BOSTON BILLIONAIRE excerpt (Boston Boys Book 1)

California

I draw the first tarot card with a trembling hand, bracing myself for what fate may whisper to me today.

A Fresh Start.

I exhale all the breath I’ve kept inside for the last twenty seconds. The blaring horns and driver expletives of Boston’s morning rush hour clamor in the background as I glance down at the good luck angel amulet around my neck. 

Maybe my job interview will go well and today really can be a new beginning. Isn’t that what a first post-college job is supposed to do, provide a perfect jumping-off point from pre grown-up to grown-up?

I place the card next to my cup of hot chocolate on Chocohut’s round glass outdoor table and impatiently scan the card for more details. Worry not, my dear. A dove wraps its wings around a little girl as she looks out over a mountain peak.

So if I take the leap, I should be safe. 

Everything should be fine this time, and my life won’t explode from the inside out like it did six years ago on this exact day. I put the Fresh Start card away in my purse, but before I can read the next card, my phone beeps. 

I glance down at Paris’s text.

Cali, have you actually stepped out of your dwelling and into the world?

I’m sitting at a sidewalk Chocohut table, I type back. Already worried I’ve made a mistake leaving my cave for the light.

Oh, come on. I know it’s your scary Banniversary and all, but September’s a perfect month for a new job, right? 

I can’t believe I’m even outside today, I type. This job interview better be worth it.

Every year on my banniversary, I hole up inside my apartment, make as few plans as possible, and wait for the day to pass. But sometimes life—and plans—can’t be pushed off. 

And today, I had to make an exception to my exception. 

My savings are nearly gone since I graduated in May, and I may have to rethink my career path if I don’t get a paid research position soon.

I look down at the gorgeous black suit skirt and fitted jacket Paris loaned me to try to change my luck at job-hunting. So far, so good on the spillage front. 

I hope ordering hot chocolate wasn’t a curse, I text Paris.

Her response comes almost immediately.

Hey, make sure you tell that famous psychology professor you’re a Harvard grad. And that your nickname is Helpful Cali, so he’ll know how awesome you are!

I’ll say exactly that—hire me because I’m awesome. 

I nervously check my compact, relieved that my normally wild hair is still tamed into a professional bun and my eyes and lips lined with the perfect amount of makeup.

I’ve just returned to my tarot reading when—

Screech! 

I jump and the cards and my phone clatter onto the tabletop as a silver Mercedes peels up to the curb, and the passenger window slides down. 

A man leans across the driver’s side. “Hey, I need help finding Joy Street?” 

Sure, his voice is rumbling and sexy, but I’m more surprised that I notice. 

I can’t remember ever thinking—well, much—about any man’s voice before. 

I smile politely and gesture to the cobblestoned street to my right. “That’s Joy right there. Just follow the gas lamps.”

He holds out his right hand in thanks and starts to close the window, but my annoyingly Helpful Cali side kicks in against my will, and I jump up from my chair.

“Actually, you can’t get there from here,” I say as I hurry over to his car. 

Once I’m close enough to get a look at him, I freeze. 

His dark, nearly black eyes and ruggedly handsome face momentarily stun me. For a second, our eyes lock, and nobody else is around. No busy street, no honking horns, no noise at all: just me and this guy whose name I don’t even know. But his eyes look…familiar somehow. Even though I’m sure we’ve never met before.

I look away to break the contact and pause to catch my breath. “Joy is a one-way by Cambridge. You have to drive around Beacon Hill and then go left or right depending where on—”

“Thanks.” He gives me a perfunctory smile, closes the window, and takes off.

“Rude much,” I mutter as I return to my table. “Could have let me finish my sentence.”

Another text from Paris. So I’ll see you tonight?

Paris, you know I never go out unless forced on my banniversary. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Six years ago today, when I was sixteen years old, I received my first tarot reading, and the message was dark. The message was ominous. But the worst part? The message turned out to be spot-on.

The reading went something like this: You will suffer unspeakable loss if you go forward—best to reconsider upcoming events. 

Reconsider. That most awful of words. 

Because I didn’t reconsider. 

Against the advice of the tarot cards, I went ahead and attended my prom. And I lost both parents—one physically and the other in spirit. Every day since, I’ve worked to make up for that mistake. 

Part of making up for it meant becoming a tarot reader, and the next piece—the bigger piece—is to get a job in psychology.

