Zero To Sixty (BWWM, Sports, Billionaire) (2 page)

Two

              Denise was having a hard time concentrating. They'd finally been seated after waiting twenty minutes for a seat in the bustling, vintage style diner on Melrose. Ansel had removed his sunglasses once inside the diner and his eyes were- well other than being bloodshot- they were startlingly blue.

              Spectacular.

              Ansel was grinning at her like he could see right through her. Heck, maybe he could. He certainly knew enough about women from what she'd read about him.

              Meanwhile she was… hopeless. Men made her nervous when they came on strong, which happened often enough. Of course, they made her nervous when they came on soft too.

              Basically, they just made her nervous.

              She'd had approximately two and a half boyfriends since turning sixteen. She knew nothing about men. At all. She didn't consider herself to be good at kissing. Or any of that other stuff. Mostly she'd just lain there during sex, and hoped for the best.

              She'd never known what to do with her hands. On a date. Or after...

              Of course, this wasn't a date. This was business. And that was something she did know a lot about. Top of her class at B-school. Undergrad too. And the youngest person in her department to be given an office and a solo assignment.

              So she had this in the bag. She just needed to, um, ignore his manly prowess.

              Ansel had a lot of prowess.

              He was pouring sugar into his second cup of coffee when she decided it was time. She pulled a piece of paper of her briefcase and slid it across the funky fifties table. He eyed it but didn't pick it up.

              "What's this?"

              "Well, since I have you here I thought we could review the schedule. It was faxed to you on Friday afternoon."

              "I have a fax?"

              She blinked, not sure if he was joking. No, he looked genuinely surprised. The man clearly had no clue what she was talking about.

              "I guess I can assume this is the first time you are seeing this. Let's get started."

              He shrugged and leaned back, blatantly looking her over. She stiffened. She hated when men did this to her. And Ansel was doing it for the fourth or fifth time since they'd met.

              Heck, the fourth or fifth time
since they'd sat down.

              He was luxuriating in the act of checking her out too. Almost as if he liked her. A lot.

              She shook herself internally. Dealing with difficult people was part of her job. She'd done it before.

              Of course, none of them made her insides feel  like jelly.

              "The schedule Mr. Philips."

              A slow smile dawned across his face as he finally scooped up the paper and glanced down at it. It was like he was trying to memorize the way she looked.

              Why he would do that, she had no idea.

              It took about three seconds for Ansel to react. He sat up in his seat, his blue eyes practically bugging out of his head. He glanced at her with a reproaching look on his face and tossed the paper back onto the table.

              "I'm not doing all of this. No way in hell."

              He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

              Denise sighed heavily. Thankfully she'd been prepared for this. Ansel was not the sort who relished schedules or being anywhere on time. Other than the finish line of course. He was well known for getting there first.

              That or anyplace they were serving free drinks.

              Or into bed with yet another bikini model.

              Here we go…

{}{}{}{}{}

              Ansel was staring at the woman sitting across from him. Her large brown eyes were beautiful, yes, but there was a steely determination he hadn't seen there before. The fact that she looked like an angel had little to do with reality. She meant business.

              Too bad his dick wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to that fact.

              Now that'd he'd gotten a better look at her, he was ready to jump out of his skin. So far she'd already aroused him out of his mind, which was impressive given the state of his hangover.

              On the hangover chart, this baby was Defcon 1.

              No matter how much he liked looking at her, and he liked it a lot, it didn't mean he was going to tolerate being told what to do by a skirt. She was just like all the other women he'd met in God's green earth. Bossy.

              Well, he wasn't having it.

              He crossed his arms and gave her his very best stare. It was cold. It was hard. It said one thing and one thing only.

              Dare me.

              He watched as she fished out another piece of paper from her black leather briefcase. It looked expensive. Hell, everything about this woman looked expensive. From the tiny gold studs at her delicate ears, the subtle makeup that enhanced her already perfect skin, to her haircut, to her pale pink perfectly manicured nails.

              He glanced at the paper she placed in front of him. His contract with Black House Whiskey. He lifted his eyes, giving her a challenging look.

