Romancing the Billionaire (10 page)

Jonathan more or less slumped in his chair and put a hand to his forehead. It was clear he was feeling his drinks. Cade, however, seemed cheerful and alert.

When the waitress came over, Jonathan ordered whiskey.

“Um, I'm n-not sure we s-serve it this early,” the girl stammered, looking at him with alarm.

Cade frowned at him. “Are you sure you want to do that? We need you sober.”

“Fuck off,” Jonathan told him and then pointed at the waitress. “Whiskey. Hundred-dollar tip for you if you bring it in the next two minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” said, flushing. “Can I get anyone else a drink?”

“Orange juice,” Cade told her.

“Same,” Violet said, opening her menu.

“Now, Violet, remember, breakfast is on me,” Cade told her, and reached over to pat her arm. He smiled at her and clasped her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Jonathan frowned at the two of them. He ripped his sunglasses off and glared at her over her menu, his eyes bloodshot. Then, he stared at Cade. “Why is breakfast on
you
?”

This was a good question, but Violet was going to play along with it. “Thank you, Cade. I appreciate it.” She pulled her hand from his and pretended to consider the menu.

But Cade remained cheerful. “I told Violet that since I was taking the reins on this project, I'd also handle her expenses.”

Jonathan's eyes narrowed even as the waitress brought his drink over and placed it carefully in front of him. He ignored her, his eyes still fixed on Cade. “What do you mean, you're taking over this project?”

And now she understood Cade's plan. He was going to make Jonathan jealous.

Part of her wanted to throw her napkin on the table and smack both of the men silly for acting like this. After all, she wasn't an object for them to fight over, and making Jonathan jealous wouldn't establish anything other than prodding an already irritated bull. And what did it accomplish, really? So he was jealous? So what? It wasn't like she was going to launch herself at Cade
or
Jonathan. She just wanted to go home and pick up the reins of her quiet little life.

But she couldn't help but peek through her lashes at Jonathan to see how he'd react. And she couldn't help the weird, excited little flutter in her belly when he glared at Cade as if he wanted to rip the man's head off.

Which was ridiculous. Why did she care that it bothered Jonathan?

Perhaps there was some sort of girly bone in her body that enjoyed seeing a guy go all alpha-male caveman on her. But she couldn't resist prodding the situation. So she pretended to consider her menu a bit longer, and then gave Cade a brilliant smile. “You're so sweet.”

“Why,” Jonathan growled, his voice gravel in his throat, “the fuck is
he
sweet? What's he doing?”

“Violet told me about her situation,” Cade said, smiling at the waitress when she set orange juice down in front of him. “That she wants to return to her school but she's obligated to remain at your side until the mystery is solved. And since you're indisposed and determined to remain here, I thought I'd step in and assist her.”

That got a response from Jonathan. The whites of his eyes showed, and his nostrils flared. “Cade,” he gritted. “Back. Off.”

“Why?” Cade wouldn't be deterred. He gestured at Jonathan's drink. “It's clear what your plans are.”

“Back. Off,” Jonathan repeated, clearly furious.

“He's just trying to help me out, Jonathan,” Violet interjected, unable to resist rubbing salt in the wound. “I asked him to come. You've been impossible to talk to the last few days.” To her horror, a knot formed in her throat and she had to blink repeatedly to keep from weeping like an idiot. She hadn't realized how stressed she was until she said it aloud. “I didn't know what to do. All you do is drink and yell at me.”

The look Jonathan gave her was utterly tortured. “Violet, please—”

“No,” she said, and her voice wobbled. She got to her feet. “I can't do this, all right? I can't stay here forever, not when I'm needed at the school. And I can't sit here and watch you drink yourself into a coma like my mother did. You forced me to do this stupid scavenger hunt when all I wanted to do was forget that my father existed. So now I'm here, and you need to decide what it is
you
want, because either we finish this or I get to go home.” She threw her napkin down on the table, her appetite gone. “I'll be in my room.”

