Page 9 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire
“I seem to recall you like screamers,” I taunted. In fact, I saw it firsthand. It might sound fucked up to some, but sometimes River and I shared women. It worked in my favor. In and out. Keeping my scars out of sight. “I’m willing to bet that hasn’t changed.”
River flipped me the bird as we strolled toward the entrance. Between our expensive cars and tipping generously, we were given the VIP treatment, as the bouncer instantly unclipped the belt and let us walk on by.
A hostess appeared, probably alerted to our presence, and showed us to a table in the VIP lounge set off to the side. The bar was crowded, bodies pressed against each other with little room to move. I was certain it was well past capacity, but no one seemed to mind.
My eyes wandered over the crowd as we took our seats in the plush chairs. A table just outside our area was packed with young tourists doing shots.
“Bang!” one of them shouted. “You can’t beat the champion.”
“What can I get you?” the hostess offered, sparing us the hassle of a trip to the bar.
“Cognac,” I answered. River nodded for the same.
“Any particular brand?” she asked.
“Anything top shelf,” I said, letting my eyes roam the crowd in search of a certain redhead.
When it was Winston’s turn, he responded, “Johnny Walker Red Label.”
The hostess gave him a blank look as I shook my head. He knew full well they wouldn’t have that shit here. He picked up the drink menu, muttering some shit under his breath. Probably about savage places that didn’t carry the labels he loved so much.
“Just get something else, Winston,” I said, my patience running thin.
“Fine, vodka.” She scurried away while my eyes traveled over the crowd. “This is like a cattle bar,” Winston grumbled.
River chuckled. “This is being young. You’re just an old grouch.”
It was then that I spotted her. She strode in, past the line, wearing a simple white summer dress and Hermès silk scarf tied around her hair, holding it up off her shoulders. Her sun-kissed skin glowed even from here, and I wondered if she’d still smell like apples.
She twisted to the right, toward the bar. From this angle, I had the perfect view. Two thin straps lowered to an open back that dipped low, exposing her elegant, toned muscles. My hands itched, and deep down, I knew her curves would fit perfectly in my palms. Almost as if she were tailored for me.
My fists clenched at my sides as I remembered she’d seen my scars, and she sure as shit didn’t act repulsed. Maybe—just fucking maybe—she was the one I had been looking for.
Mine.
Why in the fuck did that word enter my mind as I stared at her? Maybe because she looked even better than I imagined out of her scrubs.
Her smile widened and she jumped excitedly, waving her hand.
“Ah, I see why we’re here now,” Winston deadpanned, following my gaze. “Who in the fuck is she?”
I never looked away from her. “My nurse.” The smile that crept across my face as I said it hid a wealth of meaning.
Chapter3
Odette
Le Bar Américain was packed by the time I strolled in.
The beautiful view over the French Riviera attracted everyone to this place. The breeze swept through the terrace, warm and soothing. Lights glimmered from pergolas with rays of sapphire and ruby skating across the whole terrace, illuminating it every few seconds.
The music reverberated throughout the large area, alternating between hip-hop, dance, and R&B. Some watched while others danced, and many drank. Accents of gold and marble statues were everywhere. Lushness covered every corner of this place.
My favorite time to come was when it was less packed, but spring break was a busy season here. And this was the preferred hangout spot for our friends. No amount of crowd would keep us away. It helped that we didn’t have to wait in the long lines.
Marco looked up from his place behind the bar, his dark eyes meeting mine and instantly he grinned. Ignoring the line of customers, he hopped over the bartop and approached me, his air of confidence obvious to those around us. Women gawked, staring at his ass shamelessly. Not that I could blame them. Marco was a part-time model, part-time bartender, waiting for his big break.
“Hey, Maddy!” He wrapped his arms around me and pecked me on the cheek. “How is Doctor Swan doing today?”
