The Billionaire's Hotline (Men of the Capital Series Book 1) Read online

  Jasper had had a productive day, finalizing the acquisition of two more promising competitors in the wind energy industry. He didn’t care much about green energy, but he liked to breathe and figured it was easier to make a profit off people who were healthy and generating income to buy his other products. It seemed a sound investment. Better than those e-cigarettes he’d passed up; although they were gaining popularity, he still thought they looked ridiculous. He hoped the actress didn’t smoke plastic cigarettes or anything else…he couldn’t stand the taste.

  At eight, Jasper was sitting at the bar at the Blake in the same suit he’d worn to work. If it had been a date or an event, something where he had to worry about the impression he’d make, he would have gone home to change. As it was, he was able to work straight through until 7:45 and still make it to his rendezvous on time. He congratulated himself again on the sheer convenience of his planning…investing in a hotel with a lux bar close to the office, hiring a secretary and ersatz bagel boy to orchestrate his social life. It was good to be king, he mused complacently.

  At 8:10, his actress had not arrived. He called Miss Hollingford with instructions to text the woman again. At 8:20, he demanded the number and texted her himself. There was no response, and certainly no delectable blonde on the menu at the Blake Bar. Exasperated, he texted again five minutes later. Didn’t she realize his time was valuable? If she showed up by 8:30 and apologized, he’d still sleep with her, he decided magnanimously. If she showed up by 8:40 and was suitably gorgeous, he might even buy her a drink first, although to his mind she had already wasted the getting-to-know-you courtesy quarter hour with her appalling lateness. He knew he should give up and return to the office, but he was reluctant to admit that his system had failed. It was a matter of pride now. Even though he could be at the gym or signing off on a leveraged buyout. Irritated beyond the telling of it, Jasper texted again. It felt good to plague her with obsessive reminders. It was satisfying somehow. He didn’t even admit the possibility that she’d discarded the phone or forgotten to charge it.

  At nine, a vagrant entered the bar, her cut-offs and tank top spattered with paint. Messy brown hair was coming out of a lopsided ponytail and her face was flushed. Perhaps she was mentally ill, Jasper thought idly. Security should come take care of this before the patrons were importuned with some sort of scene. Even his house cleaner dressed better than that. What business she thought she had in an upscale hotel bar was beyond him. He punched in another text angrily. Seconds later, an absurdly loud message beep sounded…from the phone that vagrant creature held in her hand. She brandished it with disgust and marched directly up to him.

  The mentally-ill street person addressed billionaire CEO Jasper Cates.

  “Who the HELL do you think you are?” She hissed. People had ceased to talk and were avidly listening to the confrontation. Jasper let his derisive gaze sweep her from head to toe languorously.

  “That depends entirely on whom exactly you think I am.”

  “You’ve been texting this phone incessantly for the last hour and a half now what do you want?”

  “There appears to be some mistake. I was trying to reach Rebecca,” he said smoothly, pleased that he remembered the actress’s name and wondering why in God’s name the half-witted bagel boy would have given a phone to this harpy. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t happy, and she clearly wasn’t overfond of Crossfit, judging by the softness of her shape. She wasn’t even clean.

  “Becca is my sister,” she said. “You need to leave her alone. She’s happy. She’s with someone now, and she doesn’t need you fucking things up for her with your stalking.”

  “Did you just say fucking in the Blake Bar?” Amusement quirked the corner of his sardonic mouth.

  “Yes, I fucking did,” she spat. “Now stop texting and calling this number. It’s not Becca’s phone anymore, and I’m certainly not interested in you.”

  “I assure you I won’t be trying to contact anyone at that number again. Clearly Rebecca’s life is going another direction now. I cherish the effort and grace required to inform me of that fact when a simple text message would have been adequate.”

  “You were texting her obsessively. It was—alarming. I wanted to make sure you backed off.” A number of sophisticated diners were gaping at her, and her courage withered. “I know how I must look. I was painting my apartment when you started texting and…I guess I didn’t think it through.”

