Shopping for a Billionaire 4(25)
Author: Julia Kent

And because it’s just rained, and various car tires have brought water onto the ground, I go flying in the air, keys arcing through the air like they’ve been ejected from a stomp rocket, arms and legs flailing to grab on to anything so I don’t crack my assbone in half.

Two strong hands wrap around my waist and save me from permanent butt damage. The red jacket Guido is wearing unbuttons and reveals a slim waist, broad shoulders stretching the fabric. His hair is a thick, wavy brown like Declan’s, eyebrows thicker, a strand of grey here and there peppering his hair. His eyes are kind and worried, though there’s a suppressed mirth there, his mouth twitching.

He sets me on my heels, my knee turning inward. I’m dressed in business clothing, the client insisting I assume the role of a C-level female executive traveling for business, in town for the night. And valet parking is the start.

“You hurt?” Guido asks in a bass voice that makes me jolt. If he had poured warm caramel sauce on my ni**les I couldn’t have had a naughtier response. That voice must get a lot of women out of their pants for him. I, myself, will be using the bathroom clothesline to dry my panties shortly if he speaks again.

“I’m, um, fine,” I say, breathless. He steps across from me to retrieve my keys from the ground, giving me a chance to really look at his butt, er…at him. His face. His face! His cheekbones are broader than Declan’s, and he’s confident in that loose way men who work with their hands for a living have about them.

“Your car?” he asks with arched eyebrows.

“Business car.” I smile with more perk than I really feel. I’ve already developed an excuse for the piece-of-crap car. “Testing a new advertising model for a client.”

He nods, like he’s in on some joke I don’t know about. “I see, Ms.…”

“Jacoby.”

“Jacoby.” He smiles and gives me a small bow. “Does the market test include aromatherapy as well?”

“What?”

“Never mind, Ms. Jacoby.” He jingles my keys and looks at my car with amusement. More amusement than I’ve ever felt. “I’ll park your company car and keep it safe from harm.”

“Really? Actually, I’d prefer you just park it on the street. Maybe someone will steal it and then I’d—” The words are pouring out of my mouth before I can stop them. Something about Guido is so casually comfortable, so companionable, and the facade of being an executive fades away without my even thinking about it.

He smirks and instantly looks nothing like Declan. What was I thinking? I clearly can’t get him out of my head, so I’m inventing men who look like him. But when Guido’s face goes back to semi-serious, it’s like a shadow of my ex is there.

I’m going crazy, aren’t I?

Driving the crazy piece of sh—

“I’d lose my job if I did that,” he says in a low conspirator’s voice.

I swallow, my mouth dry. All the moisture in my body migrates south. “Just kidding.”

He eyes me in a way that makes me feel like I felt the first time I ever met Declan.

Inventoried.

“I suspect you aren’t. Kidding, that is.” And then he just stands there, watching me. It doesn’t feel sensual, though. More of a neutral acknowledgement of my existence, for which I’m grateful, because if he starts sending out sexual signals of any kind I’m going to fall over in a puddle of my own goo.

The awkward pause makes me realize he’s waiting for a tip. Of course! We have a mystery shopping procedure for this, so I pull out the $5 bill and hand it to him. He frowns, then glances at the other valets. What kind of parking dude doesn’t take the bill and slip it in his pocket with a quick thanks?

My skin starts to tingle. Something doesn’t make sense here.

As if I’m handing him a piece of raw steak at a vegan restaurant, he takes the five and puts it in his breast pocket, wincing. Wincing! What kind of guy—

Oh. Hmmm. Maybe $5 is an insult in a place like this? No one explains tipping guidelines, so staying in an $800-per-night suite might mean that a $5 valet tip—which would be healthy anywhere else—is like pissing on his shoes.

I reach into my purse and pull out a second $5 bill, handing it to him with a smile. “Thank you so much, Guido. Take good care of her.”

The other valets laugh and Guido takes my bill with confusion clouding those rich chocolate eyes. “You’re giving me more?”

Didn’t expect that. “Yes. Is that okay?”

Finally, one of the other valets comes over and taps him on the shoulder. “Dude. Take the money, thank her, and let’s go park the piece of—”

I snicker. “We call it the Turdmobile.”

Guido laughs, eyes on me the entire time. “You’re funny.”

If he’s flirting, he’s horrible at it. But so am I, so maybe the weirdness is me? I can’t juggle being “on” for work, doing a mystery shop, and figuring out whether the valet is horrified or attracted to me. Too much input. So I do the simplest thing and just walk away. One step, two step, and down I go—

Splat. Riiiiiiip.

I’m showing more ass than J.Lo in a g-string. Guido wasn’t there to catch me this time, and I have one leg stretched out with my skirt split so high you can see where Niagara Falls visited my panties.

“Shannon!” Guido calls out, racing to my side.

Now, hold on there. I never told him my first name. But that takes a back seat to the fact that I am staring at the chandelier-topped canopy and a Range Rover the size of my parents’ house is about to squish me like a bug. 

Guido and his valet friends rush over to me, and four sets of man hands lift me up, making me feel like I’m in one of those romance novels where the woman has more men touching her than she has holes for them to occupy.

“I’m fine,” I protest, struggling to control my own body and realizing it’s useless. Like synchronized swimmers they set me upright, someone grabbing my carryon and computer bag, another picking up all the items that rolled out when I fell.

Including Mom’s vibrator.

“Um,” Guido says as he hands it to me. It’s the one Mom picked out, with a tip shaped like a J, from the Alphasex Series. The one Josh wants to order in purple. But it’s pink, so…

“How did that get in there?” I squeak out, and I’m serious. I have no earthly idea how it got in my laptop bag. Maybe Chuckles is playing an elaborate joke.