The Billionaire Heartbreaker (3 page)

He let out a derisive snort. “You sound like Bob.”

“That's because Bob knows as well as I do that you're not doing yourself any favors with your behavior. If you work with me Travis, I'll make sure that you get the paycheck—and the contract—you deserve.”

He laughed. There was a cynical edge to it that grated on her ears. “You think I'm in it for the paycheck? Obviously you didn't dig deep enough into my finances when you started investigating me.”

On the contrary, Reily knew almost too much about Travis's finances. His father's oil empire was worth billions. Even without a dime of his salary, he could live like a king. He'd inherited an obscene amount of money. The press found him interesting because he was the total package: rich, gorgeous, athletic, and most of all, irreverent. Nothing sold gossip like the person who threw up the middle finger to all of the wagging tongues and continued to do as he pleased.

“I know everything about you,” Reily stated. “Including your finances.”

A wide grin spread on Travis's lips. “So you know I sleep naked, then?”

Reily's eyes dipped of their own accord to his lean torso wrapped in the skin-tight t-shirt, and lower, past his hips to the bulge in his jeans. Heat rose to her cheeks and she averted her gaze, but it was too late for damage control. In his deep chuckle, it was obvious he knew exactly how he affected her.

“It's statements like that that get you into trouble, Travis.”

“Statements like that have worked pretty damn well for me in the past.”

So smug. Reily pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and forced her gaze to remain on his face. “That's another thing. You're going to have to learn discretion when it comes to your dates. Especially the ones that you might be … um … inclined to hire for their services.”

Travis's gaze darkened, the brilliant hazel seeming to become more green than brown. Beautiful. And, at the same time, a little intimidating. His jaw squared as he sat back in his chair and regarded her with a serious expression. “Anything else I'm not allowed to do, Mom?”

No longer playful, and nowhere near charming, Travis's eyes bored into hers. She sensed the fun and games were through for the day, which was fine with her. This was business after all. If he didn't like what she'd said to him, too damned bad. She was being paid to fix him, and that's what she was going to do.

“Yeah, go to bed at a decent hour,” she said. “And no bars or clubs, and no drinking.”

Travis continued to drill her with the intensity of his hazel stare. “So basically no fun, no living my life. Just sit on a shelf until the Stars are ready to take me down and use me.”

“Meet me at Forty Five Ten at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.” Reily doubted Travis had ever shopped at any of the downtown boutiques. His outfit today looked like it had been in his closet for a decade. “
Don't
be late. We'll start there.” Reily refused to give him the satisfaction of an argument. She slid one of her business cards toward him and he swiped it from the desk. “In the meantime, call if you need anything or have any questions.”

“Whatever.” Travis pushed himself up from his chair and raked his fingers through the tangles of his dark hair. “Is there a secret back alley you want me to sneak out of when I leave? Or is it alright for the paparazzi to see me in my t-shirt and jeans?”

He'd gone from charming, to snarky, to downright brooding in a couple minutes flat. Reily could have softened the edge, but that wouldn't do him any good in the long run. “The front entrance is fine,” she replied as though she hadn't heard the snark in his tone. “I'll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

Their eyes met and held for a long moment before he turned and left her office without another word. Funny, it seemed as though the mention of him paying for a date was what had triggered his broody behavior. For someone who didn't seem to care what anyone thought, his reaction had been a little unexpected.

Maybe there was more to Travis Christensen than met the eye. As she watched him leave, Reily found herself dying to find out.

Three

Travis stared up at the sign that read Forty Five Ten, his jaw clenched so tight that he felt his molars grind. He'd slept all of about ten minutes the previous night and not because he'd been partying or enjoying himself. For the most part, nothing ever got under his skin, but yesterday, Reily Martin's words had managed to burrow like a tick. Travis knew what people—not to mention the press and his own damn team manager—assumed about him. And he'd never bothered setting the record straight. In fact, on more than one occasion he'd perpetuated the rumors. But hearing her say it had bothered him a hell of a lot more than he thought it would.

