The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) (6 page)

“Henley and cargo pants. Are you working on the water heater?”

Tag waggled his phone. “That’s one helluva hashtag.”

“What are you talking about?” Reese turned his attention to the stack of phone calls he had to return. Bobbie still insisted on jotting down phone numbers of callers on those
WHILE YOU WERE OUT
papers he hated so much. He had a trashcan filled with wadded up pink notes. “I need to buy Bobbie an iPad.”

“She’d use it as a coaster. She wouldn’t know what to do with it,” Tag said.

“Fact,” Reese agreed.

Tag plopped into the guest chair and leaned back, legs spread, mouth still grinning. Giving up the ghost, Reese dropped his stack of missed phone calls and said, “Out with it.”

“There are photos of your junk.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, not your
junk
,” Tag said, shaking his head at his phone’s screen. “But the outline of your junk. You either need a better tailor or you need to start wearing briefs.” He tossed his phone onto the desk. Reese lifted the device and found a photo of him, cropped to showcase one particular part of him. His…pants. The poster had drawn a giant red circle around Reese’s
junk
and added an arrow and three exclamation marks. The hashtag next to it read
#ReesesRocket
.

Reese’s…Rocket? Seriously?

“Fantastic.” Reese handed back the phone. “On the list of things I do not need, at the top is press focused on my reputation for—”

“Man-whoring?”

“Dating.”

“It is fantastic, actually. You can’t buy this kind of press. Who’s with you?” Tag held the phone up again.

“I went out with Elaine Parker’s daughter, Primrose.” Reese recognized his suit and the swish of blue dress cut out of the edge of the photo from a charity event last year. He knew exactly who was responsible for this.

“Ah. Primrose. She’s young, dumb, and full of—”

“Money,” Reese finished for him. Primrose was the “cute niece of that famous designer” Merina had mentioned the other night. She had asked him to attend the event with her, which he would have turned down if it wasn’t a charity with Crane Hotels front and center. Turned out she was clingier than he would have expected. Primrose hadn’t stopped calling him for four months. And now this.

“Well, she ain’t mad at you,” his brother said with another grin.

No, she was apparently trying to draw his attention because he was paying her none. “It’s not exactly a compliment.”

Tag’s smile disappeared and he held up a hand. “Excuse me. If she called your dick ‘Reese’s Rodent,’
that
wouldn’t be a compliment. ‘Reese’s Rocket’ insists you know how to use it. That it’s a thing of power.” He made a fist.

“For the love of— I didn’t even sleep with her.” He wasn’t that lonely. She was too young. Too wide-eyed and too hopeful for his taste. She wasn’t the kind of girl who could handle a one-night stand. Hell, they had ended the evening with a chaste kiss and she still tried for a second date. At least this confirmed his instincts were spot-on.

“It doesn’t seem to matter,” Tag commented, shaking his head at his phone’s screen.

“Is this the only reason you came in here?” Reese asked.

“Yeah.” Tag offered a shrug as if it was obvious.

Reese’s phone lit and he glanced from his brother to a reminder for the lunch tomorrow he’d asked Bobbie to reschedule. She’d probably come in here with a pink slip giving him the details of the new meeting date in a few minutes; then he could tap it into his iPhone and add to the pink trash pile. Glancing back at his brother, Reese thought of the last text message that was on his phone.

“When a woman says ‘fine’…,” he started.

“Run.” Tag’s smug expression fell as he sat ramrod straight. “Like you have zombies on your tail. ‘Fine’ is not a term of endearment from a woman.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Tag’s eyes went to Reese’s phone. “Who gave you the F-word?”

“Merina. In answer to my marriage proposal.” He leaned on his desk, hands folded. “I’m assuming that’s a yes.”

“You should assume the position, man. That does not sound like a good sign.”

Reese let loose a smile. “We’re both business professionals. I’m sure she meant what it says. That she looked over the contract and it was…fine.”

“Contract.” Tag sucked air through his teeth. “You are not a romantic, are you?”

“And you are?”

“Don Juan over here.” Tag gestured to the off-white Henley hugging his biceps. If he had a hashtag, it’d be
Tag’s Tanks
. That was a good one, actually. Maybe if that went viral, everyone could talk about him instead. “You two get married, Merina will be the one answering for your ‘rocket’ to the press, not you.”