  “I’ll take the phone back.”

  “No. I need it. She gave it to me because she was through with it. It was hers. Were you the guy who gave it to her?”

  “No but the phone belongs to my company.”

  “Then how did Becca—never mind. My sister gave it to me, and I’m keeping it.”

  “Listen, Miss—“

  “Largent. Hannah Largent,” she said, hands on her hips, fury at defending her phone burning away her fit of embarrassment.

  “Miss Largent, your sister was given the phone for a reason which is no longer viable. Return it to me.”

  “Forget it.” She turned around and stalked out of the bar.

  Without hesitation, Jasper left his drink and took off after her. The idea of this harpy keeping one of his phones when it could be redistributed to a woman who met his criteria was offensive. That was his thirty dollar disposable phone, and he’d be damned if some stupid actress was going to get away with giving it to her frumpy sister. He caught up to her. Maybe she wasn’t as out-of-shape as he had thought, considering her speed. Grabbing her by the arm, he stopped her. She whipped her head around, her ponytail flicking him across the face.

  “Seriously? You’re going to follow me, because all the text stalking didn’t make you seem psycho enough?” She scoffed.

  For the first time, he noticed that her voice was gorgeous, low and husky. It made him think of a dark cabaret, a pair of red lips closing around a white cigarette, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to form a perfect pale smoke ring drifting up to the rafters. Her voice was like velvet, and he had a fierce urge to cover her mouth with his.

  “My phone,” he gasped.

  “No, that’s MY phone. Were you going to give it to some other girl? Wait—that’s it, isn’t it? You gave the phone to Becca or had someone else do it so you could call her to hook up. How many phones have you given out?”

  “Twenty-nine.” He smirked.

  “That is repulsive. Who does that?”

  “I’m a busy man, Miss Lawson.”

  Hannah leaned closer for emphasis. “Largent. But if you’re as successful as you act, you already knew that and just said my name wrong to put me in my place.”

  Now Jasper knew she sounded like Nina Simone and smelled like cinnamon gum. He found it hard to regulate his breathing, much less keep his hands to himself.

  “Excuse me?” His eyebrows shot up.

  “You dropped your voice to make it sound confidential, but your eyes cut to the left. You’re trying to manage me with a falsehood.”

  “Are you a criminal profiler or something?”

  “Actually, I do voiceovers and some sound effects editing. I work both sides of the sound board. I know how to manipulate intonation linguistics. It’s part of my job. You, Mr. Cates, have a Machiavellian inflection.”

  “Is that a clinical term?”

  “No. I just made it up, but it suits you, because you’ll say anything to achieve your objective. You belittle me, lie to me, and harass my sister.”

  “I merely tendered an invitation which she no longer wishes to accept. Return my phone so it can be recirculated.”

  “I refuse to abet such a blatantly patriarchal attempt at human trafficking.” Her low voice grew haughty, but no less irresistible for it.

  “Human trafficking entails financial gain or compensation. I read Half the Sky, so don’t try to give me a vocabulary lesson and mischaracterize my dating methodology as an atrocity against women and children.”

  “Prostitution, then.”

  �
��Again, by definition, a financial transaction. I have never had to pay for or even coerce sexual favors from anyone.”

  “You’re awfully insecure for such an arrogant man. I’d like to add you to my repertoire. May I record you?”

  Jasper bristled at the implication and set his jaw. “No,” he barked.

  “I’ll give you back the phone in three days—that’s when I’ll get my real phone back—if you’ll let me record you being arrogant and manipulative. I’d like to study your intonation and see if I can imitate it for work purposes. It’s more complex than I first thought,” she offered, dropping her voice so he had to step closer.

  “No one is studying my voice. I’m not a test subject. I’m a CEO.”

  “Congratulations. You must be very proud,” Hannah said slyly. “You’re not getting the phone tonight, and you’re obviously not going to get laid unless you mobilize another disposable tart. So I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you’ll keep talking to me.”

