The Billionaire Gets His Way / The Sarantos Secret Baby: The Billionaire Gets His Way / The Sarantos Secret Baby. Elizabeth Bevarly
bailed on him. The woman obviously wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Gavin should be grateful she had bailed on him. He’d made clear his disdain for Violet, so why would he even want her to fill in for the woman who’d dumped him? That made no sense.
As if he’d read her mind, he said, “I’ve called every woman I know. None of them will even take my calls. The ones who haven’t read your damned book have heard enough gossip to know I’m in it, and none of them wants anything to do with me anymore. The only reason no one rescinded my invitation to the fundraiser tonight is because I’m one of their biggest donors. Money talks, even louder than gossip. Except among women who are easily slighted.”
Something in his voice almost—almost—made Violet feel bad for him. Until she remembered he was threatening her with a lawsuit that could upend her entire life and destroy a dream future she was that close to turning into a reality.
“Can I come in?” he asked, sounding almost—almost—solicitous. “I have a proposition for you.”
Oh, she bet he did. So much for solicitous. Soliciting was more like it. “Thanks, but no thanks. As I’ve said a billion times, I’m not now, nor have I ever been, a call girl. Or an escort, either. I’m not interested in your … proposition.”
He had the decency to wince at that. “Maybe that was a bad word choice. It’s not that kind of proposition. Look, let me come in for a few minutes to talk, all right? I think we can help each other out.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Let me in, Violet. Now.”
Five
Something in his voice when he uttered his demand made all Violet’s reserve puddle around her ankles like something she’d rather not think about puddling around her ankles. After only a small hesitation, she closed the door, released the chain then opened it again. Gavin pushed past her into her apartment, and it was he, not she, who closed the door. Then, for good measure, he placed himself between it and Violet, making it truly impossible to escape from him.
Not that she wanted to escape. Escape was such a desperate word, after all. And she wasn’t desperate. She was merely a little concerned. Okay, a lot concerned. For some reason, though, her fear wasn’t for her physical safety. It was for something else she didn’t think it would be a good idea to consider too closely.
“Here’s the situation,” he said. “The event tonight is a very big deal, not just because—” He halted abruptly, looking Violet up and down, from her head to her toes. “What the hell are you wearing? Is that sushi?”
For the first time, it occurred to her how underdressed she was. Then she reminded herself that she was relaxing at home, making her attire perfectly acceptable. Gavin was the one whose outfit was out of place—he was grossly overdressed. Yeah. Put the burden on him, where it belonged.
“Well, it’s not like I’m wearing real sushi,” she replied indignantly. “And pajamas are perfectly in keeping with my plans for the evening. Which is to do nothing.”
She hoped she punctuated that announcement adamantly enough that he would realize he was wasting his time with whatever his proposition was.
“Well, you’re going to have to change. You can’t wear that to the Steepletons’ party.”
She crossed her arms over her midsection, realizing for the first time that her pajamas were so big, the sleeves nearly covered her hands. “Problem solved then. I’m not going to the Steepletons’ party. Thanks so much for stopping by.”
She started to reach past him for the doorknob, but as he had done at his office that day, he snaked out a hand, circling his fingers firmly around her wrist. Deftly, before she even realized his intent, he switched their positions so that she was between him and the door. Only where she had kept her distance from him, he crowded into her space again, anchoring one big hand on the door by her forehead and arcing the other arm on the door above her head. She tried to shrink away but found herself effectively pinned to the spot without him even touching her. In spite of that, her breath caught in her chest, heat pooled in her belly, and something snaked down her spine that left a trail of heat in its wake.
“Like I said, this event tonight is a very big deal for me, not only because it raises money for a cause I respect, and not only because I’m one of the biggest, if not the biggest, donors.” He dipped his head lower to hers, his voice going steely and cool. “But even more important than that right now, if I don’t show up or, worse, if I show up without a date, it’s going to look like I’m not there because I’m hiding out. Or, worse, that I can’t get a date.”
She swallowed with some difficulty, then pointed out, “But you can’t get a date.” Quickly, she added, “Not that that’s my fault, since my book is a work of complete fic—”
“So I need to be there with a date. Because showing up with a beautiful woman on my arm will prove there are still some people who don’t believe a word of your damned book, and there are still beautiful women who are willing to be seen with me.”
Color her shallow, but it took a moment for Violet to move past the word beautiful. He thought she was beautiful? In her sushi pajamas? Then she remembered that both times he’d seen her before this evening, she’d been arrayed in thousands of dollars’ worth of gorgeous rented clothing and accessories and artfully applied cosmetics. All modesty aside, she supposed she did clean up rather well. Still, it was obvious that his beautiful—both times—had been for Raven French, not Violet Tandy.
Then she moved on to the rest of his statement and realized a number of problems with it. “Okay, first,” she said, “you showing up with the author of the book isn’t going to do anything to dispel the so-called rumors that people think you’re a character in the book.”
“I won’t be showing up with Raven French,” he said. “I’ll be showing up with Violet Tandy.”
Oh. So did that mean those beautifuls had been for her, after all? And why did that make something inside her go all warm and fizzy? Who cared what Gavin Mason thought of her? The guy was a Neanderthal when it came to women.
“You can’t show up with Violet,” she said. “Violet doesn’t have anything to wear to a high society party.”
“Why not?”
“Because Violet doesn’t go to high society parties.”
He nodded at that. “Right. Violet only attends private parties, doesn’t she? I guess the attire for that would be a bit limited. In more ways than one.”
Okay, that did it. No more Ms. Nice Guy. Splaying both hands open on his chest, Violet pushed Gavin with all her might. The action must have caught him by surprise, because he actually stumbled backward a step or two, looking at her in disbelief when he finally came to a halt.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. Before he had a chance to trap her again, she strode defiantly into the middle of her living room to put more distance between them, then spun around to face him. “You are not going to stand here, in my home, and impugn my reputation.”
He laughed at that. A deep, full-throated laugh that came from somewhere deep inside him, sounding rich and dark and, well, kind of sexy, truth be told. Violet had always loved hearing men laugh, because they so seldom did, most of them. And Gavin’s laughter was in keeping with the man—confident, powerful and larger-than-life.
“I impugn your reputation?” he managed to say through his laughter. “Sweetheart, you’ve done a fine job of that all by yourself. This may come as a shock to you, considering the world you live and work in, but even in today’s decadent society, women who take money in exchange for sex don’t have a reputation to impugn. It doesn’t matter if you are making money now with … a different body part. Once a prostitute, always a pros—”
“I am not a prostitute!” she