Rendezvous with the Billionaire: A Billionaire Workplace Romance (16 page)

It stunned me, I'd never been punched before in my life. I tried to fight back, but I was already stumbling as he dragged me back towards the elevator, cursing at me the entire way. He pushed me into the elevator hard enough that I slammed up against the opposite wall. As the door closed, he sank his fist into my abdomen and I fell, sliding to the floor. Everything went dim except for the pain and I felt the hard sole of his shoe kicking me.

I tasted blood just before I passed out.

I wasn't tied to the chair anymore. This time, Dylan had bound me in the corner, my hands wrenched behind my back and my feet tied together. My head feel like it was about to explode and the entire room was spinning. I couldn't quite focus on anything. The world had taken on a subtle fuzziness around the edges. That wasn't good at all.

Dylan was sitting on the floor, his eyes crazed as he raked his gaze up and down. I felt dirty just being looked at. He straightened when he saw my eyes open. "Why did you have to do that?" He was really complaining about me escaping? I would have scoffed if my throat didn't feel like I'd swallowed broken glass. "I had a plan. It was all going to work out fine. Why did you have to ruin it?" He yelled that last bit and I flinched.

I had no idea how long I'd been out. I thought Dylan was wearing the same clothes that he'd been in when he'd kidnapped me, but I wasn't sure. Now they looked rumpled, like he'd pulled at his shirt's collar and maybe laid down for a while. I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. My muscles were stiff and sore and each little movement was a new agony. If this is what it felt like to get into a fight, I was never doing that again.

Assuming I survived.

His cell phone rang and he jumped. But he stood, placing his gun on the kitchen counter while he spoke. I guess he realized I couldn't very well fight him while I was bound on the floor. He was right.

I wanted to curl into myself and cry. I didn't deserve this, I had barely done anything wrong. And certainly nothing that warranted being held at gunpoint by a murderous lunatic. But tears weren't going to get me out of this situation. I needed my wits, I needed to pay attention to what Dylan wanted me to do, and I needed to do whatever it took to get out of the cuffs and out of the apartment. I tried not to think too hard about what he might ask, it only made my stomach turn.

I eased onto my side, rolling over a tender bruise in the process. A little yelp escaped, but I kept going, wedging myself up against the wall until I was in a sitting position. That didn't help my head and I felt like I was going to throw up. But sitting was better than lying down and I was determined to stay there.

Dylan came towards me and I was sure he was going to hit me for the noise. Instead, he held the phone up to my ear. "Tell them you're okay, they need to know you're alive."

"What? Who?" I didn't know what he was talking about. Why would someone think I was dead?

An authoritative voice on the other end of the line spoke, "Is this Amy Bowen? Are you alright? We're going to get you out of this, Miss Bowen, but I need you to remain calm." She spoke quickly, as if she knew Dylan would take the phone at any moment.

"Yes, I'm Amy," I choked out. My throat felt even worse when I spoke. "Who are you? What's going on?"

"I'm Cynthia Watt with the New York City Poli--" Dylan took the phone away before she could finish.

He placed it next to his ear and walked away, speaking quietly. I could barely hear him, but I concentrated past the fuzz in my head. This was important. "She's alive. We're both alive. Just let me out of here and you can have her." He spoke harshly, spitting the words.

The cops knew he had me. They were talking to him. That made this a hostage negotiation. My thoughts were coming slowly, but I thought this had to be a good sign. After all, at least someone knew where I was. Someone who didn't want me dead.

But I couldn't feel that relieved. Dylan wasn't in his right mind. One wrong move from the cops and he was going to kill me. One wrong move from me and he was going to kill me. And I had no idea what the right move was.

He put his phone back in his pocket and picked up the gun again. Great. "I don't even know how I got in this mess." He said. I didn't think he was talking to me, but it wasn't like there was anyone else in the room.

I looked him over. He was crouched down against the opposite wall, one hand gripping his hair, the other holding the gun. He looked scared and desperate. I shouldn't antagonize him, that much was clear. So I tried sympathy. Anything that made him less likely to kill me. "You said you had no other choice, right?" I tried to sound friendly. I didn't even remember if that was what he told me, but it sounded like what he wanted to hear. And as far as I was concerned, telling Dylan Marquez what he wanted to hear was my new job.