              "Yeah, so?"

              "Is this your signature?"

              He rolled his eyes, letting out a dismissive snort.

              "You know it is sweetheart."

              Her eyes flared at bit at the endearment. Of course they both knew he didn't mean it in an affectionate way. Now, if they were in bed together… that would be something else entirely.

              He'd make her purr like a kitten.

              Right now though, the kitten was showing her claws.

              "If you do not hold up your end of the agreement the contract is void Mr. Philips."

              He shrugged. She was getting to him. Especially the way she kept using his last name. His good for nothing father had been Mr. Philips. He wanted her to call him Ansel.

              Actually, she could call him almost anything really as long as it was preceded by 'faster' or 'harder' or 'deeper.'

             
Faster Mr. Philips.

              Harder Mr. Philips.

              Deeper Mr. Philips.

              He grinned at her, his imagination running wild.

              "So don't pay me that day. I don't need the money. And call me Ansel dammit."

              "You misunderstand me
Mr. Philips.
If you do not appear at the scheduled events, you owe
us
money. One million dollars to be exact."

              You could hear a pin drop in the diner. It was as if all the air had been momentarily sucked out of the room.

              "You're joking."

              "I'm afraid not Mr. Philips. If you do not adhere to the agreed upon number of promotional appearances, then you are going to pay the client. Quite a lot in fact."

              He picked up a stir stick and chewed it, wishing it was a smoke.

              Damn, if she didn't have him between a rock and a hard place.

              She was staring at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers in a way that made it abundantly clear that she knew it too.

              "So basically you are saying that you own me."

              "Own is a strange word to use. I hope you aren't going to make a tasteless joke about slavery Mr. Philips."

              Now, that brought him up short. What sort of asshole did she think he was? Then again, there were lots of racists who spoke with the same sort of twang in their voices.

              "No, I wasn't. I might  be a good old boy, but I'm not a bigot."

              And then she smiled at him. A real, honest to goodness, light up the room smile.

              His indignation was swept away by that smile.

              Hell, everything was swept away by it.

              He'd climb mountains to have her look like that again. She picked up the papers and put them back into her briefcase.

              "That's a relief. So, are we in agreement?"

              Slowly he nodded.

              "Good. I'll email you the schedule."

              He scratched his jaw. He'd long since forgotten his email password. He gave her a sheepish look.

              "Email's no good."

              "Text?"

              He tilted his head to the side.

              "That could work. But I do tend to forget to charge my phone."

              "What do you suggest then Mr. Philips? Carrier pigeon?"

              He grinned at her.

              "Could you pick me up?"

              She sighed heavily, giving him a look that could have frozen boiling water. But somehow, that look turned him on. A lot.

              He knew at that moment, he just knew, that he was a goner. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on a damn thing until he had her six ways from Sunday.

              And maybe not even then.

              "Baby sitting isn't really part of my job description."

              "Hey, you are the one with the plan."

              She sighed and nodded. Good. The first hook was in the fish. Now he just had to land her.

              This was going to be fun

Three

              Denise stared around Ansel's house in Malibu. It had taken her over an hour and a half to reach here. And the event was in Hollywood. The opposite direction.

              And still he wasn't ready.

              In fact, he wasn't even dressed.

              He'd come to the door dripping wet with just a towel wrapped around her waist. Denise was still reeling from the sight of water droplets rolling down over his chiseled chest and stomach, disappearing to God knows where.

              Who was she kidding? She knew
exactly
where.

              What she didn't understand was the almost uncontrollable urge she had to reach out and run her fingers over his flat stomach, just to see if he felt as good as he looked. She never reacted this way to men, no matter how good looking they were. And she didn't even like him! All the same, her hands were still balled into fists to keep her from doing something foolish.

              She knew, she just knew that he had done it on purpose as she followed him inside his very expensive, very manly, very messy house. It was built with raw timber and stone showing everywhere. But there were beer bottles all over the living room and kitchen. Clothes were tossed on the floor and empty take out containers lined the kitchen island.

