Hit the Billionaire Jackpot Read online

  “That’s why I drink, you know,” he said wistfully. “Everybody wants something from me, and sometimes I need a fucking break. Being on that roller coaster gives me the same sensation of freedom. No one can bother me up there.”

  Her heart twinged for him. Being a celebrity had a definite downside, and here she’d been, asking him to do stuff for her kids.

  “You up for it?” he asked, flashing his beautiful blue eyes at her.

  She hadn’t been on a roller coaster since she was twelve at Disneyland and Alex had told her she was too much of a baby to go on one. Back then, her parents hadn’t worried about whether she’d ever walk again. The biggest thing on their minds was if she’d get lost inside the park. “I’d love to.”

  She followed Hawke and they climbed into a seat at the bottom of the roller coaster. A man with a handlebar mustache locked them in and then a couple of kids behind them.

  “Ready, Mr. Thorn?” he asked.

  Hawke gave the thumbs up and grabbed Jenna’s hand. “Hold on,” he said. “And enjoy the rush.”

  She clasped his hand hard as the roller coaster picked up speed on the first incline. I’m holding hands with Hawke Thorn, she thought, the reality making her dizzy.

  He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  As they topped the first hill, she could see for miles. The night lay like a blanket across the landscape, dotted with hundreds of stars. The air up here was cooler, but Jenna felt warm with Hawke by her side.

  She laughed, letting the feeling fill her up as adrenalin spiked in her blood.

  She had a wild, crazy feeling that the rush Hawke was warning her about would be the best one of her life.

  * * *

  Jacob rolled over in his bed and slapped the alarm clock. Normally waking up in the morning wasn't a problem for him. He was up at five every day, had his Muy Thai lesson, breakfast, and then called his sister.

  Today, he stared at that damn alarm clock and considered breaking one of his floor-to-ceiling windows with the very expensive paperweight. When he was done with the clock that's all it would be good for.

  The rest of yesterday had been mostly uneventful. Except for the pesky little problem of not being able to stop thinking about Jenna. She’d looked good. Too good.

  He hadn't been lying when he said men like redheads. True or not, there was a certain feeling that redheads were the devil in the sack. And seeing Jenna prance around in her wedges and that tight black skirt, he’d wondered about it more than once.

  Time to get a shag, mate. Thinking about Jenna McIntyre in any context other than work was a recipe for disaster. Yeah well, he should've told that to his dick, because all night he’d been thinking about her and the other kinds of lessons he could give her.

  Not an option. Think of something else. Except, it didn't really seem to work. He had to get her ready for Vegas, which meant preparation for the event and getting her something appropriate to wear.

  Jenna had nothing in that closet that would be appropriate for the multi-day donor event. He wasn't a women's fashion connoisseur, but he knew how clothes could make the woman as much as the man. He knew how clothes should fit a woman’s curves, emphasize her best features, how she could work the clothes to her advantage.

  Jenna hadn't been kidding when she said she needed his help. His dick seconded that motion. Bollocks. An erection was the last thing he needed.

  He dragged himself out of bed and snatched up his phone. His first call was to his assistant to cancel his lesson and to have breakfast delivered. His next call was to Sonalo Boutique in La Jolla. His mother knew the owner and they would have everything Jenna needed. As a bonus he had an account there, so he'd be able to bypass her objections based on cost. The best part of all, it was by appointment only and he often called on their services for his… companions.

  From what he'd seen in Jenna’s closet—or lack thereof—she’d need the whole kit, from lingerie to basics to evening wear. None of what she had was appropriate.

  With those final calls made, he hopped into the shower, hoping the spray would wake him up. Why can't you stop thinking about her? Any other woman would've been a mere blip in his brain and he would have positioned them into their appropriate corner.

  There was a reason he didn't have many relationships. A few flirtatious affairs here and there, but the amount of time required for nonsensical bullshit was more than he had to spare. Not to mention most woman he met had some kind of agenda. He never regretted those bachelor articles more. It brought out the fortune hunters in droves.

