A Billionaire Between the Sheets (5 page)

“Who cares what your uncle wants?” he said as he picked up the book and went back to reading. But her hurtful words made it impossible. As much as he tried to act like he didn't care what his uncle thought, he did. He cared more than anyone would ever know.

“Then why did you come?” She moved closer, the heels of her sandals clicking on the paving stones. “I overheard my mother say that you came for money.”

He jumped to his feet. “I don't want shit from you or your stepfather. I think he's an arrogant ass.”

“Is not!” she snapped. “Michael's a kind, caring man—”

“Who makes his money off selling cheap, sleazy underwear!”

Her eyes turned hard and angry. “They are not cheap or sleazy!”

To his surprise she jerked up her dress. Not just to her waist, but all the way over her head. And she was right. The lacy bra and panties didn't look cheap…or sleazy. Barely covering her petite body with its small breasts, they looked hot. Especially to a sixteen-year-old who got a boner just by climbing a rope in gym class. His penis came to full attention, something his uncle couldn't help but notice when he arrived on the scene.

“Deacon!”

Deacon snapped out of his daydream to see his little brother barreling down the path through the trees like the hounds of hell were chasing him.

Deacon got to his feet. “What happened?”

Grayson took a moment to catch his breath. “Some guys in a black SUV arrived.”

“Shit.” He left his fishing pole and tackle box and started toward the cabin. “Who are they? Federal agents who have come to arrest Donny John for illegal gambling? Or did Nash get himself in trouble again?”

“Neither.” Grayson followed behind him. “They aren't feds or cops. They're lawyers.”

He stopped and turned. “Lawyers?”

Grayson nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Olivia was telling the truth. Uncle Michael left us shares in the company. We're millionaires, Deke.” He slapped him on the arm. “At least we will be as soon as you sign Olivia's contract. And I figure since they're Uncle Michael's lawyers, they can take the contract back to her.”

Deacon should have been overjoyed. His dream was about to become true. But it was hard to be overjoyed when the daydream had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Which might explain why he wasn't friendly to the lawyers who sat at the card table with glasses of sweet tea in front of them. Both got to their feet as soon as he entered the cabin, but it was the older of the two who spoke.

“Deacon Valentino Beaumont?” When Deacon merely nodded, he continued the introduction. “I'm Jeffrey Connors, a lawyer for the late Michael Casanova Beaumont.” He nodded at the younger man, who looked like he was about to faint from heatstroke. “This is my colleague Dave Johnson.” Both men held out hands and Deacon shook them before heading to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of beer, twisted off the cap, and took a deep drink before finally speaking.

“So Michael put me and my brothers in his will.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Mr. Connors answered it anyway.

“Yes.” He sat back down and removed some papers from his briefcase. “We would've had these to you sooner, but it wasn't easy locating you and your brothers.” He smiled. “Although I understand. Just this past year, I went salmon fishing with my brothers in a remote spot in Canada. Most enjoyable two weeks I've had in a long time.”

It annoyed Deacon that the man would think this was just a vacation spot. He scowled as the lawyer took a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket. He put them on before he started reading the will.

Mr. Connors had a low, soothing voice, one that would've put Deacon to sleep if the stakes hadn't been so high. He, his brothers, and Donny John all listened intently as the man read. It wasn't until he reached the details of the shares Uncle Michael had left them that Deacon interrupted.

“Excuse me. Did you say controlling shares?”

Mr. Connors glanced up. “I did.”

“Controlling as in majority shareholders?”

The lawyer smiled. “Correct. Your uncle left you all of his shares.”

Nash got up from the couch. “Does that mean what I think it means, Deacon?”

Since Deacon couldn't seem to find his voice, Mr. Connors answered the question for him. “It means that you and your brothers are now the owners of French Kiss, Incorporated.”

