The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery (5 page)

Chapter
Nine

I hung up the office phone,
practically bursting with triumph. "Yes!" I shouted into the empty
shop. "Yes, yes, yes!"

I was in the middle of a fairly
vigorous celebratory dance when an icy blast of wind heralded Kit's arrival. He
froze mid-stomp, as he watched me give one last booty-shake.

Behind him, a familiar voice piped
up. "It's colder than a witch's tit out there," cried the warm,
creakily maternal voice and I felt my heart flutter with affection.

"Mrs. Young!" I exclaimed.
"I'm surprised to see you!"

Her white head emerged from behind
her son's huge frame. She was a tiny as he was massive. Frail and birdlike, she
had a crown of snow white curls that fell soft and wispy around her head like
spun sugar, but her eyes were like sapphire steel. "I may be old as dirt,
dear, but a little cold isn't going to stop me from doing what I need to
do."

"I told her she didn't need to
come in," Kit grumbled fondly.

"And I ignored you," Mrs.
Young smiled; reaching up to touch her son's bearded cheek. "Payback for
your teenaged years."

"I get the feeling I'm going to
be paying for those the rest of my days," Kit sighed.

"You get the right
feeling," Mrs. Young said, winking. Then she turned to me. "Shay, we
need to work on getting him a boyfriend so he leaves me alone again."

Kit puffed out his chest indignantly.
"Mom, I never left you alone, not even when I was with asshole-Patrick."

"I know, dear, " she stood
up on her tiptoes. Kit bent down nearly in half to accept her kiss on the
cheek. "I did too good of a job raising you to be a good man." She
patted his beefy arm. "I could do with some good old-fashioned neglect
every once in a while."

"Over my dead body." Kit
crossed his arms with finality while his mother just shook her head and turned
to me.

"I thought we needed an extra
pair of hands," she continued. "Arthritic as they may be. The
Valentine's Day orders?"

I grabbed the stack of order off the
counter and wielded them with a flourish. "We have twelve in already this
morning," I announced with a grin.

Mrs. Young clapped her hands in
delight and I felt myself puff with pride. She had that effect on me. I would
do anything to make Mrs. Young happy.

"Oh that's so wonderful,
dear," she cooed. "We'll be able to make rent this month after
all!"

"And!" I said, stepping
lightly back into my celebration dance, "guess who I just got to pay up
their past due account?"

Kit and Mrs. Young both stared at me
blankly while I shimmied in place. "No guesses? How about...drumroll
please...," Kit obliged me by rapping on his thighs...,"St. Ignatius
Church!"

Mrs. Young clapped in delight and Kit
clasped his hand to his forehead in mock relief. "Oh thank God you handled
that, I'm too terrified of those nuns to go after them."

"They don't scare me!" I
crowed.

Mrs. Young came up to me, all five
feet nothing of her, and squeezed my arm. "Not much does," she
smiled. "Thank you dear," she kissed my cheek and it was all worth
it.

Mrs. Young lived next to us when I
was growing up. Even back then she seemed old, her hair prematurely white, her
ways calm and maternal. I remember asking my mother why her name was even Mrs.
Young, when it was clear she was old as anything.

My mother had told me to hush and
then sent me out to go play. Of course I headed right next door, the smell of
cookies in the oven wafting out into the street. Over there, the door was
always open, never shut in my face.

Mrs. Young was not only my unofficial
mother. She was den mother to the entire block. She was the kind of woman who
took you in when you forgot your key, remembered and sent a card for every
birthday and knew the names of all of your friends like they were her own. She
was always outside in the tiny garden she had managed to coax from the bare
patch of earth in front of her rowhome. The flowers spilled over from her porch
in a waterfall of color and texture that brightened and softened the otherwise
treeless block. I loved sitting on her porch and peering through the blooms,
pretending I was exploring the jungle.

I spent as much time at Mrs. Young's
as I could.

I was still doing that as an adult.
Maybe it seemed strange to some that I went to her after my divorce, rather
then my own mother. But it was never strange to me. Mrs. Young was my refuge.
She always had been.

"And with the random order Shay
got from the cheater," Kit was still adding the month's invoices up in his
head, "we should almost be whole for next month too?"

"The cheater?" Mrs. Young
interjected, just as I piped up, "He isn't a cheater."

Kit looked at me quizzically.
"Oh?" he raised one eyebrow. "I believe I demanded
details?"

Damn him. He knew I was incapable of
lying. "It...was nice."

Kit heard the innuendo and clapped
his hand over his mouth, but Mrs. Young just squeezed my hand. "Well
that's wonderful, dear. Putting yourself back out there again, I'm so glad to
hear it."

Kit seemed to recover the power of
speech finally and crossed his arms over his prodigious stomach. "I'm
still not sure I approve of him."

I froze. "Really?"
Did he know something about the bouquet? Had
he figured something out?
"Why not?"

His eyes twinkled. "No one has a
right to be that handsome," he declared firmly. "It's
unnatural."

I burst out laughing while Mrs. Young
tutted. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Christopher," she said, reaching
up and tweaking her son's ear. She shook her head and then turned to head into the
back office.

