Only A Kiss With A Billionaire (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 1) Page 6

  "Are you alright? Were you abducted? Do they need ransom money? Is this blackmail?" Penny asked frantically.

  Emma calmed her sister and explained everything that had transpired but didn't give up Will's identity because then her sister would freak out. She had enough of that on her hands, but for different reasons.

  "You say it's a fake relationship but—"

  "Shh. No one can know."

  "Sheesh. Alright."

  They spoke for a few more minutes and Emma described London—the brisk air, the history, the wonderful accents, and her awe at being in a place so different than home.

  "You sound different. I can't put my finger on it."

  "Jet lag, shock at the change in my circumstances, and that I'll finally be able to pay off my debt and move on."

  "No. Wait. I know what it is. You sound fizzy."

  "Fizzy?"

  "Yes, remember when we were in high school when I met Aaron? You said I was fizzy. Then with Caleb and Winston. Emma, you sound fizzy like you met someone. Like you're falling in love."

  "I know what you meant by fizzy and I am far from fizzy. I'm more like frosty. It's cold here."

  "Who is this guy anyway? Or if not him how're your twelve dates of Christmas going?"

  "It's not going and I'm not dating." The truth was she didn't know what she was doing.

  After ten minutes of pleading, Emma finally gave up when Penny threatened not to bake with her anymore. "Will Wheaton."

  The line on the other end was silent.

  "Penny are you there? Did I drop the call?"

  "No, I'm here. I heard you. Are we talking about Will Wheaton of international modeling fame? The one with the devastating accent? The abs? Or someone else with the same name?"

  Emma cleared her throat, glimpsing at what the situation must look like from her sister's perspective. She explained how it was temporary and staged. "If anything, we hate each other."

  "Love, hate. Same thing."

  "Penelope Victoria Jones, love and hate are not the same things."

  "Never mind that. Is he as good looking in real life as he is in print?"

  "Better." She didn't mean for it to slip out.

  "Then you do have a crush on him." Penny accused.

  "No," she said firmly. "I was just being honest. His personality is abysmal. He has a butler and a private jet—."

  Penny screamed and Emma pulled the earpiece away from her head. "And you're complaining why? What's wrong with that? You used to make Clara's brother be our butler when we'd play house."

  The reminder of his tragic death made them both silent for a moment.

  "But this is real life," Emma said.

  "You're doing a brave thing, sis."

  "Working for a billionaire and pretending to be his girlfriend is not what I consider brave."

  "No, getting on with your real life." She was quiet a beat. "So tell me more about Will Wheaton," Penny said. "What does he smell like? Does he floss? Does—?"

  "He's obnoxious."

  "Obnoxiously good looking."

  "He's British, which automatically makes everything he says and does charming which isn't fair."

  "I bet his accent is delicious."

  "He doesn't eat cookies, Penny. It's a travesty."

  "If anyone can change that, you can."

  Emma glanced at the time. "I have to go. Don't tell mom. I miss you."

  "I won't. I miss you too. It's only a month."

  "I hope to see you before that. It's too long."

  "Maybe you will and make sure you have fun."

  "Wish me luck with that. His idea of a good time is vastly different than mine."

  "Oh, I doubt that."

  "Penny, you have no idea."

  "Give it a chance," her sister urged.

  After they hung up, Emma followed Bartholomew's directions to Apex Headquarters. A girl wearing the same tank she'd acquired the day before greeted her. She set the brown paper box of cookies on the desk and said, "Hi. I'm Emma. I'm new. These are for you."

  The girl peered inside and then pushed the box away. "We don’t do that here."

  Emma's forehead wrinkled with confusion. "Don't do what?" she asked.

  "Eat cookies."

  Figured. It was bad enough Will didn't eat cookies. His staff too? She frowned. "Oh. Um, well, they looked really good. Baked fresh today."

  Another girl came over. "Sylvia, we need more towels in the weight room. Ooh. What's in there?" She pointed at the box.

