The Billionaire Bad Boys Club (13 page)

Odds were, she shouldn’t hold her breath on that.

To keep herself occupied, she cooked up a care package for the boys, everything assembled in pans with reheating instructions. They rented a house with six other students, and it had a full kitchen. She wondered if she should throw in candles to help the romantically challenged Charlie with his new girl. Was it weird to admit she knew he and Pete were sexually active?

The kitchen phone rang as she slid the finished dishes into her fridge. Her heart jumped into her throat. What if Trey were calling her?

“Pete,” she said, recognizing his voice after she picked up. She swore she wasn’t disappointed. That would have been stupid.

“Bec,” he said, the super-shortening of her name a signal that something was up. “Glad I caught you. I need a favor for Charlie. Can you bring his anti-anxiety meds to the Common?”

“Boston Common? What are you doing there? And why does Charlie want his meds? I thought he decided not to take them anymore, on account of the side effects.”

“He did, which is why he left the last of his supply in the medicine cabinet in our old bathroom.”

Her knees now a little shaky, Rebecca sat on the old vinyl barstool beside the phone. Leaving the pills here was pure Charlie. For him, preserving one final shred of his security blanket made it easier to let go.

“He probably won’t need them,” Pete assured her. “If you just bring them out, he’ll feel better.”

“But what’s wrong?”

There was a pause while Pete covered his cell phone. When he came back, his voice was hushed. “It’s that girl he likes. She came to watch the photo shoot.”

This answer was pure Pete. “What photo shoot?”

“We told you,” Pete said, which he so had not. “Charlie and I and a couple others got picked to be this year’s Hot Men of Harvard. You know, for
Bad Boys Magazine
. They’re paying us real money. We’re putting it toward the income suite. The thing is, we have to strip down to Speedos, and Charlie doesn’t want to get too nervous and look like a dork in front of Caroline.”

Rebecca squeezed her temples, her brain trying to process too much information simultaneously. “
Bad Boys Magazine?
” she repeated, experiencing a neck-tickling prickle at the coincidence.

“It’s that magazine with the fancy cars and the watches. It’s national, not skeevy. The guys who own it are these cool self-made billionaires.”

This Rebecca was aware of. “Right,” she said aloud.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Pete continued. “I don’t want Charlie to be embarrassed. This girl is really cool.”

“I’ll come,” Rebecca promised. “And I’ll bring Charlie’s pills. I’m just not sure they’re supposed to be used like this.”

“Thank you!” Pete exclaimed. “Like I said, once he knows you’ve brought them, he’ll probably feel better.”

“Fine. Just give me time to change. All I’ve got on is jeans and an old T-shirt.”

“Uh,” Pete said. “Your jeans look good. I mean, they’re fine. Most of the people here are wearing them. Maybe it’s better you don’t make Charlie wait.”

His tone was weird, but he hung up before she could question him. She shook her head at the receiver. She felt more comfortable in work clothes, but if Charlie were having a crisis, she’d go as she was. In a way, she found Pete’s call reassuring. She guessed her little brothers weren’t independent yet.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Common Ground

WELL
,
hel
lo
, Zane thought, his inner skirt-chaser perking up. A little blonde was hurrying toward him on the Public Garden’s pedestrian bridge. The temperature was near ninety, for which he was grateful. The pint-sized bit of booty wore a strappy Harvard T-shirt with a shelf bra built in. She had great arms, slim but muscled, and truly mouthwatering tits. Jiggling on her ribs with the energy of her strides, they were no bigger than oranges but beautifully shaped and high. Her lack of stature aside, her legs and hips were great—precisely the sort of limbs faded blue jeans were meant to drape. Her hair was a Peter Pan pixie cut. Cute, he thought, and ideal for showing off her cheekbones.

Observing that she seemed to be looking for something, Zane stepped politely into her path.

“Need help?” he offered when she jolted to a stop.

She had big gray eyes, startled at the moment and unexpectedly piercing. Without warning, his throat tightened. For a second, he had the odd sensation that he knew her.

