The Billionaire's Hotline (Men of the Capital Series Book 1) (4 page)

              “Yes, Miss Hollingford?”

              “I just thought you ought to know I got my ass handed to me by that sweet little girl who waters her old neighbor’s plants. She don’t want your flowers and she had some words to say about it. She got a mouth on her like a sailor, and she’s sending those lilies back here right now.”

              “Thank you, Miss Hollingford,” he said and returned to his conference call, half his mind on what sort of gift she’d accept. He wasn’t above trickery to get a foot in the door.

              An hour later, he was on the phone with a jeweler, talking about a rose gold Vishuddha necklace and dictating a note about the voice and throat chakras from her Virgo. He got a text confirmation that it had been delivered, and five minutes later, he got the buzz from Miss Hollingford.

              “I told her she got it all wrong. I sent those flowers, but I’m not dumb enough to send her something else after she cussed me and sent those lilies back. They’re beautiful by the way, and I’m taking them home for the emotional distress of dealing with this woman. I don’t know who all is sending her presents, but they’re not in their right mind, I can tell you that.”

              “I sent the necklace, Miss Hollingford. I thought she’d like it.”

              “You don’t need to waste your time doing things like that. I can order necklaces. Can I have that, too?” she asked suspiciously.

              “No. You can send it back to the jeweler and then call her Singapore noodle place and send an order of whatever is her favorite. She won’t turn that down.”

              “Why do you care if she accepts something from you? She doesn’t want your gifts, not even jewelry. She wants to be...here, let me get the message for you. Hannah Largent wants to be ‘left the fuck alone’ and hell will freeze over and unicorns will fly from her behind before she gives you back this phone so you can torment more young blondes.”

              “Is that all?”

              “Yeah, that’s about it.”

              “Take your flowers and go home early today. You’ve earned it,” Jasper said, chuckling to himself.

              At six-thirty, when most of the office was empty, Jasper was working on the debt load for a utilities takeover and enjoying the silence. He heard the ping of the elevator, but his gaze didn’t drift from his screen. She didn’t say anything, but he knew she was there. He could smell cinnamon gum.

              When he glanced toward the doorway, Hannah filled his gaze. She was bigger than he remembered—tall and curvy, but really larger than life. He’d been convinced that he built her up in his mind because she was a challenge, but in person, her presence nearly knocked him over. Her dark hair was brushed this time, which was an improvement. It had a slight wave to it, and it hung halfway down her back, making him want to twist his fingers in the length of it. Her dark eyes were rimmed with mascara now and she had on a pair of jeans and a loose white t-shirt. There was something about that t-shirt…it was a man’s V-neck undershirt, he was almost certain, and he wondered if she’d bought it work in or if it had been left behind by some lover. The thought made his jaw clench.

              “I don’t want your flowers, Mr. Cates,” she began, the throaty voice seeming to travel up his spine and along his neck like a caress.

              “I gathered that from my secretary. You made yourself clear.”

              “I wasn’t looking for an upgrade. I don’t want jewelry either. Just leave me alone. I don’t want anything from you.”

              “I want something from you.”

              “The phone, I know. Not happening.”

              “Not only that. I want you to stop calling me Mr. Cates.”

              “I’ll stop calling you anything. Just agree to leave me alone.”

              “My name is Jasper.”

              “Jasper? Really?”

              “Some name, I know. But if you’ll call me that, I might start to hate it less.” He pushed away from his computer and rounded the desk. “So will you call me that?” He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning against his desk.

              “Jasper,” She breathed, then straightened her spine as if realizing she’d revealed too much with that single word.

              “Mockingbird,” he replied.

              “You googled me.”

              “No, I had my secretary find out about you.”

              “It’s only fair. I looked you up. You have people to look things up for you, I suppose.”

              “Did you accept the noodles?”

              “I resigned myself to them because I was hungry. But here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out some money, dropped it on his desk. “Six dollars and seventy-three cents, plus tip. Now I’ve bought my own noodles.” She ventured a smile and he put his hand on her face, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

              “You sound like Nina Simone most of the time, Mockingbird,” he said softly.

