Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name (16 page)

“Are you sure Sadie’s not doing this on purpose? To get back at you for choosing work over her all the time? Like I told you, brother, she was seriously upset.”

Natalio cast his brother a side glance, his face frowning in thought. “You think that’s what she’s doing?”

Lovello shrugged. “Maybe. You wouldn’t realize it because it’s typical of you to do shit like that. You know, pushing back your return date to work instead.” He took a beer Tiger thrust at him as we reached the rest of the guys. “But you know Sadie’s not like that. I don’t believe for one second that Sadie would rather be working in New York when she knows you’re here — knowing that time with you is so
preciously
limited.” He chuckled at the latter.

Natalio’s frown deepened as he took an offered beer and popped the cap, clearly weighing up Lovello’s hypothesis. “Now that I think about it … shit. Why is she always screwing with me like this?”

“To get your attention. Maybe if you quit leaving the country every damn two seconds and start spending more time —”

“Fuck off, Love.”

“Okay. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lovello turned to me and bit down one side of his lower lip, trying to stifle a laugh. “You hungry? Say yes, please, so we can leave. Because now is when he normally gets red and starts swearing at everyone. The worst time to be around him.”

Bobbing my head, I giggled.
Giggled!
Rumors had hit my ears of what an angry Natalio was like.

Natalio glared daggers at Lovello, but he wasn’t the least affected by his brother’s glare and was just smiling in good nature. The man was always so good-humored that at times I wondered if he ever got
really
angry and what it would take to make him.

Patently wavering on something in his mind, Natalio stared blankly at us. Then, in a sudden instant, he threw his hands up in the air and definitively said, “To hell with it. I’m going to New York.”

Stomping past us, he went straight to his white BMW and roared off. Lovello grinned down at me. “And that, my friend, is Natalio Raging Bull Nelson.” The emotion in his eyes whenever he looked at or talked about Natalio, I noticed, was nothing but raw, undiluted love. It was obvious he cherished Natalio as if he were his favorite person.

As Lovello said farewell to his friends, a smile resided on my face and I marveled at how much I had actually enjoyed my day. Or maybe it was just Pretty Boy Nelson that I enjoyed being with. Either way, I felt contented. And I assume that was Lovello’s intention when he’d asked me to come along with him.

He continued to interact with me hands-free, and I wanted to yell and scream for him to stop messing around with me. But wasn’t I the one who said I didn’t want him? My feelings were so on and off, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I wanted him, and then I didn’t.

We tracked to the car and he opened the door for me, then rounded to the driver’s side once I was in. “So, where’d you like to go to eat?”

Being in the enclosed space of the car, the absence of his touch made me even more miffed than before. High in frustration, I yanked off my ball cap and tossed it in the glove compartment. Lovello was waiting expectantly for an answer and I was waiting expectantly for him to touch or kiss me, or do something, anything that would make our bodies connect. Eying his long-fingered hand on the gearstick, I gently rested my hand over his and began stroking his knuckles. “I’m up for anywhere or anything you choose.” There was a double meaning, and I hoped he got it.

Lovello’s eyes grew dark and intense as I continued to make languorous strokes over his fingers. Slightly, his lips parted and he tilted forward as if he would kiss me. Leaning further in, there was no doubt he wasn’t going to bless me with a kiss of those amazing lips, and my eyes whispered shut in anticipation, but only to fly open a second later when Kings of Leon’s
Use Somebody
came flooding through the car speakers.

Lovello had left me hanging and was biting down on his lower lip to suppress a smile. Irritated to the core, I doubled my fist to land him a hard thump. But before I could do so, I was pressed back in the car seat as he floored the gas of his thrifty sports car, speeding off into the evening.

The bastard.

IX

M
unching on the remainder of my French fries, I gazed out at the miserable ocean as it mumbled and grumbled and huffed up high waves in the hope of conquering the relentless, harsh winds. On its horizon was the tangerine circle of a weary sun, which slowly abated its glare as it made its quotidian descent. Its faint glow reflected in the capricious puffs of clouds supra, as they morphed in and out of various shapes, mocking and jeering the images of life below.

Pretty Boy Nelson was slumped back in his chair across from me, resembling the contentment I felt inside. We’d done less talking and more appreciating of the gifted evening and the relaxation it offered. Kind of what was needed after an active day at the bike show. Just quietly enjoying the other’s presence.

Lovello had chosen a secluded beachfront restaurant and we’d both agreed on breaking all health rules and ordered crap food: cheeseburgers and salty French fries. And let’s not forget the large cups of Coca-Cola — a beverage I hadn’t tasted since high school. But everything about Lovello screamed ‘rule-breaker’ and so did I. Now I was replete with crappy high-calorie foods.

Nibbling on another chip, I decided to break the silence. “You seem to adore Natalio.”

Dragging his eyes away from the ocean, he shifted them to me. The invisible hands of the wind were having a field day in his inky-dark hair, and he was looking damnable delightful. “I adore all my family members.” He took a pull on his straw; his Adam’s apple bobbed as the beverage passaged down his throat. “But if you’re asking if Natalio’s my favorite, the answer is yes.”

“It’s pretty obvious with the way you look at him.”

“Well, I love him and Trevillo both. But Natalio’s also my best friend. He understands me better than Trev does. Nevertheless, they both think I live too … well, free.”

“Free?”

