The Bad Boy Billionaire's Girl Gone Wild (11 page)

Roxanna just grinned. “You’re welcome for setting you up with the love of your life.”

I pursed my lips. I suppose I did owe her a thank you for Facebook post announcing an engagement between me and Duke Austen, infamously known as the bad boy billionaire. After a sham engagement and a secret romance, we were now for real.

“Thank you,” I muttered under my breath. It was only polite.

“What is it this time?” Roxanna asked, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. She was perched on a bar stool and sipping a whiskey. I took the seat next to her and sipped the chardonnay she’d gone ahead and ordered for me.

“This is the invitation to the party celebrating the IPO of Duke’s startup.”

“How fabulous. Where is it?”

“That’s not the point. It doesn’t even matter, because it’s at the same time on the same night as my high school reunion.”

Roxanna raised one eyebrow. It was one of the traits of hers that I was jealous of, in addition to her carefree attitude, ability to drink copious amounts of whiskey without getting ridiculously drunk, and ability to talk herself into restaurant tables without a reservation.

“Are you actually torn between which event to attend?” Roxanna asked incredulously. “The hottest party in the city, celebrating the hottest business launch possibly of all time, with free booze and fascinating people. Oh, and your hot boyfriend. Or a party in an old gymnasium with the same old bores you’ve known for ten years. They’ll probably just want to talk about their kids.”

“It’ll be on the terrace at the Milford country club,” I replied, but unenthusiastically.

“Oh,” Roxanna sighed. “The country club. Someone get the velvet rope to keep out the riff raff.”

I sighed. Duke’s party would be so much more fun. Why, then, did I have this angst about missing my stupid high school reunion? I could just go home and hit the pizza parlor on a Friday night and it’d be the same thing.

“It’s just that we had a deal. I would pretend to be his good-girl fiancée and keep him out of trouble. In return, he’d be my hot and successful boyfriend on a night I’ll sorely need a confidence boost. But we can’t be in both places at the same time.”

“You could go alone,” Roxanna said, demonstrating that she was so much more ballsy than me. “Since you do, in fact, have a hot successful boyfriend, not to mention your numerous bestselling books. You shouldn’t need the confidence boost, Jane. You’re fabulous already.”

“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I know this is all silly.”

“Have you talked to Duke about any of this?”

“Of course not,” I replied. “That’s the mature, logical thing to do.”

“Are you not a mature, logical person?” Roxanna queried. I took a long sip of wine.

“I am the kind of person so desperate for a date to my high school reunion that I faked a relationship.”

“Point taken,” Roxanna said before taking a sip of her whiskey.

My phone, still on the bar between us, buzzed and lit up with an incoming text message. I picked up the phone quickly in case it was something sexy from Duke. He was known to send pictures of himself without his shirt on or other flirtatious and naughty text.

“Is that your bad boy billionaire lover?”

I frowned. “No, it’s Sam. He’s been texting me a lot lately. This one says, ‘How do you feel about second chances?’”

“Weird. Has he forgotten that you two broke up?”

“I have no idea what’s going on with Sam lately,” I said with a sigh. “He was up for these two jobs and I’m not sure if he’s gotten them. I have no idea what’s up with him and Kate.”

“Your nemesis.”

“Grrrr.” I growled just thinking about Kate Abbot who teased me all through high school and then the minute Sam and I broke up, swooped in and claimed him.

“Are you going to answer him?”

“Maybe later.” I got rid of the text and looked back at my email. The invitation was there, awaiting a reply. “I have to talk to Duke about this party. But he’s got a big trip to San Francisco coming up. Might not be a good time.”

He tended to be really, really devoted to his business. It could be hard to tear him away from work but once I did, that same intense focus was aimed at me. My toes curled in my black patent wedge heels just thinking about it.

“And he’s not whisking you away with him?” Roxanna asked.

“No, you don’t get the apartment to yourself. He’s just going for a day or two and I have to work.”

Roxanna’s iPhone buzzed with an incoming text. Like me, she snatched it up right away.

