Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 2(72)

“Why?”

“I’ll be fired from my job.” Not to mention humiliated.

“Ah. I see.” He held my hand a little longer than necessary. As much as I wanted not to enjoy it, I did. Little jolts of electricity went zinging up my arm. Then they zoomed down my body. Between my legs. “You have my word. I can keep a secret.”

“I hope so.” Worried about being seen holding hands in public with Premier’s newest client, I glanced at our clasped hands.

He released his grip, and I released a sigh of disappointment. “When is the first mixer?” he asked.

“Next Friday, a week from today.”

“Fine.” He shoved his hand into his pocket. But this time, instead of pulling out money, he produced a business card. He handed it to me. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Eight o’clock.”

“Tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Eight o’clock.” His lips curled into a somewhat wicked smile. “Looking forward to seeing you then.” And he strolled away, looking confident. And why wouldn’t he? He’d won. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

But I still wondered why he’d set his sights on me. There were so many prettier, smarter women out there for him to meet.

Why the complicated proposal?



As I was staring down into my glass, trying to think my way out of the situation I’d somehow negotiated myself into, Sasha came staggering back to the table looking irritated. She flopped into her seat and heaved a sigh that could be heard for miles.

“What happened?” I asked.

She squinted at me. “I should be asking you that. Andy and me were having a great time until Tevin told him they had to leave.”

“So, Tevin wants to leave. That’s not my fault.”

Sasha’s squint became squintier. “I don’t believe you.” She checked the bottles lined up on the table. “Empty. Empty. Empty. What the hell?” She glared at my half-full glass.

I said, “You drank them all, not me.”

“No, I swear, one of them was half full when we went to dance.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t drink them.” I lifted my water. “I can’t. I’m the designated driver.”

“Someone must’ve stolen my beer, then.” Looking surly, she glanced around. “Assholes.”

“I think it’s time we head out, anyway.” I stood, grabbed my purse, and jerked my head toward the door.

“No, I want my beer first. It’s bad enough you ruined my chances with Andy. Now you want to make me go home early too.”

Gah. Sasha was getting pissy. I wasn’t in the mood for a pissy Sasha. “It isn’t early.”

“It is.”

I yanked out my phone and hit the button, illuminating the screen. “See? It’s almost time for last call.”

She must’ve been having a hard time reading the numbers. She stared and squinted but didn’t speak.

“How about we grab some coffee on the way home?” I suggested.

Pouting, she grumbled, “I’d rather have tacos.”

“Fine. Tacos. Let’s go.”

I walked toward the door. Sasha staggered, swaying into people as we moved through the thick throng. Occasionally she’d cuss at someone, spitting out a nasty remark like, “What are you staring at, bitch?” or, “Hand off the boob, asshole.” I was glad to get out of there in one piece.

Once I had both of us safely buckled in the car, I took a deep breath. Wow. I’d seen Sasha drunk a few times, but she’d never been this intoxicated. Nor this hostile. Never. It was no wonder Andy decided he wasn’t interested.

The drinking seemed to be getting a little out of control. As her best friend I felt I should tell her I was concerned. I didn’t want to sit by in silence and watch her problem get worse. Like it had with her mother.

She was too proud to admit the truth, but I knew her mom wasn’t on a vacation.

She was in rehab. Again.



Before I’d made it to the taco place, Sasha was snoring. No reason to stop. I didn’t want tacos. I drove Sasha home, helped her into her apartment and onto the nearest soft horizontal surface--her couch. I left a trash can, bottle of water, and some aspirin within reach and headed for the door, figuring she wouldn’t care if I stayed the night or not. But I hesitated there, wondering if I should stick around in case she needed my help.

I glanced at her. She was a train wreck. I couldn’t leave her like that.

I went back to her bedroom, flopped onto the bed and shut my eyes.

We were both in for a long night.



By noon the next day, I was feeling almost as shitty as Sasha. I hadn’t slept for more than an hour at a stretch. Sasha’s moaning and retching woke me up. The first few times, she didn’t let me get near her when she threw up. But after that she must have been to worn out from the vomiting and crying and apologizing. She let me help her. I held her hair and told her she’d feel better by morning. I helped her drink water. I handed her aspirins and made sure she had a blanket covering her.