The Billionaire's Secret (13 page)

Pulling the sheets off, she reluctantly left
Jon’s king-sized bed and made her way to the master bathroom. Huge
would not even begin to describe it. She thought she was lucky to
have an original, old-fashioned claw-foot tub at home. It wasn’t
ideal for showering, but it was amazing for taking bubble baths.
Jon’s bathroom not only had a stone shower with multiple shower
heads on one end of the room, he also had a whirlpool tub, which
looked more like a Jacuzzi, on the other end, that was equally
impressive. Though her body ached from their hours of lovemaking,
and she longed to feel the powerful jets of water beating on her
muscles, she opted for a quick shower. She couldn’t risk Jon
returning from the lab before she left.

Once showered, she had no choice but to put
on her little black dress and high heels from the night before. It
wasn’t what she’d normally wear so early in the morning. At this
time of day, her attire screamed, “Yeah, I didn’t make it home last
night.” Looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she would be
doing the walk of shame. She shouldn’t care. She was in New York,
and no one knew her here. And there was a saying: “What happens in
Vegas stays in Vegas.” She was hoping that held true for New York
as well.

Grabbing a pen and paper from a drawer in
the bedroom, she decided to leave Jon a note.
Yes, I am taking
the coward’s way out,
she thought. She could not face him this
morning. It was hard enough facing herself.

Dear Jon.
Funny, I’m writing a “Dear
John” letter to a billionaire.
Actually, not so
funny.

Dear Jon,

I wanted to thank you for a lovely evening.
Your choice of restaurant was perfect. Everything was perfect. Last
night was the date of my dreams. It was very kind of you, and I
will never forget it. I will let Ms. Manning know you’ll contact
her directly in regards to the sponsorship.

Sincerely,

Lizette Burke

She laid the note on his pillow, looked
around the room one last time, then picked up her purse and quietly
left his penthouse apartment.

The train ride from New York to Providence
was four hours long. She contemplated asking someone to pick her up
in Providence, but she didn’t want to answer any questions about
everything that had transpired in the last couple of days. Lizette
opted to take a bus home from Providence and finally walked through
her front door at almost five in the afternoon. Her head was
throbbing, her feet were aching, and every ounce of her cried out
for a massage. Even though Ms. Manning had told her to take time
off to get the sponsorship from Jon, it made no sense for her to
sit at home all week doing nothing, now that the sponsorship was
out of her hands. Actually, the last thing she wanted to do was sit
at home by the phone. Lizette was positive if she did not get back
to a normal routine quickly she would drive herself crazy with
guilt, loneliness, or just boredom.

Walking to her bedroom, she stopped and
looked one last time in the mirror. Yes, it was time to take
control of her life again. She slipped out of her dress and, as if
on autopilot, opened her closet and took out her business attire
for the next day: a crisp white long-sleeve blouse with a straight,
sleek gray skirt.

She hadn’t gotten her soak in the tub
Friday, but she was going to get it tonight. As the bath filled,
she poured herself a glass of wine, removed her remaining clothes,
and slowly slipped into the warm bubble bath. There was no romance
novel that could beat what she’d experienced last night in Jon’s
arms, so she didn’t even bother to open one. Instead, she leaned
back and closed her eyes, but all she saw was Jon’s face above hers
as he tenderly stroked her cheek and told her how beautiful she
was. Yes, the memories of last night, sweet as there were, were
going to torture her.

When the bath began to cool, she reluctantly
dragged herself from the tub instead of adding more hot water, as
she normally did. She quickly toweled off and got in bed.
Tomorrow, I wake up from this dream, go back to work, and put
this all behind me.

Jon had spent the last three hours in his
office reviewing the latest set of recalculations recommended by
Ted, one of his software engineers. It seemed that, over the past
six months, they’d discovered even a slight change to the interface
program created a new issue with the robotic piece. The heat level
of the microprobe rose to thirty-seven point five degrees Celsius
after twenty minutes of insertion in the cerebral cortex. It may
have only been half a degree over the maximum temperature, but the
consulting neurosurgeons had voiced their concern loud and clear—a
probe warmer than thirty-seven degrees Celsius will increase the
chance of permanent brain damage by fifty percent.

