Billionaire Decoded Page 3

  He would take things slow; keep things innocent – tonight.

  He called his driver on his phone and told him to meet him at the front of the house. His driver had a small cottage at the rear side of his estate, more a matter of convenience than anything else. He would have the driver take him to the restaurant, and then send him to Heather's apartment to pick her up; less awkward that way, or so he figured. He didn't want to appear too anxious or act like he was out on a date. This was strictly business, or so he’d claimed. He didn't want to give her the impression that it was anything but.

  He told his driver to take him L’Espalier on Boylston Street. Located in Boston's Back Bay, the restaurant specialized in modern and sophisticated new England-French cuisine. He'd been there many times and was practically a regular. The lounge, two dining rooms, and an eating area aptly nicknamed “The Library,” complete with bookshelves, was one of his favorites. It was impressive, but not over the top. He looked forward to the Autumn Prix Fixe, a wonderful, filling menu option with a first course and main course providing a variety of culinary options.

  He usually liked to sit in The Library dining room. All the dining areas were gorgeous and well appointed. The Salon, the Corner Room, and the Crystal Room were also elegant. Tonight, he would opt for the Crystal Room, which was bordered on three sides by a beautiful steel bar encased with glass doors. For Heather, he would opt for one of the satin lined banquettes next to a window, which would perhaps make her a little less nervous than sitting in a quiet corner off by themselves.

  After he had been seated and while he waited for Heather to arrive, he replied to a few messages on his cell phone, left a few of his own, and glanced up occasionally to watch people arriving and departing the dining room. He didn't see anyone he knew, which was just as well. Still, he was always careful to pay attention to anyone who eyed him a little too closely or seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to him.

  While Brecken knew that he was good-looking, as numerous women had told him so, he tried not to be stuck up about it. He didn't spend a lot of time on his appearance, although he did care to dress nicely. He made a lot of money and he liked to spend it. He could wear anything from cut-off jeans to an Armani tux and look good in it, but he did try not to preen.

  Sometimes he laughed at himself, paying too much attention to what others might think of him. He was who he was, and while he hadn't gotten where he was today because of his looks, they certainly didn't hurt.

  He had dated plenty of women before Alyson, and he planned on dating plenty of them after. He wished he could buy her out, but when he first broached the subject after their breakup, she had thrown a conniption fit. Still, if he offered her enough, he wondered if she would continue to turn him down, if for no other reason than to maintain some sort of connection to him. The thought made him frown.

  From where he sat, he could see the front entrance of the restaurant, as well as the hostess stand. To his surprise, his heart gave a little leap of excitement when he saw Heather. He slid his phone into his shirt pocket as he stared. She wore a simple, figure-hugging black dress and nude pumps with two-inch heels.

  Even though the dress was simply cut, it enhanced her gorgeous figure, hugging her well-formed breasts, accentuating her lean waist, and flaring slightly at the hips. The dress was conservative, with cap sleeves, a V-neckline that showed just a hint of cleavage, and fell to just above the knees. He saw the hostess give her a critical look, and then force a smile as she gestured for Heather to follow her toward where Brecken waited at the table by the window.

  “Good evening, Heather,” he said, standing as she slid onto the banquette. “May I tell you how lovely you look?”

  “Thank you, Mister Shaw-”

  “Brecken.”

  “Thank you, Brecken,” she smiled as she tucked her hair behind her ear bashfully.

  After Heather was seated, the waiter approached. Brecken glanced at her with a lifted eyebrow. "Would you care for a glass of wine? Riesling perhaps?" He could tell she was nervous, but she nodded.

  "We'll each have a glass of Riesling," he told the waiter, who nodded, left them with two menus, and departed.

  Brecken watched as Heather opened the menu and quickly began to scan it. "Do you like seafood? Game? Or are you a meat and potato girl?"

  Heather glanced up at him in surprise. "I like just about everything," she said. “Although, I absolutely refuse to eat bugs."

  He laughed. "I don't, either, so I think we’re safe here." He paused. "Would you like me to suggest a few items? I eat here quite frequently."

  She offered a slight nod. "By all means."

  He smiled. He had eaten here so often he practically knew the menu by heart. "For the first course, may I suggest the Roasted Hudson Valley foie gras with ginger beignets, Matsu take mushrooms, rum apple, and mulled cider?"

  "Okay, I understood everything but the ginger beignets,” she replied, unabashed that she didn't know what they were.

  He liked that. "Think English fritters, or in better words, a deep-fried square of sweetened dough."

  "Sounds good," she nodded. "And for the main course?"

  "Do you feel like meat or seafood?" He was finding her delightful company. She made no bones about the fact that she probably didn't eat in such fine restaurants, and he liked that. It showed self-confidence, a sense of understanding of who she was.

  "I'll try some seafood tonight."

  "Then may I suggest butter poached sea bass with Maine muscles in a fine oyster purée?”

  She nodded. "That sounds good, too. I’ll have that."

  After the waiter returned with their wine and Brecken gave the waiter their order, he sat back in his chair, trying to engage Heather in light, conversation without staring. He found it difficult to pull his eyes away from her direct gaze. She oozed self-confidence.