I pick up my tarot cards and turn the second one over to read, but before I can—

“Hey!”

For the second time this morning, my cards and the phone bang onto the tabletop because of Mercedes Guy. He’s pulled into the same spot he was in before, and he leans his right arm across the open passenger window as he looks straight at me. 

Crap. Our eyes lock for a second time. The world goes silent. All I see is this man with his beautiful coal-colored eyes searing into mine. 

I blink and force a blank expression onto my face.

“Yes?” I say politely. 

“Your directions didn’t work.” He frowns.

“Did you go up and around by Suffolk?” 

“Yep. Now I’m back.”

I sigh and toss my phone into my purse, then sling the bag over my shoulder. I pick up the tarot cards and hot chocolate, and slowly walk over to the car. 

Mercedes Guy watches me in silence. He turns his mouth up on one side in a hint of a smile, and his long dark gypsy lashes perfectly frame eyes that look simultaneously haunted and alive. He could use a shave, but the dark stubble that covers his well-defined chin and cheekbones adds to the thick air of sexiness surrounding him. His slightly curled black hair is long enough that it’s pulled back into a small ponytail, a style that clashes with the fitted gray suit he’s wearing. 

I cross my arms and look down at him through the open window.

“You have a shitty sense of direction,” I blurt out.

What? I can’t believe I just said that. I’m never rude, and like Paris said, I adore helping people. But this guy… 

“Or maybe you’re a terrible direction-giver,” he shoots back with another frown.

My cheeks burn. “If you actually want me to help you get where you need to go, how about you try again?”

We study each other for a beat before— 

“You want to come rescue me?” he says softly. Still no smile, but his eyes noticeably brighten.

The arrogant jerk’s teasing me.

“Wow. You’re clearly used to getting whatever the hell you want,” I snap.

I widen my eyes and stand frozen while he peruses as much of my body as he can see from inside the car. My heart pounds and the abrupt ache between my legs knocks me off balance so much I actually put out a hand to lean on his car. 

Good Lord. 

Being a hundred percent used to saying no to any and every guy who comes on to me, I’m unprepared for the reaction this man stirs in my body, and I mentally chastise myself to pull it together. I’ve been around handsome men before, for God’s sake. I’ve even flirted with some of them. 

The problem is, this one doesn’t look like he comes with the requisite harmless label.

“I suppose if you want I could hop in and guide you there,” I reluctantly offer. 

But my brain is currently engaged in a massive war with my body, and I don’t move from the sidewalk.

“You’re not gonna bolt on me, are you?” Mercedes Guy asks as he watches me hesitate. 

Get it together, Cali. 

“That depends.” I stand up super-straight and stare him down menacingly. “You’re not an ax murderer, are you? Or one of those sexual deviants who’s gonna try to strip me down?”

His gaze comes to a stop on my mouth as he murmurs, “I promise I won’t strip you down without your permission.”

Well…damn.

He nearly loses his perma-frown as he pops the lock and gestures me in. I tell myself I’m not completely stupid and of course this guy isn’t dangerous, then I take a step inside his car. 

I bang my knee in my hurry to shut the door, the world outside closing in. Something tells me I just stepped into a whole new kind of chaos.  

“I should restate my previous comment,” Mercedes Guy says as soon as I’m seated inside his car with the door shut. “I won’t strip you down without your permission, unless—”

Pause.

Unless what? I look at him, horrified.

“Unless I’m doing it in my mind.” The perma-frown is replaced by a filthy grin.

I gasp, but before I can reach for the door handle, the car lurches into motion. I grab at the seatbelt hastily. This guy won’t wait for anyone. He weaves in and out of traffic, always trying to get one car length ahead.

I sneak a peek over at him, thoroughly confused by the dichotomy of the man behind the wheel. The longer hair and hint of a tattoo peeking out from his starched shirt collar scream danger. His legs are long, too long to fit well behind the steering wheel, and I have the urge to touch the knee leaning close to me. I’ve never been drawn to a rebel before. Even a movie hero only entices me if he’s clean-cut and well…good. This guy is bad. 

His strong jaw clenches while he weaves through traffic until we get caught at a stoplight. My heart is beating so loudly I’m scared he can hear it, and I can’t stop the trembling in my legs. So I take the opportunity to regain control of my primal lust by employing my well-practiced effort of guarded affability.

