The Billionaire’s Promise (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance) Read online

  "I can see that," Charlie said. "Still, I don't like letting him get away with this."

  "He left his golf clubs," I offered. "I'm pretty sure he hasn't figured that out yet, and he's going to come back for them."

  "What did you do?" Vance asked.

  "I thought about throwing them away, but they're worth a lot of money and it seems like a waste. Did you know it was garbage day this morning? It turns out my garbage man is a golfer. Now he has a really nice set of custom-made golf clubs. He was very appreciative."

  "I bet he was," Vance said, laughing. "Did he leave anything else? Anything we can light on fire?"

  "No." I hit him lightly on the shoulder with my menu. "No," I said more seriously. "He was very thorough. I think he'd been quietly moving his stuff out for a while because when he left, he only had a duffel bag, but there's nothing of his in the house, and we'd been living together for two years."

  As I said the words, tears flooded my eyes again. Two years. We’d lived together for two years and had been dating for four. What had I been thinking? How could I have stuck with him for so long, this man who could just walk out on me, cheat on me? Why had I put up with him? And what did it say about me that I was so upset he'd left?

  CHAPTER SIX

  VANCE

  * * *

  I was going to kill that fucking twat. Fucking kill him. Don't get me wrong. I was thrilled he'd walked out on Magnolia. The woman had very few faults, but her refusal to throw in the towel on Brayden Michaels was one of them. He'd been freeloading off her for years, cutting her down and treating her like crap.

  Loyalty was usually a good quality. God knows, I'd been the beneficiary of Magnolia's stubborn variety of loyalty when I hadn't deserved it either. The difference was, I'd realized I was an asshole. I'd changed. I deserved that loyalty now.

  Brayden had broken her heart. She'd said she didn't want us to do anything to him. Watching her sip her third mimosa and pick at her French toast, it was all I could do not to track the fucking dickhead down and beat him to a pulp.

  My Magnolia should be happy. I loved seeing her when she was happy, those blue eyes bright, her full pink lips curved into a smile. Brayden was a dickhead, but the worst of his crimes, in my opinion, was convincing Magnolia that she was unattractive.

  There was only so much I could do to change her mind. I couldn't, for example, strip off her clothes, lay her out on my bed, and kiss every inch of her creamy skin until she was screaming in orgasm. I couldn't hold her, and touch her, and fuck her until she couldn't walk.

  It wasn't just that I was her boss. I pulled the boss-card when I needed to, but we both knew she was more my partner than my employee. Once I'd realized how valuable she was, I'd even started cutting her in on some of the deals we worked together. So, it wasn't the job that was the problem.

  But in the past two years, Magnolia had become my closest friend, the one person I relied on more than any other. If I'd made a move on her while she was engaged, Magnolia would've walked. It would have killed her to do it, but she never would have cheated on Brayden.

  Now, I had to figure out how I was going to play this. Option number one—get her drunk on mimosas, bring her home, and fuck her silly—was appealing, but not smart. I knew my girl. Right now, she was second-guessing every choice she'd ever made, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to stay with Brayden for so long.

  The last thing she needed was to be seduced into another decision she might end up regretting. That would send her running in the opposite direction.

  I was going to have to be patient. I was not a big fan of patience. I saw what I wanted, and I went after it. I never gave up, and I never failed. I'm not perfect. I've had my share of fuck-ups along the way. More than my share.

  I was not going to fuck this up. Now that I finally had a shot at Magnolia, I was going to do it right.

  Magnolia giggled at something Charlotte said and wiped a tear off her cheek. I couldn't tell if it was a tear from laughing too hard or from crying. At the site of the puffy pink skin beneath her eyes, I wanted to leave the table, find the twat, and rip out his spine. I'd already promised we wouldn't do anything to him, and we wouldn't. Exactly. Okay, that's a lie.

  As soon as I had Magnolia tucked away for the night, I was calling Evers. Evers Sinclair was my oldest friend. Our families had grown up together, and he—along with his brothers—ran one of the premier security companies in the country.

