The Bastard Billionaire Read online

  “Hey, Rach,” Merina greeted, setting the last place. She accepted one of the bottles and spun the label around. “Ooh, good choice.”

  “It’s a customer favorite. Or was, when I bartended.” Rachel flashed Eli a quick glance, then looked away. She wasn’t sure about him yet, and for good reason. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together. He hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy since he’d returned home.

  Reese filtered in behind them, still wearing his suit from work. Merina reached up and tugged the knot in his tie loose, standing on her toes to press a lengthy kiss to his lips.

  “Sexy man,” she murmured.

  “Vixen,” Reese commented, cupping her ass in one hand.

  Patience shot, Eli gestured at the dishes on the table and bellowed, “Can someone please explain why we can’t eat Chow Main out of the containers like normal human beings instead of dealing with this bullshit?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his family, all of whom had glued their eyes on him. Merina clucked her tongue. Reese’s lip curled in mild irritation. Rachel bit her bottom lip and stepped closer to Tag, who wrapped an arm around her, opened his mouth, and let out a hearty laugh.

  At that laugh, the tone of the room shifted back to light and fluffy, and the chattering continued as Rachel and Tag unloaded the food onto the table.

  It seemed the only person Eli was capable of scaring off were assistants. His family was entirely immune to him.

  “We’re here,” came a call from across the warehouse. Eli’s father, Alex, and his assistant for years, Rhona, filed in together, her hand linked in his. It’d been recently discovered that Alex and Rhona were partnering in more than business, and since Eli’s old man was retired and had been for some time, Eli guessed that Alex and Rhona were partnering more often than not on a personal front.

  Love was in the fucking air, he thought with an eye roll.

  “Hey, Eli.” Rhona pulled her scarf from her neck—it was only September, so he had no idea why the scarf—and smiled brightly at him.

  He lifted a hand and gave a brief wave. Rhona filed into the fray, cooing over the wine as Merina apologized about not knowing she was coming and pulled an extra set of dishes from the cabinet. A low sigh worked its way through Eli’s chest.

  Happy. Every last goddamn one of them. Surrounded by this much love caused a heavy streak of loneliness to course through him. Damned if he could understand why. He’d been a miserable bastard lately.

  “Beer, bro?” Tag asked, collapsing next to him into a chair. His brother’s hair was down in golden-brown waves, his beard full like Eli’s but neatly trimmed, not like Eli’s. He’d let the facial hair and the hair on his head grow and he resembled a homeless dog some days. Meanwhile, Mr. Pantene Hair next to him…

  Eli swiped the bottle. “What, no frosted glass? Shouldn’t we have coasters?”

  He gestured to the set table, in the center of which rested a bowl filled with oranges his last assistant had brought over. She’d probably been instructed by Reese to monitor his vitamin C intake. That was another thing—since he’d been back, he’d been tended to, coddled, and overly cared for. He’d busted his ass getting himself up and moving so he was dependent on no one. As a completely independent and capable man, he resented the fussing.

  “It’s been half a year, E,” Tag said, leaning back in the chair and sucking down some of his own beer. “You’re going to have to get used to us being in your face. We missed you.”

  That last bit paired with an elbow jab and Eli grunted. He knew they’d missed him. Hell, he’d missed them. His brothers and father had found happiness, which Eli admittedly found soul-sucking, but it didn’t mean Eli wasn’t happy for them. He just wished they would go be adorably coupled off somewhere far, far away from his sanctuary.

  “I can go out into public, you know,” he grumbled, setting the beer bottle next to his plate—on the table, no coaster, thank you very much. “You guys don’t have to come in here and serve me.”

  He was skilled at his new role of miserable bastard, and since everyone expected it now, he was determined to excel.

  “Oh but we do, Lord Crane.” Merina smiled demurely as she leaned over and handed him a glass. “We know you don’t want to be seen out and about yet. Trust me, I spent enough time with the media breathing down my neck. I don’t blame you.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? Other than a brief article in the Trib that had mentioned him as a war hero and a quote he’d said over the phone taken completely out of context, Eli had successfully avoided the limelight. Reese and Merina had not, but that’d been the plan. And it had worked out well for both of them, despite their initial dislike for one another.

