Babysitting the Billionaire (12 page)

They were fashionably late. May had fretted over the
time, but Beau had said he wanted to make Edmondsson sweat, just a little.
Probably the only ones sweating were she and Sadie, May thought.

As if her thoughts had conjured her up, Sadie appeared
at her side. Her beautiful hair was forced into an Evita-tight bun at the base
of her neck, but at least her shoulders were free hovering over a navy satin
bustier.

“You’re late,” she said, looking nervously over her
shoulder.

“You look lovely, too, Miss Hawking.” Beau was as smooth
as his cummerbund. He’d shaved again, but somehow that made him look more
dangerous. He looked pointedly at May.

Sadie took the hint. “You look gorgeous, May, in that
color. Not many people can pull off such a regal purple.”

Beau nodded his approval and then looked around.
Already, nearly two hundred people swirled around, talking loud over the dulcet
murmur of a string quartet. “Somebody needed to liven up this joint. When is
the big announcement?”

Sadie’s face went cheerful-blank. May saw Beau’s lips
quirk. Now the lies would begin.

“We’re so glad you agreed to do this. And the changes
yesterday, they’re all approved, as we said in the email.”

“Which didn’t have many specifics.”

“Minor details, only.” Sadie waved the foundation’s
perfidy away with a flick of her hand. May saw a new flash on her finger.

“Sadie. Did you get engaged?”

She spread her hand out, showing a diamond in a classy
oval setting. “Last night. We had a big fight, about Mr. Kurck but really not.
I threatened to walk, and it wasn’t ’til then that I realized I really didn’t
want to. Really, really didn’t want to. And neither did she. So, I proposed.”

“You?”

“We both got rings. It was only fair.” Sadie’s grin was
nearly ear to ear, but then she seemed to remember who she was talking to. The
smile vanished, and she looked at Beau.

Who was still smiling. “Excellent. You will be very
happy together.”

Sadie’s smile crept upon her again, growing to small-sun
wattage. “She’s here, somewhere. We haven’t set a date yet. Have to wait for
Rhode Island
to make it
legal.” She looked at her hand again and then her watch. “Ten minutes, and up
in front of the stage, there. Have a drink and enjoy yourselves.”

They pulled flutes of champagne from the tray of a
passing server, and walked into the center of the hall. Triple-story high, the
ceiling sat on columns almost better suited for the outside. With the balcony
ringing the open space, it looked like an upscale version of the foundation’s
own office, without the stairs marring the effect. May wondered if that was why
Edmondsson had chosen it. Sadie had had quite the negotiation to secure the
place, and get the special permissions for drinks and food.

“What happens to all this cloth after?” Beau stroked one
of the pieces on a column. “It’s good quality.”

“The best. It’s rented. This is the same setup as for
the last inaugural ball here. But don’t tell the boss, please.”

“So long as the food isn’t from the last inauguration.”
He reached for one of the wooden skewers of chicken satay a server was offering
up. He bit over the stick halfway down the little strip of saucy chicken,
pulling the rest of the piece toward the end of the stick before biting half
off. Then he held the stick out to her. She locked her gaze with his as she opened
her mouth and leaned in, pulling the meat off the stick gently with her teeth.
He growled, low in his throat.

“Ten minutes,” she teased.

“They should play dance music, so I can touch you.
Looking at you is sweet torture.”

She licked her lips, smiling as his hips moved in that
way. “I could use some more champagne.”

“How about something stronger? You might need it.”

The bars were set up on the sides, under the balconies.
They headed for the far side, with fewer customers.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re going to do.”

“That’s because I’m going to vamp.”

“Is that a good plan?”

“I really wish you had a dress like Miss Hawking’s. I
miss your breasts.”

“Don’t distract me. Besides, you have the whole of my
back.” The halter-style dress had only a band behind her neck, leaving all bare
to the base of her spine, covered only by her frothy shawl.

“How could I forget?”

She shook her head at him. “White, please.”

He got himself a red wine. They walked in the relative
quiet of the under-hang until May saw Sadie gesturing to them from the stage.
She pointed her out to Beau.

“Showtime,” he said. Setting their glasses aside, he
twined his fingers in hers and walked toward the base of the stage. But he
didn’t stop there.

Taking the stairs quickly, he strode straight to Sadie
and her microphone. Before she had a chance to call for quiet, he had the mic—and
the floor.

“Friends, friends,” he said, and May watched the
transformation from crazy-quiet inventor Beau to multimillionaire
crowd-pleasing Beau Kurck. He seemed a foot taller, his voice a quarter-octave
lower. And the crowd, jaded politicos and do-gooders alike, fell silent so
quickly that the only sound was the stomp of Markus Edmondsson, racing to the
center of the stage. He must have been behind the scenes, waiting for his cue,
like usual.

Beau ignored him and started in. “For those who don’t
know me, I’m Beau Kurck, the creator of those pesky penguins that drive your
kids batty.” He waited for the titters to fade. “I want to thank the Penguin
Foundation, especially Markus Edmondsson, for inviting me here today.” Now he
nodded and smiled toward the blond man, who’d skidded to a halt beside Sadie.
Red-faced and vibrating visibly, Edmondsson slowly nodded and bared his teeth
in a shadow of a smile.

“When he told me of his idea, to build one last
expeditionary team and send it to
Antarctica
,
I was skeptical, I have to say. But then he explained it wasn’t just for glory,
but to save the planet. Because if we could show people how changes in the
climate were killing these adorable birds, they might understand that it
affects all the planet, including us. Brilliant.” Beau held up his hands and
started clapping. May copied him, and the crowd, well-trained from decades of
State of the Union speeches and other functions, followed along.