Their comments brought Jon back to the whole
reason he was doing this. He had lost his father twenty-four years
ago to a brain tumor because technology hadn’t been advanced enough
for it to be surgically removed. The doctors had told his family
his father only had a ten percent chance of survival, and if he
survived, he risked a ninety-five percent chance of permanent brain
damage. His best option back then was chemo and radiation. His
father had endured three months of hell before he finally passed.
Everything changed after that day. Not only did his mother, up
until then a stay-at-home mom, have to become the family’s sole
breadwinner, but Jon stopped playing sports and committed all of
his time to his education, and then, after graduating from college,
he focused on research. He promised his father he would develop the
tools the surgeons needed to help someone in a similar situation in
the future.

When he first developed the software for the
surgical robot, he only needed one robotic engineer in addition to
himself to work with the consulting surgeons. Now, since he was
stepping it up and bringing out virtual robotics, his team had
grown from a few people to more than one hundred and fifty in each
of the two divisions. If he could pull this innovation off,
surgeons could save countless lives by being able to operate on a
patient from the other side of the world. A surgeon in New York
speaking English could assist a French-speaking surgeon in France
on a patient in an operating room in India where the doctors only
spoke Hindi. Multi-language translation through a surgical robotic
device would be a huge advancement.

Closing his laptop, he said, “This has to
work.” He rose from his chair and left the office. He only had to
give Ted the go-ahead and wait for him to complete the changes.
That usually took about seven to eight hours. From there they could
start their testing once again. He didn’t know why, but today just
felt like it was going to be a good day.

As Jon entered the lab he called out, “Ted,
we were within specs on accuracy during the virtual simulation
program. After reviewing your suggested changes on the interface
program, I think we might have fixed the temp issue on the
microprobe.”

Ted raised his head from behind his computer
monitor and said, “Great, I’ll get started entering the changes. It
will take me several hours. Would you like me to call Matt when I’m
through?”

“I’ll give you a hand with it.”

“You want to help key in your calculations?”
Ted asked.

“Is there a problem with that?” Jon
said.

Ted shook his head. “No problem at all.
You’re the boss, Mr. Vinchi.”

He ignored the fact that Ted hadn’t called
him Jon. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately. Jon
sat at the monitor across from Ted and began making the entries.
Ted didn’t move; instead, he sat watching him. Without looking up
from the monitor, Jon asked, “Again, is there a problem, Ted?”

“You’ve never offered to help before.
Usually you come in, bark out orders, and tell me not to screw it
up—which, by the way, I never do. So either you’ve lost your faith
in my ability to do my job, or your doctor put you on some happy
meds. Since I think I almost saw a smile on your face when you
entered the lab, I’m going with the latter.”

What was Ted trying to say, that he was
normally an unfriendly jerk? That wasn’t the case; he was a busy
man who took his work seriously. What part of that didn’t people
get? “Ted, I’m helping, not doing your job for you. Now get to
work,” he said gruffly.

Ted chuckled and said, “Yes, sir,” and sat
down at his own monitor.

They both worked at keying in all the
changes. What would have taken Ted most of the day on his own was
completed in just a few hours. After that they spent another four
hours testing. They had spent the last couple weeks on
recalculations, and yet they’d always found something wrong,
something missing, which they hadn’t quite been able to figure out.
Today, things were different. The stumbling blocks they’d faced in
the past weren’t there anymore. Each test proved successful. The
temperature was now below thirty-five point five degrees Celsius
after sixty minutes in the mock cerebral cortex. The final test
would be given by the consulting neurosurgeons during the virtual
simulation. There was nothing left for Jon to do until he received
their findings.

