The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) (8 page)

“I don’t sleep with my friends.”

“Only strangers?” She rested her glass on the white tablecloth.

That warm attraction between them didn’t fizzle out, but burned hot. She wanted to play hardball? He could do that.

“Who do you sleep with, Merina?”

“Excuse me?” Dark rose colored her cheekbones.

“You brought it up.” He leaned forward. “Just making conversation.”

She shook her head as her eyes darted to the side. “I shouldn’t have, I suppose. I find your love life fascinating.”

“You, the media, and Crane Holdings board of directors.” He sat back, feeling the weight of that admission. How had everything he’d achieved, everything he’d strived for, been watered down to who he had sex with? It was insulting. “I don’t understand. What’s the draw?”

“Are you kidding? A wealthy man who dates a parade of beautiful women, yet none of them can penetrate his cold, unfeeling heart? The public eats that sort of thing up.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Cold. Unfeeling. That’s how she saw him? Not driven, or successful, or willing to do anything to secure his family’s name? In that way, he and Merina weren’t so different.

“I was surprised to learn you had such an aversion to the media since you’ve played into their hands so nicely,” she continued.

“Just because this city is fascinated with the details of my dates doesn’t mean I have to pander.” His voice came out a grumble, every part of him wanting to argue. It was his habit to keep the walls up, so he’d keep them raised.

“They’ll also be fascinated with our lives.” A sharp glint lit her eyes. “We’re going to be husband and wife. There are things we should talk about. How we met. First date. First time we…”

She let the pause linger in the air and he felt the tension once again settling between them—the good kind.

“…learned each other’s middle names,” she finished on a soft exhalation. The coy expression dashed from her face when he responded curtly.

“Merina, this is our first date. The rest of it we won’t have talked about because the public will assume all we’ve been doing is fucking.”

Her head jerked on her neck and she looked around to see if anyone was listening. As they had the most private table in the room, he wasn’t worried. No one was within earshot.

“I’ve been in the spotlight enough to know that the media assumes I’m sleeping with the women they photograph me with. They’re right half the time.”

“Only half?” Merina asked drily.

“Seventy percent of the time,” he amended with a wry smile. She returned it with one of her own. They ran hot and cold with each other, but no matter the temperature between them, the attraction endured.

Fascinating.

It’d been a while since he’d felt anything. Going through the motions wasn’t a polite way to describe what he’d been doing with the women in his past, but accurate.

“The fewer things we have to make up the better,” he said. “How did we meet? You stormed into my office to demand I keep the Van Heusen as-is. Then you gave me a doorknob.”

Another laugh. She gestured with her glass. “Which I need back, by the way.” She lowered her voice. “Won’t the public suspect something when I end up with the hotel in my name?”

“By then it won’t matter.” He shrugged. “The divorce will garner some attention, but will be buried the next day beneath celebrity hoopla.”

“Or the next woman you take to an opera.” Her words lingered. He let them. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do after Merina, but it made sense that after this hiccup, he’d continue dating much the same as he did before.

“Attention for the Van Heusen isn’t a bad thing,” he said instead of addressing her suggestion. “An article will win you some much needed publicity for the hotel. Mention how charming or quaint or rustic it is. Whatever turns you on about the place.”

“You really do hate it, don’t you?” Her face twisted into something resembling hurt. He didn’t like seeing her hurt. Enraged was one thing; her passion and fight was exhilarating. But this tender look made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“I don’t hate it,” he said, telling her the truth. “But why choose a homey hotel over a sleek one?”

“Seriously? Who wouldn’t want a relaxing, warm, family atmosphere?”

“Anyone who is trying to work or get laid,” he answered frankly.

“I’m not running a brothel, Crane.”

Ah, they were back to “Crane.”

“Well, I’m not running an orphanage, Merina.” Their gazes locked. He broke the connection by blinking. “But there are people who see the world the way you do. When you talk to the media, keep your focus on your passion for the hotel. You’ll draw in those bleeding hearts.”

Her mouth flinched, taking his comment for what it was—a teasing jab.

Their waiter delivered two small cups of watermelon soup with mint leaves and a crumbling of feta on top.

