Billion Dollar Bastard: An Alpha Male Step Brother Billionaire Romance (9 page)

 

KYLE

 

Thanksgiving, for those of us who stay in the city, is always kind of a lonely, depressing affair. I knew Nicholas had gone away with the kids to their house on Cape Cod for the long weekend. Karen, no doubt, was with her mother in Atlanta. Most of my other colleagues and friends in town had other plans, had families to go see.

 

I, on the other hand?

 

I haven’t had a real Thanksgiving since my father killed himself. He had been addicted to painkillers for several years, and that really harshed the Thanksgiving vibe. We would drive up to Westchester to see his family. When I was younger, we would fly to San Francisco for Thanksgiving with my biological mother, but I hadn’t seen her since my father’s funeral, let alone had Thanksgiving with her.

 

So, I worked. I didn’t mind that. If you’re single and unattached, with no significant family, it’s easy to work your way through Thanksgiving weekend, taking a break for the parade, enjoying how quiet the office is, keeping up with your foreign colleagues and clients who don’t have the luxury of a late November break to ease them into the holiday season.

 

Of course, Karen was still angry at me. But that was the idea. I don’t like it if a woman’s feeling nothing at all for me. I’d rather anger over apathy.

 

Anger over apathy. I should trademark that.

 

I emailed Karen the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I imagined her ready my words, her pretty brow furrowed in annoyance as I popped back into her life, invading her inbox in the same way that dreams of her invaded my sleep…

 

“Hey sis,

 

Happy Turkey Genocide Day. Masha and I had a lovely time the other night, and an even lovelier brunch the next morning. I’m planning on coming to Silliman next week to see her and I want to meet to discuss how we’ll administer the fund. Monday? Monday it is. All best, your loving big brother.”

 

That was sure to piss her off.

 

Still, how to get Karen? I couldn’t just enrage her. That’d be fun for a little bit, but I wanted more. I wanted…

 

Her.

 

There. I admitted it. I was getting a little bit obsessed.

 

I hate not getting what I want. That tends to only make me want things more.

 

When I was a kid, I was lonely. Lonely all the time—growing up rich is great in a lot of ways, but it can be isolating. My parents never had time for me, were more likely to send me off to boarding school than hug me, more likely to gift me a new car than read an essay I had written or come to see a lacrosse game.

 

I don’t mean for this to be a sob story. After all, I turned out all right. I’m not a complete psychopath. I’m a jerk, sure, but not nearly as much of a jerk as the other assholes on Wall Street. Hell, I’m one of the nicest guys I work with.

 

But damned if it wouldn’t be easier if I could just… Buy Karen.

 

Not literally. Not in terms of slavery or the horrible things she studies. But if only I could just take her out to dinner, take her to a show, take her to Bergdorf’s, take her for a drive, a helicopter ride—and then she’d see, she’d KNOW what I could give her…

 

I wanted to give her those things. And in return, I wanted her to give herself.

 

To me. All to me.

 

I sighed. I was in my office, overlooking a mostly empty city. What the hell was wrong with me? It wasn’t like me to get this hung up over a woman. And if I ever did, all it took was giving a call to one of the many girls I’d enjoyed over the past few years—lovely girls, who’d jump at the chance to attach themselves to my arm for a weekend and my cock for the night…

 

But Karen was different. There was no doubt about that.

 

I gave Nicholas a call, ostensibly to talk PR strategy. I could tell her was annoyed that I was bothering him about work while he was off with the kids, but his voice softened when I mentioned Karen.

 

“I’ve been making her jealous,” I said with a chuckle. “I took one of her grad students out for dinner and let her spend the night at my place. I’m rubbing it in her face now.”

 

“Kyle, just what are your intentions here?” Nicholas asked carefully.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Did you fuck that girl?”

 

“No! I’m just trying to piss Karen off and besides, I had a reservation I didn’t want to show up alone for.”

 

“So, what are your intentions with Karen? With your step-sister, to whose university you just donated a whole boatload of cash?”

 

I paused. Did I tell Nicholas?

 

“I want to bed her. And she’s not my sister anymore.”

 

“Kyle…”

 

“What? We’re all adults here. I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. If only Karen got it through her head what a good time we could have…”

 

“Do you even see how this could blow up in all of our faces? There’s another scandal right here, waiting for us. You’re a couple of nasty tabloid photos away from more trouble.”

 

I found myself rolling my eyes, even though Nicholas wasn’t there to see.

 

“I’ll take my chances.”

 

“As your chief public relations officer, I have to advise you to refrain.”

 

I paused, letting the words sink in.

 

“And as my friend?” I asked finally.

 

Silence on the other end. And then, Nicholas sighed.

 

“As your friend… Not everyone wants to be bought. Not everyone has a price.”

 

“Everyone has a price.”

 

“All right. Then maybe her price isn’t what you think it is.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Damn it, Kyle, stop thinking about Michelin-starred restaurants and bottles of Dom. There’s more to life than that for the vast majority of the country. A majority into which Karen falls.”

 

“I still don’t follow you.”

 

“What’s she interested in?”

 

“Nineteenth-century American literature,” I answered without skipping a beat.

 

“There. Do something for her involving that.”

 

“But that’s boring.”

 

“And now you wonder why she doesn’t want to fuck you?”

 

He had a point. A damned good point.

 

We chatted a bit more—about the Macy’s parade, about whether or not the Chinese stock market was going to implode this years, about what model of Mercedes he was going to buy after the New Year, and so on.

