The Virgin Billionaire: Switched at Marriage Part 2 (2 page)

"Forty-two long. There's no time. It will need to be tailored."

"You're full of objections." I glanced at my watch. Two o'clock. There was just time. If fate cooperated and my friend Allie was working today. I gave him the old up-and-down appraisal. Forty-two long looked about right. Slim, European cut. I was good at eyeballing sizes. "Your money talks, sweetie. Time to make it sing."

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed a credit card.

As he held the platinum card out to me, I shook my head and laughed playfully. "Nice try."

His eyes were dancing, too. He knew full well what he was doing. Trying to pass off a mere platinum card!

I went up on tiptoe and cooed in his ear. "Hand over the black one, baby."

"Are you going to make it worth my while?"

"Credit for sex? I don't think so. I'm not a prostitute," I said, still laughing. "But I
will
make you into a billionaire Adonis."

"Promises, promises. You do see me?" He gestured toward himself, making a sweeping motion over his body. "This is the raw material you have to work with."

"I see. Better than you think. You're full of potential." I kept my hand out until he handed me the appropriate black card. "I'll need a tailor's tape."

He gave me a blank look.

"A tape measure? Never mind. I think I have one in my bag."

He arched one eyebrow in a look of mock shock. "You carry a tape measure around for fun?"

"Yeah, sure. In case I'm ever on
Let's Make a Deal
." I laughed. "Duh. I'm a merch buyer in the fashion industry. It's a tool of the trade."

Not so much in the tighty whitey trade. But whatever. I grabbed my bag and dug it out. Within minutes I had his measurements, including his inseam. I was sure he'd held his breath as I got close to the boys. His discomfort as I ran my hand up his leg had been cute and adorable again. I teased him by running my fingers dangerously close, just for fun. Guys were so
easy
.

Data ran around our feet, trying to get our attention. But I was too distracted with thoughts of how much I had to do to pay much attention to her.

Jus picked her up as I grabbed my phone, plunked onto the sofa, and called my friend and former classmate, Allie. She worked as a sales associate at my favorite department store. At the nearest store to Justin's penthouse. Just a few blocks away, actually. A sales associate was the first step toward becoming a merch buyer. Until this afternoon, I'd envied her position and probable career trajectory. Who wouldn't? My trajectory had been decidedly downward. You can be envious
and
happy for a friend at the same time. I wanted her to get what she wanted. I just wanted mine, too.

"Well if it isn't the billionaire's bride. And I'm on the call list! Woo-hoo! I rate! I know a billionaire!" Allie was always so reassuring and bubbly. And genuinely happy for others.

"Hey to you, too!" I glanced at Jus. How many billions
did
he have? Yet another thing I should know as his wife. I wasn't going to be one of those women who has no idea how much her husband makes and where he hides his money. As if that mattered in our case. As long as he had the ten million he promised me.

But this was a community property state. So, worst case, I would have been a half-billionaire if I'd really married him under normal circumstances without the postnup. If he had more than two, I could have been a billionaire in my own right.
Don't get greedy, Lala!
But I made a mental note to find out.

"Best wishes, girl! Where are you registered? Neiman Marcus?" Allie laughed as if being registered, period, was a joke. How many elopers register? "What
do
you get a billionaire? Diamond-studded washcloths?"

"Trimmed in platinum." I laughed. "Your best wishes are present enough."

Her answering laugh was musical. "Isn't that sweet? You know I'm going to have to hit you up for money now, right? Isn't that what friends do when you become fabulously wealthy?"

"I hope not! You still owe me a twenty from two weeks ago."

"The deal was I was going to pick up lunch next time. I think that's off. The check's always yours from now on."

"Says you!" I teased back.

"We are so going to have to throw you a belated bachelorette party! We'll get the gang and some of your sorority sisters together."

"Sounds fabulous!" But I had a prickle of fear that despite her jesting, our relationship had subtly changed. I was the rich girl now.

"I want to hear the story—all the details of this whirlwind courtship. Justin Green? Really?"

Next to me, Justin shrugged as if he was getting used to it.

"I will. I promise. But I can't talk now."

"Oh, right. You probably have a million people to call. Or maybe a billion!"

"Haha," I said, smiling. "Actually, I'm on a mission. We'll get together and I'll fill you in on all the details later. Are you at work?"

"Yeah. Sadly."

"Not sadly at all! It's your lucky day. Being a billionaire's bride's friend has its perks. How would you like to earn a fat commission? And get the scoop you can sell to the media about billionaire Justin's first big event out with his new bride?"

"I'm all in and all ears."

"Excellent. I need a personal shopper's complete attention for an hour or so. And someone to personally manage a tailor. Can you clear it with your boss?"

"To work for a billionairess? Are you kidding? Do you even need to ask?"

