Baby Love: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (6 page)

I nodded, the joy finally bubbling up and overriding the shock I’d been feeling all day. “There’s more, though. He asked me out to dinner.”

“Right. Like to talk about the contract,” Callie said light-heartedly.

I shook my head. My heart pounded as I remembered what he’d whispered in my ear. A shiver went through me. “No. I think it was like,
dinner-dinner
.”

“Like a
date
?”

I paused and examined my unopened can of water. “Yeah, I think it was.”

A moment later I couldn’t contain myself. I actually squealed and jumped up and down. Callie put her drink down, we locked our hands together, and she joined the bouncing. She shrieked with me. “ZANE REID. YOU ARE GOING ON A DATE WITH ZANE REID!”

We were so excited we didn’t hear Patrick come home. “Did you get the deal?” he asked excitedly. Callie let go of one of my hands and drew Patrick into our circle. “You got the deal! Why are we jumping? Is this a thing? Because if this is a thing, I’m happy about it but I’d like to know that it’s a thing.”

“It’s a thing!” Callie explained. “Since we were kids, it’s a thing.”

“It’s a thing!” Patrick yelled. “So you got the deal!”

“She didn’t only get a deal, she got a
date!
” Callie exclaimed.

“With who?”

“ZANE REID. SHE GOT A DATE WITH ZANE REID!” Callie screamed.

Patrick stopped jumping immediately. “You said you have a date with Zane Reid.”

I nodded excitedly. “That’s correct.”

Patrick still stood there. Callie and I stopped our bouncing. “Wait, wait – which Engineer gave you a deal?”

“Zane,” I said, grabbing at a stitch in my side and sitting on the couch to sip my wine.

Patrick cocked his head. “The guy who’s investing in your business is taking you
on a date
?”

“Don’t be such a buzzkill, Patrick,” Callie said. “Drink soda and let’s talk about how hot Zane is.”

Patrick shook his head. “As fun as that sounds, I’m going out with the guys. Rachel, congratulations on being – sorry, how much richer?”

“Fifty million dollars,” I said, beaming and raising my wine glass.

Patrick’s jaw dropped. “Okay, that was unexpected and I really want to hear more but I gotta run. So congratulations to you and congratulations on your date, whenever that is.” His expression was odd but he was trying to be happy. He walked over to Callie and kissed her on the cheek.

“Have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Callie said jokingly. Callie turned to me. “So what are you going to wear?”

“Whatever I can beg, borrow and steal from your closet,” I replied.

“Look who’s actually interested in fashion now that Big-Dick Billionaire is wanting to have sex with her,” she said suggestively.

I turned crimson. “Stop. It’s just dinner. That’s all. There’s no way Zane would want to – have you see the women he’s always linked to?”

“
Allegedly
linked to. It’s not like he’s ever seen with any of them. He has those raging house parties in his penthouse but people can only make guesses based off of who comes stumbling out of the building the next morning at ten a.m. Nobody knows who he’s actually forking.”

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of organic vegetable crisps covered in nutritional yeast instead of cheese. They weren’t my first choice but it was the closest to a snack this household made it. Within seconds my fingers were covered in orange fake-cheese dust and Callie was yelling at me to stay in the kitchen with the food. “If these are all-natural why are they still electric orange?” I asked Callie.

“Turmeric,” Callie said. The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” I replied, carrying the bag of chips to the door. I felt a rush of excited energy like I hadn’t felt since I was finishing up undergrad and spending all day in the lab making discoveries. I pulled open the door with my non-fake-cheese-covered hand. Standing in the doorway was a young guy with a mop of brown hair. He was holding four glossy, boxes: three light-pink wrapped in white ribbon and a fourth black box that was enormous.

“I have a delivery for Ms. Cobb?”

“From who?” I asked, confused.

He pulled out his iPhone, balancing the boxes on his one arm. “From a Mr. Reid,” he said. “Here you go.”

I stuck the bag under my arm and took the boxes. “Thank you?” I said uncertainly.

“Sure thing. Have a great night.”

I took the boxes into the living room. Callie’s eyes widened. “What are those?”

“I have no idea.” I set the boxes down and reached for the white ribbon.

