Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (49 page)

By the time I’m done, Noah is glaring. But Kiera and Qwesie are flat out grinning.

“Up top, girl,” says Kiera, giving me a high-five.

Noah doesn’t get a chance to give me hell about this, as the rented cars arrive on cue. Two black Ford Explorers.

The keys are issued; one to Mike, and the other to Muscles. Qwesie and Kiera get in Mike’s car, Noah and me in Muscles’ car, and then we’re off.

“You’re not the best billionaire boyfriend ever,” I tell Noah, snuggling up to him in the back of the Explorer. “You’re just
the best
.”

Leisurely, his thumb caresses my bare shoulder. “You know I adore you, right?”

My smile is giddy. “Every time you touch my cheek, yeah, I know.”

As if instinctively, he touches my cheek. “You’re a knockout. Gorgeous. Feisty, testy, unpredictable, and a pain in my ass. But for as long as you want me, I’m yours, alright? For as long as you love me, you own me.”

Lips twisting to the side, I think on this. “Does that mean I get to screw you with a strap-on?”

Narrowed eyes only half-amused, his lips press together.

“What?” I mumble, all innocent. “You said I own you. And I like to experiment with the things I own. I used a screw driver to experiment with Barbie’s Ken when I was ten, while she watched. He didn’t make a sound. He just bent over and took it.”

“You think maybe that’s because he was a
plastic doll?”
he asks dryly.

“I could lube you up before I—”

“My asshole is not up for experiment, Lotty.”

I mock pout. “Boo. You’re no fun.”

Hand moving up to curl around my nape, he dips his head, forehead to forehead, and whispers, “Let me hear them.”

“I love you.”

“You love me or you’re in love with me?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“This!” I yell to Kiera over the music. “The highlight of my entire life!”

“Highlight of
your
life? Girl, I’m standing just
feet
away from Jake Wethers! Highlight of
my
life!”

“I can’t wait until Stage Dive comes out. If you don’t hold me back, I’m gonna run up on that stage and lick Mal’s face.”

After declaring this, I feel a dip in my belly as a strong arm hooks around my middle, tugs me back against a hard body, and a stubbled cheek scrapes mine as a deep voice growls in my ear, “Like hell you will.”

“Sorry, Suit,” I return, “But I’m in rock star mode right now.”

“I brought you here for
Saskia Day
, not these tools.”

“Your mistake.”

He growls again in my ear. My stomach flips.

Doesn’t faze me because right now, I’m having the most fun I’ve had in
years.
  

We have a special, elevated section right off the side of the stage, separating us from the screaming fans. A clear, unhindered view and a special attendant assigned to us to keep us replenished with finger-foods and beverages. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect. This whole night is perfect.

I scream my face off when Saskia first walks on stage with her smashing post-baby body, unable to believe I was really at a freaking Saskia Day concert. She did a fifteen-minute segment. I almost cried. Then she called on The D-bags, and my BFF almost fainted.

After the D-bags, she came on again and blew us away with a thirty-minute segment. We stayed blown away. And then she called up The Mighty Storm.
Oh sweet Lort.

I. Cannot.
Wait
. for Stage Dive! Let me tell you, this concert is huge.
Huge
. A big freaking deal. 

Relaxing back against Noah, rocking to the music and singing along with the band, I scan the occupants of our little section.

Qwesie, dear Lord help him, has found a buxom blonde from God-knows-where and currently has her pressed up against him, his mouth at her ear, one hand up her blouse, palming her breast. Can you believe this guy? Spent the day parasailing and jet-skiing with a FWB, and now his hand is up a different woman’s blouse.

Just behind him is Muscles, who’s regarding Qwesie with a pensive expression, or is it suspicion? I expected animosity, considering Qwesie constantly talks, in a lewd and obscene manner, about Kiera. In Muscles’ presence. But this look he’s giving Qwesie is not resentful, just strange. Like he knows something. Something he’s not in the least bit pleased about.

