The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (9 page)

“My parents didn't force me to come see you. I wanted to check on one of my longest standing friends.  You've also been gone a long time?”

She met his challenging glance, did an urban play on a do-se-do and continued past him to the wrought iron and frosted glass door. Eyeing the Coca Cola can and gourmet sandwich bag on the cement bench next to the wall fountain, Mila paused. Curiosity triumphed the irritation of wanting Keith to leave. “How freaking long have you been lurking around?”

“I came by on
Friday night,
” Keith spouted, as if the timeframe instantly made her guilty. “Saturday morning before playing golf. And today, long enough for lunch a few business calls and to tell Nancy I'll be home for dinner.”

Mila tried not to smirk at the mention of the blonde with no official graduate education—who his mom had approved.
I should have met Warren first…

“Then you should get home for dinner,” Mila tossed over her shoulder, letting herself in. She went to punch the alarm code in as Keith picked up his trash and made a beeline for the kitchen.

In the foyer, Mila sunk onto the cushiony leather chair with silver studs. She took off her wedges, lamenting having not made any sales today. Though Lido paid the three months of mortgage, and offered to continue until the home sold, Mila still felt restless. Restlessness was uselessness. At the sound of pots and pans clanging down the hall, Mila hopped up.

What in the world?
She thought he'd bumped into the pans hanging from the ceiling, but he had two burners aglow, with pots on top.

“What are you doing?”

“C'mon, I'm hungry. Just making us hot dogs with my special chili sauce.”

“Special?” Her hand went to her hip as she reminisced about college days. “Boy, you would add a little pepper and more salt than necessary to the darn store-brand canned chili.”

His head popped back out of the stainless steel refrigerator. “Damn, tell me how you really feel, Mi’.”

“I'm not hungry, Keith. Go home. I'm sure Nancy cooked.”
Or at least ordered take out….

“Snippy are we? That's the kind of convo I could expect when beating your ass at the batting cages in our dorm days.”

Her listless eyes landed on his playful ones. He'd reminded her of moments she'd never get back. Running with the crew, with
him.
Even when she worked for Hewitt Corp, Keith had been her motivator. He gave her the cutthroat pep talk she needed at times. She’d transformed into an asshole, just like him. Keith knew the game changed the second she left the Fortune 500 company and decided to start anew. They weren’t friends, not anymore. “Keith, I’m really not hungry. You know how Nancy gets when you're away too long...”

“Nah, she only gets that way when I'm with you too long. Especially on those days when Warren had to go out of town for work and I came by to check on you.”

Mila cocked an eyebrow. She had forgiven the engagement fiasco, but it would be a cold day in hell before she forgot. In the past, Keith tried to make it right—even after that last attempt while reality sunk in, when he had received the Save-the-Date. Now, Keith dropped by unannounced. She’d feign busy or sick or... any thought that popped in her head. In Mila’s mind that saying “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…” Hell, she never got there with people. Though Mila never provoked or flirted with him. Even after the way he acted at the engagement, she refused to continue to provide him with ammunition.
I am not target practice.

Mila sighed. “So this is what we're doing?”

“What exactly are we doing?” He added his "special" seasonings.

They were getting comfortable with each other like they once did in their grad apartment life. Or at least, Keith had inserted himself into that role, while she stood there, a stranger in her own body. Mila had once grown accustom to being Keith’s wingman. She shrugged off any sort of lie to get Keith out.

Maybe we can talk about Warren.
That thought sparked a warm feeling, and for the first time Mila mirrored Keith’s idea of being friends.

She climbed onto the silk stool on the opposite side of the island. “Do you wanna talk about Warren?”

Keith simply stared, his smile almost faltering. Warren had been eight years older than them. It was as if the younger brother regarded him as a deceased associate. Not even a good one. But Mila knew Keith better than anyone. Despite his running after females or putting work first, it would take time to mourn his brother.

On her part, the tears came. If something happened to Lido, or even Yasmin, Mila’s heart would be dead. .

He came and leaned between her legs, hugging her. If Keith could actually give a fuck about a person, perhaps she’d be on the top three—his parents came first.

