Page 4 of The Billionaire's Promise

At first, I’d thought he was just another party boy, one more guy in search of a good time. Maybe he was. Maybe I was reading him wrong. But the more I got to know him, the more certain I was that his drinking was more than that. All of it—the drinking, the endless string of women—felt desperate, and he wasn’t happy. Sometimes, when he didn’t think anyone was looking, his eyes went dark and lost. I never let on that I knew, but I wished I could fix what was eating at him. I didn’t dare ask. Vance wasn’t the kind of guy who talked about his feelings. Ever.

I knew enough to guess at what might be the cause. He was a Winters, a family notorious for scandal and tragedy. Vance and his siblings had lost their parents when he was just a child to a grisly murder-suicide. His aunt and uncle had taken them in and raised them along with their own children until they, too, had been murdered when Vance was seventeen. The whole thing was creepy and terrible. Awful. The Winters family was wealthy and powerful. Notnice cars, big house, great jobwealthy. They were generations of billionaires running a company that made more money every year than many countries’ GDPs.

You’d think it would be easy to be that rich. In some ways, it was. Vance never had to work a day in his life. He didn’t have to worry about rent, or student loans, or car payments. But all that money, all that power, couldn’t bring back his dead parents. And when they’d died, their wealth had made them all targets. The media attention had been brutal. I didn’t remember his parents dying. I’d been in school in England by then, but I vividly recalled his aunt’s and uncle’s murders. The speculation had been wild and unending.

The remaining Winters still attracted attention on a regular basis. I’d chased photographers away from Vance’s building myself on more than one slow news day. I thought I understood why he drank so much, but it made me worry for him. I liked him, and I hated to see him so unhappy.

Not your business, I reminded myself.You're here to do your job. That Vance had become a friend as well as my employer didn’t change anything. Shaking myself out of my daze, I went back to the kitchen, set Vance’s smoothie down on the island, and proceeded to Step Four.

This was going to be fun.

I filled a tall glass with cold water and walked back to the bedroom, taking my time, the music still blasting through the loft. Vance hadn’t moved an inch. Oh, well, he’d asked for it.

Standing beside him, I held the glass over his head and tilted it, spilling the icy water into his closed eyes for a second before trailing it down his spine. Usually, the first drop of water did the trick. On a bad day, like this one, I got all the way to that tight, perfect ass before he reacted.

When he moved, it was so fast I almost dropped the water. He flipped onto his back, one hand shooting out to snatch the glass from my grip, totally comfortable with his nudity. He propped himself up on one arm and drained the water, his blue eyes on mine, sleepy and oddly intent.

I didnotlook at him. I didn’t. So I definitely didn’t notice his erection. Not like I hadn’t seen it before. Vance was no stranger to morning wood. Since I woke him up and he slept naked, neither was I.

I’d learned exactly where to look to avoid getting an eyeful. And I did. Avoid it. It was hard, considering Vance had the biggest cock I’d ever seen. Seriously. It’s not like I’d seen a ton, but I knew he was above average. Well above average.

I wasn’t tempted by him. Really, I wasn’t. I knew him too well at this point to be enticed by the size of his dick. Vance was not boyfriend material. And I had Brayden, who had a lot more to offer me than just a hot body and a huge penis. Not that Brayden had a huge penis. He didn’t, which was part of the reason I went out of my way to avoid looking at Vance’s cock.

I’d just signed up for a lifetime of average, and I didn’t need to get used to the sight of super-size. Based on the way most of his women begged for another roll in his sheets, I assumed Vance knew what to do with his cock. Brayden . . . not so much.

Sex wasn’t everything in a relationship.

It was the one area where Brayden fell short. And it was all Vance had to offer any woman. He didn’t do fidelity. He couldn’t even get out of bed on time, much less maintain a relationship. My eyes were wide open about Vance Winters, which is why I kept my gaze on his and waited, patiently, for him to finish the water.

“You up?” I asked.

“You’re in a chipper mood this morning,” he said, his voice gravelly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling to indicate the music. I grinned at him.

“I am. Are you up?”

He gave a grunt, which I took to mean that he was.

“Do you want breakfast or just the smoothie?”

Vance winced. I knew what that meant and made a note to get out the Ibuprofen.

“Check,” I said. “Just the smoothie. It’s ready. Do you need me to get Amy up?”

To my relief, he shook his head. “We’re good.” He handed me back the water glass and swung his feet to the side of the bed, letting his head fall forward for a moment, his blond hair sliding into his face, hiding his eyes.

I was standing barely a foot away when he surged to his feet, his body so close I could feel the heat of him, the head of his hard cock brushing the back of my hand. I jumped away, snatching my hand back as if scalded, my cheeks flushing and my skin suddenly too tight. I scowled at him, refusing to acknowledge my body’s reaction to his.

It didn’t help that he towered over me, surrounding me, his eyes as dark as midnight. Pulling out my headmistress voice, my best defense when he made me nervous, I said, “Put some clothes on.”

My spine stiff, I marched out of the room, hoping he hadn’t noticed my blush. Vance had never hit on me after that first day, but he loved to tease. If he saw how flustered I was, he’d probably refuse to get dressed or do something equally juvenile.

I pressed the empty, but still cold, water glass to my hot cheeks, willing my blush to fade. It was just naked Vance. No big deal. So what if his cock had touched my hand? It had been an accident, nothing more. It hadn’t even been sexual. I put the glass in the dishwasher. The shower turned on. Knowing Vance would have roused Amy before getting in the shower, I set the music to a more bearable volume level and put on one of my normal mixes. I loved Katrina, but the same song six times in a row was enough.

By the time Amy dragged herself from the bedroom, dark circles like bruises beneath her eyes and her dark hair in a messy bun, I had her coffee ready in a to-go cup. She gave me a thin smile. I’d never seen her when she wasn’t hung over, but I imagined she was normally beautiful. Even the morning after, exhausted and half-sick, she was more than just pretty.

A flash of jealousy hit me as I handed her the coffee. She was everything I wasn’t—thin, gorgeous, easygoing. She took the cup with a wry smile and said, “Thanks, Maggie. You make the best coffee.” Taking a sip, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling in rapture. “Thebestcoffee. Have a good one.” Then she was gone.

“You too,” I called out the door. She gave a wave, but she didn’t stop. Easygoing. She was the only one who never asked Vance for more. I didn’t know what she did in her real life. I only saw her in these little snippets of time, at first, once or twice a month. Lately, more often. She and Vance seemed to want the same thing—a never-ending party followed by sex. If that was what made them happy, I wasn’t going to judge.