Billionaire Bad Boys: A Collection of Contemporary and Paranormal Bad Boys Read online

  She yanked her hand away. “I am not your property, Liam Chartier.”

  “I’ve already told you, you are my property. And I didn’t do a very good job at protecting you. I shouldn’t have sent your muscle away. I…”

  She turned to look at his profile.

  He glanced at her, then, turned his attention toward the walkway. “I made a mistake. I wanted to have you all to myself. I acted selfishly, thinking of my own needs rather than making sure you’re protected.” His cheeks grew red. He pressed his lips into a solid line.

  “Thank you for saying that. I’m okay.” As she strode by his side, she puzzled over the moment. Who wants one of us dead? Was it part of the heist? A rival, perhaps? And why do I feel so confused about this man?

  She took a long, deep breath and reminded herself for the thousandth time to stay on track with the mission. Get my intel and get out. But her mixed up emotions were getting in the way. She was starting to care for Liam. She didn’t want to hurt him when she left. Worse, she hated to admit it, but she didn’t want to leave.

  11

  After the shooting incident, Savannah maintained silence the entire ride to wherever they were going. She had to get back on track with the mission. You’re here to perform a job, nothing more. Get the info, get what you need and get out. He’s starting to let you in. She sighed and fiddled with her hat. More like, he’s starting to get to me. This isn’t good. As someone who’d had more than her fair share of “pound puppy status” she had a weak side for trouble souls.

  Her attention stayed glued to the road, as they zipped through the city of New York. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Liam glancing at her with what appeared to be concern. It stirred a glimmer of warmth in her chest. Yet, each time a tender emotion made a plea for her attention, she shut it down. This is a job. He’s nothing, but a means to an end. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they arrived in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a few blocks from her Fleur Rouge suite.

  Liam pulled up to the front entrance of a stunning five-story apartment building across from Central Park.

  It appeared to be made entirely of glass and steel. Tinted windows surrounded the building. Huge stone lions flanked the kind of arched doorway a modern-day castle might boast. It looked like something out of an Architectural Digest magazine.

  Marcus’s limo pulled up right behind them.

  “Where are we?” Her voice practically croaked from lack of use.

  “This is my place. Or, rather, the Chartier’s.”

  “The entire building?”

  “Yes. Don’t you remember it?” He cocked his head.

  She scanned her memory banks. “Oh, of course. Memory slip. I was only eight when I saw it last. Don’t forget.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Think, dummy, think. Find a specific detail. She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I made my mother drive us past this place. I hung on the stone lions guarding your porch—the ones I named Ralph and Charleston. I told her I was going to live here someday. You were already in boarding school in Berlin.”

  “Right. Every time my mother told me that story, I cringed. I had other plans. I should probably blame you for this whole botched marriage deal. You probably put ideas into my mother’s head as a child.”

  The insult didn’t have as much sting as earlier. Maybe I’m getting numb to him. Is that how the wealthy endure their marriages? She pursed her lips and turned away from him.

  He leaped from the driver’s seat and hustled around the front of the car to open her door. He reached out his hand to steady her, then helped her to her feet.

  Piercing her with his blue-eyed gaze, he said, “Go on up with your muscle-man. The staff will let you in and see to your needs. Your father has arranged to have some of your belongings upstairs. I’ll be up after I park the car.”

  I’ve already been moved in? She nodded, not meeting his eyes. Excellent!

  Her fake-father emerged from the limo. He came up behind her and put his arm around her. “Sweetheart, this whole ordeal…it’s horrible. Rest assured, we’ll find the underlying cause of things.”

  He sounded genuinely concerned.

  Savannah wondered if a bullet really had hit her. The reality of her pretend life was beginning to blur with suggestions of real care.

  “Don’t worry about me, father. I’m tougher than I look.” She flashed him a smile.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “That’s my girl. You head on up with your bodyguard. I’m going to have a smoke and a chat with Liam.”

  Adam stepped to her side. “You okay?” He crowded her, concern evident in his eyes.

  “More or less. Do you have any idea who did it?”

