Most Eligible Billionaire CEO, page 77
“Make sure she gets a bath,” Holt says. “She’s going to be covered in sugar by the time she’s ready for bed. Luna will need one tomorrow.”
“Got it!”
“Don’t forget, she has ballet tomorrow morning and music lessons in the afternoon. You already know Saturday night is movie night.”
“I do. Pizza?”
Holt runs a hand through his brown hair. “Noni is currently obsessed with charcuterie and cheese boards.”
“Fancy palate for a tiny human.”
“Tell me about it. I need to cut her off Food Network.”
Right. She has you wrapped around her little pinkie finger.
“Since we’re away, I won’t fight her on it,” Holt tells me. “All the ingredients are in the fridge. You have French baguettes in the freezer.”
“Copy that.”
“You decide what you want to do on Sunday morning, and in the afternoon, she’ll go play with her friends on the street with Luna.”
“I can handle that,” I say.
“Don’t forget, on Monday morning you have to drive her to school. Her nanny will pick her up in the afternoon.”
“I won’t,” I tell him. “I left the Alfa Romeo at home for that reason.”
I didn’t buy my Mercedes-Benz G 550 Luxury SUV for my niece, but it comes in handy when I have to be her chauffeur.
“I’ll be back from New York by Monday, early evening.”
“I got it covered,” I say.
I have no idea how Holt keeps it straight while running a successful recording label on his own. Rhys has been gone for a few days, and already, I feel the pressure. And I don’t even have to worry about tiny princesses—human or canine ones.
There’s a honk outside.
“That’s my ride,” Holt says. “I have to go.”
“Love you, Daddy!”
My brother lowers himself to his daughter’s height and wraps her in his arms.
“Love you, too, Noni.”
“What about Luna?”
Holt rubs his dog’s head. “Love you, too, Luna. Be good,” he says to Noni.
“I promise, Daddy! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” She plants a big kiss on his cheek with dramatic sound effect and all.
Holt stands up. “Thanks again,” he says. “I owe you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll come knocking at your door when I need you to babysit my kid.”
Holt’s eyes widen.
“What?” I ask.
He squints at me. “What did you just say?”
I replay my words in my head.
Shit.
“I don’t remember.” Blatant lie.
“Are you going to be a daddy?” Noni asks. She continues before I can answer, “Luna, Uncle Beckett has a girlfriend, and he’s going to have a baby. We’re going to be big cousins!” She’s already jumping up and down. “When are you getting married, Uncle Beckett?”
Wait. What?
“Luna and I are going to be flower girls! Yay!”
No, no, no!
Holt’s face contorts in myriad expressions. “Is there something I need to know?”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not!”
He leans into me and whispers in my ear. “Did you knock up a woman?”
“No! I didn’t!” I take a step back. “I just said that in passing.”
He studies me.
“Beckett, you’ve never alluded to having kids before… even in the very, very, very distant future.”
“It was just a figure of speech,” I say.
“Words like babies, toddlers, kids, and children frighten you.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
“Maybe because what’s coming out of your mouth is so out of character, it’s worrisome,” Holt says.
“Please…” I roll my eyes.
“Seriously, Beckett, if you fell and hurt your head, I need to know. I’m about to fly across the country and leave you in charge of my only child. If you’re suffering from a concussion or temporary insanity, you’re in no position to take care of my daughter.”
“Get off it! She’s in good hands and you know it.”
“So, Uncle Beckett, you’re not going to have a baby with your girlfriend and you’re not getting married?” Noni asks.
“No, sweetie. There’s no girlfriend, no baby on the way, and I’m most certainly not getting married.”
“Oh.”
I’m ecstatic my bachelor status remains intact. My niece, on the other hand, is quite disappointed. She’ll get over it.
“Does this have to do with the ‘Holy Chic’ woman?” Holt asks.
I conceal my surprise and tread carefully.
“What are you talking about?”
“Bree was going on, and on, and on about it. You know how much of a celebrity-watcher she is.”
I shake my head. “Teenagers.”
“Jagger’s daughter was so obsessed, he became curious. Until he brought it up, I was unaware you were the talk of the gossip rags.”
“Why did Jagger go through you when he could’ve asked me?”
“He wanted a straight answer,” Holt says.
“I’m offended.”
“I understand where he’s coming from,” he says.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Jagger sent me photos. Miss ‘Holy Chic’ is stunning. She’s also nothing like your usual type… If those photos are more than smoke and mirrors, I’d say, it’s about time, little brother.”
Chapter 29
Arianne
After a busy weekend filled with pampering and shopping, I make my way from the kitchen to the living room with a glass of red wine in hand after polishing off a delicious Italian meal.
My phone rings.
I rush to the coffee table, drop the glass, snatch it, and answer the video call as I plop myself on the couch.