Merina scowled. “This looks disgusting.”

“It tastes worse than it looks,” he said, lifting his spoon.

“You don’t like it?” She was still making a face as she dragged her spoon through the chilled soup.

“I do not like it,” he said.

“Sam I Am?” She looked up, spoon full. “Would you eat it in a box?”

Reese blinked. Of all the references. “Dr. Seuss fan?”

“
Green Eggs and Ham
is the best children’s book ever written.” She pulled her shoulders as if to challenge him. But he wouldn’t argue.

“On this we agree,” he said, a note of surprise in his tone.

“I still have my copy from when I was little.” She dipped her spoon and lifted it again, still unsure about taking that first bite.

“Me too. My mom used to read it to me before bed. I can’t look at that tattered spine without remembering her.” The moment it was out of his mouth, he wanted to retract his words. Never, ever was he sentimental on a date. Stick to business, family only as it had to do with business, likes and dislikes in the most general sense.

Rules Merina had obliterated without trying.

“Your mom has passed?” Sincerity leached into her expression.

“A long time ago. Anyway.” He scooped up a bite of the chilled soup. Yep. As awful as he remembered.

“There’s a gap in our how-we-met story,” she said, letting the topic pass. “What will we say happened between the moment I stormed into your office and, say, right now?”

“The truth. I showed up at the Van Heusen in the middle of the night.”

“Because…?” she prompted.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Apparently champagne made him a drippy sentimentalist. “Your passion,” he corrected quickly. “We’ll say I was smitten.”

“Smitten,” she repeated.

“Completely.” He held her eyes and she held his, and there, with the worst soup ever concocted in front of them, Reese felt a hit low in his gut. A hit of attraction like nothing he’d ever felt before. No, that wasn’t true. He’d felt something like this before. With Gwyneth. He resented the similarity the moment his mind connected those dots.

He needed to get back on point. Like in a meeting when everyone gets off track and needed to be dragged back.

“There are a few details we should discuss tonight,” he continued after another putrid bite. “We need to coordinate our schedules. Do you have an assistant?”

“Are you joking?” She took a bite, her eyes scrunched in morbid expectation. Then they opened and the expression on her face faded into
not bad
.

“Am I joking about what? And how could you possibly like that?”

“Are you joking about me having an assistant,” she said, then gestured to the soup with her spoon. “What’s not to like? It’s watermelon. It’s refreshing.”

“You shouldn’t have to drink watermelon. Why don’t you have an assistant?”

“Because I like to do everything myself.”

He sighed. Hands-on. Bad business, big heart. That should be a saying.

“Very well, I’ll send
you
my schedule.” He pulled out his phone.

“Now?”

“Why not?” They were a power couple. Any onlookers would think they did this kind of thing as foreplay.

“Okay.” She reached into her clutch and came out with her iPhone.

He tapped his e-mail icon and glanced over at her, catching her watching him. “It’s Harrington, by the way. My middle name.”

Her lips tipped. “Nicole.”

“Okay, Merina Nicole Van Heusen. Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

Seared scallops with cayenne and a dollop of crème fraîche and caviar followed the watermelon soup. Dessert was chocolate mousse topped with roasted figs served in an almond tart. She and Reese polished off the champagne, ordered coffee, and camped at the restaurant table until they closed at eleven.

What started out as a nerve-wracking evening with her worrying over what to wear and how she’d handle aphrodisiacs with a man she barely tolerated had ended with Merina feeling better about everything. She and Reese may not be friendly with one another, but in business, they glided. Once their iPhones came out, they’d excitedly shared meeting details and talked shop. They had a lot in common even though her hotel was radically different from his. Although, the head-butting continued when he’d started telling her what to do.

“You’ll need to cancel drinks with Lorelei on Tuesday,” he’d said after dessert.

“Forget it. I haven’t gone out with her in ages.”

“New fiancé,” he argued, pointing at himself. “Whirlwind romance. Wedding in two weeks.”

Okay. That was fair. The discussion had prompted her to point out how he needed to cancel dinner with a woman named Claudia at an upcoming art show.

“Forgot about her,” he’d commented, then tapped a quick note into his phone.

