Chased by the Billionaire 1 Read online

  “You look smashing my dear.”

  I blushed—which is so not at all like me—and sat down.

  They’d ordered a red wine that smelled delicious. I took a sip and… well, it was a divine experience.

  “You really know your hooch, Churchill.” I winked at him.

  “Liz!” Lance admonished with a glowing smile. He knew Churchill loved it when I talked like this.

  Brazen hussy: that’s me.

  Churchill was a man in his early seventies, tall and willowy, with long, hoary white hair that looked both silky and perfectly coifed at all times. He always wore Brooks Brothers’ suits and lovely silk ties. Always with a broad smile on his face, he sometimes made me think of him as an exuberant teenager.

  And he always wore Fahrenheit by Christian Dior: a rather sensuous cologne that always brought on a shiver in me.

  Maybe that’s why he chose the Dior dress.

  “So what shall we be dining on tonight?” I asked Churchill, leaning forward.

  His face turned radiant.

  “That’s a secret, my dear.”

  “Oh, Churchill.” I wagged my finger at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy.

  “He won’t even tell me!” Lance complained.

  I reached over and patted his hand. “Poor baby.”

  Being in their presence always made me think of The Age of Innocence. Churchill was so sweet and proper—and my campy, bawdy assistant seemed to change his spots to match him perfectly.

  They were so right together.

  Well…

  Thoughts of Lance’s confession earlier snapped at that thought like an alligator in a Georgia swamp.

  I shook the conflicting thoughts out of my head.

  I wanted to enjoy this dinner, enjoy their company, and most of all, to enjoy looking this elegant and beautiful.

  First on the menu was a cool, tart asparagus salad with brown tomatoes and artichoke hearts. That was followed by a crown of the freshest jumbo shrimp I have ever tasted, perched upon a small bed of savory orzo and snap peas.

  The side dishes and matching glasses of dessert wines came at a dizzying pace, and I was starting to fear my full belly might rip out one of the seams in my dress. I knew a fancy restaurant like this would have a qualified restroom attendant handy with a needle and thread, but I wanted to keep this dress as pristine as I could.

  Then came the entrée—as always, Churchill knew me so well. I liked to eat, which meant I spent odious hours at the gym trying to keep the fat off and everything firmly in its place—but without gaining any Hulk-like muscles.

  The plate held a huge sirloin steak—broiled to a perfect well done, the edges crunchy with a special rub I knew only he had the recipe to—garlic whipped potatoes and green beans.

  I know, I know… green beans.

  But when you no longer have anyone to make them for you—like a mother—you start wanting them all the time. Trust me, they’re a kind of comfort food.

  It was so sweet of Churchill to remember. But that was him in a nut shell. He never forgot what you liked. That’s probably how he took his family’s respectable fortune and through the decades drove it to gargantuan proportions.

  His family owned a condiment empire: pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup, you name it. When Churchill took over as CEO in the fifties he made the family tighten their belts and diversify their “expendable income” in new directions. One was the burgeoning computer industry—IBM, and then later Apple and Microsoft, and lately Google.

  Though the man keeps a ridiculously low profile, he’s loaded.

  I blew him a kiss and then took up my knife and fork and cut into my steak. It was perfect, just the way I liked it, and the crunchy rub all over it just added to the taste.

  Good god, I had no idea how I was going to walk out of this restaurant. They would have to ask for a wheel barrel to tote me out in.

  From the corner of the restaurant I heard a laugh: male, hoarse, yet with a metallic ring. Touchable, as if it were caressing your skin.

  And familiar…

  The sound pulled my spine up straight as if by a steel chord.

  Lance’s eyes went wide when he looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t really know. My mind hadn’t caught up with the rest of my nervous system yet… but my heart had. It thumped painfully hard in my chest.

  Just then a waiter appeared at my side and set a stemmed martini glass beside me.

  I gulped looking at the chilled glass and the ring of salt on the rim.

