Beddable Billionaire
Would she fire me?
Maybe?
Nico leaned forward, invading my space. “You think I’m another useless trust-fund baby with nothing better to do than spend my money on hookers and blow or at the very least strippers and booze.” When I didn’t deny it, he barked a laugh at my expense, as if I were an unprepared newb who hadn’t done a lick of research. “My family donates gobs of money to various organizations and charities, but it is scattered among the different companies we own. We choose not to advertise our philanthropic endeavors because we believe that’s private and we aren’t looking for accolades. So we don’t talk much about those things, but because we don’t advertise, you make an assumption that I’m just another rich playboy who wipes his ass with money.”
I had thought all of those things. Had I underestimated him? Was it possible? Right now I felt like an embittered, snarky bitch who hated all men, and it wasn’t a nice feeling at all. “I may have misjudged you on first appearances,” I admitted in a low tone, “but you haven’t done much to disabuse me of my first impression.”
“Was I supposed to? Or were you supposed to come here with an open mind?”
I swallowed, squarely put into my place by the most unlikely of people.
“You were rude,” he stated flatly.
I chewed the side of my cheek before uttering a reluctant “Yes.”
“You admit it?”
I’d have rather swallowed knives but nodded. “I didn’t realize I was being so rude. Please let me start over.”
“I should probably just ask for another reporter. Might be for the best.”
“Please don’t.”
“I think it would be better for everyone involved.”
“I assure you, it’s not. Unless you want an idiot writing your article,” I ground out. For someone who was supposed to be groveling, I was terrible at it.
“Nobody likes to be judged,” he said quietly, and I understood where he was coming from. I suppose not even Nico Donato was free from judgment, though I never imagined that he might care what others thought.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, meaning it this time. “I shouldn’t have come in with a preconceived idea of who you were.” Nico appeared mollified enough to accept my apology. I drew a deep breath and tried a real smile. “Can we start over? Wipe the slate clean? I promise you, even though I might’ve started with a bad attitude, I’m a pretty good writer. No one else at Luxe will do as good a job as me.”
Nico regarded me with speculation, his blue eyes deepening a shade. As much as I wanted to ignore the obvious, Nico Donato was easy on the eyes, and it’d been a long time since I’d allowed a man to enter my thoughts in any sort of sexual way.
Raw energy pulsed between us, parching my throat and leaving me out of sorts. Patching things between us might save my job, but I feared something far more frightening than job hunting in New York with a near-useless degree.
Nico had a thing about him...some kind of sexual voodoo, and I could already feel something happening between us even if it was in fits and starts—but it took only a spark to burn down a forest.
And that was the part that worried me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nico
“I’M REALLY NOT an asshole,” I insisted, but I couldn’t quite prevent the tiny half smile curving my mouth. Even I couldn’t make that statement with a straight face, but the fact that she handled my curveball without missing a beat was arousing as fuck. I had to know more about this woman—by any means possible. “Okay, how about this... I will answer any question you have for me...over dinner.”
“Dinner,” she repeated with open suspicion. “Why dinner?”
“Let’s be honest...we both bungled this interview. Let’s wipe the slate clean and start fresh. I’m willing to believe that we’re both reasonable human beings, so why not forget this terrible first impression happened and start over. Preferably over a glass of wine.”
Her gaze narrowed, but the tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth told me she enjoyed negotiating as much as I did. Oh, the things people reveal without realizing it. “Dinner, no wine. Purely business. No funny business,” she countered, her gaze glittering as she tacked on, “at a well-lit restaurant.”
I shook my head. “Here.”
“I’d rather a restaurant.”
I knew if I pushed, she’d push back. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was easily impressed or intimidated, so I had to try something else. “May I be completely honest?” I asked. She nodded slowly, curious. “It may come as a surprise, but I love to cook. It’s the one thing that I wasn’t given simply because of who I am. I’ve earned my skills through plenty of trial and error. If I’m going to have a shot of changing your perception of me, cooking you a meal is the best way I know how.”
