The Billionaire's Holiday Obsession Page 4

  “He smeared shit all over my stuff?” Jane whispered, her voice tight.

  It was a good thing she hadn’t been there the night before. He turned to Jane. “You know who did this,” he said, before his better sense could gag him.

  She nodded, blinking away tears.

  “Is he stalking you?”

  She nodded again, the muscles in her jaw knotted with tension. Her face was so pale he thought she might throw up.

  “Have you called the police and reported him?”

  “They didn’t take me seriously.”

  Iain sighed. “I’m sure they’ll consider this ‘serious.’ Just because some guy’s obsessed about you doesn’t mean—”

  She started laughing, the sound tinged with hysteria. “He doesn’t care about me. He wants the rest of the money.”

  “What money?”

  Her mouth clamped shut, and her entire face closed off, like a big door had slammed in place.

  Iain’s eyes narrowed. “What money? Do you owe him money?”

  She snorted as a pure look of disgust and derision crossed her face. “No. He stole my money, which I got from a bank line of credit, and now I owe the bank.”

  “How much did he steal?” he asked, all the while wondering what the hell he was doing.

  Her jaw tight, she stared outside.

  “Jane, how much did he steal?” he said, putting a little steel in his voice.

  She sighed. “About fifty thousand.”

  Iain reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. Then he scribbled a number on the back. “Take this.”

  She eyed it like it was a poisoned fruit. “What is it?”

  “My assistant’s private number. She’ll wire you enough money to cover your bank loan and a new car.” A cheap price to pay for freedom from this weird feeling.

  She recoiled. “What? No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know who you are, and I’m not going into a debt with someone who could be…anything. A loan shark.”

  “A what?”

  She flushed. “Maybe you mean well, but seriously, I can’t take your money like this.”

  “Yeah, you can. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll sign a contract that says I don’t want anything from you. It’s a gift. I’ll even pay the gift tax.” Take it and go away so I’ll never have to wonder or worry about you again.

  She studied him for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”

  * * *

  Jane wondered if she’d fallen back asleep after breakfast and this was some bizarre dream. Ever since she’d met Iain, everything had taken on a surreal tone.

  “Of course I am,” he said. “You think I offer people money without intending to follow through?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “It’s not that much.”

  Maybe not to a guy who drove a Maserati and had a relative who lived in such a beautiful and luxurious home. But it would still be charity, and she didn’t want it. She’d left her hometown to make her way in the world, to prove that she could do it on her own. Taking Iain’s money would erase all the mistakes she’d made, but that would also prove that her family and neighbors were right: she was just a girl with no particular skills and she should stay put and do what she did best—cooking and housework for her brothers and father. “It’s a generous offer, and I appreciate it,” she said stiffly.

  He frowned. “But…?”

  “I can’t take your money. I’ll pay back the bank and figure something out with the car when I get a job, but until then…”

  “Where are you going to stay?”

  She shrugged. “A shelter or something. I’ll keep moving around so Gio can’t find me again.”

  Iain eyed what was left of the car. “He doesn’t look like the ‘giving up’ type.”

  “He’s not, but I can avoid him. It’s hard to track down someone who doesn’t have anything.”

  A strange look crossed Iain’s face. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was suffering from some kind of terminal illness that made him erratic. But the man positively radiated good health.

  “What kind of job are you looking for?” he asked.

  She didn’t want to answer, but then she didn’t want to get out of Iain’s car and deal with the horror that the rest of her life had become, either. “A restaurant job,” she said finally.

  “Like a waitress?”

  “No. A kitchen job. You know, as a cook or something.”

  “You cook?”

  She gave him a look. “Well, yeah. You ate my breakfast, didn’t you?”

  “There’s a big difference between cooking for a few friends and cooking for a horde of hungry customers.”

  Iain wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t heard before, but from his lips, it sounded a hundred times worse. “I can do it,” she said, forcing the words out from between clenched teeth.

  “All right, all right.” Iain lifted his hands, palms out. “If you’re really interested in a kitchen job and think you can do it, why don’t I see if you can get a position at one of Mark’s restaurants?”

  Well, that was a new idea. “Didn’t you say he’s in L.A.?”

  “L.A. is as good a place as any. A fresh start. An added bonus is that your ex probably won’t follow you that far.”

  She stared at him, shocked at his offer.

  He shrugged. “You don’t have to say yes. I am a stranger after all,” he said, a tad too seriously. “Quite possibly a depraved serial killer.”

  Iain was right. She didn’t know him, and should say no. But after all, if he really was a serial killer, he’s already had plenty of opportunities to do the deed.

  And now that the idea of being somewhere completely new had wormed its way inside her, she couldn’t get rid of it. What did she have to lose? She looked at her unsalvageable car and shit-smeared belongings. Anger and determination surged inside her. She wasn’t letting this setback derail her. Gio was not going to win.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll go to L.A. But I am paying you back for the ticket, and I don’t want any argument about it.”