“Wait! Let me do it. You’ve got cheese dust fingers.”

I rolled my eyes. Callie undid the ribbon on the black box. She took the lid off and her jaw dropped. She showed me the contents. Two dozen long-stemmed white roses were standing upright, perfectly in bloom, in the square box. “I better go wash my hands,” I said in shock.

When I came back I undid the second box ribbon. A pair of shiny, white Louboutins with lipstick red soles gleamed back at me. I checked the size. “They’re eights. That’s what I wear.”

Callie grabbed the box from me. “These are custom. Oh my
word
,” she hissed in her strongest Southern Belle accent. She only went full Belle when she was in true shock.

I picked up the next box, peeling back white, fluffy tissue paper. Nestled within was a silky, thigh-length, white dress with spaghetti straps. I checked the tag. “Also my size,” I said.

Callie raised her eyebrows. “Is that a negligee or a dress?”

She had a point. It was the slinkiest thing I’d ever seen. I set the dress back into the box and opened the third. I peeled up a corner of the tissue paper. When I saw what it was, I pushed the tissue paper back to cover it so quickly I nearly tipped the box over.

Subtlety wasn’t my strongest suit; I felt heat creeping up my cheeks. Callie ripped the box from my hands. “Let me see that,” she snapped. “Let’s see what’s activating the Rachel Face,” she said, mentioning her nickname for my long habit of blushing wildly. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. “Rachel. Oh my word. Oh my
word
.” She held up the delicate lace bra with white rosettes lining the straps and checked the label. “36 DD,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She knew my bra size the same way that I knew hers. It was a woman thing. “How on
Earth
...” she didn’t finish the sentence.

“Leave the panties in there,” I groaned, feeling my heart beat wildly.

“Who on Earth is this fro-om?” Callie asked me, her vowels twanging so strongly that she made “from” into a two-syllable word.

“Zane,” I said, blushing wildly. I thought smoke might be coming out of my ears.

“He eyed your bra size? And got it bang on the nose?” The house phone rang and mercifully interrupted this line of questioning. “Weird. Nobody ever calls here,” Callie said.

“Oh shit,” I said, my hands clapping to my fiery cheeks. “I gave the production team your home number to call me. Since my phone is, um,
less than reliable.
” I hopped up and grabbed the vintage house phone. “Hello?” I said, my mind still on the bra in the box.

“Ms. Cobb?” said a clipped, British voice.

“Yes,” I replied, swallowing and trying not to choke.

“Mr. Reid will be picking you up at eight o’clock this evening. He’s sending along a delivery to your residence as well. You should be receiving it soon enough.”

“Um, yeah. I got the delivery already,” I said, blushing again.

“Wonderful. Was everything to your satisfaction?”

I looked over at the pile of goods that probably added up to several thousand dollars. “Yes. But…how did he get my, um, clothing sizes?”

“Mr. Reid is a man of impeccable taste and attention to detail. He prides himself upon it. Is there anything else you require? He offered to send a hair and makeup team but I recommended that might be a little presumptuous.”

“Hair and makeup?” I asked, bewildered. “And I’m sorry,
who
are you?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZANE

“Did she at least sound excited?” The sharp scent of shaving cream filled my nostrils. I loved the sound of the single-blade razor scraping over my skin.

Michael, my British assistant, wiped excess shaving lotion off of my skin with a steamed towel. “It might have been a little over-the-top, sir.” His white, fluffy eyebrows were raised pointedly.

“I don’t really know how to do it any other way. Do you think it was the flowers? They shipped from New York this morning; the Kardashians love that fucking company, they’re all over Instagram all the time.”

Michael sighed. “It might have been the spot-on bra size, sir that sent it over the top.”

I bit my lip and shrugged. “Whatever. It’s a secret talent of mine. If she can’t handle it, not my fucking problem.”

I stood up from the bathroom chair and checked my face in the mirror. “Perfect shave, Michael, as always.” I dropped my towel and hopped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up. The icy blast of water hit my skin and I jumped up and down, howling with pleasure. I loved cold showers. They made me feel alive. “Let’s take the Land Rover tonight,” I shouted over the glass.

Michael was cleaning up the shaving tools in the sink. “Are you certain you want me to drive you?” Michael asked.

