The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(112)
“I love you,” she said. “Can I be you when I grow up?”
He laughed, his chest suddenly warmer. She’d said the words almost as a joke. Her hint of shyness let him know they were anything but.
“I love you too,” he said. “I love you both.”
Rebecca’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “The swimsuit hanger would totally hate you saying that.”
“Yes, she would,” Trey agreed. “Guess I know how I’m getting my revenge.”
~
Realizing Trey was okay worked on the others like a sleeping pill. The trio trooped upstairs to bed together. Rebecca dimly heard Zane making one final call—to his PI friend, she thought—and then she passed out.
She woke, hours later, with a tall slumbering man on either side of her. The sun outside the windows seemed late afternoon-ish. Her cell phone was ringing.
Zane was nearest to the sound. He cursed, fumbled around the table where she’d left it, and handed it to her.
“Yes?” she said, her voice mostly sandpaper.
“Well, hey there, chef,” said Raoul. “I guess this means you aren’t coming to work today.”
Heedless of the body parts the men had slung over her, Rebecca bolted up in shock. “Oh my God.”
Evidently not angry, Raoul laughed at her.
“Oh my God,” she repeated. “I forgot to go to work. And I forgot to call you. Raoul, I am so sorry!”
“It’s okay, chica. I’ve got the restaurant under control.”
“But I forgot!” Rebecca never forgot work. Never, ever. Even on the rare occasions when she was sick, she called in periodically.
“I saw the news,” Raoul said in a gentler tone. “I know you must have been distracted.”
“Shit,” Rebecca said for a whole host of reasons. Did Raoul hate her? She’d told him she’d slept with Trey, but that hardly covered the situation. “Is the staff okay?”
“The staff is fine. Some are surprised, but quite a few are impressed. Line cooks are notorious belt notchers, after all. You should prepare yourself for some teasing—you know, when you stop lazing around all day.”
“Oh God.”
Zane and Trey were looking at her now, but she couldn’t look at them.
“I ever tell you about my threesome?” Raoul went on. “I was a hot young fry cook. Abs of steel and a knife so fast I could chop ten onions at the same time. This cute pastry chef took a liking to me. Her special friend was a very bendy yoga instructor—”
“I’m stopping you right there,” Rebecca warned, recognizing a tall tale when she heard one. “You tell me anymore, I’ll repeat it to your wife.”
“I tell her this story all the time. You have no idea how sick of it she is.”
“Damn it,” she said, in spite of her amusement. “I wanted to be there for our first normal night.”
“Well, it’s not going to be normal here for a bit, not until the wagging tongues settle down. Let me handle things for now. You know you can trust me to do right by your food.”
She did know that. “You’re the awesomest head chef ever,” she admitted.
“Don’t you forget it. Fortunately, none of this is bad for business. We were booked solid for two weeks after our VIP shindig. Now I hear it’s two months. Someone told me Wilde’s is so empty crickets are chirping there.”
“Maybe I should get into trouble more often.”
“Maybe you should.”
Rebecca was smiling when she ended the call.
“You forgot work,” Trey said, one slashing brow lifted. “Being here really has changed you.”
Rebecca snuggled back between the men. “You want credit for that, eh?”
“He can have half,” Zane said. “The other fifty percent is mine.”
~
Rebecca drifted off between them, burrowed cutely into Zane’s chest. Higher up on the pillow, Trey looked across her mussed blonde head at Zane. The sun shone in Zane’s face and he squinted, but—like Trey—he wasn’t ready to go back to sleep. His right hand rested on Rebecca’s hip, his upper leg slung across both of hers so that his bare foot touched Trey’s. A pleasant low-grade arousal collected in Trey’s groin—another reaction he hadn’t expected to feel so soon. He was glad for it, glad for everything in a way. He put his hand above Zane’s on Rebecca’s waist.
“You okay?” he asked his lover.
“Yes,” Zane said. “You?”
“Yes.” He stroked his pinkie finger along Zane’s index, delighted by the darkening of Zane’s baby blues. “You want to tell me what that call to your PI friend was about?”