He shot me a look and then followed
after her, protesting. "I'm not jealous, Ma, you should have seen the guy.
He looked like he walked off the pages of GQ. You know how I feel about slick
guys...."

Mrs. Young had disappeared around the
corner, but her voice still reached me in the front. "Yes, Christopher.
You love them...," she sighed.

I stifled my laughter behind my hand
and felt the blush that had been threatening the whole time Kit grilled me. He
was like a brother to me and I knew he was only looking out for me. Just like
Jazzy and Kiki.

For a moment, I let myself flit back
in time to the darkest days with Tre, when he had me holed up in our apartment
together, convinced that everyone I loved wanted us to fail. "You need to
trust me, baby. Don't let them fill your mind with this poison!" he insisted.
And I believed him again, and again and again.

Not this time. This time I would
listen to the ones who loved me. And in this instance, Kit was absolutely
right. It definitely wasn't natural how handsome Liam was. That dove-grey
sweater clung to him unfairly.

I felt the warmth of a different
nature creep up from inside of my core and I looked down in surprise.

Eagerly I grabbed my phone and
scrolled through my contacts. His number was there, taunting me. Liam Graves,
just another name in the list, but with so much meaning behind it. My finger
hovered over the text button. Should I tell him I had fun last night? Should I
say I wanted to see him again?

The phone buzzed in my hand, scaring
me half to death. I dropped it onto the glass counter and it ricocheted to the
side, landing on the tile floor, right on the corner.

"Oh shit..." I cried,
picking it up from where it lay face down on the floor. "Oh shit!" I
said again as I saw the crack spiderweb its way across the screen. "Oh
shit
," I said a third time, when I saw
the name on the text alert.

Liam Graves: "See you
soon?"

Chapter
Ten

Soon stretched into
"later," which stretched into "a while." I checked my phone
obsessively, even took it to the shitty place in the Gallery mall to get the
screen fixed in an hour, but still I didn't hear from Liam.

It was enough to drive a person mad.
One fantastic, blow-my-mind first date...and then nothing? Not even a
kiss...though that was my fault. Still, he didn't even try. I kept looking at
the text. "See you soon?" How soon?

I went through all the stages of
grief: denial, bargaining and all that, and had just come out on the other side
and accepted that I wasn't going to see Liam Graves again. Something had gone
wrong, maybe my need for time had put him off. After all, a man like that; who
looked like him and kissed like him and took girls on thoughtful dates that
showed he had been listening...a man like that could have his pick of women.
Why would he want to waste his time on a recently divorced florist who seemed
to be a born again prude?

Having reached acceptance, I decided
to go one further and go with anger. I declared him an asshole to Kit. I agreed
he must have been cheating after all with Jasmine. I swore to Kiki that I'd be
okay, then started talking about him again in spite of it.

*****

It was the first morning the
temperatures had climbed into the twenties. Walking to work wasn't
excruciatingly painful and I was actually in a good mood. Recent snowfall
blanketed the city in a new coat of white, covering the dirty mounds and frozen
trash. I barely felt my phone buzz in my pocket, but a sixth sense made me
check it.

Liam Graves: "It's been too
long. Hoping you can give me a little more time. How about tonight?"

"Are you fucking kidding
me?" I said out loud in the empty shop. No contact for two weeks and then
he thinks I'm going to drop everything? All my plans? Who did he think he was?

"Ok," I texted back.

Chapter
Eleven

I was still deciding if I was actually
going through with seeing him right at the moment the car rolled up in front of
the shop.

"Shay." Liam sounded
relieved when Darius opened the door and let me in the back seat.

"Liam," I said coolly.

He understood at once. "I took
too long. I know it." He patted the seat next to him and slid over to make
room for me. When I was settled next to him, hands folded tensely in my lap, he
sighed audibly. "You know, I don't even know where I can begin to tell you
why I couldn't see you again right away. Since words were failing me, I thought
this..." he turned behind him in the seat, "might say what I wanted
to say."

He turned back to me holding a single,
perfect rose. It was the deep, velvety pink of a sunset, the edges of the
petals just unfurling from the bud. It took my breath away.

"Gratitude?" I stammered.

He nodded. "For agreeing to see
me again."

"You looked up the meaning of a
deep pink rose?"

He cocked a crooked grin.
"Actually, I did a bunch of googling to find the right meaning that went with
a flower that wouldn't make you laugh in my face, I'm not going to lie."
His gray eyes twinkled at me. "Figured you wouldn't appreciate me showing
up with a four leaf clover."

I giggled in spite of myself.
"Be mine?"

His smile grew shy. "Yeah."

"Good call on the rose,
then," I teased, inhaling the deep scent.

"I'm glad you like it,
Shay."

The way he said my name.... It wasn't
fair. Here I had planned on being cool and aloof tonight, and he goes and does
something so thoughtful...and then says my name in the way he has that makes
every cell in my body sit up and take notice.

"So," he leaned back,
throwing his arm casually against the back of the seat. "I'm planning on
having you out a bit late this evening, Shay. Should I be worried about any overprotective
brothers or daddies who have shotguns?"

