Torn: A Billionaire Bachelors Club Novel Part 8

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's just . . . she'll be curious and want to know more about this woman I'm dating. And it's nothing. It's not really serious, on my part or Marina's part. I'm trying to talk to her dad. She's trying to talk to you. We're using each other," I explain, hoping like h.e.l.l that's the truth. If Ivy and Marina start talking and become friends, that would be awful. I don't want to hurt Marina's feelings, but this has to be nothing serious for me.

Despite how amazing the s.e.x had been between us, it can't matter. We're just having fun. Gaining something from each other. She has to know or at least a.s.sume I'm talking to her because of the connection with her dad. This makes me feel like an a.s.shole because d.a.m.n it, I like her. Despite her not liking me, I'm drawn to her like I can't help myself.

Because yeah, I'm pretty sure it's not serious for her. One night of s.e.x. Tonight, just a dinner. A chance to speak to Archer and get to know him better. h.e.l.l, she can barely tolerate me. Most of the time, she provokes me enough that I end up making an a.s.s of myself and saying something stupid to p.i.s.s her off. Being with her doesn't bring out my finer qualities . . .

Except when I'm buried inside her and making her come. Then all is good in the world. All is right.

Yeah. We'll go to dinner, we'll both get what we want and then we're done. Nice and simple.

Just the way I like it.

Marina "DARLING, WHAT IN the world are you doing?"

I poke my head out of my walk-in closet at the sound of my mom's horrified voice. She's standing in the middle of my bedroom, her eyes wide with shock as she takes in the disaster. My clothes are strewn everywhere. All over the floor, the bed, thrown over the chair that sits in the corner closest to the closet.

It's a pre-date war zone, and so far I'm losing the battle.

"Looking for something to wear." I get up off the floor and stand, wiping my hands on my thighs. "I have nothing."

She's still glancing about the room, checking out all the items of clothing lying everywhere, I'm sure. "I beg to differ. I had no idea you were h.o.a.rding that many clothes in your tiny closet."

Funny how it's my "tiny" closet. It's your standard-size master bedroom walk-in. Hers puts mine to shame. It's like an entire room, with an island in the center full of drawers where she organizes her bras and underwear. Lit racks line the wall, showing off her beautiful shoe and bag collections. My father had the closet rebuilt for her about twelve years ago. I remember being in total awe. I'd never seen anything like it.

Then I went on to have friends in high school whose mothers had even bigger closets than my mom. Talk about putting us to shame.

"Fine. I have nothing that I like," I stress, throwing my hands up in the air. "I need to go shopping."

"What for? Where are you going that you're so worried over how you look? You always dress so nicely, darling, except when you're working, but what can we expect? Not like you can dress up to dole out pastries and coffee." She smiles, completely oblivious to how she just completely insulted what I do for a living.

She does that all the time and it's irritating. Even a little hurtful, though I try to tell myself to get over it. But my mom has zero respect for my job or my business, and I don't understand why. I'm actually doing something with my life, but she doesn't even see it.

"I'm going out tonight."

"Oh?" Mom sounds casual but everything else about her demeanor perks up. Great. "And who are you going out with? Anyone we know?"

I really don't want to tell her where or with whom. She's going to jump to conclusions when she hears I'm going out with a guy and it's nothing like that.

"No one special. And no, I don't think you know him." I shrug, moving over to my dresser. Kneeling down, I tug open the bottom drawer and flip through my jeans, finally pulling out my absolute favorite. They're a dark rinse, skinny fit without being skintight, and they make my legs look long when they're really not. "No need to make a big deal about it."

"When you say things like that, darling, I'm a.s.suming it's a big deal. You just don't want to get my hopes up." She clasps her hands together, her blue eyes that are just like mine twinkling with delight. "Is he handsome? How long have you been seeing him? What's his name?"

Look at her. She automatically a.s.sumes I've found a special someone-her word choice long, long ago, not mine. The twenty-three-year-old spinster is the disappointment of the family. It's ridiculous.

My friends definitely think it's ridiculous I still live at home, but that's the way it's done in a traditional Italian family. Usually. I'm the need-to-be-protected baby girl in my parents' eyes. Their only girl, since it's just my older brother and me. John is married with two babies, doing his own thing clear across the country in Boston, where his wife is from. They met in college, the perfect sort of romance that made my mom infinitely happy.

So now my parents focus all of their attention-much of it unwanted-on my lacking love life.

Realizing she's still waiting for a reply, I heft out a long sigh, glaring at her. "Mom. He's no one. I swear."

"Tell me his name," she demands.

"Gage Emerson." Just saying his name out loud makes my skin tingle. I love his name. I loved especially when I whispered it in his ear just before he came. Hard.

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself to calm down. Those are so not the thoughts I should be having with my mother in the same room.

Mom frowns, a little crease forming between her scrunched brows. "Hmm, I don't recognize the name. I don't know of any Emersons who live in the area, but I must confess, I'm woefully out of touch when it comes to those who are your age. I haven't been to the country club in forever."

She sounds so old fashioned sometimes, and what is she? In her early fifties? Mom acts and sounds much older. But she grew up in a much stricter world than I ever did. My grandparents wouldn't let her do anything.

It drives me crazy, how she loves to go on and on about me needing a man in my life. Her disappointment that I haven't found a boyfriend is her old-fashioned thinking rearing its ugly head.

"He's not from the area," I tell her, tossing my jeans onto the last spot of empty s.p.a.ce on my bed.

"Oh? So how did you two meet?"

"At an event a few nights ago. Remember the brewery- and wine-tasting thing I told you about?"

"Ah, yes. So." She smiles. "What does he do?"

He's a shark who's sniffing around Molina property and wants to steal it from us for nothing so he can turn around and make a huge profit.

