A Billionaire Between the Sheets (11 page)

It had been what he wanted. Once. Now just the thought of Olivia embarrassing herself in front of a bunch of snobs made him want to hit something. He glanced at the sexy corset. Or come up with a new plan.

He swiveled toward Grayson. “How long would it take you to copy these designs and put them on a curvier model?”

Grayson shrugged. “Five or six hours, probably.”

Deacon opened the desk drawers and searched until he found a sketchpad and colored pencils. “Then have at it.”

With a grin Grayson took the pad and pencils, grabbed one of Olivia's sketches, and headed for the couch. Deacon turned to Nash, expecting to catch some grief. Instead his brother was putting the sketches into groups.

“These should be put together according to male preference, don't you think?” Nash said.

Deacon started choosing the designs he liked best. “So you aren't going to give me shit about my hero complex?”

Nash glanced up. “This board meeting is pretty crucial tomorrow?”

“It could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. If Olivia doesn't show the board something amazing, most are going to sell their shares for pennies on the dollar to some company that plans on selling substandard lingerie to discount stores. And I have to wonder if that wasn't someone's plan all along.”

“The person who's skimming the money?”

“Probably.”

A long silence followed before Nash spoke. “As far as I'm concerned, family is family. Now let's help our cousin so we can sign that contract and go home.”

F
or once in her life, Olivia woke up on time and stayed focused. She showered, dried her hair and pulled it into a French twist, applied her makeup, and then dressed in her most powerful gray suit without once getting distracted by something outside her window, a pimple on her nose, or a random thought. All her thoughts centered around one thing. She was going to lose French Kiss and there was nothing she could do about it.

After a sleepless night, she had finally accepted this truth. And today she intended to walk into the board meeting and lay everything out on the table: Someone was taking money from the company. She had no new line. And she had been totally wrong to think she could fill her stepfather's shoes.

Once that happened, there was little doubt that the board members would vote to sell the company to the highest bidder. With no other plan, she would vote with them. That was if Deacon had signed the contract. Of course, why wouldn't he? He now knew the full extent of French Kiss's trouble and would have to be an idiot not to have signed. Which meant that she now owned controlling shares. It was too bad that owning those shares still left her with little control.

“You look like hell. With your blond hair, gray is zee worst possible color you could wear.”

The rude comments greeted Olivia as soon as she stepped into the living room. Babette sat at the breakfast bar eating what looked to be a scone. But since Olivia had yet to go to the store, she didn't know where Babette had gotten it. She only hoped that she had gotten coffee at the same place.

She nodded at her cup. “Coffee?”

Babette shook her head. “All you had was tea. And seeing as how you were trying to starve me, I was forced to whip some-zing up.” She held up the scone. “They are not croissants, but they aren't bad.”

Olivia didn't feel like eating. She felt like throwing up. “Thank you, but I need to get to the office.”

“You Americans. Always in such a hurry.” She dunked the tea bag in her cup. “Well, you'll have to wait, because as you can see, I'm not ready.”

“That's okay because you're not coming. My plan failed. Therefore, there's no need for you to come to the office with me. In fact, you should be back to your beloved Par-ree by this weekend.” If Olivia hadn't felt so crappy, she might've enjoyed Babette's shocked look.

“You are sending me home?”

“Yes, but I'll pay you for your time.”

For once Babette had nothing to say. She just sat there at the breakfast bar with her hand frozen in mid-dunk. Since Olivia didn't have anything to say either, she turned to leave, her glance sweeping over the balcony. Jonathan Livingston's beady eyes looked back. But having a pesky bird poop on her balcony no longer mattered. In order to pay off the Beaumonts, she would have to sell her house…and soon. Which meant that Jonathan would become someone else's problem.

As would Mr. and Mrs. Huckabee's dangling parts.

Although when she stepped out of the garage and looked up at their balcony, Mr. Huckabee's parts weren't dangling. Instead they were covered by a rhinestone thong that sparkled like a mirrored disco ball in the morning sun.

“Hel-loo, Britney!” He lifted a hand and waved.

After the tension-filled night, Olivia couldn't help laughing. “Hello, Mr. Huckabee. Are those comfortable?”

“Not at all. But Doris thinks they're hot.”

Olivia bit back a grin. “They are that.” A movement to the side of her garage caught her attention, and she watched in surprise as the lemon juicer salesman came around from the side of her house.

