Page 1 of The Billionaire's Ride

Chapter One

KATE

Erect nipples are so 2002.Who knew that London in June is as chilly as December in Santa Monica?

“Kate!” my publicist, Garret, calls up ahead as stylish partygoers strut the sidewalk like a runway toward the entrance. Despite the eleven-hour flight from Los Angeles, his skin and hair appear flawless. But as I get closer, it’s clear that his face has been freshly airbrushed and his hair recently highlighted. Though he technically works behind the scenes, Garret’s as good-looking and fit as any Hollywood celebrity. It’s like he always says—your face is your business card.

His gaze drops down to his phone, and the tiny screen hypnotizes him. “Nice nipples.”

“Is it that obvious?” I adjust my angelic pink strapless dress once again.

“Let’s just say I saw them before I saw you.”

I quickly shield my chest with my pearl-studded clutch, almost envying his seriously loud but much warmer, black-and-gold designer silk shirt buttoned up to his neck.

“But don’t worry. I’m sure some straight guy here will love your accessories,” he continues, tucking the distracting device in his tailored pants pocket.

I let out a small laugh. “I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

“Honey, you design lingerie. You’re in the business of pleasure.” That may be true. But I can’t remember the last time I experienced real pleasure. Garret continues, “And after the year you’ve had, you could use a little F-U-N.”

After the year I’ve had, I’m not even sure I’m capable of having fun. I got so consumed in my work, building Kate Golden Lingerie into one of the top luxury negligee brands in the world. Until one day, I crashed. Literally. Fell over in my studio sewing a new piece after pulling an all-nighter. I was in the hospital for two days due to exhaustion. Frankly, it scared me.

I don’t know if it was the fear, the burnout, or both, but I had a terrible time creating after that. It was like I lost my mojo. Everyone who cared about me urged me to take time off. So I did. While I recuperated, my business suffered. A famous brand can only go so many seasons without new designs, and now my London boutique could close if I don’t make a comeback. Now.

That’s why I’m here. To show Kate Golden is back.

If only I can believe it myself.

Garret ushers me forward, and I lead the way inside the iron gates. “Oh, wait.” He steps aside, pulling me with him. “Your zipper’s falling.”

“It is?” I crane my neck. “Crap. I couldn’t get the damn clasp to close.” When I laid eyes on this one-of-a-kind designer dress two weeks ago, I fell in love. Usually, I’d never spend so much on a piece that doesn’t fit perfectly. But something came over me. I absolutely had to have it.

“I got it.” Garret pulls the fabric tighter, then zips me in. “There. We don’t need the little Katies making an appearance at the party. Then again, it could be good publicity for Kate Golden Lingerie.” He winks.

“I don’t think so,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “It’s bad enough you’ve got me posing in my panties forLux Magazine.Now you want me showing off my goodies too?” I hate to admit it but the way sales have been going, maybe I should take him up on his offer.

He gives an innocent shrug. “It was just an idea. And speaking ofLux Magazine,what are the chances we’ll encounterTheNina Savoy?”

The famous editor-in-chief, known for her perfectly angled platinum bobbed hair, is usually a no-show among the glitterati crowd. “Slim. I heard she never comes out at her parties. It’s very Jay Gatsby.”

Garret’s gray-blue eyes widen. “Really? How have I never heard this?” He taps his finger on his chin. “What do you think she does while the rest of us drink all her booze?”

I purse my lips, which match my dress to a tee. “I don’t know. Probably hangs out in her chandelier-lit, temperature-controlled, three-hundred-square-foot closet deciding which of us designers live and which of us die.” Yes, that woman has the power to make or break a career.

We turn the corner, finding ourselves on a picturesque stone terrace overlooking a magnificent courtyard, skirted by a palace-like double grand staircase. Waiters in black ties balance champagne flutes on trays. Also very Gatsby.

I do a quick once-over of the crowd milling around. By the looks of it,Lux’sJune issue models and designers are all here, chitchatting throughout the grounds and down into the courtyard with their pinkies raised high.

“This place is killer, right?” Garret asks as we proceed inside through the French doors. The temperature seems to rise as we walk through the crowd of voguish rock stars. London fashionites are a bit different from their Los Angeles counterparts. More fabulous hats in the U.K.

“Gorgeous.” The property is stunning, but I’m more interested in the killer couture. That is until I spot a familiarabstract drip painting. “Do you think that’s a real Jackson Pollock?” I ask, pointing in its direction.

Garret squints. “Looks real to me. What do you think it’s worth?”

I shoot him a cynical glance. “Enough to save my store.”

He frowns, knitting his perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Is the investor still coming to the runway show?”

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