He looked up, eyes bright. "That's right. If they all had just listened to me none of this would have happened." He relaxed a little, shifting to sit on the floor rather than crouch.

"Was that a problem? Your friends not listening?" I felt like a therapist and each word was tearing a hole in my throat. But Dylan seemed to be calming down and I wouldn't stop until this was done.

He nodded. "It was!" He smiled, happy that I seemed to understand him. I listened, but each of his words made me sicker. He told me how Evan always took control and how Nick followed his lead like a sick little puppy. Of course, Amanda was always the innocent one, in her brother's eyes, she was an angel. But I didn't contradict him.

Each time he tried to get their group to try something new, do something different, they wouldn't pay any attention to him until one of the other three got it in their heads that it was a good idea. And on and on he rambled. I said the right words each time he paused for breath. Yes, they really did treat you bad. No, I understand why you had to do it. I'm glad you got to tell me why you're doing this.

Strangely enough, my fear started to fade. I knew that if I made one wrong move he was going to kill me, but by the time he started rambling about the puppy he got when he was seven years old, I thought he might have moved on from that. I shifted slightly where I sat and he pointed the gun at me for a moment before lowering it once he realized I was just repositioning myself.

I had no idea how long he talked. It just kept going. Every detail about his life. Six different reasons why killing Nicholas Bitterman was the right decision. Why he clearly had to kidnap me. And as my hands went numb I kept agreeing with him.

When the phone rang again, he didn't jump. He just put up a hand to tell me to keep quiet and answered. "Let's talk."

And I let myself hope.

The little standoff didn't end right then. But Dylan talked to Mott for a long time before hanging up. And then he started talking to me again. The wait for her next phone call wasn't as long. And by the time it was done, Dylan had emptied the clip of the gun and set it as far away from himself as possible.

I didn't know that a standoff could end peacefully. The police knocked on the door and Dylan answered, his hands raised in a sign of surrender. They took him into custody and an older woman with shocking red hair approached me.

"I'm Cynthia Mott. You're safe now." And she must have possessed some kind of magic because I believed her.

They had to take me downstairs in a stretcher. The EMT's preliminary assessment identified two cracked ribs and a concussion along with a few dozen bruises. He told me that I wouldn't be running any marathons soon, but that I'd survive. Somewhere between the end of the elevator ride and getting to the ambulance everything got very fuzzy. I couldn't focus on anything and felt myself slip into unconsciousness.

Everything moved very fast after that. I got the vague impression of flashing lights, of people moving frantically around me. But I couldn't process anything. I came to in a brightly lit hospital room sometime later. Andrea was biting her nails and pacing back and forth at the foot of my bed.

"Hey." I wanted to say something funny, but it hurt too much to think right then.

She rushed over and grabbed my hand, sitting down hard in the uncomfortable looking chair next to the bed. "Holy shit, how do you feel? Are you okay?" She reached over and tried to pour water out of an ugly pink plastic pitcher. But doing it backwards and one handed meant she made a bit of a mess.

But my throat was parched and I accepted the water gratefully. "How long have I been out?"

She let go of my hand and curled her arms around her midsection, leaning back in the chair. "Just since last night. I heard the doctor say that they gave you something to help you sleep. I called your parents. They're flying in this afternoon."

"It was Dylan." She looked confused, I guess the news hadn't gotten out yet. "He sent the video, and he killed Nicholas Bitterman."

Realization dawned. "The cops wouldn't say anything to me after they realized we weren't related. I'm sorry I didn't find it out sooner."

"What? No." I spoke too loud and my throat hurt again. My next words came out barely more than a whisper, "That is so not your fault. Why would you ever think it was him?"

An orderly came bustling in rolling a cart full of flowers and stuffed animals. My eyes widened, but she picked up a simple bouquet of roses and placed them on the table by the window. She grinned and said, "Looks like someone has an admirer."

I didn't know how to respond to that and she rolled out of the room before Andrea said anything. "Is there a card?" I asked. I was pretty sure I knew who they were from.

I'm sorry that I can't be there with you now. I wish you the quickest recovery.