  Eli liked Merina. She was tough. She was bold and clearly had enough forearm strength to pull the stick out of Reese’s ass. At least partway. Eli had never seen his oldest brother this…at peace. And now that Reese was living a utopic existence with his biggest dreams coming true, he wanted Eli on board to tiptoe in the tulips alongside him.

  No, Reese wasn’t through pressuring Eli into coming back on at Crane Hotels full-time, but he had lightened up some. As evidenced by him strolling back into the dining room area sans tie and jacket. Unlike Tag, Reese was always suited. Tag was the opposite, typically in cargo pants and a skintight Henley to show off biceps he was always pumping into ridiculous sizes.

  Eli was as comfortable in a suit as out of one. He could don fatigues, jeans and a tee, or a three-piece Armani and feel like himself. The clothes, in his case, did not make the man. Even his body didn’t make the man, though he worked his ass off to maintain his. He couldn’t do all the things he used to be able to do, but the better shape he was in, the better he felt about the leg.

  “The media doesn’t give a shit about me,” Eli said, and that was the way he liked it.

  “They will when we name you COO,” Reese piped up.

  Eli sent him a death glare. Reese, the oldest, didn’t flinch. Even with a sleeve of tattoos and a surly attitude, Eli didn’t intimidate his oldest brother. Reese had known Eli when he’d sleepwalked to the neighbor’s house, so Reese wasn’t about to be intimated by a grumpy Marine.

  “We found you a new PA,” Reese announced.

  “No.”

  “She starts next week,” he continued as if Eli hadn’t spoken.

  “Well done, Reese.” Alex took his seat across from Eli. He folded his fingers at his chin and smiled through a snow-white goatee, looking very Dos Equis’s “Most Interesting Man in the World” in that position.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Eli said to the collective masses. “I’ve told you repeatedly, I’m not interested in Chief Pencil Pusher, but if you insist, Clip…”

  Tag barked another laugh, proud to hear his nickname for Reese (Clip, short for Paperclip) used by someone other than himself.

  “You’re the most like me, Eli,” Alex said, starting the familiar speech.

  Because Eli had heard it about a dozen times over the last nine months, his vision began blurring at the edges. Talk of legacy and history would follow.

  “Reese has my business savvy,” Alex said, a proud smile stretching his goatee. “He was made for CEO.” On that Eli couldn’t disagree. Reese bled Crane Hotels’s black and white. “Tag is my free spirit, perfect for the entertainment sector of Crane. He’s always winning hearts.”

  “He won mine.” Rachel slid onto Tag’s lap instead of sitting in her own chair. Eli looked past lowered eyebrows to see her nuzzle Tag, who smiled like a lovesick fool.

  Must be nice.

  “But you, Elijah,” his father continued. “You have my sense of duty. You have a lion’s heart. That same sense is what propelled me into the service.” Alex pushed up a sleeve, revealing a faded tattoo reading semper fidelis. Eli turned his arm to show off his matching tattoo. They did have that in common. What they didn’t have in common was that his father was a war hero who saved people, and Eli, though he’d been lauded as one, had saved no one.r />
  “But now your duty lies elsewhere, son.”

  Here it came. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

  “It’s time to be the man Crane Hotels needs you to be.”

  Next to Eli, Tag snorted. Reese even cracked a smile.

  Eli referred to this as Dad’s “Batman” speech. It always ended with that same ode.

  “I’m busy, Dad,” Eli skirted. Because cursed would have sounded maudlin.

  “We’ll see.”

  He and his father met eyes for a few beats before their stare-down was interrupted.

  “Okay, food!” Merina gestured to the spread. Typically, Tag ate three entrees on his own, but Merina preferred to have a bite of everything on the table. If Eli wasn’t fast, she’d dig into his without asking. “Ooh, Eli. Your shrimp pad Thai looks amazing.”

  He pointed. “You have to give me an extra crab rangoon if you steal my food.”

  She slid a glance at Reese. “Did he used to be nicer?”

