Stingray Billionaire: The Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (10 page)

I can feel the blood
rushing to my face. “We moved around a lot when I was growing up,” I tell her.

“Anywhere in particular?”
she asks.

“I don’t know, it was
hard to put down any real roots until after I was out of high school,” he says.

“One of your parents was
in the military?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. I
realize
I’m being more than a little
vague here, but she’s not ready for the whole story. Okay, that’s a copout: I’m
not
prepared
to
tell
the whole
thing
.

Ellie looks over at the
clock and says, “Well, if we’re going to
trash
your office, we should probably continue this conversation downstairs, huh?”

I shrug and get up, and
together we leave the room.

We’re walking down the hall,
occasionally passing one of my employees, though fortunately, everyone we come
across seems content with a smile and a wave.

We get to the office, and
I tell Ellie, “We’re going to have to be quiet if we don’t want any company.”

“Oh, you know I can’t
promise that,” she says.

I
chuckle,
and we enter the room.

Once inside, Ellie stops
to survey the area. “Huh,” she says.

“What?” I ask.

“I think the plywood
looks worse than the tents did,” she says.

“Probably,” I tell her,
“but if you catch your foot against the wall of one of these, it’s not going to
bring the whole thing down on top of you. Here at Stingray, we like to avoid
lawsuits.”

“Are you getting snarky
with me?” she teases. “Wait, hold on,” she says. “I have an idea.” She skips
off toward my office at the end of the row and stops. “Is this one still
yours?” she asks.

“Yep,” I tell her.

I have no idea what she’s
doing.

She ducks
inside
but doesn’t come back out again. Am I
supposed to follow her in there? She told me to wait. What’s she doing?

A moment later, I hear my
pencil sharpener going and I start walking
toward
the office
to see what the hell she’s up to in there. Before I’m halfway
across the room, though, the sharpener
stops,
and a bright yellow No. 2 pencil comes tumbling over the front wall of the
office and bounces off the ceiling slightly less than halfway across the room.

“Did I make it?” she
asks.

I’m laughing, though I’m
more confused at what she’s going for than ever. “That
depends
,” I answer, coming to the open doorway of my office. “Where
were you trying to make it to?”

“The office on the other
side of the room,” she says. “The dream shot would be landing it in a pencil
holder on the other side, but I’m realistic, so I’d settle for just getting it
in the office. Get over there,” she says. “You try to make it across the room
into
here,
and I’ll try to make it over
there.”

I smile. “I think the
front walls are going to be too high to get the right kind of angle,” I tell
her. “Your last one hit the ceiling before it was halfway across.”

“Did you get to be CEO by
saying ‘it’s never going to work’?” she asks. “Go on, get over there.”

I laugh and start walking
to the office on the opposite wall from Ellie, snatching the pencil she threw
from the ground on my way. When I get to the door, I stop and turn around,
calling, “Why’d you bother sharpening the pencils? If you’re just trying to get
it in the room, or even with your dream shot, wouldn’t it work just as well if
they were dull?”

“It’s not fun if there’s
no element of danger,” she says. “Of course, you hit me in the eye with one of
those,
and we’re going to have some problems.”

I don’t know why, but
this sounds like a fantastic idea. Getting into the office across the room from
mine, Malcolm’s, I grab a couple of pens from the desk and have a seat.

“Tell me when you’re
ready!” I call out. We don’t have to be quiet if this is what we’re doing. I
just didn’t want someone walking in on us if things took a turn for the risqué.

Ellie doesn’t answer my
question verbally, though I do hear the sound of another pencil hitting the
suspended ceiling.

“Your turn,” she calls
out.

She’s a little weird. I
kind of like that.

I lean back in Malcolm’s
chair and let fly with one of the pens, but it catches the top edge of the wall
and bounces back into the room in front of me.

“Did you go?” she asks.

“Hold on,” I tell her.
“I’m taking a mulligan.”

I take one of the pens
that were on Malcolm’s
desk,
and I try
again. This time, the pen sails over the
wall,
and I don’t hear it land.

“Did I make it?” I ask.

“Not in this office,” she
says.

We go back and forth a
few times until we run out of writing utensils to lob across the room, and when
we meet
in the middle
to regather
ammunition, we’re both laughing.

