No Headlines Please (Billionaires on Main Street #3)

A Tale of Two Six-Packs

Delaney

By the time I reached the building, I had stopped pretending this was going well.

For the last six blocks, my old-fashioned yellow suitcase had been scraping along behind me – not because a wheel was broken, but because it had fallen off entirely somewhere between the guy screaming obscenities and the coffee shop I couldn't afford.

And don't get me started on the hydrangea.

Back when I was driving, bringing a potted hydrangea to Chicago had seemed like a terrific idea. But now that I was walking, it was shedding bright pink petals down the front of my already damp shirt.

I wrestled the suitcase forward another foot and then another. When the wheelless corner caught on the umpteenth crack in the sidewalk, I gave the suitcase a hard yank and muttered, "Son-of-a-bitch!"

I winced. So who was spewing obscenities now? But hey, at least I wasn't screaming.

Yet.

On the bustling sidewalk, a pair of well-dressed women stopped to stare, and I resisted the urge to give them the finger.

After all, it wasn't their fault I was losing it.

I was overheated, underprepared, and officially out of options.

Correction – I was out of good options, options that didn't make me look like a total basket case.

Twenty-one blocks ago, I'd still had a plan.

It involved a hotel room, a long shower, and a calm, normal reunion with my sister that began with me handing her the plant and saying something jokey like, "Look! I brought foliage."

Now, the joke was on me.

A few good yanks later, I finally reached Tessa's apartment building. With a little groan, I let the suitcase drop against my leg and shifted the hydrangea to my other arm, nearly dropping it in the process.

I caught my reflection in the glass and didn't love what I saw – dark auburn hair looking a little too wild, a grimy white shirt dotted with pink petals, and a long smudge of dirt along my left cheek.

I didn't bother wiping it away.

When I turned and gave the two women another glance, they scurried away like I was about to ask them for a sandwich and spare change.

Forget the change. I would've killed for the sandwich.

And for a nice latte? I would've done things so unspeakable, even a monster would blush.

My stomach rumbled as I turned back to the building and decided to fix my appearance inside, where nobody could stare but Tessa, assuming she was even home.

I looked up toward the skyline, taking in the full sixteen floors of brick, glass, and evenly spaced balconies.

It looked just like it had on their website, where it boasted updated apartments with city views and convenient access to everything. There were even two penthouses occupying the entire top floor.

Knowing my ambitious sister, she'd have a penthouse of her own someday. But right now, she lived on the seventh, like other Chicago climbers on their way up.

This wasn't the direction I was heading.

I bit my lip. Would she be happy to see me?

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

After all, I'd been dodging her for nearly a year for reasons I was pretty sure she'd understand once I had the chance to explain.

Hopefully.

I took a deep breath, tucked the hydrangea tighter against my torso, and marched straight to the entrance, dragging the suitcase along behind me.

When I reached the door, I released the suitcase just long enough to grab the door handle and give it a good, strong pull while looking back to make sure my suitcase didn't topple over.

I grabbed the suitcase handle just in time, braced the door with my shoulder, and gave the suitcase a hard yank. It shot forward way too fast, pushing me right along with it.

I turned and stumbled forward – half outside, half inside – and crashed directly into a stranger on his way out. There was a solid, unmistakable collision with an "oof" on my part and utter silence on his.

I pulled back just in time to see a cascade of dirt and petals tumble down the front of his very white shirt and onto his dark leather loafers.

I froze as the door caught halfway open and bumped awkwardly against my hip.

The guy didn't move.

Neither of us said anything.

In a flash, I took him in. He was dark-haired and obnoxiously handsome, with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and the kind of quiet, contained presence that made this whole fiasco feel even worse.

I stared down at his soiled shirt and then, lower, to his dirt-speckled shoes. They looked beyond expensive, just like the rest of him.

Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze back up. His suit was charcoal, with the jacket unbuttoned over the previously pristine shirt. He wore no tie, and his shirt collar was open just enough to make me swallow as I craned my neck to meet his dark, assessing gaze.

He wasn't smiling.

But then again, it's not like I'd be smiling if someone had dumped a big, stupid mess on me.

I was still fumbling for something to say when a gruff male voice from somewhere behind me barked out, "Are you gonna stand there all day?"

I whirled to look and saw an elderly man, carrying a six-pack of beer in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in the other.

He jerked his chin toward the half-open door. "And you're lettin' the air out."

Right. The air in the lobby was cool. The air at my back was warm. Or maybe I was just burning with embarrassment. This was my cue to move. Obviously.

But when I looked forward again, the guy in the suit still hadn't budged, making me the meat in this human sandwich.

I gave him an apologetic wince. "I'm really sorry."

From behind me, Beer Guy grumbled, "Me, too. The beer was cold when I bought it."

But the guy in the suit? He still said nothing. And he sure as heck didn't budge.

Desperately, I blurted out, "I can pay for the shirt if you want." But then, my stomach sank. Oh, crap. Could I afford the shirt?

No. Definitely not.

Quickly, I amended, "I mean…I can pay to have it cleaned." Probably.

From behind me, the older guy snorted. "Nice. You gonna buy my beer, too?"

I turned back with a sharp look. "Only if I get to drink it."

This made him frown. "Hey, get your own beer."

Yeah, right. I couldn't even afford a basic black coffee.

But honestly, this wasn't my fault. Just today, I'd discovered that my previously healthy bank account had been drained while I wasn't looking.