  To be fair, some of those women actually wanted to be with him. Unfortunately, not the real him but the fairytale version they concocted in their heads. They weren't interested in who he really was. What he actually cared about. The press had done a number on his public persona, creating a billionaire playboy image that fit James Bond more than himself.

  Jenna didn't care about any of that. And surprisingly, when she wasn't infuriating him she could actually make him laugh. Too bad she didn't have any taste in men. When he thought of the pictures Hawke sent her yesterday he growled.

  The wanker was a mouth-breather. It's not like Jenna wasn't a smart girl. She ought to know better. But hey, that had been her request, so he would fulfill it. Even if he did want to throw up in his mouth a little at the thought of that picture.

  Come on. Hawke wasn't even that fit. The guy was supposedly a legendary music star with legendary conquests around the world. Women swooned over his body. Clearly that had to be exaggerated.

  After a shower and breakfast he checked the time before calling Jenna. She croaked into the phone, “Hello.”

  His dick twitched. The sound of her sleepy morning voice was like a mating cry. Easy tiger. Jen was not some girl he could try to get off with. They didn't have that kind of relationship. Yeah, especially not if she thinks you're gay, mate.

  Yeah, that did irritate him. Women everywhere throwing themselves at him and she dismissed him as gay. He was more than happy to show her otherwise.

  What? No. No he was not. Bollocks. Clear head, Swinton. Focus. “Good morning, Jenna. I'll need you to meet me at Sonalo boutique at 9 AM. You have an appointment. I will send a car for you at eight thirty.”

  She mumbled something unintelligible before he heard a thump and then loud wrestling and a muttered curse. It made him smile. “I can't meet you at nine. I have work to do. 3 Wishes work.”

  He already had anticipated her hesitation. “Is it a board meeting?”

  “No, but—”

  “Is it a volunteer commitment?”

  More muttered cursing and another stop. “Fuck. No. But you can't just demand I arrive somewhere and expect me to do that. I am the president. I have things. Important things.”

  Jacob stifled a laugh. Getting a rise out of her was his favorite pastime. “These 'things' you have, do you realize you need to get out of bed by 7:30 in order to do them?”

  “Oh, no! Is that what time is? I can't believe I fucking overslept again. That’s what I get for staying out half the night.” More thumping and what sounded like hopping. “Jacob, I can't talk right now. I have to plan for the morning meeting, I need to set appointments with—”

  “Jenna,” he interrupted. She’d stayed out half the night? Doing what? “I've already taken care of your morning obligations. You're free until lunchtime.”

  The cursing continued. “Not this again. What do you mean you've 'taken care of my morning obligations’? I run 3 Wishes, not you.”

  This was not the first time she'd remind him of that. He needed to tread carefully. “Look, I'm sorry. I sent a meeting request to Wanda and asked to have the morning for donor event purposes. She moved your schedule around.”

  “Oh. Well, I still need to—”

  He wasn't letting her weasel out of this. “Jenna, you must do this. I'm not trying to take over. I'm only trying to help. And as this has to do with the donor event, this is your end of the bargain.”

  She growle
d, and the thumping stopped. “Why the hell do I feel like I've made a deal with Dante himself?”

  “Because you have, Red. I'll see you at nine.”

  * * *

  She turned into the boutique at nine sharp. Her hair was down, if not a little unkempt. She wore black slacks, and even attempted a button down. Alas, she had her flats again. Hadn't he told her how sexy heels were on a woman? He knew she couldn’t wear them, but she had wedges or whatever those things were called. He’d seen several in her closet.

  “Good morning, Jenna.”

  She practically snarled at him. “What's the emergency? What is it that required me to rearrange my whole schedule to accommodate you?”

  His lips twitched. She was irritated. Good. She should be irritated. “This is for your own good.”

  “What is this exactly?”

