A Billionaire's Love Affair Page 4

  “Here you go,” he said and presented me with a tall paper cup.

  I pulled off my gloves and wrapped my fingers around the cup. I sighed, relishing the warmth. “I think the idea is to drink it,” he said in a deep voice.

  I looked into those hazel eyes. “Duh.”

  He smirked. “You’re cranky. You plowed into me, remember?”

  “It was an accident,” I said.

  “I gathered that. I didn’t think you purposely tried to plow down strange men. I like your sign.”

  I glanced over at the ruined sign. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

  “Do I know you?” he asked. “You look like you want to kick my ass.”

  “You don’t like my sign.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s provocative. That was the goal, right? Did you make it yourself?”

  I nodded. “I did. This morning with about a hundred other people. You probably don’t even know there was a rally this morning, do you?”

  He shook his head. “A rally for what?”

  I pointed to the sign. “What do you think?”

  “I would guess it was either about starving kids or serial shoppers.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “You know, you should be careful walking alone with a sign like that.”

  “It wasn’t like it was threatening violence.”

  “No, but people don’t like to be told what to think. They don’t want to think about their choices. I’m just thinking you should be careful.”

  I smirked. “I’ve made signs that are far worse than that one.”

  “I’m not the least bit surprised.”

  “Why is that?”

  He shrugged, flashing me a sexy smile. “I get the feeling you have no problems provoking people. You say what you think.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Not really,” I said with a grin.

  I didn’t like the guy, but he was interesting. Irritating but interesting. He sipped his coffee before checking his watch. It was probably a Rolex. “I have to run, but it was nice running into you. Literally.”

  “Thanks for the coffee,” I said.

  “Before I go, here.” He pulled a little silver case from his inside jacket pocket. He handed me a business card.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “I’d like you to come by my office tomorrow morning. I like your style and I think you would be a great asset to my foundation.”

  “What?” I asked with a head shake. I didn’t understand how we went from running each other down to this point.

  “I want to talk to you about a job opportunity.”

  “You want me to work for you?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “No thanks.”

  “You don’t even know what the job is.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “I think you are exactly the person I am looking for. Just come. Hear me out. Listen to what I have to say. I’ll write a check to your charity of choice if you give me an hour.” He pointed to my sign as he stood up . “It sure beats the hell out of holding up a sign in freezing weather.”

  He walked out before I could say something dramatic, like I couldn’t be bought or I refused to work for the very people I often targeted. Instead, I sat there with my mouth hanging open and stared at the man. My eyes went to the card in my hand. I shoved it in my jacket pocket and only then realized I still had his coat hanging over my shoulders.

  I jumped up and ran to the door to try and catch him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I walked back to the table to grab my coffee. It was probably a ten-dollar cup of coffee and I was not about to let it go to waste.

  “Wow,” a woman said.

  I turned to look at the woman who appeared to be in her early forties and was probably a lawyer or something corporate. “Wow?” I said slightly defensive.

  “Do you know who that was?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think you do know,” she said with a slight sneer. “That’s Colt Bancroft. He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the world.”

  “That’s unlikely,” I scoffed. “There are like fifty princes on the other side of the world that are far more eligible.”

  “None of them look like that.”

  She walked away as if talking to me was making her dirty. I draped his coat over my arm, picked up my sign and coffee, and left the coffee shop. I sat down on a bench and waited at the corner for Donna. The entire time, all I could think about was him. He was sexy as sin.

  His jacket was draped over my lap. I ran my fingers over the soft material. It was warm and I imagined very expensive. He was going to want it back. I thought about his job offer. I didn’t think it was real. It was probably his way of hitting on me. Most guys would have asked me out for a drink. I didn’t get the feeling Colt Bancroft struggled too hard to get women to go out with him. Why the cover story?

  Donna showed up, her cheeks red from the cold. “What’s up with the coat? Did you rob someone?”

  “No, I didn’t rob anyone.”

  She looked around. “Are you holding it for someone?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “Are you hypothermic?”

  “No.”

  She sat down next to me. I handed her the business card. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I ran into him. Like actually ran into him and fell flat on my ass.”

  “And he gave you his business card?” she asked with confusion. “Who—” She stopped talking when she read the name. “Oh my god! You ran into him?”

  “Yep. Colt Bancroft.”

  “Wow. Did you give him a piece of your mind?”

  “No. Kind of. He offered me a job.”

  “A job? Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. He said I was exactly what he was looking for. He said he’d give me a check for whatever charity I wanted if I showed up tomorrow and heard him out.”

  “You know this guy has a reputation for being a womanizer. The job he is talking about is probably to be his mistress.”

  “Are you calling me a prostitute?”

  “No, but he might be.”

  It was pretty much what I had thought. “But if I show up and hear what he has to say, I could ask him for like a thousand dollars for the shelter. That would help them a lot.”

