ROMANCE: Bear Naked Seduction (Billionaire Bear Trio Book 1) (229 page)

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Bear Naked Seduction (Billionaire Bear Trio Book 1)

Chapter 1

              “What do you know about the Billionaire Trio?”

              Fernando Vergara was a Colombian heir to the Vergara fortune; Reed O’Connor was one of the sons of wealthy businessman Mason O’Connor; and Hank Bennet got his money from his family’s long-lasting lumber industry in Canada. They were three very different men who had been friends for ages, and because of their wealth and… well, quirks… the public loved hearing stories about their mishaps and strangeness.

              “You mean in regards to their recent activities?” Andrea asked, barely restraining a laugh. She had never heard such a vague question asked about such a well-known topic. Her boss might as well have asked her what she knew about water. “I’ve heard several different rumors about several different aspects of their lives.” Keeping her wide legs crossed and her posture relaxed, Andrea leaned back in her seat while focusing harder on her boss’s unreadable expression. “What exactly are you asking me?”

              Ms. Lee smirked. She had her elbows resting on her desk, covered with various papers, various devices and wires, and various figurines. Her office was never organized—never clean—but it never seemed to hinder the woman’s efficiency.

              “I’m asking about the tabloid involving the bear,” Ms. Lee said. “Have you read it?”

              Andrea nodded. Fernando and Reed had gone over to Hank’s mansion in Victoria, Canada a few weeks ago. As always, Hank was having a party at that time, and the writer of the tabloid claimed that a few of the partyers saw a large tan bear enter the mansion and go upstairs. They all claim that Hank must have been keeping the wild animal as a pet, which was illegal.

              “The writer of the article didn’t officially site his sources,” Ms. Lee continued. “But knowing Mr. Bennet’s past behavior, it seems very possible that the tabloid contains some truth. I want you to investigate it further and write me a more credible story about it.”

              Andrea’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?” She was a rookie journalist. Ms. Lee had been assigning her cutesy stories about how to have one’s flowers produce a particular color. Excitement flared within Andrea’s chest at the mere idea of abandoning such work to focus on a scandal—however small or ridiculous the scandal itself was. Although she made sure to keep her professional composure, Andrea couldn’t quite keep her lips from quirking upward. “Thank you for this opportunity. I’d be more than happy to look into this for yo—for Monumental Press, I mean.” She blushed at her little blunder, but she made sure to keep her head held high.

              Ms. Lee’s expression softened. “I’ve seen great potential in you, Andrea. You are as objective as you are sincere, which is not an easy balance to maintain. And you take every one of your tasks seriously, no matter how mundane they seem. You’ve earned this assignment, and my trust.

“If you don’t get enough information from Hank Bennet, I want you to interview all three of the Trio. Even if the tabloid is completely off-base, one of those three will have a story the public wants to hear.”

Warm pride swelled within Andrea. If she wasn’t so nervous and excited, she thought she might have cried a little. Ms. Lee wasn’t a cruel woman, but she wasn’t openly affectionate and sensitive either; receiving a compliment from her was…well, it was sincere yet objective.

Andrea’s entire body stiffened underneath the glorious weight of this new responsibility Ms. Lee was trusting her with. “I understand,” the young journalist said, nodding eagerly. “When would you like me to leave?”

“As soon as you can,” Ms. Lee said.

Bouncing on her heels, Andrea all but leaped through her front door and into her apartment. It was a humble abode—one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchenette that shared space with the front room. The walls were dull, as were the wooden floors, but in that moment, Andrea thought the place had never looked more beautiful. Granted, she had thought the dumpsters had looked beautiful outside, too. For the first time in a long time, her plans were actually working out for her; it made everything better.

Stumbling a bit in her excitement, she laughed and hurried to her bedroom to get ready for her first business trip.

Her suitcase, covered in a thin layer of dust, was squeezed inside her closet behind her large pile of shoes. She grabbed the suitcase, spun around, and then tossed the item on the bed. She had bought that thing years ago with the dream of traveling the world—of discovering, and maybe even exposing, the truth. Whatever “the truth” may be, she didn’t care, so long as she knew it and embraced it.