  Brecken also worked at projecting confidence because in his line of business he had to. He could never appear wishy-washy, uncertain, or hesitant about any decision he made. He had enough deals going on right now that would stress out Socrates, and he was enjoying Heather's company, a welcome distraction.

  "So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Heather," he commented, sipping his wine.

  She offered a shrug. "Nothing too much exciting to tell," she admitted. "Since I graduated from college, I've just been staying busy working."

  "Fiancé? Significant others?" He knew his questions were fair game now that they were outside of the office.

  She smiled and shook her head. "None of the above." She looked like she was about to ask something, and then changed her mind, taking a sip of wine herself. "This is good," she commented. "I've never had Riesling."

  "I can see that you want to ask about Alyson," he said. “Might as well get it over with. I want to apologize again for her behavior in your office this afternoon. We broke up just a couple of months ago, and to say she hasn't gotten past it is an understatement."

  Heather nodded in commiseration. "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "She's troubled," he explained. "Unfortunately, she hasn't been able to let go of our relationship. I suppose I should warn you that her outbursts are quite common. Don’t be surprised if you find her storming into your office on occasion. And don’t worry, she can’t fire you." Heather said nothing, which Brecken found unusual. Alyson had a quick opinion about everything and wasn't hesitant to express it. It seemed to him that Heather absorbed what she heard before responding immediately to it.

  "We are still co-owners of the business, and while I have suggested buying her out, she doesn't seem too interested in that suggestion, at least, not at this time. I will try to keep her out of your hair."

  "Don't worry about it," Heather said. "As long as I know she doesn't have the power to fire me, I can handle her."

  Looking at Heather, he had no doubt that she could.

  Over the next hour and a half, Brecken and Heather enjoyed their dinner. He was pleased that Heather enjoyed the food. Sh
e didn't seem at all self-conscious sitting across from him. He found it rather amusing that he didn't intimidate her. Usually, he found that the fact that he was a billionaire tended to intimidate many of the women he went out with. A lot of them, at least as far as he was concerned, went out with him simply to see what they could get out of the date, but Heather didn't seem to care one iota.

  He kept the focus of the conversations on her, not wanting to answer too many questions about himself, although she certainly wasn't asking. He asked her about where she had grown up, the kinds of things she liked, just innocent stuff and nothing that would be considered untoward between a boss and a new employee.

  She seemed to have taken him for his word that Alyson was merely reacting the way she was because of the newly broken relationship. Why shouldn't she? He was telling the truth about that at least. Toward the end of their main course, he felt his phone vibrate in his shirt pocket as it received a text message. He didn't want to look at it, didn't want to interrupt the nice time he was having with Heather. It was casual. No pressure. An evening free of business worries and woes, sitting across the table from a beautiful woman.

  The second time his phone vibrated, Heather looked up from her plate and glanced at him. "I can hear the phone vibrating in your pocket. It's perfectly all right with me if you respond to it."

  He glanced at her, offered a slight shrug, and nodded. "Thanks," he said. "Sometimes, it's hard to get away from business." He reached for the phone in his pocket while she nodded in understanding.

  He pushed the icon on his screen and accessed his text messages.

  We need to talk.

  Business is potentially going under.

  Shit. Just what he needed. Still, he didn't want the evening to end. He didn't respond to the message, but continued with his light conversation until it appeared that she was finished eating. He could tell she had wanted to eat everything on the plate, not wanting to waste money, which made him smile.

  "Would you care for any dessert?" he asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with his white cloth napkin.

  She leaned back in her chair with a soft laugh. "Heavens no," she said. "I'm stuffed! That was delicious. Thank you."

  And with that, their evening came to an end. While Brecken would have very much enjoyed sitting with Heather at the table and continuing conversation with her, he knew that doing so would probably make her feel uncomfortable. Besides, it was time that he got back home and dealt with some business.

  Glancing around, he caught the eye of their waiter and slightly raised his hand. The waiter nodded, disappeared for a moment, and then returned to the table with the check. Without even opening the fine leather folder that contained the check, Brecken pulled his wallet from his back pocket, retrieved a credit card, and handed it to him.

  "Thank you, I'll be right back, Sir," the waiter said, and then once again disappeared.

  As he waited to sign the check, he watched as Heather finished off her wine. "Let me catch you a taxi to take you home," he suggested. "I'm sorry, but I have to respond to the text message I received and go back to the office."

  "Thank you, that'll be just fine," she said.

  He liked her. He really did. She wasn't too inquisitive, which was fine with him. She had been pleasant, and he enjoyed her company. When the check arrived, he quickly signed the receipt, slid the credit card back into his wallet, and then stood, offering a hand to her. Together, they walked out of the restaurant. He walked her to the curb and then glanced down the street for a cab. He saw one, held up his hand, waved, and then stood and watched as it quickly pulled up to a car along the street, double-parking while a horn honked behind it.

  Heather quickly hurried toward the door of the cab, which Brecken had to hurry and open for her. "I really enjoyed the evening," he said, watching as she quickly scrambled in so as not to hold up traffic. "I enjoyed your company. I'll see you in the morning at work… I'll reimburse you for the cab ride!"

