Accidental Billionaire (6 page)

“Baylee Juliet Steele. Mother Joellen Avery Steele. Father Burke Thomas Grattan. Salesman. Gambler. Last name
Grattan
. Yours is
Steele
.”

Her father popped in and out of her life for the occasional weekend. Phone calls were equally rare and usually involved requests for money. Some to Mom, some to her. Her anger crystallized and hardened. He didn’t even know what a sore subject he was picking on.

“I looked you up, too.” Baylee tried to keep her temper and voice even. “Logan Beckett St. John. Eighteen. Six feet one inch. Born and raised in Palo Alto, California. Family money on both sides. Old money. Who knew California had anything old. Mother deceased. Father Richard Gage St. John lives in Palo Alto. Divorcing third wife Cleo, mother to your younger brother, Tate St. John, who lives here in Vegas. The curious part is … son Logan goes to a Massachusetts prep school.” She arched her own eyebrows. “Massachusetts. Couldn’t get you further away if they tried?”

Logan winced. That dig struck home.

“A Massachusetts prep school that is renowned for high test scores and secret societies. Which of those two are you?”

His mouth pinched.

“Ah. Both. Figures.” Baylee backed off. She waved a vague hand. “Hitting the shower.”

Baylee flipped her pillow and turned over, hungry and annoyed. The clock read two in the morning. She’d skipped dinner, telling Logan, who’d come in late from the pool, that she’d eaten. Now she was hungry and mad. Mad at hearing her life encapsulated. No one’s life could be captured like that. A person was more than statistics. Logan didn’t know her. He knew her middle name. But did he know it came from a movie? Did he know she wouldn’t change her last name to her father’s for all the approving smiles in the universe? No. He didn’t know her at all. Epic revenge filtered through her mind. The destruction of Logan’s fortune. The release of squirrels in his mansion. She narrowed her focus to here. To now. To 02:00 a.m. Pacific Standard Time.

Baylee got out of bed, drew on a Vegas-shirt over her sleep cami and shorts. She headed to the kitchen and froze halfway there.

The darkened living room was quiet, but it had that solid energy and faint cologne hint that told her someone was there. She took a moment to let her vision adjust. The only light came from the glow of the electronics and the blinking light on Logan’s cellphone. Logan was asleep on the couch again.

The screen on his phone flashed, and she snatched it before it could wake him up. She couldn’t help looking.

An email had popped up.

17 June,

Logan. Have you made a decision? Tate’s obviously ready to go. When do you arrive?

Cleo.

Another email immediately popped up over it.

17 June,

Logan,

Don’t be pressured by your stepmom. When you get in town, we’ll talk, and get those papers signed. It’s time for you to leave Massachusetts. See you soon.

Your Father

Weird and Weirder. Daddy thought Baby was on the east coast. Hmm. Someone else had Daddy issues. A third email popped up and Baylee wondered if Logan’s father and stepmom were in the same room, email fighting.

17 June,

Logan. The papers are—

The blanket rustled.

She stilled.

The room quieted again.

This was none of her business.

She wanted to know. She forwarded the last email to herself, deleted it from the sent folder, and placed the phone down on the coffee table. The covers rose and fell with Logan’s breathing. He rested his head on the pillow. One arm thrown across the blanket. He didn’t sleep in a shirt. He worked out. The motion of his chest stilled. A stillness that suggested imminent awakening.

Uh oh.

Turn and run.

Logan seized Baylee’s arm with a warm grip. He yanked, pulling her sprawling across his chest. Heat, hardness. Logan fumbled for the light. Soft glow emanated from the lamp. He stared at her. She stared at him.

“What are you doing?”

She had nothing. What kind of excuse
could
she give?

Logan slid his hands to her waist. It was the strangest sensation in the world: a guy’s hands on her waist, burning through the thin fabric of her cami. She felt each individual finger and the warmth of his palms. It felt … good.

As if thinking the same, Logan brushed the pads of his fingers just underneath, over her skin, a one-inch exploration that made her draw in a deep breath. It felt even better. The sensation radiated much further than the sphere where he traced his fingers. Her breath caught. She parted her lips and dropped her gaze to his. She imagined what they’d feel like.

“Why are you in my bed?” Logan’s voice was husky. His gaze dropped to her chest.

She thanked the darkness and pulled away, rising to stand. “You’re on the couch.”

