The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) (7 page)

“Nothing,” he says wearily.

I whirl around on JP. “What did she say?!”

“Uhhh… she says, why you are making sounds like a dog.”

I turn back to Dominique. “I said another word for VOMIT. I wasn’t barking.”

“She knows this,” Jean-Paul adds helpfully. “I believe she said it so she could use the word
française
for, um, how you say – bitch.”

“JP!” Grant snaps.

“Hey, she asks a question, no?” Jean-Paul protests mischievously.

Dominique just looks at me sideways and gives a knowing little smile.

You… fucking… WHORE.

I walk over to Grant, snag his arm, and tug insistently. “Can we talk for a minute?”

He resists. “I really think we should – ”

I yank as hard as I can. He gives in, following me to an open bedroom door.

“Do not have an excess of fun,” Jean-Paul calls naughtily after us.

Dominique says something in French to Grant.

“SHUT UP,” I yell at her, and slam the door closed.

“What the fuck, Grant?” I whisper angrily.

Grant gives me an amused grin. “Well, well, well.
Somebody’s
jealous.”

Now I want to punch
him
in his perfect little face.

“I’m not jealous,” I protest, a little too heatedly.

“Look, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” I protest again,
way
too heatedly.

And I’m not,
I tell myself.
Why would I be worried? I don’t have any right to be worried. We’re not married. He hasn’t promised me anything. He doesn’t owe me anything. We haven’t even talked about what ‘this’ – our relationship, if you can call it that – is. I’m not his girlfriend, he’s not my boyfriend. We can sleep with whomever we want.

I don’t voice any of that aloud, though – especially not that last sentence.

Still, the thought of him and Dominique together, naked in bed, is enough to tie my stomach into knots.

It’s kind of funny, in a fucked-up sort of way. A few hours ago I was telling myself I wasn’t in love with Grant, that I
couldn’t
fall in love with him, that I had to distance myself to keep my heart safe – and now I’m ready to get in a catfight with some slut from his past.

I don’t normally use the word ‘slut,’ by the way. But I really, really,
really
want to call that bitch in the other room the worst word I can, and I never, ever use the ‘c’ word. So ‘slut’ it is.

I try to remind myself that I don’t care, I’m footloose and fancy free, I could sleep with JP if I wanted –

Oh, God, YUCK.

I try to erase that thought from my brain.

Not that he’s ugly, mind you – just that he’s not Grant. Nowhere near him, in fact.

While I’ve been lost in my own private, tortured reverie, Grant has continued talking. “Trust me, there’s nothing between us.”

“Maybe on
your
side,” I harrumph.

“Whatever. She’s just like that.”

“What, slutty?”

Grant gives me a disappointed look. “Really?
Really.
”

I have a little inward twinge. I hate, hate,
hate
when men slut-shame, and here I am using the word as a weapon.

Even if it fits.

“Okay – trampy?” I suggest. “Vastly inappropriate? Obnoxiously forward? Sexually predatory?”

“
Flirtatious.
Besides, she and I used to date.” My anger and hurt must show on my face, because he hastily adds, “But we haven’t for years.”

“And yet you took the first opportunity you had to look her up when we’re on the run? That’s interesting.”

I’d meant for that to come out with a kind of mild irony. Instead, the words have a bitter, sarcastic core dipped in jealous venom.

Grant crosses his arms and looks at me sternly.

I sigh. He’s right, I’m being ridiculous.

Buuuut…

“Why do we need her?” I ask, trying to regain my vantage point as the sane, sensible woman I used to be just five minutes ago, before
she
walked into the room.

“Because Dom’s an amazing tightrope walker and gymnast. She’s like the best female performers in Cirque de Soleil – strong, agile, incredibly flexible.”

Greeeaaat. So she’s incredibly flexible.

In bed, too, I’ll bet.

Which starts a whole slideshow of images I don’t want to see.

I wish I had Clorox for my brain right about now.

“I don’t care how flexible she is,” I gripe. “Why do we need a gymnast?”

