To Charm A Billionaire (Men of Monaco Book 1) (6 page)

"I've missed you." She kissed him tenderly and grinned.  She looked forward to round two.

He stilled, not moving since she'd spoken. And then he blinked, a small action that cleared away the heated romantic edge reflected in his eyes. His expression closed and he visibly retreated. She dreaded the coolness creeping into his face. The tenuous line of their tentative terrain unwound and disconnected.

She didn't protest on the outside. Meanwhile inside she wanted to disappear and take her shattered ego with her.

How to act unscathed
? She remained on the edge of the bed with her arms wrapped around herself. Finding comfort was an elusive endeavor. Nothing helped the emptiness that pooled at the bottom of her heart. Her confusion of his sudden change to frosty conditions hijacked her thoughts.

But she had to move, escape, find refuge. Taking a deep breath, she stood praying that her legs would not shake. She averted her gaze from him. She didn't want to look up into those ice chips for eyes and let her imagination drum up a reason for the tight, straight line of his mouth. And she didn't want to cry because the emotion welled, along with the tears hovering just off-stage. No embarrassing emotional waterworks needed.

Under the dim lighting of the few remaining candles, Anna gathered her dress and purse and sought sanctuary in the bathroom. She turned her back on the mirror and dressed. No need to see her misery under the sharp lighting. Using her fingers, she fluffed out her hair as best as possible. The tangles deterred her from completing a thorough job. She took a few deep breaths, composed herself and returned to the bedroom.

As she continued her exit through the bedroom, she noted that Damien had dressed. His unbuttoned shirt hung loose and gently moved by the breeze from the open balcony door. He stood still looking out at the night.

"It's time for me to go," Anna said, pausing at the door. She wanted a sign that promised there would be a next day for them.

He turned his head and only his profile was visible.

She silently pleaded for him to say something.

But he remained silent.

He might as well have stepped onto the balcony and closed those doors behind him.

She opened the bedroom door.

"My driver will take you to your hotel." His words delivered a finality that might as well be the final curtain call. He returned his attention back to the outdoors.

Anna couldn't stop the anger that zipped through her. She slammed the door close and marched toward him.

"I did that," she said with shocking realization when she stood close enough to touch his stiffened shoulder.

"What?" He turned with a frown fixed into place. 

"Made you put that deadbolt on your heart." She placed her palm on his chest and didn't miss his flinch from her touch.

He still didn't look at her, not deep into her eyes. She waited seconds longer to see if he would suddenly laugh and say "gotcha."

She retraced her steps to the door.

"All the best, Anna."

She opened the door and walked out blinded by the unshed tears.

The make-up sex she'd envisioned had broken her heart.

D
amien
awoke with a start. Another rough night where sleep took its sweet time to drop him into oblivion. Vivid dreams waited there to twist and toss him out of the deep sleep. By the time each morning broke, he'd lay in bed exhausted and bleary eyed. The common element for the nightly disturbances?—
Anna
.

Three nights of insomnia wrecked his sanity. Turning off the deluge of thoughts about Anna didn't seem possible. The unfinished business between them took its sweet time torturing his conscience.

What drove him to think that he could sleep with her and not be affected?

The cocky belief that he'd survived her absence from his life all this time. No one had to know—she didn't have to know--that she had the power to sabotage his free will.

One shitty day hand-delivered by Dane had twisted Damien's usual logical approach to his problems into tight knots. Stupidly he'd seized the hell out of the moment with Anna and now paid a hefty price for the lapse in common sense.

Lying in Anna's arms, between her legs, deep within her had stripped away his defenses. The revelation had shaken him to the core that he didn't have the control he'd thought.

He hated feeling vulnerable. Plain humiliating to need someone's approval or to witness their disappointment in him. And he didn't want pity.

Certainly not Anna's.

And why the hell should he be her distraction while she searched for the perfect man?

Although, he had to admit that used to be his style. Still, giving up the driver's seat felt like a tight, ill-fitting suit hindering his natural movement.

All would have been well if he didn't forget that they were supposed to be fucking. Nothing more.

But the intimate taste of her had hit his system with the power to intoxicate his senses. Like a fool, he'd allowed his intention to stay disengaged blur and turn him into a sappy addict for her.

Then he looked into those expressive eyes that no longer looked at him with anger, but with a tenderness that could only be born out of feeling sorry for him. The reality slapped him back off the edge.