“Are you waking me up again?” He sounded confused.

She was grateful that beyond his quick-grab, he didn’t seem too sharp when awakened at two in the morning. Having no response to the unanswerable, she bolted. She went to her own room, locked her door and stood against it a moment. Heart thumping, face heating, the air-conditioning cooled her skin. She became chilled in seconds, so she switched to a sweatshirt and got into bed. She had to go to sleep with three inescapable facts rolling around in her brain. One, she wasn’t getting a midnight snack. Two, Logan’s famous family and big bank account put him out of her league. And, three, she was attracted to Logan St. John, really attracted.

The wrap-around balcony was rectangular and held a narrow lap pool at one end and an outdoor table and chairs at the other. The guys were talking about sports, and Baylee was sipping a glass of orange juice. Baylee half hoped they’d let her eat out here in peace, and they’d eat inside: in the kitchen, or in front of the big screen TV, or on trays atop their silk sheets. Anywhere but with her. She toyed with her sunshine yellow napkin, ignoring the sheet music rolled up inside it, and hoping her attraction to Logan wasn’t obvious. She kept her gaze carefully away from him.

Tyler trailed his foot in the water and sang a line from a recent ballad. He sounded in tune and perfect every time. Like the radio, but a Capella and with a creative twist. It was a privilege to hear him. Every time. Her emotions relaxed, easing with the tenor of the song.

Logan came closer. He braced his hands on the top rail of her chair and leaned down. She tensed. Logan whispered, “My dreams smelled like your perfume and apple lotion.”

Heat flooded her face. She shifted on the cushion. She’d dreamed about him, too, curling up on the couch with him, and a kiss.

Logan dropped his hand to her thigh under the table.

It felt nice.

She shoved it off. There was no shot for something between the two of them. She wasn’t that naive. “What are you doing?”

He grinned and took the chair beside her. His expression was interested. “Saying good morning.”

His eyes, her favorite color. His mouth a perfect curve. His hair tousled like he’d just gotten up. Perfect. She breathed in his cologne — sunshine and hot guy. “Good morning.”

Truly perfect.

The thought made her freeze. Mom had once described Dad as
truly perfect
. He wasn’t. Dad couldn’t handle the struggle. He came from money. Not St. John money, but pay-the-bills-as-they-arrive money. It had made him soft, because the stress of no money and a kid too soon had driven him away. He popped in and out of their lives as a convenience. Baylee needed a guy who understood family, hard work, building a future, and saving. Logan would have to take his family drama to someone else. He had to go.

She lifted her phone, keeping it close so he couldn’t see it, and scanned the email she’d forwarded to herself last night. Her finger hovered over the delete key.

Her finger wavered.

Delete it.

She could use it to reveal Logan’s arrival. If she did that, he would move out of the suite, and temptation would be removed. That was the safe thing to do. Or she could delete the email…

Instead, she typed.
Dear Mr. St. John. My name is Baylee. I’m staying with Tyler Grayson for the summer (a family friend), and have gotten the chance to meet your son. He’s staying here, too. I know he doesn’t email as often as he should. He’s mentioned it. I know my mom would hate it if I didn’t email and call often. So I thought I’d do it for him. He arrived a few days ago and I know he’d want you to know.

Send.

“Who are you texting?” Logan asked.

“No one.” The second the message disappeared on the World Wide Web, guilt crawled up her spine. Heat flushed her face.

Logan narrowed his eyes, but before he could quiz her further, Kira came out carrying a breakfast tray. Kira. Again. Her dress was shorter and peach, her smile was wider and glossed with frosted peach lipstick. She placed the tray in the center of the table. Kira slithered the spatula under an omelet. “Omelet, Logan?”

Logan’s gaze shot to Baylee then to Kira then back to Baylee. He arched his eyebrows.

Baylee shrugged.
I don’t know why she’s here.

Logan nodded. “Uh, thanks, Kira. You don’t have to cook for us every day.”

“Drak-ee would kill me if I didn’t help out.” Her gaze ate up Logan even while she mentioned her boyfriend.

Sure she was doing this for Drake.

At the arrival of food, Tyler dropped into the empty chair across from them. “I’ll take one, thanks.”