  His mouth twisted. “We have some idea. We’re checking into it.”

  She lowered her voice. “By ‘we’ do you mean SLAE?”

  He gave her a curt nod. “It was a targeted hit.”

  She sniffed in a breath. “Meant for Naeva?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Christ Almighty.” She raked her hand through her already mussed hair. Riding in a convertible did nothing to keep her looking groomed.

  “And I’m pissed lover boy sent me away.” He stabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward Liam.

  “Shhh. I know. He feels awful about it.”

  Adam gave her a quizzical look.

  “I’ll fill you in later.” She glanced at Liam and flashed him a smile.

  He sat in his car, studying her intently, his gaze darting back and forth between her and Adam. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  She nodded, then swiveled to head inside with Adam. Together, they climbed the stone stairs. For a moment, reality blurred and she imagined herself as the real Naeva. Would I like this kind of life? At the top, she rang the doorbell.

  The massive double doors swung open.

  An attractive woman in a maid’s uniform greeted her. “Ms. Weathersby. We’ve been waiting for you. Let me show you to your room.”

  “Oh. I see,” she said, wondering when Liam or Ambrosia or whoever had arranged her arrival. “Thank you, Miss…I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Lucy.” She stuck out her hand.

  Savannah shook it. “Enchanté,” she said, slipping into French. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” she added, in case Lucy spoke no French.

  “The pleasure’s mine.” She curtsied.

  Lucy bade her to follow her up the stairs, through the over-the-top dwelling.

  Ginormous paintings hung on the walls. Savannah noted pieces by Andy Warhol, Jasper Johns, and James Rosenquist. There was even a playful pop art piece by Roy Fox Lichtenstein. She’d always loved art but had never gotten around to pursuing it. The floors were made of an intricately patterned tile, which looked like an abstract painting. Even the smooth stone steps she trod upon had some sort of symbol—a shield of some kind—carved into each one.

  Adam trekked behind.

  “Sir, you can wait here,” the Lucy said, pointing to a spacious lounge area with a view of the entire skyline. “I’ll show Ms. Weathersby upstairs where she can freshen up before joining you.”

  Adam nodded, then turned into the lounge.

  Savannah followed the maid up two more flights of stairs.

  “This suite is yours, mademoiselle. I’ve taken the liberty to choose the theme but, of course, it’s yours to design.

  The entire floor? Savannah tried not to gawk.

  “Please join Master Liam in the front room when you’re done.” Lucy smiled warmly.

  Master Liam? The term gave her shivers.

  “He asked that you meet there. It’s where I showed your bodyguard.”

  “I see. I’ll be down shortly.”

  Lucy backed out the door, then closed it behind her, leaving Savannah alone.

  She gazed at the space around her in wide-eyed wonder. Already, her time in Mosul occupied a space in her mind meant for awful memories. This new reality was as mind-blo
wing as running through gunshots to buy groceries—only in the opposite direction—now her every need was anticipated before she even thought of it.

  The entire suite made Fleur Rouge look like the servant’s quarters. A curved staircase spiraled upward in the corner. A six-foot sculpted slab of something that looked like child’s art arose from a marble stand, next to low leather sofas. Nine huge egg-shell like art pieces hung from the back wall. They’d been shaped to look like half of the shell. The inside shone with gold-leaf, sparkling from the well-placed lights positioned to illuminate each one. Everything about the space reeked of untouchable wealth.

  She made her way to the winding staircase and ascended. Upstairs, she had a larger room than her bedroom at Fleur Rogue, filled with purple, red, and blue flowers. A grand, pillow-covered four-poster bed invited sweet dreams and lingering nights. An even bigger bath, complete with twenty-foot round soaking tub was in the adjoining room.

  For a few of my closest friends and me.

  She discovered her closet at the other end of the bedroom. It was as big as her apartment. Shoes, accessories, designer-wear clothes, jewels, and lingerie of every kind all hung in tidy rows or were folded neatly in dark wood drawers or on top of shelves. She selected a long, flowing, black and white Chloé-Jane jumpsuit, and a white, sleeveless silk shirt, donned them, and freshened up her makeup. She grabbed a silver hair brush and smoothed any lingering style from her hair until it hung sleek and straight, nearly touching her behind. Grabbing her phone from her Hermès bag, she tucked it into the front pocket of her jumpsuit. Then, she made her way downstairs.