Not once in his life had he ever paid for a woman's company.

He could get a date on his own just fine, thank you very much. Sure, “date” was sort of stretching it. Travis hooked-up. He played around. He hadn't had a serious girlfriend in … hell, he'd never had a serious girlfriend.

His wild ways had never embarrassed Travis. He lived his life the way he wanted and it's not like he didn't know what was important. His family—his brothers and his nieces—took top priority. Something the press had failed to acknowledge. No one ever pointed out his good points, only his faults. But since the gossip mongers didn't matter, Travis ignored them for the most part. So why did the opinion Reily had formed of him sting so badly? Why did he give a single shit what she thought?

“You look like a man about to begin a life-long prison sentence. It's just a boutique, Travis.”

The sound of Reily's warm, honeyed voice sent a shiver up Travis's spine. He tucked the pleasant sensation away and said, “Do I look like the sort of guy who shops at a boutique?”

“That's the point. No more clothes that make you look like you just rolled out of your bed in the dorm. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, ‘Dress for the job you want, not the job you have?'”

A smile curved Travis's lips as he turned to face her. “I already dress for the job I want
and
have. I play hockey for a living. Not exactly a white-collar gig.”

“Nice try, but that's no excuse.” Reily pursed her lips and pushed her glasses up on her nose. Damn, that uptight stuffy look of hers was really starting to grow on him. “Come on, no more moping around outside. Time to go in.”

Travis might have to cooperate in order to keep his place on the ice, but he didn't have to like this dog and pony show. Reily expected him to play along, let her lead him around by a ring in his nose while she dressed him and shaped him like a raw lump of clay. Did she really think a few fancy outfits and a haircut would be enough to change him?

He reached for the door and swung it wide. “After you.”

Reily cut him at look. She hesitated as she started for the door as though she didn't quite trust him behind her. Travis's gaze wandered down the slender length of her back, hugged tight by a crisp, white dress shirt, over the flare of her hips to the roundness of her ass, accentuated by her skin tight, skinny-legged slacks. He wondered what she'd do if he reached out and swatted that tempting roundness. It would be worth it to see her blue eyes widen behind the rims of her large glasses and her mouth pucker in that scandalized expression.

Reily turned to face him, one dark brow arched curiously. “Not thinking of running are you?”

Travis shook himself from his reverie, only now noticing that she was already halfway through the boutique while he was still standing there with the door wide open as he stared at her.

Damn
. The woman had an ass that could make him forget where he was and what he was doing.

“Running?” Travis asked as he strode through the door. “Not a chance.” Nope, he wasn't going anywhere. Not when he had a full day of pushing Reily's buttons ahead of him.

They were greeted by an over-styled, over-made-up woman who looked to be in her late twenties.
Snore
. He thought her name was Patrice … or something. She chatted with Reily as though they were good friends and while they caught up on whatever it was power hungry, uptight control freaks talked about, he took a look around the trendy clothing store, which wasn't much bigger than his media room.

This place
so
wasn't his scene. The jeans Travis wore today were probably five years old and he couldn't even remember where he'd bought them. Paired with a Stars t-shirt and the Nikes he wore when he ran, he didn't exactly scream wealthy sophistication. But that was sort of the point. Travis didn't flaunt his wealth and he didn't want people's opinions of him to be formed because of it. Reily had been hired to turn him into something he wasn't and it left a sour taste in his mouth. If he didn't love his job so much, he would have told Bob and Scott and anyone else who had a problem with him right where they could stick it….

“Travis, this is Patrice Walker.” Reily and Patrice both took a step toward him. He gave the other woman a wan smile as he shook her hand. “She's a stylist, and Dallas's elite line up for an opportunity for her to dress them.”

“What? They can't dress themselves?” Travis asked with a snort. A wicked smile curved his lips as he let the register of his voice go lower. “I've been able to use a zipper since I was four, but if you think I need help, I won't stop you.”