“Is that from your mysterious millionaire lover?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. I tried to raise one eyebrow in an “I’m intrigued” sort of way, but I think I only managed a weird face. Either way, Roxanna was too busy smiling as she texted him back.

“Do tell,” I said, sipping my drink.

“Oh no. I won’t have my romantic entanglements serve as fodder for your next book.”

“Especially since I have no idea what to write,” I muttered. I owed my new publisher the third book in my series of historical romance novels featuring a trio of wallflowers. The first two had been easy to write—my real life had provided all the inspiration I needed. But now that my love life was lovely, I had no idea for a story and a deadline was looming.

“Your own romance isn’t inspiring you?”

“Nope. My love life is wonderful, which doesn’t exactly make for a very exciting romance novel. There’s no conflamma,” I said, using our made-up word for the awful mixture of conflict and drama. It was essential to any great story—the happy ending wouldn’t be as sweet without it.

“Don’t get all sappy romantic on me.” Roxanna punctuated that with a big sip of her whiskey. “You have to promise not to turn into one of those awful, smug couples.”

I laughed. “Well—I suppose there is some conflict. The dueling parties where he has to decide what matters more—his big night or mine.”

“OR YOU have to decide what matters more,” Roxanna pointed out. “Or which party is simply more fun.”

My phone buzzed with another text. I hoped this one was from Duke. We planned to meet up this evening but hadn’t confirmed when or where. I picked up my phone and frowned.

“Another text from Sam?” Roxanna asked after seeing my frown.

“Yeah.” This one was weird and I didn’t want to think about it so I put my phone in my bag.

“Still haven’t found your ring?” Roxanna asked, gesturing to my hands where I was absentmindedly trying to twist my cubic zirconia “engagement” ring around my finger. Except it wasn’t there.

“No,” I sighed. “I could have sworn I left it in my jewelry box. You know me—I always put things away. But it wasn’t there and I can’t imagine where I might have lost it.”

“Good thing it wasn’t real,” Roxanna remarked.

“Yeah. It still had sentimental value though.”

Roxanna’s mystery love texted again.

“I have to go. It’s for work,” she said. But neither of us could keep a straight face. We both burst out laughing.

Roxanna and I parted ways outside the bar. She went off to meet her mystery lover and Duke texted, inviting me to join him and some of his team for drinks at a bar on the Lower East Side.

Since it was a gorgeous end-of-summer evening, I decided to walk.

I slipped on my headphones, turned on Empire State of Mind and started walking over to the bar where we agreed to meet. There was nothing like walking through New York City—letting your route be determined by red and green lights, dodging pedestrians on the sidewalk, flowing around cars stopped in the streets, moving in time to the city’s unique rhythm—all while listening to a great song and getting lost in my thoughts. Tonight, I was thinking just how far I had come.

I had arrived here a total mess less than a year ago. My boyfriend of twelve years, Sam, had dumped me when I was expecting him to propose. Oh, and I had gotten fired that day too. I had to move out of the house we shared. Rather than stay at home with my folks and tired of too many awkward conversations with busybody neighbors at the grocery store and the coffee shop, I declared I was moving to New York to write a novel.

Madness, that. I just wanted everyone—especially myself—to think I was running to something instead of just fleeing the wreckage of my life.

Then I met Roxanna, whose practical joke on Facebook got me involved with Duke, and my relationship with him provided the inspiration I needed to write a historical romance novel.

With Sam I had my life all planned out. And to think . . . I would have missed living and loving in New York City if everything had gone according to plan.

I pulled open the door to the bar and spotted Duke right away. There was just something about him—confidence, determination, drive—that declared him Someone Important even though he tended to wear free T-shirts from other startups, perfectly broken in Levi’s and sneakers.

He glanced up and caught my eye. God, that smile. So roguish. So mischievous. It did things to me every time, that smile. He stood and strolled through the bar towards me. The crowds just melted out of his way.

If I had gotten the life I had always planned, I would have missed this. Duke pulling me into an embrace. His mouth crashing down on mine for the kind of deep, passionate kiss that left no doubt as to how he felt about me or what we would be doing tonight.