Mike is a little off from us, leaning back against the grill, his phone on in one hand, thumb swiping across the screen.

As if sensing me watching him, he glances up, his stare hitting mine. Giving me a slow, lopsided smile, he winks. But it’s not sexy. Not in the least. It’s creepy and uncomfortable. I glance away.

Ten minutes later, when The Mighty Storm ends their set, I decide to use the 4-7 minutes of switching instruments and setting the stage for Saskia Day’s next interval segment to take another potty break.

I’ve imbibed about three glasses of bubbly fizz, and it’s been affecting my bladder rather than my sobriety. I’ve already made two bathroom trips.

Turning in Noah’s arms, I gaze up into never-ending perfection. “I need to make a bathroom run.”

“
Again
?”

“Don’t give me that,” I carp, smacking his chest. “You’re the one who told me, ‘
It’s your b-day, babe; drink to your heart’s content. I’ve got you
.’” 

He rolls his eyes. Actually
rolls
his damn eyes at me. Stare shifting over my head, he signals Muscles over. When Muscles nears us, he tells him, “Bathroom run.”

Muscles looks down at me, brows raised. “Another one?”

“Oh, shut up, Black Goliath, before I silence you with a slingshot.”

He, too, rolls his eyes, then looks to the right and signals Mike over. “Mike will have to escort you this time. Boss and I got something important to talk about.”

Noah arches a “we do?” brow at Muscles, and Muscles nods a “
we do
” nod.

I do
not
like Mike, and would totally be okay with going without him, but I know Noah won’t let me, so I reluctantly go ahead. Expectedly, Kiera joins in, never giving up a chance to powder her face.

“Is it just me, or have you been giving Muscles a wide berth?” I pry as we make our way through the giant, metal double-doors that lead to the VIP bathrooms.

“I have,” she doesn’t deny. “And the minute we get home, I’m done. I thought for sure we were on the same page, but as it turns out, that’s not the case. You know I don’t do that boyfriend and girlfriend thing.”

“Did you make that clear from the onset?”

“
Yes
. And he said he was cool with it, that he wasn’t interested in anything serious either.”

“Hmm,” I hum as we push through the bathroom doors, the screams from the crowds dimming, Mike left outside. “Well, obviously, he’s changed his mind. You’ve got that good-good, you ride him
too
good. Brace yourself, Kiki, because Black Goliath looks like the type who will chase you if you run.”

Kiera abruptly stops and whirls on me, eyes blown wide. “You mean, like, Andrew?”

I make a face. “Heck no. I mean in a hot, make-you-swoon-and-give-in kind of way. Not like Andrew’s psychotic stalking slash terrorizing.” 

“Oh.” She relaxes, albeit with a worried crease residing between her brows as we both push into separate stalls.

“Oh, no, no, no,” I hear her mutter from the other stall a minute later. “Seriously?
Seriously
?”

“What?” I call to her. “What is it?”

“Bloody Mary is here. Got any tampons?”

“In my purse. But it’s stuffed in Noah’s back-pocket. I can go get it for you.”

“Nah, I’m not cool with you being up and down in this crowd what with all that’s going on.” She curses under her breath, and I hear the click and swing of the stall door opening. “It’s not heavy, just spotting, so I’ll go get the purse and be back.”

I listen to the scuff of her wedge heels, the influx of the concert clamor when the door opens, how it muffles when it shuts again.

A long time passes after I’ve taken care of my business, waiting for Kiera. My impatience and irritation grows when I hear a muffled Saskia Day’s voice starting her third segment. As my impatience grows with each passing minute, so do the vociferations of the crowd. Even louder, wilder.

Abruptly, the segment stops, and I hear Saskia Day’s thick voice asking, “Is everything alright down there? Is anyone hurt?”

A sudden pounding at the door makes me jump, and half-a-second later, Mike sticks his head in. “Miss Cooley? Come on.”

Scurrying out the door, I ask, “What’s going on?”