Ellie stumbles a bit as
she goes to pick up her
last
pen, but I’m
quick to reach out and catch her.

“You all right?” I
ask
even though she didn’t fall.

She sputters
laughter
but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she
repositions my hands from her shoulders where they were down to settle over her
breasts. Sitting there,
lobbing
pens at
each other, I’d almost forgotten she never changed out of her robe.

The fabric is thin,
smooth; her nipples are hard and she’s turning her head toward me, reaching
back to rest the palm of her hand over the front of my slacks.

“You know,” she says, “we
never did finish our conversation.”

“What conversation is
that?” I ask, lightly massaging her breasts through the barely-there robe.

“You know,” she says in a
whisper, leaning toward me as she closes her eyes.

I bend down to kiss her
on the mouth. Our lips
meet,
and her hand
starts going up and down over the front of my pants.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“We never finished our
conversation,” she says.

I’m about to respond when
I catch movement out of the corner of my eyes. I glance up to see Marly
standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth.

“Ellie,” I whisper,
quickly bringing my hands back to my sides.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Marly
says, covering her eyes. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” Marly’s quick to
leave the room, but my heart is pounding in my chest.

“Well that’s a little
embarrassing,” Ellie says with a giggle.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “We
should probably get back,
anyway
. We’ve
got an early flight in the morning.”

If anyone were to walk in
here, I’m glad it was Marly.

I don’t care if people
know I’m dating Ellie, but with things as precarious as they are, I don’t know
what would happen if the board found out about this. Maybe nothing would
happen. I don’t know.

Ellie and I are both
adults, but Marly only calls me boss when she wants me to know she doesn’t
approve of something. That’s almost universally bad.

Chapter
Seven

Manhattan

Ellie

The phone next to the bed
starts ringing, but I’m nowhere near awake enough to answer it.

This is
day four in Manhattan, and I just want to sleep in as long as possible.

While we were on the
plane here, I told Nick I wasn’t sure if we should keep staying together while
we’re there. I was expecting an incredulous response, something about how we
spent a week together back in the hotel room in Mulholland, but he didn’t bat
an eye.

Now, staying in what
would be a six or seven star room—if the ratings went that high—I’m content to
let the most insanely comfortable mattress I’ve ever slept on keep doing its
work.

I’m nearly back to sleep
again when the phone rings a second time.

With a groan, I reach
over and pull the receiver off its cradle and put it to my ear, saying, “Yeah?”

“Good morning, Miss
Michaels, I trust you’ve slept well,” Bertrand, the on-call butler—yeah, the
room comes with an on-call butler—says.

“You sound entirely too
chipper, Bertrand,” I say.

“My apologies, Miss,” he
says. “You have a call from Mr. Scipio.”

“All right,” I say,
rolling onto my back. “Patch him through.”

I love saying that.

“Hey, Ellie,” Nick says.
“How are you doing this morning?”

“Sleepy,” I tell him.

“Ah. Listen,” he says, “I
know we talked about going out to the island this afternoon, but it looks like
I’m going to be in meetings all day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”
I tell him. “Do you know when you’ll
be done
?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he
says. “There’s a lot to work out while I’m here. While I’m at the office,
though, I thought you might like to take a closer look at the city. We haven’t
had a chance to do much sight-seeing while you’ve been here, so I sent my
driver
to
you. He should already be
waiting in the lot for you.”

“He’s already there?” I
ask, looking at the clock. It’s almost noon. “Yeah, all right,” I tell him.
“Let him know I’m going to be a few minutes, though.”

“I’ll send you his
number,” he says. “I’m sorry about today, but I’ll see you tonight, okay? I’ve
got to let you go.”

“Okay,” I answer. “I’ll
see you then.”

I hang up the phone and
sigh. It’s thoughtful of him to have his driver take me around, but I really
could have done with a bit more sleep.

Regardless, I drag myself
out of bed and stagger
to the bathroom
to
take a quick shower.

Things have been moving
fast with Nick. That night in my apartment, he convinced me that I wasn’t just
a potential notch on his bedpost, but I’m not naïve. I know this isn’t going to
last forever.