"I would run over there myself if I weren't afraid of being mobbed and recognized. I need a few things." I needed more than a
few
things. "They have to be delivered to Jus' penthouse ASAP. Do you still have that stunning pink dress we were eying last week?"

"Oh, yeah. And something even better that would look great on you. It just came in. What are we shooting for? Evening wear?"

"Smoking hot business casual. For evening. Nothing too new money. Nothing trampy or trashy. Something elegant. But with definite eye candy appeal. I'll need all the accessories, too—shoes, purse, makeup, foundations. You know my size?"

She laughed, knowing I was teasing. Of course she knew my size. It was the same as hers. We borrowed each other's clothes all the time.

"Grab a pen and paper. I have a long list of menswear I need, too."

I heard rustling, like she was looking for the pen.

"Got it!" she said. "Rattle on."

While Justin looked on in presumed horror, I gave Allie his measurements and ordered everything—suit, dress shirt, belt, socks, and shoes for him, detailing the look I was going for and the designer brands I thought would suit him.

"Wait! Is this for Justin? It all sounds, how to put this nicely, too big. Are you sure you have the right sizes?"

"He's grown since college," I said.

"He must have grown a lot. This inseam measurement is for a guy who's at least six feet. He doesn't look that tall on the news."

"He is. Trust me." I winked at him. "You know that shaving supplies boutique in the mall?"

"Yeah."

"I need you to run there, too. I don't think you have all the supplies I need in store."

"No problem. Anything for our richest customer." She laughed again. "What do you need?"

"Beard-trimming scissors, razors…" I glanced at Justin. He'd gone completely still. I whispered into the phone, "Beard oil. Hair clippers…"

He turned away and wandered off as if he couldn't bear to listen any longer.
A deal is a deal, Jus.

"I'll call it in at the shop and pay for it. All you need to do is pick it up. And you know that Prada purse you've been lusting after?" I said at last. "Pick it up for yourself."

When she gasped, I laughed. "Told you! It's your lucky day."

J
ustin

An hour later, I was settled into a chair in the kitchen with a barber's cape wrapped around me. And Kayla poised over me with hair clippers and scissors in hand looking like the Barber of Seville. I don't know that she actually looked like the Barber of Seville so much as that was the only name of a famous barber I could think of while I was distracted by her. And that particular opera featured a couple with equally ridiculous marital/fake marital problems as mine. As far as I could remember from my ninth-grade fieldtrip to the opera, anyway.

Unlike most of my class, I'd understood the Italian. But I'd only been ten. So you could forgive my fidgety lapse of inattention to the plotline and actual performance. The story wasn't appealing to a boy that age. Even then, I was more into indie music than opera and foppishly dressed characters.

Speaking of which, getting my hair cut in the kitchen made me feel like a boy again. I swallowed hard as she studied my face with the intensity of an artist, wishing she saw what I wanted her to see—the real me. The guy who wasn't at all unhappy about ending up married to her.

"You've really filled out, Jus." Her voice was soft, sweet, and gentle.

Kay had never hurt me. Intentionally. Though she'd killed me a million times by loving that douche Eric instead of me. I'd showed him. I had the girl. Formerly his girl.

"I think you might have good bone structure. It's hard to tell exactly beneath all that hair." She snipped the scissors in the air for emphasis.

She was reveling in her power, testing it. Teasing. Flirting, I hoped. How the hell does a guy take a wife and only get to hope she's flirting with him?

I leaned away from her. "Who are you? Edward Scissorhands?"

"That's Edwardina to you."

Why did her smile make me so damned happy? I wanted to laugh and take her in my arms. I wanted her to see this wasn't fake to me. Fashion was her thing. I forgave her that. Thought it was awesome she wanted to look nice and make me proud. I wanted her to be eye candy and turn every head at the club meeting, knowing she was coming home with me. I didn't give a damn how
I
looked. Probably never would.

I liked the beard. More than I cared to admit. I would never say, but I hid behind it, behind its statement of manliness. I'd been on the wrong end of too many beatings not to. Behind the cover of my beard I was unreadable. The wolverine. Fierce. If she shaved it off, would I grow weak like Samson? Was she my Delilah? How the hell did I know?

"My talking money couldn't convince a hair stylist to come to the penthouse?" I probably should have pleaded for my beard's life. But it seemed futile. The woman drove a hard bargain. And I let her. Because she owned my heart.

"Don't worry." She brushed my concern aside with a laugh and a wave of her hand. "I'm a hair-cutting savant. I've been cutting hair since I was toddler. My mom says I'm the only two-year-old she's ever heard about who looked better
after
I took scissors to my own hair. She knew then I had genius." Her smile was infectious.