  A margarita in a martini glass—my flesh warmed as anger ignited in my chest, making my thudding heart burn.

  “Compliments of the gentleman,” the waiter said, pointing to the corner of the dining room with an elegant gesture.

  My gaze followed where he pointed and lit on a table of men in expensive suits. Dead in the center I caught sight of him, and my heart skipped a beat—the traitor…

  Jackson Burk.

  I turned back around and closed my eyes, feeling myself slipping into an emotional rollercoaster.

  Anger spiked with joy, shame mingled with cold fear, and a long lost feeling of love coated in black, sticky hate.

  I’d never wanted to see Jackson again…

  Yet here he was, just when my career and personal life were on precarious ground, looking…

  Well, I’d only stolen a glance before I turned back around and closed my eyes, but he looked…

  Like a fucking wet dream?

  Thank you, so very helpful.

  I gritted my teeth and pushed the shit-storm inside me back to the dark little corner of my mind where I’d long ago banished it.

  I would not melt into a puddle of sniffling, tear soaked hurt.

  No, this wasn’t college, and I wasn’t the dewy eyed girl I had been.

  The memory of his walking out of my dorm room flickered through my mind, and the scorching feelings of hurt, shame, and confusion that moment had caused.

  And now, sitting there in that restaurant, I saw for the first time that that moment, that feeling, had been reverberating inside me all along.

  I swear that when I opened my eyes again everything was red.

  I blinked a few times and it went away.

  I stood, grabbing my clutch purse and the martini glass clad margarita, and headed towards Jackson’s table.

  Jackson’s eyes were blue-green, like arctic ice, and they bore into me as I walked toward him. I strutted around the table until I was standing right next to him. He didn’t stand up. Simply sat there, staring at me with those damned eyes of his, a slight grin on his handsome face.

  Dirty blond hair, cut short, the build of a college football star, and the sun kissed skin of a native California boy—he was the very definition of masculine beauty.

  I smiled at him and his expression faltered.

  Worried about what I’ll do?

  I looked down at the martini glass in my hand.

  “Liz,” he said, and then he sighed and tilted his head as he looked at me. “You’re not really going to—”

  I threw the drink in his face.

  Jackson wiped the margarita from his eyes with one hand, and then looked at me with irritation.

  I leaned down and he jerked back an inch or two. I leaned in further, my smiling face so very close to his, and then ran my index finger down the line of his square jaw.

  He watched, his mouth slack, as I put my finger to my lips and gently tasted what I’d taken from his flesh.

  I moaned as if tasting something delicious.

  I looked back to him and he was biting his lip.

  “I forgot how much I enjoy those. Thanks for the reminder.”

  I turned and started walking toward the front doors. Lance and Churchill were still standing at our table and I waved goodbye.

  I needed out of there. I needed away from Jackson Burk, as far away from him as possible.

  “Liz!” Jackson called after me, but I was already at the front doors, pushing past
the doorman.

  Once outside I gulped the city’s air as if I hadn’t breathed in years: desperate, halting breaths.

  I glance around. No cabs in sight.

  I needed to get away, so I started to run.

  I was in four inch heels, so I wasn’t setting any land speed records.

  I heard his steps as he caught up with me, and I felt it when he grabbed hold of my arm.

  His hand was on fire. That heat seeped through my skin and made my blood boil on contact. I had forgotten how his touch made me feel. It was some scary chemical reaction… or magic.

  No… I won’t do this, not ever again!

  I swung around in his grasp and slapped him as hard as I could.

  He winced, but didn’t let me go.

  I went to hit him again, but he reached up and caught my hand in mid-air.

  He was so strong; I had forgotten.

  I was trapped in his grasp.

  “Let go of me!” My voice dripped venom.

  “You need to listen to me.” His eyes bore into me, and my traitorous heart skipped a beat again.

  “I’ll scream.”

  “And I’ll break something.” I looked behind Jackson and found Lance standing behind him, his perfect face a blank mask.

