Accidental Billionaire (11 page)

He snuggled her closer. It was nice, laying there with him, in the dark of the apartment, whispering to him. She wanted to stay. The urge was incredibly tempting, but she’d promised Ella. “I have to go,” she whispered.

Logan tightened his arm on her waist, and his chest rose against her back as he breathed in.

“Yeah. I told Ella I’d help her out with a Christmas song.” Baylee swiveled to face him.

“You don’t want to be in a band.” One of his eyes popped open, but he left the other one closed; it gave him a half winking, half quizzical expression.

“This will be easy.” Baylee brushed his hair back from his temple, and he leaned his head into her hand, like he liked the motion.

He rubbed his palm flat up and down her back. The heat radiated through her thin T-shirt, the energy of the moment changed to a more charged feel. She shifted closer. Her phone buzzed, and Baylee pulled herself up, ignoring his mumbled protest.

“I have to go.”

His eyes closed. “Stay.”

It made her smile, but she got up, her mood light as she went out into the foyer. She patted the cougar statue on the head before getting on the elevator.

The studio work was fun. There was a group of musicians on one side of a sound-proofed room, and they played the song into individual microphones, while on the other side of the glass technicians in headsets worked the board.

She ran through a traditional version of “Silent Night” eight times, drank a ton of water, and then met Ella back in the hallway. Ella was talking in her own headset and typing into a tablet at the same time. She cut off the conversation when she saw Baylee. “The guys in the booth said you were great.”

“I was okay.”

“It’ll blend great with the other musicians.” She lowered her voice. “The producer wants two of everything … and with that guy not showing up, it wasn’t good. I could arrange a whole orchestra, but not first thing in the morning with no notice. You musicians sleep in.”

“Night gigs,” Baylee said, like a rock star.

“They want to know if you want to stay for the video.” Ella flipped her tablet around. “Unlike the royalties for the song, which are a whopping one percent for you, this would be a flat fee of $2000, plus any subsidiary rights. It’s a good deal.”

Baylee had no interest in being in a video until that moment. “I absolutely want to do it.” They headed down the corridor into a larger part of the building with Ella talking into the headset.

“Thanks, Baylee, I really owe you.”

Baylee owed Ella. It was noon and she’d earned a month’s pay. She was playing a frozen statue of a flutist. She wore white statue-like makeup on her arms and face. Her legs were covered in white tights and she wore a white dress, a cross between a white Grecian toga and a mini dress. It was short, but not too short. All the other musicians were women, and they were all dressed the same. Except the band, who she’d just found out was Rain Spin, which was freaking awesome. They were dressed in rock band guy-black.

The director motioned for them to start.

As the lead strolled through the set that was made to look ice covered and frozen, he sang a Capella. As he passed, the musicians unfroze and played their instruments.

This part didn’t matter if she missed a note, because she just had to play so it would look real on film. The music itself would come from the recording studio.

A wheeled camera tracked the lead’s steps, and stationary cameras caught images of the musicians.

They’d already run through the scene twice without makeup, and twice with half makeup. This was the last go through. They’d edit it together backwards, frozen to thawed, as if the lead’s singing turned them to life.

She played through to the last verse, “…savior is born.”

“That’s a wrap,” the director said.

Baylee dropped her arms and shrugged out her shoulders, smiling with the rest of the crew. She was eager to wash off the heavy white makeup, and she wanted lunch as she’d skipped breakfast.

The other musicians were half packing up their instruments, half hitting on the guys in the band, and why not, the band was cute and some of the musicians looked like models and rock stars married models. It was one of those life rules.

“Hey,” Logan said in his deep voice. He was grinning at her. “Want to grab lunch?”

“Yes.” She gave him a quick hug. “I’m starved.”

They’d gone to lunch, lingered talking, took a drive around town, and by the time they got back, it was time to get ready for Logan’s club thing. She hadn’t been in her room long before a tap sounded on the door. Baylee tightened the sash on her lizard robe and answered. Logan stood on the other side, holding several small shopping bags in one hand and a dress bag over one shoulder. “Delivery.”