“Seems unfair.” He hadn’t thought about that. Then again, he’d never imagined someone coining a term for his…his…

The mind boggled.

“The world is unfair, bro.”

He supposed that was true.

“I’m going to have her come in tomorrow to sign the prenup,” Reese said. “Then we’ll have the hard part of this deal over with.” And he could take a breath. The rest would be scheduled and orchestrated, and he could go along with the motions. Few things in life were so easy.

“Take her out for dinner before you meet to sign this
contract
. She’s probably nervous as hell. Help ease her worries.”

Reese’s face pinched. He hadn’t thought about Merina being nervous. He hadn’t really considered her feelings, assuming this would be a deal like any other.

“She’s a businesswoman with something to gain,” he told his brother. “I think it’s best if we sign first and then meet with my PR person.”

“PR person?”

“We need guidance to ensure we convince the press.”

Tag made a face. “Wow. Are you this clueless about women?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I have a reputation for doing quite well with women.” He pointed at Tag’s phone. “Someone is posting odes to my rocket.”

“Oh, you’re a pro at hookups,” Tag agreed. “But Merina Van Heusen isn’t going to be a one-nighter you can palm cab money in the morning. She’s going to be your wife.”

At the word
wife
, Reese’s breathing went shallow. Of course, marriage and wife went together, but phrased that way, he was reminded of another long-term relationship that hadn’t panned out.

“It’s a business arrangement,” he reminded them both before he puked. He had this. He didn’t have to fall in love with Merina; he just had to show up at a few public appearances with her.

“Armande.” Tag stood and snapped his fingers.

“What about it?” Reese’s neck prickled. Armande was an upscale fusion French/Italian restaurant known for its romantic mood and special menu made up entirely of aphrodisiacs.

“That’s where your first big date should be.”

“Armande isn’t exactly subtle,” Reese grumbled. He needed media attention, not overkill.

“Neither is Reese’s Rocket,” Tag answered.

“It can’t look like a stunt.”

“Then I suggest you be convincing. I’ll tell Bobbie to book you for dinner. Tonight good?”

“Tag—”

“Tonight it is.” His brother opened one of the office doors. “Trust me, man,” he said, “Armande is the perfect place to introduce the city to your future bride.”

Even if he didn’t want to do it, maybe a dinner with Merina before they inked the deal wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

“Bobbie, gorgeous,” Reese heard Tag say as the doors swished shut.

With a sigh, Reese pressed a button on his cell phone, and regarded Merina’s message again.

FINE.

Maybe dinner at Armande would be the best way to ease her concerns. Or maybe, he’d have another publicity nightmare to contend with.

As long as it wasn’t
#ReesesRocket
, he was good with that.

Angling around a housekeeper who smiled as she passed with her cart of fluffy white towels, Merina tapped the screen of her ringing phone. THE CRANE HOTEL, the display read.

Oh, fantastic.

“Merina Van Heusen.”

“Ms. Van Heusen, this is Bobbie from Mr. Crane’s office,” came the curt voice. She didn’t wait for Merina to respond before she plowed forward. “Mr. Crane has requested you arrive at his private boardroom for a noon appointment tomorrow.”

To sign the prenuptial contract, no doubt.

“Of course,” Merina answered with fake bravado. She heard the sound of a pen scratching on a notepad. The sooner she signed those papers, the sooner she could move on to Phase 2 of “Operation Arranged Marriage.”

“Also, he has scheduled a dinner with you at nine p.m. this evening at Armande. He’ll send a car to your residence at eight.”

Merina stopped in the middle of the lobby, realized she was in a guest’s path to his room, and smiled politely before moving to a section of uninhabited chairs off to the side. She noticed Bobbie didn’t ask if she was available for dinner. And Merina didn’t like that at all.

Partially because she didn’t like conceding control and partially because Reese Crane—her future husband—should be the one doing the asking.

“Tonight’s no good for me,” Merina clipped. Total lie. She had no plans tonight other than her usual poring over reports and e-mails. Catching up on work over a glass of merlot. “Perhaps if Mr. Crane could call himself, we could find a time that worked for both of us.”

