Stranded with the billio.., p.19
Stranded with the Billionaire, page 19
John frowned at his older brother. “Tripod? I get a little skeeved out when you refer to my penis like that. For god’s sake, man, you’re my brother.”
“Be skeeved all you want.” Desmond grinned, emerald eyes glittering. “What are you going to do, chase me?”
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Anne said, pushing herself to her feet.
“You don’t have to go,” John said, turning her way. She was still standing beside him, across the bed from his brothers.
“Yeah,” Finn agreed, black hair shining in the overheads. “We owe you lunch, at least, for getting this gimp off that mountain.”
Desmond turned to Anne. “Before lunch… your friend is outside the door.” He aimed a thumb at the hallway. “I heard her frantically begging the front desk for the room number and waved her down.”
“Do we know her?” Finn asked.
He was no longer looking at John. Finn’s eyes were locked on the window that separated the hospital room from the hall.
John followed his gaze. The woman on the other side of the glass had blonde hair cut smartly in a wavy bob, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. She bit her lip and shook her head at the nurse. The nurse gestured to the room and said something else. From the stern set of the nurse’s jaw, probably telling the woman that she couldn’t come in—she wasn’t family.
“Cara,” Anne said, rounding the bottom of the bed. “We’ve been friends since college.”
John had never met Cara. He didn’t know Anne’s friends. He had no idea what she aspired to be, what she wanted out of life. But he’d make it all happen. He’d ensure that she had everything she’d ever dreamed of.
Finn finally turned back to John. “I’m very glad that you and your penis are okay.”
John collapsed back against the pillow, which made the pain in his foot light up like firecrackers in a burst of renewed throbbing. “Gross, you guys,” he moaned. “I might never be able to use my dick again if you don’t—”
“I’m out of here,” Anne said, heading for the door.
“Wait!” John watched as Anne turned back. “I love you. Don’t stay gone too long.”
Her eyes widened. They darted from Desmond to Finn and back; his brothers looked just as shocked as she did. But if being trapped in the Austrian mountains had taught him anything, it was that tomorrow was not promised. Even if it didn’t work out, if he took a leap of faith and fell on his face, at least he’d fucking tried. What was life if not a series of attempts at happiness? He’d be damned if he let this one pass him by.
Anne swallowed hard, glanced once more at Desmond, then said, “I love you, too, John.” She grinned, her eyes glassy. Then she turned on her heel and stepped through the door into the hallway.
Desmond turned back to John, his eyebrows at his hairline. “Sounds like you guys got up to more than work in those mountains.”
“We did,” John agreed. “Which is why I have a favor to ask. And by favor, I mean I need us to do something that you won’t immediately agree with.”
They listened while John explained about Charles. How John had called the medical examiner, thinking Sabrina had killed their father. How he’d been wrong. How Charles had been stalking Anne, how he’d threatened her at breakfast. How it was likely that Charles was the guilty party, that he might be intending to set John and Anne up for the murder so he could take over the company. And how, despite the risk to herself and her family, Anne had protected them all even when she’d believed John a murderer.
How he loved her. How he always would.
By the time he finished, Finn had gone pale. Desmond lowered himself into the seat Anne had occupied.
“If we can find evidence that Charles killed Dad,” Finn began, eyes tight, but John interrupted.
“If we find proof, we can put Charles away, but he’ll still be a rich asshole. And from everything I know of him… he’ll never stop coming after Anne, prison or not. He’ll hire people to go after her while he rots inside. This idea I have… it’s the only way I can see to protect her in the short term. And in the long term—”
“We’ll nail the fucker,” Finn said, nodding.
Desmond’s eyes were solemn. The silence stretched. “I think he’ll be more miserable on the outside, impotent to act, than he would be in jail,” Desmond said finally. “You said you love her. Are you going to marry her?”
John nodded. “If she’ll have me.”
“Jesus Christ, man,” Finn said. “You sucker.” But he was grinning ear to ear.
“Then we don’t have to worry about losing the company,” Desmond went on. “It’ll be ours no matter what. There’s no proof that our side is guilty. And any evidence that Charles killed our father will just be… collateral. A guarantee that he can’t ever screw us, or Anne, over again.”
Desmond leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. But his face did not look upset. Almost… amused? “A year ago, I would have said you were crazy for being willing to let the Duffys keep any shares at all. But now…” He nodded. “Anne’s one of us. It sounds like she’ll be family before long. I’ll take care of it.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” John said, and Desmond’s eyes widened.
Finn cocked his head, perhaps disappointed that his giant barbarian ass wouldn’t get to land a single punch. But John would not pawn this off on anyone else. He wanted to see that asshole’s face when he laid it all out.
John smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I’ll take care of Charles myself.”
Chapter 34
Anne
The low drone of the cell irritated her ears, but Anne could not seem to care. Her attention was focused on the road beyond the front window of her apartment.
Streetlights glittered off the oil stains on the pavement—iridescent. Chrome bumpers shone dully in the silvered moon. Snow mounded against the curbs, slushy and dark, stained with dirt. Everything quiet. All of it beautiful.