  Jackson glanced over his shoulder and then back to me. “This is a private conversation.”

  Lance tsked as he sauntered nearer. “It stopped being private the moment you grabbed hold of her.”

  I saw Jackson’s face falter—he was thinking about how it looked, and about how he was holding onto me.

  He let me go and took a step back.

  “I’m sorry for that, but we need to talk.”

  Lance walked up and stood beside Jackson. “I’m Miss Hamilton’s assistant.” He handed Jackson a business card. “You can call me tomorrow and we can discuss your manners and any future contact you may be granted.”

  I saw the pissed off spark in Jackson’s eyes. He turned on Lance, his nostrils flaring, and reached out to shove him.

  Lance caught his hand and in a heartbeat had Jackson flat on his face on the sidewalk, his muscular arm wrenched painfully behind his back.

  I had always thought that Lance was bragging on his résumé when he’d put that he’d won a national championship in Aikido when he was in high school, but seeing him lay a six foot two ex-football jock out in two seconds flat confirmed his credentials.

  I gulped and stifled a laugh.

  I wasn’t paying Lance nearly enough.

  Jackson groaned as Lance manipulated his spine with his knee.

  I winced just from how painful it looked.

  But… as much as I wanted Jackson Burk in pain, I said, “Lance, I don’t like seeing him in pain like that. Would you let him up please?”

  Lance looked up to me, his perfect mouth pursed in question. “Are you going soft on me?”

  Good question.

  “No, I’m still the bitch that hired you, but I don’t want you to end up in jail.”

  Lance scoffed. “There are plenty of surveillance cameras on this street. They’ll all show he went to touch me first. I was just defending myself.”

  Jackson groaned again as Lance rocked his weight a little more into the hold. I walked around the two until I could look into Jackson’s face. Even in pain, and pushed half into the pavement, the bastard was gorgeous.

  I bent down and said, “I’m sure Lance here can be persuaded to let you loose if you promise not to touch me again.”

  Jackson shook his head—quite a feat since his face was smooshed against the pavement.

  “I can’t promise that. I have all kinds of plans for touching you… later on.”

  I stood up and frowned. Even in pain and pressed against the sidewalk, he could still flirt.

  That’s how he’d gotten me to go out with him.

  Susan had manipulated me into volunteering on a blood mobile drive, handing out orange juice and cookies to the student athletes while they gave blood.

  The woman taking Jackson’s blood was missing his vein repeatedly, and though he was a blotchy red, and sweating, and cursing, he asked me out the instant he saw me.

  I crumpled that memory up in my head like a piece of paper.

  “Well then,” I said, stepping past him. “Lance can just keep you there until I call him and tell him I’m safely at home.”

  I took a few steps and he called, “Wait! Don’t leave.”

  I didn’t look back. I wanted him to give up and leave—and to leave me alone forever.

  “Just go to lunch with me tomorrow. We’ll meet at Chester’s.”

  Chester’s…

  I hadn’t thought of that place in years. The best cheddar cheese fries in the history of the world, and steak hoagies so mouthwatering you never left any on your plate, or took it home.

  “Is there one in Chicago?” It had been a small new chain restaurant back when we were in college. We used to eat there like ravenous wolves, studying and kissing, and…

  I was about to say no… but then he’d just keep this up until Lance hurt him, and as much as I wanted him to pay for…

  I let my head fall back and sighed, looking up at the sky, not seeing a single star due to all the ambient light covering the sky like smog.

  “Fine, if you promise to go away now, I’ll meet you at Chester’s at noon.”

  “Okay.” Jackson looked over his shoulder where Lance knelt on top of him. “Will you get off me now?”

  Lance smiled and gracefully stood up, letting go of Jackson in one elegant movement.

  Jackson groaned again, this time in relief, and rolled gingerly onto his back.

  Lance leaned down and offered him his hand.

  After scrutinizing the offered help, Jackson grasped hold of Lance’s hand as he was heaved off the ground.

  Lance was far stronger than I’d imagined.