And here we go
. Baylee shoved her just washed and dried but not straightened hair back and glanced down the hall toward the kitchen. “I didn’t order anything.”

Logan strode forward and put the packages on her bed beside the green and pink sundress she’d laid out. “I know. Ella sent it.”

“Why?”

“Ella’s wardrobe chair. She had a tux delivered for me.”

“That’s not weird at all.”

“It’s not uncommon with clubs like ours. Takes the guesswork out of
what to wear
. Guys like that.”

Girls not so much. Baylee drifted toward the dress bag and toyed with the edge. “What’s so special about tonight that you need a tux?”

Logan leaned against the wall. He still wore slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, the same thing he’d had on when he picked her up at the studio. “Events are like that. Fritz, our president, keeps things formal.”

“Is this club one from your prep school? Or something you’ll belong to at college?”

“Both. Fritz is president, but Rawlings did the set up.”

“And Rawlings picked Vegas?” She felt more comfortable asking him personal questions now.

“Yep.”

Vegas. Where you have to be twenty-one to gamble. “Though you’re all eighteen?”

“Our branch, yep.”

“And the guests come from the East Coast?”

“Social clubs like this extend across the country, the world really. Where you go to college doesn’t matter. There’ll be a mix of people.”

Then what did matter for membership? “What kind of club exactly?”

He blushed. Logan wasn’t a blusher.

“I’m not going anywhere until you clear that up. Sports club, car club, perv club, elite money background club…where does your club fall on that scale of weird?”

He shrugged. “Not those. I don’t know. A couple of guys I went to boarding school with got nominated in. I got the invite this time last year.”

He didn’t know what kind of club he was in? “What do you do at events?”

“Fund raise. Hang out. It’s a social club.”

Ah. He’d blushed because it was a rich kid thing, and he didn’t want to say it. That sobered her. When she was with Logan, hanging out, even though they were in fancy cars or fancy settings, she forgot he was different from her, that his world was very different from Leithville. “Elite social club. Okay. I can be your date to that. Any of the other types of clubs, and you’d have had to go solo.” And leave the apartment. And she’d tell Tyler he was friends with a perv. Baylee toyed with the fabric of her sundress. “I can wear my sundress.”

Logan motioned at the bed. “You have a proper dress right there.”

“I can’t take a gift like that. I won’t. I barely know Ella, and I got paid for today.”

“Then take it from me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Consider it a thank you for the other day.” Logan looked away. “Your being there helped.”

She couldn’t imagine his family fighting more, but if he thought her being there helped, she was glad. “I’m glad, but I don’t need a gift for being decent.”

“Then consider it an apology for how we ended up at the studio.”

“Consider it an apology, or you’re apologizing?”

“Both. I half thought I was helping, getting you to record for Tyler’s band, but when I saw your face at the studio the other day, I knew I’d made the wrong move.”

He was surrounded by professional musicians. She couldn’t tell him how imperfect she felt, how she felt like she’d screw up her friend’s rock song with her flute playing. “I won’t take clothes as an apology gift either.”

“Baylee.”

“Logan. Why did you lie about going sightseeing? Why didn’t you just ask me to go to the studio like Ella did? Why’d you trick me?” She kind of thought she’d gotten past it, but now that he was sort of picking out her clothes…well, she wasn’t cool with it. “Sure you wanted to help. But why right away? Why surprise me? Tell me, and I’ll wear the borrowed dress, and have it cleaned and returned tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She waited.

Logan shoved a hand through his hair and moved over to the window. The view from this side of the apartment was more mountains and skyscrapers, less buildings. “My family texted me. Somehow they knew I was in town and demanded I come to a meeting.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I wanted you to go with me. I thought it would help somehow and it did. I was too … I don’t know, chicken-shit to say it. I used the recording as an excuse.”

He didn’t meet her gaze as he turned and left.

She knew how his family knew he was in town. Guilt and confusion trapped her like she was in the dress bag. He’d wanted her along; she’d thought he was pushing her into a music career she didn’t want. Baylee shut off her thoughts and reached for the bag. Toga? Elvis costume? Showgirl sequined skin-tone bikini?

