The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery
Read The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery Online
Authors: Mia Caldwell
© 2015 Mia Caldwell
All Rights Reserved. This book or
any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is
purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s
imagination.
Please note that this work is
intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as
18 or over.
Kindle Edition
This
book is dedicated to my mother. Flowers always made her happy…
-Mia
The heat hadn't yet kicked in from
being on low overnight. So I sat at the desk in the back office of Young's
Floral shop with my gloves still on, cupping my hot coffee mug like my life
depended on it.
I sipped the strong
brew, feeling the warmth spread through my frozen veins, and closed my eyes.
"Holy shit it's colder than a witch's
tit out there!"
"Hey Kit," I called, not
bothering to open my eyes.
He poked his head in through the
door. He was still clad in his red woolen coat, his red beard iced over around
his mouth. He looked like Santa Claus and his eyes even twinkled merrily as he
unwrapped a woolen muffler from around his neck.
"Why are you moping back here,
Shay-shay?"
I huffed in mock exasperation.
"I am not moping," I told him fiercely.
"Good, I'm glad to hear it,
lover. There's no moping when your eyebrows are looking so on point."
I brushed my finger over my brows,
please that he had noticed. "I tried that brow tint you recommended."
"I can tell. Did you try that
Nars foundation I was telling you about?"
"Too red," I shook my head.
"Why do make-up companies think Black women are actually just orange?"
Kit shook his head. "I don't
know, lover. You're the one getting makeup tips from a fat, pale
Irishman," he chuckled.
"You know my skin tone better
than Cover Girl does," I grinned and stood up to let him crush my ribs in
a bear hug.
"Mm, hold me forever, let me
absorb your warmth," he mumbled as he squeezed all the air out of my lungs.
"How
did
you get here so
fast?"
"I had to sprint in, or risk
freezing to death," I confessed.
"I think my car actually froze
to the pavement at one point in traffic," he complained. "The heater
being on full blast made absolutely no difference."
"They say tomorrow's going to be
even worse," I said grimly, clutching my coffee to warm up after Kit's
frozen hug.
I hated winter with a passion, and this
one had been particularly brutal. Storm after storm before Christmas and now
this deep, Arctic freeze had held us in its icy grip for days now. Temperatures
struggled to climb into the single digits. I was starting to forget what light
and warmth felt like.
Thank god I worked in a flower shop.
"Hey," I snapped my eyes
open in concern. "Your mom isn't coming in today, right?" The image
of frail Mrs. Young on the treacherously icy sidewalks filled me with panic.
"No," Kit shook his head.
"I told her to stay home. She hates me now, of course." He struck a
tragic pose. "But of course, it's not the first time."
"Bullshit," I smiled. "Your
mother is too sweet to be capable of hatred. Hell, she's barely capable of
anger. What did she do, did she only offer you two fresh-baked cookies instead
of three? Poor baby!"
Kit ducked his head. He knew I was
right. "I'm a big boy," he huffed, patting his large stomach. "I
need my cookies. Denying them to me is tantamount to maternal neglect."
"Hey, I wanted to ask you...."
I whirled around and grabbed the invoice I had left on the desk from last
night. "I can't read your mom's handwriting," I pointed. "Is
that a one or a seven right there?"
Kit squinted at the spidery
handwriting. "I...can't tell. Does it matter?"
I grimaced. "Yeah, it matters
kind of a lot. I mean, either way the client never paid, I'm just trying to
figure out how much she got stiffed."
"Poor mom," Kit shook his
head. "You're figuring it all out though, right?" he asked hopefully.
I shook my head. "I wish I had
better news for you, Kit. But her books are all messed up. Best I can figure so
far, she's owed around four thousand dollars and that's going back only the last
few years. Whoever ran your books before...."
"Seth," Kit hissed.
"Well, Seth had to have been
skimming off the top."
"You're such a ray of sunshine
on this bleak morning. You know that?"
"I'm just telling you the
truth."
