Hard Flip_A Billionaire Romance Read online

  She pulled her laptop from its bag, grateful she’d splurged on the watertight case, plugged it in, and flipped up the lid. The harsh light cast odd shadows around the room, painting everything but the screen in an eerie silhouette.

  The website she’d been on earlier blinked back at her, an entire user database filling the screen. She’d forgotten about that. The real estate company had a huge security flaw—basic stuff—in their information. Maybe she could finally prove to a potential employer that she had the skill she claimed.

  Most of what she’d learned had been on-the-job with a previous employer. That, combined with the shitty reference, plus her age and lack of a college degree, made it difficult to even get an interview. She’d learned early on that listing herself as G. Taylor, rather than putting her full name on the resume, helped with the callbacks. Just not the conversions.

  She took screenshots of what she’d discovered, typed up a cover letter, and sent her resume off to the real estate contractor. She was fortunate the people who rented the house upstairs let her use their number for applications, so she got calls even when she couldn’t afford to put time on her phone. Time for a long night of job hunting.

  Working until she wore herself out was the only way she could sleep through the anxiety. Submitting another batch of job applications should help with that, but it just meant she’d be pacing until the rejections started rolling in. In a day she could go back to her cashier job, and numb her mind there.

  For now, she’d distract herself with snippets of the evening with Mischa. The conversation. His arm around her waist while she was on his board. The definition of muscle she felt under his T-shirt. Kissing him in the pouring rain.

  She smiled in the dimly lit room, and pushed herself to the next job listing.

  DRIVING HOME IN SOAKING wet clothes wasn’t nearly the intoxicating adventure that kissing Ash in the rain was. Mischa was already yanking off his shirt when he walked in the front door. He cut a straight line to the bathroom, and tossed his clothes on the counter.

  It wasn’t so simple to shed the lingering sensation of soft lips against his. Short nails against the back of his neck. Hard nipples digging into his chest when Ash pressed closer.

  His dick stood at attention, begging for the release he didn’t get earlier. He cranked the water in the shower to near-scorching, and stepped under the stream to chase the chill of the storm away.

  It didn’t matter how many places he tried to redirect his thoughts—work, sports, skating—they kept drifting back to Ash. He gripped his shaft with a soapy fist, and a groan tore from his throat. It wasn’t the same as sliding inside her, but the fantasy he couldn’t ignore was pretty vivid.

  It started with guiding her behind the coffee shop, away from the lights and the street. Mischief danced behind her glasses when he pushed her shirt up. He lowered his mouth to suck on a nipple—he was betting they were pink—warming the swollen nub with a series of licks and nibbles, before pulling away to let the storm cool her skin again.

  He played with the other breast through her shirt, rubbing the rough texture across sensitive flesh.

  He drifted into the fantasy, slowly stroking his cock. She had that amazing voice—light chimes dancing with his thoughts—and her cries would be more delicious.

  She dragged her nails down his back and arched against his touch, molding her body to his. Conveniently enough, fantasy-Ash wore a skirt. He glided his hand over her ass and down her leg, teasing the inside of her thigh, and devouring her moans with a series of kisses.

  He hooked her leg over his hip, her skirt sliding up in the process.

  Her smirk was playful, and she’d probably say something like your hands are full. Now what?

  I guess you’ll have to help me out. In his head he ground against her, emphasizing his point with his erection against her mound. In the shower, he increased his pace, squeezing his shaft tighter, pleasure building inside and tingling from his toes to his fingertips.

  She freed him before he realized she’d undone his jeans, cool fingertips gliding along his hot skin, bumping the head of his cock against her panties.

  He nibbled her ear, begging to slide inside her. When she dragged out the teasing too long, he dropped his hand from her breast to cover her grip on him. Holding her captive, he used his dick to shove aside lacy lingerie, then pulled both their hands away to thrust inside her.

  Fuck, she was tight. As the water from the shower beat down on him, he stroked faster and harder, falling half out of the daydream, focused as much on his grip as how slick the woman in his fantasy was. He jerked against his palm, so close, but not able to fall over the edge.

  In his head, she buried her face against his neck, muffling her screams as she came, her pussy clenching around him, squeezing until he couldn’t hold back.

  It was the visual he needed. His balls tightened, and orgasm spilled through him and over his hand. Spurting to hit the shower wall. He bucked his hips in time with the climax, thrusting and fucking his hand until he was spent.

  The fantasy faded, but didn’t vanish. A ghost of what-wasn’t hovered in his mind as he rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall.

  When he caught his breath, he realized the water was growing cold. It was a taunting reminder of earlier, and he hurried to finish bathing.

  He stepped into the bathroom, dried off, and wrapped a towel around his waist. The fogged mirror showed him a kaleidoscope of color that was a blur of the ink across his chest and arms. The flash in his mind was her soft touch along the feather on the back of his hand. The way she sang the lines from The Flight of Icarus. His cock twitched again.

  He grabbed his clothes in frustration, and tossed them in the hamper on his way into his bedroom. She hadn’t even been a random hookup. Ash was nothing more than a woman he bought coffee for and, given her brush-off, he’d never see her again.

