ROMANCE: Bear Naked Passion (Billionaire Bear Trio Book 2) (49 page)

              “Oh, perhaps that’s why I don’t recognize your name,” he smirked. “You know, I wouldn’t mind getting to know the rest of you, too.”

              It took a moment for his words to sink in, and then Bridget was blushing even hotter than before, her face ablaze with a full-body flush. “I-I’m good,” Bridget sputtered quickly, making Robert pause in his reach for her hand.

              “…Okay, then,” he said, pulling his arm back. Then, laughing awkwardly, he said, “Sorry, it’s just that women don’t usually turn me down.”

              “Oh, how unfortunate for you,” Bridget said mildly, her brain muddled as her temper overtook her.

              “Funny,” the man winked. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Chapter 2

It was eleven o’clock, and Andrew still wasn’t there. Bridget sighed to herself and crossed her arms in the chilly night air, her dress about as effective as a thin beach towel against the cool breeze. Checking her phone one last time, she moved to walk back inside.

              The party itself was still in full swing. With over five thousand dollars raised and counting, people were drinking themselves silly while the DJ had long ditched the softer hums of violins to turn up the beats of the year’s top twenty hits. Bridget entered the gala just as quietly as she’d left it, and helped herself to a drink in an attempt to warm herself up.

              “Thought you’d left.”

              She glanced at the man that she’d met earlier, Robert, and shrugged. She was too tired to care about his sharp chin and soft brown eyes. “So had I.”

              “Well,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Since you’re here, can I buy you a drink?”

              “…It’s an open bar,” she said, frowning. Robert just grinned and shook his head again.              

              “You really don’t like to play the game, do you?” he asked, sipping on a shot of whiskey.

              “Game?” she repeated, accepting the rose colored drink that he ordered for her.

              “You know,” he said. “Parties, small talk. Flirting.”

              She choked on the strawberry taste. “Is that, uh…” she trailed off helplessly. When he just continued to look at her, a grin on his face, she gulped and asked, “Is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

              “See?” he smiled. “You’re breaking all the rules.” She stood there, transfixed, as he leisurely reached over and plucked the tiny umbrella from her glass. “You don’t
ask
– you just assume, and play,” he said, sucking the end of it.

              Bridget would’ve laughed at him if he wasn’t being so serious. Her? A rule breaker? She took another swallow of the drink and tried to calm the pounding in her ears. “I’m not very good at games,” she admitted, staring at her drink. “At this point, I just kind of avoid them altogether.”

              “Mhm,” he hummed, almost as if in agreement. “So how on earth did you end up at Cupid’s Call, then? I imagine that takes quite an awful lot of playing.”

              “Oh,” Bridget laughed, closing her eyes for a moment at the memory. “I was blindly applying to places after college – I didn’t even know what Cupid was, back then. But I got the interview, and then they called me up a week later to offer me a position on their staff.”

              “Huh,” Robert said, tapping his fingers against the bar. “So you got the job all on your own. No connections, no nothing?”

              “Nope,” Bridget grinned. “I—”

             
Brrng! Brrng!

              Robert raised an eyebrow. “Old-fashioned ringtone,” he commented.

              “Excuse me,” Bridget said, stepping away as Pamela’s name flashed across the screen. “Hello?” she answered.

              “Bridget! How’s the party?” Pamela’s words were slurred, and Bridget wondered if she’d been drinking.

              “Good,” she said, moving to a quiet corner. “Uh, Andrew hasn’t called, has—”

              “Oh, Andrew’s with me,” Pam laughed.

              “What?” Bridget hissed. Then, louder, she said, “Pamela, he was supposed to pick me up at ten!”

              “Oh, come now,” Pamela said. “Haven’t you made any friends yet? They can be sooo useful.”

              “Pam,” Bridget cleared her throat, doing her best to be assertive. “You told me not to drive my truck, because you said you had a ride for me. And now you’re saying that I—”

              “Bridget,” Robert put a hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

              “Oooh, you
did
make a friend!” Pamela squealed. “Don’t stay out all night!”

              “Wait, Pam!” But it was too late – the line was dead. “Damn it,” Bridget sighed.

              “Sorry,” Robert frowned. “But what was that all about?”

              “My editor,” Bridget rolled her eyes. “Look, it was nice meeting you, but I’ve got to catch a cab—”

              “I can give you a ride,” Robert offered quickly.

              Bridget gave him a look. “This isn’t a game, is it?” she asked him weakly.

              Robert just laughed and put an arm around her shoulder. “Come on,” he said, steering her back towards the bar. “Have another drink with me.”

              It was midnight by the time that the crowd started to thin. Robert was comfortably intoxicated, and Bridget had to wonder how someone could ever be so confident to get drunk with a stranger. Still, it certainly made things easier on her.

              “C’mon Robert,” she said, helping the man up by the arm. “Let’s get you home.” Robert could only mumble, and she was just beginning to wonder if she should search his wallet for a number when none other but the mayor strolled up to them.

              “Sorry about my brother,” he laughed with a wink. Bridget could only nod as she stared back, the drunken stain on the man’s cheek the only thing keeping her calm. “Ask for Jimmy when you get to the front,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “He’ll get you home.”

