Billionaire on the Loose (15 page)

She sniffed and gave him a sad look. “I can't just hang out with you all day, Loch. I need to find another job—”

“I'll hire you,” he volunteered. “How much do you want to make?”

Her sniffles changed to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I'll hire you. You can be my assistant while I'm here.”

“Do . . . do you need an assistant? I thought you said you were going to try and be more independent?”

Funny how any thoughts of being independent went out the window the moment she started crying. “I'm sure there's things you can do for me. You can . . . you can get my laundry for me.”

“There's maids that bring it to the room.”

Oh. He cast around for another idea. “You can help me pick out an apartment if I'm going to be staying here long-term.”

“You hire a Realtor to do that.”

“Taylor,” he chided. He took her hands in his. “Trust me when I say I have lots of need for an assistant, all right? If it'll make you happier, think of it as a paid companion. I get bored easily and need entertainment, and you can help me with that.”

Her brows furrowed. “Are we still going to be sleeping together?”

“God, yes.”

“Then doesn't that make me a hooker?”

He groaned. “Can you stop overanalyzing things? I'll come up with something for you to do, all right? You need a job, I can give you a job. Do we need to look beyond that?”

She thought for a moment, then gave him a worried look. “I'd need to make at least twenty an hour to cover my rent and expenses. That's how much I made at my old job.”

Yeah, and he'd seen her tiny, ridiculous apartment. “Then I will pay you twenty-five dollars an hour.”

She gasped, her eyes lighting up. “For just being your friend?”

“That's right.”

“Loch.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “You realize I'd be your friend for free, right?”

“Taylor,” he said in the same gentle voice. “You realize I'd give you barrels of money if you'd just stop crying?”

Her soft chuckle made him feel better. “Can you afford an employee?”

“Oh, I'm certain of it. I have several of them back home.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You do? I thought you said you sold your manor house.”

“I did. I have an Italian villa now. I only have . . .” He paused, counting. “Ten servants now.”

“Ten?”

“Just the bare minimum,” he assured her.

Her jaw dropped.

“I'm quite sure I can afford eleven.” Although, thinking of his conversation with his cousin Griffin earlier, he worried a little. Maybe he didn't have as much money as he thought? Maybe he was frittering away his fortune and not realizing it? “Let's call my accountant, shall we?”

“That's one of the ten, I assume?”

He nodded.

“All right.” Taylor's expression was dubious, as if she didn't quite believe any of what he was telling her.

Well, he rather hoped he wasn't lying. That would be damned awkward. He retrieved his cell phone, put it on speaker, and then dialed his accountant.

It was late overseas, and he worried that no one would answer. After four rings, though, the other line picked up. “This is Bertram. How can I help, my lord?” The man sounded sleepy, as if he'd just rolled out of bed.

“Good evening,” Loch said, glancing at Taylor. “I hope this isn't a bad time?”

“No, not at all, my lord. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I was just wondering how much money I have?”

There was a long pause. “I . . . I don't understand the question, my lord? Do you mean in petty cash? Or . . . ?”

“I mean in general. How much money?” Was he not asking right? Damn. “Just a ballpark figure will be fine.”

At his side, Taylor bit her lip, and the worried look returned.

“Well,” Bertram began. “The number fluctuates on trades, of course, and I can't give you a specific dollar amount but I guess . . . ballpark, you said? One point two billion, give or take.”

He nodded, then looked over at Taylor. “More than enough for another servant?” he asked Bertram.

“Er, yes? I mean, a lot of that is tied up in assets and bonds, and investments and the like, but you can afford twenty more servants if you truly wanted, my lord. I . . . Is there something I can help you with?”

Loch looked over at Taylor. She shook her head swiftly, her eyes wide. He turned back to his phone. “No, nothing else. I was just curious. Thank you! Have a nice evening.”

“I . . . Of course, my lord. You have a nice evening, too.” Bertram sounded mystified.

Loch hung up and looked over at Taylor. “You see? He says there is plenty of money.”

Her mouth parted and she just shook her head at him slowly. “You're a freaking billionaire, Loch.”

He frowned. She made it sound like it was a bad thing. “And?”

“Oh my god! How did you not know you were a billionaire?”

He shrugged. “I don't pay much attention to money. As long as everything is handled, I'm happy.” But he remembered his frustrations with how sheltered he'd been. “It's one of the things I'm working on changing,” he added. An idea occurred to him. “You can be my independence consultant.”

“Your what?”

“You can help me become more independent. Coach me in the things I should be aware of. I don't want to have to rely on servants for everything. I want to be able to function like a normal man, if I have to. You can help me with that,” he said, and then added, “For twenty-five dollars an hour. Sleepovers optional.”

