Page 3 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Rossi gestures to the other men with them, one quiet, observant guy, and another Italian who looks slightly overwhelmed. “That’s Sam and our groom-to-be, Marco. He’s getting married here tomorrow. Vegas baby.”

Tatiana, regaining her composure, introduces us. “And these are my friends. “Sabrina...”

I quickly offer a hand I pray isn’t clammy.

Leo’s handshake is warm, lingering half a beat too long. I catch a whiff of him: black tea, fig, ozone. My gaze lingers on his lips. They look so... kissable.

Stop it, Sabrina.

“Jess,” Tatiana continues. “And Amara.”

While the introductions are made, I study Leo while pretending to adjust my hair.

Hot hot hot.

Trouble trouble trouble.

Stop it!

“We’re celebrating Amara’s promotion,” Tatiana finishes.

“Congratulations,” Rossi says to Amara, who practically beams.

“Let me buy you ladies a drink,” Leo declares smoothly, his green eyes locking onto mine again. That smile is lethal. He knows it. “To celebrate bothAmara’s promotion and the most entertaining collision I’ve ever witnessed in Vegas. And that’s saying something!”

“Oh, that’s not neces—” Tatiana begins, ever the professional.

Jess cuts her off enthusiastically. “We accept! But Tatiana really needs to fix her wardrobe situation first...”

Rossi’s gaze drops briefly to the shirt covering Tatiana, and something unreadable flickers in his expression.

“Our cabana has a changing area,” he offers. “You’re welcome to use it.”

And just like that, we’re being swept into the orbit of a billionaire.

2

Sabrina

We follow them towards a cabana that’s less ‘poolside tent’ and more ‘luxury micro-apartment.’ Plush seating, a fully stocked private bar, even air conditioning. Completely private, completely isolated from the rest of the pool. Rossi’s security detail posts up outside, ensuring we won’t be disturbed.

Okay, this is how the other half lives.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Rossi points. “Take your time.”

I follow Tatiana into the surprisingly spacious bathroom, pulling a safety pin from the emergency kit in my purse.

“Never leave home without emergency supplies,” I mutter, helping her re-secure the bikini top while she towels off the blue streaks from the drinks the server spilled on her. “So, Dominic Rossi, huh? I think he likes you.”

“He’s my boss’s friend,” she insists, but her cheeks are pink. “Professional boundaries.”

“Professional boundaries went out the windowwhen you flashed him your goods,” I laugh. “Besides, we’re in Vegas. Boundaries are optional here.”

That’s what I tell myself anyway. Though in reality, I’m not sure I really believe it.

When we emerge, shots have appeared on the low table. Leo Maxwell is holding court, radiating charisma like a personal heat lamp.

“There she is!” he exclaims as Tatiana reappears. “Our blue cocktail assassin returns. Just in time for the first round.”

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