“Oh,” she said, lashes blinking fast as she took him in. As usually happened with women, her gaze took a detour over his chest. Shaking that off sooner than some did, she clutched her canvas shoulder bag closer to her side. “I’m looking for a photo shoot. My brother is one of the models. He told me they were posing in Boston Common, but no one’s there.”

“We
were
there,” Zane said pleasantly. “Now we’re setting up near the swan boats.”

“Oh. You’re with them. That’s great. I really need to find Charlie or Pete Eilert.”

“Of course,” he said, realizing why she seemed familiar. “You must be Rebecca. I see the family resemblance. I’m Zane Alexander, by the way. It’s very nice to meet you.”

This appeared to fluster her. Her cheeks flushed up an adorable pink, a color that went well with her luscious mouth. Her upper lip was shorter than her lower, creating an effect that was both succulent and girlish. Added to the big eyes and the gamine hair, she looked impossibly innocent.

Zane sent up a silent prayer that this was misleading.

She accepted the hand he held out dazedly. “I— I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have recognized you. You’re the Zane Alexander who owns the magazine.”

“I am.” He was pleased she didn’t seem star-struck. Skirts that belonged to groupies weren’t his favorite to chase. Rebecca’s little hand was cold. He experienced a need to chafe it he truly couldn’t resist. “Why don’t I take you to where they’re setting up?”

She was gaping at him, but at this she shut her mouth. “Yes,” she said, retrieving her hand from his. “That would be nice of you.”

He’d waylaid her on the stretch of bridge that crossed the narrowest point of the park’s lagoon. Having lost her hand, he took her elbow to lead her down the small jog of stairs to the bank. If she’d taken ten steps farther, she’d have seen the set-up herself. The crowd of boys in Speedos had gathered near the swan boats, which the magazine had taken over for the time being. The photographer and his assistants were there as well, adjusting reflectors and blotting sweat as required.

“Group photo,” he explained as the dozen underdressed college boys clambered joking onto the wooden seats. The pontoons sploshed at their shifting weight. “It’s kitschy, but I expect readers will like it.”

On the bank now, Rebecca searched the faces for ones she knew. Zane’s hold remained on her arm. He felt her stiffen as she spied who she sought.

“The little bastard,” she murmured. “He’s perfectly all right.”

Zane followed her line of sight. One of her brothers had thrown his head back with laughter at something another model said. He wasn’t certain which twin it was, but he took a wild guess. “That one’s Charlie?”

“It is,” his sister confirmed. “Apparently, Pete called me out here for nothing.”

Her delectable pink mouth flattened into a line. “Not for nothing,” he coaxed, secretly enjoying the angry set of her jaw. “It’s a pretty day, and I’m happy to meet you.”

She gave him her full and startled attention. Zane struggled not to laugh. For whatever reason, this cutie wasn’t expecting to be flirted with. No doubt his amusement showed in his eyes. Rebecca’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why are you here exactly? Aren’t you too important?”

He did laugh then. “I usually do the interviews for our annual Hot Men of Harvard piece.
Bad Boys Magazine
has its own staff these days, but now and then I get nostalgic. When we started, I did everything from layout to selling ads. Anyway, I like to see what the latest generation of Harvard lights is up to. Your brothers were standouts. Very well spoken and personable. Their account of how you raised them is inspiring.”

Rebecca let out a gasp so sharp he couldn’t miss hearing it. “They told you that?”

“Shouldn’t they have?” His answer was the pallor that swept her face. If that weren’t enough to clue him in that something was wrong, one of her knees buckled. She looked as if she were going to boot or faint.

“Hey,” he said, quickly getting an arm around her. “Let’s find you somewhere to sit.”

He grabbed a bottled water from a passing magazine staffer, not wanting to pause more than that in guiding his distressed damsel to a shady spot. The nearest he saw was under a huge weeping willow. Rebecca was shaking as he settled her on the bench. He handed her the water, which she took a sip of.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m all right. That just took me by surprise.”

