Tempting the Billionaire (5 page)

F
our a.m. was early. “Stupid early,” as her dad called it. But Crickitt managed to rise even if she didn’t shine. A cup and a half of coffee later, she was reasonably certain she’d buttoned her shirt properly.

She’d just finished brushing her teeth when a knock came from her front door. She gave her puffy reflection one last glance before swiping a dash of soft pink gloss across her lips and hurrying to get it.

Shane stood on her front porch in the waning moonlight, looking too good for six in the morning. Pressed suit, polished shoes, hair styled in damp waves.

“Good morning.” He flashed her a billionaire-worthy smile, one that had her thankful for the sturdiness of the door frame. “I thought you might need this.” He held out a paper coffee cup, a familiar green logo emblazoned on one side. “I called Keena to find out your regular order. Caramel soy latte with extra whipped cream.”

She accepted the cup, speechless for a second. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, I aim to please,” he said with a grin.

There was a distracting thought. “Um…do you want to come in while I grab my things?”

“Sure.” Shane stepped into her apartment, and she instantly regretted inviting him in. He looked out of place among her secondhand treasures, like a fine work of art at a garage sale.

He followed her into the living room, eyeing her furniture as he sipped his coffee. She tucked the manila folder into her canvas mailbag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

“No tour?” he asked.

She clutched the strap of her bag, flicking a longing look at her front door. “Oh, you don’t want to see my little place,” she said, intimidated by the idea of showing it to him. She could imagine what his house looked like. He probably lived in a sprawling mansion filled with fine rugs and leather furniture, and art costing a hundred times her salary.

“You don’t want to show it to me?” He picked up a small porcelain chimpanzee covering his eyes with his hands. Gesturing to its mate, a chimpanzee covering his ears, he asked, “Where’s Speak No Evil?”

“Missing,” she said.

“Hmm.” He set the ape back on the shelf. “Have you tried milk cartons?”

There it was again, his playful side. “Not yet,” she said through a soft laugh. “They’re from the seventies, I think. I found the two of them at a thrift store a long time ago, but I have yet to locate the third. I check eBay every once in a while, and yard sales, but”—she shrugged—“no luck.”

“Why not toss them and buy a new, complete set?”

Crickitt lifted her chin. “They’re not worthless just because they’re incomplete.” Besides, they’d been with her for a dozen years, had survived three moves and any clumsy attempt she’d made to dust around them. Which was more than she could say for her ex-husband. She plucked the figurine from Shane’s hand, ignoring the tingle in her fingers as she brushed against his skin. “I’ll find him one day,” she murmured quietly.

Shane took a leisurely gander around her living room before stopping on her face. She shifted on her feet but refused to look away. “We have a few minutes,” he said. “You sure about that tour?”

Ten minutes later they were in the limousine on their way to Columbus. “I don’t get it,” Shane said. He sat in the seat facing her, his back to the privacy panel shutting out the driver.

“What don’t you get?” Crickitt wrung her hands. What comment would he have about her hodgepodge apartment? Her decorating style ranged from contemporary to country, the embodiment of a patchwork quilt. There was a charcoal sketch of a bowl of fruit in her kitchen, an oversize black-and-white James Dean poster in her bathroom, and her guest bedroom was a homage to wicker furniture. She’d bet he couldn’t choose which room to be most appalled by.

“You get a soy milk latte with whipped cream,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, taking a moment to shift gears. “I do.”

“Why do you do that?”

“I don’t like milk, unless it’s whipped cream.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I got a strange glance from the barista this morning.”

She blinked at the cup in her hand. “
You
picked up the coffee?”

“Yeees.”

“I thought you had people to do that for you.” Isn’t that what rich people did? Hire others to run their errands?

“People?” he asked, bemused. “Well, every once in a while I stoop to do my own bidding.”

Great. Now she’d offended him. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, Crickitt, I know you didn’t.” He watched her for a beat, lips twitching, before he popped open his briefcase and extracted a pile of paperwork.

