Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name Page 6

There were truths, and there were lies. The praise Sadie gave me for being possibly the only woman unaffected by his charms was undeserved, because I was affected by him and, yes, I liked him. But there’s truth in it that I didn’t want him. I didn’t. It would be disastrous.

  The second I zipped my suitcase closed, my cellphone howled. I eased it from my jeans pocket and flopped back onto the bed, smiling at the caller ID. “Hey, Mom.”

  Timo lurched up onto the bed to curl up beside me and I raked my fingers through his soft fur.

  “Axia! Baby, how are you?”

  “Good. Just finished packing for L.A.”

  “For … ?”

  “Forgot to tell you, Prime Size magazine wants me on their cover for next month’s issue.”

  “Since when did you start accepting proposals?”

  I laughed. “I accepted this because Prime Size is one of my fave mags. You know that, too. Plus, it’s just a photo shoot. It’s not a hefty, turn-me-into-a-celebrity thing like the other proposals. This I can deal with.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m never truly worried when it comes to you. You always seem to know what you’re doing and have your life under control. Just like your mother, you know your ass from your elbow,” she laughed in her deep Hispanic accent. “Anyway, I’m calling to let you know I’ll be flying in next week.”

  “Miss Dad already?”

  “Oh hush! I’m not coming to see your father, I’m coming to see you.”

  Laughter spewed from me. “You always get just as defensive as Dad does whenever I mention you. You two are the strangest divorced couple I’ve ever known.”

  My mother, Seleste D’costa-Blacksille was a Colombian native who’d came to the U.S. on a student visa. Here she met my father, they’d fallen instantly in love and tied the knot eighteen months afterwards when she got knocked up with my brother, Romaine. A fleeting two years later, I was conceived.

  Being obsessively besotted with each other, what they’d looked past in the beginning was the fact that they were both the same: strong-headed, domineering, intractable and completely unwilling to compromise. The love they had for each other blazed in wild flames as high as prison walls, never once wavering, so they tried to make it work. But it was impossible for two dominant people to be together, someone had to submit and neither was willing to. As a result, despite the intense love that burned between them, they reluctantly divorced.

  My father insisted that my mother kept his name, vowing he wasn’t ever going to love another, therefore he was never going to remarry, that there was no other woman in the world that he wanted to have his last name. The lawyers had said it was the most loving, tear-jerking divorce session they’d ever witnessed, that they couldn’t fathom why my parents were going through with it. Seleste and Vince have always been known as the divorced couple who remained married. After the divorce, I’d spent the majority of my formative years in Colombia with my mother, which is how I ended up with a subtle accent. My brother had stayed back in L.A with Dad when I chose to go with my mother, but I’d eventually came back to attend college.

  Quite frequently, my mother discreetly flew out to L.A. to see him. Sometimes they weren’t as discreet, though, for they would still attend events and such as if they were still married. They just couldn’t stay away from each other for more than a month. Whoever they were upfront dating came second in their lives.

  “He gets defensive when you mention me?” she asked like a teenage girl who’s eager to know what the boy she’s crushing on thinks of her.

  “Yes. You know Dad’s forever yours, Mom.”

  Seleste huffed down the line. “Not anymore. I hear he’s dating that reporter girl, Eve Tomb.” She sighed. “You don’t think she’s too young for your father, darling?”

  The laugh bubbled from my throat before I could stop it. “Mom, has Dad dated anyone his own age since you got divorced? He’s always been dating ripe, young models and actresses, and it has never bothered you. Why are you so sullen now?”

  “Because I haven’t heard from him in over six weeks and there are constant pictures and stories of them on the Internet, which means he must really be into her. Oh God, what if he’s fallen in love with her?”

  “Calm down, Mom. Dad’s free to do whatever he wants and so are you. You guys aren’t married anymore and you both keep confusing each other with your … clandestine meetings.”

  “I’m not —”

  “If you want to find out if he’s lost his love for you,” I talked over her, “then find someone just as young and hot. Someone known. You know you’re good for it. He’ll hear, and his actions will tell you if his love is still there.”