No prying eyes had come for her since John had gone to speak to Charles. Not a single intrusive comment at the grocery store, no thugs creeping past in their trucks.
Her phone rang again.
Anne glanced at the end table, then back to the road. She wasn’t sure exactly how John’s conversation with Charles had gone—she didn’t want to know. For once, she had no need for details.
She trusted John. Period.
But that didn’t stop her from relishing the thought of Charles’s angry blue eyes while John laid out his options: leave Anne alone or go to prison for murder. Her guess was that Desmond and John had bluffed him, indicating that they had evidence against Charles that would trump whatever Charles believed he had.
All John had really done was call the medical examiner, which was proof of nothing; any doting son might have wanted their father’s body released so they could grieve. Giving the M.E. a positive flu test, well, that was just helpful. As it was, there was no real proof that anyone had killed the old man. But if someone did… her money was on Charles. He would not have backed off so easily unless he had something to hide.
Sometimes late at night, a little voice in the back of her head whispered that Charles was surely planning something—he was too entitled, too obsessed not to. But for now, the man was effectively paralyzed. Charles had called off his engagement to some woman none of them had ever heard of. He’d voted with them on all business matters since Anne and John returned. While the man might be a psychopath, he was smart enough to recognize that he didn’t have the upper hand. Not anymore.
She suppressed a smile. The snow had started to fall again, gentle flakes drifting against the windowsill. The phone stopped ringing.
“You ready for the movie marathon of the year?”
Anne turned from the window in time to see John’s stupidly adorable grin light up his face. Leaning against the arm of the sofa, his crutches against the table. The blue glow from the television shone along his broad shoulders. No shirt, the v of his muscular abdominals made all the more stark by the shadows. Boxers and fluffy socks—nothing else.
Over the last month, she had come to learn a lot of things about the man, not the least of which was that he rarely wore pants if he wasn’t at work. He also rarely did anything without his dogs when he was in town: four giant fluffy beasts who were currently eating rice and chicken in the kitchen. She could hear the snuffling from here, the clanking of food bowls. Those dogs ate better than most people.
He carefully kicked his feet onto the couch, and her gaze flicked to his fluffy socks—bright green—then back to his face. One of the socks was far bigger than the other, covering the cast. Still healing. Three missing toes weren’t the end of the world. They surgically corrected the rest of his broken bones, but he was still doing physical therapy, learning how to get around. He wasn’t ready to share that foot in all its glory… yet.
Which was fine. She had pieces of herself she was still working through, too. She and John spoke of those hidden things late at night, whispering secrets in the dark. No one to judge them but the moonlight.
“No, I’m not ready,” she admitted, approaching the living room.
The cell rang again. John nodded to it. “Do you need to get that?”
Anne walked to the table and glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Cara. I’ll call her back in three minutes when I go to make the popcorn, gimpy.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Does she want to come over to watch Super Troopers?”
“No, she just needs to talk some things through. She’s having… financial issues.”
“Luckily, you’re banging a rich dude.” He grinned—god, he was cute.
Oscar, the largest of his dogs—a Husky-Mastiff mix—plodded into the room and climbed onto the sofa, then curled up below John’s good foot. So named because he didn’t like anyone except John—a real grouch. But he’d taken to Anne immediately.
She smiled at Oscar, then John. “I don’t know that you can help with this one. She’s pretty independent, won’t take your money—I already offered her a loan. But her grandmother died, and that woman had a lot of debt. Cara might lose the house. I told her I’d call once I went over her legal options, and I’m not looking forward to telling her that she’s screwed.”
John shoved a handful of Milk Duds into his mouth—where had those come from? And how the hell did he eat like that and never gain weight? “She can have my apartment. Whatever she needs. Just come sit down.” Milk Duds rattled in his fist. He tossed those back, too.
She chuckled. The funniest part was that he wasn’t joking. Anne sat in front of him on the couch, careful not to disturb Oscar. He tugged her back against him, her shoulder in his armpit.
“We might use the apartment eventually,” she said.
Million-dollar penthouses weren’t really her thing, but John didn’t seem to care where they lived. He just cared that he got to limp around in his undies.
“I’ll tell her she can use it if she wants, though. For now.”
“Meh, we’ll just get another one if you decide we’re in the market. You can pick whatever you want.” He shoved another Milk Dud into his maw, then pressed one against her lips. “What about a job?” He waited for Anne to open her mouth, then dropped the candy in. “Finn needs an assistant.”
“That muscle-bound maniac?” she said, chewing. “Does he need a spotter?”
It was a joke. Finn headed their investment division, real estate, diversification, and the like, but he was built like a brick house. And if he really needed an assistant… that might actually work.
“He’ll pay her well,” John said, his lips against her hair. His fingertips found her rib cage, tracing each bone through her T-shirt, then moving lower over her belly. Her heart quickened. “She’ll make more than any administrative assistant in the city.”
“Finn is innocent of that sexual harassment thing, right?”