  As she headed toward the front room, male voices murmured from out of view.

  She recognized Liam and Marcus, but a third voice niggled at her mind.

  She walked through the large rectangular doorway. Eyeing the room, she hesitated her expression hardening into grim lines.

  Dr. Doucette, the gold-toothed man who administered wake-up stimulants, sat apart from the others. Dressed in his lab coat, he looked every bit the sinister doctor.

  Am I to be drugged again?

  She relaxed her face to neutral and continued her stride, not wanting to show signs of fear or weakness.

  Liam and Marcus were huddled near the bar, engaged in a heated conversation. Liam held a crystal tumbler, half-filled with amber liquid. The glass shook as he spoke. Tiny droplets flew over the edge.

  She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their tones were intense and rushed.

  The men stopped talking and turned to stare at her.

  Liam’s lips parted slightly. Then, he applied his usual scowl, hefted his drink, and tossed the amber liquid down his throat. “What can I get you?”

  “Red wine would be wonderful,” she said, sashaying to where he stood. She added sass to her stroll in a deliberate attempt to tease.

  Marcus’s face lit with amusement as if her attempts at wooing Liam were hilarious.

  Liam’s frown deepened as he watched her.

  Coming to stand between Liam and Marcus, she said, “My wine?”

  Both Liam and Marcus reeked of tobacco, but it could all be coming from Marcus.

  Liam wore different clothes, and smelled like expensive cologne as if he had tried to clean up after entering the building.

  “Lucy? See to my fiancée’s needs, will you? She probably needs an appetizer or something.” He lifted his gaze to the maid who hovered near a hallway entrance.

  It probably led to the kitchen.

  “She can answer for herself if asked.” Savannah shook her head at Liam, then, smiled at Lucy. “Don’t go to too much trouble, but I am hungry.”

  Lucy returned the smile.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned and strode down the hall.

  “Where’s Adam?” Savannah looked around the room.

  “I sent him back to my manor.” Marcus took a sip of his drink.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “He’s not needed here. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” Marcus gestured toward the sofas. “Dr. Doucette will examine you in a moment to ensure you sustained no injuries.”

  She drew back. The thought of being examined by Dr. Doucette made her stomach flip. “I’m fine. I told you, Liam.”

  “It’s merely a precaution. He checked me out, too.” Liam took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Sit.”

  She sat, melting into the comfortable couch.

  Liam settled next to her, placing his arm on the back of the sofa behind her head. A chilly silence enveloped them as if a sudden storm had rushed in the room.

  When Lucy returned bearing a cart of mouth-watering snacks, Liam said, “Pour me another scotch.”

  “Same for me,” Marcus said.

  “Yes, sirs. Let me see to Ms. Weathersby, first.” Lucy sat the tray on the bar top, procured a wine glass from underneath, and un-stoppered a bottle of red wine. She poured some into the glass. “Your wine, Ms. Weathersby.” Lucy extended the wine to Savannah, then, set about to refresh the men’s drinks.

  The downstairs door clattered, and footsteps struck the staircase.

  Ambrosia swept into the room, followed by a man who looked straight out of a mafia movie. His tailored suit did nothing to hide his teeming belly. His cheeks were covered with the fine red veins and mottled skin of a heavy drinker.

  A smile crept across his face as he strode next to Liam. “Hey, Lee. How are you?” he said in a thick Brooklyn accent.

  Liam nodded at the man. “Uncle.”

  “Well enough. What can I get you?”

  “A bourbon would be fantastic.” He stuck his sausage-fat finger inside his collar and tugged.

  Ambrosia tottered over to Savannah. “My poor girl.” She pressed a hand to her bosom. “What a fright you gave us.” She settled close to her on the couch, smelling of cloying perfume. “Assure me you’re all right so I can stop fretting.”

