The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(83)
Author: Emma Holly

Their plan for exploiting that was one Zane might have devised in his college days.

Too smart to propose the plot to Rebecca, the boys had come to him.

“It’s the nuclear principle,” Pete had said with frightening reasonableness. “We’ve got a bomb, and the swimsuit hanger doesn’t. If we want her to stop taking jabs at you and Trey and Rebecca, we have to demonstrate we’re willing and able to use it.”

“Plus, Mystique going after you is the reason the bomb exists,” Charlie said. “It’s poetic justice. We’d be silly to feel guilty.”

“You’ll only push the button if she shows up?”

“She’ll show up,” Pete said. “Once she hears the three of you will be there, she won’t be able to resist making more trouble. She’ll dress to the teeth and try to show you what you’re missing. Or play poor misled thing to anyone who’ll listen.”

“Or both,” Charlie added. “I’m betting that’s not beyond her.”

That was a wager Zane wouldn’t take. “I don’t want you getting caught.”

“We won’t,” Charlie promised. “No one but Mystique will guess where the bomb came from. Caroline has, like, criminal level skills.”

Zane saw this didn’t dampen Charlie’s interest in the girl.

He’d accepted their offer with stipulations, which the boys agreed to honor. All that remained was seeing if Missy would act true to form. Knowing it was best to shelve his worries for the time being, he joined Trey in helping Rebecca out of the limo van.

She looked better squirming to get comfortable in her blue velvet dress than Missy could in a hundred designer gowns—with or without photo retouching. The model would never understand why he and Trey preferred their shared lover, why her wobbly ankles were the most alluring, why her happy grin made their hearts stutter. Rebecca was a beautiful woman, but she was also a big bright soul. Being seen with her made him proud, no matter what anybody thought.

To his surprise, now that the truth was out, being seen with Trey had rather the same effect.

A man who’d won over those two had something to brag about.

“Watch the curb,” Trey laughed as their date almost tripped on it.

“Damned heels,” Rebecca muttered, holding tight to their hands. “I hope you two are giving me brownie points.”

She forgot her grumbling the moment she saw the illuminated mansion behind the iron fence. The noise of nighttime Manhattan was all around them: the rush of traffic, the machinery of tall buildings. Other guests of the event stepped out of taxis and limos, chattering with their companions. Zane watched all of that fall away for Rebecca. Her face lit up at the fairytale house before her, her lovely eyes going wide.

“Wow,” she said, her delight instantly becoming his. “This is cool!”

The turreted Whitney-Moeller Museum had once been a residence. Back in the twenties, the family donated it to the city, along with its extensive art collection and period furnishings. Today, it was a popular venue for charity events, thanks to its magnificently preserved turn of the century ballroom.

To escort her to it, Zane and Trey each offered her an elbow. The place was too packed for this arrangement to draw more than a glance or two. Rebecca, bless her, was too busy gawking to notice.

“Look at those tiger ice sculptures!” she exclaimed, understandably taking note of the catering. “I have to find out what artist supplied them.”

Trey shot an inquiring look over her head at Zane, who nodded a go-ahead.

“Why don’t we ask?” Trey said. “And maybe grab some champagne.”

He steered her in that direction, leaving Zane with the other terrible trio. Caroline was already scoping the terrain for a likely place to set up her gear. The ballroom was long and tall with a painted barrel ceiling and a balcony on either end. The orchestra would claim the more distant perch. The nearer was arranged with fancy white-clothed tables.

“Up there?” Zane asked, nodding his head toward it. “If you blew out your table’s candle, you’d be very hard to see.”

“That’ll work,” Caroline agreed. She turned back to him, her eyes owlishly fascinating behind her thick glasses. “Switch on your earpiece, Mr. Alexander, and I’ll hear everything you say. It’ll only take a few minutes for me to be ready to make the delivery. All I’ll need then is your signal that it’s a go.”

Zane squelched the childish thrill this cloak and dagger talk inspired. Charlie’s nineteen-year-old friend was much more blasé than him. “Thank you, Caroline,” he said soberly. “Charlie, why don’t you make sure she gets into place safely?”

Charlie leaped to do it, inspiring the teensiest blush in Caroline. For Charlie’s sake, Zane was glad to know she wasn’t nonchalant about everything.

Pete laughed under his breath as he watched them go. “She is so out of Charlie’s league.”

“Maybe not,” Zane said. “Charlie seems to have his own criminal tendencies.”

Pete laughed at that as well, probably because he had them too. “Becca didn’t mean to raise us sneaky, but we sure learned to be.” He paused to narrow his eyes at Zane. “Don’t let her down again.”

“Not while there’s breath in my body,” Zane swore sincerely.

Pete nodded and then craned around the crowd. He touched his hidden earpiece to activate it. “Target entering the ballroom.”

Zane stifled amusement even as his heart rate kicked up a notch. He wasn’t the only person enjoying playing spy.

Missy was indeed coming in. On her arm was a hot young actor from one of the TV shows currently shooting in New York. Missy sure knew how to pick her dates. As irony would have it, Zane had heard some very underground rumors, from people who ought to know, that the stud was in the closet. That, of course, wasn’t Zane’s business. He waited until the actor peeled off toward the bar to approach Missy.

He had no trouble pasting on a severe expression. Seeing the model brought back more unpleasant memories than she probably imagined.

Always aware of her best angles, she leaned picturesquely against a column at the edge of the glittering room. She’d gone Roman tonight in a deep ruby gown gathered with a ribbon beneath her br**sts. The shade suited her brunette coloring as perfectly as the style did her height and shape. One knee-high gladiator sandal peeped through a long leg slit, no doubt intended to declare her readiness for war. Her rich red lips formed a curve as he halted in front of her.