  “No,” Reese deadpanned.

  Eli and Reese exchanged what could be construed as brief smiles. Reese knew better. Eli used to wield affable charm like a weapon. Before war had hardened him. Before his friends had died because he hadn’t been able to save them.

  But that was in the past, and this was now. His new normal was his family’s presence every other Friday since he’d returned after leaving parts of himself in Afghanistan. Yes, his leg, but also two very good men. While he was away, a lot had happened to him, and as much had happened to his brothers. Reese was married, for the second time to the same woman; Tag was practically married; and Dad…whatever was going on there.

  Eli understood how everyone assumed he’d slip into the slot bookmarked for him at Crane Hotels the moment he was well. For him, things weren’t that simple. He loved them too much to fail them.

  Reese dished out some of his Mongolian beef onto Merina’s plate while she stole a sip of his wine.

  Rachel slid off Tag’s lap with a smile and Tag lifted her hand and kissed her fingers.

  Rhona unwrapped a pair of chopsticks and handed them to Alex, who beamed at her, the happiest he’d been since Lunette Crane’s death.

  Eli reminded himself again that he didn’t want what they had. He refused to want something he couldn’t have. Life had spoken. He was listening.

  Chapter 2

  Instead of going downstairs to Sable Concierge’s offices via her apartment overhead, the next morning Isabella drove to Elijah Crane’s warehouse downtown. The building featured its own parking area, fenced and locked. Reese had given her the passcode—a passcode that didn’t work as he’d predicted.

  “He changes it all the time,” he’d told her when she’d stopped by the Crane Hotel yesterday to pick up a key. “You can bypass it with this. He knows you’re coming.”

  She locked the gate behind her and let herself into the warehouse. Eli lived upstairs, and the downstairs was empty, a huge sprawling area not set up for anything in particular. Shame. It was a great space.

  Shaking the early autumn rain from her coat, Isa ran a hand through her hair and pressed a button on the freight elevator to Eli’s lair. Upstairs, she slid open a heavy, metal elevator door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. No doubt Eli was aware of her entrance. The metal scrape had echoed off high ceilings and tall windows she had no idea how he kept clean. They were, though. Rain pattered the cobweb-free panes as she stepped into the apartment, her mouth gaping in awe. She’d never seen anything like this place.

  Stylish exposed brick walls dotted with windows; concrete floors with rugs separating rooms. A long, wooden table encircled by mismatched cloth chairs took up most of the dining room. A leather couch, chair, and coffee table (no TV) marked the living room area. Fat concrete pillars were interspersed with a few dividing walls—like the one hiding the area behind the dining room table. A bed peeked around a doorway at the end of the corridor, and a room she guessed was a bathroom bisected the hall. To her right was the kitchen, divided by a long countertop and a half wall over the sink.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” came a low, male warning from behind the wall that must be hiding Eli’s office.

  Heels clicking, then muting when she stepped onto the rug, Isa made her way into the bowels of Eli’s sanctuary, her heart hammering. She wasn’t typically the nervous type, but the dim light inside the warehouse and somber rain pecking the windows gave the space an eerie quality. As she paced closer to the room where the voice had come from, she heard the distinct crackle of a fire.

  In the air there was a different kind of crackle entirely, a low buzz of premonition in her bones.

  She’d owned her confidence on the phone with Reese, but now that the air in Eli’s home was pressing down on her, she was less sure of her promise to reform the middle Crane brother. Standing in Eli’s hallway was like hovering at the mouth of a cave where a hibernating grizzly bear hid. And she was unarmed.

  But you are armed, she reminded herself. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Reese she could handle this situation. As a woman who had walked away from her family’s money, expectations, and the man they’d chosen for her, Isabella Sawyer was nothing if not capable of overcoming challenge.

  She was a woman who’d branched out on her own and had taken control of her life, without her family’s blessing. One surly ex-soldier with a chip on his shoulder wasn’t going to scare her away.