Yours,

Evan

After that, I didn't stay in the hospital for long. My parents checked me out two days later and whisked me off to their hotel where they insisted I stay with them for the week. Mom begged me to go back home with them. She couldn't imagine anyone being kidnapped in our hometown. Dad clearly wasn't happy with what happened, but he didn't try to change my mind about staying.

After a week I had to go back to work. I was already busting through my sick days and I couldn't hide forever. I hadn't heard from Evan at all since he sent the flowers.

A few of the members of my team took me out to lunch, half out of sympathy and half out of a desire for all the grisly details. I gave as much as I could, but the police had talked to me shortly after my discharge from the hospital and had advised me to keep quiet about the details. A consult with my attorney, Carmen, informed me that I didn't need to, but it wouldn't hurt.

On the Friday of my first week back, Evan and I were the only two people in the elevator headed down. It was the end of the day and the first time I had been alone with him since before the abduction.

"My father hired Carmen." He said with no preamble. "Apparently I was not as discreet in my interest as I thought."

"Oh." So his dad knew about us too. Wonderful. "Thanks. It looks like I won't need her anymore."

The elevator stopped on the sixteenth floor and people got on, cutting off our conversation. But when I stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, before I could get too far, he said, "Wait!" And took a few jogging steps to catch up to me.

I waited for him to say anything, but he didn't. We walked silently through the lobby and out onto the busy street. After two blocks I looked over at him. "Are you escorting me to the subway?"

A dash of pink appeared on his cheeks. He was embarrassed to be caught out. "I was hoping to be more subtle."

"I don't need a protector, Evan."

"You were abducted because of me, beaten because of me, and now--"

I held up a hand. "Whatever you're doing here, just don't. I survived Dylan. I can walk a few blocks alone. If I couldn't, I'd figure something out. Just...don't do this to me, okay?"

I left him there on the street and walked the rest of the way to the subway alone.

When I was at home the next day he called and asked me to go downstairs. I wanted to leave him alone. He wasn't taking this well and I wasn't going to coddle him about it. But if we were going to have it out, better sooner rather than later.

He was standing outside my building wearing faded jeans and a green t-shirt. He looked casual, young, relaxed. Just downright good. If I wasn't a bit mad at him my mouth would have watered. Okay, it did water but I ignored it.

We walked down the street to a little park. Somewhere along the way our hands sort of glided together and ended up fingers entwined. I didn't pull away. We sat on a bench together in silence for a few moments, the only sound was the chirping of the birds and the faint sound of the street.

"My parents split when I was really young." He was still holding my hand, his thumb idly tracing along the skin. "My grandparents all lived in separate houses. I can think of maybe one couple that I knew personally that was happy together."

"Evan..." I didn't need to hear his whole sob story.

He squeezed my hand lightly, "I know, not exactly unique. And it wasn't like I was sad. My parents loved
me
. But I never realized that you could love your spouse. That you could want to be around a person all the time and not resent them. That you could just be happy."

My heart skipped a little and a part of me wanted to run. The rest of me was planted in place, desperate to hear the next words.

"It's over between me and Amanda. Officially now. In light of Dylan..." He didn't elaborate, thankfully. "She needs a friend, and I want to be that friend. But nothing more."

"Of course, you've known each other forever." I didn't have the right to give him approval, but it felt like I should say it. And he smiled which made me grin.

"So here's what I'm saying." He took a deep breath, and this time looked straight at me. "I probably make a horrible boyfriend. I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm going to make you so mad that you want to pull your hair out." To emphasize his point he tucked a lose strand of my own hair behind my ear. "But I'm a quick learner. And according to some people, very sexy."

I wanted to close my eyes and hide in shame at the memory of that text message. It felt like it had been ages since I sent it.

"And most importantly, I love you. I want to make you happy and to be happy with you. So what do you say?"

I should have weighed the pros and cons. Made lists and consulted Andrea. Everything with Evan was so much larger than life that I half expected his helicopter to land and take us on a tour of the city after I said yes. But even if it did, I knew I was going to step right in.

"Not a secret." It wasn't a question. "If we're going to do this, it's for real."

He grinned, his eyes lighting up. "You think I want to keep you secret." He kissed my forehead. "You've got another thing coming." And then he kissed me, in the middle of the park in broad daylight. Anyone could walk by and see us. And I didn't care.

This wasn't my final rendezvous with my billionaire. I was just getting started.