“Excuse me?” she said. “Can I help you?”

He glanced up, startled, then quickly hurried off with his roller bag clicking on the sidewalk behind him. Confused, she walked through her gate and discovered bright blooms of every color and variety filling the flower bed that ran the length of her small backyard.

It made no sense. Why would some guy she didn't even know plant flowers? And if he'd done it in her backyard, he had probably left the geraniums by her front door. And taken out her trash. She really needed to buy a lemon juicer from him.

Feeling even more depressed, she turned and walked up the street to catch the trolley. When she stepped into French Kiss's lobby, she struggled to keep the tears from her eyes.

Most people thought she had grown up in a mansion in Pacific Heights. But it was inside these purple-and-silver walls that she had truly grown up. Before school she had sat in the design department and tried to copy the designers' amazing pictures. In the afternoons she had used scraps of satin and lace to make her own creations for her Barbie dolls. In the evenings she'd raced through the deserted halls or sat at Michael's desk and done her homework before they headed home to dinner. On the drive he would ask her about what designs she liked best—what colors—what fabrics.

At the time she'd thought he valued her opinion, but now she realized it had been because he didn't know what else to talk about. French Kiss and business had been his life. And consequently they had become hers. What was she going to do when that life ended?

Kelly wasn't at her desk, which meant there was no one to send for coffee. Olivia thought about going to the break room, but then glanced at her watch and realized that she didn't have the time. Since she wouldn't need her briefcase, she decided to leave it in her office. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. Or not so surprisingly, since Deacon had been the last one there. Even now she blushed at the memory of sharing the raincoat story with him. He probably thought she was a pathetic nut.

She set her briefcase on the desk and glanced at the contract. Even though she knew what she'd find, she couldn't help walking over and picking it up. As she'd expected, on the last page were three signatures in the left-hand corner. Grayson's was flowing and artistic. Nash's scribbled and illegible. And Deacon's neat and concise.

Deacon Valentino Beaumont was now a millionaire while Olivia Juliana Harrington was penniless. Somewhere the gods of fate were laughing. Deciding that she needed coffee more than she needed to be on time, she headed to the break room.

By the time she got a cup of coffee and arrived at the boardroom, she wasn't surprised to find the majority of the chairs filled. No one would want to miss this. Especially Anastasia, who sat as close to the front as she could get. As she walked past, Olivia had a hard time not punching the woman right in the face. How dare she break into Olivia's office? How dare she consort with someone else to steal money? And how dare she sit there smiling as if she hadn't had a hand in French Kiss's demise?

Pushing down her anger, Olivia sat down in Michael's chair. The reminder of Michael was painful, but not as painful as what she was about to do. She set her coffee cup on the table in front of her, keeping her hands curled around it. The cup appeared to be emitting the only warmth in the room. Everyone's expression was cool and expectant.

She cleared her throat. “Good morning.” There was a chorus of “Good mornings” followed by a heavy silence. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I was hoping to come here today and offer up a bright new future for French Kiss. Unfortunately, I was unable to—”

The door opened, and Deacon came striding in as if he owned the place and everyone in it. He looked like he did. He wore a gray designer suit, pressed button-down shirt, and purple tie. His hair had been combed back from his forehead and only a hint of dark stubble shadowed his square jaw.

“Sorry I'm late.” He walked to the front and stopped next to Olivia's chair. And she was embarrassed to realize that in their gray suits, they looked like a matched set.

She glanced at the confused board members before whispering under her breath, “What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

“I probably should have, but sometimes you have to go with your gut instead of your head.” He nodded at her chair. “I believe this is my seat, Ms. Harrington.”

“Excuse me?”

“My chair. Aren't you sitting in my chair?”

Suddenly she didn't care if everyone in the room heard her. “You signed the contract. I saw it.”

His smile got a little wider. “Yes, I did sign a contract. But not the one you gave me. I had Jason draw up a new one. And until you agree to and sign that one”—he tipped his head—“you're sitting in my chair.”

“But how did your brothers—”

The door opened again, and Nash and Grayson walked in. Unlike Deacon, they looked like they had come straight from a hunting trip—or an episode of
Duck Dynasty
. They wore camouflage pants and worn T-shirts that matched perfectly with their scruffy hair and beards—Grayson's only slightly thicker than before.