I burst out laughing. "Ah, no.
I'm an only child and I'm pretty sure my father has never touched a gun."
I giggled a little, feeling high off of the rose's scent and the way Liam's arm
rested lightly against the back of my neck. "He's pretty near-sighted too,
so all you'd have to do is knock his glasses off and...."

"And I'd be free to run off with
you?"
Dear sweet baby Jesus,
how did he get so close to my neck?

I dodged both the question and the
way it made my belly fall and float at the same time. "How about you, any
nosey mothers I need to worry about?"

He drew his arm away. "I do my
best to give Dahlia as little information as possible," he said, his voice
tight.

For a moment, the only noise was the
sound of the car shushing through the streets. We were headed West on the
Schuylkill Expressway, the traffic inexplicably light. But the air inside of
the car was heavy with unsaid meanings.

I decided to be bold.
 
"Dahlia again. You really don't
call her Mom, do you?"

His mouth worked, gray eyes flashing
in anger. Now, I understood sons being protective of their mothers. But Kit and
Mrs. Young were much different from this reaction. They had humor, while Liam
had only blank duty.

"Sorry," I muttered, wondering
what exactly I should be sorry about.

"Dahlia can be...tough," he
said, his voice strained. It made me shiver a little, in spite of the warmth of
the car. "She keeps things pretty well bottled up." He spread his
hands. "Unfortunately that includes stuff like warmth and human
emotion."

I didn't know if I should laugh. But
he did. His laugh was grimly sarcastic, even bitter. I watched him, a strange
feeling of protectiveness growing in my belly as he went on. "I won't lie,
she can be downright cruel. But I've learned I'm not going to change her, so I
decided to just accept it. Bashing my head against a brick wall is more
effective than trying to change Dahlia Graves." He looked back up from his
hands. "I'm done wishing I had a different kind of mother."

I nodded slowly. "I know the
feeling. I really do."

He shifted in his seat. "Your
mom?"

I felt the air shift, like he was
happy to have the focus off of him. Now it was my turn to pick at my scars. "My
mom is all about appearances," I began. "From day one, I learned
nothing from her but 'what will the neighbors think?' You could be going
through hell and back again, but you never ever let on that something was
bothering you. I think..." something suddenly slid into place, "I
think that's why it took me so long to leave my ex."

"And why you are always trying
to find some deeper meaning in everything?"

I looked up at him in sharp surprise
and he shot me an amused smile. "Yeah, I'm smarter than I look, I guess. I
notice things. Especially things about pretty ladies I'm interested in seeing a
lot more of."

I softened, but my inability to lie
came right to the surface. "Why did you ask me out?" I blurted.

"Are you going to try to find
deep, hidden meaning in that too?"

"Maybe," I smiled archly.
"Maybe it's my gift to the world."

"Okay, great oracle of truth,
tell me yourself." He leaned forward, his gray eyes keen. "Why can't
I get enough of you?"

I blinked. That was a question I
couldn't possibly answer, but he was looking at me so expectantly I had to try.
"Because you think I'm....different."

He nodded. "Beautifully
so."

"You don't come across many
poor, Black, divorced florists in your day to day life."

He cast his eyes down. "Well,
that's true."

I was warming to the subject.
"You're tired of everything always being the same. Maybe I'm a diversion,
a little bit of rebellion against Mom." I bristled at the thought.
"Have you told her about me?" I demanded.

He looked wounded. "Yes, Shay. I
have."

I fixed him with a glare.
"Everything?" I pressed meaningfully. "Did you mention I'm
Black?" I didn't add. I didn't think I should have to.

He pulled me into his arms.
"What's to tell? 'Hey Dahlia, I've met a woman who takes even less shit
than I do but somehow stays completely un-cynical. I've met a woman who sees
beauty and meaning in everything she does and sees and I hope she can teach me
to see that in my own life.'"

His lips were only inches from mine.
It would feel so good, so natural to close that gap. To kiss him. Right now.
I should be kissing him.
It was the only
thought in my head.

And then he saved me from my indecision
by kissing me instead.

The scalding heat of his lips on mine
seared me right down to my core. With a rough stab of his tongue, he claimed my
mouth as his, and went about exploring his territory. My body responded
immediately, molding itself against him as he pressed me back against the plush
seat. I was lost in the moment, in time itself and could barely make sense of
anything except Liam's lips, Liam's tongue, Liam's hands on my body, his
fingers delving, hot and bruising as he growled low in his throat.

My own yearning, numbed off since I
left Tre, rose to the surface, hotter and wilder than I had ever imagined they
could be.

I kissed him back, exploring his shape
with my hands; his chiseled torso, the small mountains of his biceps, the rough
hardness between his legs. I felt the textures and tastes of his skin on my
tongue as I kissed him everywhere his skin was exposed, his cheeks, his chin...his
neck. As a trembling gasp tore from my throat, he gripped me even harder, so
hard that it hurt.

"Shay," he rasped, a ragged
whisper into my neck.

Just then the car came to an abrupt
stop and I nearly cried out in frustration. "We're here," Darius's
rumbling voice called over the partition, and I swore he was interrupting us on
purpose.