“Let me guess? Are you having Bobbie send her flowers?”

“No. No date, no flowers. I sent Bobbie a note to cancel and not reschedule.”

Oddly enough, she’d felt a blip of admiration for the way Reese handled dating. Not the way he tore through women like they were disposable, but how he had the confidence to do whatever he wanted regardless of what people said about him.

After Corbin, part of the reason Merina hadn’t dated was because she was beyond embarrassed she’d allowed something so humiliating to happen to her.

The next day at noon on the dot, she strode into Reese’s office for their appointment, one with a public relations person who was hired specifically to help this engagement and marriage go off without a hitch. In Merina’s opinion, the woman was barely needed. Merina and Reese were professionals who were damn good at their jobs. After the combined first date/business get-together last night, there was only the matter of the prenup, the wedding, and then riding things out until the divorce.

Reese was just pocketing his cell phone when she walked in, with an appointment, thank you very much. Bobbie still hadn’t looked happy about letting her through. The doors shut behind her and Merina told him, “Bobbie really hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t.” He strode out from behind the desk, today in a deep gray suit, red tie. “She’s too busy to be cordial.”

“Like you?” She smiled sweetly.

“Very funny.” He made an
after you
gesture and they walked out of his office via a side door, down a hallway and into a conference room. There, a platinum-blond woman sat, wearing a white pantsuit and a scowl. She was young and very pretty and she looked pissed, which meant only one thing.

“Looks like she didn’t appreciate your flowers,” Merina said as Reese’s hand closed over the doorknob.

He frowned, looked through the window at the peeved blonde, and then said, “No. This is our advisor.”

Wow. Their advisor was beautiful.

He pulled the door open and announced, “Penelope Brand, I’d like you to meet Merina Van Heusen, my—”

“What were you thinking?” Penelope bolted out of her seat. Taking in her posture, Merina considered that Reese was lying. Because this woman was not happy. Then Penelope turned her scowl on Merina. “You went on your first date in public and not only did you not kiss each other good night, you barely touched each other!”

Reese sighed and Merina blinked over at him, shocked he wasn’t having the blonde escorted out by her golden tan.

“I’m sure we can work this out,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Merina, have a seat.” He nodded at a chair and Merina took the back of it.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Penelope exploded. “You just directed your fiancée into her seat with a chin nod.” She shook her head, looking disappointed and exasperated. “We can’t announce the engagement on the heels of this disaster. I’m going to have to put some spin on your impromptu outing last night to fix this.”

Reese and Merina sat.

Penelope, not through yet, lifted her cell phone and read aloud,
“‘Reese Crane hit the town with his mystery date, but what started hot quickly moved to tepid as the two stared at their phones over sexy entrées.’”
She paused to send them each a scolding glare, then continued.
“‘He and the woman in the red dress shared feisty looks and tantalizing smiles before the evening took on a different tone: one of business as they pecked at their iThings. The scene was set with champagne and caviar, but the aphrodisiacs at Chicago’s famed Armande restaurant had no effect on these two office drones. Is Crane’s tame date made to distract from the sizable issue of his hashtag? Or is this the one woman in existence who didn’t fall at King Crane’s feet?’”

Merina’s jaw dropped.

“What paper is that?” Reese asked in a tone that suggested he’d file a lawsuit against them just for fun.

“It’s the Chicago Insider—a blog. And it’s already been shared across social media about two hundred times.” Penelope frowned and her forehead didn’t so much as pucker. Her skin was porcelain-smooth, her white suit pristine, and her jewelry winking gold. “The point is, they already smell a rat, and people are paying attention. You two are going to have to up your game.”

“We coordinated our calendars. We’re on the same page,” Merina said, refusing to take the younger woman’s abuse silently. “A few more dates and I’m sure the public will see us as a couple. This is just new. They’re speculating,”

Penelope’s fierce expression softened. She came to sit next to Merina, facing her, her smile in place and blue eyes bright. “Merina. You’re a vibrant, beautiful woman. You’re in love with a gorgeous, hunky billionaire. You were at a restaurant that served everything but sex on those plates. The reporter who happened to be there expected to see Reese and a mystery woman all but fornicate on top of the table.”