The TROUBLE With BILLIONAIRES: Book 1 (4 page)

              A private jet. Of course. I should have known.

              Standing beside Mr. Jackman outside, the gates of the airport behind us, the jet was like a gigantic metal cage, one that would force me be near the man I loathed for almost twelve hours straight. I’d already had to face him in the fancy car that had picked me up, and it’d been almost unbearable. Expecting to travel to the airport alone, I’d been shocked to see Mr. Jackman sitting so calmly on the far seat. He’d greeted me with a smile that was not at all business-like, and I’d chosen to ignore him the entire trip, even when he offered me a drink from the compartment between the seats.

              “You can’t keep this silent vow of yours forever,” he’d stated, setting whatever liquor was in his hand back into the compartment. “I need your background in astronomy. It’s half the reason you’re here.”

              I didn’t ask what the other half of the reason was. I could guess. So I continued to look away, saying nothing.

              Now that we were standing in front of the jet, my anger was beginning to break down, surpassed by other emotions, like excitement and fear. I’d always wanted to visit Europe—to experience the history and the food firsthand, to breathe it in. And now I was going. But the price was Rawn Jackman.

That was where my fear came in. I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid of losing myself around him, that I would risk what integrity I had left by giving in to my desire, one that matched my anger. Both lingered within my soul since the night in the woods.

“I hate flying, almost as much as I hate you,” I uttered, breaking my silence, watching as the ground crew fixed a metal staircase to the jet.

“I’m glad you feel so strongly for me,” he said, staring at me with his beautiful amber eyes, the intensity behind them stronger than the fading sun. “It seems I’ve gotten inside you in more ways than one.”

“Enough!” I cried, trying to sound firm, even as my nerves shook me like crazy. Was I really yelling at my superior? “This is a business trip. Therefore, I expect to be treated with the same respect as the rest of your employees. No more sexual references. I’m not your plaything. I’m your colleague. I know what you want, but all I want is respect.”

Damn inner empress
, I thought.
I can’t take over the world if I’m fired from my job.

“My mistake,” he said, his tone dropping as he stepped closer to the jet. He gestured for me to leave my luggage behind and follow, and we made our way up the staircase that led inside.

The interior of the jet flowed with opulence. Leather recliners replaced the tough fabric of the seats I was used to in coach. Beside each recliner was a cabinet with a drawer, inside of which I was sure was all the finery one could ask for during a flight. Above our heads was a crystal chandelier that cast a warm, amiable glow throughout the cabin.

A male flight attendant greeted us. “Welcome, Mr. Jackman. Can I get you a drink?”

“Vodka, on the rocks,” he ordered. “I’ll show myself to my seat.”

“And you, Ms. Miller?” he asked. “What would you like?”

“What is there?” I asked, searching for a menu.

The flight attendant smiled patiently. “Whatever you want.”

A burrito. A banana split. And a cheeseburger. All with the vodka Mr. Jackman is having drizzled over it.

That’s how I wanted to answer. Instead, I said, “Maybe some warm milk? Anything that will calm my nerves will do. I’m a nervous flyer. Like a cat in water, really.”

“There’s no better jet you could be on. The safety rating on this jet is excellent. And the pilots are the best in the industry. You’ll be fine. But I’ll get you what you ask.”

“Thanks,” I said weakly, appalled there might be jets out there without an excellent safety rating.

Moments later, I was sitting across from Mr. Jackman, trying with all my might not to show how much I was enjoying the comfort of the recliner. I didn’t want him to think I was enjoying any part of being in his company. Exuding his crisp confidence, he settled himself in, pulling a briefcase from beneath the seat, which I could only assume he had sent ahead of time.

“This is all the research I have on Dr. Francesco Giordano,” he said, studying a file intently. “It’s not much.”

“On who?” I asked.

“The scientist we’re flying out to meet,” he said sternly. “Didn’t Russell give you a brief regarding the trip?”

“He said you would be on the flight. He told me there’s a scientist about to license his 3D telescope to a German manufacturing company. Then, he sent me home to pack. I have no other background information.”

Mr. Jackman handed me the file, extremely displeased. “Read through this. Have it memorized before we land. It would appear Dr. Giordano is a bit of a recluse. He lives on a farm out in the countryside, but he’s sharp. I need you on your best game.”

The file was small, only a few pages long, but it seemed unnecessary. “I know very little about the internal structure of telescopes. Just how to work them. Manufacturing was not on the syllabus. My game is as good as it’s going to get.”

“We’re not traveling across the world to tell him what he already knows. We’re going to convince him to sell the license to us. Engage with him about astronomy. Tell him you just graduated. Let him teach you about the telescope. He used to be a university professor but left after his wife died. Since then, he’s put all his time into his inventions. That file contains all his quirks. Know them and play them.”

I set the file down, irritated. Dr. Francesco Giordano sounded like a distraught widower, not someone who deserved to be manipulated for the greed of the company. “Or I can just be sincere. Human, even.”

Mr. Jackman smiled, amused. “Read the file.”

Before I could protest again, the flight attendant arrived with our drinks. “Ladies first,” he said, putting a tall ceramic mug in front of me. “It’s a creamy white chocolate mocha with Bailey’s Irish Cream. It’ll calm your nerves better than Xanax.”

“Thanks,” I said, inhaling the rich, buttery scent. “It smells delicious. Way better than a warm milk.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he replied, as he gave Mr. Jackman his vodka. “Now, you have about ten minutes to finish your drinks before we begin our taxi out onto the runaway. I’m afraid I’ll have to take the glasses back before takeoff.”

“Thank you, Adam,” Mr. Jackman said, waving him away.

I was not impressed. “That was rude,” I snapped.

“That was business. You need to read that file, not make small talk with the flight attendant.”