Her stunned silence was more telling than she knew. What she couldn’t know was that I was being completely honest. I felt most comfortable in the kitchen, and I took great pride in knowing that every skill I had with food was 100 percent legit. Of course, I withheld the mention that I’d discovered long ago that women found men who can cook irresistible. I couldn’t count how many panties had dropped over a seemingly innocent homemade dish of risotto alla Milanese paired with a perfectly roasted leg of lamb.
After a long, contemplative pause, Lauren nodded, accepting my proposal. “You have yourself a clean slate, Mr. Donato. I’ll see you tonight. Seven o’clock,” she said, rising as she thrust her hand toward me to seal the deal. I chuckled and accepted the handshake when I really wanted to brush my lips across that pale, soft skin to watch the goose bumps cause an all-out riot. I wanted to know what stole Lauren’s breath and caused those beautiful dark eyes to darken further—and I definitely wanted to know what she was hiding beneath that ugly dress. However, I played the part of the gentleman, opening her door and watching her leave without a further suggestive remark or inappropriate suggestion.
Pretty proud of myself, actually. I rarely denied myself whatever pleasure caught my eye, but I suspected Lauren was a diamond hidden inside that crusty coal and I was more interested in discovering how to reveal what I was truly interested in.
The question was, what about Lauren turned my clock? Hell, I hadn’t a clue. Generally speaking, I preferred women to be soft and malleable, maybe even a little on the vapid side. But then, I wasn’t accustomed to women actively pushing me away. Usually it was the other way around. Most times I had to shake the women off with a stick.
Got quite annoying, actually.
But not Lauren.
Her employment with Luxe came to mind, as she clearly didn’t fit the blueprint for the self-indulgent magazine.
Hence, the plot thickens, eh?
Everything about the woman intrigued me, and for fuck’s sake, I was bored enough to dig into the mystery.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lauren
I COULDN’T EXPLAIN what had happened between Nico and me. I’m not entirely sure how he’d managed to turn the tables so neatly, but I had to give the man props for style and finesse.
For all his talk about wanting a fresh start to make a better impression, I wasn’t buying into his story, but there was something about Nico that made me want to play the game.
Was this how it started? There was a saying, “bad judgment made for good stories,” and it certainly applied to my current situation. I should’ve shut him down, told Patrice that Donato wasn’t a good fit for the center feature and moved on. But somewhere between being completely annoyed and defensive to the point where he actually had me anticipating a countermove, my interest level had changed.
I had no doubt he was playing a game with me, but I wasn’t without my own skills. If he thought he could charm the pants off me with an impressive culinary show, he was headed for an aching case of blue balls, but I wasn’t above enjoying a fine home-cooked meal on someone else’s dime and effort.
My ex had come from a wealthy family, and Houston had pulled out all the stops to impress me. Unfortunately, it’d worked on a naive girl, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. Getting knocked up and abandoned did a lot to make a girl grow up.
When I’d met Houston, I’d been just out of college, and much more trusting.
Now I was fairly certain everyone had an agenda.
Except my sweet son.
Oh, crud. Speaking of, I’d have to find a babysitter for Grady tonight. I didn’t want to call my mom because she’d ask questions, but the last time I left Grady with my best friend, Ronnie, he’d gotten Grady hooked on Drag Race. It’d taken weeks to convince Grady that a feather boa was not an acceptable choice for kindergarten attire. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved that Grady was exposed to different lifestyles and completely open to alternative ways to be a human being. But I had a hard enough time as it was with the school administrator each time Grady said or did something that shocked the pants off his teacher.
I called my younger sister, Claire, hoping that she was available. Voice mail.
I chewed my bottom lip, vacillating between calling my mom and calling Ronnie.
I went with Ronnie.
“Hey, babe, you available to watch Grady tonight for me?” I asked, hailing a cab.
“Oh, honey child, why do you do this to me? You know I would die to watch the little man, but I totally have plans already. Unless you don’t mind if I take him with me,” he answered with a dubious tone that immediately set off alarm bells.
“Where are you going?” I asked, wary. “No drag shows.”
“Oh, poo. Well, if you’re going to be like that, then no, I already have plans.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know you can’t take Grady to a drag show. Most are held at a bar.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a private show, and mostly kid-friendly. I think.”
