Kitty Valentine dates a Billionaire

by Dodd, Jillian

  She’s a whirlwind, to put it mildly.

  “Thank you so much for that.” I smile, breathless and shaky and hoping she doesn’t mind the new direction my work is going in.

  Her smile is just about blinding. “Come on. Let’s go find Mom. She’s in the kitchen, I guess. Killing the fatted calf and all that.”

  “No pressure,” Blake murmurs in a warning way as his sister slides an arm around my waist and steers me through the charming, cozy house and into a sunny kitchen.

  Mrs. Marlin is a beautiful woman with a warm, loving smile. “There’s my fella.” She grins as she goes in to hug Blake. Her Philly accent is much stronger than either Britt’s or Blake’s—his is almost nonexistent really. I guess he must’ve worked it out of his system over time.

  “Hey, Mom. This is Kitty. I was a real idiot and didn’t tell her we were coming here until we were on the way to the hangar, so the three of you can berate me all you want.” He has a way of defusing any situation, this Blake. No wonder he’s so successful in business.

  His mother smacks his arm. Britt smacks the other.

  “Why would you do that to her?” Britt demands before smacking him again. “You’re a real moron.”

  I can’t deny that this is fun to watch. The big, powerful mogul being scolded by the women in his life. He’s even red-faced, which is like the cherry on top. It takes a lot of my self-control to keep from laughing.

  “Forgive him, honey,” his mother sighs before giving me a much gentler hug than her daughter did. “I did my best to raise him right, but I might’ve dropped him on his head once. The early days are a blur.”

  I like her even more than I imagined I would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “When Blake’s father passed, I was sure I’d fall to pieces.” Mrs. Marlin takes a sip of her wine, staring thoughtfully out at the garden she clearly loves and tends for all she’s worth. “I did for a little while. At least the kids were old enough that they could take care of themselves—for the most part.”

  “Nobody could blame you for that, Mrs. Marlin.”

  “Sara, please.” She smiles, glancing my way. “If I can call you Kitty, you can call me by my first name.

  “I think it affected Blake harder than Britt. He and his father had had a talk near the end. I know my husband didn’t feel he left much behind for us. His plant had closed down when the economy tanked, and he was never the same. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Blake became obsessed with wealth after that.”

  “You think it was all because he’d lost his father?”

  “And his father felt like a failure. Yes, I think that played a big part—though, of course, he’d never admit that. And I would never breathe a word of it.”

  “Neither would I,” I whisper. And I won’t. But this gives me some much-needed insight into Blake. Now, I understand what drove him to be the best. I can use that for my hero.

  Jeez, am I seriously thinking about my book right now? Here I am, accusing Blake of not being able to separate himself from work …

  “Thank you for having me here tonight,” I murmur, and I mean it with all my heart. I can hear Blake and Britt laughing as they wash dishes inside, teasing the way brothers and sisters do. He sounds younger here, happier. “It’s so beautiful. I love hearing Blake laugh so much too.”

  “So do I. It’s been a long time since he found a girl worthy of bringing home.”

  Ouch. No pressure or anything.

  “He even left his phone out here,” Sara notices, nodding to where the device sits on the table in front of us.

  “Wow. That never happens,” I marvel.

  “I know. The fact that he’s able to do that after taking the time out to bring you here gives me hope.”

  “Sara …”

  “Don’t worry.” She smiles; she’s wise in the way only a mother can be. “I’m not dreaming about grandchildren just yet. Though it would be nice. But he can’t be an easy man to date. I give you credit.”

  Ouch again. Is this a trap? I guess she’s not the sort of person to lay traps—though who knows?

  “He’s very busy. I wish he’d take more time for himself. Not for me. For him.”

  “I’m hoping he’ll start doing more of that now that the two of you are seeing each other,” she muses, swirling the wine in her glass.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her he’s already blown me off more than once.

  It’s like the stinking phone knows we were talking about it because it rings a moment later.

  “Blake!” I say, my heart sinking as I reach for it. “Your phone’s ringing!”

  “My hands are soaked,” he calls out through the half-open window. “Can you grab it?”

  “Wow,” I whisper, eyes wide. Sara chuckles as I answer, “Hello? Blake Marlin’s phone.”

  A silent pause.

  “Who’s this?” says a woman’s voice.

  “This is a friend of Blake’s. He’s on his way to the phone right now.”

  Another pause.

  “Kitty? Is this Kitty?” The way she says my name, it might as well be obscene.

  “It is.” I exchange a look with Sara, who shrugs. “But not for much longer. He’s on his way.”

  “Where is he? Where are you? He’s been unreachable for most of the day, and I’ve spent my entire Sunday trying to put out a fire for him. Would you like to take over the job of being his assistant? Because honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

  “I … don’t feel comfortable with this conversation,” I announce, my hand tightening around the phone. “This isn’t any of my business.”

  “But it is because he’s been a basket case since the two of you met at that conference. I was there. I saw it happen.”