  "Nothing, Anna." With that, Sylvia dropped the box in the trash and cast a sneer in Emma's direction.

  "Hey," Emma started, but the two women started arguing over who had to get the towels. Then they abruptly stopped and glanced over Emma's shoulder into the weight room.

  When she turned and followed their gaze, she realized why.

  Chapter 8

  Will

  After visiting Sydney the night before and meetings with specialists all morning, the only thing Will was motivated to do was work out. He lifted and pulled until his muscles screamed, until sweat slicked his skin, and his heart thudded in his chest.

  He felt eyes on him, likely the girls at the desk, staring at the ripped muscles below his belly button and above his hips. He'd heard them call it his "Adonis belt" after the Greek God of mythology and depicted in sculptures. Real sculptures, not like the one Emma pointed out the night before. At the thought of her, a smile, unbidden, crinkled his eyes, breaking his concentration.

  She was not what he expected.

  He grunted, lifted the bar back onto the rack, and put his shirt back on. When he turned, it wasn't only the girls at the desk, but Emma too. He'd instructed her to meet him well after noontime. Had he been working out for nearly two hours? He meant to be showered and dressed before her arrival; they had work to do.

  The headquarters to his health and wellness empire was on the floors above, but the gym was available to all employees and the community. Will crossed the room to the reception area and greeted Emma.

  Sylvia swept in front of her. "Excuse me, Will. She brought cookies, saying she's new. I don't want her to bother you."

  Will's eyes swept from Sylvia's to Emma's. He held back a smirk. "You brought cookies to a gym?"

  Emma pointed to the bin by the desk. "Don't worry, she threw them away."

  "I don't think she'd follow the rules even if she knew them." Will suppressed laughter.

  Emma scowled.

  "We need more towels," he commented.

  "She's the new girl. Why don't you have her get them," Sylvia retorted.

  "She's my personal assistant."

  Sylvia shuffled back but quickly recovered.

  Sweat dripped into Will's eyes and he reached for Emma's scarf. As he used it to wipe his brow, his shirt lifted, revealing a sliver of his famed abs.

  The three women held their collective breath until Emma shook herself free from the trance, snagging her scarf back and storming down the hall. Minutes later, she held a stack of towels.

  He admired her humility and practicality. Seeing her again shot little sparks through him, igniting his muscles anew.

  "Thank you." Will gestured he follow her down the hall to the treadmills. "Thirty minutes of solid cardio and I'm done. Sorry, I lost track of time."

  Emma followed him and waited in the doorway, still outfitted in her cold weather gear.

  "Don't just stand there. Join me."

  She shook her head.

  "Come out with me and then you won't feel guilty about eating cookies."

  "I don't have any guilt, actually and unfortunately, I didn't get to eat one of the cookies because your employee threw them away."

  "I'll get you more."

  "That's not the point."

  "I'll make her get you more."

  "I bought gift cards to the same bakery for all the girls on your list, not realizing they keep to the same strict diet as you."

  "I agree. They could stand to live a little. You t
oo, though."

  "Oh, like last night?"

  Will's brow furrowed as the incline on the treadmill increased. "Didn't we agree not to talk about our personal lives? If I told you then you'd be obligated to tell me something about yourself."

  "I have no interest in your personal life."

  "Considering you're part of it, come on, get undressed."

  Emma's head jerked back.

  "Not all the way undressed. Take off your coat. Break a sweat. A couple that works out together stays together."

  "We're not a—"

  Will bounded off the treadmill, picked Emma up, slung her over his shoulder—she was lighter than the weights he'd been lifting earlier—and plopped her on the treadmill next to his. He almost didn't want to set her down. Instead, whisking her off to the private island he'd recently come to own. "Darling, we are a couple." He winked and then unfurled her damp scarf and tossed it aside. He knew he should apologize, but couldn’t resist irritating her. When he popped off her hat, her bobbed hair lifted in all directions.

  She smoothed it into a tiny ponytail.