  “Ticket?” Iain just looked at her. “You mean, like a plane ticket?” He laughed, put the Maserati in gear and drove off. “That’s cute.”

  Chapter Four

  Seated in his private jet, Iain shook his head, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking.

  The idea of leaving Jane behind when she’d be on the run, moving constantly and unable to settle down, was intolerable. Most disturbing of all was the possibility that he might never see her again.

  God, why does that matter? What was wrong with him?

  He should’ve insisted she take the money he offered and sped off before she decided to come after him. But he hadn’t, so here they were in his jet. Together.

  “I’m Iain Pryce,” he said. “Figure we should know each other’s last names if we’re going to share a cabin.”

  “Connolly. I’m Jane Connolly.”

  “Irish?”

  She nodded. “Third generation, so we’re more American than Irish.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Paris.”

  “Really? You don’t have any accent.” Well, not a French accent anyway. She had a soft drawl.

  “Not that Paris. Paris, West Virginia.” She looked up at the ceiling and ran her small hands along the seat’s armrests. “It’s amazing. When you said we were flying, I thought you meant like United or something.” She looked outside, her eyes sparkling.

  Something about her undisguised pleasure tugged at him, and his mouth twisted into a reluctant smile. “It’s not that different from United. Just smaller.”

  “I don’t know. That’s not what I saw on TV.” She turned to him. “Their seats look a lot smaller and kind of cramped. They really aren’t that big or comfortable, are they?”

  “Haven’t you ever flown before?”

  She shook her head. “Spent all my l
ife in Paris until I went to D.C.”

  Iain couldn’t imagine living in one place all his life. His family had spent a lot of time overseas, especially when his mother had felt restless. He hadn’t realized until he was older that his mother had wanted to leave every time she suspected his father was cheating so she too could find solace and comfort in someone else’s arms.

  But in the end they’d always returned to L.A. That was their home base after all.

  Iain closed his eyes to meditate. A solution to deal with Jane had to exist; he just needed to find it. Once he cleared his mind, something would present itself.

  * * *

  Jane sipped her champagne, sighing quietly at the golden buttery flavor. She’d never had anything taste this good in her life. When she’d graduated from community college, all she and her friends had been able to afford were a few swigs of half-price champagne. The kind of stuff Iain obviously took for granted were things she couldn’t even dream of.

  Iain wasn’t asleep—she could tell—but that didn’t stop her from staring at him openly. Must be the alcohol that emboldened her.

  Jane couldn’t understand how a man she’d just met could be so generous and sweet, while her family hadn’t even pretended to support her.

  Leaving D.C. would give her a fresh start. Gio wouldn’t chase after her for the remaining ten thousand dollars left on her line of credit. It would be easier for him to find some other way to get the money. She’d have a slew of new restaurants to apply to. Surely the west coast was more progressive and open to hiring women in the kitchen. She knew the general managers in D.C. restaurants hadn’t wanted her because she was a woman. They’d all steered her toward the dining room, like all she was good for was waiting or busing tables.

  She knew just as well as they did that if she started out in the dining room, she’d never move to the kitchen. It infuriated her that they wouldn’t even give her a chance, dismissing her outright, just like her family and townspeople. She’d applied to all the diners and restaurants in Paris, but every single one of them had known her personal circumstances. “Taking care of your dad and five brothers doesn’t leave you much free time. You don’t want to spend it all in a kitchen.”

  It was galling that her dad’s friends and their friends—which was more than half the town’s population—would come over to eat the food she’d prepared, praise it to the skies, and then refuse to let her work in their restaurant kitchens.

  She pulled out her phone and checked her texts. Two were from Gio, which she deleted unread and checked the one from her best friend from Paris, Vivian. You doing okay? Haven’t heard from you in a while and worried about you.

  Jane texted, her fingers flying. I’m fine. I’m not going to be living in my car in D.C. after all. It sort of got totaled. She hadn’t been in an accident, but it was close enough.

  OMG, are you okay? You can always come back home. Your family misses you.

  I’m fine. And they don’t miss me that much. Jane’s mouth flattened. They missed her role as their free cook and maid.

  Don’t be so hard on them. You’re coming home for holidays, right?

  Nope. Going to L.A.

  What? When? Why?

  Jane quickly wrote out her meeting Iain and his offer.

  OMG, Jane! He’s probably a richer version of Dexter! You need to get off the plane now!

  Jane shook her head. And go where? We’re five miles up. Besides, Dexter only killed criminals, so I’m safe.

  Who is this guy? At least tell me his name so if you go missing, I can give the info to the police.

  Ian Price.

  Are you sure? Did you see an ID? Man, this is awful. I feel like I should tell your family.

  If you do, I’ll never talk to you again!

  But Jane, it’s dangerous.

  No, it’s not. It’s a new opportunity, a way to start fresh, Jane typed, using the phrase Iain had used about L.A.

