It was big, but homey with photos, a sword collection, encased coins, and exotic souvenirs, all undoubtedly from extensive travels around the globe. The room wrapped her in a sense of warmth and safety.
The invitation to debrief Alex and Paco after hours was an opportunity she’d jumped on. So much had changed in the last year and a half, thanks to them. Paco had checked in on Charity every now and then and could see the subtle ways she’d transformed between each visit. But Alex never had.
Both men were seated at a conference table that overlooked parts of Manhattan she’d never seen. They stood as she stepped in, but her stomach knotted at how woefully underdressed she was next to them, choosing jeans and a plain black but fitted long-sleeve shirt for their meeting.
“I should have changed,” she said shyly.
“Not on our account,” Alex said, his insistence making her comfortable as he wrapped both hands around hers for a tender shake.
Paco pulled her into a sweet hug, releasing her to pull out her chair.
“So,” Alex asked. “What have you got?”
Charity passed over her phone to Alex, unlocked to a photo of the sunglass-sporting, prim-and-proper Natasha, but he deferred to Paco.
“Let’s let the man who never forgets a face take a look first.”
Charity complied, wondering if the gorgeous and mysterious Mr. Robles could get any hotter. Paco’s face filled with delight at the image, but he didn’t interrupt her recap.
“Natasha. That’s the only name she gave me. I tried to read her whole name off her credit card, but the light hit it as she slipped it back into her wallet.”
Paco chuckled. “She could go by a few names.”
“A con artist?” Alex asked.
Paco shook his head. “Nope. This one’s even better. You wouldn’t know her real name, though her uncle Cecil would be familiar to you.”
Intrigued, Alex volleyed another question across the table. “I’m being set up by a perve?”
“I doubt he even knows. But this girl just applied for a job. Here.” He handed Alex the phone.
“Let me guess. She wants to be vice president of anything at all. Rich kids—they think their wealth and a degree give them a free pass to a seat on the executive board.”
“Wrong again.” Paco sported a grin, releasing the information bit by bit. “First name, Natasha. Last name she gave DGI was . . .” He tapped out a light drumroll on the table. “Taylor. Some phony paperwork landed her application on my desk. We thought she was a corporate spy, so we’ve been watching her and waiting. But this makes more sense.”
Alex looked at him, patient and clueless.
Paco beamed, replying with a song in his voice. “Somebody’s husband hunting.”
Alex gulped, undoubtedly from the weight of crosshairs on his wallet. “Me? I’m the most unworthy wedding catch of the century.”
“You said it, brother. You never sniff around the same tail twice, and rarely even bother learning their names.”
Alex scowled. “Hey, my mind is full of important crap like national security technology and how to maintain a competitive edge in the global space. If I remembered all the women’s names I spend a little time with, some poor penguin is getting sacrificed, flicked off the brain iceberg, and gone forever.”
Shrugging, Paco didn’t seem to care. “Whatever. It’s not like they mind. Women are eager to overlook the occasional indiscretion when a man’s net worth starts with a B.”
“Occasional indiscretion? To be more indiscreet, I’d have to hire a publicist.” Alex’s momentary aggravation melted quickly and he looked over at Charity. “Okay. She wants some insights into Alex Drake. Use your imagination and give her something good.”
9
Natasha
Three weeks later
Watching Alex Drake, the legendary CEO of Drake Global Industries, was intoxicating. Natasha couldn’t seem to get enough of him. On the internet, that is.
Recently graduating from an Ivy League university came with consequences. The moment the diploma hit her hand, Natasha’s dad and step-mommy number three cut her off. No black card. No new car. No upscale condo. Nothing.
Getting a J-O-B wasn’t exactly rocket science, but it had never quite made her must-do list either. And then there was that whole bullshit of keeping one. With the bills piling up and an eviction notice in her hands, she recalled the advice of her great-aunt Vera that hit her like a ton of cash: marry well.
How well? A billion reasons told her to aim high.
Natasha’s father was a measly millionaire. If she could pull this off, the mansions, private jets, Bentleys, and jewels she’d enjoy would be great. Showing up that bastard, however, would be the diamond crust on her blinged-out wedding cake.
But single billionaires weren’t exactly a dime a dozen.
With a little market research and an eye on the bottom line, Natasha focused on Alex Drake. One womanizing asshole was another girl’s treasure.
Who cares that he’s got a never-ending line of eager beavers? The guy’s rich. Hot and really, really rich. What more could a girl want?
With Charity’s help, Natasha got all the answers she needed. Like cramming for a test with the answer key in hand, her snatch was ready to snag a billionaire.
But she didn’t need Charity for everything. Hell, for as guarded as the man tended to be, he was a bit of a publicity whore. And unfortunately, Big Al had all the makings of a one-night stand.
Egomaniac.
Notorious womanizer.
Asshole of epic proportions when the mood suited him.
My kind of guy.
The megamogul attracted a revolving door of girls a few nights a week. Never the same girl. This guy wasn’t exactly marriage material, with his status officially being single for over a decade.
But men were made to be molded. At least, their desires were. Because the way Natasha saw it, there wasn’t one solitary thing on this man’s body that needed refining. From the outside, Alex Drake could have been sculpted by Michelangelo.
The man was a god from every angle. In the rare shots of him in gym clothes, the rock-hard muscles of his body were pure eye candy. He had the legs of a marathoner, and that ass could only be earned by screwing women up against a wall six nights a week and twice on Sunday.
His bad-boy looks got him noticed, and his bank account made him a magnet for all the wet and wild women he could handle. But his heart remained a mystery. Maybe, like Natasha, he didn’t have one.
Scanning the internet’s sea of photos of Alex Drake’s dates, she realized the man didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular in a woman. In fact, he wasn’t particular at all.
Boobs: Full B through double D. Check.
Ass: The bigger, the better. Check plus.
Age: The alpha male liked them younger, but not too young, somewhere between the ages of twenty-four to twenty-six or -seven. At twenty-two, Natasha was two years below his threshold.
Will two years really make a difference?
Whatever. I was born to break down barriers.
Demeanor: Not too slutty. Or too senseless. And definitely not too sweet. Street-smart sassy was his type of sexy. It’s in the bag.
Height and weight: Irrelevant.