  He must be hung up on her because she’d turned him down. It had been a while since his ego demanded that kind of validation. But work sucked right now, and the whole night was more like when he was younger, all the way down to jerking off in the shower when he didn’t get laid, so validation seemed as good an excuse as anything.

  It was almost eleven, and Mischa had meetings in the morning.

  He lay down, but sleep wasn’t around for him to grab. Where was his phone? Not because he thought Ash had texted him with her number—despite the chanting in his head—but he wanted to see if social media would put him to sleep.

  He found the device on the table by the front door, grabbed it, and took it back to bed with him.

  He swiped the screen as he walked, scrolling through the standard late night newsletters in his personal mail, then moving to his work inbox. Which should be empty, given his dry spell of inspiration since the Wolfram deal stopped looking positive.

  There was one message waiting for him. Job Application, Database Developer.

  It would wait until morning.

  His brain cut in, teasing him with hints of rain and soft lips and a lilting voice. “Fuck.” He swapped out his towel for a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, and headed toward his home office. If he was awake, he might as well work.

  Funny how the person he hoped would distract him from the woes of business for a few hours had done such a good job that he needed a reverse flip to get her out of his head.

  He pulled up the resume on his laptop, along with the cover letter. There was a second document attached, and he switched to that one first, curious about the large file size.

  It was a series of screenshots. They would be his website, but they were cluttered with a dump of his user information. All the logins for the site.

  What the fuck?

  He switched back to the cover letter, and skimmed. Key words stood out. SQL injection on your login page...have the knowledge to fix the issue...look forward to meeting with you, to discuss resolution...before someone else discovers this flaw in your security.

  Anger seared thro
ugh him, burning away most of the lust. Some asshole had hacked his site, and was trying to extort a job out of him? Who the hell was this guy? G. Taylor, according to the resume.

  Mischa was tempted to call the number now, and wake this jerk up. He wasn’t the bastard here, though. He’d wait until morning, but he wouldn’t be happy about it.

  Chapter Four

  WOLFRAM JUST CALLED. He’ll be here in thirty. Clock’s ticking.

  Mischa scowled at the text from his business partner and oldest friend. Tristan started the firm almost a decade ago. He had a knack for finding inexpensive commercial properties that were just waiting for the right touch to be flipped to a new owner at a significant gain over the original investment.

  Mischa was that right touch. He could look at a property and coax out its potential through remodeling, and he loved doing it.

  He was in this to create, not crunch numbers. Most of the time he was grateful for Tristan’s nudges.

  Today, Mischa wasn’t in the mood for on track. Even if he wasn’t itching to deal with this G. Taylor guy—put the asshole in his place–he’d grumble about a last-minute meeting with Ralph Wolfram.

  Mischa reached the office with five minutes to spare from Tristan’s deadline. He slipped his tie over his head, knotting it as he walked through the parking lot. The building where he and Tristan kept their office was one of his favorite designs—concrete faced, and molded to look like wood, with windows that reflected the sky in a subtle prism.

  The lobby was decorated in a minimalistic fashion. The curves in the walls and rails mimicked the skate ramps he loved, and the leather chairs followed the same flow.

  The man sitting in the fishbowl conference room, back straight and expression flat as he talked to Tristan, was out of place. Rigid in a sea of fluidity.

  Fortunately, Mischa had finished straightening his tie before he walked through the front door. He pasted on a smile and joined Tristan and Ralph Wolfram.

  “Morning. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I had to look in on a property first thing this morning, and man, that traffic. I never give myself enough time.” His tone was confident, and he left no room for reply until he was ready for a response. He shook Wolfram’s hand and settled into the seat next to Tristan. “The rest of my morning is yours.” He didn’t miss that the older man had positioned himself to see the entire lobby, and at the same time put Tristan and Mischa’s backs to everything but him.

  Ralph’s smile looked like it had been chiseled on. “I don’t want to take up your entire day. I was in the area, and wanted to check in with you, so I figured it was easier to stop by.”

  Translation—Ralph wanted an excuse to hold Mischa’s looming deadline over his head, and preferred to see the results in person. Mischa didn’t flinch. “Happy to give you whatever information you need.”

  Not that there was much to offer. The Wolfram deal was the one time Mischa overrode Tristan when it came to a purchase. Tristan insisted the property was already selling near its peak, and a remodel wouldn’t change that. Especially since Mischa wanted the entire block of buildings.

  “I’m hoping for some good news.” Ralph’s cool didn’t give away that his version of good news was different than Mischa’s.

  Mischa had seen beauty and grace in the properties that begged to be brought to life. But he couldn’t finance the project without Tristan’s backing. He’d made an impulsive decision—story of his life—and sought out a loan that put the buildings in his hands.

  “Everything’s moving along smoothly.” Mischa didn’t flinch at the exaggeration. Lie. “I’ve got a tech start-up looking to put ink on paper by next week, as well as a manufacturing group who needs the warehouse. If their financing falls through, there are interested parties waiting in the wings.”

  Wolfram’s contract was a short-term deal with no room for payment options, and the property as collateral. The contract stipulated if Mischa didn’t pay in full by his deadline—which was less than a month off—Ralph would own the block. Millions of dollars in buildings, gone like that.

