A Billionaire Between the Sheets (9 page)

“It looks like you're quite the sports enthusiast.” Deacon studied the signatures on a baseball. “Did you play?”

Jason took a seat behind the desk. “No, I just collect. To my father's dismay, I pretty much suck at all sports. But I would imagine that you played and were no doubt the star high school quarterback.”

“Actually, I didn't have time to play sports. I was too busy trying to make money.” He picked up the framed picture next to the ball. It was a picture of Jason and Olivia with a baseball field behind them. Both were smiling brightly—a little too brightly for Deacon's taste. “Obviously I was wrong. Kelly isn't the woman you're interested in.”

“That was at the company charity game,” Jason said defensively. “Olivia took pictures with a lot of the employees. She's that kind of a boss—the type that cares about the people who work for her.” He cupped his hands on the desk. “And now you don't need to work for money, Mr. Beaumont. Now all you need to do is sign on the dotted line.”

Deacon set the picture down and ignored Jason's statement. “If Olivia is such a perfect boss, why is French Kiss going bankrupt?”

Jason looked surprised. “Ms. Harrington told you?”

“We talked about it, and her plan to save the company.” He picked up a football. “It's a bad plan.”

“How would you know? You don't know anything about the business.”

Deacon put the football back in its stand. “You're right. So fill me in.” He took the chair in front of the desk. “Starting with Ms. Bradley.”

Jason's chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “What's with all the questions? What difference does it make who is in charge if you're planning on selling your shares?” He paused. “Unless you're not planning on selling your shares. Unless you're toying with Ms. Harrington.” His eyes narrowed. “Well, I'm not having it, Mr. Beaumont. She's a good person who only wants what's best for this company and the employees who work here. That's why she's using every penny she inherited and selling her home so she can keep French Kiss. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let some Southern, slick-talking con artist ruin that for her.”

The loyal speech and protective tone made up Deacon's mind, and he smiled and leaned back in the chair. “Number one rule when dealing with sexual women is don't play their game. Next time Kelly asks you what you want, tell her. No blushing, no sparring, no egos involved. Look her straight in the eyes and tell her.”

“Tell her I want to have sex with her?”

“Is that all you want?”

“No. I'd like to take her to dinner.”

“So start with that and see where it goes.” He leaned in. “And you're right. I've been playing with Olivia, seeing just how much crap she'd be willing to take to get me to sign the contract.”

“You asshole,” Jason said.

Deacon pictured Olivia kneeling in front of him and had to agree. She hadn't even blinked. To her a little lost pride was no big deal when compared to getting what she wanted. While to Deacon pride came first. Followed closely by honor. And no honorable man could leave Olivia in a pit of scorpions.

“Asshole or not, I own the company,” he said. “Or will after it clears probate.”

“It already has.”

Deacon wasn't surprised by the news as much as the feeling that accompanied it. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the enormity of owning a huge company and being responsible for it and every employee in it. And he had to wonder if Olivia hadn't felt the same way when Michael had his stroke.

He nodded. “Then I guess that means I'm your boss. And right now, I want to get a look at your accounts.”

“Why?”

“Because I think there's another asshole who is skimming money off the top and trying to lower the stock so they can buy out the company.” He briefly ran through what he'd overheard Ms. Bradley saying. When he finished, Jason flopped down in his chair in disbelief.

“I knew she was mean, but I didn't think she would do something like that. Who do you think she was talking with?”

“I was hoping you could shed some light on that.”

Jason shook his head. “I don't have a clue. She doesn't hang out with anyone that I know of—except Parker Calloway from accounting. They occasionally have lunch together. But he would never do anything to hurt Olivia. They're dating.”

So Olivia hadn't been lying when she told Nash she was in a relationship. Deacon didn't know why he felt annoyed by the information, but he did.

“Let's start with the accounts and see what we can find,” he said.

Jason studied him for only a moment before he leaned in and grabbed his computer mouse. “I don't have the passcode to get into all the accounts. Only Olivia and Ms. Bradley have those. But I can get you into a few.”