They lapsed into comfortable silence, Crickitt watching out of the tinted windows as Shane worked. Every once in a while he’d make a deep sound in his throat. It usually paired with him pinching his eyebrows together. Then he’d make a few scratches on the paper in front of him and continue to read, his thumb and finger pressed on either side of his bottom lip.

Watching him made the ride worthwhile. How often could she stare at him without worrying a co-worker might catch her ogling? Not often enough. He lifted his head and she flicked her eyes away.

Busted.

Fidgeting with the strap on her bag, she watched the buildings and cars pass by her window.

“You’re making me feel self-conscious,” he said. “Am I doing something strange?”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you just looking at me?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all.”

“You’d tell me if I had any weird habits, right?”

“Uh…”

The limo came to a stop, and Shane ducked his head to look out the window. “We’re here.”

After a small-town-diner-worthy breakfast and more coffee, Shane reviewed the details for their first meeting. “We don’t have to go over the file here if it’s too distracting. We can get a coffee to go, read it in the car if you like.”

“Can’t,” she said.

“You can’t what, read?” he joked.

“Not in the car,” she said.

“Ah. Well, in that case, let’s hang out and make the waitress’s day.”

At first she thought he was being facetious. “Hanging out” would clog up the young girl’s table. She’d miss tips from new customers. Crickitt opened her mouth to tell him so, when the waitress stopped to refill their coffee mugs.

“Excuse me, Debbie, is it?” Shane asked her.

“Yes,” Debbie said, pointing at her name tag.

Shane made small talk, asking Debbie about her job, how long she’d worked there, if she liked it. Crickitt watched as the young waitress succumbed to his charm. By the time Debbie had divulged that her full-time job made it harder to be a good mom to her three-year-old, Crickitt could see he’d won her over. Debbie couldn’t be more than twenty, twenty-one, tops. And while Crickitt guessed single motherhood was difficult at any age, she couldn’t imagine going it alone that young.

“Bear with me.” Shane flashed Debbie a heart-melting smile. “This is a personal question, but I’m an investor and I’d love an honest answer.”

“All right.” Debbie gave him a small smile that suggested if her heart wasn’t melting, it was at least warming. She rested her free hand on her hip, elevating the coffeepot in the other. “Shoot.”

“Do you rent or own?”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “Own? I wish. I don’t have the credit, or the cash, to buy a house. I rent an apartment.”

“And your rent per month is…?”

“Six seventy-five.”

“Nice place?” Shane asked.

“Not really,” Debbie said with a humorless laugh.

“Roommates?”

Her smile vanished. “Not anymore,” she bit out.

Crickitt wondered if her former “roommate” was her son’s father. There was definite determination in the way she shot out her chin. “It’s just me and my son,” Debbie said with an assertive nod.

“I appreciate it, Debbie,” Shane said after mentioning he’d enjoyed breakfast. “Thank you for the coffee and for your honesty. You’ve helped me a great deal with my next endeavor.”

Debbie left their table and Crickitt waited for Shane to explain. He didn’t, only tapped the open file in front of her. “Come on, you’ve got another forty-five minutes to bone up.” Then he leaned back in the booth and sipped his coffee as if he hadn’t just had an odd and slightly invasive conversation with a total stranger.

When the check came a half hour later, she was surprised to see Shane pull out cash.

“Shouldn’t you charge that and write it off?” she asked, having been accustomed to doing so for her own business.

“Not today.” His mouth lifted mischievously as he counted out ten one-hundred-dollar bills and one twenty. He folded them into the black book on the table and slid it to the edge.

Their breakfast and a twenty percent tip would have been more than covered by the lesser bill. A moment later, Debbie came by to pick up the book. “Change?”

“No, thank you. Keep it. You know, for that nice apartment of yours,” Shane said with a smile and a wink that would most likely be the most charming Debbie would see all day. Maybe all week.

Debbie laughed and rolled her eyes, probably imagining an extra four or five bucks hidden behind the vinyl cover, then she headed to tend to her other guests.

“So you weren’t just taking a random poll?”

“I don’t do anything randomly,” Shane said with a lift of his brow. He slid out of the booth, stealing a glance over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“But…” Crickitt looked down at the scattered papers.