“Well, it’s not just that. She can do parkour – ”

“
You
can do parkour. We’ve already got somebody who can do parkour, so why do we need her?”

“We can always use another escape artist,” he says mildly.

“You’re the escape artist! You’re a cat burglar, for God’s sake! We don’t need her.”

“She has finesse. She’s probably the most graceful thief I’ve ever seen.”

I boil a little at that comment. ‘Graceful’ is not an adjective you want to hear your man say about his ex.

‘Smelly’ and ‘bad in bed’ would have been much better.

“Plus, she’s a martial artist,” Grant says. “Judo and kickboxing. Really good at it, too.”

Little Miss Dominique, she’s fucking perfect at EVERYTHING.

“I just don’t see why you’re duplicating skill sets,” I say, trying to sound logical.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s your primary objection.”

FUCKER.

I scowl. “My primary objection is that of all the thieves you could have contacted for help, you call the one ex-girlfriend you have.”

“Well… actually… she’s not the only ex I have from that particular circle of friends.”

Great.
  I imagine a legion of Dominiques, gorgeous nymphs and Amazons of all nationalities and races.

“So, just the most attractive one, huh?” I fume.

He sighs and wraps his arms around me. I struggle at first, but he holds on, overpowering me.

“Hey – hey, look at me,” he commands.

I don’t want to.

“Eve… look at me,” he says, his voice soothing.

I raise my eyes gradually to his.

“You’re the only one I want, okay?”

I want to believe him – I do –

And then he leans over and kisses me. Soft… slow… deep.

All my jealous rage drifts away as I melt into his lips.

When he ends the kiss, he smiles. “I only want you. Not her.”

Oh God. It feels so crappy being insecure… I want it to stop…

But every time I think of her, I think of how she must look naked… and how he’s
been
naked with her… how he’s made love to her…

It makes me sick. And terribly afraid of losing him.

“I still think you should ditch her,” I grouse.

“Well, you have to admit, compared with JP, she’s pretty enthusiastic about helping us.”

“Helping
you
. And I think she wants your dick as payment.”

Grant looks thoughtful. “Huh… if only I could finance all my business deals that way…”

I glare at him. “Not funny.”

He kisses me again, then whispers, “Don’t worry, you’re the only one getting paid that way. Direct deposit, baby.”

“You’re
so
romantic.”

He laughs.

“Speaking of getting paid,” I say mischievously, “JP just got a raise.”

“So you want…” He pauses, as though searching for a number. “…more dick?”

I make a face at him.

He keeps a straight face as he continues, “You know, I investigated insuring my penis with Lloyd’s of London once.”

“…what?”

It has to be a joke – right? I
know
it’s a joke, I just don’t know how it’s going to go down. (So to speak.)

“Yeah,” he says. “They estimated that when I have sex, it’s so good that every time is worth a million dollars.”

“Oh my God,” I groan. I can see where this is going.

He’s trying not to smile. “So, by that standard, considering how much sex we’ve had the last few days, I’d say you’re actually in debt to
me.
”

Yup. There it is.

“Grant?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t
be
a dick.”

He laughs. “Come on, let’s go back,” he says, and curls his arm around my waist and guides me towards the door.

“Fine,” I grumble, steeling myself to face Little Miss French Movie Star again.

“I’ll pay you as much as anybody else – you know that, right?” he asks.

The fact that he said it hurts a little.

I look up at him. “I was joking –
you
know
that,
right?”

“Yeah, I know, but… I figured there might be a little kernel of truth in there.”

“I don’t want your money, Grant,” I say, and stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him before he opens the door.

I want
you.

Your heart.

Your love.

But I don’t dare say it.

After we finish kissing, he grins. “So you don’t want the money – just the dick?”

Ughh.
Cocky bastard. (Yes, my use of ‘cocky’ is intentional.)

“Yeah,” I say facetiously. “Just the dick.”

He gets an impish gleam in his eye. “You know, as a businessman, it’s my duty to my shareholders to get the best deal on labor… and Dominique
did
say she’d help out just to be close to me again – ”

I attack his ribs with a vicious case of tickling, and he laughs as I chase him all the way back into the next room.