  “I don’t want to. I haven’t been with anyone since he made me break it off with Mark. I don’t think I’ll ever want anyone but your father, Axia.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Mom. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten a divorce. Maybe you should’ve done what God commands us women to do and submit to your husband.”

  “Says you, Axia?”

  “Hey, the command says, “wives, submit to your husbands“! I’m not a wife and I don’t have a husband so I don’t have to submit to anyone. And that’s why I’m never getting married.”

  Seleste snickered. “I’ll never win on this with you, so I’m not even gonna go there. Just remember to prepare my favorite dish when I arrive next week. I love you, baby. Gotta go.”

  Timo curled up on my stomach when I ended the call, giving me his sad face, not at all happy that I was leaving. I rubbed between his ears and he closed his eyes in appreciation. “Mommy’s only leaving for two days. Don’t be sad, I’ll be back before you know it.”

  The doorbell rang and Timo hopped off my stomach and began whining while I pulled my suitcase off the bed and started for the door. “C’mon, Timo, your favorite girl Ally is here for you.”

  V

  The floodlights above were emanating so much heat that I kept begging for the air-conditioner to be adjusted. It was already on its coldest degree, they claimed. For a space this small, I couldn’t understand why they didn’t use smaller lights.

  A pierced-lipped, bleached-blond gay guy played in my hair with hot tools while a petite brunette refreshed my make-up. Sighing and wondering what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to this shoot, I checked the clock for maybe the hundredth time, not even sure why I was checking the time, because it’s not like I could leave until they were finished with me.

  Tish was seated next to me delivering whatever messages, proposals, or problems that came in for the day, while I was trying to be a good little girl and not snap at the many people who were fussing around me. Being here all day doing various shots, I was tired, hungry and thirsty. Though they’d solicitously asked what I wanted to eat, I’d told them I was fine. I didn’t like the idea of strangers getting my food, and I didn’t send Tish because I wanted, no, needed her there to keep me sane. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t being a good little girl entirely.

  Someone switched the channel of the television on the far right. There was a rerun of last night’s basketball game showing, and my lips curved in a smile when I saw Zane playing on the courts in his usual fashion. Tall and muscled as he was, he moved like a Tasmanian devil on the court; guess the punishment did him well. People like Zane needed pain and torture to stay focused in life. Don’t ask me why, I’ve never been able to wrap my head around it, but I sure as hell liked aiding in it.

  “Oh, I swear that Zane Zekiel dude is fine as hell!” said the gay hairstylist over my head. “Whoowee, what I wouldn’t give to get a taste of that chocolate hunk!”

  The make-up artist, who had finally finished dabbing my face with powder, giggled shyly and glanced up at the television. “I know, right? I was so upset when they benched him for the past two games. Who does that? He’s like the star of the team. No wonder they’d lost.”

  Tish caught my eye and smirked, but I ignored her.

  That ‘Zane Zekiel dude’ is freakin’ twisted, I mused.
>
  The hairstylist spun my chair around to face the mirror, and my eyes expanded at the sight of my hair. With a host of bouncy curls, I looked like Cinderella ready for a ball, a prince and a pumpkin chariot. What fitness icon wore bouncy curls? “No, no,” I said, most implacably. “These curls are too tight. Loose curls, please. Or restore my hair to its straightness.”

  Curls weren’t me. Let alone tight bouncy curls. What was I, a frigging prom queen?

  “I think you look amazing. Exactly how a woman should look: soft and cherubic.”

  The voice of that compliment was not of the gay hairstylist, and all my inward organs sighed and sagged. Oh heavens, not today. Today could contain not a drop more of annoyance.

  Pretending not to hear, I kept my eyes on the hairstylist who was gawking at the owner of the voice. “Right here, Gay Boy, look at me. Remove these curls. I don’t like them.”

  The hairstylist nodded and started at my hair, but The Voice halted him. “No. Leave the curls. She looks absolutely stunning.”

  Refusing to even acknowledge The Voice, I crossed my legs, trailed my index finger slowly across my lower lip, and gave the hairstylist a penetrated glare in the mirror, adequate intimidation injected. He made nervous glances between me and The Voice, then shrugged and promptly began straightening my hair. Appeased, I turned my eyes back to the television screen, pretending to be lost in the basketball game.