“Let's start with the ones you have access to, then once I have the passcode, we'll look at the others.”

Jason stopped moving the mouse and looked at Deacon. “So you're on Olivia's team?”

Deacon took his time answering. “It would seem that way. At least until I sign the contract.”

E
-e-ek! Are you trying to kill me?” Babette barely made it on board before the trolley started moving. Olivia easily fit between two men in business suits, while Babette had a harder time squeezing in. Once she was situated between a plump woman and the railing, she continued her dramatics.

“I do not understand why zee people in ziss country don't walk to work. In Paris I walked to work every day.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Ohh, how I miss my precious Par-ree. If not for you, I would be enjoying an espresso and cream puff at Popelini right now. Instead of being here in this”—she waved a hand at the traffic that whizzed past—“madness you call home.”

“You were the one who applied to French Kiss,” Olivia said.

“Because I thought I would get good money. But so far I've been paid less than a street cleaner.”

Olivia wanted to point out that she would get her money when Olivia got her designs. And she wasn't talking about a bunch of flamboyant burlesque costumes. But she didn't want a repeat of yesterday's dramatics. After the thong hanging, it had taken the rest of the day to calm Babette down.

Not that Olivia had been involved in the calming process. It had been Deacon who carried a sobbing Babette to the guest room. Deacon who placed her on the bed and spoke to her in soft French. Deacon who ordered Olivia to bring Babette some wine to soothe her nerves. Olivia had opened a bottle of her best merlot and taken it and a glass to the guest room. Instead of thanking her, Babette had sobbed even louder.

“You seem to agitate her,” Deacon said as he ushered Olivia out of the bedroom and closed the door. Talk about agitated. Olivia had been so agitated she wanted to kick in the door and order him out of her house. The only thing that kept her from it was the unsigned contract and the thought of having to deal with Babette by herself. So instead she had gone upstairs and waited. And waited. And waited. When Babette's loud moans drifted up the stairs, Olivia couldn't believe her ears. It took a good five minutes of moans before her naïve brain could accept the truth that Deacon was having sex with a woman right under her nose. Furious, she marched down the stairs with the intent of kicking them both out of her house. But when she arrived in the guest room, she found the bottle of wine empty, Babette sleeping like a contented baby, and Deacon gone.

“So will Deacon be at your office?” Babette's question pulled her out of her daydream.

Kelly had called to inform her that Deacon had stopped by the office and was waiting to see her. Olivia had little doubt that he had signed the contract. He'd made no bones about how ridiculous he thought her idea for a men's lingerie line was. Olivia was relieved. And also terrified. Deacon had some valid points that had her second-guessing the idea. But there was no going back now. Especially when she didn't have another plan.

She glanced over at Babette and tried to give her the brightest smile she could. “I know we've had a little communication problem, Babette. But starting today that's all going to change. I'm going to listen to you, and you're going to listen to me. And together we're going to produce a great line.” She pumped her fist in the air. “Viva la Girl Power!”

Babette stared at Olivia as if she were a pair of granny panties. “
Sacrebleu.
”

By the time they reached the office, Olivia had a plan. Or something of a plan.

“What time is the board meeting tomorrow, Kelly?” she asked as she strode past Kelly's desk with Babette in tow. She wanted to reschedule the meeting for later in the week. Or even next week. But she knew that would only cause panic. Which meant that she and Babette had exactly twenty-four hours to come up with new designs for their men's line. Twenty-four hours to save Olivia from looking like the ditzy adopted stepchild.

“Nine o'clock,” Kelly said as she stared at Babette.

“This is Ms. Fontaine,” Olivia made the introduction. “She's the Paris designer who is helping me with the new line.”

“Should I get you a coffee, Ms. Fontaine?” Kelly asked. “Or would you prefer French fries?”

Babette lifted her nose and strode into the office. “Your American humor escapes me.”

Olivia had started to follow her when a thought struck her. “Where is Mr. Beaumont? I thought he was waiting to see me.”

“He was. But then Mr. Melvin showed up and they went to his office.”