Yeah, I wasn’t about to take the chance. “Not this time,” I said, chuckling. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Grady to be safe with Ronnie, but sometimes my friend didn’t think about how impressionable a six-year-old was, and learning how to effectively tuck a penis wasn’t a skill set I needed my son to pick up anytime soon. “No worries. Enjoy your show,” I said and clicked off.
That left my mom.
Ugh. My mom and I were often on opposite sides of everything. For example, my mom thought I ought to be going after Grady’s dad for child support even though I’d explained that it was better for Grady and me if Houston wasn’t involved. I wasn’t about to poke the sleeping bear. Houston was content to pretend that he didn’t have a son, and I was totally fine with that. But my mom saw only the potential dollar signs floating out the window.
“He needs to take responsibility for his son,” she’d said during one of the many pointless arguments on the subject. “He has enough money—he needs to pay up.”
“I don’t want Houston around Grady,” I’d replied, hoping the conversation was finished. “We’re better off. Houston isn’t exactly ready to be a father.”
“You should’ve thought of that before getting knocked up,” Ellen Hughes disparaged with a cool look. “If your father were alive today...well, let’s just say he’d be having words with that young man.”
I winced, hating when she brought up the subject of my dad. “Leave Dad out of this,” I warned. “The man has earned his rest after being married to you for thirty years.” It was harsh, but things tended to slip out when I argued with my mother.
“Lauren Elizabeth Hughes, you watch your mouth. I didn’t raise you to be disrespectful.” My mother’s mouth pinched as she added disapprovingly, “A boy needs his father.”
“No, he doesn’t if that father is a useless playboy who cares more about partying than raising a child,” I returned sharply, giving my mother “the look” as I finished putting away Grady’s toys. My mother took the hint and gathered her things to leave. “Do you need me to call a cab?” I asked helpfully, but my mom was already out the door.
So, yeah, I wasn’t super excited to have her babysit.
I could always bring Grady with me.
The thought popped into my head almost as a joke, but then I realized maybe that was an excellent idea.
I doubted Nico would try anything inappropriate with a six-year-old boy in attendance.
Maybe I was risking my mom card for using my kid as a shield, but the idea had merit. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was a viable solution to a sticky issue.
With Grady there, I could keep the conversation on point and I could also use Grady as a legitimate reason to leave on time.
I’d get my interview and escape with my integrity.
Problem solved.
CHAPTER SIX
Nico
IN PREPARATION FOR TONIGHT, I had the best mood music set, soft lighting and a menu course that never failed to impress.
My buddies never failed to give me shit about my enjoyment of cooking, but I took pride in my work.
I believed men should be able to do two things well: cook and fuck.
And I excelled at both.
My doorbell went off, and I smiled at her punctuality.
I strode to the door with a wide smile, ready to go another round with Miss Hughes, but when I opened the door I stopped short, my smile freezing in place as confusion rapidly set in.
“Hello, my name is Grady.” A small boy with glasses perched on his button nose thrust his little hand up at me. I faltered, inelegantly surprised by the unexpected plus-one, but Lauren filled in the blanks quickly—and, if I wasn’t mistaken, I caught a spark of mischief in her dark eyes.
“Single mom, no babysitter so that means it’s take-your-kid-to-work night. I hope you don’t mind.” She smiled broadly as if she knew throwing a kid in the mix had just crumpled all of my elaborate plans. Just then, a sexy song came on the playlist and I felt as exposed as if she’d caught me with my pants down.
Hot damn, she’d just taken things to the next level.
But I was nothing if not quick on my feet and recovered with a smile. “No worries, nice to meet you, little man,” I said. I shook the boy’s hand, impressed with his solid handshake. “Come in. You’re in luck that I didn’t plan for the lobster soufflé. I thought I might go with something a little less stuffy for our interview. I hope you like spaghetti.”
Grady answered first, piping in, “I love pasketti. It’s my favorite, but are you going to make garlic bread, too?”
Precocious little kid. I liked him already. “Of course,” I answered. “Have you ever known a self-respecting Italian to serve a meal without bread?”