As she stormed away, she heard Jonathan's low voice behind her. “Damn you, Cade.”

—

A half hour later, Violet had neatly repacked her luggage and brushed her teeth again, and now sat in her room, waiting for the phone to ring so someone could tell her what was going on. When a knock came at the door, she was relieved; being in limbo was emotionally exhausting.

When she opened the door, though, Jonathan was standing there. He leaned heavily against the doorjamb as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. If it was even possible, his hair looked worse than before. He gazed at her solemnly.

She considered him for a long moment. “Hi.”

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He pushed off of the doorjamb and headed into her room without waiting for an invite. When he sat on the edge of her bed, she put her foot down. “Don't sit there.” For some reason, having Jonathan on her bed in any sort of manner felt entirely too personal.

Without missing a beat, he slid forward and thumped onto the carpet, legs sprawled out in front of him, his back resting against the bed. “This better?”

“I suppose.” Violet glanced through the doorway but there was no sign of Cade. “Is your friend coming?”

Jonathan snorted. “Some friend. I told him to go fuck off. He just laughed in my face.” He shook his head and rubbed his brow. “Fucker knows he's right about everything, too. I'm glad you called him here.”

Violet shut the door and tentatively stepped toward Jonathan. Okay, this was a good sign. She sat on the foot of the bed, and then, after a moment's indecision, slid until she was sitting on the carpet next to him. “So,” she said softly. “Let's talk.”

“Can we start over?” He extended his hand to her. “Hi. I'm Jonathan Lyons. I make cars and have pissloads of money and I'm apparently pretty shitty at reading people.”

Her mouth quirked with amusement and she placed her hand in his. “Violet DeWitt. Schoolteacher and known to hold a grudge—no matter how petty—for a very long time.”

He gave her a soulful look with those dark eyes of his. “I don't think you're being petty, Violet.”

“I know. And I don't think we can start over fresh. There's just too much between us to ever clear the waters.” She looked down at her hand in his, but he was still holding it. It occurred to her that she should really pull away.

But she didn't.

“Violet,” he said in a low voice, gazing down at their joined hands. “When I lost you ten years ago, I lost my best friend. All romantic entanglements aside, I really, really miss her.”

That stupid knot was back in her throat. “I know how you feel.”

“
Can
we start over, then? As friends? Whatever we had in the past can't be forgotten, but I know that you've moved on and you're not interested in me. As much as that hurts, I can live with that. But I'd really like to be your friend again, Violet. Please. You can't imagine how much I've missed you.”

Can't I?
she thought, but didn't say it aloud. Instead, she mulled over his offer. Friendship, nothing more. Partners in solving the mystery of her father's envelopes, and then she'd go back to her life minus one really big chip on her shoulder.

Could she do it?

She could.

Ever since she'd lashed out at Jonathan and sent him to his drinking binge, she felt . . . not exactly cleansed, but the wound she'd let fester inside her for so long had been cauterized with the confession. Seeing his response had made her realize that perhaps he wasn't the evil, horrible villain she'd made him out to be. That Jonathan was just as human as she was after all this time.

And she couldn't hate him anymore.

So she squeezed his hand, still locked in hers. “Friends. I think I can do that.”

The smile he gave her was brilliant, intense, and so Jonathan that it made her ache all over again. “I don't suppose friends carry headache meds for my hangover?”

Violet gave him a smile. “You only get it if you promise not to drink anymore.” Her smile faded and she squeezed his hand again. “You really had me worried, you know. Just because I've been angry at you doesn't mean I wanted to see you hurt yourself.”

“I know,” he said, staring down at their joined hands. He reached out with his free hand and traced a finger along the back of her hand, gliding over her knuckles. “I just . . . didn't want to think for a while. It hurt too much.”

His fingertip brushed over her skin, sending tickling sensations through her body. She knew she should drag her hand away, but she couldn't seem to make herself do it. So she squeezed his hand again. “You weren't the only one hurt, you know.”

