The Billionaire’s Secret Heart (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance)

I
t was official
. I was on the worst blind date in the history of womankind. You can trust me when I say that. I'm a scientist, and I rarely exaggerate. It started when Stuart picked me up, his hair slicked back with enough product to lube every rusted bike chain in Atlanta. Did I mention that's what he was driving? A bike.

No, not a motorcycle. I've never ridden that kind of bike, but I might have been up for it with the right guy. Definitely not with Stuart, which wasn't a problem since he showed up on a ten-speed circa 1985. I never rode the handlebars of a bike when I was a kid. I was too busy with school. But at twenty-three, I wasn't looking to try it out—and definitely not on a date.

I ended up driving us to dinner. Not the most auspicious beginning, but I was willing to give Stuart the benefit of the doubt. I was a geek—a grad student at Georgia Tech in the Computer Sciences department—and I knew my share of socially awkward people who were pretty cool when you got to know them. I wasn't going to judge.

I really wasn't. I tried not to. He was good looking enough, if a little bland, but I wasn't a goddess myself, so I wouldn't write him off just because he wasn't gorgeous. Plus, he was my advisor's nephew, and she was fantastic, so I didn't want to ditch him and hurt her feelings. All my good intentions flew out the window right around the time he eyed my rounded figure and told the waitress we didn't need appetizers or any high-calorie drinks.

Excuse me? Like he was one to talk. Where I was blessed with more than abundant curves, he resembled a skeleton. Neither of us were going to win any hot body contests, and he wasn't in any position to comment on the way I looked.

I rolled my eyes, ordered a margarita, and sat back to watch the date slide into disaster. Two drinks later, I was completely zoned out as Stuart droned on about his dissertation. A small part of me could sympathize. My specialization was Human-Computer Interaction, and if I wanted to watch someone's eyes glaze over, all I had to do was start talking about my current research project.

That's why
I
was polite enough not to talk about it—unlike my date, who seemed happy to go on and on about the effect of diversifying expenditures for political lobbyists. I'm not that well-versed in finance and economics, but I'm pretty sure Stuart was studying ways for lobbyists to influence the political system without being caught violating the laws of political donations. So he wasn't just rude and boring. He was also kind of evil.

Unfortunately, at that point, I was on my third margarita. While he looked over the check, he mentioned that he had a VIP invitation to Mana, the hottest club in town. I had no interest in Stuart, but I'd always wanted to go to Mana. It was nearly impossible to get in, especially for a girl who spent most of her time in jeans and a hoodie.

You needed to be hot to make it to the front of the line. You can imagine the type—tall, thin, gorgeous, perfectly dressed. Not me, on every count. The only other way into the club was to score one of the exclusive VIP invites, a small, round gold disc. I'd seen one once, and it had reminded me of the gold coins awarded to a gamer after vanquishing an enemy. Stuart pulled the coin from his pocket and waved it in the air, the golden gleam catching my eye. It looked like the real thing.

I didn't want to spend another second with Stuart. Just moments before, I'd been planning my escape, chalking up the evening to a waste of good makeup. Now I was tempted to stay. When was I going to get another chance to get into Mana?

"How did you get it?" I asked, suspicious. Stuart did not strike me as a guy with the connections to get a VIP invite to Mana.

"Someone owed me a favor," he said, trying to be mysterious.

After three margaritas and more than an hour of boredom, my manners were wearing thin, and I asked, "Is it real?" I'd heard about counterfeits rolling around town. I wanted to go to Mana, but I didn't want to be turned away from the door with a fake coin.

His eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Stuart said, "I got it from a senior I'm tutoring. He had some issues with a paper and I fixed them. He couldn't pay me, so he gave me this."

My tipsy brain skated around what kind of 'fixing' Stuart had done to score such a prize. Hmm, so he was boring, rude, and probably helping students cheat. Did I really want to spend more time with this guy just to get into a club that was probably going to be loud and crowded? Yes. Yes, I did.

VIP invites to Mana were notoriously hard to get, and if I didn't fit the mold of the typical Mana female, Stuart wouldn't exactly get past the velvet rope either. Did I mention he was wearing a corduroy blazer with elbow patches, a plaid shirt, and kakis? He looked like a stereotypical stuffy professor.

The CS department isn't known for our sartorial splendor, though. We lean more toward jeans and t-shirts with ironically geeky sayings under our hoodies. But even at our worst, we were a step above Stuart's lack of style. Not that I was dressed in my usual slacker wear. My roommate, Emily, another CS grad student, was one of the few exceptions to the typical geek's approach to fashion. She hadn't been on a date in over a year. I thought she was beautiful, but she was also cripplingly shy and obsessed with her research, resulting in a complete lack of a social life. But she had a killer wardrobe no one saw outside her lab and our apartment. We also wore the same size—my fabulously good luck. She'd spent over an hour dressing me, and the result was the best I'd looked in years. Maybe ever. If I went home, it would be a total waste, and Emily would be so disappointed. She'd been excited that at least one of us had a date.

