Shopping for a Billionaire 4(40)
Author: Julia Kent

“It’s not going to be the same,” he wails.

Declan unbuttons his suit jacket, crosses his arms, and leans back against the limo. His eyes roll skyward. “It’ll be a few minutes, Gerald,” he says to the driver through the open window.

“That’s right!” Amanda squeaks, flashing indignant eyes at my boyfriend. “You get her for the rest of her life. We only have her for a few more minutes.”

“We’re all going to that tapas bar in Waltham at 7 p.m. tonight, remember?” Declan answers dryly. “If you can suffer through five hours of not seeing Shannon.”

“That’s not the point!” Josh gasps, wiping his eyes. “It’s just the end of an era. You don’t get it.”

Declan nods slowly. “You’re right. I don’t.” He gives me a warm grin and cocks an eyebrow like he’s saying WTF is up with your friends?

“He’s right,” I say to Amanda and Josh, laughing through tears. “It’s not like you’ll never see me again. We’ll have chevre-stuffed pimentoes in a few hours.”

The three of us compose ourselves, give final hugs, and they walk into the building while I climb into the limo with Declan, where he’s sitting, waiting for me.

Arms outstretched and tissues at the ready.

The drive over to Anterdec involves a lot of hitched sobbing and, fortunately, no eyerolling.

“I’m fine! And no, I haven’t officially decided.” For the past week Declan’s been pestering me to just say yes and come work for him.

And for the past week I’ve dug my heels in and told him I hadn’t made a decision.

My terms: a meeting with James to make sure I can tolerate working here.

In Declan’s mind this is a done deal.

In my mind it’s an open case. Nothing is settled. Putting all of my emotional and financial life in the hands of one man is a risk that involves an extraordinary amount of trust, and while we’re back together and it’s clear—so clear—that we’re meant for each other, I’m a pragmatist at heart.

A little OCD, even. Which is great when it comes to managing 34,985 details for marketing campaigns, but not so great when it comes to taking flying leaps of faith and love.

Working for Declan means working for James, and I didn’t exactly leave off on a good note the last time I saw him.

I’m fairly cleaned up and halfway decent by the time the limo pulls in to the Anterdec private garage. Unlike the main entrance, this is a quiet, subterranean section of the parking labyrinth that I would never know existed if it weren’t for Declan.

I say so.

He looks at me, eyebrows crowded, and shrugs. “Isn’t that the point?”

I laugh, the sound like ping pong balls being dropped on a trampoline. “You really have no idea how real people live.”

“Your mom is taking me thrifting, remember? I’ll be sure to have Jeeves scuff my shoes just so and to forget to shave.” His pretend British accent and locked jaw make me laugh harder. Sweat covers my palms, my makeup’s long been cried off or kissed off (I much prefer the latter), and I wonder just how raw I must appear.

An audience of James McCormick in this kind of fragile state is really not appealing.

“Mom will make you dumpster dive if you’re not careful,” I warn him.

Very real horror fills his face. “What?” He looks a bit sick. “I thought that chicken tasted a bit odd when she had us over for dinner last night.”

I punch him. We get out of the limo and board the elevator. “Not food. She goes behind florist shops and card stores and comes home with a mountain of stuff to add to the mountain of stuff in the basement.”

He pauses and reaches for my shoulders, locking eyes on me. “Are your parents okay financially? Do they need—”

I press my index finger against his lips. “The fastest way to wind up dead and decomposing in a 55-gallon drum in Dad’s Man Cave is to offer financial help to my parents.”

He gulps. “Understood. But—dumpster diving?”

“It’s a hobby. Mom does this. Wait three months and she’ll get over it. Last year it was the whole Extreme Couponing thing.”

We ride up a few floors in silence and he turns to me with a look of dawning recognition. “Extreme Couponing. Is that why you have what looks like hundreds of deodorants jammed in the drawers of your bathroom.”

I wink. “You connected the dots.”

“I just thought you were obsessive about not having smelly armpits…”

“She goes crazy on triple coupon day. You should see her stash of sex lube.”

With that the elevator doors open.

And there stands James McCormick, who clearly heard my and Declan’s last words.

“Make her take the job, Dad,” Declan announces, face impassive as he leans over and kisses my cheek. My fingers grope for his arm but he’s slick and eludes my attempt.

“Not if she has smelly armpits,” James jokes. We walk quietly to the private door to his office where he motions toward two enormous wingback chairs pointed toward the windows.

“Please. Sit. Coffee?”

My hands are shaking. Don’t need to add a caffeine injection. “No, thank you.”

He sits next to me and leans forward, forearms on knees, eyes perceptive. “Declan tells me you are hesitating on taking the Assistant Director of Marketing job.”

“Yes.”

“Because of me.” It’s not a question.

Honesty is best here. “Because I don’t want to be too dependent on Declan.”

One eyebrow slowly rises. “Go on.”

“There isn’t any more to it.” I shrug. “It’s that simple. We’re together, and I am concerned about mixing business with…” I frown.

“With life.” He nods, rubbing his hands together slowly.

“Yes.”

“Declan tells me you’re good.” He clears his throat. “With marketing.”

He really didn’t need to elaborate. Now I’m self-conscious.

“And he is willing to take a larger risk than you, Shannon. I think you need to take that into consideration.” There’s a hard edge to his voice, but it’s encased in a velvet tongue.

“What?”

“Not in business. But in choosing to love you. To stay with you. To—perhaps—build a life with you.”

Love.

“I’m not in a pity relationship,” I answer bluntly. “He’s not offering me a relationship, or a job, because—”