  “This is Sonalo. They are the best boutique in La Jolla, and they have a salon attached.”

  “I’m here to get a makeover? That was what was so important? I have a staff. I have volunteers. I have media requests.”

  “And we will deal with those things while you are here. Two birds, one stone.”

  She huffed. “I don’t need this.”

  “Fine. I will release you to go do whatever it is you believe you have to do this morning if you can tell me what you plan to wear to the donor dinner.”

  Jenna opened her mouth. Snapped it shut. “I was going to try to find something on Dress Borrow. In other words, rent one.”

  He sighed. “If you’re going to rent a dress, then use a high-end outfit, not Dress Borrow.”

  “Jacob, I appreciate this, I really do, but I just can’t take a whole morning to look at dresses I can’t afford.”

  He stood fluidly and put down his phone. “Do you trust me?”

  She frowned like she wanted to punch him. But then she sighed. “Can we just get this over with?”

  “After you.”

  First up was the salon. While the stylists worked their voodoo magic, he covered a few things with her. ”First thing is to get you more help, I think you need to utilize your PR team properly.”

  “What do you mean?” she muttered around a bite of a protein bar as she tried to make eye contact around the stylist. “I don’t have a PR team. Van’s working on finding me one.”

  “Exactly. You need someone to field the media requests besides Wanda. You need someone who is drafting the statements and coming to you for approval of the sound bites and printed releases. You’re dong too much, and Wanda’s time should be focused on you, not the media.”

  “I—” She frowned. “Well, how do you find this person?”

  “Until Van comes through, pick someone who’s an effective communicator. Maybe Hernadez in Promotions. Pay him a visit and tell him what you need and walk away. He’ll sink or swim, but it’ll be one thing you can stop thinking about. Same goes with volunteers; they have a manager, let her manage them. You don’t need to be in charge of their schedules or taking their calls unless it’s an emergency. And the email situation is ridiculous.”

  “What’s wrong with the emails?”

  “It took you three days to answer an email from me this week. Since we’re on the same team and working together now, I’d think you would answer my emails first.”

  “Shit. I'm sorry, but I get two hundred a day. I’m buried.”

  “I know, that's why you hand that over to Wanda. Come up with a tier system for what needs handling right away and by whom.”

  “I can do that.”

  And so they went for the next hour as hair was cut and dried. He’d made the explicit request that she not see herself in the mirror during the process. He didn’t need her fiddling with her hair or fidgeting or complaining.

  When the stylist put down the blow dryer, he stared. She still had the length, but now she had more body and her hair looked silky and soft.

  “Are you sure I’m going to be able to do this at—” She stopped abruptly when she put her hands in her hair. ”Oh, my God, what did you use to make it feel so soft?”

  The stylist smiled. “We will send you home with a basket of products.”

  She smiled at Jacob. “For this I forgive you for waking me at an ungodly hour.”

  “It was seven thirty.”

  “Exactly,” she groaned.

  He rolled his eyes and led her into the boutique. “Red, this is Amanda. She’s been working with my mother for years. They source designers and pull everything in.” He turned his attention to the fashion stylist. “Were you able to grab what I asked for in her size?”

  Jenna smacked him on the arm. “How do you know my size?”

  Jacob took a slow deliberate sweep over her body. “Five feet, four inches. Size 2-4 in dresses, pants probably a 2. You’re a 32D, but you’ve been wearing a 34C all your life. I can tell by the way your bra straps always seem to fall down and the way you fiddle with the cups when you think no one is watching. You wear one size up of baggy clothes because you don’t want anyone to look at your…assets. Is that enough or should I continue? Oh, and you wear a size seven shoe.”

  She swallowed hard. “You spend a lot of time looking at my chest do you?”

  More than you know. “I can tell when something is ill-fitting.”

  She rolled her eyes and went back toward the changing rooms. While she did that, he settled into a chair and answered some emails.