Kit rolled his eyes. "Lover, I
know we hired you for your brutal honesty, but sometimes it's nice to sugarcoat
things, you know? Just to make people feel nice? Ramp them up to the bad news
before dropping it in their lap?
I shook my head. "I don't lie,
Kit. You know that."
"Lawd do I ever," he
grumbled.
Just then the bell over the front
door dinged. We both nearly jumped out of our skin in surprise. "On a day
like today?" I hissed.
Kit seemed frozen in alarm. I gave
him a shove. "Go! It's a customer! Go sell them flowers!"
Kit straightened up and opened the
door to the front of the shop. "Welcome to Young's! How can I help you
today!" he boomed, sounding overeager.
I cringed. It had been days since
anyone had walked through that door. The bills were piling up and rent was due
the first. If Kit's eagerness to make a sale ended up chasing the customer
away, it would be bad news.
I turned back to the desk and the
pile of invoices, and tried my best not to keep listening to the voices in the
front of the shop. But hell if I wasn't eager too. I needed this job, more than
I liked to admit, and I needed Young's to be successful.
"Just a moment, sir," Kit's
booming voice floated back to my ears, denying me the claim that I wasn't
eavesdropping. "We have a trained consultant for just these matters."
Oh, smooooth
.
Wait, does he mean me?
Kit poked his red beard through the
door. "Shay, will you be able to assist this gentleman with a special
order?"
His eyes were dancing in merriment
that had nothing to do with a sale.
"So he's cute, I take it?"
I whispered.
"What? Heavens why would you say
that?" Kit feigned innocence.
"Oh stop, I know that
look." I rose from the chair. "Usually you hog the man-candy for
yourself."
"I do
not
hog anything, young lady," he puffed up. "It's my
life's mission to get you laid and you know it."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Lovely."
"Now would you get out there? I'm
pretty positive he plays for your team, lover," Kit sighed, plopping his
huge frame into the other swivel back chair. "Which is a shame for me.
Because...goddamn."
"Uh huh," I stood up, brushing
my ink-stained hands idly on my black work slacks. Bits of stray floral foam
insisted on clinging to them, no matter how many dryer sheets I used. "I'm
watching you, Christopher."
Kit visibly winced. "Told you
not to call me that. Only my mother calls me that."
"Well if I turn out anything
like your mother, I'll be proud," I said, and headed through the door to
greet our first customer in a long time.
Chapter
Two
The usually bright and cheerful front
of the shop seemed washed out. The snow was falling thick and fast outside, and
collected in little drifts at the corners of the plate glass windows that faced
out onto the street. The faint shush shush sound of the passing busses plowing
through the slushy streets made everything seem hushed, like we were being
quieted by a giant librarian.
I would need to go out and shovel the
walk again soon if it kept piling up like this. Kit always insisted, but I
hated making him do it just because he was the man. I could handle a little
snow.
The customer was standing in the far
corner, near the refrigeration case, his head bowed almost in prayer. He hadn't
spotted me yet, which was a good thing.
Gave me time to collect myself upon
seeing him.
In spite of Kit's best efforts, I had
not been on a date in months. In fact, since the divorce - since Tre cheated on
me - I had avoided men all together. It was like the part of me that needed
them; needed affection, intimacy, hell even a friendly hook-up, had been shut
off like a faucet.
That faucet was suddenly turned on
full blast.
I reached out for something to grab
on to and ended up running my fingers along the glass display case. It helped
me feel like I wasn't going to float away, blown upward by the tornado of
sexiness that stood in front of me.
My eyes were darting all over the
place, feasting on him like a starving man at a buffet. Little delicious things
like the angle of his cheekbone, and the strong set of his jaw. A nibble of how
his close-cropped hair emphasized the gorgeous lines and planes that made up
his face. A tasty morsel of deep full lashes and for dessert the wicked set of
his mouth.
I thought I had had my fill.
Then he turned to me and smiled.
His eyes were gray. Stormy, sky-over-water
gray, that snapped against his golden-tan skin. A deep dimple shadowed his left
cheek, turning the wicked set of his mouth into something deliciously sinful.
