This Crazy Little Thing (A New Adult Billionaire Romance) (3 page)

Good God, the girl had a load and a half! And everything was due by next Monday. Despite the obvious advantages, this part of walking in Monica’s shoes—designer or not—wasn’t looking so great. Resigned to late nights and early mornings for the next several days, and possibly no time during the weekend to try out Monica’s hot looks at
Jane’s favorite hangout, Jane set to work on the first project—a full page spread for a pet store.

* * * * *

Twelve hours later, stiff, sore and starving, Jane shut off Monica’s computer, threw her purse over her shoulder, fisted her keys and locked up the office. Weary and wobbling on her high heels, she trudged out to the parking lot.

As soon as her liquefied gray matter registered what she saw, she was wide awake.

Someone was towing her—or, Monica’s—car! Kicking off her shoes, she ran toward the man operating the winch that was slowly dragging the flashy gold car up on a flatbed truck. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t a no-parking zone, for God’s sake. It’s a parking lot.”

The grizzly-looking character who resembled a bouncer at some local biker bar gave her a quick once-over then grinned. “I know that. But I have orders to repossess this car. I have a court order, signed by a judge. It’s all legal.” He pulled out a bundle of papers from the truck’s cab and waved them at her.

“Orders from whom? There must be some mistake.”

“Orders from the gentleman who owns this car, miss, and the judge who signed this.” He gave her another up and down assessment then unfolded the documents and scanned them. “I’m guessing Mr. Foxx’s not so pleased with you anymore.” He folded them and tucked them under his meaty arm and returned to operating the winch.

“What? I…” Oh, she was so steamed she couldn’t speak. “I own this car. It was given to me by my boyfriend.”

The man waved the papers again. “The papers I have say it don’t belong to a woman. It’s owned by a fella and he wants it back.”

“Let me see that.” She lunged forward but he quickly pulled it out of her reach. “Uh-uh. You can’t look at this. It’s confidential.”

“But it’s my car!”

“The State of Michigan says otherwise.” He gently pushed her away as he walked toward the rear of the truck. “Now, be a good girl and move aside so I can finish up here.” As he secured the car, he set the papers on the truck bed. “I don’t want no trouble. I’m just doin’ my job, miss.”

She saw the opportunity and ran with it, quickly swiping the papers before the thug could stop her, and made a mad dash back toward the building. She read the name and address as she ran, trying hard to ingrain it in her foggy, overwrought brain until she had a chance to write it down. Fortunately, the address wasn’t difficult to memorize. And neither was the name, Jason Foxx,
388 Harding Lane, Franklin.

Maybe it was time to pay Monica’s ex-boyfriend, Mr. Nasty—what kind of man would repossess a car given as a gift?—a little visit and talk some sense into the man. Fearing being tackled, she dropped the papers on the ground and went inside to call a taxi, hoping Monica kept a decent amount of cash in her purse. Otherwise, it would be a long, long walk to
Franklin.

After stopping at a third gas station and having every credit card in Monica’s wallet declined again,
Jane knew things were looking bleak. The first time, she’d assumed it had been a computer error. The second time, she grew worried but still held some hope. But now…no, there could be no mistake. Every card Monica possessed was maxed out.

No car. No money. As
Jane, she’d never been in such a fix, no matter how tough she’d thought things were. Right now she couldn’t even afford to buy a twin pack of Twinkies.

Cold—she hadn’t thought to put on a jacket this morning, she’d been driving a car with heated seats for God’s sake and wearing a snuggly sweater—starving and exhausted, she sat on the curb outside the gas station and fought to keep it together. She wouldn’t cry like a baby! No way. Nor would she panic. Home, warm but with an empty refrigerator, was miles away. And Jason’s house was miles away, in the opposite direction.

Would a man who was cruel enough to repossess a car from his ex-girlfriend be willing to feed said ex-girlfriend if she asked nice? Or would he simply laugh in her face?

Did she have any other options?

She inhaled sharply as a patron exited the gas station, savoring the scent of coffee as it wafted out the open door. Her stomach grumbled.

That was it. Desperate times and all that. She’d take her chances and pay Jason Foxx a visit, beg for a scrap of bread if that was what it took. Now was not the time to be prideful.

As she sat and rubbed her numb toes to try to return circulation to the blood-starved appendages before setting off—evidently there was a time limit on comfort even for designer shoes that cost a small fortune—an elderly woman stopped and smiled at her.

“Do you need some help, dear?”

Jane shook her head. “Oh no, thanks.”

The woman lowered her walker over the curb and shakily stepped down. “A ride, perhaps?”

Undecided, but tempted to take the woman up on her offer, despite the gruesome stories she’d been told as a kid about the dangers of accepting rides from strangers, she eyed the frail-looking woman. What kind of danger could a woman who could barely keep herself erect possibly pose? Guns were the great equalizers, but would someone like this kind-looking elderly woman carry one?

