The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) (7 page)

Chicken.

“Later than three a.m.?” her mother asked flatly.

Jolie knew her well. Whenever she and Lore went out, they often stayed out until the last possible minute.

“No.” Merina closed the window on her computer. “Not later than three a.m.”

“I have to run an errand. Can I pick you up a latte on my way back?”

“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

“Welcome, sweetheart.” Jolie winked and wiggled her fingers in good-bye and Merina’s heart crushed a little more. Reese was making her run a complete scam on her family and for that, she’d never forgive him. She bit her lip. What had she gotten herself into?

Look at it like a six-month sentence, but with lots and lots of amenities.

In the grand scheme of life, six months wasn’t a big deal, but right now, she worried she would feel every agonizing minute.

A
rmande, located on Ontario Street off the Magnificent Mile, was high profile, difficult to get into, and known for its wealthy clientele. Reese had been here once, a long time ago, on non-romantic business. Tag was more of a regular, making it a point to be seen with his date du jour on occasion.

Reese didn’t do romance. Dates, yes. Dinners, yes. Charity events, fund-raisers, dinners for work, no problem. He’d attended all of those and more over the years.

He hadn’t always been jaded. When he was younger, there’d been a girlfriend who he thought might become more. Gwyneth had moved into his mansion, settled in for what he thought was the long haul, and after four years together, left him for someone else. Someone Reese had trusted, his best friend at the time, Hayes Lerner.

When Reese found out she was cheating, he told her to leave and she tearfully promised to be out in a week. He didn’t spend another second in that house, packing a bag and securing a penthouse suite in his hotel. Thing was, after she did finally move out, he didn’t go back to the mansion.

The hotel was more convenient, or so he’d told himself. And it wasn’t haunted by ghosts of his past relationships—two of them if you count Hayes.

Gwyneth had cured him of the need to have a permanent partner. Zero interest, never again. In the quiet, ugly hours when he couldn’t sleep, sometimes he thought her distance had been partially his fault. That he could have been different, better.

But those thoughts left with the rising of the sun, and by the time he pressed his morning coffee, he reminded himself what he was good at with women: beginnings. The first meeting, the casual dinner, the sex that followed and brought both parties a reprieve from busy lives and busy days.

A way to have it all. As many new starts as possible without investing years before learning his partner’s interest had deferred to someone else.

It seemed even that coping mechanism had its flaws. The board didn’t approve of his after-hours activities, and that part of his life could cost him his very legacy.

Unacceptable.

Merina was the key to saving that legacy. No chance of her absconding with someone he knew unless she wanted to be sued or lose her hotel. But he couldn’t see her straying. First off, she was nothing like Gwyneth. Merina Van Heusen cared about her family and preserving history. His ex made it clear history meant nothing to her the day she ended what she and Reese had for a guy she’d slept with on a whim.

Only that whim had turned into marriage. She and Hayes had the audacity to send him an invitation, and Gwyneth had expressed she’d like to “remain friends,” which would have been laughable if he’d been able to feel anything other than deep, dark acrimony.

Hayes, who had worked for Crane Hotels at the time, was offered a hefty severance package and encouraged to leave. Reese supposed he owed Gwyneth a thank-you for that life lesson. If she’d have stayed with him, he might have settled down with a couple of kids and been happy as a clam in the same management position at Crane he’d held nine years ago.

He might have ignored his drive and aspirations to become CEO. Being in charge of one of the most recognized brands in the country didn’t allow a lot of time for relationships. If the board could wrangle two or three brain cells together to see things his way, they’d also see that not having relationship entanglements afforded him to work all the hours he wanted. He could stay up as late as he needed and never receive a text asking him to leave early and pick up eggs and milk on his way home.

Like Mom and Dad.

At that thought, his stomach clenched. He had nothing but good memories of his mother and father, of their relationship. They were the ideal. But after trying his hand at attaining ideal, Reese saw that ideal wasn’t for everyone. Success didn’t come equally in all factions of life. For him, his success was in business, which, face it, wasn’t a bad area to excel.

This was better and exactly why their father had never remarried. Alex knew the secret to thriving in business was to stay flexibly single. Reese knew it. Tag knew it. And when Eli returned from overseas and resumed a regular schedule back at Crane, he’d likely follow the same path. It was the family way.