“They’re both seriously serious about everything. Let’s just say everyone in my family is seriously serious about things. It’s a trait. And with my father, you have to be. They take especially their jobs seriously, and grant themselves very little time for enjoyment. But Natalio’s in the middle, though. Which is why I’m more relatable to him. He’s grave, is an utter and complete workaholic, but when he’s kind to himself, he’s crazy fun.”

“So are you saying you’re not a serious person?”

“Of course I am. How else would I be this successful?” He brushed off his shoulder in a gangster-rapper style for emphasis, and I laughed. “What I’m saying is, they’re control freaks. I had the same energy when I’d first started out with my business. But I quickly learned that trying to be in control of everything is far more onerous and gray-hair-boosting than simply creating a strong, powerful and dependable team. Trying to be a one-man empire, or ‘the master of your universe’ is nothing fun, and hell, I’m young.” He laughed, then straightened up in his seat and got more serious. “You see, when I was like that, I used to be stressed all the time. Rich, but freakin’ miserable. Then I changed the way I went about things.”

He pulled on his straw again to wet his tongue. “The bulk of work is normally with the start of the idea. Giving birth to the idea, staying by its side and going sleepless for nights on end, nurturing it while it grows, starts creeping, then starts walking. Once it’s strong enough to stand on its legs, I build a strong, trustworthy, hardworking team who love what I do more than I do. Then I place it in their hands and that’s when I take my reprieve. Once my mind is destressed, new ideas start floating in my head and I’m off again. The thing is, being a business owner, it’s hard to trust, which is why most people try to be in control of everything, self-reliant. But no man stands alone. Whether you want to or not, you have to take the time to build a team that you can trust with anything and everything.”

“I don’t see the difference. You still work furiously hard in the time of giving birth to the idea to its full growth.”

Lovello snapped his fingers. “Ah, I do. And in those times, it’s all work and no play, I can tell you that much. But what I’m saying is, I know when to let go.”

Smart. “Oh, I see.”

“They’re always bitchin’ about the fact that I make more money than they do. And I keep telling them that if they stop chasing money as rigorously as they do, maybe it’ll chase them. But hey, why would they listen to me? I’m just the wash-belly.”

“Wash-belly?” I asked, making a face.

Pretty Boy Nelson laughed out. “Sorry. It’s a Jamaican term for ‘the last child’. My ex-girlfriend, Nicole, her mother was half-Jamaican. And she used to call me “wash-belly of the Nelsons”. She was funny. Always making me smile even when I didn’t feel like it.” Staring down at the table, he absent-mindedly toyed with the straw in his cup, pulling it in and out, and there was something there on his face, something warm, yet wistful.

Seems the infamous whore has been in love before. Who would’ve thought? “Nicole was your first love?”

His eyes snapped up from the table and to my face, widening a fraction. He quickly averted them and shrugged, non-committal.

Seeing that he didn’t want to talk about it, I dragged him back to the former topic. “So what? Your brothers enjoy chasing money and you enjoy chasing women.”

“Ha, freakin’, ha!” His good nature was back. “No. It’s not about women, Axia. What’s the point of being rich if you’re not going to enjoy it? If you’re making billions of dollars, well pay people to do shit for you, and enjoy your youth while you still have it. Hire workers that you don’t even need and make a few people happy with a job that family, friends or teachers had once told them they weren’t good enough to get. Give a few people chances that they don’t deserve.” He shrugged. “Why do you think my workers love me so much? Seriously, I’m not a whip-cracking boss, I like to see people happy. And somehow, living the way I do, I still make millions just by sleeping. So I guess I’m doing it right.”

“Oh yeah, I saw that list: Hardy’s Top Ten Most Cherished Employers. You were at number three, so I guess you’re not the
best
boss, Mr. Cocky.”

“Don’t know why you’re always saying I’m cocky. I’m not,” he said shaking his head. “Have you ever read Ecclesiastes?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t own a Bible, woman?”

I scratched my forehead. “Think I have one of those free ones they gave out in high school.”

Lovello stared at me with incredulity, then shook his head again. “So I guess you’ve never heard of Solomon, then?”

Squinting with one eye closed, I held up a finger. “Hold on … gimme a sec, I know this.” I started muddling through some of my father’s berating rambles to see if I could come up with any Solomon figure. “Is he that man with super strength who nearly slashed a young baby in half and also took out a giant with a slingshot? Oh, and then some woman cut off all his hair and sold it for thirty pieces of silver?”

Lovello just looked back at me straight-faced, and then he blinked, blinked again, then flung his head back and burst out laughing. Hard. It pissed me off that he was laughing at me. Did I not get it right? “Stop laughing at me!”

He snapped his mouth shut and tried to look serious, but when he tried to speak, he broke into laughter again. Annoyed, I folded my arms and scowled at him.

“I’m sorry for laughing, Axia. But I couldn’t help it. You’ve just bashed around four stories into one: Samson and Delilah, David and Goliath, Solomon’s first act of wise judgement and Judas’s betrayal. Hell, I can’t wait to give my father this combined story.”

“Are you gonna stop laughing at me and get to the point soon?” I snapped.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He bit down on his lip and I knew he wasn’t sorry. “Anyway, Solomon was the son of David. He was blessed by God with everything. Riches, good-looks, wisdom, knowledge and understanding. He had
hundreds
of wives and concubines, and was the wealthiest person alive of that time. But despite all that, he was profoundly unhappy. That’s when he set out at writing Ecclesiastes and concluded that everything in life is meaningless. The world is just a cycle, and utterly pointless. That life should not be taken seriously, because we only live to die. So that perception is always in my mind as I go about life. You should check it out, ‘cause you, too, are like my brothers.”