Secret Revenge: An Enemies-to-Lovers Billionaire Romance

2. Travis

It took a few seconds for Emily Skye to decide to join me in the car. For a moment, it looked like she was seriously considering saying “no,” and that was a novel as it was alarming. If Kurt Blackwell hadn”t been back there inside Calypso, it would have been almost refreshing to be turned down by a beautiful woman for possibly the first time in my life.

But after a few moments’ thought, she relented, opening the passenger side door and slipping in tantalizingly close to me. I cast a sidelong glance at her, confirming that her gorgeous profile was indeed that of the rising star investigative reporter while trying not to ogle her stunning legs..

Was it that shocking to her that I knew who she was? How could I not? Granted, maybe every billionaire doesn’t read the local news or remember who wrote the articles exposing corruption. Blackwell had teased me mercifully about doing that kind of thing when we were young.

And I had to admit, the truth was, I had an ulterior motive for studying Emily Skye. My brothers and I needed help to combat a bad PR campaign ahead of my next big news, and she’d come up as a name the people trusted. A woman who couldn’t be bought.

She must have forgotten that she’d responded to my email with a scathing retort about how she does not do PR for billionaires. If she remembered writing that email, she wouldn’t have been surprised that I knew her name.

I had to admit that the memory of that email made her much more intriguing in my eyes. Not many people said ‘no’ to me these days.

Yet even as I admired her integrity, I felt my brow furrowing in frustration as I stared at her sitting in my passenger seat. She clearly didn’t know how much danger she’d put herself in tonight. Even if she was carrying a tiny pistol on a garter under that dress, it wouldn’t have been enough to save her if Kurt decided he wanted her dead and no one intervened.

And just like that, I was trying not to think about what was under that dress, trying not to imagine that chiseled profile moaning in ecstasy…

Wearing that red dress, she’d made me stop in my tracks. Even before I realized why she looked familiar, I had wanted her. It was no wonder that Kurt had, too.

Now, she was sitting beside me, and I tried to stop my thoughts as I turned the key in the ignition and drove out of Calypso’s premises.

This was a rescue mission. A drive home from a dangerous situation. Nothing more.

“May I ask why you know me?” Emily’s voice was surprisingly timid for someone whose written words held such force. “Many people have read my work but don’t recognize me in person like you did.”

“Some overzealous magazines have been publishing unflattering stories about my company, as you probably know. It’s led to issues in getting the communities we are trying to help to trust us and receive our aid. My brothers and I looked into independent journalists known for delving into issues of social justice. I saw and appreciated your work.”

I shot her a pointed look, wondering if she would remember her reply to my email.

She looked away. “Oh.” A pause. “You…didn’t actually read that email I sent, did you?”

“My signature was on it.”

“Yes, but so many billionaires have personal assistants or ghostwriters. I thought…”

I could not restrain a delighted smile as I realized she was starting to blush. She must have remembered her choice of language. Vividly.

“I don’t let assistants sign my name.” I tried to sound harsh as I said it, but my silly-little-boy grin at her embarrassment probably spoiled the effect.

“I found your response quite unprofessional,” I said, managing to recover my serious composure.

She bristled. “My work is finding out the truth and condemning injustice. I can’t do that if the person I’m investigating is paying my salary!”

I frowned. “That’s fair. But we only wanted you to come into the company to observe and write an honest report afterward. What did you think I was proposing?”

“Sure. You just wanted an unbiased review. And I’m sure you’d pay me just the same whether I had good things or bad things to say about you.” she said dryly.

“I would!” I insisted. Part of me could see her point, but the rest of me hated it when people assumed the worst about me. “I’m not my father.” I said hotly.

“Sure, you’re not.” The skepticism in her voice killed me.

“Where do I drop you off, Miss Skye?” I asked coldly.

After a beat of silence, she cocked her head to the side and fixed me with those piercing green eyes. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. The night is still young. You seem quite upset that I rejected your offer. Don’t you want to prove to me that you’re running a clean operation?”

I glanced at her again, taking in her sudden coy smile. Was she flirting with me? Why?

Because you’re a billionaire, Travis,my brain supplied.

That didn’t make her like me before.

But a beautiful and brilliant woman was either flirting with me or making a profitable business proposal. Or, best case scenario, both. I decided to take her up on her offer. “You wouldn’t mind a late dinner, would you?”

“Not at all,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting across from each other on a restaurant balcony, sipping wine and looking at each other. I tried to remember the last time I felt so attracted to anyone. Beautiful women have a tendency to throw themselves at billionaires, and Emily’s scathing rejection of my first approach—even if it was a professional one—made her infinitely more interesting to me. I even felt a tiny glimmer of hope that she might like me for me, not for my money which she appeared to actually view as a negative, not a reason to suck up to me.

I hammered that hope back down to where it came from in the pits of my subconscious. I’d been burned too many times before.

As she sat down across from me at the table, more graceful and regal than she had any right to be in such a tiny dress, I had the absurd thought that this felt like fate. A woman who had so many qualities I admired falling into my lap, not during business hours, but at Calypso of all places. A place she had no reason to go. The only place I went to unwind since the tabloid journalists couldn’t get in.

Get a hold of yourself, Travis. You’re thinking like a teenage boy.

I had to admit, though, it was nice to feel like a teenager again.

I couldn’t help but watch her as she ordered, even if the haze of her beauty drowned out her actual words in my ears. Her face was bathed in the dim light of the restaurant and the moonlight that spilled in through the window. Both cast a beautiful glow on her that made her look ethereal, like a goddess.

She turned to me and started to speak. To my shock, I couldn’t seem to process her words because I was too preoccupied with the curve of her mouth, with the intense emotions flickering through those green eyes at lightning speed as she spoke to me.