  A hand appeared in front of my face holding a mouth-watering cup of Milky Way Malt. My mouth salivated at the chocolate-caramel syrup that swirled over the foamy blend of vanilla ice cream and malted milk. A growl sounded in my stomach at the sight of my favorite shake of Los Angeles, and I couldn’t stop my tongue from darting out and passing over my glossed lips.

  Following the length of the arm that held the cup, it was covered in a gray thermal shirt — which did a lousy job at hiding the definition of the bulging muscles, by the way — my eyes continued up and over a broad shoulder, up to a smooth but masculine neck, and finally landing on the face of the overbearing, but heavenly beautiful, Lovello Nelson. His slate-gray eyes held a devilish gleam with the streaks of blue being brighter than usual, while his smile was as sly as a fox’s. “If you don’t drink it soon, Axia, it’ll just melt and the whole thing will go to waste. This is your favorite milk shake, so I know you wouldn’t want that to happen.”

  Unable to fathom why he was here, how he knew I was here, and how he even knew what my favorite shake was, I narrowed my eyes at him. “How did you —”

  “Oh c’mon, Axia,” he curtailed. “Are you really gonna ask me that ‘how did you know’ question again?” He came to stand in front of me, took up my hand and placed the shake in it, wrapping my fingers securely around the cup. “I told you, I am who I am. It takes very little effort to get whatever information I need. Now drink up. You look dehydrated. Don’t they feed you here?”

  He snapped his finger at a passing woman, and she stopped instantly, tossed her auburn hair over her shoulders and fluttered her eyelashes. But flirting wasn’t Lovello’s intention apparently. “Miss Blacksille here is the subject of the shoot, isn’t she?”

  The woman frowned. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then why does she look this pale? The lights are blinding and it’s hotter than a dragon’s tongue in here. On top of that, she’s not being fed. Is that how you people treat your subjects?”

  The woman’s cheeks flushed red. “She insisted she was fine … Um, I’m just the director’s assistant. I’ll go get him —”

  “No need,” I interjected. “I’m good. You don’t need to suck up to this a-hole.”

  Turning my gaze back to Lovello, I glared at this impossible man. “Who do you think you are, barging in here talking to people like that?”

  “Just looking out for you. It’s obvious you haven’t eaten at all, Axia. What’s the purpose of your assistant, then? Where’s the woman who told me: “I love food! Hate me for it”?”

  Clenching my teeth, I gritted out, “I don’t need you interfering in my life. I’m my own woman and I do my own thing. Seriously, Pretty Boy, today is not the day to piss me off.”

  Lovello chuckled. “I’d be easily pissed off, too, if I’d been working all day, tired as a horse and starving almost to death.”

  The strength to argue with this pestiferous man wasn’t there. It truly wasn’t. “What are you doing here, Lovello?”

  I brought the straw to my lips and took a long pull of the milk shake, no longer able to pretend I didn’t need it. At the sweet, malty taste on my tongue, my eyes shuttered down and a moan of appreciation slipped from me. It’d been months since I’d had one of these sweet babies. “I thought we had an agreement. You promised to stay away, remember?”

  “Nah. I promised to stay away from your gym. Not from you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back on the stylist’s counter before me, as if no one else was there but us. Everyone else was quietly taking us in, albeit pretending to be focused on their task at hand. But Lovello didn’t seem to be the least bit aware of anyone but me.

  Lance Neil, the photo shoot director, came around to us and smiled, more fawningly at Lovello than me. Lovello’s presence was commanding, imposing, intimidating. His posture, his stares, his grim stance were enough to make anyone timid. Even if you didn’t know who he was, his unwavering confidence spoke for him, ensuring the ignorant that he wasn’t just a normal man. “Miss Blacksille? Claire tells me there’s a problem?”

  “No, Lance, there isn’t. It’s this interfering bast —”

  “Yes. There is a problem,” Lovello butted in, pinning a death stare at Lance. “You’re shooting a pale-faced, starved woman to put on the cover of a fitness magazine. See any problem in that?”