“You're serious?”

“I am.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I can do that. I can help you.” A small smile returned to her mouth. “What do we do first?”

He thought for a moment, and remembered what Maylee had said. “A vacation, I think.”

“But . . . aren't you already on vacation? Where do you want to go?”

He cast about for an answer. Her gaming laptop sat on one of the nearby desks, the screen flashing on the
Excelsior
Convention ad. It was happening this upcoming weekend. He knew, because Taylor had mentioned that a few guild-mates were going and so her group had to change some of their plans to work around the missing people. “We're going to the
Excelsior
Convention.”

She gasped. “We . . . we
are
?”

He nodded, surprised that she wasn't more excited. “I figure if I'm going to be on your team, I need to immerse myself in the culture. The convention seems like a good way of doing so.”

“The convention's going to be a bit of game-culture overkill,” she murmured dryly. “But if you want to go, I'm up for it.”

“Fantastic.” Somehow he'd thought she would have been more excited, but it didn't matter. It was just going to be the two of them, away on vacation, and an opportunity to get closer to each other. He could use this time to impress her, to woo her, and then make her see that they needed to marry.

Temporarily, of course.

***

HaveANiceTay: Hey, about this weekend . . . I'm not going to be on.

Sigmund: What? You're not?? What's going on?

HaveANiceTay: Remember the
Excelsior
convention? My new roomie got tickets! We're flying out.

Sigmund: Brunhilde? She got you guys tickets?

HaveANiceTay: Um, yep. So can you run the guild raid?

Sigmund: :(

HaveANiceTay: What is it?

Sigmund: You guys are sure spending a lot of time together.

HaveANiceTay: Well, we're living together?

Sigmund: I just miss you.

HaveANiceTay: Don't do this . . .

Sigmund: Sorry. I'm being selfish. Go to the convention. Have fun. Tell everyone from the guild I said hello, all right? I'll handle things here.

HaveANiceTay: If you're sure . . . ?

Sigmund: Of course. You need some time off. :)

HaveANiceTay: I really could use a vacation. You have no idea how much.

Sigmund: What's going on?

HaveANiceTay: A lot. I can't talk about it right now, but suffice to say . . . a vacation sounds really nice.

Sigmund: Enjoy the con, then. I'll just text you if I need anything.

HaveANiceTay: Feel free to play my toons!

Sigmund: Have fun.

Taylor refused to feel guilty about going on vacation with Loch. He was her new boss, right? Made perfect sense that if he wanted company on a trip, he would have her go with him. And if he wanted to charter a private jet so they could fly in style, well, that was all right with her, too. It was his money.

And the fact that he managed to somehow score a massive suite at the convention hotel? Well, he was her employer and if he wanted to travel in style, he certainly could. The fact that she was going to be staying in the room with him? Icing on the cake.

Great sex plus living the high life? Yes, please.

Of course, they hadn't had sex again yet. After he'd found her crying from losing her job, she'd been too mentally exhausted and had ended up falling asleep with her head in his lap. The next day had been a whirlwind of trying to get tickets to the convention—which was apparently sold out—and booking hotel rooms and flights. But now they were on their way, and she was sipping a margarita on a comfy leather chair in a private jet while Loch napped nearby.

She couldn't sleep. Her mind was whirling with a dozen different things.

She'd be sharing a room with Loch. That didn't bother her. In fact, she was looking forward to that now that her period was long gone. She clamped her thighs together tight just thinking about it. She and Loch had just fit together so perfectly right from the start. It felt as if she'd known him forever. She could see herself with someone like him on a permanent basis, but that might have been wishful thinking on her part. He was male perfection, and she was just a bit of a goofball. Of course she wanted to be with someone like him—the question was, why would he want to be with someone like her longer than a fling or two? There wasn't much of a reason, so she was determined to just enjoy him while she had him, and try not to get too attached.

Of course, it might have already been too late for her with that part. He was just . . . so great. She looked over at him as he slept, a dreamy expression on her face. Handsome, smart, athletic, loaded, funny . . . and into her video game hobbies. It was like someone had taken her geek wish list and made it come to life.

There had to be a catch. Of course, she hadn't found one yet, which meant that he was probably perfect in a million ways and would be tired of her soon.

So she just had to take this for what it was—a mindless fling.

The job thing would make it tricky, though. Taylor sipped her margarita and looked out the window at the clouds dotting the sky. He'd agreed to pay her twenty-five dollars an hour, and they'd not talked about it much more than that, but Loch had also professed to not being very cognizant of his own funds. What if that was too much money? What about benefits? Was he going to cut her a check or pay her in cash? For how long was this job going to go on? For how many hours a week? There were so many things to discuss, and she worried about bringing them up. What if it ruined this fledgling thing they had between them? She didn't want that.

