The Teacher's Billionaire (12 page)

“Gorgeous night. Perfect for a ball game. Jake's over at Yankee Stadium now. He wanted me to join him.”

“Lucky him.” Callie scooted back into the corner of the couch and curled her legs up under her. “I'd love to be at that game tonight. They're playing the Red Sox.”

Sounding surprised Dylan said, “You like baseball?”

“Love it. I played Little League as a kid and then softball all through high school and college.”

Dylan was silent for a minute. “The Yankees are playing the Sox again this weekend in Boston. I'm going to be in town. How about we go?”

He wasn't a New Englander, that was the only excuse Dylan could use for thinking he could get tickets to a game against
the
New York Yankees at Fenway Park at this late date. Any other team maybe, but not the Yankees. “There is no way you can get tickets now for any of those games. They've been sold out since tickets went on sale,” she tried to explain to him. The Yankees were the Red Sox biggest rivals.

“Is that a yes? Because if it is getting the tickets won't be a problem.”

He sounded so sure of himself that Callie almost believed him. But just almost. “Yes.” The thought of a night out with Dylan sent a shiver down her spine. “Who wouldn't want to see those two teams play. I can't believe you didn't go tonight to the game.” If someone had invited her along she would've gone in heartbeat. Even if it was at Yankee Stadium, the home of the enemy.

Something that sounded a bit like a sigh came through the phone. “I had more pressing matters to take care of.”

Callie and Dylan spent the next two hours on the phone talking about everything from music to sports. Every once in awhile one of them would make a comment about the game they'd both turned on at some point during their conversation.

“So I'll see you Saturday,” Dylan said. The last out of the game had been called and to her delight and Dylan's dismay, the Sox had won 7 to 1.

“Are you that anxious to see your beloved Yankees lose again?” Switching off the television, she carried the rest of her pizza into the kitchen. “The Sox are playing both days so either is fine.” Callie didn't fully believe he'd be able to get tickets that easily. “Saturday's game is at night so if that works better for you that's fine.”

Her laughed touched him in a way he couldn't explain, and he found himself wanting to kiss her again. “You might want to watch what you say. Roberts is pitching Saturday. He has a perfect record so far this season.”

She laughed again. “Even the mighty must fall.”

He could hear her smile. The thought sounded ridiculous, but it was true. Dylan could clearly picture her relaxing on the couch with her dog next to her and smiling.

You're getting sentimental in your old age, Talbot
.

“We'll see about that, Miss Taylor.”

After ending the call, Dylan gazed down at the city below and suddenly felt very alone. It was an alien feeling for him. And he didn't know where it came from. Without wanting to ask why, he also knew that he didn't want just anyone there with him. While he knew plenty of women in the city who would happily keep him company for the night, he knew none of them would do. He wanted a certain dark haired school teacher from Massachusetts who loved baseball.

She's Warren's daughter.

Raking his hands threw his hair, Dylan went to his well stocked bar. After pouring himself a glass of scotch, he wandered into his home office. It was actually his favorite room in his penthouse. He'd designed to resemble his grandfather's office at the family's ancestral estate in England, complete with oak paneled walls and heavy dark furniture. It was a complete contrast to the rest of the penthouse. The last woman he dated had continuously urged him to redecorate it. Make it look more modern. Make it fit with the rest of the apartment. Even his half brother, Jake, ribbed him about the room, referring to it has his uptight stuffy English office.

What would Callie think of it? What would she think of the rest of his place?

Cold. The single word popped into his head. She would find his place cold and impersonal. Unlike her own tiny apartment there were no personal touches. Everything was sleek and sophisticated. So different from her place which was filled with color and pictures of family and friends. The only photos he had were tucked away in his office away from the eyes of visitors.

Oddly he'd never really thought about it before. Now though he wasn't sure he liked it.

The ringing cell phone in his pocket pulled Dylan away form his thoughts. Before answering he checked the caller id.

Phillips. Hell.

Taking one more sip of his scotch, Dylan pressed the talk button. “Marty.”

“Hope this isn't a bad time.”

Though he'd never found fault with Warren's adviser before, the man knew his way around Washington, Dylan's gut twisted with disgust at the sound of Marty's voice tonight. “What is going on?” Dylan replied curtly. Marty was perhaps the last person in the world he wanted to talk to right now.

“Just checking in. Wanted to see how things are with Miss Taylor,” Marty replied seemingly oblivious to Dylan's tone.

“Fine.” The memory of their kiss popped into his head and his chest tightened.

“Good. Good. Your mother, Warren, and I have been trying to decide on just how and when he should acknowledge her. We have not come to an agreement yet.”

“I'll let you three work that out, Phillips.”

“Any idea of how many people Miss Taylor has told about this?”

“Only one friend.” Dylan kept his answer short and sweet hoping Marty Phillips would get the hint he wasn't interested in talking about this.

“Hope that's the case. The fewer people that know the better. Do whatever it takes to make sure it stays that way. Convince her that it's in her best interest for this to stay a secret for now. I've seen you charm the ladies before. With a woman like Callie Taylor it should be a piece of cake.” Phillips laughed; the sound grated on Dylan's nerves.

He needed to end this conversation. “I've got to go. Let me know if any problems come up.” Without waiting for a response, Dylan pressed end on his cell phone and tossed the device down on his desk.

Guilt settled in his stomach like a lead balloon. Damn did he feel guilty. He genuinely liked Callie Taylor. Enjoyed spending time with her. Talking to her. Kissing her. He knew nothing serious would ever develop between them. It couldn't. He didn't do serious. But did she know that?