Leaving the lab, Jon turned and said, “Good
work today, Ted. I think you really called it with that last
adjustment.”

Ted smiled and said, “Thanks for the help
today, Jon. I hope this passes in simulation.”

“Me too.”

“Jon,” Ted shouted as Jon left the lab,
“don’t forget to take your pills again tomorrow.”

Pretending not to have heard Ted’s last
comment, Jon continued down the hall to the elevator. It had been a
long, hard day, but it was finally done. There was only one thing
left on his mind. It was the same thing that had threatened to
break his concentration all day—Lizette. The thought of her lying
in his bed naked when he left earlier in the day hadn’t broken his
creative flow; in fact, it only seemed to enhance it. He had to
admit, he was looking forward to continuing where they had left off
last night.

He did feel bad he had gotten so wrapped up
in the software updates he hadn’t even stopped to call and check on
her. But he planned on making it up to her tonight. Jon didn’t stop
back in the office. Instead, in the limo on his way back to the
penthouse, he called Matt with instructions to make dinner
reservations for two. He normally would have had dinner delivered,
but not tonight. He actually was looking forward to going out with
Lizette. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; he enjoyed listening to
her, watching how her eyes lit up when she spoke about something
she was passionate about. It was . . . nice. Of course, the thought
of spending another sleepless night further exploring her body
appealed to him even more. But first, dinner.

It was almost five o’clock when he entered
the penthouse, which was quiet as always. Somehow he thought it
would’ve been different with her there. She wasn’t in the living
room, dining room, or kitchen.
Ah, maybe we won’t need dinner
after all,
he thought as he headed for the bedroom. When he
entered, he was surprised to find it vacant as well. From across
the room he could see a folded piece of paper on his pillow. He
picked it up, unfolded it, and read it. The note was not what he’d
expected after last night. He picked up his cell phone to make sure
he had not missed a call from her but there wasn’t one. He started
to dial her number to find out why the hell she left, but changed
his mind. The chemistry between them had been amazing but maybe
that was all it had been, one hot night you’d never forget. One
night, one fucking awesome night he had planned on repeating, but
unfortunately it wouldn’t be tonight. It was probably better this
way. The last thing he needed was a clingy woman who wanted to
monopolize all his time. He was finally on track with his work,
which was most important to him at the moment. Tomorrow things
could go back to normal. He knew once he received the response from
the FDA, he intended on finding out exactly what last night was all
about. Pulling his cell phone from his suit jacket, he called Matt
and let him know he wouldn’t need the reservation after all. Then
he called the Thai restaurant a few blocks away and ordered his
standard: chicken pad Thai and summer rolls.
Dinner for
one.

The timing was perfect. Jon had just
finished his shower when his food arrived. Grabbing an ice-cold
beer from the fridge, he headed for the comfort of his couch.
Picking up the remote, he turned on the TV and flipped to the local
news. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home early
enough to watch the six o’clock news. Most nights he never even
turned on the TV. His routine was always the same: work very late,
order delivery, shower, eat, and review the status of his current
project. Maybe after the release of the software he would take a
vacation. Jon laughed softly to himself, since it had been years
since he’d taken any time off from work.
Yeah, Ted would really
think I was on happy pills then.

Settling back into the couch, he thought
about how beautiful Lizette had looked last night when he’d found
her asleep. She had looked so peaceful he’d debated whether or not
to move her. However, she’d looked more beautiful sprawled naked in
his bed. When he touched her, she came alive. No hint of the shy,
fragile girl Ma had warned him about. The way she came alive as he
cupped her breasts and nibbled on her nipples—she responded to him
as though they’d been longtime lovers. Even the thought of her made
him hard with need.

Picking up the note, he read it again. The
one thing the note did do was remind him he still needed to address
the sponsorship, and he knew just who to call. Picking up his cell
phone he texted Trent, Ross, and Drew: “Conference call, 8 p.m.
Business proposal.”