She organized several different outfits before pushing them into the suitcase, and then she went about getting her make-up bag and her hair bag filled with the appropriate products.

It wasn’t until Andrea dropped her cellphone that a surprising sense of hollowness made itself known to her. The phone clattered over the wooden floor until it bumped up against the wall, beside the bedroom door. Anxiety growing along with her awareness, she stared at her phone and swallowed thickly.

Years ago, when she was in high school, she used to think that the first people she would tell such great news to would be her parents. She had imagined herself dialing their number from her condo, and once she got a hold of them, she would jump up and down, cheerfully telling them about her first big assignment. In response, they would exclaim how proud they were of her…how amazing they thought she was.

Andrea frowned. Being older now, she knew better. If she called her mother, the old woman would do nothing but nag her about everything immoral about the assignment—about people’s privacy and what not. Her parents were rather judgmental no matter what she said or did, and Andrea knew that she was better off without them. She was better off without everyone.

Her eyes stung at that thought. Her frown deepening, Andrea leaned down and picked up her phone. The lack of contacts in it suddenly weighed heavily in her mind, making her heart ache. This sensation annoyed her more than anything else.

“I’m better off,” she said aloud. Hearing the words felt like she was cementing a fact into her brain. “I’m better off on my own, accomplishing my dreams and not being hindered by anyone.” Reassurance blossomed within her, and Andrea smiled. She let that good mood slowly grow once more as she returned to getting ready for her trip.

Chapter 2

After leaving her stuff back at the hotel room—all except for her purse, Andrea made her way to Hank’s mansion. While it was partially hidden in the woods of Victoria, everyone still knew where the party boy’s residence was. It was hard to be ignorant of such a fact when he was known for inviting strangers, bloggers, filmmakers—all kinds of people to his place for all kinds of reasons.

The air was crisp and refreshing in her lungs each time she inhaled, though it made the rest of her body shiver. However, she did recognize that part of the reason she was trembling was because she was nervous. Not only was this her first assignment, it was the first time she was going to meet a celebrity.

Andrea forced her giddiness aside once she approached the massive front door of the lovely mansion. She reminded herself that she was a professional, and this was professional business.

Glancing around—noting how quiet the forest was—she stepped forward and loudly knocked on the door. When no one answered it for a while, she knocked again.

Waiting for Hank Bennet gave her more time to calm her nerves, but irritation and impatience ended up reigning over her instead. She hadn’t thought much of it as she angrily banged against the wooden door. Her purse swung dramatically back and forth with each knock, and the chaffing it began to do to her skin fueled her impatience.

She knew the man was home; everyone in the city knew he was home. The man posted every little detail about himself on social media, so why wasn’t he—

Andrea almost yelped when Hank finally opened the door, her fist smashing through the air instead of against a thick surface. Luckily, she managed to clamp her mouth shut and straightened her posture right before Hank really got a good look at her.

“Hello, Mr. Bennet,” Andrea said. She extended her hand with the intention of shaking his. “I am Andrea Watson, reporter for Monumental Press back in the United States. I was wondering if you could spare a moment from your busy schedule to answer a few questions.”

Hank leaned against the doorframe and tilted his head to the side. In his late thirties, his hair was already starting to gray, but that just made him look distinguished. And although he was a rather strong and broad man, the playful twinkle in his eyes always made him look childish.

“Hello, Andrea Watson,” Hank said, his tone low and suggestive—already. It should have offended her, but knowing who he was—knowing his reputation—it made her face redden. “It is a pleasure to meet a beautiful and ambitious woman such as yourself. Tell me, what would you like to ask me about?”

“The bear some people claim you own as a pet.”

Hank barked out a laugh, his posture straightening. “Ah, right, the tabloid. You realize those things are often fabricated?”

“Or exaggerated from a source of truth.”

He laughed at her again, and Andrea glared. There was nothing charming about being mocked—her blood burned with the desire to strangle this man—and yet the way he laughed at her…the way his challenging gaze addressed her and her unspoken accusations…it made a different kind of heat rush through her, and she was torn between liking it and being repulsed by it.