Later I would think about this kiss and remember it as the one sparkling moment where everything was just right and my biggest problem was which party to attend. It was the moment before my past reared its ugly head, making happily-ever-after seem unlikely. It was the moment before the storm hit, leaving unfathomable destruction in its wake. It was the moment before I got an idea for a new story—but at a price I didn’t want to pay.

Turn the page for a glimpse of

WALLFLOWER GONE WILD
,

the second historical romance novel based on

Jane’s romance with the Bad Boy Billionaire.

An Excerpt from

WALLFLOWER GONE WILD

The Duchess of Ashbrooke’s sitting room

London, 1824

“I
T SO HAPPENS
that there are worse fates that remaining unwed for Lady Penelope’s Ball,” Olivia declared. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she saw that her eyes were bright with anger and her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed.

Emma (once a Wallflower and now a duchess) and Prudence (still London’s Least Likely to Be Caught in a Compromising Position) fell silent, sipped their tea and considered the possibilities of what could possibly be worse than the worst thing in the world.

Meanwhile, Olivia seethed. A portion of her anger was reserved for her parents, of course, for making such an unconscionable match without consulting her. She seethed because the world was unfair to young ladies who had such little say in their fate.

Oh, she didn’t have to marry the Mad Baron. But as soon as word got out, it was highly unlikely that she would attract any competing suitors. Except for the handsome stranger from the other night—from whom she foolishly fled—no one was interested in her.

Olivia burned as she recalled all those years in which she had simply watched and waited and hoped, to no avail. She had followed all the rules and now—this. A fate worse than remaining unwed for Lady Penelope’s ball. A fate worse than eternal spinsterhood. Once she was wed to this cruel, murderous baron there would be no chance of falling in love. She could kiss happily ever after goodbye.

“Very well, I can’t imagine anything worse,” Emma said, breaking the silence and Olivia’s raging sulk.

Then she told them. The words tumbled out. Enraged, her tongue tripped over the sentences as she described her misfortune. Her voice was decidedly not in the moderate, dulcet tones she’d been cultivating her whole life. She was raw. Scared. Angry.

“The Mad Baron?” Her friends had the expected reaction: a startled cry of shock and fear.

Prudence and Emma shared matching looks of horror, combined with pity and a dash of concern. Olivia took some satisfaction that they shared her distress at the news, but on the whole it felt much, much worse. Her fears were not unfounded. Her anger was not an overreaction. This was not a bad dream from which she would awaken.

It was real and it was awful.

“Is he as horrid as I’m imagining?” Emma asked. “Keep in mind that I have a very active imagination and a taste for gothic novels.”

“I have yet to make his acquaintance,” Olivia answered bitterly. “Which has not stopped my parents from giving him permission to court me and marry me. Thus, I have no idea how horrid he is, but I suspect given his reputation and devious methods of courtship, he is quite horrid indeed.”

“Let us not forget that he killed his first wife,” Prudence unnecessarily pointed out. One could hardly forget that gruesome detail.

“Allegedly, according to my father,” Olivia muttered. “He has not come to town since he ‘allegedly’ murdered his wife. But why would he? No one would receive him, except for my parents.”

Had they such little care for her? Such little faith in her prospects? There was no denying she wasn’t a success on the marriage mart. But courtship from the Mad Baron would be a new, unfathomable low.

From every angle, this situation made Olivia feel utterly worthless. The only person who wanted her did so for all the most heartbreaking reasons: because she was biddable. And docile. And a good little girl. As if she were nothing more than a conduct book personified. As if she weren’t a woman who wanted to be loved.

“At least you won’t be a spinster for Lady Penelope’s anniversary ball,” Prudence pointed out. “Which will take place in forty-three days. Not that anyone is counting.”

“But is it a fate worse than death?” Emma mused.

“Your perspective is soothing my nerves immeasurably,” Olivia replied dryly. “My choices are to be the only unwed girl in the history of Lady Penelope’s Finishing School for Young Ladies of Fine Families or to marry the Mad Baron and then suffer an untimely demise.”

“I’ll probably be unwed as well,” Prudence added, affectionately patting Olivia on the hand. “We can suffer together.”