“Phoebe!” Her smiling face appears on my screen.
“Ooohhhh! Your hair is amazing.”
“It’s not too blonde?” I ask, swirling a strand around my finger.
“No. It’s not like it’s platinum blonde or anything that dramatic. It’s a stunning shade. It brings out your brown eyes.”
“Thank you. I hesitated at first, but I’m thrilled with the result. Giuseppe said dark blonde highlights complement my complexion much more than the chunky blonde highlights I’ve been sporting since Silicon Valley.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t cancel. Giuseppe is one of the best stylists in LA. His waiting list is ridiculous. The man knows his stuff. Without him, I’d still be a mousy brunette instead of this,” she says, shaking her dark chocolate brown hair with a flattering bang. “It seems you’ve also scored in the wardrobe department. Andrea worked her magic.”
Phoebe has been extinguishing fires since she landed in Seattle on Friday morning. This is the first time we’ve had a chance to catch up. I’ve been updating her via a series of text messages, including photos.
“She’s amazing. I love everything I bought. I even got all new makeup. The spa day yesterday was heaven. I feel like a new woman. I’m happy I listened to you and I didn’t cancel.”
“Look at you!”
“I know, right?”
“You’ll look incredible at your party on Tuesday night.”
“Oh, that again.” I roll my eyes.
“Are you saying you don’t want to see me?”
“I totally want to see you and you know it. I also can’t wait to meet Oscar after hearing so much about him. It’s just the whole idea of having a party in my honor…” I shrug.
“Look at it as a ‘have a great trip’ sendoff party since the next day you’re flying out to Germany. That way you won’t feel so self-conscious about it.”
She knows me well.
“You’re funny.”
“Speaking of pending business trips with your super sexy and very naughty boss-slash-client, did you hook up over the weekend?”
“No. He spent the weekend with a blonde and her best friend—”
“Motherfucker!” Phoebe’s eyes shine bright with fury.
“Calm down, guard dog. He was spending the weekend with his niece and her dog.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s officially the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Ditto that,” I tell her.
“What a dichotomy—the caring uncle and the unwavering lover.”
He’s not my lover, but I don’t correct her. I also don’t admit my ovaries nearly burst when Beckett told me of his plans.
“I was worried Beckett might be cut from the same cloth as Chance,” Phoebe says.
“Mom has the same concerns.”
“What do you mean?”
I tell her about my conversation with Mom when she called to tell me Mariah was in Philly flaunting her big ass engagement ring.
“The two men couldn’t be further apart,” I say. “Beckett didn’t have to tell me he was spending the weekend on uncle duty. We’re not in a relationship. He doesn’t owe me anything. Yet, he insisted on explaining the reason he wouldn’t see me until tomorrow. I was touched beyond belief by his attentiveness.”
“He showed you the respect you deserve. That says a lot about him.”
“It does,” I say with a small smile. I’m fully aware of the blush creeping up my cheeks, but there isn’t much I can do about it.
“Arianne likes Beckett. Arianne likes Beckett.” Phoebe singsongs like a five-year-old.
“Oh, stop it!”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Do you like Beckett?”
What’s there not to like about the delicious hunk? But no way am I losing my head over another man.
“I’m just getting to know him,” I tell her.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Phoebe says.
I ponder for a beat. “I don’t want to create a silly fairytale in my head just to end up being crushed and devastated when my make-believe castle comes crumbling down.”
“You like him.”
It’s not a question.
“Me and pretty much every woman who’s ever been in contact with the charismatic CEO,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. “I get it. You’re not going to answer my question. I won’t push. You’ve come a long way. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m just glad Chance Taboras is no longer the only man on planet Earth to have seen me naked.”
Phoebe laughs.
“And Chance Taboras’s cock isn’t the only one I’ve seen in real life,” I say. “And contrary to his delusional mind, he isn’t the size of an English cucumber—a baby cucumber, maybe, but not a full-grown one. I can attest to that first-hand.”
Phoebe laughs harder.
I’m on a roll.
“And now I know Chance Taboras was dead wrong when he proclaimed genital fluids don’t belong in one’s mouth. They do. They really do.”
Tears stream down Phoebe’s face.
“And Chance Taboras—who doesn’t have a vagina—is a moron for believing eating pussy is overrated and totally unnecessary.”
“Yeah, idiot Chance needed to shut his mouth about that one,” Phoebe says. “I doubt Slut Mariah is getting her pussy serviced the right way, even if he supposedly changed his views on the matter.”
An evil grin stretches my lips. “I doubt Slut Mariah knows the indescribable pleasures of having her pussy devoured by an impossibly gorgeous man, on his knees looking up at her with piercing blues eyes as he tongue-fucks her until she’s hit with the most earth-shattering orgasms of her life in the middle of the afternoon while she’s still at the office and she could easily get caught.” I take a breath. There. I said it.