              ‘Home,’ as it turned out, meant Robert’s mansion.

              “Where in the hell…” Bridget muttered, staring out at the estate through the car window. Robert was dozing lightly on her shoulder, and she shrugged him awake when the car stopped just outside of the stone steps leading up to marbled double doors.

              “Hmm?” Robert groaned, and Bridget had to fake a smile as Jimmy opened up the door for them.

              “Here we are,” he smiled.

              “Uh, thanks,” Bridget said, pushing Robert towards the exit. Jimmy helped her steady him, but as soon as she was up and standing, Robert leaned against her.

              “Have a good one!” Jimmy waved, sliding back into the driver’s seat.

              “Oh, um, you too!” Bridget called, half-dragging Robert to the door. She was just about to knock when it swung open and a man wearing a crisp white buttoned shirt and black slacks greeted her.

              “Mr. Arkell has been drinking, I take it?” he raised an eyebrow, looking Robert up and down.

              “Very heavily, yes,” Bridget nodded. She passed him off to the man and stepped inside out of the cold. They worked together to get Robert up the stairs, her eyes wide as she took in the pure extravagance of the place. The three of them were even able to march shoulder to shoulder down the wide hallway, and she didn’t think much about it when she followed him into the master bedroom and maneuvered Robert onto the bed.

              “Will you be staying, miss?” the man asked, and Bridget blushed at the implications there.

              “Uh, actually, I—”

              “Stay,” Robert sighed, his hand blindly reaching out for her.

              While Bridget struggled to tell him no, the man gave a small bow and introduced himself. “My name is Hankwell, and I am the caretaker of Mr. Arkell’s estate. Don’t hesitate to contact me,” he added. It wasn’t until the door had clicked behind him that Bridget realized he’d just left her alone with Robert. In his room. Presumably for the night.

              Bridget stood there for a moment, trying to process what’d just happened for her to wind up in a luxurious bedroom that was bigger than her entire apartment, with a stranger’s hand silently grasping for her as he groaned on the bed. A nice, incredibly comfortable looking bed.

              She wondered, for a moment, if it were possible that she’d gotten a little tipsy, too.

              “Bridget,” Robert slurred, his eyes closed as his nose scrunched up in frustration. “Hey. Bri-idget.”

              Maybe she was just tired.

              “I’m here,” she sighed, setting her clutch on the marbled bedside table pushed up against the king size bed. “Hold on.” Kicking off her worn down black heels, she climbed up next to him, and oh, if the mattress didn’t just
sink
underneath her like a cloud. “Damn,” she muttered, dropping against him.

              “Mhm,” Robert hummed, throwing an arm over her.

              “Go to sleep,” she yawned, not bothering to toss him off. His arm was warm, a human comfort amid the quiet room and foreign smells.

              She passed out before he could groan in reply.

Chapter 3

Bridget woke up to the sound of her phone. She scrambled for it, her eyes open but blurry and unseeing in the bright room. She tried to blink away the grogginess, her hands searching in a sea of silk sheets for the cell, but it was hard enough just to make herself sit up. Kicking a blanket away with her foot, she bumped the square of plastic with her arm and snatched it up. “H-hello?” she answered, rubbing at her eyes as she tried to force herself awake.

              “Bridget?”

              It was Pamela.

              “Hey,” she said, stifling a yawn. It was a Saturday, and in her sleep riddled mind she could barely conjure up the will to be intimidated. “What’s up?”

              “Oh, nothing,” Pam said sarcastically, her tone indicating that there was definitely something. “Mind telling me why one of my staff writers was on the front page of three tabloids this morning?”

              “Wait, what?” she said, the jump of adrenaline in her blood suddenly waking her right up.

              “Did you meet a Robert Arkell last night?” Pamela asked, and Bridget could hear the flip of a page in the background.

              Bridget glanced at the empty spot that Robert had fallen asleep in last night. “Uh, yes?”

              “And did you go home with him?” Pamela asked again, her voice innocent and high-pitched.

              “Uh…” Technically.

              “You’re dating the mayor’s brother?” Pam pressed dryly, her tone suddenly flat.

              “I mean,” Bridget muttered, unsure of what to say. “What did they write? I-in the tabloid?” she asked suddenly, though she was secretly more worried about the picture.

              “Cupid’s Call dating billionaire brother,” she read aloud. “You know, exactly what you’d expect if the city’s most desirable bachelor had suddenly been spotted leaving a party with an unknown woman.”

              “But we didn’t,” Bridget sputtered, “I mean—”

              “Bridget,” Pamela said, the snap of a magazine closing making Bridget jump. “Listen to me very, very carefully. If you have an in with this guy, I want you to use it.”

              Bridget frowned. “Any ‘in’ with him?” she repeated. 

              “Everyone knows the name ‘Arkell,’” Pam said tiredly. “Have known them since their billionaire daddy married their millionaire mommy and got her pregnant. They’re an old family name, and the richest men in town. Bridget, do you have any idea what kind of ratings we could get for a front page article on the Arkell’s?”