"In college, I cut all my sorority sisters' hair. I could have gone to beauty school. But, alas, I chose a college degree instead. And the world lost a great talent." She snipped the scissors again, slicing bare air and glancing at a picture on her phone that she refused to show me. Sighing, she leaned over and felt my face. "Crap, you grow a mean beard."

"It's awesome. Virile. Manly." I raised one eyebrow, hoping to get her to agree. Wanting her to see for herself I wasn't a boy anymore.

She stroked my beard and pursed her lips, looking deep into my eyes. "You really love this big, bushy thing?"

"I do."

"Poor, misguided baby." She leaned in so close, I thought for a minute she was going to kiss me again. I held still, unwilling to risk another rejection. Knowing I couldn't take another round of her passionate kisses without taking her. I was inexperienced. But I wasn't dead.

"Hmmmm…" she said, her face inches from mine. "Hair or beard first?" She squinted in thought and plugged in her hair clippers while I eyed that fine, shapely butt of hers. "Hair it is. If I screw up, we can always shave your head, too."

"What!" I played to her game, pretending to be ready to bolt.

"Nice try. But I know you're not scared." She grinned and turned businesslike. "FYI, I like to buzz dry hair. We'll shampoo after to get rid of all the annoying hair schnitzels."

"Hair schnitzels?"

"What? Isn't that what everyone calls them?"

"Ah, no."

"Well, too bad. That's what Mom always called them." She plugged her phone into a portable speaker I kept in the kitchen. "I work better to music."

I rolled my eyes, hoping for the best as One Direction blasted out and she began dancing and teasing me with the clippers. "A snip snip here. A snip snip there. Here a snip. There a snip. Everywhere a snip snip."

"I'm never going to hear the end of EIEIO, am I?"

She grinned and started humming to One Direction while I sat silent, enjoying the show, and the sound of her voice while she worked. Watching her breasts jiggle in my face and becoming horny as hell. Admiring the way she danced and moved as she wielded her clippers. She had a sweet singing voice.

This is absolutely insane. I'm married to the girl of my fantasies. And I promised not to touch her. What was I thinking?

There is only so much torture a guy can take.

She was running the comb through my bangs, brushing my hair back as she wielded her scissors, ready to cut, when she paused and gently touched my hairline. "You have a scar here. The hair doesn't grow in it. I've never noticed it before. What happened?"

"Childhood accident. The usual stuff. Guys horse-playing around."

"Oh."

The sympathetic look in her eyes almost killed me. It was almost as if she realized I was lying.

"Do you always wear your hair to cover it?"

Damn, if she kept touching me like that I was going to lose it. "Usually, yes." My voice was tighter than I intended.

She bit her lip like she was thinking, and nodded. But that damned sympathy was in her eyes. "I'll just hide it, then."

She went back to work. At last, she brushed my neck off with the world's softest brush. Pure sable hair, she told me. And stepped back to admire her work. She bit her lip in that beautiful way that turned me on and made me ache to kiss her. And squinted as if looking for imperfections and errant schnitzels or whatever the hell she called them. At last, she smiled. "Perfect. To the sink with you for a shampoo."

She dusted the hair off me—why the hell was her touch so tantalizing?—and swept up while I positioned my chair with its back to the kitchen sink and tried to get a glimpse of myself in the stainless steel toaster. I made a mental note to have the maid polish it to a mirror-quality sheen.

"Are you trying to peek?" Kayla came flying to me with a bottle of shampoo in her hand. "Cheater!"

I smiled at her. I couldn't stop smiling. Things were working out better than I'd hoped. I didn't need a supermodel. I had the hottest date around.

She ran the water and tested it with her fingers with as much concern as if she were testing the water for a baby's bath. Then she positioned my head beneath the faucet and wet my hair before massaging in sweet-smelling shampoo.

The feel of her fingers in my hair both turned me on and was tantalizingly relaxing. I could fall asleep with her stroking me like that and have a nice erotic dream in the process. "You're good with your hands."

She smiled as she rinsed my hair. "That's what they tell me."

"Who are
they
?" I pictured her cutting that asshole Eric's hair and lovingly massaging his scalp. And wanted to take him down. Hack his accounts and show him what a shitty bastard he was.

"Everyone. I actually took a class in scalp massage." She laughed again and began massaging conditioner, also good-smelling stuff, into my hair. "Now, we'll let that sit for a few minutes. Then we'll blow-dry and style. And work on the beard." She had an evil, teasing glint in her eyes as she leaned over me. I was at her mercy. As I had been since the first time I saw her.

"You had to ruin the mood," I teased.

She laughed and moved out of my line of sight, humming again to her music. "You know, Jus. I was thinking, if we're going to make this marriage look believable, we're going to need the media on our side."

My head was tipped back in the sink. I tried to sit up just as she reappeared and pushed me back down, phone in hand. "I avoid the media as a matter of policy."