“Scotch, neat,” came a warm female voice to his left.

Reese was seated at the bar at Armande awaiting Merina with a full view of the door, so he knew the woman speaking over his shoulder wasn’t her. The voice was a purposeful seductive purr when she addressed him properly.

“Reese Crane. You never called.”

No, he wouldn’t have called. He turned his head, meeting eyes with a tall brunette in a simple black dress. Long chestnut hair grazed her shoulders.

“But I did appreciate the flowers.” Her lips curved to the side in a lazy smile and that’s when her name came to him. Rebecca. They’d met at a fund-raiser for the art museum over the holidays. She worked there. What a perfect example of why he didn’t do more than one date. She was trouble with a capital T if he’d ever seen it.

“Flowers cover a multitude of sins.” He accepted the scotch from the bartender with a nod. Rebecca raised her glass of wine in cheers and they drank.

“I have to say,” she said, glancing around the bar, “when we met, I was hoping what the media says about you wasn’t true.”

God help him if she mentioned his hashtag.

“I was sure you’d find the time we spent together good enough to warrant a second date.” She swept her hair over her shoulder. With that body and her piercing almond-shaped eyes, Reese hazarded the safe guess that Rebecca hadn’t gone home and cried in her Häagen-Dazs. “But I guess not.”

“You seem to have landed on your feet,” he said casually, checking the door again. “Who are you here with?”

He looked back at her in time to see her wide mouth part into a smile. “Busted. I’m here with Arnie Palatino.”

“Mayor’s son.” He shrugged his mouth. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, but”—she looked around conspiratorially before leaning in and murmuring in his ear—“he doesn’t have a rocket in his pocket.”

That explained the renewed interest. Before he could respond, he caught a flash of honeyed hair and red that drew his eyes to the door. Rebecca had started talking again but her voice faded into the din of diners and waitstaff. Everything in the room fell away as his eyes zoomed in on the woman who’d come here to meet him.

Merina Van Heusen’s dark blond hair was down, one side pushed behind her ear. She wore a classy, simple red dress. It wasn’t skintight but floated seductively over delicate shoulders, flaring at her hips. A subtle
V
exposed a hint of cleavage, just enough to make his mouth water but not enough to reveal the trace of ink he’d spotted the day she’d come in wearing a see-through wet silk shirt. A long gold necklace with a circle pendant hung between her breasts.

His mind echoed the reminder
business agreement
, but his instincts, the ones he trotted out for his dates, recognized her as one hundred percent woman.

Beside him, he was aware Rebecca had stopped talking. Just as well—they had nothing to say to each other.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing from the bar. The moment he was on his feet, Merina spotted him. Her eyes cut to the brunette, then back to him.

He tried to communicate with a subtle headshake.
Relax, she’s old business.

“I guess you’re here with someone too,” Rebecca murmured.

“I am,” he said. “Thanks for the drink.”

She lifted her wine in a noncelebratory
cheers
, a tight, bitter smile on her face. By contrast, Merina Van Heusen was polished. Confident. Decked out in simplicity.

She straightened her shoulders as he approached, both hands wrapped around a gold clutch. She wore heels—five inches if he had to guess. The added height put her damn near eye to eye with him. Her amber eyes flashed with a mix of animosity and bravery. Just like the first time he met her.

“Merina.” He offered an elbow.

“Reese.” She glided her hand over his forearm. He held back a smile at hearing her say his name. At least she hadn’t called him “Crane.”

“I see you charged a dress to my tab as I recommended,” he murmured as they followed the hostess through the restaurant. A few heads turned, and he wasn’t surprised. Merina’s red dress and elegance were enough to draw many a wandering eye.

“This old thing?” She slanted him a gaze.

This time the smile didn’t stay away. He moved his hand to her lower back, a move that shouldn’t have set off his pulse like a missile, but with Merina, he was learning nothing about her was expected.

“Your table, Mr. Crane.” Tucked into the corner, a cozy table for two stood, a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket.

“Thank you.” He pulled out a chair for Merina before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down across from her.

“Champagne,” she said, her eyes going to the bottle. Her skin was as smooth as porcelain but golden in color in the candlelight.

“Tag’s idea, I’m sure,” Reese said.

“Your brother?”

“He arranged this evening.”