  Squaring her shoulders, she stepped around the wall to find no door separating her from Eli’s office space. The dark-haired man in question jotted notes on a paper, his head down, a lamp on his desk lighting his way. In the dim glow, she made out the edge of a beard and a trail of tattoos decorating one arm. Squinting didn’t help her discern the inky images.

  Without looking up, he spoke again. “You can leave.”

  Bite me, Crane.

  She was tempted to say it aloud, but she wasn’t positive he wouldn’t bite her. In his case, his bite could be worse than his bark, and his bark was downright intimidating. It wouldn’t be the first time Isa had stood up to a man who believed he held the cards, but she was playing a long game. Best not to push too hard just yet.

  She stepped into his office and introduced herself. Or, well, the version of herself she wanted him to know.

  “Hello, Mr. Crane. My name is Isabella. Sable Concierge sent me to serve as your personal helper. I’ve already been brought up to date by your brother about Crane Hotels’s latest—”

  “Isabella.” He tossed the pen onto his desk. Lifted his head and met her eyes.

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, the remainder of her speech glued to it. Dark hair ruffled like he’d repeatedly pushed his fingers through it, an equally dark, thick beard lining a strong jaw, Eli Crane commanded attention. Deep blue eyes narrowed as he tracked down to her stilettos and up her professional—and, yes, a little tight at the thighs—dress she’d worn for this appointment. There was nothing overtly sexual about the dress, but no matter what she wore, her curves tested the limits of the seams. She was a woman and refused to hide her femininity—or mute it—especially for this man.

  He shifted at the desk, pushing one palm into the wood, and his tattoos flexed, his muscles shifting temptingly.

  Lord have mercy.

  The crackle in the air this time wasn’t a buzz of warning but of something else. Something heavy and weighted.

  Unwanted attraction.

  The kind you feel for a man when you know that you shouldn’t. The kind packaged to be tempting, but when you get close, learn that the enticing beauty is laced with deadly poison.

  The feeling was so strong, the pull so palpable, Isa struggled not to advance a step.

  “No,” he said.

  “No what?” She tightened her grip on her Kate Spade tote, wedging her heels to the floor.

  “No to Isabella. Too ornamental.” His lip curled with what appeared to be disgust and she tamped down the temptation to be offended. This was his game. She wasn’t going
to play. “Can’t you go by something else?”

  “Most people call me Isa.”

  He hummed. The rough and tumble sound snagged her chest and her heartbeat kicked up a few notches.

  This was awful. Just awful. Attraction to the wrong man had happened to her twice in her life. Once with her second boyfriend, to whom she’d bequeathed her virginity, and once with the man her parents had picked for her, who had turned out to be king of the jackasses. Twice she’d lived to regret following her hormones. She’d make no such mistake a third time. Especially with her business on the line.

  “As I was saying, Mr. Crane.”

  “Elijah.”

  “Elijah,” she corrected, forcing a smile.

  “No…” His eyebrows lowered and he cocked his head in thought. “Go back to Mr. Crane.”

  He was pushing her. She was supposed to react. Lash out. Start arguing. This was his pattern. A few more pokes and he’d expect her to turn and run out crying or shouting how she’d never return.

  Too bad, buddy.

  “Very well.” She straightened her shoulders and tried again. “Mr. Crane. So, your brother tells me—”

  “What if I call you Izzie?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nah, that’s no good. Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “Bella.”

  “Absolutely not,” she clipped, letting her control waver. Her ex had called her Bella and she’d hated it.

  “No, you’re right.” Eli’s mouth pulled into a frown. “That’s worse. I don’t like any of the short names for Isabella. What if I call you…” He snaked a gaze over her dress, which was professional and a respectable length. His trickling assessment made her feel as if she wore next to nothing. “Bettie Page?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his shirt molding to a very fit chest. “You sure you’re from Sable Concierge? Not a call girl service?”

  “Mr. Crane.” Her voice held an authority demanding respect. Enough was enough. She refused to let him bully her, whether the air snapped with wayward attraction or not. Whether he thought she was a lowly PA or not. She was not his plaything. And her choice of dress, no matter how evocative this male chauvinist found it, was nothing to be ashamed of. “I will not allow…”