 

But my heart wasn’t in it. I was planning—planning how I would get Karen, how I would win her. It wasn’t going to be with luxury and money.

 

But, of course, that didn’t mean luxury and money wouldn’t help…

 

 

KAREN

 

“So, you never slept with him?”

 

It was Monday. The Monday after Thanksgiving. The undergraduates uniformly trudged through the university, unwilling to be back at school so soon, their Thanksgiving dinners sitting uneasily in their bellies. Masha sat in my office, and while we were supposed to discuss a due date for a draft of her dissertation prospectus, it wasn’t long before we started talking about Kyle.

 

“Oh, god, no!” she cried. “We had dinner and I slept over—but I skyped with my boyfriend the whole time. Mr. Stone went back to the office. He said he’d been waiting for months to get a reservation at Dorsia and he didn’t want to lose it, since they won’t seat you if you don’t have the exact number of people…”

 

“But he took you shopping?”

 

“Well, yes, but just so I’d have something to wear. It’s not really a jeans kind of place.”

 

I sighed. It checked out. I realized I had fallen into Kyle’s trap.

 

I had gotten jealous. He had tricked me into being jealous, being jealous of my student, a more or less innocent girl who had no idea what my brother was capable of.

 

Ex-brother. And was I really even sure what he was capable of?

 

“Really, we spent a lot of time talking about you. He wanted me to explain your research to him—he said he was too intimidated to ask you himself.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. Maribeth Wilson, New Orleans—he seemed to want to know all of it. It was a nice conversation. I was definitely a little buzzed by the end, but I don’t think he had more than one glass of wine the entire night. He drove me home and everything. And I only stayed over because it was so late.”

 

I shook my head, refocusing on Masha’s dissertation. I knew that Kyle was coming by today and I had no idea what I was going to say to him. He was a jerk, but he wasn’t evil.

 

And maybe… Maybe he was smart too. The fact was, I had accepted that I was jealous of Masha, that I wished it had been me on Kyle’s arm. No matter how much I wanted t deny it… There was no denying the jealousy that had burnt my heart all week.

 

But I couldn’t act on it. I just couldn’t. It would cause a complete and utter scandal.

 

But sometimes, scandals are worth it, a voice in my head whispered, unhelpfully. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I didn’t want to cause a scandal. I didn’t want to cause trouble.

 

But why? Why didn’t I want to? Was it because of my career, because I risked sacrificing everything I had worked for? Was it because I was afraid of hurting Kyle?

 

Or was it because I was afraid of being hurt myself?

 

Masha left and half an hour later, Kyle strode into my office. He was all confident swagger, clad in a navy-blue suit that shimmered ever so slightly and fit him like a glove, while his shirt seemed to glow under the cheap fluorescent lights in our building. He wore no tie, and his intoxicating cologne immediately hit my nose as he grasped my hand, guiding it to his lips for a flirtatious kiss.

 

“I saw Masha on my way over here. She warned me that you seemed stressed.”

 

“You two have a pretty good rapport right now, don’t you?” I scowled.

 

“We sure do. We had a great time the other night. She’s a lovely girl. In more ways than one.”

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

“You can cut the macho act, Kyle. Bro, I know you didn’t sleep with her. I know you went back to work while she skyped with her boyfriend.”

 

He cracked a smile.

 

“Guilty as charged. I’m a workaholic and my guest room doesn’t get much use these days anyway.”

 

“You really just wanted to use your reservation?”

 

“I sure did,” Kyle said, taking a seat across from me. “And to get Masha’s take on the department and your research. This was a working dinner, sis.”

 

“Don’t call me sis.”

 

“Fine. Ex-sis.”

 

He reached into his pocket and revealed an envelope. He tossed it across my desk and I caught it.

 

“As my first act of fund administration, I want to propose a research trip.”

 

Inside were two plane tickets, first class, to New Orleans. And then, a hotel confirmation for a deluxe suite at the Ritz-Carlton.

 

“Kyle… What is this?”

 

“Maribeth Wilson. Masha told me all about her—born a slave, ran the most profitable bordello in New Orleans for fifty years, corresponded with presidents, poets, and princes. Left behind tomes and tomes of private papers, including poems, essays, and short stories. Potentially the most important African-American female writer of the period right after the Civil War.”

 

“Yes…”

 

“So, I’m sure there’s research you could be doing.”

 

“Always.”

 

“So, let’s go. You and me. This weekend.”

 

“Kyle… I can’t just drop everything and leave!” I cried, my face burning. But damn it, it sure was tempting.

 

My fingers trembled as I turned over the tickets in my hands. Had he really done this? What was his end game here?

 

“What’s the idea?” I growled. “Is there only one bed in the room?”

 

Kyle laughed.

 

“I thought you would ask that. No, I made sure it was a two bed suite. Just in case my charms haven’t totally enraptured you by this point.”

 

“Kyle, this is so kind… But I can’t accept this.”

 

“Don’t look at it as a professional thing. This is a gift. From a brother to a sister. From a man to a woman.”

 

I bit my lip. I began calculating my calendar in my head: I was teaching Wednesday, but not Thursday or Friday. I could get away Thursday, be back in time for class on Monday. That would be four days… Four days to research. Four days in New Orleans.

 

Four days with Kyle.

 

“Yes,” I said finally, almost crying. “Yes. Let’s go.”

 

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