  She needed to believe that L.A. would give her the fresh start she was looking for. Her suddenly clammy hands clenched around the phone. This had to work. It just had to.

  Chapter Five

  By the time the plane landed in L.A. around noon, Iain still didn’t feel any better. He suppressed a sigh. He had no idea what had gotten into him, but it had to be serious if four hours of meditation couldn’t restore his inner calm. It was like his mind was a lake and somebody kept throwing small pebbles in it, sending ripples across the normally calm surface.

  Damn it.

  He had their bags sent to his penthouse and took his Maserati from the airport garage. “You coming?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Jane said. “We aren’t taking our things?”

  “They’ll be delivered.”

  “That’s the same car you had in D.C.,” she said.

  “No. This one’s mine. That was Elizabeth’s.” Elizabeth liked her cars expensive and pretty. It was one of her biggest vices. He occasionally wondered what she’d do if she had to choose between feeding poor children or giving up her fancy cars.

  There were reasons why he didn’t start foundations. He left that kind of stuff to people like Elizabeth. He also didn’t start businesses because he’d be responsible for workers and suppliers and customers.

  What he did was invest. Giving somebody money gave him some distance. It was up to that person to actually do the work of feeding the hungry and start a company.

  Jane climbed in. Iain watched her as dispassionately as he could.

  And he didn’t date women who wanted to talk about problems. He liked women who lived easy, carefree lives.

  The only exception to the “no associating with people with problems” rule was his family, especially his younger siblings. Since Dane, the oldest, wasn’t the type to make himself available, Iain filled the position.

  He got behind the wheel. Maybe he should start thinking about Jane as an honorary sibling. Didn’t his sister Vanessa often complain she wished there was another girl in the family?

  Except none of his siblings made his skin tight and prickling. And he hated the odd impulses that hit him when he noticed the gentle curve of the nape of her neck or the way her old, cheap shirt stretched over her chest.

  Jane made a soft exclamation. “Wow.”

  He took a long, deep breath. She didn’t know he was trying to regain his inner calm. “What?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  He frowned, taking a quick glance at their surroundings. He’d taken the long scenic route along the Pacific out of habit. The traffic was lighter, and the ocean looked exceptionally blue and sparkling under the sun, but it was a pretty run-of-the-mill view.

  “I didn’t know L.A. was this pretty. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  “It’s not bad, I guess.”

  “Not bad? It’s stunning! You’re so lucky to live in a place like this.” She gave him a shy little smile. “Thank you for bringing me here. I needed a change, and I think L.A. will make a great new home.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked into her excited eyes. What would it feel like to have this sense of wonderment? He hadn’t felt anything like it in ages, but in Jane it seemed pretty normal. And at that moment he had the most absurd urge to want to hold her as tightly as possible in his arms. Maybe then he could share some of her excitement. He’d love to experience a high from life.

  He shook himself mentally. That was a horrible, horrible idea. He should know better than to hope for something that crazy. It’d taken him years to achieve this measure of inner calm, and he couldn’t risk upsetting his equilibrium. So he asked, “You want to eat?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t we stop by my brother’s restaurant? He should be there, and you can meet him.” And I’ll be able to offload you. Mark should pay her enough so she could afford a decent apartment on her own.

  Jane looked down at her clothes. “I’m not really dressed for an interview.” Her shirt was clean, b
ut the original bright red had faded to a sad pink, and her jeans were threadbare.

  “You look fine,” he said. “It’s not like Mark’s cooks wear suits to work.”

  She flushed and averted her gaze. Shit. He hadn’t meant to sound like such a jerk. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t—”

  “No, you’re right. It was dumb of me to worry about something like that. I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

  “Great. I hope you like French-Japanese fusion.”

  * * *

  Sitting at a table in his own restaurant, Mark Pryce was staring at his phone. His fiancée Hilary finally poked him. “Hey.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “That was Iain.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “I’m pretty sure he was speaking in tongues.”

  “What?” Hilary laughed. “What did he say?”

  “He’s bringing a woman to Éternité.”

  “So? He always has a date.”

  “Yeah, but this time he wants me to hire her.”

  “I thought he only dated ‘financially comfortable’ women.”

  “He says she wants to be in the kitchen.”

  “Well…maybe she likes cooking?”

  Mark shook his head. “This has got to be some kind of joke. The kind of woman Iain likes to date wouldn’t last ten minutes in André’s kitchen. The man’s a despot, and the pace is brutal. She’ll break every nail she has.”

  Hilary winced. “That bad?”

  “Oh yeah. I worked under him, remember?” Mark had toiled for days to master a bit of French cooking to impress Hilary. For his efforts he’d received several burns on his hands and forearms—plus a few nasty cuts—and had ended up making something that, according to André, was fit only to feed pigs one was especially displeased with.

  She smiled. “Oh that’s right. That lunch was pretty good.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to lie to stroke my ego. I have plenty of other fine qualities you can praise, like the awesomeness of my lovemaking.”