Kit had called it.
Goddamn, indeed.
I lifted my chin and tried to
modulate my voice into something professional, instead of fawning. "May I
help you?"
"Yes," he said, in a deep
tenor that went right to my flip-flopping belly. "Yes, I hope you
can." He walked over to me with those long legs of his, the hem of his
long wool trench coat swirling around his knees.
Like a superhero in disguise. "I'm
looking for something...special."
The way he said it made me want to
bite my lip, but I refrained. "Oh, well you're come to the right
place!" I chirped. Wait, did that sound dirty?
His mouth twisted a little. Yes, it
definitely sounded dirty, now.
Dammit.
"Er, I mean, we specialize in custom bouquets." My voice was higher
than it normally was and I quickly cleared my throat.
He leaned against the counter. He was
so close. Could I smell him? I could definitely feel him. The warmth, the
energy that radiated off of his skin. It was making me delirious.
His stormy gray eyes twinkled at me,
like he was used to having this effect on women and I felt my cheeks flame.
"We specialize in custom bouquets," I repeated.
"So I heard," he said. He
was teasing me. I forgot how to flirt somewhere along the lines. This was just embarrassing.
"That's why I'm here."
I suddenly seemed to have no saliva
left in my mouth. "So what did you have in mind?" I croaked.
"
What's
your name?"
The way he looked at me made me feel
like my name was the most important thing right now. "Sh-Shay," I
stammered.
He tapped the counter with his index
finger, like he was considering. "I like it. It suits you."
"Suits me?" What an odd
thing to say.
That dimple deepened. "It's beautiful,
but not showy."
I blushed all the way up to the roots
of my hair.
Was he flirting with me? He
had to be flirting with me.
"Thanks?"
"It is. You should sound more
sure of yourself."
What?
"Okay?"
"Is this your shop, Shay?"
The way he said my name was like honey rolling around in his mouth. It was
doing something terrifying to my stomach.
I shook my head. "Just helping
an old friend."
A really, really old
friend! Like super old!
I thought wildly, giddy.
Holy shit Shay, calm down.
"Helping with the flowers? Do
they tend to get unruly?"
Was that a
joke? Should I laugh? God, I am so out of practice.
"No, I'm helping with the
books." I smiled. Then for no good reason I kept right on talking. "I
have a bachelor's in accounting from Temple and an MBA from Wharton."
Now why the hell did I feel like I
needed to announce that? Did I want him to be impressed with me?
Yes. Yes I did.
This man made no sense to me. He was
bundled up against the elements, dressed in a dark wool trench unbuttoned to reveal
a dove-gray cashmere sweater underneath. His black leather gloves fit over his
fingers like a second skin and his shoes shone with recent polish in spite of
the salty slush outside. He was covered from head to toe, but all I could think
about was undressing him, slowly, piece by piece, revealing the golden skin
underneath.
The thin sliver of skin that peeked
at me from his wrist was more erotic than anything I had ever seen.
He leaned on the counter. He was so
close I could smell the leather on his gloves. The warmth of the wool. And
underneath it, something that could only be...
him.
He raised an eyebrow. Waiting. I
realized I had trailed off while I was staring.
Shit, he caught me.
"Uh, this is just a temporary thing. Until
recently, I worked the books for my ex's business."
My pulse was racing.
Why did I mention Tre? Fail. Shut up, Shay.
Abort! Abort!
But he leaned in even closer.
"Ex?" he paused. "Really?"
What the? "Yes. Really."
"I don't believe it Shay."
There was that honeyed way of saying my name again
. I could drown in his eyes.
I looked down. "Why not?"
He leaned in, close enough so that
his breath brushed past my ear as he whispered, "Because who in their
right mind would let
you
go?"
My heart hammered so loudly in my
chest I swore he could hear it. After months and months of drought, barely even
acknowledged by any man other than Kit, it was a rush to know I still had it. I
had never even considered dating white guys in the past, but this one,
well...maybe what I needed was a change in more ways than one.