  “I don’t drink coffee,” he spat reflexively.

  He was tempted to go to a diner with her, to keep talking to her, to see if he could win her over and perhaps to convince her to put that luscious mouth on him. She had full lips, bordering on a pout, but a tight, cross expression ruined their sensuality. Jasper thought that, given a chance, he could do away with her look of profound dissatisfaction.

  “Okay. I’ll have coffee and you can have water or something healthy like that. Unless you’re afraid of tap water, too.”

  “Why would I be afraid of tap water?” he said sourly.

  “You acted like I asked you to tip back a mug of battery acid when I mentioned coffee. I assume it’s got additives or carcinogens or some crap like that and you’re afraid to drink it. Live a little.”

  “I was trying to, but you took her phone,” he said with a rakish grin. “What kind of coffee do you drink? Isn’t tea better for your vocal chords?”

  “Yes, Mom. I like coffee. The kind with lots of caffeine and sugar, and whipped cream if I can get it.” She laughed at him.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, equally irritated and aroused by her. This, he supposed, was banter…that snappy nonsense from black and white films that Clare used to go on about. He recalled her perpetual whining that he was a terrible communicator and never engaged with her. Why had he thought of her now? She had been utterly unlike this street urchin with the sexy voice and the fierce opinions. Banter was easy with Hannah Largent because she got a rise out of him.

  “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, all the whipped cream you want, and you can listen to me speak while I convince you to relinquish the phone to its rightful owner.” Jasper dialed up the charm, knowing full well that his smile was warm and showing just the hint of a dimple in his right cheek. Women loved that dimple.

  “Sure. I’ll drink free coffee, but you’re not getting the phone. Let’s say it’s in the name of linguistics research.”

  Jasper offered her his arm, resisting anxiety about the relative cleanliness of her hand on the light wool of his tailored jacket. Rolling her eyes, she took his arm expertly and they entered a coffee shop as if promenading toward an arch of balloons for their prom picture. Hannah slid into a booth and seized a plastic menu, her eyes voraciously scanning the contents.

  “I’ll have the number five,” she announced to the waitress.

  “Bacon or sausage?”

  “Both, please. And a cup of coffee.” She smiled.

  “Cheeky girl,” he muttered. “I’ll have water.”

  “Just water?” the waitress inquired.

  “Yes, thank you, Charlene,” he said, reading her name tag. The waitress flushed and smiled at him indulgently.

  “Thank you.”

  “For breakfast at nine thirty at night?”

  “For calling me a cheeky girl. It may have been intended as a pejorative, but it’s practically the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”

  “Hannah, you’re a mess. That was honest.”

  “See, you remembered my name just fine.” Her low voice was triumphant. “I know what I look like. I was mad and I took off without preparation. If I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have charged into the Blake like this. Probably.”

  “You seem fairly bold to me.”

  “You misread me, then. I spend most of the time in my apartment.”

  “That would explain the unnatural paleness.”

  “Hush. I’m Vitamin D deficient and I don’t spend time outside. I have a little sound room at home—I do commercial voice overs and movie preview narration. If I can’t sleep, I go do some PowerPoints.”

  “Slide shows?”

  “I do a ton of PowerPoint narrations. They don’t pay much, but if you do enough of them…” She trailed off.

  “I gather you don’t sleep much,” he remarked, sipping his water.

  “Sometimes,” she said lightly. “How about you?”

  “Five hours a night,” he said proudly. “Then I work out, shower, and I’m at work by seven.”

  “Tell me more. I want to hear your voice,” she said and it occurred to him that it was ironic: he would have preferred to listen to hers.

  “I started out as a summer intern at a brokerage firm when I was a freshman. I worked my way up, and seven years ago I started my own company. It’s a conglomerate with holdings in transportation, consumer goods, healthcare, and I’m expanding into alternative energy.”

  “Total world domination, then? What about you, not just your business?”

  “I’m—what, a Virgo?”