  Right. This is the girl who reminded Blake of his schedule while he was helping me. She struck me as harried and irritated. I can imagine why.

  But still.

  “I don’t make decisions for him,” I remind her. “He does that on his own. If you have a problem with the way he’s been lately, he’s the one to take that up with. Not me.”

  “What’s going on?” Blake’s by my side now, frowning deeply. “Who is that?”

  “Give him the phone,” the girl snaps.

  I give him the phone before turning away, trembling. “I don’t like conflict, especially with people I don’t know,” I whisper to Sara, who pats my shoulder.

  “That was uncalled for,” she murmurs. “I think he heard enough of it to know what was going on. That girl won’t have a job for long.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not. She shouldn’t have thrown her problems at you like that. If Blake doesn’t fire her, I’ll be disappointed in him.” She turns her head toward Blake, who’s walking the length of the garden and barking instructions into the phone. “Something tells me the night just came to an end.”

  “I’m awfully sorry.” And I am. This has been really nice, much nicer than I imagined when I found out where we were going.

  “So am I, sweetie.” She stands when Blake approaches us. “Leaving so soon?”

  “How did you know?” His shoulders are around his ears, his hands clenched in fists. “Sorry for the sudden departure.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” She sounds so sad, almost as sad as I feel for all of us.

  It’s not until we’re on the jet that I even dare to ask what happened—asking while he drove us to the jet didn’t seem like a hot idea. “Is there a problem I need to know about? Because your assistant seemed really mad at me.”

  “She’s not my assistant anymore. I have to train a new one. Just one more thing to do.” He leans back in his seat with a sigh. “I need a drink.”

  “I’ll fix you one,” I offer, eyeing the drink cart.

  “No, that’s okay. You’re not my employee. I thought tonight was going so well before that happened too.”

  “So did I. It was going well. I love your mom and Britt. They’re great.
”

  “They loved you too. I knew they would.” Though he’s not smiling. He’s only speaking the words. He’s not feeling them right now.

  “Is there something big going on? With your business, I mean. Is that why she was so upset that she couldn’t reach you?”

  “There’s always something big going on. You should be used to that by now.”

  “Um, I am—somewhat.” Here we go again, with him being in a bad mood and taking it out on me. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “But you realize you can’t keep me closed out forever—me or anybody else you’re dating. You know that, right? Because no matter how much you want to keep your work and personal life separate, it’ll never happen when work is such a huge part of your life.”

  “Enough, okay? I don’t need this from you right now.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, sitting up straighter. My ears practically perk up, like an animal sensing a challenge. “I didn’t do anything to earn this. I’m worried about you, is all, and it annoys me when I see things getting to you this way.”

  “Annoys you?” he asks, arching one eyebrow.

  “For your sake,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Because you were actually happy for a little while there, and now, you’re miserable all over again. Angry. Your shoulders are up here.” I hunch them up to mimic the way his currently sit. “You were laughing with Britt just a minute before you took the phone. It was beautiful. Now? You’re a mess.”

  “Please, keep heaping it on me,” he groans. “Make me feel worse. Add to my stress.”

  “You’re right. I’m not allowed to care. I’m supposed to walk around with my mouth hanging open, amazed at how wonderful your life is. I’m not supposed to have an opinion, and I’m definitely not supposed to care anything about you.” I charge out of my seat and wish like heck I could leave the plane, but of course, that’s not an option.

  Instead, I settle for slamming myself into a seat across from Blake, folding my arms and swinging one leg back and forth after crossing it over the other. He spends the rest of the flight making terse phone calls. I might as well not be here.

  How does this keep happening?

  How many clues do I need dropped in my lap before I figure out that this is never going to work?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I’d give it all up for you, right this minute,” Bryan murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind Phoebe’s ear before sliding his hand around to the back of her head. “None of it matters without you.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. It was almost too much to believe. Was this a dream? She’d imagined this moment so many times after all. Odds were, she was asleep.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, laughing gently when she squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide.

  She did it again instead of answering right away, but the result was the same. “This is how I wake myself up from a dream when I know I’m dreaming,” she explained with a sheepish smile.

  “You think this is a dream?” he asked.

  “I hope it isn’t—but if it is, it’s the best dream I’ve ever had. It’s a miracle.”

  “No. You’re the miracle,” he whispered, pulling her in. “I’m only the lucky guy who gets to have you in his life. I know I don’t deserve you. But I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to earn you, Phoebe. So long as you’ll let me.”

  “I’ll let you,” she promised, throwing her arms around his neck a moment before the tears started flowing. “Always. I love you so much.”

  “And I love you.” He smiled before brushing his lips against hers in the softest, sweetest kiss, one more tender than he’d ever given her before.

  But that didn’t last long because he was soon devouring her mouth, plunging his tongue inside and plundering her, hungry and determined to claim her once and for all.

  And she wanted him to. Needed him to. He guided her to the desk, and she leaned against it. She was already halfway to unbuttoning his shirt by the time he worked the skirt up over her hips. She had to have him, all of him, had to lose herself in him while he did the same with her.