I licked my lips in a way I hoped was
seductive. "It was a mutual letting go," I demurred.
He stayed right where he was, letting
his breath pass over my ear again. "I wouldn't let you go, Shay," he
rumbled thrillingly.
For some reason it didn't sound
creepy. It sounded...intriguing. I turned to look at him sidelong, suddenly
bold. "How would you know what to do with me?" I asked archly.
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I
have a few ideas."
Thud thud thud
went my heart. He was definitely flirting. "I'd like to hear them." I
said.
"I'd like to show them to
you."
I swallowed. Any moment now he was
going to ask me out. I'd borrow one of Jasmine's cocktail dresses, maybe have
Kiki do my makeup. "You're pretty confident, aren't you?" I teased. I
felt a clutching down between my legs, the likes of which had been missing for
far too long.
"Confident? Yeah. Excited too. I
didn't expect to meet the most beautiful woman in the world in a florist's in
South Philadelphia."
I was really starting to enjoy this. "Did
you still want to buy those flowers or did you just come in here to get my
number?"
He chuckled. "No, if you'll
recall, when I came in there was no one behind the counter. I actually do have
an order I'd like to place."
I grabbed the stack of order forms.
"So tell me your name, first?"
"Liam. Graves." He spelled
out.
My pen froze in midair. "Graves?
Like Graves Foundation?"
He grimaced. "My mother."
My pulse raced for a different
reason. The Graves were rich. Like, capital R rich. Oldest of the old money,
name-on-a-hospital-wing rich.
"And Liam, tell me about the
kind of bouquet you want." I was doing a pretty good job of keeping my
cool, considering I wanted to scream and run shrieking for Kit.
"I want to get a bouquet in
celebration. But I want it to...say something. Does that make sense?"
"The language of flowers,"
I replied immediately.
He cocked his head. "That sounds
interesting."
I nodded enthusiastically. "It
really is. Flowers have always had meanings. You probably know a few. Yellow
roses for friendship, red roses for...," he was staring hungrily at my
mouth as I talked. Like he wanted to kiss it. Or bite it. "Erm,
love." I blinked and cleared my throat. "But it goes so much deeper
than that."
Liam laughed softly. "I thought
you were an accountant."
"Flowers are my passion," I
told him.
His eyes lit up. "Are they now,
Shay? That's really good to know. I'll try to remember that." There was
that devilish dimple again.
I had to look away from those gray
depths if I was ever going to maintain focus. "You're missing the coolest
part though."
"No I'm not." He was
definitely staring at my mouth. My lips felt swollen under his gaze. Tender and
fat with the need to be kissed.
"Wait," I might have been
saying that to myself. "Just listen."
"I'm listening."
And he
was.
He was focused on me like I was the only thing he saw. I felt
like a queen.
"Victorians with
their, shall we say, rather roundabout way of expressing things like love and
passion, came up with a whole dictionary of flower meanings." I pulled the
little battered paperback out from under the counter and showed him. He took
off his gloves and handled it like it was a sacred object. "Look, see
here? They would send each other these coded messages." I flipped through
the pages excitedly. When his bare, heated skin brushed against my fingers, I
felt a jolt of electricity pass between us. "Uh, yeah, coded bouquets.
They called them tussie-mussies. Isn't that a cute word,
tussie-mussie?"
"Adorable," he exhaled. He
wasn't looking at the book.
"Those little tussie-mussies let
them say all sorts of beautiful," I snuck a glance at his dimple,
"and
dirty
things to each
other."
"Dirty, huh?"
"Filthy. And they could say it
without ever having to speak anything out loud."
"Would you want a tussie mussie,
Shay? Or do you prefer those things said out loud?"
I gaped at him. There was a promise
in his eyes. A dangerous one. The heat under my skin threatened to burn me to
ash. "Mm, I'm not sure," I heard myself say, then blushed to hear
myself say it.
He held my gaze firmly for one more
moment. Then, just as I was about to combust, he looked back down at the book.
"This is really interesting, Shay," he said, and I exhaled a breath I
hadn't realized I was holding.