  Under her coat, she had on an Apex tank and leggings. Perfect. He looked away because she was perfect—not manufactured in a gym like him, but with curves in the right places and strength in others.

  His voice was lower than he expected when he spoke again. "We could race. If you win, you come out with me."

  "If I win?"

  "Um, I'll get you a box of cookies to replace the others."

  She leveled him with her gaze. "You want to race?" She pointed at him. "With me?" She pointed at herself. "On this?" She pointed at the treadmill. At first, he thought she'd say no, but twin flames burned in her eyes.

  He nodded.

  She stepped onto the machine. He punched a few buttons on the machine to set it up then said, "Go!"

  Emma shook her head and started running. He didn't want to show her up and win, but he had a long stride and ran on the treadmill every day.

  Without a word of protest, she was off and running so he picked up the pace.

  His mind drifted to their arrival and his return to the flat then his visit with Sydney. It was all familiar but also lonely. There was no way to stop the inevitable. Shortly after, a rhythmic beeping announced Emma had completed her circuit.

  Will watched her, admiring how lightly she floated as her arms and legs pumped for the cool down. She'd beat him by a mile. Literally. Her cheeks were pink and she glistened with sweat.

  "Well done, Jones. Is there something I don't know about you?"

  "Many things. Among them being I was a US Junior Olympian, got a scholarship for college running, and was a US Running finalist."

  "Whoa."

  Emma patted him on the shoulder, pulled her hand away because he was sweaty, and then wiped it off on the hem of his shirt. "Any time you want to run, I'm your girl. Oh, and you owe me cookies."

  Will chuckled. "In that case, you can train me." But secretly, he liked the sound of her being his girl.

  "My pleasure."

  Will scratched the side of his face. "Are you being sarcastic? I can't tell."

  "It would be fun to run together."

  "Fun? Did you say fun?" Will opened his hands wide and then clapped.

  While they waited for the elevator to go to the office, Emma said, "This is taking too long. Race you." At that, she took off running up the stairs.

  "It's nineteen more flights," he called after her.

  By the time he reached the top floor, his heart thundered and his legs wobbled.

  Around a deep breath, Emma said, "I won. Again."

  "What's your prize?"

  "Do a handstand. Bartholomew said you could."

  "Now?"

  "Now."

  Will hinged forward, caught his hands on the tile, and kicked up. Then, still on his hands, he walked toward her.

  Realizing he wasn't going to stop, she backed away. He continued, chasing her around the office on his hands. She shrieked a few times and he caught the threads of what might have been laughter before he lowered onto his feet.

  He crossed the room and said, "Maybe I can't catch you on my hands, but—" He swiped to grab her again, as he did when he'd hauled her onto the treadmill, but she leaped out of the way.

  "It's only four. Don't we have work to do?"

  "Right, work." Will wiped his forehead again. He was perplexed. She wouldn't give in and flirt with him.

  He shuffled a few papers, unable to concentrate. "We should, uh—" He glanced up.

  Emma already leafed through files and acquainted herself with his office. She was all business to the point where she didn't let herself have fun. He wanted to remedy that.

  Several hours passed during which Emma asked countless questions about the business. The sun had long since set and a silver moon hung in the sky. Will clicked on another lamp, bathing her in soft, buttery light.

  She gasped. "Will, I found a problem in your financial portfolio." Her voice was grave.

  "Problem? Apex is a well-oiled machine. There isn't an issue in the financial—"

  "There isn’t a line item for cookies. You need to remedy that as soon as possible."

  Will laughed. "You're suggesting a cookie budget?"

  "It's been proven to improve company morale, productivity—"

  "So you do have a sense of humor." He smiled.

  "This is no laughing matter, but what I do have is an appetite. I'm starving and you owe me cookies."

  "Bartholomew will have something for us."

  "Will it be part of your diet plan?" She made a gagging face. "You know, you might make the protein drink more palatable by mixing them with common coffee shop beverages."