Hannah moved in toward him and he slid his hand to the back of her neck, stroking her hairline, soothing her. He thought she was skittish and would back away but he was wrong. Instead, she kissed him, long and unhurried, her soft lips brushing against his, tugging at his lower lip until she felt him smile. Jasper deepened the kiss, parting her lip and pulling her into his arms. When she drew back, he had trouble catching his breath. She laid a hand on his chest and he knew she felt his heart racing.

“I hate to have to say it but, Mississippi goddamn, Hannah.” He grinned. “What are you doing?”

“Fastening your shirt. I guess I got going on your buttons without thinking.” She sounded sheepish.

“Go out with me. Dinner, coffee, pancakes, noodles, your choice. Just sit across from me and look at me the way you are right now.” He took her hand for the second time since he’d known her and kissed it, this time softly, almost reverently. She swayed toward him a little, tipping her head back to be kissed again when the knock sounded.

“This seems to be the place,” the tall blonde said, flashing white teeth in a feral smile. “I’m Anna. I got the text to be here, dressed for an awards dinner. Am I early?”

The girl was six feet tall, willowy and graceful, wrapped in a white blouson dress just sheer enough to make the absence of underwear evident. Her hair came to her waist in a glossy straight sweep, and everything about her was smooth, tanned and muscular.

Hannah backed away.

“You’re in the right place. I’m the one who’s wrong,” she said. She grabbed the cash off his desk that she’d put there. “And you can pay for the bloody noodles, you jackass. You’re far too good for him. You look like a Valkyrie, in the best possible way, and he gives those phones out to everyone. I even have one. Find someone more discerning next time. He might be good for one night, but I wouldn’t
waste my time.
” She stomped out of his office.

Chapter 5

Jasper and Hannah

“He is disgusting. Never again. Never. He is nothing but a promiscuous pig, and I hope he dies a horrible death from some venereal disease. I can’t believe I kissed him. He is repulsive. I must be so lonely that I’m losing all judgment. Maybe I need to see a counselor. How could I have ever thought—” Hannah ranted under her breath all the way home.

“And that girl. So cliché! A tall blonde in a skimpy dress. Couldn’t he at least have been original and had a thing for busty redheads, just for the novelty? I mean, I still wouldn’t qualify for consideration in his nutso little criteria game, but at least it wouldn’t be so pathetically textbook. He’s insecure in his masculinity and needs a universally prized possession, i.e. a gorgeous blonde trophy wife to validate him. There should be some spiritual law that prevents egomaniacal assholes from acting like they’re decent human beings. He sent me noodles, he called me ‘mockingbird’, and I really liked that, goddammit.” 

By the time she got her door unlocked, she was in tears. She took a hot bath and forced herself to drink tea with honey so all the sobbing didn’t leave her throat raw. She was fairly sure the soothing tea was rendered ineffective by the fact that she was crying even while she was drinking it. There was no way she was jealous of that Barbie doll, of that vacuous arm candy he was taking to an awards dinner. A boring awards dinner with bad food, probably. She was just disappointed because she had felt a spark with him. Hell, she’d felt an inferno that could have consumed national forests and caused burn advisories for a two hundred mile radius the first time he kissed her hand.

His name was Jasper, something old-fashioned and beautiful. Couldn’t he have been called something less memorable, something she’d have to struggle to recall in a few months or years?

Hannah was too upset, and her throat was too scratchy to get any work done, so she settled in for a sleepless night, loading a new mystery on her e-reading app. She chose a story about a cheating husband who had been murdered by one of his mistresses. Her eyes were burning from exhaustion, but she still hiccupped the occasional sob when her phone rang once. She lunged for it.

“Mockingbird? It’s me,” he said, and the relief of hearing his voice nearly brought on more tears. Something that had tightened around her rib cage loosened, and she could draw a deep breath again.

“Are you there?” That arrogant voice was endearingly uncertain.

She would have said ‘yes’ to anything at that moment. “I’m here.”