In one single swallow, Dylan emptied the contents of his glass and went to refill it.

Probably not. Why would she? Callie didn't know his history with relationships. He doubted she even knew he'd ever been engaged. While news of his engagement and later break up had been splashed across magazine covers at the time, it had been years ago. Besides Callie didn't strike him as a tabloid reader. She wasn't the type to care what people she didn't know were doing.

Swirling the amber liquid around in his glass he suddenly wished he was the kind of guy who did serious relationships. Callie was everything a man could possibly want in a girlfriend smart, compassionate, sexy. Any man would be lucky to have her by his side. At the thought of her with another man jealousy, like he'd never known, ripped through his body.

“She's not yours,” Dylan reminded himself. Placing his glass on a nearby table he headed for his room to change. Sitting around thinking about Callie accomplished nothing. Somehow he needed to get her out of his head. Perhaps an hour of so in his home gym would help. He needed a good workout anyway. He'd slacked off the last few days. Spending even more time than usual at the office because of Sherbrooke Enterprises' most recent acquisition .

***

A strange mixture of dread and anticipation plagued him all week. Remembering when he'd last anticipated seeing a woman again was beyond him.

Had he ever?
No. Not even Francesca.

Dread, that was another foreign emotion. He took control of situations, conquered them. Never did he dread them.

Yet the two competing emotions churned inside him as he got behind the wheel of his rental car Friday night. To save time he'd flown to Boston rather than drive even though he usually enjoyed a good long drive. Pulling on to the highway he wanted to head north to Callie's apartment. Instead he forced himself to head toward the heart of the city. Already after nine o'clock it was late to be visiting. Besides she wasn't expecting him till tomorrow afternoon.

What possible excuse could he use for showing up tonight? It wasn't along the way to his hotel. And he had no intentions of telling Callie that he couldn't get her out of his mind. That he'd looked forward to seeing her all week the way a child looks forward to Christmas morning.
Yeah, that was so not happening.

She'd probably think he'd lost his mind. And maybe he had.

He just didn't know anymore.

The Sherbrooke Hotel wasn't far from Logan airport and soon Dylan walked into his suite of rooms on the top floor. Ditching his bag on the bed he pulled out his bathing suit and headed downstairs to the hotel's indoor pool. An hour or so swimming laps would empty his head for awhile at least.

The warm humid air and smell of chlorine hit Dylan when he walked out of the men's changing room and into the pool area. At first he thought it was deserted. There was no one else in the pool or seated on any of the padded lounge chairs.

Perfect, there's not a soul around.
Dylan tossed his towel on a chair. It would be much easier to swim laps in an empty pool. Positioning himself near the edge he prepared to dive in.

“Late night swim?” a woman's voice called out from behind him.

Turning he watched the woman step out of the hot tub tucked in the corner. Wearing a fire engine red bikini that left nothing to the imagination, the woman seductively walked towards him. A month earlier and Dylan would've been turning on the charm. The woman was a beauty, with a body worthy of the cover of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition. But not tonight. Tonight he only wanted one woman and she was forty-five minutes away. “Just a few laps to unwind, Miss...”

“Vanessa Mitchell.”

Dylan immediately recognized the name. Her father was one of the top hedge fund managers on Wall Street. “Dylan..”

She didn't give him a chance to finish. “I know who you are. We met last December at a charity event in Washington.” The woman stepped closer placing a well manicured hand on his forearm. “If you're looking to unwind you should join me in the hot tub. The water is the perfect temperature.”

Dylan looked down at the hand on his arm. Here there was a beautiful woman coming onto him and he felt nothing. Not a single ounce of attraction or desire flowed through his body, unlike the last time he'd seen Callie. That night his body had been on overload in the desire department, and she hadn't even been trying.

You've got some serious issues, Talbot
. “I'm just going to stick with some laps tonight,” Dylan replied in his most diplomatic voice. There was no need to offend the woman.

“I'll be down here for a little while, if you change your mind. Or if you want to come up to my room later for a drink, I'm staying in suite 607.”

Without waiting for a reply the woman sauntered back towards the hot tub. Dylan suspected she'd spent a lot of time perfecting that walk. She was a beautiful woman who knew exactly the kind of effect she had on men. Although tonight her charms were wasted.

Diving into the water, Dylan kicked up towards the surface. On a lounge chair near the hot tub he spotted Vanessa Mitchell watching him. Instead of seeing her there, he imagined Callie laying there in the very same bikini. The suit she'd worn to the beach had covered more than it had revealed. It was nothing like the one he envisioned her in now. Immediately heat coursed through his veins. If it'd been Callie coming on to him the way Vanessa Mitchell had been he would've skipped the invite to join her in the hot tub, and they would've already been up in her suite.

Warren's daughter, he forced himself to remember. Slicing through the water he tried to push the vision of Callie in a fire engine red bikini from his mind.

Chapter 8

Fenway Park. A game between the Boston Red Sox and their long time rival New York Yankees.
Baseball didn't get any better than this. The loud hum of voices filled the ball park. Vendors selling food shouted a little louder than usual as they walked up and down the concrete steps. And fans for both teams sat on the edge of their seats waiting for the players to take the field.

Callie had been to the stadium once before. She'd sat way up in the nose bleed section, about as far from the field as you could get and still be in the park.

Today she had front row seats, right behind the batter's box. “I can't believe you were able to get seats like this,” she said aware of the awe in her voice. Dylan probably thought she sounded like an idiot, but Callie couldn't help it. Never had she imagined having seats like these for a Red Sox game.