“For sure. Finn’s repressed as shit; hasn’t dated in three years. Cara would not have to worry about him hitting on her the way I hit on you.” His fingers found the button on her jeans. “In fact, I’ve actually tried to encourage Finn to engage in more sexual harassment. But he refuses, that wuss.”
That wuss was the biggest member of the O’Connor family—six foot seven and more muscular than anyone she’d ever met. John called him The Hulk for good reason.
“Well, you know what they say…”
“What happens while fighting bears in the Austrian mountains stays in the Austrian mountains?” He nodded, face solemn.
“If you’re serious…”
“Oh, I’m definitely serious. I’m honestly not sure he has a dick anymore.”
“Not about that. About the job, tripod.” She rolled her eyes.
John grinned and slipped his fingers down the front of her jeans. “All I need to do is make a call, and the job’s hers. But…” His fingers slipped between her folds and found her opening. “It’s just so hard to remember Finn’s phone number while your pants are still on.”
Anne crossed her arms and shifted her upper body to face him. She shot him a pointed look.
He laughed and pulled his hand from her underwear. “Fine. I’ll text him now.”
Anne smiled and wriggled out of her pants anyway.
One day, soon enough, she’d make it official—walk down the aisle in a white dress. Or maybe they’d get married on a mountaintop in snowsuits. They’d talked about that, though she couldn’t tell if John was being serious. Probably not. Either way, they were in no rush, not now that their nemesis was behaving himself.
For today, Anne would just enjoy being here—being with John. Being loved.
Being free.
Ready for more Filthy Rich Bachelors?
The O’Connor saga continues in Working for the Billionaire (then read on for a sneak peek).
Finn’s new assistant is strong-willed, beautiful, and off-limits. She’s also the only woman he’s ever loved… and neither of them has any idea. High-heat hidden identity billionaire romance with an enormous sexy-as-hell mogul and his wrong-side-of-the-tracks heroine. For fans of Meghan March.
* * *
GET WORKING FOR THE BILLIONAIRE HERE!
WORKING FOR THE BILLIONAIRE
Filthy Rich Bachelors, Book 3
Finn’s new assistant is strong-willed, beautiful, and off-limits. She’s also the only woman he’s ever loved… and neither of them has any idea. High-heat hidden identity billionaire romance with an enormous sexy-as-hell mogul and his wrong-side-of-the-tracks heroine. For fans of Meghan March.
* * *
GET WORKING FOR THE BILLIONAIRE HERE!
* * *
CHAPTER 1
Finn
Finn O’Connor kicked his giant feet up on the coffee table and stared at the abstract painting that graced the back wall of his office. Canvas streaked with vicious red, ocean blue, green that matched his eyes. The cell phone was warm against his palm.
He could live in this office if he wanted to. The living room area was more than comfortable, the half-moon couch overstuffed, the coffee table the perfect size for his shoes, the wingbacks opposite perfect for company… if he ever let anyone in. The desk at the back was equally modern—bland, perhaps, but efficient.
He didn’t need the frills. Unlike his older brothers, who preferred floor-to-ceiling windows so they could glower at the New York skyline and glass doors with unfettered access to the public bullpen area, Finn had claimed the office with only a wide, high pane of glass to let the sunlight in—well above his desk. Like glass block in a basement, that single, high window kept him from feeling exposed.
He hated feeling like the world was watching him. The majority of the world was watching him and his brothers when they left this office. “Billionaire Brothers”—that’s what the press called them. They’d been in the news every day since their father died.
There was much speculation over who would maintain executive control of O’Connor Media Enterprises—which of them might marry to appease their late father. The asshole had linked matrimony to voting shares, and more votes still to those who had children. Lineage got a cash prize. Their father had always had some conniving way to get the things he wanted, but this felt especially intrusive. Possessive. Almost violent in the way it forced their hands. Well, some of them, anyway.
His brother Archer grumbled, and the cell phone speaker broadcasted the sound through the room: a half-sigh laced with irritation. The sound had been trademarked by Archer in their early years, and it sounded the same now over thousands of miles.
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Finn. Why is it so hard to ask for help? We’re not ten anymore.”
“You’re one to talk,” Finn snapped, rubbing at his chest. It felt like there was a deep hole beneath his breastbone. A void. “Aren’t you in Thailand right now, fucking groupies instead of helping us with the business?”
Archer chuckled. “Listen, you monster, I can’t even fit in that office with you. Your biceps take up more space than the desk.”
Finn glanced down at his arms—at his custom-made suit, built to accommodate the tree trunks he called thighs. At six foot seven, he was well taller than his brothers, but it was his musculature that ensured nothing off-the-rack had fit him in twenty years.
“Anyway, I ran away because I hate you guys,” Archer went on. “A bunch of dicks, I tell ya.”
Finn laughed, too—he couldn’t help it. Archer did hate their father, and that sentiment had only seemed to intensify since the old man died last year. He also hated seeing their mother in her current state. The woman rarely remembered her children, her mind stuck in an earlier time—probably a better time for her. The pre-Dad days. Finn and Archer loved her fiercely, always would, but they couldn’t bear to see that blank look in her eyes.