“What’s wrong? You sound…off.”

“Cheap phone. I stole it from a playboy.”

“Have you been crying?”

“No. Certainly not.” She huffed as if offended.

“Hannah, I sent her home in a cab as soon as the awards speeches were over. This is the second night I’ve slept alone on account of you.”

“I suspect you do your five hours in an empty bed on purpose,” she hedged, unwilling to own the pure joy that unfurled in her chest.

“Does my inflection mark me out for a loner?” he teased.

“No, Jasper,” she let herself savor his name, “I can’t imagine you doing anything so inefficient as allowing your allotted five hours to be disrupted by the snores and turnings of another human being in your space.”

“I’ll give you that one. You’re perceptive.”

“Why did you send her home? She was gorgeous.”

“She wasn’t you,” Jasper said easily, and he heard the catch in her breath.

“Don’t say things like that.” Her voice was strained, a warning or fear, he didn’t know which.

“She was boring. I don’t like being bored. You’re never boring. You barge into hotel bars and my office demanding that I leave you alone. For some reason, I don’t hate it.”

“That was stupid, going to your office to tell you to leave me alone. Any rational person would have sent back your gifts with an icy silence and never acknowledged you.”

“Only someone who wanted to be alone would have ignored me like that.”

“I know. I didn’t like seeing that girl, Anna, coming into your office to go with you like that.”

“You mean the repellant display of my white male privilege?”

“Yes. Obviously. It was appalling. I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and not just assume you’re a textbook alpha male who wants a dumb blonde to stare adoringly at him. You’re not making it easy. You told me once you’re a romantic. I still don’t believe you, but I’d like to hear your reasoning,” she said carefully.

“Just that, like everyone on the planet, I want to find the One, but I have the luxury of sending someone else to narrow down the possibilities. I know what attracts me and what qualities I’m looking for, so I verbalized those and dispatched an employee to make contact with as many women fitting a general description as possible. This way I know they’re worth taking the time for because they’ve already been selected from the wider population. I have a better shot at finding my soul mate this way.”

Hannah sighed.

“What?”

“I had this weird hope that you’d tell me the truth. That was bullshit.”

“The linguistics expert thinks I don’t believe a word I said?”

“I’m not an expert, but I know total rubbish when I hear it. A true romantic wouldn’t approach this like a business acquisition. A true romantic would have used the word ‘love’ at least once. You’re some jaded rich guy who enjoys the ability to dial up a blonde anytime you want one.”

“Then why didn’t I dial one up tonight, or keep the one I had delivered?”

“You got bored with your own game and decided to mess with my mind instead. I guess it amuses you to torment me.”

“Tormenting isn’t what I’d like to do to you.”

“Really.”

“I’d like to kiss you until you saw spots of light behind your eyes and had to cling to my shoulders or melt to the ground.” She bit down on her lip. “I wish you had been on my arm tonight. I sure as hell wish you were in my bed now.”

“You’re in bed?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Reading,” she added quickly.

“You’re not a romantic either, Hannah.”

“I never said I was.”

“Then why keep the ex-husband’s last name?”

“What do you know about that?” She demanded, enjoying the distance that fury gave her, a release from the embarrassment. “Did you bother to ask what my maiden name was? Abbracciabene. Try using that as your professional name. No one can spell it or say it.”

“Hannah Abbracciabene?”

“No. Hannah Filomena Abbracciabene. My stupid father had never even
been
to Italy, but he was all about his heritage, so I got saddled with this unpronounceable crap name. My dad filled out the birth certificate. They’d agreed on Hannah, but he really let his freak flag fly with the rest of it while my mom was passed out on painkillers. When I was fifteen, I decided I was going to change it legally, but he dropped dead and I felt bad about making such a fuss over my name. So I left it.

“Then when I married Alex, it was like a reprieve. The only thing I really got out of that doomed relationship was a nice, normal last name that everyone could pronounce the first time. I like having a name that doesn’t have six syllables. It was a great deal easier to get an agent once I had a more recognizably American last name.”