  I have to take a break, pushing away from the laptop with tears in my eyes. Phoebe’s supposed to be the one crying, not me.

  She’s also supposed to be finding the love of her life and preparing for a hot, raunchy but ultimately tender and loving sex session on her boss/boyfriend’s desk. That’s most certainly not my situation.

  I wish I could stop thinking about Blake, imagining him as being the one loving me—or rather, Phoebe. It’s all too messy. I should never have started this. Now that things have fallen apart and it’s obvious that Blake could never be anybody’s boyfriend until he gets his business worked out. This was a terrible idea.

  If I had a little closure with him, that would be one thing. But ten days of radio silence on his end after I’ve texted and even left voice mails, the message has finally come through.

  He’s done with me. I guess that’s for the best.

  And if I don’t get this book over to Maggie in the next week, at the very most, she’ll be done with me too. Nothing like a whole lot of pressure to make the creative juices dry up until they’re nonexistent, right?

  The sudden knock at the door as I’m coming back from washing my tearstained face makes me jump. It could only be Matt. People don’t normally visit out of nowhere. Even Hayley knows better than to do that.

  It’s only when the aroma of steak and onions reaches my nose before I’ve opened the door that I realize there’s one person who doesn’t know better. And even if he did, he wouldn’t care. I mean, he flew me to his mother’s house without clearing with me whether or not I actually wanted to go.

  Showing up at my apartment unannounced is, like, nothing compared to that.

  Blake looks like a million bucks, as always, wearing one of his tailored suits. Meanwhile, I haven’t washed my hair in three days.

  My greasy hair isn’t nearly as interesting as the greasy paper bag that Blake holds up for my inspection, however. I mean, the entire hall smells like a sandwich shop. A delicious, mouthwatering sandwich shop.

  “I don’t know who to say hello to first,” I admit while wishing like heck I were wearing something better suited for a moment like this. Something a little nicer than a sweatshirt and yoga pants from this morning’s workout.

  What can I say? I’m proud that I even managed to get a workout in. Showering and getting dressed afterward was beyond the realm of my powers.

  “The sandwiches, of course.” Blake smirks. “I flew them straight in from Philly just a little while ago, packed in one of those foil-lined bags that keeps the heat in.”

  “You could’ve saved a lot of trouble, you know. A simple phone call would’ve done the trick.” But I step aside anyway. “Come on in. Sorry for the mess. I’m on a deadline.”

  He sighs as he steps inside. “I can’t seem to get it right with you, can I?”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel bad—but maybe, just maybe, call a girl when she’s trying to get in touch with you, so she doesn’t think you died.” We go to the kitchen, where he lays the sandwiches on the counter. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  What are we doing? I feel like we’re playing parts in a script, like we’re saying words and going through motions that don’t fit the situation.

  “Water, please. I’m dehydrated from the flight.”

  “Let me guess. You’ve been on the road all week?”

  “Actually, yes.” He shrugs, accepting a bottle of water from the fridge. “Philly was a pitstop on the way up from Atlanta.”

  “Do you ever stop?”

  “Not really.” He unwraps one long sandwich and then the other. “I should’ve asked if you were hungry.”

  “Even if I wasn’t, I’d climb over your dead body to get my hands on this,” I confess. “Don’t forget. I’m on a deadline. Things like eating tend to fall by the wayside.”
>
  And, oh boy, is it a good sandwich. Rich, meaty, cheesy, speckled with sweet caramelized onions and fried mushrooms. I could just about melt into the floor. “My gosh,” I manage to say before taking another bite.

  “Not quite the same as having one on-site, but I figured a little extra time wouldn’t make that much of a difference.” He takes a bite, groaning. “I was right.”

  “You were right.”

  We exchange a long look, food forgotten for a moment.

  “But just about the sandwiches though,” he murmurs before wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I was wrong about a lot of things. I was wrong, period. I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I whisper, shaking my head.

  He’s sitting on the other side of the counter, facing me, but we might as well be a million miles from each other. That granite countertop is a cavern between us.

  His dark eyes are dull, without that spark of light I first noticed in them when we met. “What’s the problem then? Why can’t I get it right? I’ve found a beautiful, amazing girl who makes me laugh and drives me crazy, but I can’t make it work with you. I’ve never wanted to make it work so much. Not ever. But it seems like I’m not cut out for life with a perfect woman.”

  “I’m not perfect.”

  “You are, for me—at least, on paper.” He takes another bite, though this one doesn’t have the gusto the first bite did.

  I wait as he chews and sense he’s stalling for time, trying to get his thoughts together.

  I finally jump in because it’s breaking my heart to hear him talk this way. “You’re not wrong. You’re the best, really. I would love to make this work too. But the life you lead doesn’t mesh with a relationship. Not because you aren’t cut out for it, but because you have to make a few changes. Not that ambition is bad. It’s great. You’ve done incredible things.”

  “What difference does it make if I can’t have the person I want?”