“I thought Bobbie arranged this evening.”

“At Tag’s request.” He didn’t want her to have the wrong idea. He didn’t come here to seduce her. He flicked his gaze from the necklace that drew his eyes to her breasts. Probably best he remembered that.

An orderly waiter swept in, poured the champagne, and asked if they’d like the chef’s selection for the evening. “An array of plates designed to unleash passion and bloom romance.”

Jesus.

“Yes, thank you,” Reese told him, keeping his internal reaction hidden. The waiter vanished in a puff of efficiency.

“They don’t linger here, do they?” Merina cleared her throat, showing the first sign of discomfort when she lifted the champagne flute to her lips. If they were going to make people believe they were in love, they’d have to be together without a buffer.

“One of the draws of Armande. The staff understands diners come here to be left alone.” He unfolded his napkin and put it on his lap. “Or rather, left to each other.”

Her eyes moved around the room and Reese found he was unwilling to take his eyes off her face. Her makeup was understated, unlike Rebecca’s dark eyes and bright lipstick, yet Merina was simply stunning.

“I hear this restaurant is known for its aphrodisiacs,” she said. He liked the way her lips pursed when she said
aphrodisiacs
.

“Chocolate. Watermelon. Oysters. Avocado,” he answered.

“Watermelon is an aphrodisiac?” Her expression was bemused.

“If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“You don’t?” She reached for her champagne again. He thought of her as a force to be reckoned with, yet she had the most delicate hands. Long fingers, blunt nails suggesting she did her own hard work, but feminine as proved by the sheen of pale polish. He found the dichotomy tantalizing. And it hadn’t required a single oyster to feel that attraction right down to his bones.

“No,” he answered. “I don’t.”

“Well, that’s no fun,” she said, sipping from her glass. Then her cheeks colored. “I mean, not that I expect…never mind.”

What did she think? That he’d brought her here to seduce her and take her back to his room and…best not to chase that thought to its inevitable ending. This romance was for show, not indulgence.

The first course came via one of the waitstaff, who set Merina’s plate in front of her, then Reese’s in front of him. “Pan-seared mochi with avocado and a yuzu sesame dressing,” the waiter announced.

“Wow. This is adorable,” Merina said, staring down at the single block of mochi and small square of avocado sitting on the center of a gold-edged white plate.

“Good too.” He lifted a pair of chopsticks from the table and ate it in one bite. After watching him, she did the same. He sipped his champagne and enjoyed the show. He liked her mouth. Liked her appetite. For business and for food.

After she swallowed and dabbed her mouth, he filled her champagne glass, figuring the more of it they drink, the better. This was beyond awkward for two people who didn’t know each other.

“Did you know you have a hashtag?” she asked, licking her lips after another sip.

“Not you too,” he said, his tone dry.

She gave him a flirty smile.

“I know I have a hashtag,” he muttered, refilling his own glass and placing the bottle in the ice bucket.

“Do you know who started it?” she asked.

“I have a good idea.”

“Well, at least it’s flattering.”

“If you find objectification flattering,” he challenged. “Would you like it if someone gave a hashtag to your…” He gestured to her chest.

She tilted her head in thought rather than offense. “Hmm. Fair point. I thought men liked to be told how large their penises are.”

A smile tickled the side of his mouth. Leave it to Merina to use the word
penises
as casually as she’d used the word
horseshit
.

“See? You do like it.”

“I’m attached to it.”

Her eyes brightened, and he felt a charge of pride in drawing forth the reaction. Then she laughed, just a small one, and that was even better. The women he normally dated were with him because of who he was, so getting them to laugh—charming them—wasn’t a challenge. But Merina was with him in spite of who he was, so getting that reaction from her was genuinely rewarding.

“You have a lighter side,” she said. “Who knew?”

“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.” The air between them was warm and alive. He could continue this for a while longer.

But then her eyes went to Rebecca and her date being seated at a small table in the middle of the restaurant and her smile faded. A disapproving grunt sounded from her throat.

“That woman,” she said, turning back to him. “Friend of yours?”

“No.” His friends were business colleagues, and even then “friends” wasn’t the right term for who they were. The women he dated, well, the only friendly thing between them was the way they parted after both parties received what they needed.

“But you did sleep with her,” Merina blurted.