              Bridget wasn’t following. “Wait,” she said, scowling. “What does that have to do…”

              “Bridget, honey,” Pamela seemed to smirk through the phone. “You’re already in on the ground floor, here. Robert obviously likes you; stroke that golden goose until he pops. You write an article on the man’s daily life – oooh, no, better yet: on how it is to
date
an Arkell? You’ll have every paper in the city looking you up.”

              That made Bridget’s eyes widen. It wasn’t a secret that she wasn’t a perfect fit for Cupid’s Call. She had a great portfolio, and a wonderful mastery of prose and grammar, but a talent for gossip topics and beauty secrets? Not her style. She belonged at a literary journal, or History Monthly.

              “You do this, Bridget,” Pamela said, “And you get your big break, kid.”

              “You did
what
?”

              Bridget didn’t know why she had thought that telling her sister about Robert would be a good idea. Especially in public, at the café that they both frequented often enough that even the baristas knew them by name. 

              “We didn’t really do
anything
,” she said quietly, shrugging her shoulders.

              “And, what?” Alissa raised an eyebrow. “You just left?”

              “Well,” Bridget stirred her tea. “I left a note.”

              “Let me guess,” her sister rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat as she crossed her arms. “The standard, ‘Call Bridget Mason for a good time. Phone number is 244—’”

              “Shut up!” Bridget hissed, glancing around at the other tables. “Look, I wrote a perfectly appropriate note and told him how he could find me.”

“A perfectly
boring
note, you mean,” Alissa muttered.

“Now it’s up to him,” Bridget finished. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave Robert’s mansion without a trace that morning, not after hearing what Pamela had to say over the phone. Still, she certainly wasn’t going to try whoring herself out for a story. “Besides, I haven’t heard from him since.”

              “And this all happened just hours ago?” her sister clarified.

              “This morning, yes,” Bridget nodded.

              “So there’s still a good chance that he might actually contact you?”

              “Possibly.”

              “Well,” Alissa shrugged, grabbing a napkin. “I say go for it.”

              “Excuse me?” Bridget blurted out. Her older sister had never really been the ethical type, but she’d thought that even Alissa would at least draw the line at spying on a billionaire. “You’re kidding, right?”

              “Bridget, you said it yourself,” Alissa said, taking a slurp of her coffee. “This could be your big break.” She set the cup down and looked Bridget in the eye. “And if this guy is game, then why not?”

              “Because,” Bridget said, fishing out the teabag with her spoon. “Let’s say I do it. We go on a few dates, I take some notes, and I write the article. The moment that he sees it, I’m done. He and I are done.”

              “Jesus, Bridget,” Alissa laughed at her. “Do you really expect to build a relationship with this guy? He’s a billionaire; I bet he has a new girl every week, if not every day.”

              “So,” Bridget said slowly. “You’re saying—”

              “
I’m saying
,” she said, exasperated. “That you should try seeing how the other half lives for as long as they let you, and then turn around and sell ‘A day in the life of’ article. Make some cash, maybe earn a few expensive gifts from your Robert friend in the process,” she winked.

              Bridget just sipped her tea, Robert’s whispered plea for her to stay the night still loud in her head.

              He called at eight o’clock, but Bridget wasn’t brave enough to do anything when the unknown number flashed on her screen other than let it go to voicemail.

              “Bridget,” he said hastily, his voice husky as she played the message back. “I just got home – what time is it? Damn.” A pause, then, “Sorry it’s so late. I guess that’s why you didn’t answer, huh? Look, I’m glad that you stayed last night. I don’t remember much, but I remember that, and I’d like to know if you’d, uh, like to do it again, sometime. Meet up, not get blackout drunk. Yeah. Unless you want. Uh, call me.”

              By the end of the voicemail, Bridget found herself grinning from ear to ear. She hadn’t seen this side of Robert last night – if anything, he’d been a confident know-it-all who couldn’t stop calling for “one more drink.” She liked the vulnerable, spacy Robert better.

              She called him back.

              “Bridget?” he answered immediately.

              “H-hi, Robert,” she smiled to herself, tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. The moment she realized what she was doing she stopped, mortified but thankful that Robert couldn’t actually see her through the phone. “I, uh, I got your voicemail. Sorry about that, I just don’t answer numbers that I don’t know.”

              “Understandable, understandable,” he said easily, and she was disappointed to hear that his voice had that poised tone to it again.

              “So,” she said, suddenly uncertain. “This is me, calling you.”

              “Yeah,” Robert laughed. “I called earlier because I was wondering if you’d like to join me. For dinner. Tomorrow?”

              “Tomorrow is Monday,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ve got work, and I can’t guarantee that I’ll get out before ten. It’s the end of the month, so we’ll be working late to plan the next issue.”

              “Right, right,” he said, and she got the odd feeling that he was nodding on the other end. “Tuesday, then?”

              “Tuesday I can do.”
I think
, Bridget added silently.

              “Perfect. Eight o’clock?” he asked.

              “Eight o’clock,” she repeated with a smile. “Uh, where are we—”

              “I’ll pick you up,” he cut her off.

              “Okay,” she agreed. “Um, see you Tuesday, then.”

              “See you Tuesday.”