O
livia was running late…again. No matter how early she got up, she just couldn't seem to keep from being late. This morning she'd been distracted by the pretty hummingbird that fluttered by her kitchen window, Mr. Huckabee watering his flowers in the nude, and her trash and recycling bins sitting by the curb. Not that there was anything unusual about her trash bins being out. Especially on trash day. At least there wouldn't have been if she had been the one to roll them out to the curb. But until she saw them, she'd forgotten that it was trash day. Which meant that someone else had put her trash and recycling bins out. Just as they had the week before. And the week before that.

Late or not, she couldn't help opening the balcony doors and calling to Mr. Huckabee, whose dangling parts were thankfully covered by the large watering can he held, “Good morning, Mr. Huckabee.”

He squinted over at her. “Is that you, Britney?”

Britney had been the former owner of Olivia's house. And even after five years, Mr. Huckabee still thought she lived there. Olivia had corrected him numerous times and had finally given up.

“I wanted to thank you for putting out my trash,” she said.

“I didn't. And you left your garage door open again.” Mr. Huckabee lifted the can to water his geraniums, displaying his private parts.

She averted her eyes. “Yes, I know. I guess I need to tie a string on my penis—I mean finger.” With a heated face, she backed toward the doors. “Well, have a good day.” On her way inside, she noticed Jonathan Livingston Seagull standing in the corner of her balcony, eating what looked like a piece of moldy banana peel. “Shoo!” she yelled, and waved her arms. The bird stared her down with a beady-eyed look before he picked up the banana peel and took flight, leaving his calling card on her rug.

She usually took the trolley to work, but after cleaning up Jonathan's mess she was running too late to wait for public transportation, so she decided to take the Porsche Michael had given her for her thirtieth birthday. It was a nice car—fast, sleek, and a pretty French Kiss silver. Which didn't explain why she felt so uncomfortable driving it.

Backing out of her garage, she ground the gears and almost ran over her trash bins. The sight of them at the curb had her glancing around to see if any neighbors were waiting to be thanked for putting out her trash. But the only person she saw was the guy who sold lemon juicers to the tourists on Fisherman's Wharf. He hurried down the street, pulling his roller suitcase of juicers behind him.

He had to live somewhere close by because she saw him almost every day, although she couldn't see him making enough on lemon juicers to afford to live in the wealthy neighborhood. She would think he was a street person if not for the quality of his coat and pants. Even his Nikes looked new. When she drove past and waved, he ducked his head and ignored her. She should really buy a juicer from him. Maybe she would get one for her mother as well. Deirdre loved kitchen gadgets. Thinking of her mother, Olivia tapped the screen on the dashboard.

After a few trilling rings, her mother's voice came through the Bose speakers.

“When are you coming to get this woman?”

“Today.” Olivia stifled a yawn. Her sleep the last two nights had been plagued by nightmares. Not about being eaten alive by mosquitoes or death-rolled by an alligator, but about showing her panties to Deacon Beaumont and him laughing hysterically. Of course the nightmares weren't any worse than the daydreams that kept popping up since she left Louisiana. Daydreams about Deacon's body. Even now it was hard to blink the image of his manly muscles and lightly furred chest away. “So how is Babette this morning?” Olivia asked. “Has she gotten any work done?”

“It appears so. She spent all day yesterday scribbling on some design or another.”

“That's great.” Olivia passed a Starbucks and struggled with the strong desire to turn in. But since she was already late, her caffeine hit would have to wait until she got to work. “Tell her I'll send a car to pick her up this afternoon. And as soon as I call a board meeting and present her designs, she can start working with the designers at French Kiss.”

“As if the woman can work with anyone,” her mother said. “And instead of sending a car for her, why don't you come and pick her up yourself? I'd like to see you.”

“I'd love to, Mother, but now that the Beaumonts have signed over their shares of the company, there's just too much to get done. What about if we have lunch this weekend?”

“Fine. And afterwards you can help me go through some of Michael's things. If the house sells quickly, we'll need to have it done. Although it's a shame to sell the house when it would be a perfect home for you to start a family.”