“Careful, someone might think you were jealous,” I muttered, picking the file up.

“Maybe I am,” Mr. Jackman said casually, studying me over his glass of vodka.

And I’m back to ignoring him.

Sipping my drink and scanning the file, I almost forgot I was about to be propelled thousands of miles into the air, flying over an entire continent and an ocean, before landing in a foreign land. So far, the farthest outside America I’d traveled was Mexico for Spring Break two years ago. Annie had insisted on Cancun, but I convinced her to try the less crowded Tulum instead, more interested in the white sandy beaches and the archaeology than the loose parties. I needed to relax, not party, given everything that was happening at the time.

By the time we were in the air, the sun had set, leaving nothing but darkness to gaze across through my window—darkness and the heavenly glitter of the stars. In the distance was the constellation Andromeda, also known as the Chained Lady. It made me think of my sister. She hadn’t been chained, not like Andromeda to the rocks, a sacrifice before the sea, but she had been held captive, a prisoner within her own body…

“You are a hundred miles away,” Mr. Jackman said, speaking much gentler than he had before, the authority in his voice replaced by a tenderness that sounded alien coming from him. I wouldn’t have believed such tenderness real had I not witnessed a glimpse of it before, when he’d carried me through the woods.

“More like millions.”

“Such sadness. It’s heartbreaking. Like Picasso’s Blue Period—monochrome and starved, yet still beautiful.”

I looked down at my curvy hips. “I’m hardly starved.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did, but cracking a joke was easier than confronting the sadness Mr. Jackman spoke of. “It’s in the past,” I said, hoping he would drop it.

He didn’t. “What is?”

I sighed, continuing to stare out into the night sky. “My sister.” It was all I was willing to say.

“Nothing is immortal,” he told me, sitting very still, like a statue of a god.

I would prefer the conversation to be dropped altogether, but at least he wasn’t pressing me about what happened to my sister. “That doesn’t comfort me.”

“It should. Even those stars out there, the ones you study, they eventually die out, wilting into the universe like a flower does in the winter. Nothing lasts forever, especially not those we love.”

              He had my full attention. “Have you lost someone you love?”

              “No, thankfully,” he said, locking his eyes with mine as if we were locking minds. “I haven’t.”

              “Then, how did you become so…predatory?”

              His expression flickered with what looked like hurt, if I thought it possible. Leaning forward, absorbed, he said, “You pursued me, remember? At the park. There was nothing predatory about accepting your invite. You were so beautiful, so…daring. I couldn’t resist you then, just as I can’t resist you now.”

              He seemed sincere, his proclamation missing his usual conceit, but I didn’t see how this was anything other than a game to him. He had left me alone in the woods. Men like that were dangerous. Hot. Irresistible. But dangerous. “I’m not sleeping with you again. Not after you abandoned me.”

              Relaxing back into his seat, he folded his hands, distant once more. “I thought it would save us both the awkwardness.”

              I refused to let him know how hurt I’d been, especially seeing him sit there so blasé. I’d wanted a night of passion under the stars. That had been the fantasy. Only one night, but one that was full of enamored whisperings and limitless lovemaking from a man with experience. Not a quick fuck.

              “You got to leave without the awkwardness,” I refuted. “I barely left with my life.” It was an exaggeration, but I felt it suitable.

              He seemed confused. And concerned.

             
A little too late for that
, I thought.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You blindfolded me. I didn’t know my way back. I was lost.”

A look of horror crossed his face. “I thought you knew the woods well.”

“Not in the dark!”

              “Madison…” He went silent, looking out the window, his face unreadable. “I’m sorry.”

              “And so am I. This wasn’t how I was supposed to start my new life as a professional woman. The only reason I approached you the way I did was because I wanted one last night of youthful recklessness before beginning my career. I worked so hard throughout college to graduate early. What a mistake. My career was tainted before I even stepped through the doors on my first day.” If I wasn’t so indignant, I would have cried in frustration.

              “Your job isn’t at risk,” he assured me.

              He sounded convincing, but I didn’t believe him. There was no way Mr. Jackman had the same respect for me that he would have had if I never asked him—a perfect stranger—to fuck me in the woods. In the silence that followed, I sipped my drink—another white chocolate mocha that Adam had given me as soon as we reached altitude.

              “Ask me something…anything,” Mr. Jackman prompted, setting a hand on my knee. It was an innocent gesture, meant to comfort me, but it caused a heat to rise through me, enough that I felt my panties soak slightly. “Let me earn your trust back.”

              “Mr. Jackman…” I began, my voice hoarse.

              He interrupted me. “Rawn, please. When we’re outside the office, I prefer you call me Rawn.”

              “Doesn’t the jet count as the office?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off his hand. The pressure of it against my white dress pants reminded me of the way he’d touched me before, edging my legs further apart before he drove his cock into me. Having had the blindfold on, his touch was the only memory I had of the night. That and the authority in his voice.

              “No,” he said. “Not tonight. Not in Italy. Ask me anything you’d like to know.”

             
Why didn’t you stay?

              Such a question would be impossible for me to ask. I didn’t want to know the answer. If there was something about fucking me that made him go, I wouldn’t recover.

              “How did you become President of Product Development? You’re so young. Well, youngish.”

              “Nepotism.”

              It sounded dirty. “What the hell is that?”

              “My father was a technician at Cepheus Scientific. When I was a boy, I used to come to the lab and visit him. It was fascinating for me, all the beakers and robots, much better than the arcades my friends would go to after school. Entering my teens, I began pointing out flaws in the blueprints my father was working from, enough that he had me meet with the engineers to tell them my observations, which led to a meeting with the CEO. I was labelled a boy genius, and the company signed me after I graduated high school. I got the job because my father worked for the company.”