Page 23 of The Billionaire's Ride

Blackjack.

Chapter Ten

KATE

I couldn’t sketchlast night. Believe me, I tried. I blame the art store for their empty Fredrickson stock. But that isn’t the real reason. The real reason is Drew ignited something in me. Something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt.

I got on the back of his motorcycle for crying out loud. And Igotofftoo. Not even in my sexy lingerie world does that ever happen. So I finally feel brave enough to ask him upstairs. And what does he do? Rejects my offer and rides off.

Damn you, Drew Blake! Damn you, and your gorgeous face, your bad boy tattoos, and your sexy London accent.

That’s it. I’m done with him and this stupid, good-for-nothing crush.

Then my phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s my publicist. “Hey, Garret, why are you calling so early?”

“You sound pissed. Did you see the headline?” he asks.

My heart begins to pound. “No, what headline?”

“Here. I’ll text you the link.” A moment later, I’m looking at the front page of theCheeri-Ooh!website, London’s gossip rag. It takes me a moment to register the featured photo of me riding on the back of Drew’s bike. My arms clutched around him, and the wind whipping through my little red dress. The headlinereadsBike Bachelor, Drew Blake Canoodles with Lingerie Designer Kate Golden.

“What the hell?” I say, immediately scanning the page. I spot another photo of him helping me remove my helmet outside the tech store, the two of us grinning at each other. It reads:

It’s leather meets lace on this afternoon joyride with London’s hottest catch, fashion photographer Drew Blake, and American luxury lingerie designer Kate Golden. The two were caught leaving Kate Golden Lingerie on Mount Street Friday afternoon and rumored to have ended their escapade at the Royal Regency Hotel, where Golden is believed to be housed whilst she’s in town for the London Intimates Fashion Show.

A source has confirmed the designer was photographed by Blakesie in her knickers for an upcoming issue of Lux Magazine. Did Kate Golden steal his heart on set, or is she just Blakesie’s model of the week? Or rather, wannabe model of the week.

Oh, my God. My skin is boiling hot. This is so embarrassing. It’s one thing to be outed, but it’s another when there’s nothing to out. And just when I’m ready to forget all about him, I can’t. “Garret, please don’t tell me you had anything to do with this?”

“No, of course not! I know you hate this kind of press. Not that you get a lot of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not the worst press. London thinks you’re dating the Jake Ryan of London. And they mentioned your store and the show. We couldn’t have paid for better publicity!”

“Garret, I’m a respected designer. I’m meeting with a legitimate investor from a top firm next week. I don’t want thiskind of attention. And they called me a wannabe model. It’s humiliating!”

“Yeah, that part was kind of harsh. But they’re just jealous that you bagged a hot billionaire bad boy. You did bag him, right?”

I grit my teeth. “No, I did not.”

“Bummer. I wanted to gush. I can’t believe you rode a motorcycle. How was it?”

I throw myself on the bed and stuff my face into a plushy pillow, thinking back to that little moment of intense pleasure. “Amazing,” I say, muffled by the cushion.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” I was going to let the whole thing go, but with this gossip headline, no. I won’t be smeared over sex I’m not actually having. It’s infuriating. And I know exactly who to take it out on. “Hey, can you help me with something?”

An hour later, I arrive at his building and ride the elevator to the penthouse floor.

Bang! Bang! BANG!

I pound on the cold, steel door. It’s eight-thirty in the morning. He better be home. And he better be alone.

Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG!

“Just a bloody second!” he yells from the other side. I raise my fist to pound again, but the door swings open, and my fist freezes mid-air.

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