Billionaire by Design (A BWWM Romance) (14 page)

“Ugh,” Zane groaned as he shook his head in disappointment. “I’m so sorry, babe. I had no idea this was going on. I had problems with him a while back, but I really thought he’d changed.”

“Well, clearly he hasn’t,” Jenna fired back in a huff. “He treats me like I’m some piece of meat. I can always feel his eyes on me, and it makes my skin crawl.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Zane sighed. “And I apologize. I should have known better than to team you up with him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jenna replied. “He seems to be on his best behavior around you. But when he’s alone with me, it’s a whole other story.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” an exasperated Zane shrugged. “He’s brought in a lot of business, but I can’t have him pulling this crap here. Not with you. Not with anybody. I told him before I wouldn’t put up with it again.”

“Again?“ Jenna asked. “So this is a repeat pattern?”

“A few years ago there was an incident with his secretary,” Zane clarified. “It was the first time, and I told him it better damn well be his last.”

“I see.”

“How long has this been going on?” Zane demanded to know.

“Since I started working here,” Jenna answered, and after a brief pause added, “Before, actually.”

“Before?!”
Zane burst in puzzlement.

“He’s been making inappropriate comments since the first day he met me,” a visibly upset Jenna snapped. “Let’s just say that tour of the firm didn’t end so well.”

“Jesus, babe,” Zane began, shooting from his chair and rushing to console her. He placed his strong hands on her shoulders and looked at her apologetically. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“I know he’s your little golden boy, so I didn’t want to cause trouble,” Jenna muttered as she looked away in embarrassment.

“I’ll fix this, I promise,” he assured her with his deep, commanding voice.

“How?” Jenna questioned with a faint hint of skepticism as she returned his gaze.

“I’m supposed to meet with him over an accounting issue tomorrow. I’ll handle it when I see him. Until then, I don’t want you two around each other. You’re taking the day off. Relax at home while I take care of Phil,” Zane instructed.

“I can’t just take the day off,” Jenna started to protest, “I have work to finish and—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Zane interrupted sternly. “You’re taking tomorrow off while I sort this out. You’ve been working hard and deserve a break anyhow.”

“Okay…” Jenna quickly conceded as she remembered the pressing personal matters requiring her immediate attention. Their child was growing inside of her, and she still needed to figure out what she was going to do about it. A day to herself, she realized, might just help her reach the decision she inevitably needed to make.

“In fact,” Zane continued as he glanced at his watch, “I want you to head home right now. I won’t be far behind you. I have a few phone calls to finish up here, and I’ll be on my way.”

“You sure?” Jenna asked. She was feeling ill again, and the chance to relax at the adobe estate she’d grown accustomed to was hard to resist.

“Yes. Phil’s meeting with a client right now, and I have no idea when he’ll be back. I’d rather you two not be in the same building together until I’ve spoken with him. If he gets here before I leave, then I’ll have it out with him today. If not, I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Jenna replied, standing on her toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. She could still taste him in her mouth, and didn’t think he’d appreciate a kiss on the lips.

“I’ll see you in a bit, gorgeous girl,” he smiled as he pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

He saw her out of his office and returned to his high-back leather chair. Turning to face the room’s large plate window, he once again watched as shadows crept over the city’s impressive mountain range. As the sun sank lower, he sat in silent deliberation of Phil Miller’s fate.

“Pow, pow! Gimme one more!”

Phil Miller slammed his empty glass down on the bar’s counter top with such force that several patrons turned to glare at him in annoyance, all of them shocked that the glass hadn’t shattered.

“Easy, pal,” the burly, tattooed barkeep hissed angrily.

“Sorry, my bad,” Phil replied while trying not to slur his speech.

He’d told his secretary he was leaving to meet with a client, but after Jenna’s rejection, he was in desperate need of another drink. His boss may have instated a policy three years earlier that barred alcohol from the building, but the hot shot never made it clear whether or not that ruling extended to the parking lot.

Capitalizing on this, Phil typically kept a generous amount of white rum, cleverly poured into twelve-ounce water bottles to conceal its identity, in the trunk of his silver Mercedes. Throughout the day, he’d sneak out for a few swigs, yet to the casual observer he was merely grabbing a quick drink of water.

He’d hit his secret stash particularly hard that morning, downing an entire bottle before the clock had even struck noon. Over the last several months, his life had decayed rapidly. His girlfriend had left him for a handsome, successful lawyer, triggering a depression that saw him pack on twenty pounds. He’d developed an addiction to escorts, using them to fill the void left in both his heart and bed, and found that alcohol helped the confidence his girlfriend had crushed when she unexpectedly tossed him aside in favor of a man who looked like he’d been ripped off the cover of a romance novel.

He felt extremely under-appreciated at work, sensing his coworkers all mocked him behind his back. Since his time with
Enterprise Marketing
, he’d brought the firm an abundance of new clients, but nobody seemed to notice, let alone care. They all adored Zane Talbot, the supposed marketing whiz who could do no wrong, even though the man hadn’t brought in any new business in months.