The comment took Olivia completely by surprise. “A family?”

“Don't act like you don't know what a family is, Olivia. Yours wasn't conventional—what with your father running off and you having a workaholic stepfather who ran the largest lingerie company in the world—but you certainly don't want to end up like Regina Longley's daughter, who has to hire men to escort her to social events. You need a husband. Even if for nothing more than arm decoration.”

“I have a boyfriend, Mother.”

“That young man who works at French Kiss? Does he have money?”

“I don't have a clue. I don't plan to marry for money.” In fact Olivia didn't plan to marry at all. She had enough complications in her life.

“Don't be ridiculous, Olivia Harrington. I won't have you marrying some yuppie businessman with nothing more than a 401(k). Do you know anything about this Parker's family?”

Olivia opened her mouth and then closed it when she realized that she didn't know anything about Parker's family. Not one thing. She didn't know if his parents were living. If he had siblings. Or even a dog.

A faint stream of French words came through the speakers before her mother spoke. “I think you owe me more than lunch for putting up with this French tyrant.” Her mouth moved away from the receiver. “Yes, yes, I hear you, Marie Antoinette! And your chocolate chip crepes are coming!” She lowered her voice. “Along with a little arsenic.”

Olivia laughed. “Hang tough, Mother. She'll be gone by this afternoon.”

After ending the call, Olivia concentrated on taking the fastest route to work. But due to heavy traffic and a missed turn caused by admiring the haircut of the woman in the car next to her, she still arrived late.

French Kiss's corporate headquarters were located in a high-rise office building just a block away from the flagship store on Union Square. Michael had spared no expense in remodeling the historic building. While the outside kept its Gothic look, the inside had been totally gutted and refurbished, using plenty of French Kiss's trademark colors—lavender and silver. The lavish decor of the lobby included purple variegated marble floors, plush furniture upholstered in gray and purple velvet, and a huge crystal chandelier hanging over the receptionist's desk.

The corporate office employed both men and women, but front desk receptionists were always attractive women who wore business attire and lavender high heels. The high heels had been Michael's idea, and he'd expected every female employee to wear them. The men were to wear suits and lavender ties.

Olivia waved a greeting to the receptionist on her way to the elevators. Her office was located on the top executive floor in the corner opposite Michael's. Before his stroke she had always started her day in his suite. Over coffee and pastry, they would discuss new designs and marketing plans, or laugh over something her mother had said or done. But those days were gone. And had been gone since the morning she'd discovered him slumped in his chair, unable to move the right side of his body. She had hoped that with rehabilitation he would recover. But the second stroke had removed that hope. And the final one had taken Michael's life.

The hard punch of grief came from nowhere, and needing to find some remnant of his presence, she bypassed the empty secretary's desk and pushed open the door of his office. The scent of espresso and his expensive cologne was still there, as were the photographs of Olivia and her mother on his desk and the paintings of Paris on the walls.

Michael had loved Paris, and Olivia had never understood why he hadn't located the corporate offices there. Especially when the idea for the company had come from a small Paris lingerie shop. She had asked him once, and he'd simply said, “Paris is in my past.” Since he had never liked to talk about his past, she'd left it at that.

“Oh, it's you.”

The clipped tone had her turning to the doorway.

Anastasia Bradley was the vice-president of marketing and an organized, punctual overachiever who would never be distracted by a hummingbird, a naked neighbor, or a hot manly Beaumont brother. While the rest of the executive board treated Olivia like an annoying relative of Michael's whom they had to put up with, Ana treated her like the village idiot.

“So nice of you to join us, Miss Harrington.” She repositioned the box she carried and glanced at her watch. “Let me guess, you missed the trolley or traffic was bad?”

“As a matter of fact…” She let the words trail off when Ana carried the box to the desk and started unpacking it. “What are you doing?”