              "Have a seat. I'll be right with you m'am."

              She glanced around and saw that all the seats were covered with pizza boxes and dirty laundry. One had a stack of magazines, another held a stack of unopened mail.

              "Where exactly?"

              He grinned at her and shrugged. The man really was insufferable! She narrowed her eyes at him as he disappeared up the stairs. His hold on that towel was very, very loose. She turned away abruptly, certain he was going to let it slip so she'd get an eyeful.              She wasn't sure what sort of game he was playing, but if he was trying to disconcert her, it was working.

              Without thinking she started to clean the place up. She grabbed an empty garbage bag from under the sink and started to pick her way across the room. She had barely made a dent when she heard him come down the stairs behind her ten minutes later.

              "You don't have to do that."

              She snorted, looking up at a still half dressed Ansel. He was sliding his arms into a button down shirt. The top of his skin tight jeans were still unbuttoned, exposing his flat lower belly. He looked like he had just made love. Or was about to. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

              "If I don't, who will?"

              "The maid comes on Mondays."

              'Today is Monday."

              He smirked at her as she bent to pick up yet another empty beer bottle. At least they were all empty and not full of smelly old beer. He didn't waste a drop from what she could tell.

              "Okay so I guess I forgot to schedule the maid. I'd be more than happy watching
you
clean up all day."

              She glanced over her shoulder and gasped. He was looking at her ass. Not just looking, he was practically caressing it with his eyes. Denise jerked upright sharply.

              The man had the nerve to sigh dramatically, as if she'd deprived him of something!

              She resisted the urge the snap his head off. She recited the mantra she needed to remember when dealing with difficult celebrity types:
He's the talent. He's the talent. He's the talent.

              "Are you ready? We're already running behind."

              He reached into the fridge and grabbed a six pack of beer.

              "I am now."

{}{}{}{}{}

              Ansel watched as Denise slipped into her car and put on her seat belt. The strap hugged her body in a way that brought her shirt tight across her chest. Through the top few buttons he could see the top of her cleavage pressing against a lacy bra. Her legs were encased in fitted dark wash jeans. She wore black high heeled booties that looked sexy as hell.

              Of course, they'd look even sexier if she wasn't wearing anything else.

              He grinned. He'd have to remember that. For later.

              She turned to look at him and caught him staring at her legs. He smiled sheepishly. There was no point in pretending he hadn't just been ogling her. And would continue to do so on the drive.

              He was starting to hope it was a long one.

              "Seat belt."

              "Oh. Right, of course."

              He put on his best aw shucks expression as he slid the seat belt into place. Then he smiled at her, hoping to get things off on a better start today. One thing he knew, if he couldn't make a woman laugh, there was no way he was getting into her bed.

              No matter how rich and famous he was.

              "So, where are we off to?"

              She stared at him incredulously.

              "You seriously didn't even look at the schedule?"

              He shrugged, giving her puppy dog eyes. She did not look impressed. She turned on the car and shifted into reverse. He watched as she twisted in her seat, accidentally revealing even more of her glorious breasts.

              "Hollywood."

              He leaned back and slipped his sun glasses on so he could observe her without detection.

              "Where do you live?"

              "Beverly Hills."

              He let out a low whistle.

              "This is really out of the way then isn't it?"

              "Yes, it is."

              Whoops, he'd really pissed her off. Next time he'd insist on driving. Then he'd have her at his mercy. At least as a captive audience if nothing else.

              Maybe he could impress her with some fancy driving. He sneaked a glance at her. Her lips were pressed together primly. The woman positively oozed disapproval.

              Maybe fancy driving was a bad idea.

              "Sorry, I didn't know."

              "Here."

              She reached down and thrust a folder at him. He opened it. There was a color coded calendar inside, along with a stack of daily schedules, neatly clipped together.

              "Now you'll know."

              He grinned and leaned back in his seat. The woman had a sharp temper. But that didn't bother him one bit. In fact, he knew that a fiery woman made the best bed partner.

              And he had a feeling that Denise knew what she was doing between the sheets.