  At the time, Mischa knew it wouldn’t be an issue. With the clock ticking toward midnight and no real nibbles, he might have doubts soon.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Ralph said. “I’ve got some future opportunities opening up, as do a few of my contacts. A few of them your firm would be ideal for.”

  The offer added a layer of suspicion to Mischa’s already tentative mood. “Why would you do that for us, with the current contract still up in the air?”

  “That was a high-risk deal. You knew it. I knew it. But I’m not out anything at the end of the day, regardless of which way things go.” Wolfram made it sound like he’d dropped a quarter and it rolled under a car, rather than there being a two-hundred-million-dollar loan on the line.

  “Besides...” Ralph looked at Mischa “...you’re talented. Your partner has an eye for investments. There are advantages to doing more business with you two.”

  Advantages. Mischa wanted to choke on the word. Despite the man’s congenial demeanor, the offer wasn’t selfless. Of course Ralph was interested in another deal, if it meant another chance for him to claim a building at rock-bottom prices, with minimal effort.

  “We don’t have any plans like that for this fiscal year.” Tristan phrased his response more diplomatically than Mischa would have.

  Ralph didn’t look fazed. “I’d expect as much, but it’s something to keep in mind as you look forward.”

  “We appreciate the consideration.” Mischa kept his tone pleasant.

  Wolfram leaned back in his seat, posture open and confident. “If you’d like to keep your options open, my Summer Splash is coming up. It’s a great chance to network.”

  Mischa was familiar with the event. Wolfram had been holding it every summer, for long enough Tristan had to attend when he was a teenager. It was a huge summer party for vendors, partners, and clients Wolfram interacted with, and their families.

  Mischa opened his mouth to say thanks but no thanks, but Ralph wasn’t done talking.

  “I don’t want you to hesitate because you don’t have families. This isn’t just for the kids.”

  Mischa didn’t have to look to his side, at Tristan, to know his business partner bristled at the comment as much as he did. It got tiresome having people base their opinions of the firm’s business-worthiness on the fact the owners were bachelors.

  “Why would that be a reason to hesitate?” Mischa asked.

  Wolfram’s expression froze, then his hesitation vanished. “With your reputation... This being a family event...”

  “What about my reputation?” Mischa shouldn’t be antagonistic, but recognizing that didn’t stop him.

  Wolfram sat straighter, drawing his arms in. “The two of you creeping up on forty, and still single...”

  “I’m not getting you. You’re going to need to spell it out,” Tristan said.

  Nope. Mischa wasn’t the only person this tangent rubbed wrong.

  Ralph sighed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed in this community, with everyone being so family oriented, it can be awkward in a professional situation to not have those attachments.”

  This conversation was awkward. Mischa couldn’t believe the older man thought this was appropriate for business. True, they were dragging answers out of him, but he implied it first.

  “Maybe we’re a happy couple, and don’t feel that’s anyone’s business.” Mischa struggled to hide his smirk behind a serious tone.

  Tristan nudged his foot under the table. A signal to stop. Mischa grasped for threads that would help him rein in his sarcasm and irritation.

  “Your reputation”—an edge leaked into Ralph’s voice—“being sharing tabloid headlines with a starlet more than a decade your junior.”

  No reining-in happening this morning. “That was years ago, and doesn’t have any impact on how I conduct business.”

  “I’m not saying it does.”

  He was implying heavily, and say
ing everything else. A trickle of reason at the back of Mischa’s mind tried to remind him when he talked without thinking, his emotions said some stupid things.

  Tristan’s cough tried to reinforce the thought.

  Mischa was going to be lucky to walk away from this without telling Wolfram off. “Just because I don’t flaunt my personal life doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were dating someone,” Ralph said.

  Mischa gritted his teeth at having his words twisted. He wanted a story, something sweet, subtle, and spectacular. His mind tripped over Ash, and he cursed the intrusive memory of the playful woman. Though... remembering her was calming, and a little tweak on her tale could be a sympathy grab.

  “After what happened with Victoria” —Mischa’s ex, and previously mentioned starlet—“do you blame me for wanting to keep a relationship private? Especially with a single mom who would rather not draw a lot of attention to her and her child.”

  Tristan kicked him under the table.

  Mischa snapped his mouth shut.

  “I understand.” Wolfram sounded sympathetic. “If your girlfriend is comfortable with it, I hope you’ll bring her with you to the picnic.”

  Mischa tried to keep his expression genuine. “That’s not up to me, but I’ll ask her.”

  The conversation drifted away from personal lives, to his relief, and they wrapped things up a short while later.

  He and Tristan exchanged glances the moment Wolfram was gone, and headed down the hall to Tristan’s office.

  He sat farthest from everyone else, so they didn’t have to worry as much about their bitching filtering out to the handful of staff they had.

  Mischa loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt, as he sank into the chair across from Tristan’s desk. “Fuck.”

  “Did you really just make up a girlfriend?” Tristan took his seat.

  Mischa scrubbed his face. “I know. Not my smartest decision. But you have to admit, not the worst I’ve made either.”