What changed my mind was
the realization the relationship doesn’t have to last forever to be worthwhile.
Eventually, some supermodel or famous actress is going to come
along,
and he’s going to lose interest in the
small-town girl experiment, but until then, there’s no reason we can’t have
some fun.

As long as I know what
this is going into it, the pain of our relationship’s inevitable end isn’t
quite so daunting.

I shower and dry myself,
returning to the room to pick out a suitable outfit for my trek through
Manhattan. Nick was kind enough to have some clothes brought over for me, but
looking
at
my options, I’m pretty
terrified of wearing anything in the closet. It’s all so expensive.

It takes a minute, but I
find something reasonably understated: a black, sleeveless top with a
mid-length khaki-colored skirt. I get dressed and ready for the day.

I forgot to send the
driver a message telling him I’d be a few minutes, so I get the number from
Nick’s text and place the call.

“Miss Michaels,” the man
answers. “Would you like me to bring the car around?”

“Sure,” I tell him.
“Where do I meet you?”

“For your discretion, I’m
parked in the sub-basement of the parking structure,” he says. “Just take the
elevator all the way down and I’ll be there to pick you up.”

“Sounds great,” I tell
him. “Thanks.”

I take one last look in
the mirror, making sure my hair and makeup are passable, and I grab my room key
before I’m out the door. Getting off the elevator, I find a man in a cliché
driver’s uniform standing next to a town car.

“Miss Michaels,” the
driver says, opening the back door.

“Hi,” I answer, not
knowing what else to say. “What’s your name?”

“Trevor, ma’am,” he
answers. “Your party is already waiting in the car.”

“My party?” I ask.

Trevor nods. “Mr. Scipio
sent a couple of gentlemen to escort you today,” he says. “Don’t worry, though.
They do
an excellent
job of staying out
of the way. You’ll hardly notice them.

I climb into the back of
the town car and there, sitting across from me in a rear-facing seat are two refrigerators
with suits and sunglasses.

“Good morning, ma’am,”
the one on the left says. “I’m
Marc. This is
Tony. We’ll be your escort
today
.”

“Marc,” I say, leaning
forward to shake the first man’s hand. “Tony, which I assume is short for
Anthony?” I say, to the other. “Do they put you together because of your names,
or is that just a coincidence?”

“Ma’am?” Anthony
responds.

“Nevermind,” I say,
waving it off. “Where are we going?”

“Mr. Scipio arranged for
you to tour some of the finer establishments in the city,” Marc says. “Of
course, we can go wherever you like.”

When the day
comes,
and Nick and I do part ways, the only
problem is I don’t think anyone will believe any of this.

I shrug. “Let’s start
with what Nick set up, I guess,” I tell Marc.

He knocks on the
partition between
the driver and us
which
then lowers. Marc says, “The lady would like to begin as scheduled.”

“On our way,” Trevor
says, and off we go.

Nick and I haven’t had a
whole lot of time together since we got here, and to be honest, I’ve been a
little fearful
of
leaving the hotel room.
As far as I know,
word
about Nick and me
hasn’t spread outside of Mulholland, but if the people of New York are anything
like the people there, I didn’t want to risk it.

The two rectangular men
in front of me ease my mind a bit, though.

The mob in front of the
store and the smaller
crowd
in front of
my apartment were bad enough, but ever since I got
on the plane
to come here, I’ve been getting phone calls from
relatives I don’t remember having. Everyone’s so
sweet
, so incredibly
civil
right until I mention I don’t have any say over where and how Nick spends his
money.

That’s when these people
who very well may not be related to me start talking about how ungrateful I am
and how when I was a kid, they took a splinter out of my hand or took Naomi and
me out for ice cream.

Even if that’s true, I’m
not sure how any of that entitles these people to a six-or-seven-figure payout.

Naomi, surprisingly, has
been pretty laid back about the whole thing. Her explanation is that, if I met
a billionaire, it can’t be long until she meets someone even wealthier. If she
were
anyone else, I wouldn’t take the thought
seriously at all. Knowing Naomi’s luck, though, it just may happen.

The traffic is pretty
terrifying, but after a while, we come to a stop.

“Where are we?” I ask.

Anthony says,
“Tiffany’s.”