Worst of all, I knew exactly who'd done it.

Long story there.

Regardless, the surprise withdrawal had triggered a whole cascade of financial doom, leaving me with no cash, no working credit cards, and enough anger to ruin Thanksgiving.

Again.

But right now, Thanksgiving was months away, and I was still trapped between two strangers – a guy brandishing a six-pack and another sporting a six-pack under his shirt.

I didn't need to see it to know it was there.

But forget his abs. I was still standing here with exactly zero dollars and no easy escape. I hitched the hydrangea higher and gave Suit Guy a pleading look. "Look, I really am sorry. I just…this wasn't supposed to happen."

I hesitated. Maybe I could fix it? Letting the suitcase rest against my leg, I reached out and brushed at the front of his shirt.

The dirt smeared. My stomach growled. And behind me, the other guy cleared his throat so loud, it was a wonder he didn't hack up a bag of pretzels to go with his beer.

I refused to look, but I did stop brushing. My hand hovered uselessly in midair as I mumbled, "Nope. That's…um, worse actually."

Behind me, Beer Guy asked, "Do you mind?"

Oh, for God's sake. I glared back over my shoulder, not bothering to hide my annoyance. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was this whole situation inconvenient for you?"

There was a beat of silence before he replied, "Yeah." His eyebrows furrowed. "You're just noticing now?"

I opened my mouth to say something rude, but the guy actually had a point. I would be angry, too, if I were in his shoes.

I turned back to Suit Guy. "Can we just…step inside and settle this without blocking the door?"

Finally, he stepped back, giving me just enough room to clear the doorway.

With Beer Guy close on my heels, I moved forward, catching a faint, clean scent that made my stomach dip in ways that had nothing to do with hunger. Even worse, the scent was coming from him – the guy I'd just assaulted.

Terrific. He even smelled expensive, which of course made me feel even grubbier in the upscale lobby.

The space was quiet and well-kept, with a tasteful seating area off to the side. It wasn't a big seating area – just a sofa and a pair of armchairs arranged around a low coffee table.

Regardless, the whole vibe was clean and polished, like the place had standards and a full staff to keep it gleaming.

Meanwhile, my suitcase bumped and scraped as I hauled it deeper into the lobby.

When I'd almost reached the coffee table, I let my suitcase thump awkwardly to the floor and turned to watch as Suit Guy moved toward me at an easy pace.

And of course, he looked stupidly sexy doing it, like one of those slow-motion movie scenes where the hero looks hotter than sin just walking across a room.

He stopped just beyond arm's reach – probably to avoid getting sullied.

My gaze shifted to the petals and dirt scattered near the entrance, and I couldn't help but cringe. I would need to clean that up.

I was still eyeing the mess when Beer Guy reached the pair of elevators and called out, "Guess it's your lucky day, huh?" And then, as if to drive the point home, he lifted the six-pack in a mock toast.

I only stared. Lucky?

Not hardly.

I turned back to Suit Guy and gave his shirt a worried glance. "So…maybe you could send me the bill after you clean it?" No, that wasn't right. "I mean…after you have someone else clean it?"

Because let's be real. There was no way this guy did his own laundry.

Finally, he spoke – a single word in a calm, steady voice. "Where?"

"Where, what?"

"Where would I send the bill?"

"Oh." Where indeed. The answer should've been easy. But the truth was, I'd just given up my cozy apartment near the beach and put all my stuff into storage. After months of feeling like I was being watched, I'd finally bolted like a total coward.

I wasn't even sure where I would end up. But I was sure that if I didn't stop by my sister's place to explain, I'd feel even more awful than I had last summer, when I'd dropped off the family radar.

Mister Tall, Dark and Expensive said, "Oh, what?"

I blinked. "Sorry?"

"So…your address has only one digit?"

Was that a joke? I couldn't even tell, but I seriously doubted it, because for one thing, I saw no trace of humor in his dark, compelling eyes. "Actually…that 'oh' wasn't a zero."

His eyebrows lifted barely a fraction, but he said nothing in reply.

So naturally I started rambling. "It was an 'oh', as in…'Oh, I don't know my address.'"

Great. Now I sounded like a moron.

He gave me a skeptical look. "Is that so?"

Feeling just a little defensive, I told him, "Hey, I'm in the process of moving."

"And you don't know where?"

"I never said that." And yet, somehow he'd known. Or more likely, he thought I was trying to weasel my way out of paying.

This wasn't true. And for some reason, it suddenly seemed very important that he know this. I glanced toward the elevators before blurting out, "I know. You can send the bill to my sister's place."

His only reply was a long, penetrating look that made me wish the hydrangea were ten times the size so I could hide like a peeper in the bushes.

Yeah, right.

Like I could carry a plant that big.

Even the modest-size one was feeling stupidly heavy. Twenty-some blocks ago, the weight had been nothing.

Now, it felt like a potted bowling ball, which really sucked because bowling was supposed to be fun.

This wasn't.

I was sweaty, tired, and a total mess, which made what happened next all the more confusing.

He glanced down at his soiled shirt – and then at me. "Forget the bill."

Relief hit first, quickly followed by a wave of guilt. "Really?" I hesitated. "But shouldn't I do something to make up for it?"

"Yes, actually."

The answer caught me off guard. "So…like what?"

His expression didn't change. "Buy me a coffee."