Ball gown. The garment bag held a stunning ball gown: strapless straight neckline, drop waist, groupings of crystals and pearls in artistic patterns on the cream top and down the voluminous draped skirt. The fabric was some type of heavy silk, not shiny but matte and rich looking, like nothing Baylee had ever seen or held. Cleaning it would cost half her paycheck. But she didn’t care. It was amazing, and she loved it. She spent a long time examining the patterns and snapping photos before going through the other bags.

One bag held costume jewelry: dainty diamond and pearl earrings set in gold, matching necklace, hairclip, and bracelet. Matching, but so delicate and perfect it wasn’t too matching.

One bag held silk and lace lingerie in light cream. She’d be paying for that and keeping it. It would take the other half of her paycheck.

One bag held three sizes of cream ballet flats. One was her size. The other two she left wrapped in tissue paper. How did Ella know her sizes? Weird. Had they talked sizes at the studio? She must have gotten them from the statue toga costume.

The last bag held Chanel makeup, brushes, directions for application and highlights and an exquisite perfume.

Okay, maybe her sundress would be inadequate. She’d be going back to Texas soon, leaving neon lights, luxury, and Logan behind. She wanted tonight. To look nice. To see Logan see her wearing this outfit. Dangerous thoughts. But she wanted it anyway.

At the party, Logan’s expression was everything she’d hoped it would be: appreciative. She got a stare, flushed cheeks, bright eyes. Oh yeah. He looked at her like she sparkled, like he couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink.

Her own view of him was terrific. Logan disheveled. Hot. Logan in his version of everyday clothes. Handsome. Logan in a tuxedo. Wow. Stunning. So stunning that she was better off keeping her gaze away from him and on the couples around them or she’d start imagining a fantasy future where he lived in Texas and met her at her dorm to walk her to class, or if she really let go: corsages, kisses, promises—
Logan & Baylee together forever
scrawled inside pink, red, and purple hearts. Stop it.

Luckily the get-together was weird enough to give her plenty to focus on other than his hands and how they felt on her, his eyes and the storms behind them and how they lit when they saw her and grew cloudy when he thought about his family and giving up part of his company. Maybe he’d feel better if he talked with her about it. No. Focus on something other than him.

There had to be thirty couples in the ballroom, all dressed in dreamy clothes. Every girl wore a ball gown and Baylee fit in. Wearing her sundress would have been the equivalent of wearing a sundress to prom. Heat warmed her cheeks. She would have had have turned around and walked back out.

The guests sat at tables for two. The meal had lasted seven courses. Parties at home consisted of kegs everyone chipped in for, trashcan punch, and BYOB.

Logan drew her gaze too much. She forced herself to ask about the other couples to keep her attention off him. A picture of the room was becoming clear. Important people in the center: Rawlings, the organizer, Fritz, the president, fund-raising chair Nadine from the airport, wardrobe chair Ella, social chairs Drake, his date Kira.

“So what chair are you?”

Logan’s tan glowed in the candlelight, and he shrugged. “I’m not a chair.”

Sure. And they were right beyond the center table. “Why’s Nadine staring at us?” Because they were one table over, Baylee had a clear view of her. Nadine frowned and toyed with her glass. Nadine’s maroon gown glowed in the light, made of the liquid silk instead of the matte silk. Actually she frowned at a lot of the couples. Baylee shifted on the cushion and pulled her wrap higher over her exposed shoulders against the chill, glad she hadn’t given it to the guy when she’d walked in.

“Nadine’s family is in banking. She likes to know what’s going on.”

Family in banking. Her family went in banks, too. To stare at their balance slips in confusion and ask how their accounts dropped below zero. Guess the fees they paid bought Nadine’s maroon gown with the geometric shape top. Or maybe her dress was also a club-loaner like her own. She got that impression because while every dress was different: jewel tones, pastel tones, drop waist, natural waist, they all were big-skirted ball gowns, all couture, and all looked like a dream. One person had picked them out.

Ella’s own dress was a tissue silk in waterfall blue. The skirt gathered in the front at an angle and draped over puffed blue flowers made of the same silk. “Is Ella going to design ball gowns for a living or other kinds of dresses, too?”