress as much for him as I did for me.

  Benji

  I left the hotel room before Cris to give her time to dress up for me. I know that’s why she bought the dress. She can’t convince me otherwise. Plus, she kicked me out, claiming she couldn’t concentrate while I was hovering. I wasn’t.

  Much.

  My mind is plagued with memories of watching her strut along the shoreline in naught but a scrap of spandex. Her bright orange bikini was as “scandalous” as Manuel suggested. Her sunscreen-slicked skin was luminescent as she unknowingly rocked her petite curves. There’s something about having seen every inch of her already and then her hiding bits from me that drives me wild.

  As I sip my scotch and walk around the bar area next to the ballroom, where the event is going to start in an hour, I let my mind wander to what sort of dress she may have chosen. I know it’s red. I don’t know if it’s short. I don’t know if it’s long. I don’t know if the back is out. I don’t know if it’s strapless. I don’t know if she’ll be wearing a bra underneath or if she’ll forgo all undergarments. What I do know is she’ll be on my arm while wearing it, and then back in our shared room where I’ll slip her out of it.

  Our teasing and flirting about tonight being The Night has me excited for the main event. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this eager to have a woman in my bed. And it’s not like I get off on going “where no man has gone before.” This is Cris we’re talking about, and the fact that a firecracker is hiding underneath her official exterior intrigues me.

  The hotel’s ballroom is decorated in tropical hues of soothing greens and creams set against the backdrop of pale wood flooring. Cane pole chairs ring tables draped with linens and set with shining gold cutlery and glassware.

  When I was first introduced to this sort of wealthy lifestyle, I was perturbed by how much trouble a dot-org went through to squeeze money out of the rich. The entire process seemed pointless at the time. Why spend a ton of money to thank donors for making large donations? Not to sound cheesy, but isn’t giving supposed to be its own reward?

  Alas, the pomp and circumstance is customary. Separating the rich from their money takes a bit of finesse, and after it’s done you can’t palm them cab money
and shove them out the door in their socks. The Heart-to-Teen group has seen to it to make us feel extra cozy, and those warm fuzzies help us loosen the hold on our money clips.

  “Hey, baby bro.” I hear the unmistakable baritone of Nathaniel Owen over my shoulder. Oldest and also adopted child of the Owen clan, and one of the best humans on the planet.

  I turn to find him standing next to Vivian, who is dressed to the nines in a plum-colored gown. Her hair is twisted at her nape and diamond earrings dangle from her earlobes. The hand draped over Nate’s arm boasts a chunky engagement ring.

  “Nate. Vivian.” I nod around the room. “Are you taking notes for the wedding reception? This place is fancy.”

  “You know Vivian. She’s going to have something far more overstated than this.”

  Vivian clucks her tongue at his joke. “You know Nate. He wants to get married in a replica of the Empire State Building with the President of the United States officiating, with bears in tutus dancing at the reception. Over-the-top planning is squarely in his wheelhouse, not mine.”

  “I would never have dancing bears. It’s cruel. Those beautiful animals forced to wear tulle.”

  She beams at him, the love in her eyes so bright it’s blinding to us commonfolk. “That’s why I love you. Always thinking of how others are impacted.”

  Their kiss goes on longer than is comfortable for a bystander. I finally look up from my shoes when Nate speaks again. “Where’s Cris?”

  “She’ll be down in a few.”

  “You didn’t escort her?” Vivian’s eyebrows center over her nose, her frown accusatory.

  “She asked me not to.”

  This seems to appease my future sister-in-law. “As long as you’re being a gentleman.”

  “No promises.” I vowed to show Cris the time of her life tonight and take her virginity like a confident man should. I never promised to be a gentleman. I’m hoping like hell she doesn’t want me to be one. Once I buffed the first layer of paint off my little life coach, I found the naughty streak she’d hidden. I’m not nearly done exploring it.