  “I’m fine, Mother, really, I am.” Savannah patted Ambrosia’s leg.

  “Mother?” Liam sniffed. “You’re calling her mother?”

  “I asked her to, darling,” Ambrosia said. “We’re going to be like mother and daughter,” she cooed, stroking Savannah’s cheek.

  Savannah forced herself to not pull away.

  “Yes. We will,” she said with a smile.

  The mafia guy cleared his throat. “Do I get to be introduced to this dulcet of a flower?”

  “Oh. I nearly forgot.” Ambrosia introduced Liam’s uncle. “Naeva, you probably don’t remember my brother. He was rarely here when you were a child. This is your uncle, Garron.”

  “Cut the shit, Mother. He’s not her uncle.” Liam took the drink Lucy handed him and took a hearty swig.

  “Liam! He’s her uncle if I say he is.” Ambrosia leaned into Savannah. “Don’t worry about Liam, he’s a good boy.”

  “I haven’t been a boy for nearly sixteen years.” Liam got to his feet, glaring at her.

  Savannah’s phone chimed. She fished it from her pocket.

  Garron lunged across the room and snatched it from her hand.

  She gasped.

  “Who’s Adam?” He stared at her screen.

  “He’s my bodyguard. Give me back my phone.” Her insides flared with anger and indignation.

  Garron dropped it on the floor and crushed it with his heel, shattering the glass.

  “Hey!” Savannah leaped to her feet.

  Ambrosia reached for her hand. “We’ll get you another.”

  “I don’t want another. I want that one.”

  “We can’t risk it,” Garron said. “There's some dissent inside the Diamond Club. Anyone could be leaking information.”

  “The rift has been growing for years, now,” Marcus said. His cheeks had become flushed. He suddenly looked like a tired old man.

  Savannah frowned, processing this new information. “What kind of rift?”

  Ambrosia patted her cheek. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

&nb
sp; Liam let out a cold laugh. “Nothing. Mother, please. You know some of the other family members see this alliance as dangerous.” He flicked his finger between Savannah and himself. “They see it as too costly. We’ll be the richest members of the club, by billions. We’ll have controlling interest in everything.”

  Ambrosia scoffed. “They’re merely jealous.”

  “Ambie, you need to take him seriously,” Garron said. “We have information that leads us to believe those bullets were meant for either Liam or Naeva. Or both.”

  Savannah covered her mouth with her hand. It wasn’t hard to play her part in this instance. Her neck prickled with goosebumps.

  Marcus bolted to his feet. “I won’t have my daughter play the pawn’s part in this ridiculous feud.”

  “Who’s the feud between? Which families?” This information could be vital to SLAE. It could even lead to another arrest, and I’ll get credit for the assist.

  “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” Marcus said.

  “I think it’s everything I need to worry about, Father. Were you the one shot at?” She propped her hand on her hip and flashed him a cool glare. Cough it up, man. You keep holding your cards to your chest.

  “We’ll deal with it,” Marcus said. He shook his fist at Liam. “You need to protect her.”

  “I agree. I think we need to put the marriage merger on hold,” Liam said, too quick for Savannah’s liking. “Get things sorted, first.”

  Tears nipped at her eyes. She pushed them away. Now’s not the time to get all sentimental. You knew this was all pretend. Don’t let a fantasy of love get in the way of the mission. Especially with Liam.

  “Nonsense,” Ambrosia snapped. She rose to standing, drawing herself tall in an imperious fashion. “You’re talking utter nonsense. Don’t let the other families bully us. I refuse to cower before them. We can't allow ourselves to be terrorized. I won’t stand for it. Things are tentative right now and need to be solidified. The marriage is going to be moved up. It's happening in two weeks.”

  Two weeks? Savannah gulped. Sure, she and Adam had agreed to push things. She brought the pep talk she’d given herself earlier to mind. This is a good development, right? If I’m closer to the target, I’m closer to getting the information we need. But what if I can’t get the info we need in that short of time? “I’m not ready. There’s so much to do.”