Nash took the first seat he came to and reached for one of the pastries in the center of the table. After a big bite, he nodded at Olivia. “Hi, Cuz.”

She sent him an annoyed look before turning to Grayson, who gave her an encouraging smile as he sat down next to his brother. Every eye turned to her for some kind of explanation. But before she could speak, Deacon cleared his throat.

“Anytime this week, Ms. Harrington.”

Shooting him daggers, she got up and moved to the chair on his right. Once Deacon was seated, he wasted no time with introductions.

“I'm Deacon Beaumont.” He held out a hand. “And these are my brothers Nash and Grayson. As you may have heard, our dear uncle Michael willed us controlling shares of this fine company.”

A mumble of surprise ran through the board, and Anastasia spoke first. “But I thought Ms. Harrington bought your shares.”

Deacon nodded. “She's in the process of buying us out. But for the time being, my brothers and I are…in control.” When the mumbles started again, he cut them off. “Now I'm sure you have some concerns, and I'll be happy to address those after Ms. Harrington's presentation.”

Olivia felt her stomach drop. What was Deacon doing? Wasn't it enough that her beloved company was failing? Did he have to embarrass her in front of the entire board? Obviously the answer to these questions was yes. But unwilling to give him the satisfaction of humiliating her, she tipped up her chin.

“I'm afraid that I don't have—”

Kelly came hurrying in the door with a laptop. “Sorry it took so long, but I have the PowerPoint presentation all set up, Ms. Harrington.” She set the laptop in front of Olivia and handed her a remote before pushing the button on the wall that lowered the projector screen. Deacon got up and motioned to his chair.

“It might be better if you sit here after all.” When she just stared at him in confusion, he walked over and pulled out her chair, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “You've got this, Olivia. Let's show these clowns what you're made of.”

At the moment she was made of fear, confusion, and anger that Deacon was putting her on the spot. But there was something in his tone—conviction and kinship—that had her tapping the button on her laptop that started the PowerPoint presentation, before getting to her feet.

A title popped up on the screen in scrolled purple letters. She stared at the words for a moment before clearing her throat and reading.

“The Legendary Lovers Line.” She clicked the remote. The next frame gave her pause, and she shot a glance at Deacon, who only shrugged. She turned back to the screen and read the words. “The Valentino Collection.” She clicked, expecting to see Babette's flamboyant designs. Instead she was shocked to see one of her own designs. The drawing was much better than hers had been. The woman's full breasts and curvy hips were the perfect mannequin for the sheer nightgown and matching peignoir. She glanced at Grayson, and he winked.

Her hand tightened around the remote, and she spoke in a hesitant voice. “I got the inspiration for this collection from the 1940s Hollywood starlets.” She clicked to the next drawing. “The colors are dark and dramatic. The material sexy and feminine.” It was strange, but by the time she clicked to the next drawing, everything had just sort of fallen into place. She knew the story behind every drawing—what had inspired it. Why she thought it would sell.

She wasn't surprised to find two more collections after Valentino's. Lothario's consisted of her edgier, more erotic designs, while Romeo's were younger, softer, and more romantic. What did surprise Olivia was how perfectly her designs had been organized into collections. And how perfectly the names went with each one. Deacon might not know the lingerie business, but he knew marketing. With simple organization and titles, he'd changed Olivia's designs into something special—something salable. Halfway through the presentation, she knew it. And by the time she set the remote down on the table and turned to the board members, her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she was worried she wouldn't be able to hear any questions people might have.

Fortunately, no one seemed to have questions. After only a moment's pause, Deacon started clapping. And everyone in the room soon joined in the applause. Everyone but Anastasia, who looked slightly ill. Although she quickly started clapping when Deacon arched an eyebrow at her.

He stood and reclaimed everyone's attention. To her surprise, Olivia was more than relieved to give it to him.

“Thank you, Ms. Harrington.” He nodded at her as she took a seat. “Now I understand why my uncle put so much trust in you.” She didn't know why those words made her feel so happy. All she knew was that she couldn't keep the blush from her face or the sincerity from her voice.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment before returning his attention to the board members. “If there are no questions, I think we can adjourn.”

Anastasia couldn't wait to jump in. “I just don't see how a few new collections are going to save the company from going under. I think we should take a vote on selling to Avery Industries. They gave us a fair offer.”