  “Radioactive spider bite?” I asked as my assistant circled around behind me.

  He snorted. “I’m just glad he gave up so quick—would’ve hated messing up something so pretty.”

  The look Jackson was giving me as he brushed off his suit was like a forest fire burning behind his eyes.

  “You may still have to,” I said.

  Lance blinked and then rolled his eyes at me. “Breeders. I just don’t get you people.”

  I turned to walk away, but Jackson moved to follow me.

  Lance cleared his throat and wagged a finger at him. Jackson stopped in his tracks.

  He leaned into me and murmured, “Churchill probably has his car ready for us, if you wouldn’t mind bumming a ride from us.”

  I looked behind him and saw Churchill looking dapper, waving us over to his…

  “Is that a vintage Rolls Royce Phantom?”

  I walked as if in a dream toward the car… no, not a car, an automobile of the highest order. All those curves and metal, all covered by a perfect paintjob at least six layers deep.

  “No,” Lance said as we got closer. “That’s a 1955 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith.”

  Jackson was suddenly standing right beside me, staring at the four wheeled wonder before us.

  “It’s an Empress Touring Limousine,” he chanted. “Bruce Wayne’s butler drives him around in one of those.”

  I had to smile. Geek much?

  I looked over to Lance and saw my expression mirrored there.

  I walked over to where Churchill stood and accepted his hand as I slid into the car. The Italian leather seats were so soft I wanted to strip out of my dress and roll around on them… but I didn’t, of course.

  That would have been tacky, though I’m sure Lance would have recorded it on his iPhone and posted it on half a dozen social media sites before I even got home.

  Churchill followed me into the car, and then came Lance.

  I heard Jackson call out, “Remember, Tigger… Chester’s at noon. Don’t be late!”

  Lance turned and said, “Tigger?”

  I gave him my most deadly of g
lares. “Don’t ask. Now shut the door.”

  Lance laughed one perfect Ha, and pulled the door shut. The Roll-Royce sped off into the night, slipping through traffic like it was made out of smoke and shadows.

  As Chicago slid past in our wake, my assistant placed his hand atop mine and squeezed.

  “You alright, boss lady?”

  No, I wasn’t alright. I was so confused. I was numb. My mind was a word jumble from hell: hurt, hate, loved, abandoned…

  I suppressed the tears vying to course down my face, and wreck my makeup, and took deep breaths instead.

  “Would you gentlemen mind dropping me off somewhere?”

  Chapter 5

  I texted her on the way over, and called her from the lobby and the elevator, but Susan refused to answer.

  I needed to talk to her. I needed my best friend to help me figure things out.

  So I knocked on her door and rang her doorbell over and over and over again.

  And then I heard a baby crying.

  Shiiit!

  I’d forgotten there was a baby now.

  And I’d woken her up.

  I considered sneaking away, and dashing down the fire exit stairs, but Susan opened the apartment door just as I was turning to run. She held little Sara in her arms as she cried and screamed—Susan’s eyes were blood shot and her expression pissed off.

  I opened my mouth to talk, but she cut me off by slicing the air with her free hand.

  “Get in, shut the door, and sit down,” she said, voice terse, and then turned to pad off to the living room.

  I’d read that new mothers were not only sleep deprived but dangerous. Under normal circumstances I would never have come anywhere near this apartment or baby Sara. Too loud, too stressful, and far too many chances to walk away with a terrifying stain.

  But I had been so turned around and shaken by seeing Jackson again, I hadn’t thought things out.

  I did as I was told. I came in, shut the door, and followed Susan into her living room.

  She pointed to a beige couch with a huge stuffed snowman on one end, and a duo of stuffed princesses on the other. Well, the one with the white hair was a princess for sure… the other might have been her maid.

  Susan gestured for me to sit in the center of the couch, and I obeyed. She immediately slapped a pink and orange bath towel over my shoulder and set baby Sara in my arms, her wails and sobs like the raptor screeches from Jurassic Park.