Oh yeah, and he's a s.e.x G.o.d who had me screaming his name when he made me come.

"He's in real estate," I finally answer as I head back into my closet.

My stomach roils, and I press my lips together. Why am I going out with him again? Yes, I'm hoping he'll get me an in with Archer Bancroft so I can talk him into carrying Autumn Harvest bakery desserts at his restaurants in his two hotels.

I hope this entire setup works. More than anything, I hope I can enjoy my dinner tonight and not want to stab Gage in the chest with my fork. As long as he keep his mouth shut and looks pretty, we should be good.

You are such a b.i.t.c.h.

Maybe I am. But the man provokes me like none other. Both in a good and bad way.

Mom follows me, hovering at the open door. "Residential or commercial?"

I can practically hear her brain calculating how much he could possibly be worth. "I don't know. I'm guessing commercial."

"Ahh. That's nice. How old is he?"

"Um." I swallow hard. I don't know all the pertinent information about Gage Emerson beyond his name, that he and Archer are friends, and he's a jacka.s.s snake in the gra.s.s who's really good with his hands. And his mouth. And his . . .

Wow, isn't my opinion of him top notch?

"I think he's in his early thirties?" I wince, not one hundred percent sure my answer is right. Looks like Google and I need a second date tonight.

"Sounds like you don't know much about your young man."

I barely restrain from rolling my eyes. "He's not mine, Mom."

"Oh, someday he will be. If he's smart and realizes what a fine catch you are." She sounds so confident. I almost hate to disappoint her.

So I don't.

"He's very intelligent. I think he's fairly successful at his job." From the way he dressed and his arrogant att.i.tude, I would say he's definitely doing all right. Plus, there was all that research I did on him. Not that I'm telling my mom anything. "He's handsome too."

Too handsome, is more like it. All that dark hair tinged with gold, the intense hazel eyes, rugged bone structure, and too tempting mouth-he's definitely gorgeous.

Not to mention that amazing body and big ol' . . .

"He sounds delightful. Is he coming here to pick you up?" Mom asks, her expression beyond hopeful.

"I'm meeting him at the restaurant," I answer, ignoring her disappointment. I can't let it bother me. If I had Gage pick me up at the house, he'd get the third degree. My father would probably make him fill out a questionnaire to see if he's good enough to go out with me or not, and we'd end up here for hours. In the end, Gage would run screaming from my house, never to return.

And I wouldn't doubt for an instant that Gage is using me to get close to my father. Considering I'm using him to get an in with Archer, I guess I can't complain.

"I don't know if I like that," Mom murmurs, shaking her head.

I start going through my clothing again, pushing aside one hanger after another. "Let's see if this goes any further before I bring him around here, okay?"

"Of course." Mom nods but she still looks a little heartbroken. "I understand. Well, I'll let you get back to your search. Let me know if you need any help."

I watch her leave, jumping a little when she slams the door behind her.

I've disappointed her. Again. This time it hangs heavy over me. She makes me feel like a little kid. When am I ever going to do anything right in her eyes?

Exiting my closet, I grab my cell from my bedside table, shocked to see I have a text message from Gage. We exchanged phone numbers before we got off the phone earlier, but I didn't expect to hear from him.

How about I come pick you up tonight? Instead of meeting at the restaurant?

I frown. Did the man bug my room or what? It's like he heard the conversation between my mom and me.

I'd rather just meet you at the restaurant. It's easier, I reply.

He immediately answers.

It's no trouble. Really.

The guy doesn't quit. From what I can tell-and I barely know him-he's always determined to get what he wants. It's rather annoying. I need to nip this in the bud.

I'd rather you not meet my family. And I'd rather drive my own car.

There. Brutally honest might shut him up. Though I immediately feel guilty for sending such a b.i.t.c.hy text, I push the unwanted emotion aside. I need to remind myself he's a jerk who only wants one thing from me.

And it's not s.e.x. He wants to make money off my family.

This time he takes a little longer to reply.

I have met your family. Your aunt . . . remember?

I let out a sigh. He fights just to fight, doesn't he? I think he likes going round and round.

Then meet me at the bakery at seven. Though I'll probably be alone. Gina leaves early.

I should make Gina stick around as the buffer. The last thing we need is to be at the bakery alone again. He might try and spread me naked across my desk and have his wicked way with me.

Lord help me, that sounds delicious.

I'll see you at the bakery at seven then.

Nothing else. No more trying to convince me to let him come to my house, no more nothing. I think I might've offended him.

I know I shouldn't care. I know it's pointless, but . . .

I feel bad.

Chapter Eight.

Marina "HOPE YOUR BOY Toy shows up soon. I'm about ready to take off," Gina mutters as she wipes her hands on a rag at the sink. She's just finished making a new creation, and I told her I'd wanted her to stick around for Gage's arrival so I could use her for protection.

She'd been surprised but hadn't made me explain myself too much, thank G.o.d. Just nodded, told me she was in the mood to experiment and since it was my Uncle Joe's poker night, she would stay after work and hang out with me.

So I watched her make a chocolate raspberry cake that smelled divine and had the best frosting I've ever tasted. All the while, we talked. About the bakery, what our individual plans were for the next year, what we thought we could to do take the bakery to a higher level.

It was fun. My aunt is savvy about business, creative, with an endless list of ideas. I briefly explained how I was going to meet Archer. She thought it was a fabulous idea, which pleased me. I wanted her on board. I consider Gina my business partner, and I hope she feels the same way.

Plus, she helped ease my nerves about Gage coming to pick me up and take me to dinner. As the time draws closer to Gage showing up, I'm worrying about potentially bad situations. Like the two of us alone in his car on the way to the restaurant. Yeah, that could be scary.

Scary and exciting, if the two emotions can coexist.

I believe when it comes to Gage and me, they definitely can.