  While I was more inclined to find Brayden and beat the shit out of him, Evers was well-schooled in the art of sneakiness. And he adored Magnolia. He would be thrilled she was shed of that loser and more than happy to plot some secret revenge. Yes, it's as petty as it sounds. I didn't care. He hurt Magnolia, had been hurting her for years, and now he was going to pay for it.

  I thought about the things Evers could do—mysterious parking tickets, fucking with his phone—the list was long, and all of it would be entertaining. Then I thought about Magnolia finding out. Hmm. She'd be pissed if she knew we were messing with the twat, not matter how much he deserved it. Damn it. As much as I wanted to get revenge for Magnolia, I set aside the idea.

  I wouldn't call Evers. I'd behave myself. But if that dickhead loser ever gave me an excuse, I was going to beat the shit out of him.

  Charlie's phone beeped, and she looked down, her laughing face falling into a frown.

  "What's wrong?" Magnolia asked, draining the last of her mimosa. I gestured to the waitress to refill it. Magnolia was a little tipsy, but not tipsy enough.

  Charlie shook her head and tapped out a message on her phone. "Just work. You'd think I could leave for a few hours."

  "You practically live there," I said. "You know, have you thought about—"

  “Don't," Charlie said, pinning me with her ocean blue eyes. Charlotte was perfect in almost all things—perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect hair, perfect in the board room, perfect at a cocktail party—so seemingly perfect that most people missed her core of steely determination. She had all the patience in the world with the people she loved and none with herself.

  "Charlie," Magnolia started to say, but Charlie cut her off with a sharp shake of her head.

  "No. Today is about you. We're not talking about me."

  She stood, tucking her phone into her purse and pulling out her car keys. "I'm so sorry, Maggie, but I have to go." She leaned down and pulled Magnolia into a tight hug, whispering something into her ear that brought tears to Magnolia's eyes. I heard Magnolia whisper back, Love you, Charlie, before Charlotte stood up, smoothing her suit jacket and turning her attention to me.

  "Take care of her," she ordered. "Fun, but not too much more alcohol or she'll be miserable tomorrow."

  I saluted Charlotte and sent Magnolia a wink. "Yes, ma'am," I said. Magnolia let out a cute little harrumph.

  "You know, I'm sitting right here, and I can take care of myself."

  "Not today, you can't," Charlie called over her shoulder as she walked out of the restaurant to her car. Magnolia let out a sigh as the waitress arrived with another mimosa.

  She took a sip and said, "I shouldn't drink anymore. I don't want to feel like crap tomorrow."

  "I've got a plan," I assured her. "You're having a few more mimosas, we're going to the movies, then I'm cooking you dinner, and you're going to bed early. By the time you wake up in the morning, you'll feel fine. I promise."

  Magnolia’s eyes skated away from mine, and I caught the sheen of tears. She was thinking about going home to that empty house, about waking up alone.

  I was going to make that asshole pay for doing this to her.

  I'd never so much as kissed Magnolia, but she was mine. She was mine in a way no woman had ever been mine. I knew her, in some ways better than I knew myself. It was going to take time for her to get over Brayden's betrayal. I would be there every step of the way, and when she was ready, I would claim her. Finally.

  For now, the agenda was mimosas, movies, dinner, and a good night’s s
leep. It was a good plan. It would have been better if I'd managed to stick with it. But Magnolia was just too much temptation.

  We got through the mimosas part just fine. Magnolia was a happy drunk, even reeling from a breakup, and she happily followed me to the movies and settled in beside me to watch the latest action thriller, even holding my hand when I reached for hers in the dark.

  I didn't want the day to end. After the movie, we stopped by the store to pick up groceries, and I took her back to her house to make her some food—her favorite, Linguine Pomodoro with extra shaved parmesan. I could make it in my sleep.

  She kept me company in the kitchen, drinking the water I poured her while I chopped tomatoes and basil. It was so easy and natural. I was almost convinced we were together, that she was already over Brayden. That I'd already made my move, and she was mine.

  A dangerous line of thinking. Too dangerous. I'd started out cautious, but after a day with Magnolia, I was feeling confident. Reckless.