“Good man,” Grady said, nodding with approval as he made his way into my living room, taking in the surroundings. “My mom says that you’re a rich man with poor morals, but how good are you in the kitchen?”
Lauren gasped, embarrassed by her son’s honesty. “Grady! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, sending Grady a look that said, cool it, kid, but a smile pulled at my mouth. If I had a quarter for every time I’d embarrassed my mother by what’d popped from my mouth...well, I’d be even richer than I already was. “I don’t know what’s come over him. We have this problem at school, too. We can’t always say what we want to say whenever we think it. Isn’t that right, Grady? Please apologize.”
“Not necessary,” I assured her, grinning more widely. Yeah, I definitely liked the kid, especially when I knew now that I could probably get whatever information I needed out of the loose-lipped terrorist. “That’s the thing about kids and drunks—they’re always honest.” I winked at Grady, then gestured for him to follow me into the kitchen. “But to answer your question, I kick ass when I’m cooking. The bigger question, little man, is what are you going to do to make yourself useful?”
My brow arched with mock sternness, but he wasn’t intimidated in the least, which I found another point in his favor.
“I can do whatever you can do,” he boasted without a hint of bashfulness but added when Lauren laughed a little nervously, “Except work the oven. Mama says I’m too young, even though I watched a YouTube video on how to work the burners and that worked out pretty good.”
“What did the world do before YouTube?” I asked, only half joking because I was fairly certain YouTube was going to make college courses obsolete at some point. “But your mom is probably right about the oven. Best leave that to the adults or at least someone tall enough to ride the big-kid rides at Disneyland.”
“Grady, I’m sure Nico is kidding about having you help.”
“I’m absolutely not kidding. You’re going to work, too,” I told her, earning a wary smile. “The best way to get to know someone is in the kitchen.”
“Then you’re gonna find out real fast that my mom doesn’t make very good food,” Grady confided, then cast his mother an apologetic look. “But you try real hard, and that’s what counts.”
I laughed. “Can I rent this kid for parties? He’s a riot.”
Lauren blushed and rubbed her hands together as she surveyed the layout of ingredients I had spread around. “Yeah, I wish I could say he was lying, but he’s right. I’m all thumbs in the kitchen.”
I smiled, noting that she’d changed into something far less reminiscent of a flour sack—jeans and a simple T-shirt—and unlike the ugly dress, the jeans molded perfectly to her hips and ass, blasting away the impression that she’d been hiding a less-than-stellar figure.
Hell, if I was being honest, Lauren had the kind of banging curves that always managed to turn my head. I was a sucker for wide hips, a fat ass and a small waist—and Lauren had it all. I took a brief second to whisper for her ears only, “How did you manage to hide that beautiful ass beneath that ugly dress? The jeans are a big improvement.” Before she could gasp, I pulled away and continued in a normal tone, “Lucky for you, most of the dinner is already prepared and your parts are easy.”
“Mama, maybe Nico can teach you a few things, too?”
Oh, little man, I’d love to teach your mama a thing or two. The thought raced across my mind, but I kept the comment behind my teeth, choosing to indulge the kid with a smile. “Sure, if your mama is open to learning, that is...”
Lauren caught the double entendre but instead of shooting me down with a look, she blushed a little, which only made me wish I could sample those pouty lips and grip a handful of that amazing ass.
Forget everything I’d said earlier about Lauren not being my type. Clearly, I was being fed bad intel because honest and true, if she’d walked in wearing what she was wearing right now, I would’ve changed my tactics immediately and the day would’ve ended with her in my bed.
Now I had to go a different route to get what I wanted.
But an easy victory was a boring one.
I pulled a chair over for Grady to stand on so he was level with the counter. “All right, little chef, you’re on butter duty. I’ve made a garlic spread already, and it’s your job to cover this freshly baked French bread with the spread so I can put it in the oven to cook. Can you handle it? I mean, it’s an important job, so don’t blow smoke up my behind if you’re not up to the task.”
Grady giggled and rolled his eyes as if I were an idiot and accepted the duty by grabbing the spreading spatula. I received an assured “I got this,” and he went to work carefully spreading the garlic butter. I turned to Lauren with a cocked brow. “Now, as for you...can you manage chopping up the veggies for the salad without losing a finger?”