  “The virgin.” She smiled. “Exacting, obsessed with details, repressed.”

  “Hardly,” Jasper retorted.

  “Let’s review now: you’re distributing phones, or having someone else do it, so you have a readily accessible pool of attractive women. You don’t have to go looking for them and weed out the undesirables. I’d say that’s exacting and obsessive. I’m guessing you have a type. Judging by my sister as an example: blond, young and pretty. Judging by your comment on my pallor, add tanned and toned onto that description. Nothing outside those parameters gets a phone. Limited, ergo repressed. Am I getting near the bone?”

  “Pretty near, but your character assessment leaves something to be desired.” Hannah leaned across the table. His eyes darted to her cleavage, because when she bent forward, he could see down her top. He found the depressingly plain cotton bra sadly predictable.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “I’m a self-made man. My parents both worked minimum wage jobs and we lived in a rent house. I wanted better, and I was smart enough and worked hard enough to get it.”

  “Now you’ll accept nothing less than the very finest, whether it’s shoes, cars or women. Yes?” She leaned back to admit her plate of pancakes and fried breakfast meats, their greasy aroma assaulting his senses.

  She tucked into her food with abandon. He had never in his entire adulthood dined with a woman so flagrant about carb consumption. She forked a sausage patty and held it out to him.

  “Try it.”

  “Will you give me back my phone?”

  “Nope.”

  “Will you go home with me?”

  “Never. Forget it. You don’t deserve my sausage.” She withdrew her offer and bit into the patty vengefully. “Preying on young women naïve enough to think that attraction alone can lead to a relationship.”

  “What if they’re women who simply enjoy sex? Women who aren’t looking for a relationship? Your interpretation denies women sexual agency, and is therefore more sexist than mine. I’m a romantic.”

  She snorted, nearly choking on a big bite of pancakes. “You? A romantic? No, Becca is a romantic, God help her. You are a cynic using his white-male privilege to acquire and utilize a specific demographic of women like commodities fashioned for your gratification.”

  She slammed her syrupy fork on the table for emphasis, and for a moment, he forgot to be insulted. Her fiery demeanor and passionate voice carried him away,
and he had a strange impulse to lick the butter off her upper lip. She would taste of salt and sweetness. He took her hand in his, startling her, and raised it to his lips.

  “This is the best evening I’ve spent in a very long time, Hannah.”

  “Give me back my hand and quit humoring me.”

  “I don’t humor anyone. It’s a waste of time, and I abhor inefficiency. I was being honest when I said you were cheeky, and I’m equally sincere when I tell you that I also find you delightful.”

  He released her hand and she rubbed it as though he’d scalded her. She pushed her plate way, discomfited; her pale cheeks flushed pink up to the tips of her ears.

  “I’m not hungry anymore.” She stood up and headed for the door. Jasper dropped money on the table and tailed her.

  “Take my card. You can still hate me, but—”

  “I’ll make sure you get your phone,” she said flatly, looking down.

  “That’s not what I was going to say. Let me finish, for the sake of linguistics. You can still hate me if you want, but I’d love to know more about you. I like the sound of your voice.”

  “I’ll narrate some PowerPoints for you sometime, then,” she said.

  “That’s not what I had in mind.” He moved closer to her, practically whispering in her ear. He could feel the tickle of a strand of her dark hair as it brushed his face. “Hannah.”

  Jasper said her name low and soft, the way he would if they were lovers and he saw her give a satisfactory shiver. Without looking up, she tore herself away from him and took off down the block, not walking with self-possessed grace, but charging away as if ten devils were after her.

  He stared after her, dumbfounded. She was too old—obviously over thirty—and had dark hair and a big mouth. She’d said ‘fuck’ in the most upscale hotel in the city, right to his face. She didn’t think he was charming or impressive. She wouldn’t even comply with the simplest request and she ate disgusting amounts of fried food. She was every sloppy, undisciplined thing he despised…imperious and self-righteous, unkempt and disagreeable. He had to have her.