“I don’t have any money or valuables, outside of what I’m wearing. Unless you like Gucci bags.” She motioned toward Monica’s purse. “The plastic inside it is worthless.”

“I’m not looking to rob you, dear. You won’t rob me, now, will you? Since you’re broke.”

“Oh, heavens no! I wouldn’t know how to be a crook.” Laughing, and grateful for this unexpected lucky break,
Jane slipped on her shoes and followed the woman to her car. “Thank you,” she said as she helped the woman fold up her walker and put it in the backseat, and then settle herself behind the steering wheel. “It would have been a long walk, and frankly I don’t think my feet are up to it.”

“I’m glad to help. I’ve been where you are once, you know. Did he throw you out for some young hussy?”

“He? Who?” Jane took her seat.

“Your husband.” Not waiting for
Jane to close the passenger side door, the old woman started the car and hit the gas, racing toward the road and showing no signs of stopping for traffic.

Jane
quickly slammed the door and braced herself against the dashboard. Petrified, she closed her eyes, fully expecting the car to slam into some poor unsuspecting soul driving down the road. But before they hit anyone, the woman slammed on the brakes. Jane flew forward, her chest landing square on the dashboard, the force knocking the wind out of her. She opened her eyes, checked to see where they were—sitting at the end of the driveway—then glanced at the old woman.

She grinned. “My grandson says I should have my license permanently revoked. He says I’m a menace on the road. Can you believe it?”

Jane gulped as she tried to reinflate her lungs and secured the seat belt, pulling it as tight as she could. “No.”

Without looking, the old woman gunned the engine again and sent the car careening into traffic, narrowly missing an SUV and a subcompact that looked much like hers. Finally turning her attention to the road, she said, “I’ve been driving since 1932. Do you know what it’s like to drive a thirty-two pickup truck? Compared to that, this little beauty’s a piece of cake. It has power everything. And it’s very zippy. By the way, where are you headed?”

“Franklin? Will that be out of your way? You could let me out sooner if you like.”

“Hell, no. I’m going that way myself. I live on
Woodbridge Street.”

“Is that close to Harding?”

Running a red light, but seemingly unconcerned, the woman nodded. “Right around the corner. By the way, I’m Mabel.” Obviously deaf to the sounds of car horns as she jetted through traffic leaving near-crashes in her wake, she smiled. “What’s your name?”

“J
ane…er, Monica.”

“Never heard of a name like that. J
anermonica? You young people are always trying to come up with clever names for your kids. Whatever happened to simple names? Like Martha or Mary or Erma?”

“No, it’s just Monica.
Jane’s my…middle name. Some people call me that.”

“I see.” She took a corner at thirty, sending
Jane slamming into the passenger side door, despite the seat belt.

She double-checked the door’s lock. God forbid she get thrown from the car. Then again, she thought as she held her hands forward to stop from splitting her face on the dashboard, that might give her a better chance at survival. The way Mabel drove, she’d be dead long before she reached
Franklin. And that was only a couple of miles away.

“You said
Harding Street? Do you have family living there? I know just about everyone in my neighborhood.”

“No, just a friend.” Curious to see what Mabel had to say about Jason, she added, “Do you know Jason Foxx?”

“Foxx, you say? I sure do. Very nice young man. He mows my lawn for me. I used to pay that company—bunch of moneygrubbing thieves they were—but he offered to take care of my lawn, and I cook him a nice dinner once a week in return.”

“Really?” That didn’t sound like the kind of man who would leave his ex-girlfriend stranded at nine o’clock in a parking lot. Was there more than one Jason Foxx living on
Harding Street?

“Yes, and last Christmas he bought me a lovely sweater and pants set. And he always asks if I need something when he goes to the grocery store. He’s a very sweet boy, says he needs to take care of me since I’m all alone. He’s a bachelor, you know. Broke up with his girlfriend a month or so ago, she looked a lot like you. Could be your double, come to think of it. But she sure didn’t act like you. Very uppity, that one was. Didn’t give me the time of day. I told him she wasn’t right for him. He deserves a nice girl. Someone like you.”

Jason Foxx was sounding less and less like the demon she’d imagined him to be. But Mabel’s description of Monica didn’t surprise her. The only time Monica was nice was when she needed something. “You mentioned you have a grandson. Does he live far away?”

“He lives in
Ohio. I’ve been trying to convince him to move here but he won’t. I even offered to leave him my entire estate. I’ve been doing okay by myself, thanks to your friend, Mr. Foxx, but I know I can’t live alone much longer. And once they take my driver’s license, then I’ll be homebound, forced to rely on someone else to chauffeur me around. I hate the idea of losing my freedom.”

“I can understand that. Until tonight I’d forgotten what it’s like to be dependent on other people.”
Jane relaxed as they turned onto Fourteen Mile Road. Only a half-mile or so to go.

“What happened to you?”

“An old boyfriend had my car towed away. And I’m a little short on cash until payday.”