“What are you looking for on Joy?” I ask.

“Moving in,” he says.

“Take this right,” I say. “I live on Joy, too. I’ve only lived in Beacon Hill for a few months. But I love it here. I’m sure you will, too.” 

I hesitate, but when my nipples harden just by looking at his lips, I keep rambling, determined to regain control of my hormones. “The people are super nice, and the grocery store is right down the road, and there are amazing restaurants and bars nearby if you like to go out. If you want, I can give you a list of fun places in the area.”

“What’s next?” is all I get in reply.

I roll my eyes. God, this man is a dick. 

“Take this right, right here, and then curve around here and you’ll be able to access Joy on your left or right, like I mentioned before. What’s the address?”

“It’s at the bottom, by Cambridge Street.”

“You’ll want to take a right then,” I say. 

Ten silent seconds later he does just that.

“This is it here,” he says.

I cringe when he pulls into a space outside my apartment building.

Great. Just fucking great. I came here to get away from drama, not to invite it to reside with me again. 

Why does this guy push all my buttons?

“This is where I live, too.” I clench my teeth. “Small world.”

He turns to face me fully for the first time since I stepped into his car. He flashes his beautiful white teeth, but the yearning I feel low in my stomach is immediately squelched when he opens his mouth.

“So I’ve got Little Miss Sunshine as my neighbor. Figures.”

The polite blank expression I’ve learned to keep on my face at all times disappears in spite of myself. “I am not Little Miss Sunshine.” I snort. “And you are an ass. I just helped you find your way because you got so fucking lost, and you insult me? How dare you?”

“I just figured I’d save you some time,” he says lazily, looking fully unperturbed by my outburst.

Huh? I furrow my eyebrows at him.

“You were about to try to pick me up, yeah?” he says. “Ask me out? I don’t go out. I do have casual sex; however, you’re not my type. Green eyes tend to freak me out. And while you have a smoking body, you’re a little curvy for my taste. Although”—he looks me up and down and flashes another dirty smile—“you sure look like you’d be fun, sweetheart.”

My face is blazing hot as I turn on him so fast he jumps. “First of all, you picked me up, so let’s not confuse things. Second of all, I tell every guy no. Every. Guy.” 

The smooth olive skin around his eyes crinkles, but I don’t care.

“But if I were ever to make an exception—” I pause. “You’d be dead last on my list. Got it? Good.”

He stares at me as I gather my bag onto my shoulder, secure the hot chocolate in my hand, and open his car door.

“Thank you for a lovely ride,” I say sarcastically. “Have a nice life.”

As I slam the door, his head shakes with laughter, and the hot chocolate slips and spills all over my white top. 

“Fuck!” I storm inside the apartment building ahead of Mercedes Guy and his huge ego.

--- 

London

The moment she’s out of sight, the laughter dies in my throat. 

What the hell just happened? 

This angry-as-fuck, smart-ass woman just threw my pick-up line back in my face and slammed the door shut.

And it turned me on. 

Not that I was seriously picking her up. I meant it when I said she wasn’t my type. She’s got that happy glow about her, that sunshiney, innocent vibe that always spells “I require a commitment” and that sets off my alarm bells and tells me to run in the opposite direction. 

The last thing I want is some clingy, codependent chick knocking down my door.

But there was something…more than that in her eyes. Something intriguing.

Almost like she knew life was a loaded gun that could fire off at any moment. I noticed it when she first approached me, looking like a scared rabbit. 

Suddenly, I wanted her in my car. I needed her in my car.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d be undressing her in my mind. I could hardly concentrate on driving with those sexy curves so close to me. Curves have never done much for me before, but hers just wound me up. And she was smart, and a backtalker.

Add to that her perfect pink pout that I kept imagining being wrapped around my dick, and I barely heard her directions. And there was something else about her, something almost…familiar. But no way have we met before. 

I’d know it if we had, because Jesus…

I’m still hard.

I stay in the car until I’ve calmed down enough to be publicly decent. Then I grab my suitcase from the trunk and walk inside the apartment lobby. 

No sign of Little Miss Sunshine anywhere as I step into the elevator and head for my apartment.

I curse at the hint of disappointment I abruptly feel in my groin. It’s really best if I never see her again.

She’s definitely the kind of trouble I don’t need…but part of me wonders if she’s exactly the trouble I want.

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