“What?” I ask.

“Tiffany’s,” he repeats.

“What?” I ask again as
Trevor opens the door.

Anthony gets out of his
seat and somehow manages to squeeze his
thick
self out the door first, and he stands on the sidewalk, looking over the
passersby.

“Ma’am,” Trevor says,
holding out a hand.

“Tiffany’s?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am,” Trevor
answers.

“I can’t go in there,” I
tell him. “Forget what I’m wearing, I don’t think I could afford to have a
Cracker Jack ring engraved there, much less, well, anything.”

“It’s all taken care of,”
Trevor says, still patiently holding his hand out for me to take.

I look at Marc, then at
Anthony. “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t think they want someone like me in
there.”

“Why not?” Trevor asks.

“Yeah, I’m dating
a wealthy
man,” I start, “but I’m about as
low-rent as they come. I wouldn’t even know where to start in a place like
this.”

“If it eases your mind,
Mr. Scipio has opened accounts at a few of his preferred locations throughout
the city,” Trevor tells me. “Anything you want is on him.”

At what point does this
become
me
using
Nick
?

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Well,” Trevor says,
“we’re already here, so you may as well take a look around. If you don’t choose
to buy anything, that’s fine.”

It seems Nick has this
whole thing planned out, down to the smallest detail. To test that theory, I
say, “You know, you speak differently than the other drivers I’ve met.”

Trevor smiles and says,
“Mr. Scipio felt you may be more comfortable with someone
who chatted
more colloquially. Am I doing all
right so far, or would you prefer I stop?”

“No, it’s fine,” I tell
him. “Just be yourself.”

“Are we going in?” he
asks.

I look over at Marc, but
he gestures back toward Trevor.

“I guess we are,” I answer
and take Trevor’s hand.

Marc follows after I’m
out of the
car,
and Trevor closes the
door while Anthony, Marc and I enter the store.

As soon as I’ve crossed
the threshold, I freeze.
This is
it.
This is
the actual Tiffany & Co flagship
store on Fifth Avenue. Marc grabs my arm, pulling me out of the way as someone
comes through the door after me.

“I don’t even know where
to start,” I say.

“Wherever you like,”
Anthony says. “Mr. Scipio wanted us to inform you that he’s referred you to the
private room so you can peruse their finest pieces.”

“Oh, I don’t think
that’ll be necessary,” I say as I start walking toward the first counter. “I’m
not buying anything.”

There are a lot more
people in here than I thought there would be, but I guess it only makes sense
that a company that’s lasted this long in New York must have a regular flow of
customers.

I reach the first counter
and start looking at the pieces inside. There are some pieces for under a
thousand, but not very many. Everything
is
painstakingly crafted
, every cut on every stone made to bring out the
best in the piece.

This is
overwhelming.

“Can I help you, miss?”
an older gentleman behind the counter asks.

“Oh, I’m just
browsing
—” I start, but Anthony interrupts me.

“You’ve been expecting
Miss Michaels,” Anthony says. “She’s the guest of Mr. Scipio.”

“Yes, of course!” the man
behind the counter gasps. “Right this way, miss!”

“Hold on,” I say, holding
one hand up to the gentleman. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to look
at
the pieces offered to the general public,
first.”

“Yes, of course,” he
says. “My name is Clarence. What can I show you today?”

My relationship with Nick
is meant to be about having fun, enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime experience while
it lasts, but I’m not going to start spending buckets of cash just because I
can.

 
“Do you have any tasteful, understated
pendants?” I ask. “I’m not looking for anything too expensive.”

 
Clarence glances at Anthony, then at Marc, and
then back at me. “Yes, of course,” he says, the pitch and volume of his voice having
lowered considerably.

He leads me over to the
other side of the counter to the
necklaces,
and my mouth starts watering.

“They’re all so
beautiful,” I say. “I don’t even know where to start looking.”

“If I may, Miss,”
Clarence says, opening the back of the display case and taking a necklace from
inside and then holding it up for my inspection, “this is from our Enchant
line. It’s an 18-karat chain of rose gold and platinum, and as you can see, the
flower pendant in the middle houses fourteen stones around a larger, fifteenth
stone in the middle, all brilliant diamonds.”