Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name (9 page)

Quite frequently, my mother discreetly flew out to L.A. to see him. Sometimes they weren’t as discreet, though, for they would still attend events and such as if they were still married. They just couldn’t stay away from each other for more than a month. Whoever they were upfront dating came second in their lives.

“He gets defensive when you mention me?” she asked like a teenage girl who’s eager to know what the boy she’s crushing on thinks of her.

“Yes. You know Dad’s forever yours, Mom.”

Seleste huffed down the line. “Not anymore. I hear he’s dating that reporter girl, Eve Tomb.” She sighed. “You don’t think she’s too young for your father, darling?”

The laugh bubbled from my throat before I could stop it. “Mom, has Dad dated anyone his own age since you got divorced? He’s always been dating ripe, young models and actresses, and it has never bothered you. Why are you so sullen now?”

“Because I haven’t heard from him in over six weeks and there are constant pictures and stories of them on the Internet, which means he must really be into her. Oh God, what if he’s fallen in love with her?”

“Calm down, Mom. Dad’s free to do whatever he wants and so are you. You guys aren’t married anymore and you both keep confusing each other with your … clandestine
meetings
.”

“I’m not —”

“If you want to find out if he’s lost his love for you,” I talked over her, “then find someone just as young and hot. Someone known. You know you’re good for it. He’ll hear, and his actions will tell you if his love is still there.”

“I don’t want to. I haven’t been with anyone since he made me break it off with Mark. I don’t think I’ll ever want anyone but your father, Axia.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mom. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten a divorce. Maybe you should’ve done what God commands us women to do and submit to your husband.”

“Says
you
, Axia?”

“Hey, the command says, “
wives
, submit to your
husbands
“! I’m not a wife and I don’t have a husband so I don’t have to submit to anyone. And that’s why I’m
never
getting married.”

Seleste snickered. “I’ll never win on this with you, so I’m not even gonna go there. Just remember to prepare my favorite dish when I arrive next week. I love you, baby. Gotta go.”

Timo curled up on my stomach when I ended the call, giving me his sad face, not at all happy that I was leaving. I rubbed between his ears and he closed his eyes in appreciation. “Mommy’s only leaving for two days. Don’t be sad, I’ll be back before you know it.”

The doorbell rang and Timo hopped off my stomach and began whining while I pulled my suitcase off the bed and started for the door. “C’mon, Timo, your favorite girl Ally is here for you.”

V

T
he floodlights above were emanating so much heat that I kept begging for the air-conditioner to be adjusted. It was already on its coldest degree, they claimed. For a space this small, I couldn’t understand why they didn’t use smaller lights.

A pierced-lipped, bleached-blond gay guy played in my hair with hot tools while a petite brunette refreshed my make-up. Sighing and wondering what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to this shoot, I checked the clock for maybe the hundredth time, not even sure why I was checking the time, because it’s not like I could leave until they were finished with me.

Tish was seated next to me delivering whatever messages, proposals, or problems that came in for the day, while I was trying to be a good little girl and not snap at the many people who were fussing around me. Being here all day doing various shots, I was tired, hungry and thirsty. Though they’d solicitously asked what I wanted to eat, I’d told them I was fine. I didn’t like the idea of strangers getting my food, and I didn’t send Tish because I wanted, no, needed her there to keep me sane. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t being a good little girl entirely.

Someone switched the channel of the television on the far right. There was a rerun of last night’s basketball game showing, and my lips curved in a smile when I saw Zane playing on the courts in his usual fashion. Tall and muscled as he was, he moved like a Tasmanian devil on the court; guess the punishment did him well. People like Zane needed pain and torture to stay focused in life. Don’t ask me why, I’ve never been able to wrap my head around it, but I sure as hell liked aiding in it.

“Oh, I swear that Zane Zekiel dude is fine as hell!” said the gay hairstylist over my head. “Whoowee, what I wouldn’t give to get a taste of that chocolate hunk!”

The make-up artist, who had finally finished dabbing my face with powder, giggled shyly and glanced up at the television. “I know, right? I was
so
upset when they benched him for the past two games. Who does that? He’s like the
star
of the team. No wonder they’d lost.”

Tish caught my eye and smirked, but I ignored her.

That ‘Zane Zekiel dude’ is freakin’ twisted,
I mused.

The hairstylist spun my chair around to face the mirror, and my eyes expanded at the sight of my hair. With a host of bouncy curls, I looked like Cinderella ready for a ball, a prince and a pumpkin chariot. What fitness icon wore
bouncy
curls? “No, no,” I said, most implacably. “These curls are too tight. Loose curls, please. Or restore my hair to its straightness.”

Curls weren’t me. Let alone tight bouncy curls. What was I, a frigging prom queen?

“I think you look amazing. Exactly how a woman should look:
soft
and cherubic.”

The voice of that compliment was not of the gay hairstylist, and all my inward organs sighed and sagged. Oh heavens, not today. Today could contain not a drop more of annoyance.

Pretending not to hear, I kept my eyes on the hairstylist who was gawking at the owner of the voice. “Right here, Gay Boy, look at
me.
Remove these curls. I don’t like them.”

The hairstylist nodded and started at my hair, but The Voice halted him. “No. Leave the curls. She looks absolutely stunning.”