  “What if he doesn’t give you anything?”

  I patted the coat in my lap. “Then I’ll sell his coat. I’m sure it’s worth a few hundred bucks.”

  “You have his coat? What the hell did I miss?”

  “I was cold, and he offered me his coat,” I said, unable to hide my smile.

  She slapped a hand to her forehead. “You have a crush!”

  “No!”

  “I know what he looks like and it would be very easy to crush on him. Just remember, he’s the enemy. Don’t let him smile at you and win you over.”

  “I want him to write a damn check. If he needs to smile at me, he can do it.”

  “You’re going to go?”

  I shrugged. “I should take his coat back.”

  She grinned. “Yes, of course. That’s why you’re going to go.”

  “Stop it. I’m too cold to be teased.”

  The bus pulled to a stop. We got on, basking in the warmth. I couldn’t wait to get home and take a lukewarm shower. Then I was pulling on my wool socks and wrapping up with a warm blanket and sitting my ass in front of the fire.

  Chapter 6

  Colt

  I went back to my office, a little colder than I had been when I left. I accidentally on purpose left my coat with her. I wasn’t entirely sure she was going to show up tomorrow.

  I gathered she was an activist. She wanted to be a good person. Hell, she’d been freezing that cute little ass off because she was trying to do good. That told me she was a good person, and a good person wouldn’t want to steal my coat. She knew where I worked and w
ould return it.

  “In theory,” I muttered. I shrugged off my suit jacket and was about to loosen my tie when I remembered I couldn’t do the casual thing yet. I had interviews. No more TV interviews. Just a few candidates for the job. I was going for the casual thing. I loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves.

  I grabbed the stack of applications that had been delivered last week. I couldn’t wait until I had a full staff with a receptionist and someone to sift through things like this. My office door was open, so I would know when the first candidate arrived.

  I flipped through the applicants that had yet to be called for an interview. None of them really stood out. I wanted someone like the woman I just met. “Damn,” I whispered.

  I couldn’t get her face out of my mind. She was the perfect little pixie with a pixie haircut to go with her petite body. Her skin was porcelain and smooth with not a hint of makeup. Her full lips made me think of stolen kisses and other naughty acts. Her hair was black as night, something I never knew I was attracted to until the moment I saw her. She was the exact opposite of every woman I had ever dated.

  Maybe that was why I was so drawn to her. I wanted to know her. I didn’t know why, but I just felt like I had to understand that fire I saw in her pretty brown eyes.

  She was a brave soul. I sensed that about her. The sign she was carrying should have told me to run in the opposite direction, but there was something that told me I needed to know her.

  I smiled at the memory of her looking at my card like she could care less about who I was. I knew she recognized me. She said as much. She just didn’t care. That was also refreshing.

  She wasn’t trying to get in my pants. She wasn’t trying to put a ring on my finger and lock me down. Very few women actually liked me for who I was. They liked me for being an easy lay—and a good lay, if I was being truthful. They liked the doors my name could open for them. I couldn’t even begin to count the number of aspiring models, actresses, and gold diggers I had dated.

  I was curious about her. She was so passionate about a silly sign. I could only begin to fantasize about her passion in other things. “Dammit,” I groaned. I didn’t even get her name. That was stupid.

  If she didn’t bring back my coat and she didn’t show up for a job interview, I might never see her again. I would have to resort to extreme measures. I would find myself at every protest and rally in the city. I was that serious about tracking her down. Although it could lead to some weird encounters and the potential to be accused of stalking, I would worry about that later.

  I heard heels clacking across the hardwood floors of our lobby. I got to my feet and walked out to meet the woman carrying a briefcase with her hair slicked back in a severe bun. I felt like was about to get the back of my hands slapped with a ruler.

  I forced a smile. “Good afternoon.”

  “Hello,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “I’m Judith Island. I have an interview.”

  There was zero personality. Zero passion. Zero any of the traits that I picked up on in my mystery woman. “I’m Colt Bancroft. Please come in.”

  She nodded once. I gestured for her to sit down. I took my seat and suddenly felt like she was judging me. I realized my relaxed state of dress offended her. She was never going to be the right person for the job.

  But I had to get through the interview anyway. “Thank you for coming in,” I said. “I see you have some experience working with charitable foundations.”

  “I have been the director of several agencies. I’ve been involved with charity groups since I graduated with my bachelor’s in business economics.”

  “Impressive,” I said. “What particular charities do you feel are worthy of the backing of my foundation?”

  “I would need to see numbers. Not all charities are created equal. Some are fronts. Some are nothing more than lip service for a group hoping to get their names on a plaque. Numbers talk. Effective fundraising matters. I would never tolerate the charities who simply put up a sign asking for money. There needs to be large fundraisers worthy of attracting donors with deep pockets.”