  We ate dinner side by side on the couch, watching Die Harder. I loved that she liked action movies. The champagne plus the pasta eventually got the best of her, and she slumped into my side, her eyelids drooping. I should have let her fall asleep right there and snuck out.

  I let her drift off beside me for a few minutes. The apple scent of her shampoo enveloped me, familiar from all those days working together at her desk and somehow exotic in the dark room. An explosion on the screen woke her, and she sat up, blinking and pushing her hair off her face.

  "I think I need to go pass out," she said. "Sorry. You can hang out and watch the end of the movie if you want."

  "No, I'm good. I've seen it."

  "I'll walk you out," she said, straightening the couch pillows while I found my shoes. She followed me to the front door, her eyes sleepy and unfocused.

  "Are you going to be okay?" I asked. "I can stay, sleep on the couch."

  Magnolia shook her head. "I'm fine. I have to get used to it," she said.

  "Yeah, but you don't have to start tonight."

  "No, I'm okay. I promise."

  I wasn't convinced. I knew I needed to go, but I didn't want to leave her. Facing her, I cupped her cheeks in my palms and met her eyes. "You're going to be okay, Magnolia. You're so much better off without him. I promise you."

  Her eyes filled, tears glazing the blue with a watery film. Those tears were my downfall. I hated to see Magnolia cry. It killed me. I did the exact thing I'd sworn not to do.

  I kissed her.

  I knew it was a mistake. I knew it. The moment her lips touched mine, soft and warm, I no longer cared. The little gasp she made went straight to my cock. I ran my tongue along her lower lip and groaned. Fuck, she was sweet. I'd imagined kissing Magnolia for two years. The reality, even this brief taste of her, blew every fantasy right out of the water.

  Before my common sense had the chance to kick in, I tilted her head and deepened the kiss, sealing my mouth over hers, taking everything I could get. At first, she kissed me back, her tongue sliding along mine, her body leaning into me. When she took a step closer, fitting her soft curves against me, I almost lost my mind. My cock was screaming, yes, but my brain was sounding the alarm.

  Too fast. Way too soon.

  Unfortunately, my brain didn't get the message through in time. Magnolia wrenched herself away and stared at me, her eyes wide with horror. She pressed the back of her hand against kiss-swollen lips, her shoulders heaving as her breath came hard and fast.

  "Why did you do that?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, her posture so defensive she might as well have been carrying a sign that said, Stay Back.

  "I wanted to.” Bad answer. Magnolia's expressive eyes shut me out, turning opaque and hard.

  "Don't ever do that again," she said.

  "Magnolia—" I started. She cut me off.

  "No. We'll pretend it didn't happen. It's not a big deal. Just forget about it."

  My mind raced, searching for the right thing to say that would erase the last few minutes. I'd meant to kiss her, but not yet. I needed an excuse. A reason. Anything was better than, I wanted to. I was supposed to be charming, for fuck's sake.

  I ran out of time.

  While I was still searching for words, Magnolia swung the door shut in my face, softening her rejection with a quiet, "I'll see you tomorrow."

  The one time I cared about a woman, and I'd already fucked it up. Now I had to figure out how to fix things before she came up with an excuse to shut me out forever.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  VANCE

  * * *

  ONE MONTH LATER

  * * *

  Magnolia was true to her word. I made a single attempt to mention our kiss the next day, and she shut me down, saying only, "We're not talking about it. It never happened."

  I let it go. It didn't fit my plan to start something with Magnolia when she'd just lost her fiancée. I'd been giving her time, occupying myself by switching between plans for our first date and fantasies of what she'd look like naked. I had to be sneaky about the date. I couldn't just ask her out. She'd say no. I was going to have to take her by surprise. My current favorite plan was to invent a business trip. We had a few investment opportunities that could require travel. I had a feeling it would be easier to change things between us if I could break the pattern of our daily lives. Little did I know how true that would be.

  I was forced to stick with fantasy and plans for the moment. I had a show coming up in a few weeks, and between that and some problems with a project we'd invested in, we'd been putting out fires right and left over the past few days. Things had been so crazy we'd missed lunch. I'd stopped for groceries on the way home from a meeting and was hoping I could talk Magnolia into letting me cook for her at my loft.

