Billion Dollar Bastard: An Alpha Male Step Brother Billionaire Romance (4 page)

Maybe even because of the incident. Maybe my sixteen year old self had studied so hard and done so well in order to spite Kyle?

Still, I had never totally forgiven him for the beach and he had never really apologized. Our parents chalked it up to sibling rivalry and didn’t care to listen to my side of the story.

And this was supposed to be the man who would save me now?

I hated the thought of going to him for help. No, no, no, I would not, I would NOT go to my ex-stepbrother for help… Even if he was a billionaire… Even if he owed me for being an asshole…

Even if he had kissed me.

What the hell? Where did that thought come from?

No, there was no way, no way in hell that I would bring Kyle back into my life, no way in hell I would go begging him for money…

What would Harriet Jacobs do in this situation? Clearly, my situation was not nearly so dire as hers… I had never been a slave and, in fact, had grown up pretty well off. But now, I found myself in a position where a powerful man might be my only salvation…

As I climbed out of the pool and began to towel myself off, I looked south, south to the lights of Manhattan, where I knew Kyle lived. What was he doing right now? How would he react if I called him? He was probably in some fancy restaurant, gorging on scallops or escargot or caviar, some sexy little blonde waitress bending over his table, offering him another cocktail or glass of champagne, her low cut top showing him her big, bimbo boobs…

But, again… He could be my salvation.

And maybe my mom was right. Maybe he did need a friend.

Ha. Fat chance. He had enough money to buy all the friends he might ever need. If anyone needs friends at this point, it was me.

All right. I would call him. Goddamn it. I would call him.

I stalked inside, my face already feeling warm, my heart already beating heart inside my chest. I stripped off my bathing suit and hung it over the shower curtain rod in my bathroom. Making the phone call while naked somehow made me feel more confident, less afraid.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my naked body still dripping wet. Would Kyle even recognize me today? I had lost weight since high school, and toned up pretty dramatically. I started doing Crossfit a few times a week, which really worked wonders on my body. Besides that, I changed my hair totally. Back then, I could never decide if I wanted my curly red hair in braids or if I just wanted to let it do its own thing, expanding like nature seemed to want it to. But now, I straightened it, kept it under control. It was silky smooth to the touch and always, always on point.

Would he recognize my plump lips or my ice blue eyes? No, probably not. I can’t remember him ever eyeing them like… Like that in high school. I can’t remember him ever staring at my booty, or trying to cop a feel of my chest. The only time I can remember him acting strange, the only bit of weirdness ever was… Was…

The kiss.

I felt blood rushing to my face. God, was I really so immature that just thinking about a kiss, a kiss we shared thirteen years ago and thousands of miles away, just thinking about it still got me all hot and bothered? What kind of loser was I?

My confidence was draining rapidly. I had to make this call before I completely lost my composure, lost any semblance of self-esteem I might have cultivated over the years.

I grabbed my cell phone, plopped down on the couch, and dialed his number.

KYLE

I got home from the office at nine. This was an early evening for me. Normally, I get into work at eight, though I’m always up by five to work out, check emails, and get ready for my day. Then, I’ll work through to lunch time, usually eating with a client somewhere, getting back to the office by two, and then I’ll work through till dinner. If I don’t have a dinner meeting scheduled, though, I’ll work through into the night, usually getting home around eleven or midnight. Then, it’s off to bed and I’ll do it all again in the morning.

Ah, the glamorous, jet set life of a billionaire!

But today was a quiet day. The Jenkins deal falling through meant that damage control was needed, but there was no reason for me to micromanage that. My being there might even taint the process. At this point, we were still waiting for them to decide what they would need from us for them to be willing to continue with the acquisition. Until then, we could do nothing but twiddle our thumbs and wait.

I got home with the intention of researching charities I might be interested in and, instead, I found my way into the liquor cabinet and into an old bottle of Lagavulin.

My father had always liked Lagavulin. He gave me my first bottle when I graduated from college, and then another on my birthday each year, until he… Until he…

I didn’t let myself think about it. Couldn’t think about it.