Edmondsson’s face was purpling, but he did that smile
thing again and made a little queenish wave. Then he lunged for the microphone.

Beau turned away from him, toward the crowd, and held up
his hand. “But this is the truly brilliant part. Revolutionary. Markus here
plans to let the world in on the adventure. Through video, audio, interactive
media, every person on the planet can follow along on the adventure. Apps and
games can show the route, and maybe teach a thing or two, as well. You never
know.” That one didn’t deserve a laugh, but it got one.

“Markus has so inspired me with this idea that I have
agreed to fund the expedition on the ground. We’ll be asking folks to chip in
for the interactive features, and I hope you’ll want to help us out. It’s been
a dream of mine to be of benefit to the adorable creatures that helped me buy
my house. Houses,” he said, to another cheap laugh. “And to show how committed
I am, Markus has agreed to let me lead the adventure. Together we’ll choose the
team, and he’ll anchor us here in DC.”

Edmondsson’s mouth was closed so tightly May was afraid
he’d crack his teeth. She’d pay for this on Monday, if not tonight.

She stepped back, but Beau still had her hand and
stopped her movement just long enough to realize everything had changed. She
had nothing to fear.

“Let’s raise a toast.” He signaled to the servers, who
had been well-prepared by Sadie and didn’t know the difference. “To Markus!”

“And the penguins!” a woman’s voice called out.
The senator’s
?

After much clinking of glassware, Beau made to hand over
the microphone to Edmondsson, but seemed to think better of it, and pulled it
back. “Is that Senator Lindell I hear?”

“It is,” she called out.

He laughed, not really a real laugh. “You know, I’m
feeling so good. I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told anyone.
Do you want to know why those Pesky Penguins are penguins and not, say, toucans
or parakeets or some other bird?”

A buzz started in the audience. To be the first to know!
A Washingtonian’s dream.

“Yes? Well then, it was all because I had a crush on a
pretty American girl who’d come over to
Finland
as part of an exchange
program. She made me take her to the zoo, and went on and on about the
penguins. She knew so much about them! She was so impressed by how clever they
were, and how committed to each other. They mate for life, you know. But one
thing she was not impressed by was me.”

“I was a bit of a—how do you say?—slacker, right? A
lazy-ass. And she had plans, and dreams, and well, you know how it goes.”

“But I never forgot her, or her blasted penguins. And
when we needed a cute but not-too-cute animal to boomerang all over creation,
what did I come up with? You guessed it. And have you guessed the girl, as
well? Senator Lindell, what do you say?”

Heads swiveled, looking for the petite senator. The
spotlight found her by the time she was in the front of the room. Beaming that
TV-melting smile, she stepped onto the stage and gave Beau a big politico hug.
Then she took the microphone.

Edmondsson had gone still, a deer frozen in the social
headlights. Sadie’s eyes were wide. The senator nodded to them both.

“Beau, Beau, Beau. What can I say? I was blind.” She
mimed a face palm, and the crowd chuckled. “If only all our unrequited loves
could grow into such successes, we would never need bailouts.” Half the crowd
tittered.

“But I do love penguins, and I’ve been a longtime
supporter of the Foundation. In fact, my fiancée, Sadie, works for them. Don’t
you, dear?”

May could not believe her ears. The Senator had outed
herself, here?

The room went silent as if no one else could believe it,
either. Then phones started snapping out of pockets and purses as people rushed
to be the first to get this bombshell out. The Senator took a shell-shocked
Sadie by the hands and kissed her briefly on the lips. At least two dozen
camera flashes went off.

The Senator led Sadie off the stage, front, and people started
crowding around them. Beau clicked the mic off. He stepped forward to hand it
to Edmondsson, but the other man turned and stalked off. Beau shrugged.

“He wanted some publicity, didn’t he?”

May wanted to jump up and down, and then realized she
was already, and stopped.

“That story about the penguins and the senator, that’s
not really true, is it?”

“You doubt a well-told story? Sure, it’s true. I tried
cranes first, because of my name, you know, but they bombed in the focus
groups. But everybody loved the penguins.”

“Lucky break for them.”

“And for me.”

“And for me.” May followed him off the stage, suddenly
shy. “Can I apply for the job, then?”

“Which job?”

“Whatever you call it. Media specialist.”

“Sure. Just send a letter and your c.v. to my
assistant.”

“Your assistant? When I have your own email address?”

“That address is only for people seeking the other open
position.” He leaned in and whispered, “You might consider applying for that
one, as well.”

May smiled to herself. “Personal assistant?”

“Partner.”

Her heart swelled, but her head shut it down. “We’re so
far apart.”

“We’ll be together for the expedition. If we can figure
out how to survive that, we can figure out anything.”

He had a point. And he had her heart, as well as her
hand, warm in his. May suddenly remembered the boulder that had been on top of
her heart. It wasn’t there anymore.

The man beside her waited, his attention wholly on her.
She luxuriated in it. She could get used to this. “Then I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. Now let’s go somewhere we can really dance.”
He started for the stairs, but she pulled him to a stop.

“Just a minute.” May stepped from the stair to the stage
again, looking for Sadie. The couple had made it only as far as the middle of
the room. Sadie was smiling, but her eyes were suspiciously shimmery, too.

“All’s well?”

“Perfect.”

****

Seven months later

“Take a look at this.” Sadie pushed the tablet into
Jane’s hand, not the one waving the toast over the countertop but the clean
one.

“Another video? If it’s not Senate business I have no
time for it. And this marmalade sucks.”

“Three minutes. And the marmalade is same as ever. It’s early
menopause that sucks, sweetie.”