“It's okay...” She told him in a shaky voice. Mila meant for Keith to back away and leave her be. Yet his thumb grazed her chin, tipping her face upward.

“Mila, you mean more to me than you know. At the funeral, my only intention was to respect your grief for my brother.” Keith sighed. “I should have come sooner, but I won't let you go this alone.”

His breath tingled against her earlobe. His lips had hovered so near she could taste it... Mila opened her mouth to cease his confused notions, but the alarm blared. Keith let her go and hurried toward the stove, Mila at his heels. The water the hot dogs boiled in had evaporated. A pungent odor had clouded the room.

Keith quickly grabbed the pot, and then it crashed to the floor. “Fuck!”

“Oh, hold on.” Mila turned off the heat and removed the chili from the stove. “Keith, see what happens when you over think things?”

“No, I don't.”

She knew he was irritated, and perhaps embarrassed for trying to rekindle things with her.

As she placed ice cubes in a sandwich bag, Keith leaned against the counter. His jaw tightened, and his teeth gritted. She placed the compression against his large palm.

“Where’ve you been, Mila?”

“Nowhere.” She kneaded her temple.

“
Nowhere
?” His hand dropped the ice pack in the sink. “Nowhere? Well I've been by all weekend. I called your parents. Your sisters...”

She wanted to curse him. Mila’s parents had actually liked Keith. After she declined the pre-arranged marriage, her father had gone the extra step against their culture to embrace his daughter’s wishes, believing Mila loved the man. When she told him otherwise, her father had given in to their friendship, in hopes Keith Jameson was the one. When, really, Mila was just transforming into the split image of him. Out for self. Her ma was willing to work with Mila’s love for Warren. But by the time she became engaged, the well wishes had overturned.

“Mila!” Keith forced her attention.

“Don’t yell at me in my damn house. I will cuss you out and kick you out, Keith!”

“You went on vacation? Did the insurance finally come through?”

“Why, do you want a cut?” She snapped.
No, and the agent refuses to take my calls!

He looked at her as if she'd slapped him.

Mila took a deep breath. “No, it hasn’t. Those people have taken me through the ringer, Keith. Sorry.”

“You already said sorry. I don't need apologies. I need to know where one of my
closest
friends
spent the weekend. I need to know how you’ve been coping and whom has been helping you through!”

Flabbergasted, Mila’s mouth opened, yet no sound came out.

His palm slammed down on the granite counter. The very one that had a red sneer from being burned.

“Keith, I swear.” Mila tried to keep poise. Today, she wasn’t in the mood. “You need to get out of my business. We aren’t friends like that, not anymore, and we sure haven’t been for a long time. Go home!”

Chapter 14

Blake

FROM DEEP WITHIN
his loins, Blake had become bewitched by Mila. She was the first woman in longer than he could recall that hadn't become putty in the palm of his hands. The challenge was welcoming, but with the chase came another feeling. An emotion almost as strong, and counterproductive… guilt.

But she hasn’t accused me of murdering Warren since that one time she fainted.
He clicked at his ballpoint pen, deciding Mila was overcome with grief.
Yes, that’s it. Mila was learning to deal with the fact that the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with died. For Christ sakes, she was distraught–

“Hey, hey nobody wants to listen to U2. C’mon dude!” One of the techies became the antidote to his newest obsession. Reality returned.

In the large room with millions of dollars’ worth of electronics, his hired geeks sat around arguing about which music to play. 

“Blake,” Todd cocked his head toward Blake’s office.

After a quick nod to Todd, Blake decided to address his team.

“All right guys, stop jacking off to internet porn. No matter how well your benefit package is, if you get arthritis, your asses are outta here,” he said, inciting a round of laughter. “Fuck me.” Blake shook his head. “I’m surrounded by horny-ass high schoolers. All right, listen up. I want us to work on more inventive things. We're number four right now in terms of gathering new customers, Zuckerberg and the rest of those douches are good friends, but I’d like to brag the next time either one of us has an event. So, turn off the fucking music, unless you're reaching for a good ol’ gospel blessing.”

A round of laughs ensued as he and Todd went into his office that had only three uses: working hands on with his team; fucking gorgeous secretaries; or times like now...