Patrice's mouth puckered into a wry grin and her gaze heated. Reily, on the other hand, looked as though her head was going to explode right off of her shoulders. Travis couldn't get enough of that scandalized expression. The more outraged Reily looked, the more outrageously Travis wanted to behave. A bloom of color painted her cheeks, and her dark lashes fringed her narrowed eyes. A wide grin curved his lips and he swore he could hear the steam boiling between her ears. She cleared her throat and let out a slow sigh before turning her attention to Patrice.

“We need casual, business, business casual, and formal. We can go heavier on the casual for now, but we've got to get him out of those faded jeans and t-shirt.”

She almost made it too damned easy. “If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, Reily, all you had to do was ask.”

Her eyes narrowed even further and Travis wondered if she could see him at all. He swallowed down the laughter that bubbled in his throat. Getting a reaction out of her was quickly becoming his new favorite pastime.

“Neckties, but no bowties,” she said to Patrice as though he wasn't even there. “Slacks, dress shirts. At least two three-piece suits. Probably a couple of pairs of loafers.” She looked down at his tennis shoes. “Better make that three.”

“I like tennis shoes,” Travis interrupted.

“How about a pair of motorcycle boots?” Patrice suggested. “I've got a pair of Aquatalia biker boots that would go great with the right pair of jeans.”

Reily looked him up and down. Travis suspected that the slow appraisal was meant to intimidate him somehow but all her attentive gaze managed to do was heat his blood. Travis's heart beat a mad rhythm in his chest and he didn't move a single muscle as she looked him over.

“No…” Reily said after a moment. “Motorcycle boots are only going to enhance what we're trying to temper. Let's stick with the loafers for now.”

Crash. And. Burn. It appeared that what most women found appealing about him, Reily wanted to cover up and hide. Was there anything about him that she actually liked? His stomach twisted into a knot as he reminded himself that it was her job to turn him into the exact opposite of what he was. If that wasn't enough to stomp on his ego, Travis didn't know what was.

*   *   *

The thought of Travis decked out in a pair of tight designer jeans and motorcycle boots caused a bloom of warmth to erupt in Reily's stomach. His body was a work of art with bold lines and powerful curves that worked against each other and in tandem at the same time. Travis was like a Picasso: beauty created from shape and form.

Reily wasn't surprised that Travis was trying to goad her into a reaction. She'd pushed him and she fully expected him to push back. What she hadn't been prepared for was the way Patrice undressed him with her eyes—and the way it made the hackles rise on Reily's neck.

The woman was a professional for Pete's sake! And right now, Patrice seemed more interested in devouring Travis with her gaze than properly outfitting him. Then again, with Travis's unabashed flirting, no doubt Patrice was thinking about dressing him. In a very hands-on manner.

This job was going to be the death of her.

“We've got a long day ahead, Patrice,” Reily said. “It might be a good idea to get started.”

The stylist snapped to and smoothed a hand over the length of her blond hair. “Sure. I've got several things picked out already. I don't see any reason why we shouldn't get started. Travis,” she directed her attention back to where it wanted to wander and Reily swallowed down a snort. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“How ‘bout a beer?”

His gaze slid to Reily when he said it and the corner of his mouth hitched with amusement. She felt her own lips thin as she cut him a look. “We'll be working on good decision making skills today as well, I guess. It's nine-thirty in the morning, Travis.”

“Hey, hair of the dog and all that…” He turned and winked at Patrice. “I'll take a cup of coffee if you have it.”

She smiled. “How do you take it?”

He grinned back, though his gaze slid once again to Reily. “Sweet and blond.”

Good lord. Did the man have an off switch?

“Got it,” Patrice's voice went low and husky as she headed for the back room.

Reily rounded on Travis, her jaw so tense she thought it might crack from the strain of speaking. “Seriously?”