  I called it my ‘loft', but really, I own the whole building. On a short block of mixed-use development in Midtown Atlanta, the building had been an auto shop and a supply warehouse, then vacant before I'd snapped it up and renovated the entire structure to suit exactly what I wanted. The first floor was my studio and garage, the second floor my living space, and the roof was a custom-designed garden. My gym equipment was split between the studio and the rooftop. It was modern and open, with huge windows on the second level and garage bays on the first that let in fresh air when my work got too hot.

  The building had one other thing I required. Privacy. Sinclair Security had designed my system, and it included both a sophisticated alarm and video surveillance. I was a Winters. That meant I had to deal with a certain amount of media attention. It didn't help that I hadn't lived a quiet lifestyle for most of my twenties.

  So it wasn't entirely a surprise to turn the corner onto my block and find a strange woman lurking outside my front door. I drove past the building and slowed to turn into the alley that led back to my private garage. Magnolia hit the button on the remote that opened the gate. Both of us noticed the stranger mark our entrance.

  "I don't see a camera," Magnolia commented. Neither had I, but the woman had been carrying something.

  "Don't worry about it," I said. "If she's a pap, she missed her shot. And if she wants something else, she'll ring the bell, and we can tell her to get lost."

  Magnolia's brow furrowed, but she didn't say anything. She didn't like media scrutiny any more than I did, but she was used to it by now. Everyone knew she worked with me, and they didn't bother her more than the usual. I pulled my Range Rover into the garage and parked.

  "I'll grab the groceries," I said.

  "I can help," Magnolia offered. I shook my head, not hiding my grin.

  "I've got it, Sugar." Magnolia graced me with an absolutely brilliant scowl. I wasn't much into pet names. I never bothered with them for the women I was sleeping with. Everybody called Charlotte Charlie, so that didn't count. When I did call Magnolia something other than her name, it was usually Babe. She thought that was a generic term I used with every woman. She hadn't realized that she was the only female I've ever considere
d worth a pet name, even something as common as Babe. But when I wanted to get a rise out of her, I always called her Sugar—a reference to the Grateful Dead song she so despised.

  I didn't use it very often. She would have beaten me senseless if I had, but every once in a while, I couldn't resist. Thanks to my teasing, she ignored me as we left the garage and crossed my studio to the freight elevator. The chimes from the front bell were already ringing when we exited the elevator on the second floor. Maybe we should've checked the door while we were down there, but I'd been hoping it wouldn't be necessary. No such luck.

  Magnolia went to the keypad beside the elevator while I headed for the kitchen to put down the groceries. She tapped the button to activate the camera at the door. The screen flashed on to show a young woman with long, dark hair and a washed-out complexion, her expression annoyed. Something about her was vaguely familiar.

  Pressing the speaker button, Magnolia said, "Can I help you?" in her best British headmistress voice. She refused to admit she had a faint British accent from her years spent living in England, but when she used that starchy tone, it came out. It was intimidating as hell, even when she used it on me.

  The woman at the door said, "I'm looking for Vance Winters. I'm Stephanie Albert, Amy's sister. I need to talk to Vance."

  Magnolia looked at me. "Fuck," I swore under my breath. "Tell her I'll be right down."

  Magnolia came with me, refusing to let me handle Amy's sister on my own, out of curiosity or protectiveness. Probably both. I hadn't seen Amy in a while. Close to a year. We'd tried getting back together after we both went to rehab, but sobriety revealed that we had absolutely nothing in common. She'd been doing okay last time I'd seen her. Still, a sense of foreboding filled me as I unlocked my front door and opened it.

  Stephanie Albert looked like a faded version of Amy. The same petite fairy-like frame, dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. But where Amy's hair was inky black, her eyes sapphire blue, Stephanie's hair was dark brown, her eyes a watery shade and less attractive than her sister's. We'd only met once, and I barely remembered it. Mostly since I'd been drunk at the time.