He yawned and scratched his belly. Time to move. Do something. Anything. Time to get back on his feet. He eased off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Under the bright lights, he squinted as he looked at his reflection. The overnight beard, the tousled hair, the dark shadows under his eyes--he looked like hell.

Maybe he did have that slight hope that being with Anna would have soothed his soul. Wiped away his demons.

He washed his face with cold water, brushed his teeth, and dressed in his running gear. Right now he wanted his muscles to burn with a rigorous workout. An hour to blast away the moody thoughts that wanted to linger. A couple miles of running hard might be the right therapy to deal with a new day, maybe even a new chapter. Then time to stop running and move on.

By midday, Damien exited his house with sore muscles, but also a level of satisfaction that he'd managed to crawl out of bed to exercise. Still, his dark mood didn't completely evaporate. Without concrete plans for the day, he'd drive into the city and go with whatever popped into mind.

"Mr. Laurent!  Mr. Laurent, a moment please."

Damien stopped short on the way to his car. He turned toward the caller's repeated request. Shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight, he tried to figure out who called out to him. A difficult task since a small group of men and women huddled in a noisy cluster at the front gate.

He scanned for any familiar faces but recognized no one. However, his pointed attention caused a frenzy among the crowd that kept him nervously rooted to the spot. Cameras clicked and recorded his every move. The group's incessant call of his name increased in volume.

"What the hell do they want?" he muttered, knowing the answer wouldn't be a good one.

Sealing himself in his car, he started the engine and slowly drove toward the gate. The day-shift security detail arrived in time to clear a path for his escape.

The onlookers' rabid expressions didn't bode well. A sliver of dread wormed its way into his gut and settled in an ever-widening pool. Their questions were hurled at him in a collective jumble. No one seemed to want to wait for the other to ask a question and for him to answer. His impatience with them set a harsh frown and his clenched jaw in place.

His phone rang.
Merde
! He pushed the button to engage the speakerphone. "Hello, dad."

"Where have you been? I told you that I was hosting a party. You were expected to show up. As usual, you were probably chasing a skirt and drowning your liver instead of placing your family as top priority." His father's anger punched through with each sentence.

The blows hit their mark and painted his world as a failure. Damien's hands squeezed the steering wheel. He'd ignored the voice messages from Dane. Now his father had stepped in to deliver personally his scathing rebuke.

"Are you listening?" Philippe barked.

"I'm listening." Damien looked up to see long lenses being attached to cameras. Of course, they'd want to know what he was saying. He immediately reversed and turned the car toward the house, but stayed put in the seat to finish the conversation.

"Come to the office. Things are a PR mess. If you'd come to the party, then we could have nipped all this speculation with a measured response."

"Why do you need to give a response? Who did something wrong?" Damien already guessed that he would be the one at fault.

"You. And now the world knows and they want answers. Get over here now." Philippe ended the call before Damien asked more questions.

Frankly, why should he care about what happened? And what infraction did he commit when he'd spent the last few days in seclusion? Well, there was Anna the primary reason for abandoning his father's invitation. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the trip down memory lane.

Time to face his father.

A mixture of light traffic and his heavy foot on the accelerator catapulted Damien toward the Laurent Holdings headquarters in short order. A larger group of stalkers--his new name for the journalistic variety—awaited him here. Again they continued calling his name and shouting a mass gibberish of questions.

This time, instead of hastening his entrance into the building, he paused to hear what was said.

"Mr. Laurent, thank you for your attention." A woman tossed him a smile that didn't match the shrewd, cool gaze.

"What do you want?" His tone dropped several degrees.

"To offer you the opportunity to share your side of the story."

"My side?"

"Being sacked from Laurent Holdings. Is this a major shakeup? Should we expect more announcements? This is a first for the company—the only son to be ousted. What's going on?" She tilted her microphone in his direction.

"I have no comment." Rage deepened his voice.

"Mr. Laurent, this way please." A familiar presence bolstered his mood. Jacques Ribaldi looked out at the reporters without bothering to hide his irritation. The family's attorney for practically all of Damien's life came to the rescue. The older man's usual stoic disposition disappeared as they faced the reporters.

"What the hell is going on?" Damien still asked despite getting the breakdown of everything from the reporters pointed questions and commentary.

"Your father doesn't want anyone talking about the business."

"Too late for that, don't you think?"

Jacques didn't respond. Instead, his hand firmly guided Damien into the building.

"Would you at least tell me something before I go up there to see my father?" He hesitated before stepping into the elevator.

"No." Jacques being tightlipped with him was unusual.