Hank blew out a contented breath, his eyes flitting over her face. “You’re cute, you know that? I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll answer every little question you have for me, but only if you agree to come inside and share some drinks with me. Deal?”

Andrea continued to glare, weariness rising within her. It wasn’t uncommon to treat an interview like a social gathering, but this was Hank Bennet—sex-crazed, womanizing Hank Bennet. Her lower belly warmed at her mental reminder, and she ended up blurting out, “I suppose that is acceptable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He moved back and extended his arm out in invitation.

Andrea pressed her lips together and pushed past him as she entered the mansion.

Yet again, Hank laughed. “Feisty. That is a quality I admire in a woman.”

“Not in a man?” Andrea said challengingly, her gaze sweeping over the spacious entryway. The windows were so large and clean that she would have thought she was still outside if it wasn’t for the warmed air and the marbled floor.

Hank choked, spluttering out some nonsense before saying, “Not particularly. I’m surprised you are not well-informed about me.”

Andrea spun around. “One never knows enough in my line of work. I’m surprised you didn’t know that by now, what with all the journalists you speak with.”

He gave her a toothy smile, and rather than answer her, he walked past her. She watched him for a moment, as he seemed to stalk toward something in particular, his shoulders hunched forward. But then he turned and swayed his arms out. “Are you coming, or are you not finished admiring the first room? It is quite lovely—I think some trees in Brazil paid for its construction.”

“Excuse me?” Andrea hurried after him, her mind reeling. If he was referring to the Bennet’s Lumber scandal involving the amazon jungle—

“Joking,” Hank said, winking. “Come on now. There’s no need to be so serious all the time, is there?”

“I’m working.”

Hank snorted. Once she was standing beside him, he walked again. This time, she walked beside him and allowed him to lead her throughout the large home. He continued to flirt with her—chattering on about how intrigued he was by women in the workforce, and how he intrigued he already was by her—until they reached his kitchen. Specifically, they entered the area that was cut off from the rest of the room by half-walls. This room was lined with cushiony couches, and in the center of it was a small circular counter with a circular rack of drinks in the center of it.

“Is this a bar?” Andrea said, interrupting whatever Hank was saying about her eyes. She glanced around the dark couches, her eyes landing on a silky red pillow. “Or is it an opium den?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” Hank whispered into her ear before he moved away from her to plomp down on the couch. Then, grinning at her, he patted the spot beside him.

Andrea withheld a sigh, her hands twitching with the urge to clench into fists. Wordlessly, she sat beside him, and she was immensely relieved when he didn’t put his arm around her. At least he had
some
restraint.

“Eric,” Hank called as he stared at Andrea. “We have company.”

Andrea furrowed her brow. But before she could ask the billionaire to clarify himself, a bony young man jumped up behind the circular counter. Andrea jumped in response and snapped her attention to him. His light hair looked ratty and unkempt, his goatee in the same state. When he let out a large yawn, Andrea immediately knew why his appearance was so disheveled.

“You were sleeping back there?” she said, wincing when the bartender bumped into the rack of beverages and glasses behind him. “Why?”

“Hank said I could,” the bartender said to her, his jaw jutting from side to side as he stretched. Then, cracking his neck and his knuckles, the blonde looked at Hank. “What will it be this time, boss?”

“Don’t ask me,” Hank said, bending his head toward Andrea’s. “Ask the lovely lady.”

The bartender looked back at Andrea. “Ma’am?”

“Club soda,” she said, tensing with apprehension when Hank huffed.

“I said ‘drinks,’ not ‘club soda,’” he said. His lips twisted downward, his expression full of disgust. “Pick something else. Anything else.”

She gave him a challenging stare. “Water.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am working.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that, but a deal’s a deal. And I know that you know that when I invited you in here, I didn’t want to speak with you about my personal business while we sip water and soda.”

“So you consider illegally owning a bear your personal business?”

“I’ll tell you if you order a grown-up drink.” He cocked an eyebrow then, discomfort making his features go slack. “You are at least nineteen, aren’t you?”