  She came out in five minutes with a scowl on her face. “Did you know there are no mirrors in there?”

  “It’s what I asked for.”

  “How am I supposed to see if this fits or not.”

  “Does it feel like it fits?” He wanted to get her used to how things felt on her body. Not just throwing on the nearest clean-smelling t-shirt .

  “I don't know.” The dark grey, tailored pants made her legs look long and lean and fit nicely over her arse. The blouse was a soft pink that played up both her hair and her eyes.

  “You do know. How do you feel?”

  She shifted in the heels she wore. “Like a grown up.”

  “Are the pants too tight? Are they too loose? Can you walk in the shoes?”

  She pursed her lip. “You know it fits perfectly. The shoes aren’t bad either. The stacked heel works out well for my leg.”

  He didn’t bother suppressing his grin. “Go on; try the other things.”

  He only missed the mark on two items, but everything else seemed to be exactly what she needed.

  When she came out in the final outfit, he put down the phone and stared. The dress was a soft blue silk that looked more negligee than evening dress, but it was exquisite. And she looked like sex and sin in it.

  Buggar. What had he done? Turning her into a bombshell hadn’t exactly been the plan. Amp up her appeal? Sure, but this? This was a special kind of hell that could keep him up at night. “Amanda, please bring the mirror so Miss McIntyre can see herself.”

  They brought the mirror out and Jenna did a double take. She touched everything. Her hair, the dress. Her face. ”I don’t even look like myself,” she breathed.

  “Yes, you do. Just a more polished version.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. Amanda left them alone and went back toward the dressing rooms. “I can’t believe this is me.”

  “Believe it.”

  She did a happy little twirl in the mirror. “Thank you for all of this, but honestly, I can't afford something like this.”

  “Jenna, it’s for the foundation. Tax deduction.” He’d just leave out that he was handling the bill for the time being. “They’ll send the bill to 3 Wishes later.”

  She couldn’t stop looking at herself. “Thank you, Jacob. I’ve never met a man who liked shopping so much.”

  She still thought he was gay? “Seriously? You still don’t think I’m straight, do you?”

  “I, well…” Her voice trailed.

  “Okay. Let’s settle it then, shall we?”

  It wasn’t exactl
y like he had a plan. You always have a plan. But Jenna McIntyre fucked with that. He slid his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck as he held his lips a breath of a whisper away from hers, her lashes fluttered closed.

  “Jacob, what are you doing?”

  All he could think was how beautiful she looked. “Trust me.”

  Now, he could have told himself all kinds of lies. That he was proving a point. That he was just showing her the effect her looks could have on a man. That she’d practically dared him to.

  But as his lips glided over hers, the only reason that mattered was that he wanted to.

  He sipped at her bottom lip and traced his tongue over the seam of her lips until she granted him access. And she did grant him access, which surprised him a little.

  Okay, a lot. But fuck, she tasted sweet.

  She gasped and he took the opportunity to kiss her deeper, licking into her mouth. Taking the opportunity to explore.

  He kissed her to prove a point, but the instant her hands went to his chest and curled into his vest, holding on to him, the reins of control snapped.

  The next thing he knew, he was sliding his hand down her back and pressing her directly against him. His dick throbbed against her belly and he took full advantage.

  She slid her tongue against his and thinking became a distinct difficulty. He couldn’t stop. He wanted more. More of her taste. More of the feel of her against him. More of her holding onto him for dear life.

  He slid his hands from her hair so he could touch more of her. He needed to touch more of her.

  He pressed her against him and shifted his hands to slide up over the taut muscles of her belly and his hands itched for more, wanted to test the full weight of her breasts. Needed—abruptly, his brain came back online.

  She arched into his hands but he released her quickly and stepped back. Jenna made a soft mewing sound at the back of her throat, and fuck him, he almost went back to kissing her. Fuck, who knew what they could get up to if he could just keep touching her?

  That shit was potent and dangerous. It could never happen again.