Phil had been the one doing all of the work while his playboy boss had been busy romancing inner-city trash. Everyone had such reverence for Zane, and Phil suspected his chiseled good looks and undeniable charm played a large part in that. Behind his model features lay a man who wasn’t nearly as talented as his sycophant lackeys made him out to be, and Phil resented him for this. He never let that resentment show, however, and had become quite good at hiding his disdain for the man who’d taken him under his wing.

“One more rum and Coke, but keep it down, got it?” the bartender scowled as he placed another drink in front of Phil.

“You got it, chief,” Phil agreed with a nod. He sucked down half of the drink while casually leaning against the bar and surveying the room. It was a seedy dive bar he’d never been to before, and he definitely stood out in his imitation Armani suit.

The bar at
Primavera
, the restaurant Zane had turned him on to years earlier, was his typical watering hole. There he’d feel important by rubbing elbows with the city’s high-rollers, catching a nice buzz while handing out business cards to potential clients. Given how drunk he was, however, he didn’t dare make the drive to the fancy Italian eatery.

Despite its lack of both sophistication and affluent clientele, this dingy neighborhood bar was still making Phil feel important. All eyes had been on him since he pulled up in his Mercedes and sauntered in wearing his faux suit that looked much more expensive than it actually was. It was only midday, but the place was still hosting a dozen or so unrefined characters who were mostly keeping to themselves.

They were the city’s drunken dregs, all gathering to forget how miserable their lives had become by downing cheap swill in an effort to mask their pain.

Towards the back of the small, dimly lit bar, a tall, muscular man with his hair tied back in a ponytail, and wearing a leather vest with some undecipherable lettering embroidered on its back, bent over the location’s only pool table and appeared to be practicing his eight-ball. His sizable arms were adorned with ink, and a toothpick rested in his expressionless mouth.

Phil made a mental note to keep his distance from the intimidating man who looked as though he were part of some unsavory motorcycle gang. He averted his gaze to avoid upsetting the beast and spotted an old jukebox nestled in the far corner of the bar.

A brunette woman wearing a skimpy denim skirt stood with her back to him and seemed to be browsing the machine’s selection of music. Her long legs were resting comfortably in a pair of black cowboy boots, and her snug blue t-shirt was hiked up enough to show the small of her tattooed back. Phil hoped that when she turned around her face would be as attractive as her backside.

As he sipped his drink, his mind returned to his disastrous encounter with Jenna Parker in the break room of the marketing firm he’d help build. He’d drunkenly pushed things too far, and there would definitely be repercussions for his actions.

He knew there was no way she wouldn’t report the incident to Zane, and she’d likely spin it to paint herself as innocently as possible. She’d been flirting with him from the moment they met, acting coy while lustfully batting her big, brown eyes at him, but that’s certainly not how she’d portray it to their boss.

She’d make Phil out to be the bad guy, just as his trifling secretary had done three years prior, and his neck would be on the chopping block once again. He hoped Zane would take the word of a man he’d known for five years, the same man who’d expanded his business tenfold, over that of a girl from the ghetto he’d known for only three months, but the love-struck Adonis hadn’t been making the best decisions lately.

Realizing who Zane would end up siding with, he’d fled the building as quickly as possible under the guise of meeting with an important client. He needed time to come up with an explanation for the break room debacle, one that would hopefully save his job, but nothing was coming to mind. He’d just have to deny Jenna’s accusations, pit his word against hers, and hope for the best.

“That fuckin’ whore,” he muttered under his breath before gulping down the rest of his drink. He ordered one more, this time quietly so as not to upset the bartender, as the jukebox began to sound the easily discernible voice of Johnny Cash.

The woman who’d chosen the song finally turned and revealed her disappointingly weathered face. She took notice of Phil and flashed him a smile, and he returned it with a smile of his own while politely raising his glass to her. He watched her hips sway as she walked across the room, her tight midriff exposed and her dark, curly hair falling around her shoulders.

She took a seat next to him at the bar, reeking of cigarettes and booze, her teeth heavily stained from years of partying taking precedence over hygiene. Phil was sure she’d have plenty of stories to tell if her mind wasn’t too fried to remember them all. He guessed her age to be around forty, but it was hard to tell since her face looked as though it had been rode hard and put away wet. Her body, on the other hand, was undeniably attractive and still held an aura of youth.

“That your Mercedes outside?” she asked as she nodded towards the parking lot.

“You know it,” Phil flirtatiously grinned as he stole a glance at her cleavage. Her shirt was cut extremely low, and her ample breasts, shamelessly on display, were definitely piquing his interest.

“Look at you, all fancy,” she giggled as she playfully tugged the lapel of his suit jacket. Phil hadn’t seen her order one, yet the bartender slid a bottle of Bud Light in front of the woman, which told him she was a regular here in this seedy bar.