Refusing to even acknowledge The Voice, I crossed my legs, trailed my index finger slowly across my lower lip, and gave the hairstylist a penetrated glare in the mirror, adequate intimidation injected. He made nervous glances between me and The Voice, then shrugged and promptly began straightening my hair. Appeased, I turned my eyes back to the television screen, pretending to be lost in the basketball game.

A hand appeared in front of my face holding a mouth-watering cup of
Milky Way Malt
. My mouth salivated at the chocolate-caramel syrup that swirled over the foamy blend of vanilla ice cream and malted milk. A growl sounded in my stomach at the sight of my favorite shake of Los Angeles, and I couldn’t stop my tongue from darting out and passing over my glossed lips.

Following the length of the arm that held the cup, it was covered in a gray thermal shirt — which did a lousy job at hiding the definition of the bulging muscles, by the way — my eyes continued up and over a broad shoulder, up to a smooth but masculine neck, and finally landing on the face of the overbearing, but heavenly beautiful, Lovello Nelson. His slate-gray eyes held a devilish gleam with the streaks of blue being brighter than usual, while his smile was as sly as a fox’s. “If you don’t drink it soon, Axia, it’ll just melt and the whole thing will go to waste. This is your favorite milk shake, so I
know
you wouldn’t want that to happen.”

Unable to fathom why he was here, how he knew I was here, and how he even knew what my favorite shake was, I narrowed my eyes at him. “How did you —”

“Oh c’mon, Axia,” he curtailed. “Are you really gonna ask me that ‘how did you know’ question again?” He came to stand in front of me, took up my hand and placed the shake in it, wrapping my fingers securely around the cup. “I told you, I am who I am. It takes very little effort to get whatever information I need. Now drink up. You look dehydrated. Don’t they feed you here?”

He snapped his finger at a passing woman, and she stopped instantly, tossed her auburn hair over her shoulders and fluttered her eyelashes. But flirting wasn’t Lovello’s intention apparently. “Miss Blacksille here is the subject of the shoot, isn’t she?”

The woman frowned. “Yes, sir.”

“Then why does she look this pale? The lights are blinding and it’s hotter than a dragon’s tongue in here. On top of that, she’s not being fed. Is that how you people treat your subjects?”

The woman’s cheeks flushed red. “She insisted she was fine … Um, I’m just the director’s assistant. I’ll go get him —”

“No need,” I interjected. “I’m good. You don’t need to suck up to this a-hole.”

Turning my gaze back to Lovello, I glared at this impossible man. “Who do you think you are, barging in here talking to people like that?”

“Just looking out for you. It’s obvious you haven’t eaten at all, Axia. What’s the purpose of your assistant, then? Where’s the woman who told me:
“I love food! Hate me for it”
?”

Clenching my teeth, I gritted out, “I don’t need you interfering in my life. I’m my own woman and I do my own thing. Seriously, Pretty Boy, today is not the day to piss me off.”

Lovello chuckled. “I’d be easily pissed off, too, if I’d been working all day, tired as a horse and starving almost to death.”

The strength to argue with this pestiferous man wasn’t there. It truly wasn’t. “What are you doing here, Lovello?”

I brought the straw to my lips and took a long pull of the milk shake, no longer able to pretend I didn’t need it. At the sweet, malty taste on my tongue, my eyes shuttered down and a moan of appreciation slipped from me. It’d been months since I’d had one of these sweet babies. “I thought we had an agreement. You promised to stay away, remember?”

“Nah. I promised to stay away from your
gym
. Not from you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back on the stylist’s counter before me, as if no one else was there but us. Everyone else was quietly taking us in, albeit pretending to be focused on their task at hand. But Lovello didn’t seem to be the least bit aware of anyone but me.

Lance Neil, the photo shoot director, came around to us and smiled, more fawningly at Lovello than me. Lovello’s presence was commanding, imposing, intimidating. His posture, his stares, his grim stance were enough to make anyone timid. Even if you didn’t know who he was, his unwavering confidence spoke for him, ensuring the ignorant that he wasn’t just a
normal
man. “Miss Blacksille? Claire tells me there’s a problem?”

“No, Lance, there isn’t. It’s this interfering bast —”

“Yes. There
is
a problem,” Lovello butted in, pinning a death stare at Lance. “You’re shooting a pale-faced, starved woman to put on the cover of a
fitness
magazine. See any problem in that?”

“I’m sorry, um, Mr … ?”

“Nelson. Lovello Nelson,” he said, arms folded, brow raised.

Lance Neil’s eyes bulged a fraction at the recognition, then he turned his fawning up a notch. “We have been trying to feed her all morning, but … Miss Blacksille here is not the easiest woman to deal with.”

“I see. Well, she can’t continue this shoot until she’s fed.”

“I completely understand that, Mr. Nelson.” Lance turned to me. “What would you like to eat, Miss Blacksille?”

“Nothing.” I couldn’t believe what was taking place. It’s like I didn’t have a say in anything. In walks Mr. Arrogant Asshole, giving orders as if I were his property.

Lovello waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind her. Chinese. She’ll have Shrimp Fried Rice, extra soy sauce. Fried wontons for appetizers and unsweetened carrot juice. Large.”

My mouth fell open. Of course, he also knew what I liked in Chinese food. I’d never regretted bringing Trudy that thumb-drive until now. My life has been thoroughly invaded by this man.

“Okay, sir,” Lance smiled and jogged off.