I stripped off my tie and unbuttoned my Brioni shirt down two buttons, sighing and feeling… Free. For someone who spends his entire day in a suit, I really do only feel free and liberated when I’m half naked, with no tie around my neck, shirt unbuttoned… Finally able to breathe deeply, to breathe freely.

It was then that my cell phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize. It looked like a Connecticut number.

“This is Stone,” I said, my usual, curt answer. Maybe it was someone from the office—maybe Jenkins had finally gotten back to us with an answer?

“Hi, uh, Kyle?”

I paused. My people at the office did NOT call me Kyle. At least, none of them did with the exception of Nicholas, but he was an old friend, after all.

“That’s right. Who’s this?”

“This is, uh, Karen. Karen O’Lowry.”

Karen O’Lowry.

“We used to be, uh, brother and sister,” she said lamely. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, did we? Sorry, I had forgotten.”

“Oh, shut up. How are you?”

“Wondering why my ex-step sister is calling me. How are you?”

“Wondering if you’re still as much of a dick as when we were kids.”

“I hear you’re teaching at Silliman—so, you’re basically still the same giant nerd you’ve always been?” I said, a grin still plastered on my face as I strode out onto my terrace overlooking the city. I settled down into a lounge chair and took a sip of my scotch.

“Well, judging from the story in the National Inquirer this morning, you’re still the same prick you’ve always been.”

I froze. And then, much to my own surprise, I burst out laughing. God, but it felt good to LAUGH. It felt good to laugh about that whole stupid business.

“Yeah, I guess it sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Karen replied. “My mom wanted me to call you and make sure you’re not crying yourself to sleep on a hooker’s lap. She thought you might need a friend.”

“What? Hookers can be friends, Karen,” I said coolly. I placed my hand over the speaker and called back into my condo, to no one in particular. “Do you hear that, girls? My sister things you should go home.”

“Do you actually have people there? Am I interrupting anything?”

“If you were, would you care?”

“You know, considering the kind of company you keep… I actually don’t.”

“There’s your answer. Listen, Karen, I appreciate the call, but I’m doing just dandy. You know what I’m doing right now?”

“I’m dying to know and I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“I’m sitting in my penthouse overlooking Park Avenue. Directly in front of me, I can see Central Park and the sun setting, way, far, far out in the West. To the South, I can see the lights of Midtown and Wall Street. Like an unending day. There’s a cool wind blowing in from the north too, and I’m drinking a Lagavulin 21-year. My ex-wife isn’t here, and I am, literally and figuratively, on top of the world.”

Karen sighed.

“Oh boy. And here I was just going to watch Scandal and go to bed.”

“I’m doing just fine, so you can tell your mom that.”

There was an uncomfortable pause from the other end of the line. Karen said nothing for several seconds.

“Karen? Tyesh? What’s going on there, sis?”

“Kyle, listen. I didn’t just call to check up on you. I’ve kind of… Got a favor to ask you.”

“Ohhh… Here it comes.”

“Shut up. Listen, my department at Silliman is in trouble. We’re looking at bankruptcy in the next month.”

“This really sounds like a Karen problem and not a Kyle problem, sweetheart,” I growled. “If you eggheads can’t balance a check book, that’s not my problem.”

“It’s not that, you asshole. The department is bankrupting itself defending one of the professors against a sexual harassment law suit.”

“Again, not my problem.”

“Kyle, I’m looking at losing my job.” He voice cracked. “I’ve worked so long for this, worked so hard. It would be nothing for you to help out. Absolutely nothing. It’d be a drop in the bucket.”

“That’s how a lot of things work,” I growled, my voice cool and low. “But if I helped out everyone who needed me, I wouldn’t be a billionaire anymore, would I?”

Her voice grew angry now.

I liked it angry.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, can’t you think of anyone else besides yourself for one second? If the department dissolves, my publisher is dropping my book. If they drop my book, I’ll never get another job again. And if the department dissolves, I’ll lose the job I have.”