Lauren answered around a smile that stubbornly wouldn’t stop forming. “Yes, I can handle the salad prep. I’m not a complete idiot in the kitchen.”
“I don’t know, junior here didn’t exactly give you a glowing recommendation, and he knows you best,” I said, winking at my pint-size partner in crime. The happy grin I earned twisted something unfamiliar for a brief moment, but I recovered in a blink to tease, “I’m no vampire, I don’t want blood on the arugula.”
Lauren laughed and shook her head, grabbing the cutting board and the assorted vegetables. “Just do your thing and I’ll do mine.”
“Excellent,” I said, throwing some fresh basil in the sauce I’d already started the moment Lauren had left earlier that day. “The upside to being two generations removed from my Italy roots is that I was raised on solid, authentic Italian cooking and I know the difference between good parmigiana and crap.”
“Do you mind if I set the recorder so we can do the interview at the same time?” Lauren asked, already reaching for her device. I shrugged as if I didn’t care, but I didn’t want her so focused on the interview that she completely missed all the subtle cues I was sending her way.
“Mama is a good writer. What do you do?” Grady asked. “Mama said you’re just rich, but don’t you have to do something to get rich?”
“Starting with the hardball questions, all right, all right,” I said with an appreciative whistle. “Okay, so yeah, your mama is right, my family is wealthy, and because of that, I have a trust fund that enables me to pretty much do whatever I want—such as learn how to perfect the ultimate spaghetti dinner to impress difficult reporters.”
Lauren blushed and bit her lip, no doubt to keep from skewering me in front of her kid, but I liked the way things were going thus far. In fact, the only thing that would improve the night was a glass of wine, a detail I planned to handle right now.
“My mama is hard to impress,” Grady warned, finishing his butter duty. “Uncle Ronnie says it’s ’cuz she’s been too long without a man, but I think he’s wrong ’cuz Mama has me and I’m the man of the house. I can take care of Mama just fine.”
At that, I burst out laughing as Lauren’s cheeks burned a brilliant shade of magenta. She fairly choked on the words, “Grady, let’s go wash your hands. You’re all buttery, sweetheart,” before shooting me a pointed look when I struggled to contain my laughter.
“First door on your right,” I managed, gesturing to the hallway, still smiling at the intel dropped from precious little Grady’s gob. So, Mama Hughes is on a bit of a dry spell, huh? It didn’t surprise me that Lauren wasn’t a casual dater, especially with a kid like Grady on her heels. He probably kept her on her toes and served as an efficient cock-blocker.
I poured two glasses of 2009 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, a complex Bordeaux of red blends from Pauillac, Bordeaux, France, but I was at a loss as to what to serve Grady. I wasn’t exactly equipped with juice boxes for the preschool set.
When Lauren and Grady returned, I handed Lauren her glass above her mild protests, and turned to Grady. “Here’s the deal. I have water, cranberry juice and root beer. What’s your poison?”
“Cranberry, please.”
Odd choice for a kid but I’d oblige. “One cranberry, coming up.”
Lauren explained, “Grady has a weakened kidney. It’s nothing serious, but the doctor put him on cranberry juice since he was about three years old, so he developed a taste for it.”
Kidney issue? I slid the short glass over to Grady. “So, it’s nothing serious? What happened?”
“Mama.” Grady looked at Lauren, and I understood that whatever ailed the kid embarrassed him so I dropped it.
“I’m starved,” I announced, moving to the bubbling pot of pasta. I removed the pot and drained and dropped the pasta into the awaiting sauce so it could absorb some of the sauce’s flavor. “In Italy, this is called pasta saltata in padella,” I explained when I caught both Grady and Lauren watching with interest.
“Well, it smells good,” Lauren admitted. “Did you learn how to make pasta from your mother?”
“Actually, a combination of my mother and the family cook, Greta. My brothers were always expected to trail after our father because of the family business, but that left me to do as I pleased. I happened to enjoy eating good food, so I naturally ended up learning how to cook for myself.”