You know, like normal human beings.

“Ms. Van Heusen, Armande is the most sought-after restaurant in the city. Securing a reservation is not easy. Many exceptions were made.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but—”

“The car will be at your house by eight p.m. Do you require a stylist?”

“No, I do not ‘require a stylist,’” Merina huffed, insulted on too many levels to count. Bobbie was her least favorite person on the planet, second only to her future husband. “I can dress myself.”

“The restaurant is formal and known for its—”

“I know what Armande is, Bobbie.” Not because she’d been there, but because it was lauded in the
Trib
as the premiere place to see and be seen. Especially for couples. Especially for
celebrity
couples.

Not that Reese Crane was a celebrity, but he was as close as it came to a local one. And now they’d be seen together in Armande. She could only guess this was part of the “whirlwind romance” ruse. If that was the case, and this was a suggestion by his public relations person, maybe Merina shouldn’t be difficult after all. Evidently six months of biting her tongue started now.

“Eight o’clock is fine,” she clipped.

“Nice to hear,” Bobbie said. “I’ll e-mail you a packet of information. Please review it carefully and let me know if you have any questions. Good day, Ms. Van Heusen.”

And she was gone.

Merina lowered the phone from her ear in time to see a small envelope icon appear on the screen. An e-mail. That woman was fast. What was she supposed to tell her parents about tonight when a car arrived?
I have a date with billionaire Reese Crane. Yes, turns out he loved when I went over there to challenge him. He finds my trucker mouth irresistible.

Sigh.

This would be so much easier if she could tell them the truth: that she was marrying to get the Van Heusen Hotel back. That a six-month trade-off would secure her future, and theirs. Granted, the moment her father learned Reese was blackmailing her, he’d take a ball bat to Reese’s gonads. So maybe it was better that she had to lie.

As much as she hated lying. Deception in general. She thought of Corbin and her lip curled.

How’d the saying go? You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. A few white lies told over the next half year, and then she could go back to being herself. It was an act. That’s all.

She’d have to convince her parents, as well as the press, that she and Reese fell in love. Opposites attract? That was one way to go. Enemies to lovers? That was another.

Still, a ripple of resentment came at how perfect this solution worked out for everyone.

Suddenly, she sympathized with her parents’ hiding their financial worries from her. They loved her and likely did it to protect her, much in the way Merina was doing this because she loved and wanted to protect them.

But even with that justification, she was having a hard time forgiving them for hiding this from her for so long. She was an adult; she could handle bad news. Hell, she had handled financial challenges both on a business and a personal scale. Didn’t they trust her?

Well.

They would.

After the divorce, they could relax knowing the Van Heusen Hotel was back in the family’s “portfolio” rather than a square on Crane’s giant Monopoly board.

At her desk, she wiggled her mouse to wake her sleeping computer and dug into her inbox. At the top was the e-mail from Bobbie: a bullet list of items, including the location of the restaurant, make and model of the car coming to pick her up, and a list of places where Merina might procure a manicure, a dress and shoes, and have her hair styled. The personal care items were marked with an asterisk and at the bottom of the list she saw its meaning.

*Each of these services will be billed to Crane Hotels at no cost to you.

Be still her heart.

“I’m not having my nails and hair done,” she said to the screen. “And I have great shoes.” Decisively, she closed the e-mail and, for good measure, deleted it. She would agree to the dinner and to the car picking her up, but she knew damn well how to get ready for a date at a nice restaurant. Could Reese Crane be more insulting? More controlling?

“Goodness. What’s happened to you?”

Merina looked up to see her mother leaning into the office, her hand resting on the knob of Merina’s open door.

“You look positively ferocious.”

“Uh…small overcharge on new linens,” Merina lied, transforming her snarl into a smile. “Nothing a quick phone call won’t fix.”

“All right, then.” Her mother returned her smile but Merina saw suspicion resting behind it. Lying wasn’t something Merina did on a daily basis, so it was understandable she was bad at it.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Jolie pushed.

“Absolutely. Oh, and I’m going to meet Lorelei for dinner, so I may be home later than usual.”