“Hurry,” Shane whispered, helping her fill the manila folder as swiftly as if they were fleeing the scene of a crime. Crickitt shoved the folder and pen into her canvas bag as Shane grasped her free hand and towed her to the door. As they walked through it, Crickitt turned to catch a glimpse of Debbie standing statue still in the center of the restaurant, her hand pressed to her chest as she stared at the “tip” Shane left her.

“Come on.” He tugged her to the limo parked out front. The second they were outside Crickitt registered Shane’s long fingers wrapped around hers. Warmth between their palms sizzled her nerve endings. She squeezed his fingers, savoring the opportunity to be close to him, the excuse to touch him. Shane spared her a glance as they descended on the limo, slowing his frantic pace long enough to flash her a wry half smile. Was he thinking the same thing?

The driver poked his head out the driver’s side door, but Shane waved him off. “I got it, Thomas.”

He held on to Crickitt’s hand until she was safely inside, then climbed in and took the seat facing hers. Shane rapped on the privacy glass and Thomas pulled into the light traffic.

At first, Shane looked like a kid who dropped off a tire swing into an ice-cold lake. But as the restaurant grew farther away, his grin emerged. Lifting thick eyebrows in a show of relief, he said, “That was close.”

“She would have thanked you if you hung around,” Crickitt said, barely repressing a chuckle. “I saw her face, she was—”

“No, don’t tell me.” Shane held up a hand. “The goal is
not
to be thanked.”

“There’s a goal? Is this, like, a game?”

“Sort of. Ever heard of Dine and Dash, where you go out to eat and run out without paying your tab?”

“No,” Crickitt said, appalled. “Do people do that?”

Shane offered a somber smile. “My mom was a waitress when she met my dad, happened to her a few times. Anyway, I like to do what I call Dine and
Cash
, where you run out after paying someone’s rent.”

“Much better.”

He shrugged, but his smile was genuine.

What Shane had done for a perfect stranger was beyond sweet, it was downright admirable. But the seed of doubt that had recently taken root in the back of her mind had begun to flower. She had to know, had to be sure he hadn’t hired her only so he could tick off a box under the Charitable Giving section of his tax forms.

“Do you only do it for waitresses?” Crickitt asked before she could rethink it.

Shane cocked his head. “Sorry?”

She swallowed. Cleared her throat. “Is that why you helped me?”

“No.” He answered immediately, the look on his face intently serious. “And by the way,
I’m
the one who needed help, not the other way around.”

She allowed herself a shaky smile at the idea of being needed. Maybe because she’d been overlooked for so long.

He leaned his elbows on his knees and met her eye. “I hired you because you’re qualified. You’re paid well because you deserve it. Never let anyone tell you differently.”

She looked at her lap, unable to hold his unflinching gaze. “I believe you.”

“Good.” He reached forward to pat her hand before settling back into his seat.

She lifted her head. “That was pretty impressive, by the way.”

“Well, you’re lucky,” he said, lowering one eyelid into a wink that sent her pulse racing. “I only do that to impress my new assistants.”

T
heir morning meeting was with a man in his late forties launching a tattoo shop. And if Crickitt thought Shane was too polished to talk to a goateed, bald, bare-chested man in a leather biker vest, he proved her wrong in the space of a few minutes.

Crickitt had already assumed Shane was passionate about entrepreneurs, but seeing him in action was like watching a bird take flight. Natural, easy. Shane’s enthusiasm shone in every hand gesture, every answer, and through every assurance he made. When Shane vowed to do what it took to help the man become successful, all three of them knew he meant it.

After the meeting, they stepped outside the shop and Shane lifted his ringing cell phone to his ear. “August.”

Crickitt paused, taking in the truncated exchange.

“Yes. No problem,” he said, gazing in her direction. “Absolutely. See you then.”

He pocketed his phone as the driver opened the door for them. “Thomas, I’ll need you to work late tonight. Does Darcy have you booked?”

Thomas gave Shane a pained smile. “Tango lessons. I’d be glad to stay and work late.”