She gave him an incredulous look. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or horrified. “I’m twenty-six.”

He bellowed out a sigh, a laugh bursting out of his mouth. “Thank God! You have to forgive me, but I’m never great at guessing a woman’s age. But, then again, my mother taught me to never partake in such a sensitive endeavor, so I guess it’s just something branded in my brain.” He turned back to the bartender and gave the kid a quick nod. “Two glasses of champagne. Everybody loves champagne.”

Andrea rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She put her purse on her lap and began digging through it for her tape recorder and notepad. “If it gets you talking, I’ll have one glass of champagne.”

He hummed at that.

Once she had everything she needed outside of her purse, she put the purse aside and turned on the tape recorder.

“Kinky,” Hank said, purring a little. “But if you’re recording this conversation, why do you need the pen and notepad?”

Andrea opened her mouth to defend herself, but when she couldn’t think of a rational explanation, a blush came over her entire face. She was certain she had seen reporters use multiple means of recording information before…had she made a rookie mistake already?

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Hank said. He turned to the bartender, who had made his way to them and who was handing them their drinks. Hank took his and nodded his gratitude toward the kid. “You can do this interview however you want to.”

Andrea accepted her drink from the bartender and then watched as the kid walked back to the counter. He hopped over it with ease—not even touching the rack—and immediately laid himself down.

“Can I ask you a question?” Hank asked, regaining her attention. He took a large sip from his beverage, a delighted smile following the action.

“I suppose,” she said.

“Is this the first time you’ve conducted an interview?”

“No.”

“Really? When was your first official interview?”

She didn’t want to talk about the owner of the flower shop. Remembering her pen and notepad, she grabbed them. She had to awkwardly balance her drink and her notepad in one hand, but she made it work; she didn’t even want to think about dealing with the tape recorder anymore. “No, now it’s my turn for a question. Do you own a bear as a pet?”

“As a pet? I didn’t realize people owned bears as pets.” He made a thoughtful noise, shrugged, and then took another sip from his champagne.

After a beat of silence, Andrea had to keep herself from growling. She took a deep breath. “Please just answer the question.”

“After you take a drink,” he said, pointing at her glass. “Otherwise, we are not sharing drinks, and that would make our verbal contract void.”

Tired of her own frustration, Andrea took a quick sip from her drink. Warmth tingled down her body, but she didn’t show it. “There, now answer the question.”

“Bossy, bossy. Very well, my answer is no. I do not own a bear—not as a pet, not as a lawn ornament, nothing. I do not own a bear, period.”

Disappointment settled on her chest, although she knew she shouldn’t have expected this assignment to go so simply. She took a larger sip from her champagne, her notepad scraping against her wrist. “Then how do you explain the bear your guests saw that night?”

“They were all drunk. I’m sure they ‘saw’ lots of things.”

Andrea was about to panic when she realized that Hank could be lying—of course he could be lying. She forced herself to breathe slower and actually think. Even if he wasn’t lying, surely there had to be a story here somewhere. “So…what did happen that night?”

He drank from his glass, and she drank from her own in response—though in a much smaller amount.

“Want me to show you?” he said, leaning toward her.

She leaned away and narrowed her gaze. “No. Just tell me.”

He pouted, muttering about how “un-fun” she was before finishing up the rest of his champagne. Then he burped and looked back at the bar. “Eric! I need more!”

The bartender popped up from his spot behind the counter and went to pouring another glass.

Andrea licked her lips, a plan forming in her mind. Perhaps it was cliché to use alcohol to manipulate someone, but how could she ignore the opportunity when Hank was making it so easy?

“Hey, Eric,” Andrea said, smiling at the bartender. She raised her glass. “Do you have any moonshine? That’s more my drink.”

Hank cackled. Smacking her shoulder, he said, “I knew you were better than that! Really, all the female reporters are. Or at least the ones I meet.” He looked back at Eric. “Two glasses of moonshine for me and the lady!”

“Which kind?” Eric asked, rubbing his tired-looking face.

Hank turned to Andrea and raised his eyebrows in question.

Andrea fluttered her eyelids at him. “Surprise me.”