Once we’re back in the main room, Grant claps his hands together. “Alright, back to business.”

Dominique immediately plasters her body against his.

“Business, Dom,
business,
” Grant says, and pries her off.

She pouts at him, then throws me some shade with a sideways glance.

I just give her a self-satisfied smirk in return, and she quickly looks away.

“So, you’re both in, right?” Grant asks.

“As we discussed before Dominique
arrivé
,
oui,
” Jean-Paul says.

“Alright,” Grant says, “Dominique, after we get out of this, your cut will be ten million dollars, U.S.”

Her eyebrows shoot up.
“Vraiment?”

“Aaaaaah!” Jean-Paul exclaims angrily, his arms held out wide to his side like
What the hell are you doing?!
“You make me beg, yet you give her money because, why, she slept with you?”

“No, because you’re an asshole,” Grant snaps.

Though the line is funny, I kind of find myself (uncomfortably) siding with JP on this one.

As JP grumbles, Grant runs through the particulars. “We don’t know who Epicurus is. Finding out is the first goal. The second is we need to bring the fight to him – but we need to have the upper hand when we do.”

“What will you do when you find him?” Dominique asks. “Kill him?”

Grant hesitates. “I don’t know… I don’t think so.”

“He is a murderer.”

“I’m not,” Grant says firmly.

“Giving him to the authorities will do nothing to help with the problem of all the stolen paintings,” JP points out.

“Killing him won’t do that either.”

JP shrugs. “True…”

“So the third thing we need to figure out is how to clear my name, and Eve’s, too.”

Dominique says something in a low voice in French.

“Dom…” Grant warns her.

I don’t even want to know.

“
La solution
for Eve is simple,” JP says to Grant. “We say you have threatened her.”

“Except we have a witness who knows that he hired me to help him,” I say, thinking of my boss Dan. “And that I voluntarily accepted.”

“Uhhhh… how do you say it –
le
Syndrome de
Stockholm? Like Patty Hearst?”

“It’s the same in English: Stockholm Syndrome. But they still sent Patty Hearst to jail,” I point out.

“Eh… then we tell the truth,” JP says, and gives Grant a smile and a wink. “You seduced her with your magical cock, which no woman can resist. Eh, Dominique?”

I blush, but Dominique turns red for a different reason. She gives JP a full-on
eat merde and die
look – which she then switches to me.

I just smile and wiggle my eyebrows at her, which enrages her all the more.

“JP,” Grant barks.

“Whaaaat? I speak the truth, no?” he protests impishly.

“I’d say it’s the truth,” I offer, just to piss Dominique off some more.

Mission accomplished. A pulsing vein stands out on her otherwise perfect forehead.

Grant looks at me in irritation. “I know
he
likes to stir the pot, but I expect more out of you.”

I roll my eyes, but I do realize I’m not exactly helping the situation.

JP frowns in mock puzzlement. “What pot is this you stir? And with what?” he asks, as he begins to gyrate his hips suggestively, like he’s using his penis.

Dominique points at JP’s crotch. “You cannot stir
any
pot
adéquatement
with that – ” and here she says something in French.

Grant bursts out laughing, JP looks angry, and Dominique smiles smugly.

“What?” I ask. “What’d she say?”

“She called it a swizzle stick,” Grant answers.

JP says something angrily in French to Dominique, who answers just as loudly and just as angrily –

“PEOPLE!” Grant yells. “I’m docking your pay a million dollars every time you pull this pointless bickering shit again, you hear me?”

“Ehhh, this is fucking bullshit,” JP mutters, but he’s quiet for the rest of the planning session.

At the end of the meeting Grant asks JP if he, or one of his contacts, can get word to our families. JP says he can, and both Grant and I write out short messages about how we’re alive and not to worry. Grant includes instructions for his father to provide for a fleet of bodyguards for my parents’ safety, for which I am extremely grateful.

We start the actual work soon thereafter, when JP turns over one of his computers to me. With his help translating, I quickly reformat and get English to show up onscreen instead of French, and then I’m off to the races.