"Hmmmm," she murmured. "I know. But policies can be changed." She stared at the screen of her phone, distracted, and began typing wildly with her thumbs. Damn she was fast.

"What are you doing?" I tipped my head up.

"Updating my status and informing the world, and the media, who is certainly following my social media feeds now, that my wonderful new husband is taking me out tonight to show me off to his powerful, rich friends. And OMG! I can hardly wait." She laughed.

She was not an OMG type girl. Kayla played the bubble-headed blond when it suited her. But beneath the façade, she wielded a high IQ.

"No!" I reached for her and the phone.

She pushed me back down with the palm of her hand. "Too late! Prepare for a photo op when we leave." She leaned over me and smiled into my eyes. "I have a com minor. You'll thank me later. Believe me."

"Great," I said. "I've created a monster. You've gone all Kardashian on me."

She whispered into my ear as she turned the water back on. "Do you want to sell this or not?"

I wanted her to stay. "You're the one with the social sense."

"Exactly. You're in capable hands." She grabbed the spray nozzle from the sink and rinsed the conditioner out of my hair with the same talented, massaging fingers. Then sat me in the chair, rubbed a bunch of gunk in my hair, and gave me a blowjob. A blow-dry job. Not the stuff of my dreams.

She stood back and scrutinized her work. Glanced at her phone again at the picture she was working from. Like an artist painting a picture from a photo. And back at me and smiled. "Getting there!" She picked up the dreaded scissors.

Shit.
In business, no one messed with me. But her. Somehow she'd one-upped me and seduced me into losing my prize beard. I stared at her, willing her to stop. Putting on my angel eyes, my hurting eyes. The eyes I used on her in college to take pity on the nerd.

She shook her head and snapped the scissors. "Don't give me those puppy-dog eyes. A deal is a deal." Her grin was pure evil. But she was as beautiful evil as she was angelic. "Hold still."

She moved in and I swallowed hard. As much from her nearness as from how close those scissors were to my jugular. If she'd wanted to slit my neck for my billions, I was completely vulnerable. Had been with her all along. She snipped away, humming to her music, smiling. Her enthusiasm for the job was almost contagious. If she hadn't been shearing me like a sheep…

And then she stepped back and studied her work again. She reached for the electric razor and turned it on with that evil glint in her eyes. "Look up and stretch out your neck. And don't move."

I grabbed her wrist. "Or what?"

"I won't be responsible if you move and I slip." She laughed again like she enjoyed teasing me.

I cursed beneath my breath and obeyed. Why hadn't I accidentally married a woman who didn't want to change me? Or did all women want to change their guys?

She buzzed and buzzed and then reached for the regular razor and the shaving cream. I'd expected her to shave the whole beard before going for the closer shave of the hand razor. But she'd just done my neck. Then again, what did a girl know about shaving a face?

She hummed and shaved. While I resisted reaching for her and pulling her into my lap. I imagined what a real marriage would be like. Pulling her into my lap. Kissing her. Taking her to the bedroom…

When she was finished with my neck, I waited for her to reach for the electric razor again. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of something from the table and poured a handful of oil that perfumed the room.

"Mmmmm! Whoever invented this scent knows women. It's almost irresistible." She rubbed it between her palms. "Beard oil. Who knew it could be so good?" She grinned at me.

Damn, I loved her right then. Loved her with all the fierceness in me. Loved her sensitive, sunny spirit. "You're done? I get to keep the beard?"

"Don't sound so incredulous! What did you think? I promised to just trim it. For now. So don't get cocky, kid. This beard's day of reckoning is coming.

"But after fighting off mobs or reporters and your assistant, there's no way I'm going to violate a clause of our agreement and lose out on all that money. I had too much fun with your credit card. So the bush stays." She winked.

"Funny, Kay." But my heart beat hard for her. She was killing me with kindness. Before my billions, few people had been nice to me. Now I had too damn many sycophants and people who played up to me because of my money. I was a sucker for real affection, but skeptical of almost everyone's motives.

She pulled a chair directly opposite me and began stroking my beard, working the oil in as she looked me in the eye. "This is the biggest night of your life, Jus. I want you to be
you
for it."

Right then, I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I grabbed her wrist. "I think I love you."

Her eyes went wide. "Tell me when you know for sure!" She cupped my chin and stared into my eyes, deflecting.

Shit
, I thought. Eric had really done a number on her.

"I think I love you a little, too. Now that you've let me play with your black card. I've never bought beard oil before. You're my first."

Damn, she had me going.

"Seriously." Her face became a mask. "There's a strong chin in here. You don't have to hide behind this beard."

She knew me too well.

She leaned her forehead against mine and stroked my beard. "So soft, Jus. So touchable. I'm a wonder." She kissed the tip of my nose like I was a little boy she was humoring, and backed off.