She could sit on her worries for a few days and just relax at the convention and have fun.

Hopefully. The convention brought concerns of its own. Taylor had told Sigmund—clingy, clingy, unbalanced Sigmund—that her roommate playing Brunhilde was a girl. That was the nice thing about the Internet—you could lie. But there were going to be several guild-mates of hers at the convention, and if she ran into any of them with Loch at her side, there would be questions. The convention was enormous, though, and she planned on being in costume for most of it, so hopefully no one would recognize her. If they did, well, she'd just have to come up with a suitable excuse. Maybe Loch could be a friend's brother and they were spending time together. Or she could just go with the whole
he's my boss and I'm his assistant
thing.

That would work.

Pleased, she took another swig of her margarita. With a drink in hand, a hot temporary boyfriend snoozing nearby, and a gaming convention to go to? This was setting up to be an awesome weekend.

For once, Sigmund's constant texts didn't even bother her.

***

“This room is really amazing,” Taylor gushed as she set her suitcase on the hotel room bed and opened it. “I mean, I wasn't sure if anything could beat the rock waterfall you had in your room back in New York, but the private swimming pool out on the ledge here just might do it. Too bad I don't have a swimsuit.”

“Mmm, who said you needed a swimsuit?” He smiled lazily at her, hands behind his head as he lounged on the other end of the bed. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself at the moment. He'd managed to score tickets to the convention, had arranged a private jet that Taylor had exclaimed over, and now had set them up in this rather nice hotel room, all on his own. Sure he'd made a few calls to the right people and used his name, and even greased a few palms, but he'd done it himself. It was a small victory. Best of all, Taylor was happy. He'd fixed her job issue, taken her on vacation, and ensured that she'd be spending more time with him. It would be just a small step to propose marriage, and he doubted she'd say no.

“You'd love that, wouldn't you?” She gave him a saucy little smirk as she re-folded one of her shirts. “Truth of the matter is, I don't know how much time we'll have to spend in the room anyhow. The convention's got so much to do and see. I haven't been in two years, but if it's anything like before, there will be beta-test rooms, character battles, costume contests, a vendor alley, some behind-the-scenes panels, and a few about some upcoming game info that everyone's always peeing in their pants to hear about.”

None of it sounded particularly interesting to him, but if she was excited, it would be fun. An enthusiastic Taylor was one of his favorite things in the world, he'd decided. “So which ones do you want to go to?”

“I haven't had time to look, to be honest.” She bit her lip and then pulled out a small notepad and began to flip through the pages. “I was busy making lists of things I can help you with! Like driving a car, or taking the subway by yourself, or balancing a checkbook, or cooking—I'm actually not that bad at cooking despite my love for cereal—and understanding personal finances, or maybe—”

“All that can wait a few days. Let's just enjoy the convention, shall we?”

“Oh, I plan on it.” She beamed at him. “My old costume still fits.”

“Costume?” This wasn't the first he'd heard about costumes . . . but he hoped it didn't apply to him. She'd gone back to her apartment to pick up a few things, but he hadn't realized they were
costumes
. Loch frowned at her. “I'm not going to wear a costume.”

“Only about half of the people that attend go in costume, but I think it makes it more fun.” She pulled out something from her bag that looked like a scarf. “Here's mine.”

All right, now she had his attention. His cock stiffened in response and he sat up, curious. “Is that like your Doctor Who scarf?”

She giggled and spread it out on the bed. “No, it's a dress. This scarf part goes around the neck and then over each breast, and the skirt is kind of a sash around the hips. There's a cape, too, but I have to iron it.”

It was a lot more skin-revealing than anything he'd seen Taylor wear before. She normally was in jeans and a T-shirt, and while he liked that, he was rather intrigued by the flimsiness of this costume. “You wear this out and about in the convention?”

Her brows drew together. “Of course. It's Talia Undura from the game. I've got her hood and everything.”

Loch vaguely remembered a hooded woman in the splash screens of the game, but all he recalled about her was bright red lips and lots of breasts. Was that who she was going to dress up as? He shifted uncomfortably, his cock making it known that he liked the idea, even if—rather hypocritically—he wasn't sure she should wear something so revealing out in the crowd. “How do you get the sash bits to stay in place over the”—he paused and gestured—“chest area?”

“Double-sided tape!” She hung the costume—little more than gossamer wisps—on a hanger and then turned back to him. “Oh, and if anyone recognizes us and asks, you're my boss.”

“What?”

“There's some of my guild-mates that are going to be here, and a few folks that are in an Alliance with us on Excelsior. That means they raid with us for some of the bigger targets. Anyhow, they'll be here and if they recognize me, they'll ask about you. Just tell them that you're my boss and we're here because you're learning about the game.” Her smile was sunny.