“So go to law school,” I said, my voice teasing and needling. “Your mom has done pretty well as a lawyer. I bet you’d do great on the LSAT. How about that? I’ll pay for my little sister Karen to take an LSAT practice class…”

“I’d rather you paid for me to keep my job.”

An interesting proposition. But I had a better one.

“Remind what exactly it is you teach?”

“Nineteenth-century American literature.”

“Sounds fascinating. Really. I’m rushing out right now to buy that great nineteenth-century American classic, the one that all the kids love… You know, the one everyone wants to read…”

I heard her sigh in complete and total exasperation on the other end of the line.

“Fine. Goodbye, Kyle.”

“No, wait, I’m not done. You couldn’t even work on the twentieth century? Toni Morrison, Ralpha Ellison, all the greats! But the nineteenth century… Wow, that’s dark.”

Then, I laughed.

“No offense.”

“Go to hell.”

“On my way, but wait! I don’t like the idea of helping out your department, because I don’t agree with sexually harassing pretty young undergraduates, no matter how much fun that sounds. Is that what happened?”

“Yes,” Karen sighed.

“But I do agree with helping out my sister in a jam. So, listen: come to New York. I want to see you. This weekend. Pitch to me. That’s what I have to do when I want a loan from a bank. I need to pitch and tell them what I’m doing and why it’s important.”

“Really? Kyle, really?”

“Yes, really. Convince me that nineteenth-century American literature is important and I’ll fund a professorship just for you. Silliman gargles my balls for alumni donations anyway. If I think what you’re doing it worth it… I’ll make sure you can keep doing it.”

“Oh, my god, Kyle, thank you!” Karen all but squealed. I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

“Calm down—you don’t have the money yet.”

“Right, right. You want me to come over when? And where?”

I gave her the details, suggesting that she come by Friday evening. If I remembered correctly, it was a two hour train ride from Silliman to Penn Station. I told her I would have a car there to pick her up.

“A car, really?” she said, vaguely skeptical.

“Why that voice?” I replied. “I know you’re a big girl now and you can take the subway, but I’m still sending a car for you and that’s final.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

What was that note in her voice? A note of surprise? A note of… What else? Maybe affection? Could that be it—could it be that Karen was finally warming up to me, if only a little?

Couldn’t have that.

“I won’t even charge you for it.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re so generous… Bro.”

With that, we said our goodbyes and hung up.

Karen O’Lowry, huh? I gazed out over the city again. Karen O’Lowry.

I remembered when she walked into my life: a cute teen with curves to die for and a nerdy vibe that I had loved, even when I was nineteen. I had always had a thing for girls like her—the type with killer bodies, but modesty, who look like they could be wild—if only they had the chance…

Karen O’Lowry. Her name sounded good on my lips. It sounded… Dangerous.

Karen O’Lowry. I couldn’t wait to see her. Couldn’t wait to see how she’d grown up and matured. Deep down, I was glad she was a professor, glad she had stayed a nerd. I bet she was cuter that way. I bet I’d like her more that way.

I immediately began to make plans for our evening. I’d get a nice bottle of wine—nothing less than a good Bourdeux, of course. Maybe order in some dinner for us, show off my terrace, show off the view of the city.

For once, I didn’t have plans that Friday. Normally, my Fridays are booked solid with all sorts of social engagements—gallery openings, galas, courtside at the Knicks with Spike Lee—you name it, I’ve done it.

But in addition to becoming a business pariah, I’ve become a social one as well. After the tabloid hit, I suddenly found that I wasn’t getting invited to galas and openings. Spike Lee didn’t seem to have extra tickets for me.

And so, I had been looking at working through till Saturday morning.

But no. Now, I had something more interesting to do.

This could be my charity case, my PR coup. Bad boy billionaire endows professorship in American studies, saves ailing English department. Give scholarships for dozens of poor black students to study at Silliman.

And I couldn’t deny that I was curious about Karen, curious to see what had become of her.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing.

Yet, there’s nothing I love more than danger.