During many heated disagreements with his father, Damien appreciated the attorney's support. A few times he suffered Jacques's scolding, but always with a bit of tough love to ease the sting, unlike Philippe's hammer-like approach.

The timing of Jacques's presence didn't feel like a coincidence. And his silence didn't leave Damien to think that they were going to be a fighting duo against his father.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open, Damien stepped off with singular determination and briskly marched toward Philippe's inner circle of assistants.

"Mr. Laurent, your father is expecting you."

Damien nodded at the secretary without slowing his pace.

The doors opened before he planted his hand on the door knob.

"Dallon?" He was shocked to see his eldest brother.

Dallon offered a weak smile but said nothing as he moved aside for Damien to enter. His brother's unkempt hair, sunbaked skin, and casual fashion style meant that he'd probably stepped off his yacht in time for this meeting. Despite the laid back demeanor, Dallon had a keen business sense that was turned on to full blast whenever he sat behind his desk.

To his right, he spied his youngest brother. "Dane."

His brother nodded at him, but couldn't produce a smile or greeting. No surprise there.

Nevertheless, Damien's stomach twisted under the pressure. No matter how hard he tried to pretend that he was unbothered by his father, he dreaded this meeting after the spoiler alert from the reporter."

"Glad you finally came to see me." Philippe beckoned to his sons to sit at the small conference table in his office. "You may leave, Jacques."

Damien looked over to his mentor, but the attorney's impassive expression shut him out. With only a short nod, Jacques left the room. The unnecessary eviction poked at Damien's irritability. He glared at his father whose smirk highlighted the deliberate gesture to remove any outside support.

Philippe Laurent earned the nickname Monaco's silver fox. Meticulous with every detail of his image, he had a slick look that could get him a walk-on part in an organized crime movie.

Jewelry was kept to a minimum with a diamond crusted pinky ring that had sentimental value that he never shared. He'd long ago ditched the suits that Dane now chose to wear like an over-enthusiastic apprentice.

Philippe's wardrobe sported the exclusive members-only country club attire that looked casual to the unsophisticated eye but flashed his wealth with those likeminded folk in his inner circle.

The silver fox had a thick mane of hair worn like the infamous American mafia boss, Gotti, off the face and kept in control with a variety of hair products and a constantly trimmed haircut. As for the fox label, well, he was quite good looking in an old Hollywood way. Without the aid of a plastic surgeon's magic, his father skin didn't boast any wrinkles. There were a few lines for character and a golden tan to add to his too-rich-to-care mystique.

But to think that Philippe didn't care about his business was a mistake. His competitors learned the errors of their haste to judgment whenever they tried to go against him in contracts or with their plans to increase market share in his territory. The man should be renamed shark or bastard as so many called him behind his back.

Damien took the seat that was deliberately left available next to his father. He glanced over to Dallon who continued to smile with an apologetic cast of his eyes. Dane, however, had his mouth set tight as if readying for a fight. His gaze met Damien's in an open challenge.

"Damien, glad you could make it. I thought you might be under the weather to miss my event a few nights ago. But then ..." His father slid over a folded newspaper. "Then, I saw that you chose other options."

From the large photo spread, the camera had zoomed in on him as he waved to someone on his right. His other hand was on Anna's lower back as she walked slightly ahead. Her face radiated with open joy as she waved to someone.

"Walk around like you're a member of the royal family." Dane snorted. His irritation set his face with a dour expression.

The idea of his brother out of sorts pleased Damien.

"You can get rid of that damned smirk. Just because you are the media's darling and hitting the top sexy bachelor list doesn't give you a pass to disrespect the family," Philippe said sharply.

"I have no intention of disrespecting the family. I've been the face of Laurent to wine and dine the clients and the voice of Laurent Holdings to coax them into seeing us as a partner for their needs. I'm the deal maker. And I'm good at it."

Dane snorted his disbelief. "But when you fall, the result is a colossal mess.

"The trip with the prince was a fail, but tossing around political hot potatoes isn't my thing." Damien looked around the table, lingering over each face. "None of us would have been able to handle the prince or his country's issues. I handled a shitty situation."

"It wasn't just that—" Dane interjected, but halted at Philippe's slight hand motion that signaled quiet.

Dallon took his cue from their father and held up his hand. "Let him continue." His brother was the low-keyed type who would probably outlive them all with his no stress, no fuss outlook on life.

"Not much more to say. Looks like my handling of the prince situation has earned me a traitorous stab in the back."