He wasn't smiling anymore. In fact, he was a little offended. “Are you trying to hide the fact that you're here with me?”

“What? No! Don't be silly.” Her smile faded a little and then she winced. “Okay, yes. But it's not because you're not hot! You are.” She gave him a heated up-and-down look and then sighed. “It's just that . . . if people find I'm here with a date, it opens us up to some tough questions that I'd rather not wrestle with this weekend.”

“What kind of tough questions?” Damn it, why was he so annoyed at the thought of her pretending they weren't here together? He was a damned baron of Bellissime! Fifth in line for the damned throne—unless the insurgents got their way. And he was someone to be
embarrassed
over?

She wrung her hands. “It's . . . complicated.”

“More complicated than trying to explain why you're holding hands with your boss and he's constantly staring at your barely covered tits?”

Taylor giggled, then wrung her hands again. “We probably shouldn't hold hands, either. It's just . . .” Her phone buzzed, interrupting her line of thought and she automatically checked it, then typed something back.

Ah. Everything became crystal clear. To Loch's surprise, intense jealousy surged through him. “It's that guy, isn't it? Sigmund? The one that constantly texts and emails you? You don't want him to know that you're with me.”

Her face flushed bright red.

“Are you dating him?” Was this all a massive put-on? Why did the thought offend him so much? Because Taylor was sweet and unassuming and he liked that? Because he didn't want her to be manipulative? Because he actually really liked being with her and the thought that he was being used
hurt
?

“What? No!” she sputtered, and then to his chagrin, her face crumpled and she began to cry. “I wish he'd go away, actually.” Her phone buzzed with another text, and another fat tear slid down her face. “Sometimes I hate him.”

Ah, hell. Now he felt like an ass. He got off the bed and went to Taylor's side, pulling her against him in a bear hug. “Don't cry. I'm just trying to understand.”

She sniffed against his chest. “It's kind of a mess.”

“Then I definitely want to hear the details, because it involves you.” He stroked a hand over her hair, hugging her close.

Her arms went around him and she buried her face against his shirt. “He's this guy in my guild. At least, I'm pretty sure it's a guy. His screen name is Sigmund but his real name is Lynn. Pretty sure Lynn is a guy, though. He always picks male toons and talks about how he's a guy, so I kind of believe him. Anyhow, we both started playing around the same time and struck up a friendship. He's really lonely and doesn't get out much, so he played a lot, and I was on while working, so we ended up hanging out a lot. I gave him my phone number one night when we were waiting for a particular boss to spawn so we could log on and go after it, no matter the hour. From there, he started texting me.” Her fingers gripped his shirt more tightly. “At first I didn't think anything of it. He was just texting to ask if I was going to play, or letting me know that a particular item dropped. No big deal. So I texted back. Then, it seems like he's always texting me, to the point that my phone's constantly going off even when I'm with clients. It's like he wants my attention constantly.”

“It sounds like he does,” Loch commented, smoothing her hair. Someone had an online crush on his Taylor. Which was sweet, he supposed, but Loch wasn't going to hide the fact that they were together just for some prick on the computer.

She shook her head. “It gets worse all the time. If I'm not on the computer for a day, he wants to know where I've been. He's looking up my online profiles—I guess he did a reverse lookup on my phone number and got my personal information. He comments on things I post on Facebook, and sends flowers to the LAN party when he knows I'm going to be there.” She shuddered.

“So he's stalking you.”

Taylor looked up at him, her expression one of frustration and confusion. “That's just it—I'm not sure if he is. I don't get the impression he wants to meet. He's been invited to the LAN parties and there have been gatherings in his hometown. People have offered to buy him a ticket to the convention here, but he never goes. He just wants me to be online with him all the time.” Her mouth crumpled a little. “All the
fucking
time. I'm so sick of it.”

He was surprised to hear that, given that she loved her computer games. “So stop playing? Spend more time in real life than on the computer?”

“That's the thing. He wants me there with him.” Her fingers smoothed over his side in a decidedly possessive way. “And if I try to avoid the computer, he throws on a guilt trip.”

“So?”

“So it's not just any guilt trip—it's a really big one.” She sniffed again.

He didn't see how any guilt trip could be that bad. “Tell him to sod off.”

“It's just . . . like I said, it's complicated. And it's easier to log on than to deal with the aftermath.”

More like it sounded as if a spoiled child wasn't getting his way. It made Loch irrationally angry on her behalf. Taylor was entirely too nice and she was letting this Sigmund idiot walk all over her. “You need to put your foot down and tell him to leave you alone.”