Baylee took a plate, too, and scooped up an omelet herself and put orange wedges on the side. She shouldn’t have emailed Logan’s dad just to get him out of her living space. How should she phrase what she’d done? Did Logan deserve a warning?

Tyler dug in. “You sure got a lot of sun.” His notice of her sunburn was a good distraction.

She nodded.

“I burn, too.” Kira ran the end of her glass down her pale arm. “It’s all sunscreen and reapply for me. Fifty block.”

Logan tore a corner off his toast and buttered it. “I’d have made Baylee wear sunscreen, but she went down to the pool without me.”

Tyler cut big bites and powered through his breakfast. “You should have waited for Logan.”

“You really should have.” Kira ignored her food. “I would have. If you guys want to go down later, I can arrange a cabana or some big umbrellas.”

Logan ignored Kira and looked at Baylee.

Baylee shook off her guilt at contacting Logan’s family. She’d done the right thing, the right thing for both of them. She ate the cheesy omelet, savoring each perfect mouthful she hadn’t had to make. “This is great, Kira. Thanks. So you want to be a chef?” Her cousin was a chef.

“No, a party planner.” Kira said the words with certainty, but she didn’t act them out, which was a pleasant change.

“Ah.” How was she so certain? How did people know what they wanted to do?

Logan waved his hand over the spread. “You really didn’t have to do this for us.” Even as an oblivious male, he was picking up on the oddness of Kira’s daily arrivals.

“Anything for you guys.” Kira split her attention between Tyler and Logan, keeping them talking while Baylee ate. “Breakkie’s the most important meal of the day you know.”

Tyler finished his breakfast and rose. “What’s on for the rest of the day?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kira said. “I’m open.”

Check my bank account, make sure I’m not burning through money too fast. Call Mom. Avoid Dad.
“Site seeing. Riding the New York, New York roller coaster. Taking pictures of the MGM Grand. That kind of stuff.”

“Very touristy,” Kira said.

“Sounds fun.” Tyler tapped on the sheet music beside her place setting. “I’m recording. You ready to do your part? You can go in with me.”

“Not yet.” Baylee wrinkled her nose. “Maybe next week.”

“That’ll work,” Tyler said. “Can you imagine? She was offered a spot in the best rock band in the world.” He pointed to his chest. “Mine. And she refused.”

Logan frowned and pressed his lips together. “I didn’t know that.” Logan drained his glass.

“She’s a lucky girl. I’ll just take this inside and get you a refill.” Kira lifted the empty pitcher and swayed her hips as she crossed to the glass doors.

Tyler drummed his hands on the table. “I’m going down to Phoenix. My dad’s birthday’s this weekend.” He grinned big. “I’m going to talk Aria into joining me.”

“Tell her hi.”

“You going to be okay here?” Tyler asked.

Mom wouldn’t like it, but yeah, she’d be fine.

Logan touched the back of her hand. “I’ll look out for you.”

“I’m fine on my own.”

Tyler held out his fist to Logan. “Thanks. Watch out for her, buddy.” Logan bumped his fist, and then Tyler went inside.

Baylee’s phone buzzed, and she checked the screen. Her incoming email icon flashed.

“Who’s that from?” Logan asked.

“None ya.” Heat bit her faced, but she opened the email anyway.

Mr. St. John had replied fast.
Is Logan okay?

Oh. She flashed a glance a Logan. He stared at her. He looked okay. Why wouldn’t Logan be okay? Guilt rushed back, and she typed,
Yeah. He’s having a Denver omelet by the pool. With brown toast.
She put the phone down
.

Logan kicked back, brows arched, expression assessing her. And now she had to ask. “So…”

“So.”

“You doing okay?” She made her tone soft, kind, an olive branch rolled up in a Texas accent.

Logan tilted his head. He spun his empty glass in a circle, leaving a wet ring on the tabletop. He drew a line through the circle with his pinky finger, breaking it. “What a nice question.” He raised his blue-gray gaze to her.

Oh, he had a powerful stare. Baylee rose. She lifted her plate and Tyler’s and walked away to Logan’s chuckle. Did he think he was funny? Did he know she was crushing on him? Cringe. She dropped the plates in the kitchen, thanked Kira for breakfast, and headed to her room to gather her things. Her phone buzzed.

Dad:
How about lunch?

Dad suggested noon and the name of a casino buffet located downtown at the opposite end of where she planned to sightsee.