“That’s me,” he replied, pausing to take a sip of his drink and then adding, “Mr. Fancy.”

“You have a first name, Mr. Fancy, or should I just call you that?” the woman asked before throwing her head back and chugging half of her beer while an impressed Phil watched in awe.

“Name’s… Zane,” he answered with a smirk. “Zane Talbot.”

He extended his hand and she shook it while turning her head to release a low burp.

“Well,” she sniffed, “my name’s Amber, but you can call me whatever you want, honey.”

She shot him a wink and finished the rest of her beer. Following her lead, Phil pounded the rest of his rum and Coke and signaled for the bartender to bring him yet another.

The face of his new drinking buddy was looking better with each passing second. Right now, at a time when he was feeling so bitterly dejected, her company was just what he needed. Even through his intoxication he could tell that she was a working girl, but that didn’t bother him one bit. He was just happy to have somebody by his side. Somebody who recognized his importance. Somebody who found him attractive, even if the flattery came with a price tag.

“Don’t see guys like you in here very often, cutie,” she commented as the bartender replaced her empty bottle with a full one. “You a lawyer or something?”

“I run my own marketing firm,” Phil boasted, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out one of Zane’s business cards. He kept several of them on him at all times for occasions such as this.

“Damn, you’re a big deal, huh?” she asked with wide, hazel eyes as she read the card and stuffed it into her bra.

“You could say that,” he chuckled, his face beaming with pride.

“What are you doing in a place like this?” she questioned with her voice low so as not to offend the bartender or any patron who may overhear her. “Shouldn’t you, like, be at some country club or something?”

“All I do is hang out with rich people lately,” Phil explained. “You know, celebrities, politicians, CEOs, wall street bigwigs. I felt like I was losing touch with the common man, you know? I saw this place and decided to pop in for a drink. Get back in touch with my roots and all that,” he continued to lie.

“Celebrities?!”
she asked in excitement, her face suddenly looking years younger as she lit up in delight. “Like who? Tell me!”

“I don’t like to name drop,” Phil began as he waved his hand dismissively. He leaned in close to her and whispered, “But I played eighteen holes last week with Ashton Kutcher.”

“Shut up!” Amber burst, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You’re lying!”

“I swear,” Phil laughed as he flashed her the Scout’s Honor sign by raising three fingers to his brow. “I’m working on the new Nikon campaign, and he’s a big part of it. We’ve actually gotten pretty close over the last few months. He’s a really good guy.”

Amber hung on his every word, listening with a look of fascination and admiration as Phil, still posing as Zane Talbot, spun a series of elaborate lies. While he spoke, she sucked down another two beers, and by the time he finished walking her through the inner workings of the marketing firm he claimed was his, he’d polished off his third strong rum and Coke. He was now extremely drunk, his voice slurring heavily, and Amber, fully enamored with the man she believed to be somebody else, was just beginning to feel the buzz of the beers she’d slammed so quickly. She placed a nicotine-stained hand on Phil’s cheek, leaned in close, and spoke softly into his ear.

“I’ll suck your dick for forty bucks.”

“Naughty girl,” Phil replied in a quiet purr as he tried to focus on the woman that alcohol had transformed from tired and worn to youthful and beautiful. “What if I want you for the whole day?”

“The whole day, huh?” she giggled, placing a hand on his inner thigh and slowly moving it closer to his crotch. “Five hundred,” she answered in a hushed tone so their negotiation would stay between them.

“Three hundred and you have a deal,” he fired back with a grin.

“Come on, don’t be cheap,” she sighed as her hand grazed his penis. “You’re rich. You can afford it.”

“Let’s meet in the middle. Four hundred, and I’ll get our drinks for the rest of the day,” Phil countered. Even this inebriated, he wasn’t going to let anyone hustle him.

“Will you grab my tab here, too?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“Done,” he nodded, trying not to fall off his stool as he reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.

“You’re a doll,” she squealed and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to go have a quick smoke. I’ll meet you outside.”

“Be right—” covering his mouth with his fist, he let out a loud belch and finished his short sentence with, “out.”

He smacked her ass as she turned to head out the door, and once she’d stepped outside, he gestured for the bartender to ring him up.

“That’ll be thirty-seven even,” the burly, no-nonsense man told him as he glanced at the small pad of paper he’d been tallying their drinks on. Phil fished two twenties out of his wallet and threw them down on the bar top.

“Keep the change,” Phil told him smugly, rising from his seat and using the bar to steady himself.

“Wow, three bucks,” the bartender replied sarcastically. “Should I invest that in gold or silver?”

“Gold,” Phil answered without hesitation, so drunk he failed to pick up on the man’s facetiousness.

“Tell you what,” the irritated barkeep scowled, “maybe you should keep the three bucks. You’re gonna have to buy quite a few rubbers if you plan on fucking that skank.”

He nodded towards Amber who stood puffing on a cigarette just outside the entrance. An old drunk seated at the end of the bar overheard their exchange and laughed at the bartender’s joke.