Puzzled, I glanced at my scarcely touched wine glass. No, this intoxication wasn”t from the wine. It was something far more potent. Not love. You can’t be in love with someone you’ve just met.

Not even if you’ve spent days poring over her words…

It was at this point that I realized she was staring at me expectantly, exasperation creeping into those green eyes. She was waiting for me to say something. Maybe to answer a question?

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” I asked in my best ‘I-definitely-didn’t-just-space-out-in-the-middle-of-a-business-meeting’ voice.

“Why would you care about the accusations against you if they’re not true?” Emily was demanding hotly. “It’s not like they’re affecting your stock prices. Investors don’t care about that sort of thing.” Was that bitterness in her voice?

“It’s true that our stock prices don’t seem to care about the accusations,” I admitted. “The issue isn’t with our profit margin… it’s the foundation.”

I struggled to keep my hands flat on the table. My thoughts were consumed by all the damage this was doing to the foundation I had spent my life dreaming of creating.

Since childhood, I had dreamed of using my family”s wealth to help the world instead of harming it. My determination only became fiercer when I grew up and learned of my father’s business practices and their impact on ordinary people.

With my brothers and me in charge of the company now, it seemed like I was finally getting somewhere --finally in a position to help those who needed it. It would be terrible to let those people down just because some skeptics were sowing distrust of all things Ross, including our attempts to make the world a better place.

“The foundation is important to me. I want to be able to reach all those people out there who could benefit from our help, and this is the way I know how to do it.” I was surprised to feel my throat tighten as I spoke the words. I’d given this pitch in meetings dozens of times before, but it felt raw and vulnerable when I spoke it to Emily.

“I’ve always wanted to run a different kind of charity. Instead of hiring someone to give funds to people, I’ve always wanted to create a foundation that supports existing grassroots organizations and works with them directly.”

“Oh!” Emily’s lips formed an almost perfect circle as she looked at me in surprise.

“This is something I have given a lot of thought to but not something I’ve publicized,” I pause for a moment. “That’s why we’re looking into hiring actual journalists for PR who can help us get the work done and reach out to grassroots organizations that already exist, the communities who are helping themselves --people with disabilities, autism, people of color, and so many more. We are trying to reach out to those who don’t have enough opportunity compared to the big corporations to make things accessible to them.”

I leaned back in my seat when I realized I’d leaned toward her, over the table, in my enthusiasm to share my dream.

Emily was staring at me with eyes narrowed in hard suspicion. “How would you do that?” she asked.

“There are people with disabilities who are unable to afford the supplies they need. Things like prosthetics, wheelchairs, or even something as simple as food or insulin. We want to provide these supplies without them having to worry about the cost of it all. Scholarships will also be available for those who want to go to school.”

I waved one hand for emphasis, even as I tried to rein in my enthusiasm. “These are the sorts of things wealth should be used for. And this plan has already been on the back burner for so long.”

There were so many things I wanted to do, and I needed a platform. I needed a writer.

“Obviously,” I continued. “I am not a part of these communities. So, it would be pretty useless to say I want to help these communities by myself or hire people to manage the money. That would open up room for misappropriation of funds. I want to give it to the leaders within these communities who know how best to manage it. But…people are suspicious of no-strings-attached money. For obvious reasons.”

I scowled, thinking of some of the articles highlighting the least flattering aspects of my father’s legacy, then implying that my brothers and I were just the same.

“I have seen that happening a lot with people who try to run charities themselves,” Emily agreed grudgingly.

I suddenly realized that I’d turned this into a business meeting, but I pushed down my disappointment at that. After all, the good of those in need was more important than my desire for a more personal connection with this woman.

“Exactly.” I took a deep breath. “So, I want to give the funds directly to these communities.”

“That makes sense…” she admitted. “So, do you…actually have people turning you down when you try to give them money? It’s that big of a problem?”

“It is,” I admitted.

“And you’re upset about that?”

“Of course!”

“Okay, I’ll admit that sounds pretty sincere,” Emily said. “I didn’t know you billionaire types had it in you.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t jump to conclusions before you find out what’s going on,” I shot back, watching her brows raise.

“Are you going to keep being sassy and salty about that email?” she asked.

“Sassy?” It was my turn to arch my brows at her. “It’s bold of you to say that to me.”

I took a bite of my food—almost my first. I realized I had been so occupied with watching her and talking to her.

She chuckled, and it grated on my nerves.

“You seem like those people who have a preconceived idea and don’t care what the truth is. All they care about is what they think is true,” I said, finally, an icy lacing my voice. “You decided I was the bad guy, so obviously I must be. Even though you didn’t really know anything about me.”

She dropped her fork, her eyes boring into mine, as she asked, “Are you just looking for a fight?”

“No,” I gritted out. I changed the subject. “I just think you might have a tendency to not think things through before charging ahead to speak… or act. Like your decision to go to Calypso. You’ve got to know the place’s reputation.”

“Well, I went there for a reason. I had something to do,” she retorted.

“And you got caught by Kurt. It could have been bad if I hadn’t intervened. What did you go there to do anyway?”

She ground her teeth. “I’m after a slippery bastard who acts like they are clean and nice and good to the public. Meanwhile, they go to Calypso and do who-knows-what-else behind the scenes.”

I thought about what she said and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. There are a lot of people like that, especially the politicians. They act squeaky clean out in public but hide all of their dirty secrets in Calypso,” I told her.

“I hate people like that,” she said vehemently.

“Me too,” I fixed my eyes on her as she looked away. “Still…don’t risk yourself like that again. So many things could have gone wrong. And I’d hate to lose you. The city needs your voice.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said icily.

I chuckled as I held my hands up in surrender. “Alright, fine. I told you my story. Now it’s your turn to tell me yours.”