“Well, isn’t that despicable! What kind of man would do that to his girlfriend, broken up or not? You should pick better men to date, my dear.” She patted
Jane’s hand. “Though if you ask me, there aren’t too many worth a second thought. Except that nice Mr. Foxx. Take my word for it, he’s something special. I’ve been married six times. I should know.” She pulled the car up a long, winding, wooded driveway and stopped in front of a gorgeous Greek revival colonial. “Here you are. This is Mr. Foxx’s home. Good luck, dear. Hope to see you again sometime.”

Jane
smiled at Mabel, not only grateful for making it to Jason’s house alive but also having genuinely enjoyed the conversation. “Thank you. I do too. It was wonderful meeting you.”

Mabel nodded and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll put in a good word for you with Mr. Foxx. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll listen to me.” Then with a wave, she turned the car around and drove away, leaving
Jane hacking from the dust her tires kicked up, and standing in front of the most impressive, most intimidating house she’d ever seen. As she climbed the front stairs, she told herself it looked like a mansion in Beverly Hills, California.

But when she reached the door, she couldn’t convince herself to ring the bell. What the heck would she say to him, a man she’d never met but a man who’d think she was someone else, someone he’d been intimate with for who knows how long? “Excuse me, but can I please have the car back?” sounded like a good start. Problem was she didn’t know why he’d had it hauled away in the first place.

She spun around, wishing the porch lights weren’t so bright and hoping no one had seen her, and descended a single step. “God, I’ve made a mistake. I should have just gone home to my empty refrigerator. What am I doing here?”

“I’d like to know the same thing,” a distinctly male voice said behind her. Its tone was deep and sexy but she also sensed a sharp, icy undertone.

Anxious to see what a multimillionaire jewelry broker who had old girlfriends’ cars repossessed looked like, she shivered and turned to face the source. “How did you know I was…?”

The multimillionaire jewelry broker looked too good for words, she realized the minute she’d turned completely. His last name was far more descriptive than she’d guessed. Jason Foxx was a mega-fox, an ultra-fox. The epitome of fox.

Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth as she stood mute, taking in the sight of the most gorgeous man she’d ever met in person—starting at about mid-chest level, which was eye level to her since he was standing several steps higher, and rising slowly, following a nice bumpy ride over a completely nude, smooth-skinned chest and wide, well-developed shoulders. His skin was the color of her morning coffee—lots of cream, light on the coffee, and glistened slightly with sweat suggesting she’d caught him during a workout. He mopped his forehead with the white T-shirt he held in his fist.

Monica was one lucky girl! Very tall, handsome, and built like a tank, he was the kind of guy
Jane had dreamed of marrying all her life. He even had her dream man’s dark, curly hair. Heck, he was better than her dream man. With picture-perfect features that were neither too pretty nor too rugged, he could easily be a model or a movie star.

“…here?” she squeaked, recalling she’d stopped speaking mid-sentence some time ago.

The problem was he didn’t look happy to see her. His stubbled jaw was tight with pent-up tension. His dark eyes were narrowed into tiny slits. Nope, he wasn’t thrilled in the least.

“Security camera.” He pointed up. “I should have known you’d come here. The answer is no.” He started pushing the door closed.

Without thinking, she ran up the stairs and thrust her arm forward to catch the door before it shut. “Now, just wait a minute!”

He didn’t look surprised nor thrilled as he pulled the door open again. “What?” he asked, not trying to hide the exasperation in his voice.

“Aren’t you at least curious to know how I got here?”

“No. Why should I be?”

Wow, he’s one cold son of a…
“If you’ll notice, there isn’t a gold Lexus in the driveway.” She motioned toward the drive like one of those models on
The Price is Right
. “And why, you might ask, would that be? Because you had mine towed away!” Her model act forgotten in her anger, she put one hand on her hip and poked his chest with the index finger of the other one. “That was a rotten, underhanded thing to do. Did you know I was stranded in a dark parking lot miles from home, cold, hungry, alone? Anything could have happened to me. I could have been kidnapped or raped.” When he didn’t respond she added, “Aren’t you the least bit sorry?”

“Sure I am,” he answered slowly, his voice lacking its previously icy edge. He lifted his arm to comb his fingers through his hair. The motion made all kinds of muscles bunch and flex. It was a yummy sight even if she was trying not to notice. “But didn’t you know?”

“Know what? Of course I didn’t know it was going to be towed. How would I?”

“I left several messages on your machine last night. You didn’t call me back this afternoon, so I assumed you were prepared.”

The fight left her in a loud huff. “Oh. The machine. I didn’t think to check messages this morning.”

“Come inside before someone calls the police thinking there’s a problem.” He caught her hand and pulled her inside, and while she should have been ohhhing and awwwwing at his incredible foyer, all she could do was stare into two impossibly deep, dark eyes and enjoy the buzz of instant arousal his innocent touch sparked.