"Let's go," I said, draping my wrap around my shoulders and picking up my purse. Stuart raised one finger to stop me and held up the bill the waitress had left.

"Your half is twenty-three, seventy-five."

"Does that include the tip?" I asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm dripping from my voice. Stuart was oblivious. He gave me an owlish blink.

"Of course. An eight percent tip since the service was a little slow."

I shook my head and pulled a twenty and a ten from my purse. I wasn't rolling in cash. Actually, money was a little tight since my hours had been cut back this semester, but our waitress hadn't been slow. She'd been great. I'd waited tables during my undergrad, and I knew it wasn't an easy job. Tight budget or not, there was no way I was going to screw over our waitress.

Not trusting Stuart, I took the black pleather folder containing our bill and his cash from his hands, scanned it and added my contribution. Mana had better be the most amazing club in existence to justify spending any more time with this guy.

We hit the street outside the restaurant, and I started to walk in the direction of Mana. It was a good eight or ten blocks, but I'd had too much tequila to drive and I couldn't afford a ride. The walk wouldn't kill me, though in Emily's heels, my toes would be begging for mercy by the time we got there. Stuart complained about my refusal to drive, then about not having his bike.

I tuned him out, instead letting my mind wander over the problem we'd had in the lab that afternoon. The first test of our new tech, and it had been dead in the water. Not an unusual problem—these things rarely worked the first time. Was it the hardware or the software? My mind drifted over the code I'd written as we walked, my focus allowing me to ignore both Stuart's rambling and my pinched toes.

I heard the club before I saw it, the thumping dance music audible as the door opened and closed. Rounding a corner, we hit the tail end of a long line of men and women dressed a lot like I was, though they looked perfectly at home in their designer gear.

I couldn't stop tugging my skirt down or checking to make sure I hadn't fallen out of Emily's push-up bra. I was very curvy. The push-up bra was overkill, but she'd insisted the dress demanded cleavage. Well, cleavage I had. So much cleavage, I was tempted to ogle my own breasts. I normally didn't see this much of them outside of the shower.

Stuart led me past the line and past the two bouncers guarding the door, one studying the ID of a tall blonde girl, the other holding back a velvet rope to allow a brunette in a little black dress and her suited date to enter. In Emily's clothes, I'd blend in, but Stuart was going to stick out like a sore thumb with his kakis and elbow patches. We walked around the corner into a wide, well-lit alley. Halfway down the alley, there was a second entrance, with a single bouncer and no line. I held my breath, ready for Stuart's coin to be rejected.

The bouncer gave Stuart an indecipherable look as he examined the shiny gold coin, then slid it into his pocket. "ID," he said. We showed him our IDs, waiting while he flashed a light over them, making a point of giving special attention to Stuart's. When his eyes slid to me, they warmed with a smile and he gave me a friendly nod as he returned my license and stamped both of our hands. "You're good. Enjoy."

He opened the door and stepped back to allow us to enter. I forgot about Stuart, my aching feet and my software glitch. I forgot everything as we entered the dark of the club. Scents hit me, a swirl of perfume and alcohol, which blended with the pulse of music, enveloping us in the heart of the club. The lights were low, flashing every so often in time with the music, but I could see the interior of the club well enough. As I'd expected, it was filled with beautiful people, dancing and drinking as if they belonged there. The rest was a surprise.

I'd pictured something modern, shiny and new, with clean lines and sharp edges. Vaguely, I recalled hearing that the building had once been a church, then a theater. It explained why the central room soared above us, majestic and old world, with painted murals and gilt details on the ornate plaster. The club was at least four levels, and each one had balconies overlooking the main room. Taking in all the details, I followed Stuart past the bar to the side of the main room and up a flight of stairs. In the stairwell, the music dimmed enough for me to hear when Stuart shouted over his shoulder,

"The coin got us access to the VIP lounge on the third floor," he said, leading me up another flight of stairs.

I hoped he knew where he was going. We passed a few couples and a group of giggling girls on our trip from the main floor to the second, but once we reached the second floor, the stairwell had been empty. I was suddenly aware of being alone in the dark with a man I barely knew. Before I could decide what to do about that, we came to a stop in front of a heavy, tall, wooden door covered in ornate carvings that I could barely see in the dim light. Stuart hesitated before placing his palm on the polished surface and pushing it open.