Zane sat next to her, figuring she could use his warmth. She seemed to be in shock. Her side was actually cold.

“Look,” he said, laying his hand gently on her knee. Despite being attracted to her, he tried to keep the touch platonic. “If you need me to pull the interview, I will. Your brothers didn’t act like they were breaking a confidence, and God knows my tiny journalist streak will cry—as human interest goes, the story is great. I will kill it, though, if it bothers you that much. We’ll find something else to sell issues.”

Rebecca rubbed her forehead. “I guess it’s not a deep dark secret anymore. They’re too old for anyone to take them away from me.”

Zane’s throat tightened the same way it had when he first saw her eyes. “Your brothers should have warned you they were going to spill the beans.”

To his surprise, she laughed. The sound was nice, low and a bit throaty. “Pete and Charlie know me too well to ask permission about some things. They must have decided I’d been holding on to that too long.”

“So you don’t mind? God knows I’d like to run the piece. Their stories of how you tried to pretend your father was still around were hilarious.”

Rebecca laughed again. “Did they tell you about our Christmas Eve with the mannequin?”

“How Charlie stayed up all night and moved it from chair to chair to convince the neighbors that it was real?”

“What about the Brazilian fry cook I hired to impersonate our dad for parent-teacher night? He had gray eyes, which was perfect, but he barely knew English. We pretended he had laryngitis and couldn’t speak.”

“That one I didn’t hear.”

Rebecca leaned back against the bench, her shoulders almost relaxed. “He was illegal and really sweet. I promised I’d sponsor him for a green card as soon as I was old enough and had a job where I could.”

“And did you?”

“I did. He works in LA now for Wolfgang Puck. That frosts me a little. He was a damn good cook. I’d be happy if he was still with me.”

Her smile was wry but totally beautiful. “You must have been scared,” he said softly. “Raising two boys by yourself at sixteen.”

“Terrified,” she said humorously. “Sometimes I still am.”

They smiled at each other, and something inside his chest swooped like a wave dropping. He’d had Trey to help him through his nightmare years. This woman had no one. “Your brothers were lucky to have you.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head in disagreement. “I’m lucky to have them. They’re such great kids. I don’t know how they turned out so good.”

Zane knew. The love she felt for them shone like a sun from her. Whatever mistakes she’d made, her brothers wouldn’t have doubted that. To him, who’d been anything but loved, it was no wonder they’d flourished. He wanted to touch her, more than the hand he’d left resting on her knee. Her cheek looked like it would be soft to stroke, her lips a dream to kiss.

“Would you have dinner with me?” he asked before he’d quite planned to.

She jerked in surprise. “Oh. I—”

“Coffee is fine too, if that seems lower key.”

She laughed and covered her lips. “It’s not that . . . I don’t know if you know this. It’s kind of a funny coincidence. Your CFO, Trey Hayworth, recently hired me to run your new restaurant.”

Zane sat straighter, drawing his hand back from her knee. “The Bad Boys Lounge on Charles Street?”

“That’s right. So I don’t know. Maybe you’re my employer too?”

Zane supposed he shouldn’t be taken aback by not knowing. The restaurant—their first that wasn’t part of a resort—was more Trey’s project than his. It was odd Trey hadn’t kept Zane in the loop, but not overly. “I’m . . . more of a silent partner there,” he said. “I’m pretty sure us having dinner wouldn’t break any rules.”

Rebecca stuck a thumbnail between her teeth, obviously considering this. Zane wasn’t accustomed to hesitation, certainly not from women who showed signs of finding him attractive.

“Should I reiterate the coffee option?” he offered, trying not to sound insulted.

Rebecca removed the thumbnail she was gnawing. “Sorry. I—” She squared her shoulders with a crispness that would have amused if it hadn’t been
his
ego that was stinging. “I’d be very happy to have dinner with you. I just feel obliged to warn you I’m not in practice for dating.”