Shane chuckled and palmed the older man’s shoulder. “Excellent. Find a place we can loiter for a bit, will you?”

Shane ushered Crickitt into the limo. Once inside, he said, “Townsend pushed our meeting to five thirty. I realize you expected to be done working by then. I can have Thomas take you home. If we leave now, I can still make it back in time for the meeting.”

Crickitt frowned. It was a superfluous amount of driving simply to see her home. “I’m sure a four-hour round-trip isn’t the best use of your time.”

“I can read in the car. There’s no shortage of what I could learn,” he said with a grin. “It’s your call. I don’t expect you to stick around. You wouldn’t get back to Osborn until late tonight and I don’t want to break up your plans.”

Plans. Yeah, right. Her big Friday-night plans involved pajamas, a DVD, and eating out of a paper container of some sort. No, she’d prefer to spend the evening with her impressively capable boss, even if her reasons were bordering on unprofessional. Or stalkerish. “I’d like to stay,” she said, tacking on, “and meet Townsend.”

“Good,” he said, and she could swear he looked relieved.

Shane was relieved.

Henry Townsend was an important, if not
the
most important, client August Industries had. But as much as Shane loved the thrill of landing a new account, of helping a business owner see his dreams come to fruition, the lengthy drive and downtime were significantly less thrilling. He usually filled the hours with solo lunches or reading dry stock reports.

It was nice not to be alone, and Crickitt was good company. She pushed a curl away from her face and pinned him with serene blue eyes. Okay, she wasn’t
just
good company. He liked her. Liked the way she asked questions and was genuinely interested in his answers. Liked the way she waited for the right moment to interrupt him when he was deep in thought. She was good for him.

As his assistant, he reminded himself, glancing down at his folded hands.

Now that he thought about it, he doubted she’d want to spend the afternoon pinned up in the limo reading bland reports. He was already tying up her evening. “What would you like to do today?” he asked. “Art museum? Shopping? We have several hours before Townsend.”

He’d surprised her. Her eyes widened and her brows elevated in the cutest, startled expression.

“Or we could work?” he said, wondering if he’d miscalculated her after all.

“You’re paying me. It’s your call.”

Shane nearly flinched. He hoped she hadn’t stayed out of some misplaced sense of obligation. He wanted her to want to be here with him. Which wasn’t something he should allow himself to want at all. This was a business trip. He was her boss. It wasn’t a weekend trip filled with sightseeing, shopping, and dinner at Skyview.

Man, he’d like to take her to dinner again. A real dinner, one without interview questions and ending with a kiss good night.

You hired her. You can’t date her.

Tamping down his out-of-place disappointment, he tried again. “Since you’ll be working late, you have the middle of the day to yourself. Thomas can drop you off somewhere. Like the mall, or…a shoe store?”

Crickitt twisted her lush lips into a grimace. “Ugh. I hate shopping.”

A woman who hated to shop? He’d never met one. “What do you like to do?”

She shrugged, considering his question. “Watch movies.”

He recalled her apartment, the stacks of DVDs in her living room, the pile of plastic cases next to the TV in her bedroom. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go to a movie. Anything out you’d like to see?”

“Seriously?” Her eyebrows rose even higher. “You’re taking me to a movie? And letting me pick?”

“Oh, no. You’re going to drag me to a girly movie, aren’t you? Like…” He was reaching here, trying to grasp the title of the last movie he’d seen with a woman. “
Steel Magnolias
or…
Beaches
?”

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen a movie, hasn’t it? Both of those are nearly as old as we are.”

“I admit I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“Too busy being successful, I guess,” she supplied.

She was right. Unless it promoted a healthier bottom line, he didn’t do it. And a movie midday when he could be on the phone with clients? Unheard of.

But it was important Crickitt enjoy herself today. And he wasn’t about to suggest she go to a movie theater alone. It would be good for him to loosen up, have a bit of unscheduled fun.

Fifteen minutes later, Thomas pulled to a stop in front of Regal Cinemas. Shane and Crickitt stepped out as a passing mother and her young daughter paused to gape at the limo.