That made things a lot easier. Jason would take care of getting the contract, and Olivia wouldn't have to see Deacon again. The tinge of disappointment that settled in her stomach was easily explained by lack of caffeine.

“Could you get me some coffee, please, Kelly? In fact, bring an entire pot. I think I'm going to need it.”

It turned out that not even an entire pot of coffee was enough to help Olivia deal with Babette. The inspired, innovative designer from Paris had turned into a whiny prima donna who couldn't seem to draw anything that didn't look like it belonged in a drag queen's closet. And after seven hours of neon jockstraps, leather briefs, and see-through pajamas, Olivia was ready to admit that Viva la Girl Power couldn't generate enough power to turn on a lightbulb, let alone save an entire company. And when someone tapped on the door, Olivia was relieved to take a break from the madness.

“Hey.” Parker peeked his head in. His gaze took in Babette, who was sprawled out on the couch sobbing, then returned to Olivia. “If you're busy, I can come back later.”

Babette stopped sobbing and sat up. After giving him the once-over, she sent Parker a weak smile and proceeded to speak to him in French. When he only stared at her in confusion, she flopped back on the couch. “Barbarians.”

Olivia wanted to show her “barbarians.” She wanted to slap the snot out of her. Instead she walked over to her desk and buzzed Kelly.

“Could you take Ms. Fontaine shopping? I'm sure she would love the break, and you can charge anything she wants to my account.”

Babette perked up immediately, but didn't offer one word of gratitude as she got to her feet and walked to the door. “I'm sure I won't find any-zing, but it's better than being held prisoner.”

“Be back in two hours,” Olivia said as Kelly came in the door and escorted Babette out. When they were gone, Parker spoke.

“Bad day?”

“You could say that.” She walked to the coffee table and collected the designs. Parker didn't know about the men's underwear idea, and after Deacon's brutal comments, she didn't want him to. Especially when it looked as if it was a complete failure. She took the designs to her desk and slipped them in the top drawer with the ones she'd been working on before Michael's death. She had just worked on them for fun. She wasn't a designer. She wasn't even a good CEO.

“I tried calling you last night.” Parker moved to the desk.

With the Babette drama, she hadn't had time to get a new phone—or go to the grocery store for much-needed coffee.

“Sorry. I'm getting a new phone today.” She noticed the wilting plant on the bookcase. Grabbing her empty coffee mug, she went into the en suite bathroom to get it some water. Parker was standing in the doorway when she turned around. For the first time, she noticed that his shirt was heavily starched—almost too heavily starched.

“Olivia. Would you look at me?”

She pulled her attention away from his shirt sleeves and up to his eyes. “I am looking at you.”

“No. No, you're not. So what's going on? Do you want to call it quits?”

It
? The word seemed as vague as their relationship. And she wondered if it was time to call “it” quits.

But before she could answer, his hands encircled her waist and pulled her close. “I care about you, Olivia. And maybe you're right. Maybe we do need to spend more time away from the office.” He dipped his head and kissed her neck. “More time doing a little stress relief.” His lips traveled up her neck to her ear, which he gave a very wet lick that caused a shiver to run down Olivia's spine—and not in a good way.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Now's not a good time, Parker.”

“I think now is a perfect time.” He kissed her.

With Deacon's kiss still fresh in her mind, it was hard not to make some comparisons. None of which tipped in Parker's favor. Deacon's kiss was hot and demanding while Parker's was more lukewarm and hesitant. Deacon used the gentle sweep of his tongue to entice. Parker used the quick thrust of his to…annoy. Like, really annoy.

She pulled away from Parker, only to discover the kissing champion standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

Or more like leaning.

Deacon rested his shoulder on the doorjamb, his arms crossed over the front of his soft-looking chambray shirt. Just the sight of him gave her a jolt of adrenaline that she quickly attributed to the pot of coffee she'd consumed.

“I guess kissing in your office is an everyday occurrence,” he said in that silky Southern voice. While Olivia's face flamed, Parker looked between the two of them.