  “That’s how you would determine who is worthy of a donation?” I was disgusted and wished like hell I could throw the woman out of my office.

  “Well, yes. If a charity isn’t really making any money and they aren’t really making a difference, there is no reason to give them money. I would think with a name like yours, you would want to be selective about who you chose to associate with.”

  I really didn’t like the woman. “What about the big-name charities? Would you recommend giving to them?”

  “Absolutely. It’s good business. You need to make friends in this world. Rubbing elbows with the right groups brings in more money. You scratch their back, and they scratch yours.”

  “You’re saying there is a lot of quid pro quo?”

  “Yes. The world of charitable organizations can be very political. It’s important you attract the right donors.”

  “Why does it matter where the money comes from if it is all going to the right people?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Because associating with the wrong donor can stain your reputation.”

  I rubbed my jaw. “I see. It all sounds far more intricate than what I expected.”

  “Which is why you need someone like me to navigate these waters. There are dangers at every turn. You have to know the right people and avoid the wrong people.”

  I didn’t try to hide my feelings. “Thank you for coming in, Judith. I’ll have my receptionist call you next week if we plan on moving forward.”

  “I brought references.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll let you know.”

  I walked her out. She didn’t say goodbye. I had offended her, but I felt it was better to cut things short before I wasted our time. I was never going to hire the woman. I walked back to my office and put her resume in the no file.

  I scanned through the other resumes and shook my head. I was not thrilled. I heard the door open and cringed. “Round two,” I muttered and got up once again.

  This time, the candidate was the epitome of a millennial, right down to the beard, flannel, and jeans rolled up with large cuffs.

  “Good afternoon,” I said.

  “Hello, sir.”

  “You’re Devon?”

  “I am. You must be Mr. Bancroft’s assistant.”

  I smiled. “I’m Colt Bancroft.”

  He looked unimpressed. “Ah, I think I was expecting something different. I interviewed at Bancroft Industries with Grayson Bancroft.”

  “And?”

  “Just a different environment,” he said. He may as well have called me a slob.

  “Have a seat,” I said, already looking forward to the end of this little interview. The guy was not right for the foundation and he sure as hell wasn’t right for me.

  “This is a nice space,” Devon said. “I like the open concept. That’s important for a good working environment.”

  “Have you ever worked in a job like this before?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve done some temp stuff with a few soup kitchens.”

  “You volunteered?” I clarified.

  “Yes, it was part of my college education.”

  “How so?”

  “I was in a social activism class. We volunteered at various charities and stuff.”

  “And stuff?”

  “Yeah, like we went around and collected food and held rallies and stuff.”

  I wanted to stab my eye with my pencil. I cleared my throat. “Are you still in school?”

  “No, I graduated three years ago.”

  “And what jobs have you held since you graduated?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been doing some temp stuff. I’m looking for the right job. I want something that allows me to make a real difference in the world.”

  “And what kind of difference do you want to make?”

  He looked confused. “I want to feed the poor and make sure k
ids get free lunches and stuff.”

  He was a parrot. He was repeating what he had been spoon-fed in his little activism class. I looked at him a little closer. He was trying hard to look average, but it was clear he was from an affluent family. “Tell me something, Devon, have you spent much time working in the homeless shelters?”

  “I haven’t been in them, but I’ve collected blankets for them when I was in high school. My mom held a fundraiser for one of them and I helped organize that.”

  I forced a smile. “All right, well, I think I have all I need. I’m interviewing candidates all day today and tomorrow. I should know by the end of the week.”

  “I can have my mom send you over a list of the other events I helped out with. She’s real active in the charity world. I’ve learned a lot from her.”

  “If I need anything, I’ll reach out.”

  Devon got to his feet, pulling down the jeans that were too tight for his body, and extended a hand. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  I shook his hand, gritting my teeth. “Thank you for coming in.”

  He walked away and I flopped back down. This was not going well. None of them had the fire I was looking for. I didn’t think any of my applicants knew the first thing about being needy. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I wanted someone who understood how a dollar could change a life. I needed someone who had boots on the ground and knew what charities and shelters were truly committed to helping people.

  The mystery woman was the right person for the job. I just knew it. I felt it.

  She was nothing like me and my social circle. I didn’t have her hands-on knowledge. I was raised in a wealthy family and I had never wanted for anything. I had a feeling my little pixie knew what it was like to have to choose between food or electricity for the month.

  She got knocked down and she got right back up. Any other woman who’d plowed into me and fallen on her ass would have been hysterical. Not my girl. She’d gotten up and acted like it was nothing. I didn’t care if I had to scour the city to find her, I was going to do it.

  I was telling myself it was for the good of the people I hoped to help. It wasn’t because I wanted her.

  “Bullshit, Colt. You want the woman.”