“I think it's pretty obvious. I'm moving into Michael's office.”

“By whose authority?”

Anastasia turned and sent her a wicked-witch smile. “Imagine the board's surprise when we learned that Michael hadn't left you the company after all. Instead he gave it to his nephews. Nephews who will more than likely sell first chance they get. But until they do, I think I have just as much right to this office as anyone. Especially since you already have a big office.”

Olivia wanted to take the contracts out of her briefcase and wave them in front of Ana's broad nose along with a big nanny-nanny-boo-boo. Two things stopped her: The will had yet to be probated. And, bitch or not, Ana was good at her job. If Olivia was going to keep French Kiss from going bankrupt, she needed all the help she could get.

“Fine,” she said, “you may use the office for now.” She tipped up her chin and swept from the room, then almost ran over Parker in the hallway. He was as meticulously groomed as he always was. Shoes polished, suit pressed, purple tie perfectly knotted in a Windsor, and not one blond-highlighted hair out of place. But what Olivia noticed more than anything was his clean-shaven face. Probably because she'd spent the entire weekend thinking about a bearded one.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “I tried calling you, but you didn't answer one of my texts or messages.”

“I'm sorry. My phone broke.”

“And you couldn't have used another phone and called me?”

She had thought about it, but then hadn't wanted a Louisiana area code showing up on his cell phone. Which was weird. If she was dating Parker, she should trust him—and know a little more about him.

“Do you have a dog?” she asked. His mouth opened in mute surprise, drawing Olivia's gaze to his jaw. It was not just clean-shaven but baby-smooth, and she had to wonder if he could even grow a beard.

“No,” he said. “I don't have a dog.”

“A sister or brother? And are your parents alive?”

He looked confused. “Are you okay? Did the doctor prescribe tranquilizers after Michael died?”

She shook her head. “No, I was curious. We don't get to talk much about our life outside of work.”

“Because we don't have a life outside of work, and I thought that we were both quite happy with that.”

“Right.” She backed away. “I'll call you later.”

Before she headed to her office, Olivia dropped the contracts by to Jason Melvin. Jason was a young company lawyer who, unlike Parker, always looked like a wrinkled mess. His hair needed a cut, his shirt an iron, and his pants an extra inch of length. Not to mention that his purple ties always had some sort of stain on them. And yet Olivia trusted him more than anyone in the company. Probably because he had chosen loyalty over confidentiality. He was the one who had alerted her about Michael's will. The one who had helped her write up the contract to buy back French Kiss.

As soon as she stepped into his office, he dropped the jelly doughnut he'd been eating and jumped to his feet. “So did they sign?” Before she could answer, he continued. “Of course, why wouldn't they? That's a lot of money.”

She set her briefcase on the desk and opened it. “It wasn't as easy as I thought. Deacon Beaumont gave me a little trouble.” She handed him the contracts. “Have you heard anything from your snitch at Michael's law firm?”

“They found the Beaumonts. And with the ironclad will Michael set up, it shouldn't take any time at all for you to get their shares. I'm thinking that by this time next week, you'll be the new CEO. Won't that surprise the board?”

“I don't know about that. Someone already leaked the information about the will to Anastasia.”

Jason held up his hands. “It wasn't me. I'm terrified of the woman.”

“That makes two of us.” She nodded at the contracts. “Guard those with your life.”

“Will do”—he winked—“boss lady.”

Rather than make her happy, the two words made her feel slightly ill. Thankfully, Kelly was waiting at the door of her office with a cup of coffee. As usual she wore totally inappropriate clothing for work. Her blue-jean skirt was too short, her shirt too tight, and her Hello Kitty pink glitter belt too…weird. But she had caffeine, so Olivia chose to ignore her outfit. “You're a saint,” she said as she reached for the cup.

Kelly pulled it back. “Sorry, but this isn't for you.” She nodded at the closed door of Olivia's office. “It's for him.”