“Who is this, Olivia?”

Before she could reply, Deacon uncrossed his arms and held out a hand. “Deacon Beaumont.” He hesitated for only a second. “Your new boss.”

The word
boss
hung in the air like an anvil over Olivia's head. She didn't know who was more shocked—her or Parker. They both stared at Deacon while he smiled that annoying smile. Although his eyes didn't look all that happy when they narrowed on Parker.

“And you are Olivia's boyfriend, I take it,” he said. “Or just another office fling?”

Olivia had always been a non-aggressive person, but since Deacon had shown up in her life, her mind had been filled with very violent thoughts. Like right now, she wanted to wipe that smile off his face with the jab she'd learned in the one and only kickboxing class she'd taken. Instead she spoke through clenched teeth.

“Parker, could you give Mr. Beaumont and me a moment in private? There are a few things I'd like to clear up.”

Looking confused, Parker nodded and turned to leave. Except it was hard to leave when Deacon continued to block the doorway that led back into her office.

“Excuse me,” Parker said.

Deacon studied him from beneath his long, dark lashes as if he had no intention of excusing him. But then he pushed away from the doorjamb and stepped back. “Of course.”

Once Parker left, Olivia turned all her anger on Deacon. “I'm through playing your little games.” She jabbed a finger at him. “For every second that you wait to sign that contract, the amount I'm willing to pay you and your brothers goes down by one hundred thousand dollars. Do you understand?”

Deacon studied her. “So is he your boyfriend?”

“Forty million nine hundred thousand.”

“Because if he is, I think you can do better.”

She gritted her teeth. “Forty million eight hundred thousand.”

“Did you notice that he didn't even hesitate to leave you here with me? I mean, what kind of guy leaves their girlfriend alone with a Beaumont?”

She stood on her tiptoes and leaned in his face. “The kind of guy who trusts me—even with an obvious womanizer.” She tapped him in the chest with her finger. “Forty million seven hundred thousand.”

“What does
womanizer
mean, anyway? If it means that I go around making women feel like women, than I guess I am a womanizer.” He reached out and caressed Olivia's cheek with his finger before running his thumb over her bottom lip. “Are you saying you don't like to feel like a woman, Livy?”

With heat coursing through her veins, it was hard to disagree. But it wasn't hard to step away. “Forty million six hundred thousand and counting. And I don't like the name Livy.” She brushed past him.

He followed her to the desk, and for a second she thought there was going to be a fight over who got the chair. Instead he pulled it out and waited for her to take a seat before leaning on the edge of the desk far too close for comfort.

“You haven't even thanked me for saving your crazy designer and putting her to bed.” he said.

“Oh, you put her to bed all right. How could you seduce a mentally unstable woman?”

“I did not seduce Babette.”

“Then how do you explain all those breathy moans?”

His eyebrows popped up. “Eavesdropping, Olivia?” The sexy smile slipped into place. “Want to try a little of what I gave Babette to make her moan?”

Before she could decline, he stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Then, with a technique that would make an experienced masseuse envious, he massaged the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck.

“Good Lord, woman,” he said as he used his thumb to roll out a lump, “you're as knotted as pine flooring. You need to relax.”

She tried to keep from moaning like Babette, but it was hard when the man had such talented fingers. “I need you to sign the contract.”

He released her shoulders and swiveled the chair to face him. “You can't save French Kiss with men's underwear, Olivia. Especially when you have enemies in your camp that don't want you to succeed.”

“What do you mean?”

“This morning before you got here, I discovered Anastasia Bradley talking on the phone in this very office. It seems she doesn't mind breaking and entering.”

Olivia should've been surprised, but she wasn't. She wouldn't put anything past Anastasia.

“I guess I'll have to fire her,” she said.

“You guess?”

“Okay.” She lifted her chin. “So I need to fire her.”

“You can't.” Deacon leaned on the desk, so close that if Olivia moved an inch, her knee would be brushing his. Didn't the man have any spatial boundaries? “She's working with someone, and you won't be able to find out who it is if you fire her.”