  “I’m sorry, um, Mr … ?”

  “Nelson. Lovello Nelson,” he said, arms folded, brow raised.

  Lance Neil’s eyes bulged a fraction at the recognition, then he turned his fawning up a notch. “We have been trying to feed her all morning, but … Miss Blacksille here is not the easiest woman to deal with.”

  “I see. Well, she can’t continue this shoot until she’s fed.”

  “I completely understand that, Mr. Nelson.” Lance turned to me. “What would you like to eat, Miss Blacksille?”

  “Nothing.” I couldn’t believe what was taking place. It’s like I didn’t have a say in anything. In walks Mr. Arrogant Asshole, giving orders as if I were his property.

  Lovello waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind her. Chinese. She’ll have Shrimp Fried Rice, extra soy sauce. Fried wontons for appetizers and unsweetened carrot juice. Large.”

  My mouth fell open. Of course, he also knew what I liked in Chinese food. I’d never regretted bringing Trudy that thumb-drive until now. My life has been thoroughly invaded by this man.

  “Okay, sir,” Lance smiled and jogged off.

  Lovello continued with our conversation as if he hadn’t just insinuated to everyone present that I belonged to him, and whatever he says, goes. “I’ve been in L.A. since yesterday. A message in a bottle made me aware that you were here, too. So, I thought I’d stop by and say ‘Hi’.”

  All the while I kept strawing down my delicious Milky Way, never minding the brain freezes.

  “That look on your face right now,” he added, “was worth the stop. Who knew a cup of Milky Way Malt could melt off that cold exterior? Even if it’s just until the cup empties.”

  “Thanks, Pretty Boy,” I mumbled over the straw. “You’ve seen me, fed me and said your ‘Hi’. Appreciated. Now, as you can see, I’m busy. Please leave. You’re a distraction.”

  Before Lovello could answer, Tish stepped between us and handed me a small Cartier gift bag. “Was just delivered for you.”

  “What? Who else knows I’m here? Is there any privacy in my life anymore?” I asked, exhausted, exasperated and frustrated.

  Tish shrugged, then she flashed Lovello a vicious grin and sauntered away.

  Lovello’s brows furrowed as he eyed the
gift bag in my hand. I opened the bag and withdrew a small card that wrote:

  My heart,

  Heard you were in my city.

  Thought I’d say thank you for the other night. We could be really good together if we gave ‘us’ a second go.

  Think about it…

  Love you always,

  Zane

  Trying not to scoff at the words I used to long for Zane to say to me, I pulled the flat red case from the bag and opened it. It held a white-gold necklace which had two connecting hearts studded with tiny diamonds. Shaking my head, I snapped the case shut and shoved it back into the bag. Zane knew I didn’t wear fancy jewelry, so I wasn’t sure why he would send me a necklace. A sexy lingerie or a six-inch heel thigh-high or even some sex toys would’ve done the trick.

  Glancing up, I realized Lovello was no longer there. Hard to believe he’d leave without giving some annoying goodbye. Oh well, I shrugged, at least he’s gone. Don’t know why he was here anyway, or why he continued digging up information about me. He needed to stop.

  Zane was one of the few people to whom Tish was allowed to reveal information about me, so I understood how he would know where I was. But Lovello? He needed to give it up.

  Do you really mean that, Axia? Stop sending your brain in a tizzy, child. You know you don’t want that.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I glanced up to see Tish vibrating with irritation. “Mr. Nelson is asking to see you.”

  “What?”

  “He’s in the hall. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Tell ‘Mr. Nelson’ that I’m busy, Tish. My hair is being straightened, as you can see, and I have no time for him and his games. If it’s a medical urgency, tell him to call the paramedics; otherwise call the police. I can’t help him either way.”

  Tish nodded and left, but in a few short minutes she was back. “He’s insisting that he wants to speak with you, Axia.”

  By the look on Tish’s face, I could tell that she was irritated to the highest degree. I know, because he does that to me, too. Knowing he would only continue harassing my assistant if I continued to ignore him, or worse yet, come back here and cause me more embarrassment, I excused myself from the stylist’s chair and went in search of the plague.