“No. You. Didn’t.” Phoebe’s shocked expression is priceless.
“You told me to put myself out there. I did. In so many filthy ways.”
Chapter 30
Beckett
After dropping Naomi at school, I drove back to my place. Instead of rushing, I decided to have a long leisurely breakfast and enjoy a cup of coffee before taking a shower and heading to the office. I miss being at my place, but I know better. It’s much less of a headache for me to stay at Holt’s place than to have Naomi pack her entire existence—and Luna’s—to come over to my place. Not to mention, my house isn’t very childproof.
I miss the quietude.
I love Naomi to pieces, but when you’re on uncle duty, it’s a twenty-four-hour job. There’s no such thing as taking a break until the princesses you’re guarding are so exhausted, they crash. Since I didn’t have to monitor the whereabouts of said princesses, I was able to knock off quite a few things from my to-do list. After answering a batch of emails and catching up with Valerie on important matters, I had a long talk with Rhys. He was so preoccupied by the urgent need to find a backup manufacturer, he didn’t even ask about my commitment to abstain from temptation. I’ll tell him soon enough I’m no longer in the running for his bike.
By the time I get to the office, it’s lunchtime, which means the executive floor is almost empty. Even Valerie is out. When I sit at my desk, a little white envelope with my name scribed in impeccable penmanship catches my eye.
It’s sealed.
Eager, I open it.
Dear new friend,
I hope you had a great weekend. I couldn’t give you what you wanted last week, but I can today. Check the last drawer of your desk. I hope you like my little gift.
Holy Chic!
I grin.
The temptation to text her was ever present throughout the weekend, but I refrained. What stopped me?
Holt’s reaction.
His words.
The way I pissed around Arianne like a fucking dog to ward off Rupert.
The fact I didn’t hesitate a second to eat her out at the office and how close I came to fucking her.
The way those candid selfies on Cesar’s engagement night elicited such interest, considering the parade of women I’ve been seen with.
And finally, because I couldn’t get her out of my head no matter how much I tried.
It all freaked me out.
I’ve never craved a woman this much, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Maybe I did hit my head.” I mutter to myself.
Curiosity takes over and I open my drawer.
I don’t have to search.
My gift is staring at me–a scrap of cobalt blue lace. I hold the lingerie with both hands and admire it.
My cock twitches with need.
My mouth salivates, eager to taste her again.
Little devil.
She didn’t go for regular panties. No. She went for the heavy artillery—a G-string with three straps on each side.
Images of them adorning her sexy ass assault me, followed by a vision of her shimmying out of them.
Goddammit.
I bunch the fabric in my fist.
Shit.
They’re damp.
She must’ve just put her wicked plan into action.
Bad girl.
I guess I should say, good girl.
I bring the fabric to my nose and close my eyes.
Her headiness hits my senses full force.
I let out a low groan.
My cock swells.
Since the intelligence room encounter, I’ve been a choirboy. When I’m on uncle duty, I’m on my best behavior. So now, I’m about to snap like a twig.
I grab my phone to text her.
Beckett: You’re itching for my hand to slap your ass.
Her response is fast.
Arianne: Happy Monday! And good afternoon to you!
Beckett: Don’t happy Monday me and don’t try to change the subject!
Arianne: What did I do?
Beckett: Your playing coy isn’t amusing.
Arianne: I’m just trying to understand why you’re so upset with me.
I roll my eyes.
Beckett: I gather you aren’t wearing a white skirt today?
Arianne: You gather correctly.
Beckett: What are you wearing?
Arianne: Clothes, obviously.
Beckett: Your cockiness is going to get you in trouble, Miss Buchanan.
Arianne: Maybe I’m looking for trouble, Mr. Christensen.
Well, hell.
My cock is in urgent need of relief. All thoughts of behaving fly right out the window.
Beckett: Get your ass to my office!
Arianne: Are you sure you don’t mean the intelligence room?
Beckett: Oh, you’re asking for it.
Arianne: We’ve already established that.
Beckett: Stop texting and start walking. Now!
I stand up, stuff her panties into the pocket of my pants, and remove my jacket. I’m so jacked up—and my cock is so hard—I can’t sit back down.
I pat the prize in my pocket, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
I demanded her panties on Friday. She delivers them on Monday, and she has the gall to give me sass over it.
Who the hell does she think she is?
I pace the room as I await her arrival.
Minutes tick away.
Someone is defying me again by taking her sweet ass time to get over here.
There’s a knock at my door.
Finally.
I eat the floor and open it.
When I do, I freeze.
Who’s that girl?
Holy transformation!
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Christensen,” she says.
She’s playing me like a fiddle.