  She nodded, smiling. Seconds later, the cab moved forward and she was gone. His thoughts immediately focused on the text message he had received. Once again accessing his phone, he called his driver, who had parked nearby after Brecken had told him to go grab a bite to eat, not sure how long his "date" with Heather would last. In a matter of minutes, his driver pulled up and he climbed into the backseat.

  "Take me home," he said.

  In a matter of fifteen minutes, the driver pulled into the circular driveway of his turn-of-the-century home. The estate was beautiful: an old house dating back to the late eighteenth century. A few renovations here and there, a bit of modernizing, and Brecken enjoyed coming home to what he termed his "retreat from the madness of the world." That he contributed to that madness didn't faze him.

  The minute he closed the front door behind him, he ventured upstairs to his office, yanking the tie from around his neck and tossing it onto the floor next to the walnut desk. He logged onto his computer and sent a chat message to an anonymous source. He set up a meeting for the following morning and then quickly accessed the rest of his e-mails. He frowned when he saw at least five from Alyson. Good God, he thought. Would she never leave him alone? What did he have to do to get rid of her? It was obvious that buying out her half of the business was not an option, and with her threats hanging over his head, he frowned.

  He just hoped, for her sake, that she didn't go overboard with her threats. He was used to her threats, but when it came to business, he took it a lot more seriously. Not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t be the only one to grow concerned whether she would decide to carry through on them.

  Chapter 3

  A few moments after she settled in the taxi, Heather pulled her cell phone out of her small purse and quickly texted a message to Melanie. She replied less than thirty seconds later.

  "Can I give you a change of address?" Heather asked the taxi driver after they pulled away from the curb and began to make their way into traffic moving west out of downtown.

  The driver glanced in his review mirror and nodded. "Sure. Shoot."

  Heather knew that Melanie was a night owl and had texted to see if she could stop by, tell her about her first day at Shaw & Burks, as well as her dinner out with the boss. As she sat in the back of the cab, watching the lights and the traffic of Boston sweep past her window, she thought back to that dinner. It had been delicious, was definitely expensive, and she had enjoyed it.

  Still, she had trouble reading her new boss. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. After all, she had just started working for him. But he seemed a bit closed off, as if he carefully thought of every word before he spoke, like he had to guard everything he said. Opposite his ex-fiancée, that was for sure. Was she being silly? She didn't think so. She got the distinct impression that he had been holding himself in check, but check from what?

  She certainly hadn’t felt their dinner could in any way be construed as a date. He’d kept the conversation light and relatively non-personal. He had insisted that it was an apology for the way Alyson had treated her, and she accepted it. She hadn't gotten any mixed signals to the contrary, or at least she didn't think so. Again it came right back to her not really knowing her boss, his mannerisms, his habits, or his expressions.

  Right now she had to accept them at face value-

  "Okay, lady, here you are."

  Heather refocused her attention and realized that she had arrived at her friend's apartment complex. She reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty, and gave it to him, telling him to keep the change. Brecken would reimburse her, although she didn't really expect or need him to. She always took taxis when she needed to go somewhere, and wrote the expense for most of them off on her taxes.

  "Thanks," the driver said, accepting the bill. "Have a nice evening."

  "You, too," Heather said as she opened the door and stepped out of the cab, closing the door behind her. He pulled away from the curb as she headed to the main door of the complex and pressed the buzzer for Melanie's apartmen
t.

  "It's me," she said as soon as her friend answered the buzzer. Without waiting for a reply, Heather stepped to the door. It clicked a few seconds later. She pulled open the door and stepped inside the building. Melanie lived in a nice complex. As an in-demand model, she could afford it. She kept busy, especially during the fall and winter seasons, when magazines, catalogs, and newspapers needed a plethora of images for jewelry, clothes, you name it, for holiday shoppers.

  She and Melanie had met at college and had been friends ever since. While Heather didn't consider her apartment quite as nice, it wasn't as expensive as Melanie’s, either. Every time she thought about what it would be like to have to pay Melanie's rent, she cringed. She'd rather have a smaller apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood and have enough left money left over to eat.

  By the time she took the stairs up to the second floor and was halfway down the hall, Melanie had already opened her door and stood waiting with a smile.

  "Oh my God," she exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper so she wouldn't disturb her neighbors, who were most likely in bed already. "Hurry up, Heather, I want to hear every juicy detail!"

  She smiled and shook her head. Melanie always wanted the juicy details, even when there weren't any juicy details to tell. At any rate, she was quickly ushered to a comfortable upholstered sofa in the middle of the living room. A tray with a teapot and two coffee cups already sat on the coffee table, a bag of chamomile tea in each cup, ready for the hot water. So old-fashioned. So Melanie.

  "Okay, spill!" Melanie urged as she poured steaming hot water into each cup. She took her place on the sofa and eyed Heather up and down. "By the way, love the dress. Elegant, yet understated. Sexy, but not too much."

  "Thanks," she said, laughing again at her friend. Over the next forty-five minutes, she told Melanie about her first day at work, Brecken, describing him as closely as she could, and then the incident with Brecken’s ex-fiancée.