Crickitt didn’t seem to mind the attention, waving at the towheaded girl. “Neat, huh?”

The girl smiled, then hid her face in her mother’s skirt.

Inside, he perused the movie titles on the marquee board, each one as foreign as the next.

Crickitt studied the board carefully, as if choosing a stock for her investment portfolio.

“What looks good?” he asked.

She turned to him, her face flushing. “Truth? I really want to see
Creep
.”

“
Creep
,” he repeated, clueless. “What is that about? Abusive boyfriend? Maniacal ex-husband?”

“No,” she said, drawing out the word. “It’s about these snakelike creatures that live in a lake and eat the locals.”

He didn’t hide his shock. “Horror movie?”

“I’m sort of a junkie.”

“If you’re sure you won’t have nightmares, let’s do it.”

He followed Crickitt to a row midway up the theater. She pushed the seat flat, juggling her drink and purse as she sat. Shane sat next to her, cradling an enormous bucket of popcorn he’d insisted on buying since he hadn’t been in a movie theater in years. But as he eased into the seat, it wasn’t the buttery snack that dominated his senses. It was Crickitt’s edible body spray that made her skin smell like dessert and heaven all rolled into one. He hadn’t been close enough to her today to notice, but he did now. Her neck was
right there
. Along with that little freckle he’d singled out the night they were at Triangle.

“Thanks for the popcorn, boss,” she said, reaching over to scoop up a handful.

Boss.
There was a rude awakening.

He should stop staring, and salivating. Using the bucket as a chaperone, he shoved it between them. He hadn’t thought this through. A movie theater midday? He and Crickitt were alone in the darkened room, save for the few souls scattered several rows behind and in front of them. If that wasn’t bad enough, she brushed his fingers with hers as she reached for another handful of popcorn.

She slanted him a glance, but the lights dimmed before he could think of something to say.

For the next hour and a half, he had a hard time keeping his eyes up front. And not because the on-screen monsters had three rows of razor-sharp fangs and, by some imaginative twist, moved as fast on land as they did in water. No, Shane had a hard time keeping his eyes focused on the screen because the woman next to him, who smelled like the sexiest birthday cake on the planet, had clutched his arm twice.
Twice.
She’d offered a whispered apology both times, blaming the movie, but he hadn’t minded.

He hadn’t minded at all.

By the end, she’d curled into the fetal position, heels on the edge of her seat, arms around her knees. The look of utter terror on her face made him want to comfort her, but he stopped short of wrapping his arm around her shoulders. That would be…wrong. And weird.

He should’ve tried to talk her into the pirate movie.

The credits rolled and lights rose. Crickitt finally unhinged her shoulders from her ears.

“I thought you
liked
horror movies,” Shane said, gauging her reaction.

She spun on him, eyes wide. “I do.” She dropped her feet to the sticky floor as her face split into a childlike grin. “Wasn’t it great?”

He gave her a bemused chuckle. “Great?”

“Yeah. Half the fun is being afraid. Did you like it at all?”

“It was…okay.”

“Were you scared?” She lifted one eyebrow in challenge.

“No way.” He tilted his head. “Then again, they did remind me of a team of lawyers I used to employ,” he said, deliberately shuddering.

Her warm laugh tugged at the center of his chest. He could get used to that sound, especially if he was the one to draw it out of her. When was the last time being around a woman was this effortless?

“I can’t see you being intimidated by lawyers,” Crickitt said, standing from her seat. “You,” she gestured to him, “are Shane August, saver of lost entrepreneurial souls.”

He grinned, flattered. “Funny, I just ordered a plaque with that on it.”

He let her go ahead of him, following her down the narrow staircase toward the exit. He raised his palm but stopped short of pressing it against her back. Side by side, they entered the lobby, her hand brushing his as she crossed her arms over her chest. She mumbled an apology, her cheeks going a pretty tinge of pink.

Had she done it on purpose?

He found himself wanting to take her hand like he did earlier today, just to feel the warmth of her skin…but that kind of intimacy crossed the line from professional to really-bad-idea.

He balled his hand into a fist and returned it to his side, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to reach for her, bad idea or not.