He grabs my arm. Hard. “The crowd’s getting outta hand. Over-packed. Too much for security to handle.” He begins tugging me in the opposite direction of which we came.

“This is the wrong way,” I try to point out. “Where are we going?”

“Our section is in shambles. The others already left. They’re out the back waiting on us.”

“Oh.”

The shrills and clamor from the crowd is deafening. A concert this huge should have been in an arena. Guess I won’t be licking Mal from Stage Dive’s face tonight.

We get to a back door guarded by a wall of a security guard. He exchanges a look with Mike, and then he nods, opens the door for us. It’s in that moment, as I stumble out the door, that I know my instinct about Mike was never wrong.

Outside, in a dark and narrow alley, are two vehicles: A white Bentley glistening under the street lights, and a big black GMC SUV. Neither are the rented vehicles we rode here in.

I stop moving. Mike’s fingers tighten around my arm, and he roughly forces me to move.

“It’s you,” I say, my voice hoarse, my throat dry. “You’re Andrew’s spy.”

“Shut up and keep moving,” he grounds out, dragging me toward the Bentley.

“No.” I dig my heels in, fighting to get out of his grip. “No!
No
!”

Cursing under his breath, he lets go of my arm and moves in front of me. I pay attention, calculate. His stance tells me he’s going to attempt to throw me over his shoulder. Big mistake.

As he slightly bends to tag me and lift me, I reach out and grab his shoulders, nails digging in, and then I drive my right knee straight up to his groin, just like Noah taught me.

He lets out a howl, doubling over, his hands shooting down to his groin. The doors to the GMC open and two men in black hoodies jump out, moving toward me.

I don’t wait. I turn and bolt to the back door, pound it with my fist, screaming for help.

It screeches open, revealing the scary security guard who let us out.

“Please, help me,” I cry helplessly. “They’re trying to take me. Please, help.”

The man crosses his arms over his chest, arches his eyebrow. Too late, I realize he’s working with them. This, it’s all planned. His dark stare rises over my head, and he nods.

Before I can begin to plead again, a big, course, calloused hand covers my mouth, a muscled arm bands around my middle, and then I’m lifted off the ground, and hauled away. My screams stifled, my struggles futile.

When I’m finally released, set to sit, it’s in a car that smells like new leather. Frigid air-conditioning circulating a scent I’m all too familiar with.

The car door slams, and I wince. “
Click
” goes the automatic lock.

I’m in the back seat. My eyes flick to the driver. Fat neck, shiny head. On a deep inhale, I close my eyes and muster all the courage I can to look to the right of me.

I open my eyes.

I look to the right.

There he sits. Casual as you please. One leg propped over a knee. Wicked black eyes on me. Index finger tracing back and forth over his bottom lip.

He doesn’t speak.

“Andrew,” I whisper.

In a flash, his hand shoots out, grabs my thigh and yanks me across the car seat, a terrified squeal escaping me as I crash into him. One hand curls around the back of my neck, holding me tight, while the other moves to my hair, fingers gently combing through the freshly straightened stresses, tugging at the ends. “Welcome home, baby.”

Bringing his face close to mine, he rubs his scruffy cheek against my nose.

“We…we’re in San Francisco,” I get out, trying and failing to sound strong and unaffected.

“Oh, Lotty,” he replies through a chuckle, his face moving back so he can pierce my eyes with his. “When will you learn?” Leaving my hair, his hand drifts down to my breasts, squeezing and kneading through the material of my dress. Slowly, softly, his fingers walk to the dip of my cleavage, up, up, up to my neck, and then…
pop
, he rips off my tracker necklace, powers down the window, and throws it out. At once, the car speeds off. “Your
home
is wherever
I
am, baby.”

N
OAH

“W
E HAVE IMPORTANT
things to discuss?” I repeat, watching Lotty and Kiera go off with Mike.

Muscles draws in close, arms crossed. “Yep.”

“Well, whatever it is, it better be good for sending Lotty off with Mike. She hates him.”