Ten minutes later, he allowed Todd’s concerns to sink in.

Blake liked to keep his circle as tight knit as possible. He didn’t have time for this bullshit. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “So you're fucking telling me, you're the best goddamn tech I have and someone is still trying to penetrate the system?”

Todd rubbed the back of his neck as he sat wide-legged on the chair across from the table.

“You can out-hack any of these dudes, straight out of college or even in your age range.” Blake leaned forward. “Is it time for you to retire?”

“Man, Blake, I'm doing the best I can...”

“Fuck your best. If it doesn’t exceed my expectations, I don’t give a damn.” He sat back again, fingers steepled. “How about this? The next time I'm in Asia climbing Karkoram, you should be worried that I'll return with your motherfucking replacement.”

There was too much private information in the system to be infiltrated. Beads of sweat formed above the Todd’s brow.

Blake turned in his leather chair. Todd took his leave.

“I'm on it, Blake,” Todd said, before shutting the door.

Blake glared at the sun setting. People ran, walked, and roller-bladed the trail below. Two minutes later, Nina entered the room, her perfume greeting him before she rounded the large table.

“Blake, what should we do about that smile?”

He frowned harder.

She began to fall to her knees.

His cell phone rang on the inside of his suit pocket. Blake pulled it out. She huffed, backing away.

As soon as the call connected Blake made his case. “Jace, The Dolomites sound tempting ...”

“Do I hear a
but
coming on, when total liberation is a hop, skip and a parachute away?” Jace shouted over the sound of a hard gust of air. He had to be near a chopper, with his climbing gear.

“Yeah, well I got shit to attend to.”

“What, man? You pay people to
pay people
to do shit. Or is it the girl that had us all taking the kiddie trail in The Matterhorn?”

~~~

At the office, the workers made their own schedules. Since the big boss was there, his employees had gotten stacks of pizza, and hardly even worked. Around nine pm, Blake donned a black vicuña wool suit. Tonight, he’d dine alone at the exclusive Xi restaurant in the Hollywood Hills. The reservation list was atrocious, but the owner wouldn’t dream of turning away Blake.

“Alone, Mr. Baldwin, please let me know if you desire company.” The maître d’ grinned.

He extended a smile, not the least bit interested. Diane had called incessantly, knowing he was staying in California. Blake had been tempted to turn his phone off, when he received a text.

Mila:
Meet for (drink emoji) at 2378 5
th
Street, Los Angeles. 

Less than a second later, she’d sent another text. Mila:
If u want...

He smiled, though wondering whether Mila had inserted him into the category of booty call. A title Blake had no issues with if she were any other woman.

Blake googled the address. A bar. Not in the best area of Los Angeles.

Around 10:45 Blake’s Ferrari stood out between a rusted yellow Hyundai and box-shaped Volvo. Stale cigarettes and stiff perfume emitted into the smoky air.

This bar had transitioned.  What at one point had been
the
spot went downhill fast. In the center of it, Mila was a breath of fresh air.

“Hey, hey, I won, sucker!” Mila slapped her open palm on the bar. Upon first glance, she appeared to be hanging out with a guy friend. Until the man tried to grab her ass, leering in her ear.  He seemed to be whispering some obscenity.

Though she carried herself well, Blake stomped over. Glaring at the man, he greeted Mila.

She appeared more startled at his arrival than slapping the lewd gesture away. “You came...”

“Move, pretty boy,” the guy shouted.

Blake’s head snapped over. “Who the fuck you calling pretty?”

The man didn't get a chance to retort. The air parted as Blake tossed a punch, smashing the man’s Adams apple. A mist of spit expelled from the guy’s mouth. Unfazed, Blake finished him off with a hook.

Then with finesse, Blake gestured over to Mila. “Are you
honestly
enjoying yourself here?”

Mila watched, eyes wide. The guy doubled over and wheezed as the bartender came over.

“Hey, c’mon man!” The man pointed at them. “You two gotta go. She’s taken just about all my clients money anyhow.”

Blake began to pull out his wallet as the bartender mentioned her tab.

“I got it, Blake.” She removed crumpled dollars from her jean pocket and counted out the exact amount. “These prices must be why this place has gone to shit.”