I lathered up my shampoo. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Sir, it just seems like she would be more comfortable with you driving her. Less attention. Less…flashiness than having your personal butler shuttling you across the city.”

“I’m taking her to Alinea tonight, Michael. If flashiness is a problem, it’s not only going to end with the ride over.” I finished rinsing my hair and shut off the water. I stepped out of the glass enclosure. Michael was waiting for me with a fresh towel. I stepped into it. “All women love flashiness. They say they don’t, but they do. Trust me, Michael.”

Michael looked skeptical. “Whatever you say, sir.”

***

An hour later, I was wearing my nicest suit and most expensive cologne, my dark curls slicked back. “How do I look?” I asked Michael from the back seat.

He didn’t even glance in the mirror. “The hair is a little much. You look rather like Mr. Morehouse, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

I shrugged as he pulled in front of a gorgeous townhouse. I peered out the windows. “Jesus, this place is nice. Didn’t expect her to live here.”

Michael put the car into park, his gloved hands sliding up the emergency brake.

“What are you waiting for? Go get her,” I said.

“Sir, I really think that you should be the one to collect your date,” he intoned wearily.

“Nah. You do it. I don’t want to scuff my shoes anyway. She’ll eat this shit up. British butler and everything. Trust me, Michael.”

“Always, sir. I’m paid for it,” he replied drily. He stepped out of the car into the humid night air. I loved the light in Chicago in July. It seemed endless and such a contrast to the brutal winter with its salted, slushy streets and the iron blanket of grey skies.

Michael walked up the neat brick steps and rapped the brass door knocker against the cheery red door. A few moments later I could just see Rachel’s auburn hair over Michael’s shoulder. Michael nodded and offered her his arm. She declined it and walked a few steps behind him. I saw the silky, slinky white dress I’d sent her flitting around the base of her alabaster thighs. When Michael stepped out of the way I saw she’d put on a thick, knobby wool grey sweater over the top of the dress. It clashed horribly with the rest of it.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore only a hint of makeup on her eyes. She looked incredible, minus the horrible sweater. Michael held the door open for her and she climbed in nervously, glancing at me and blushing slightly. “Hi,” she said shyly, pulling the hideous sweater down over her hands.

“Hi yourself.” I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d made a woman blush. Of course, I was only ever around women whose profession was either public nudity on a stage or in front of a camera. Embarrassment wasn’t really in their vocabulary. Michael pulled away from the curb as Rachel wrapped a seatbelt around herself. “You got my gifts?”

Rachel nodded. “I did. Sometimes I get cold, so that’s why I have this sweater.” She bit her rosebud-colored bottom lip and it took everything in me to not mount her while Michael wound his way south out of Lincoln Park and toward the restaurant. “The dress is beautiful,” she added awkwardly.

I grinned at her. “I’m glad I got the sizing right.”

She blushed crimson and cleared her throat. “Yeah, that wasn’t creepy even
a little
.”

I was taken aback by her sarcasm but recovered quickly. “I like details.”

“That’s what your Jeeves told me.” I saw Michael’s eyes dart back to us in the rearview mirror. Rachel leaned forward and I had the opportunity to appreciate how her legs ended in the tottering high heels I’d purchased for her. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” she said.

“Michael, madame,” he replied.

“Oh please. Call me Rachel. I insist.” She held her hand out and Michael reached back to take it. “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” she asked Michael.

I realized that she was making fun of me. I cleared my throat. “It’ll just be us, actually.”

She shot a look back at me. “I was asking Michael.” The blushing was gone.

Fuck
. Michael had been right about her not liking pretense. I hated when he was right. “Well, Michael,” I said sarcastically. “Would you like to join us for dinner this evening?”

“Molecular gastronomy is not my forte, sir,” he replied evenly. “I think I’ll stick with the dinner that I packed for myself this evening.” His eyes darted over to the shiny brown wicker basket in the front seat.

“That’s too bad,” Rachel replied, leaning back in her seat. She stared out the window in silence.

“Lucky thing that this place isn’t far from yours,” I said tentatively. “Nice house, by the way.”

Rachel looked confused. “Oh, that’s not my house. I’m just staying with my sister and her husband for a few months.”