Again, he gave her that wounded-animal look that seemed to gut her. “I know, Violet. God, I know. That's part of what's eating me up inside.”

And what could she say to that? She pulled her hand from his—trying not to think about the feel of his fingertips on her skin, grazing delicate patterns there—and gestured at her suitcase. “So . . . are we going to start our madcap little journey again?”

“I'm ready if you are.”

“Um.” She considered his disheveled, hungover appearance. “Please tell me you're going to let someone else fly the plane this time?”

He laughed. “For you, I can do that.”

She smiled.

—

A few hours later, they were buckling themselves into seats inside the private jet that Jonathan had chartered. Violet had taken one of the seats in the back of the plane, and Cade, Jonathan saw, took a seat in the front, most likely so he could give Jonathan and Violet some privacy to chat.

He decided maybe he wouldn't kill Cade after all.

Jonathan slid into a seat across from Violet, pleased when she didn't flinch or frown as he did so. Instead, she gave him a tentative smile and he returned it.

It was a fresh start. He was so fucking relieved that they were trying again that he didn't even care that they'd vowed to be just friends. He'd take any piece of Violet he could get in his life. If he was friend-zoned permanently, then he'd live with that, just as long as she wasn't glaring at him with hatred any longer.

Violet fastened her seat belt and tightened it. “Can I just say how happy I am that you're not flying this plane?”

He tried not to gaze overlong at the way she smoothed her clothes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Instead, he pulled out his phone and pretended to read something on the screen. “I've had hundreds of hours in the cockpit, Violet. I'm a good pilot.”

“Yes, but it feels weird to me to have someone I know driving it. You're more fallible than a nameless, faceless expert.”

He smiled faintly. More fallible? “Because I'm human in your eyes?”

She looked startled, her gaze flicking to his. “I . . . guess so.”

Judging from the look on her face and the blush staining her cheeks, she didn't like to think of him as human. He supposed it was easier for her to think of him as a monster, a jerk who'd left her and their baby high and dry. His gut clenched at the thought, and he felt the urge to vomit.

She had every right to think of him as the world's biggest asshole. Now he just had to prove to her that he was a regular man. A regular man who needed to hide the fact that he was still madly, ferociously in love with a woman who wanted nothing more than a tentative friendship.

But he'd do any amount of playacting to keep Violet at his side.

“So where are we going now?” Violet asked him, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze focusing on him again. “You haven't said.”

He drank in the sight of her, admiring her lush form, the way her dark hair brushed against her jaw until she tucked it back behind one of those ears that stuck out a little more than she liked. Her lovely dark brown eyes with the long lashes. Her small frame that seemed to be composed entirely of rounded curves that he could stare at for hours on end and never grow tired of.

“Jonathan?” She snapped her fingers at him. “Hello?”

He blinked. “Sorry. Hangover's killing my ability to think,” he lied. Far better for her to think of him as a mess due to the alcohol instead of the truth—that he was still endlessly fascinated by everything about her.

“That's why I didn't want you to fly,” she said with a pert nod. “Now, where are we going?”

“New York City first,” he said. “We need to drop Cade off and I have a meeting to attend tonight that I can't miss.” It was Brotherhood night, something he'd almost forgotten in his drunken stupor, but since they were taking Cade to the city, he might as well take a few hours out of his schedule and put in his time as well.

“New York City?” She frowned. “First, you're drunk for days and days, and now you're going to make me sit and wait on you while you attend a business meeting? When are we going to hunt down this ‘Glirastes'?”

“Very soon,” Jonathan vowed. “I promise. If I could get out of this, I would. It's something that's been scheduled weeks in advance.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no anger in her face. “So your schedule is more important than mine?”

“Trust me when I say that nothing is more important to me right now than you.” God, it nearly choked him trying to keep those words light and easy so she wouldn't get skittish on him. “I'm asking you to humor me . . . as a friend.” Another word that choked him—friend.