  "Like people can add a scoop to their double espresso, triple vanilla, macchiato, cappuccino, sugar-filled drink?"

  "Something like that."

  Back at Will's place, after they finished their grilled chicken and vegetables, his phone beeped. He glanced at the message and sighed. Word already had spread he was back in town. Old friends wanted to meet with him. Some at a club, others at a pub. Being in the flat, too many memories tugged at him. He wanted out. "Time to get dressed."

  Emma set her fork down. "It's been a long day. I was thinking—"

  "You were thinking of eating ice cream and watching a romantic comedy? No. It's Boxing Day. We're going to have fun."

  "I thought it was a time to be generous and spend with family."

  "Yes, we'll celebrate. In a way. Go on; get ready. You'll love it."

  Emma dragged her feet and an hour later appeared wearing a pair of slim jeans and a sweater. Not exactly what he had in mind, but she'd even be cute wrapped up in a bow.

  Benson, his driver, brought them to part of town known for its clubs. A line wound around the corner even in the cold weather.

  Emma shook her head. "Please don't do anything crazy. I'm not your babysitter."

  Will helped her out of the SUV. "Nothing crazy, just a fun time."

  They bypassed the bouncers at the door and a crowd instantly surrounded Will, glad to see him back in town. He introduced her to Rexy, his trainer. They chatted for a moment before someone else pulled him in another direction.

  "Keep the merch fresh," Rexy called.

  "The merch?" Emma asked over the pumping music.

  Will gestured to his chest and abdominals.

  "Don't you sometimes want to eat fries, chips, burgers, and milkshakes—?" But whatever else she said was lost when a bunch of people swarmed him. He tried to remain next to Emma, but with the loud music and everyone shouting and crowding he soon lost track of her.

  Chapter 9

  Emma

  Emma plotted ways she was going to exact revenge on Will for bringing her to the club with its throbbing music and flashing lights. It was her idea of a bad dream. She'd rather live on his protein shakes, spend the entire day with Sylvia, or never eat a cookie again. She stopped herself. That was going a little too far.

  Emm
a swept the room but didn’t spot her boss slash fake boyfriend. They hadn't outlined the parameters of her role, and given the numerous women who greeted him with lingering hugs and European kisses, she wasn't sure what she should do if she found him in a compromising situation.

  She sighed, feeling irritable and tired. As she neared the bar, her foot was stepped on three times; she was mistaken for someone named Alicia twice, and a woman with bright red hair nearly poked her in the eye while dancing. Emma elbowed her way between two men and flagged the bartender. All she wanted was a glass of water.

  One of the guys, with slicked back hair, looked her up and down. He squinted and pooched his lips as though trying to seduce her.

  Emma shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze. She waved at the bartender, eager for a water and an exit strategy.

  The guy leaned into her ear. He smelled of alcohol but had a pit in his chin like Everett. "I'm a professional photographer and can definitely picture us together."

  Emma gave a slight shake of her head and twisted in the narrow space to face the other guy. He wore a button-down shirt and had the respectable look of a professional who somehow found himself at that forsaken place against his will much as she had but his eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused.

  The bartender busied himself with a blond woman at the other end.

  She felt the eyes of the guy in the button-down still on her but ignored him.

  Five minutes passed and she was so thirsty she was ready to scream to get the bartender's attention. Someone tapped her shoulder.

  One of the guys leaned in. "You look like my next girlfriend."

  "Your what?" She wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly. She'd never seen him before so he certainly didn't mean his ex. The thought of her own ex entered her mind again. She imagined him in a club, racking up a credit card tab on drinks and the company of women. She cringed.

  She started to wrench her arm away but he tightened his grip.

  "Let go," she said.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder. He had dark, curly hair cropped short. Just like Everett. "I seemed to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?"

  Emma opened her mouth to tell all of them to back off. But the bar was at her back and the three smarmy guys surrounded her on three sides—each reminding her of Everett in their own ways. She moved to shove past them, not caring about being rude, but the one in the button-down gripped her arm.