Billion Dollar Enemy (Seattle Billionaires Book 1)

A low whistling in the bookstore makes me smile. Timmy is bent over his oceanography book, intent on finishing his homework, whistling on and off. When it comes to anything animal-related, he’s more than motivated.

I hardly have to help, either—and as much as I like doing so, that’s getting tougher and tougher. Parts of his math homework have already begun to look alien to me. At least I can be helpful in his English class.

“Are whales and dolphins friends?” he asks, not bothering to look up.

I smile down at the cash I’m counting at the register. “I don’t know. They don’t live together, and I don’t think they spend a lot of time together, but they don’t dislike each other. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” he says, scribbling something in his notebook. “Kind of like you and Mom.”

I lose track of my counting completely. It’s an offhand comment, like he’s stating something obvious. “What do you mean?”

He looks up, pushing his glasses back. “You don’t spend a lot of time together.”

“We do,” I say. “Some.”

“Not much.” His voice is cheery with a child’s triumph. “Either I’m with her, or I’m with you, but I’m not with both of you at the same time.”

“Hmm. That’s true, buddy. But we’re definitely better friends than dolphins and whales.”

He nods, returning to his homework, like my answer explains everything.

Maybe it does, and maybe it’s not particularly complicated. But at the same time, Isla’s been getting on my nerves in a way she never used to. Just tonight, she’d ignored me when I’d said I’m busy tonight, guilt-tripping me into changing plans to look after Timmy. It hadn’t been big plans—yoga, dinner, calling Cole again—but I’d looked forward to it.

Just thinking it feels traitorous. I love having Timmy around. His shoulders bent over his homework, the vulnerable nape of his neck, the cheerful whistling… he’s the best nephew I could ask for.

But would it hurt Isla to plan ahead for once in her life? Sometimes, I’d appreciate more than a few hours’ warning. And Timmy deserves far better.

Not that she gets that. Where reason is concerned, my sister has always had a mind like a colander. She hears what she wants to hear and siphons off the rest.

Timmy leans back, ink on his fingers. “Did you know that sea turtles can live to be a hundred?”

“They can? That’s impressive!”

“And so old!” He flips a page in his book, and even from this distance I can see the outsized drawings of orcas on the page. “Have you ever been to the aquarium?”

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago. Do you want to go?”

“Can we?”

“Of course. I’ll talk to your mom and figure out a good time. Maybe this weekend?”

His smile is massive. “You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” I walk around to the reading room table and ruffle his unruly hair. Freckles dance across the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost done with closing up, and then we’ll head home. Do you want to make homemade pizza for dinner? I have dough in the fridge.”

“Yes, let me just finish my homework first.” His voice is so serious that I have to bite my lip to stop a smile.

“Of course, sweetheart. Take as long as you need.” He turns back to the page, and I smile all the way to the cash register. Isla’s son, the picture of studious. I might not see eye to eye with my sister, but we both think Timmy’s the best kid around—and we’re both right about that.

I wipe down the counter with a wet rag. There’s not a customer in the store, but that’s not unusual for a Tuesday evening. Besides, customers have been filtering in and out all day—and our sales are definitely on the rise. The thought makes me whistle, too.

But then the door opens, the bell sounding, and there he is. Without warning or prior notice—a day before his trip was supposed to end.

Cole’s eyes find mine right away. They’re blazing with purpose, his suit jacket stretched taut over wide shoulders. No tie. Undone top button. The determined lines on his face hit me with force and all I can do is stare.

He crosses the distance between us in long strides. “Did you get my delivery?”

“Yes. But—”

He bends me back with the force of his kiss. It’s demanding, lips moving across mine with a clear message. We’re finishing what we started when you called me in the tub. And then, when his tongue slips inside, something far filthier. We’re using that vibrator.

Or maybe that’s just my mind.

I push him back, breathless. “Cole—”

“I came back early.”

“Welcome back.” My eyes flit to the reading room. “We’re not alone.”

He leans back, his arm dropping from my shoulders to my waist. “Karli?”

“No.”

Timmy peers at us through the cased opening, a smile on his face. He ducks his head as soon as he sees us looking.

“Hi again, kid!” Cole calls loudly. “Sorry to interrupt your time alone with your aunt.”

“That’s okay!” Timmy calls back. I extricate myself from Cole’s arm. How will I explain this? Not to mention to my sister, when he inevitably tells her about it?

Cole must have read this and more on my face, because he shoots me a smile. “Don’t worry,” he says under his breath. “We’ll handle it.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“You need to close up the store?”

“Yes.”

Timmy has closed his book—homework forgotten, apparently—and is leaning against one of the fantasy bookshelves. “You know a lot about baseball,” he tells Cole, without a shred of the shyness he usually shows around strangers.

Right. They’ve met before. I release the breath I’ve been holding and force my shoulders to relax. Beside me, Cole is the picture of ease.

“A fair bit, yeah.”

“There are tryouts at my school,” Timmy volunteers. “Later this year, I mean.”

I blink at him. “You’re going to join the team? That’s awesome!”

He shoots me an exasperated you-wouldn’t-get-it look, coupled with an eye-roll that says I’m being embarrassing. All of a sudden he’s ten going on fifteen, teenager savvy and all.

Cole nods knowingly. “Tryouts are scary,” he says. “I get it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve had to do a bunch of them.”

“You have?” Timmy takes a step forward, his hand itching at his side. He’s started writing up anything he considers important lately.

“Yes, for the swim team. It’s not the same sport, but I can give you some pointers.”

Timmy nods enthusiastically, pointing to the reading room table. “Let’s sit,” he says, like they’re about to have a meeting.

Cole shoots me a crooked what-can-I-do kind of smile. “Is that okay?”

“Yes. Yes, absolutely,” I say. His charm is irresistible, it seems, both to ten-year-old boys and their old-enough-to-know-better aunts.

I close and lock the register. I turn off the lights upstairs, and double-check the back entrance through the storage room. And all the while I listen to snippets of their conversation, Cole asking Timmy if he’s played before, if he has a good baseball racket to practice with.

Something about it strikes me as a distinctly masculine conversation. Peering around the corner at them, Timmy is wide-eyed and enthusiastic, watching Cole as he explains something that is beyond me. Coach. Pitch. Angle. Bracing a strong hand on his thigh, he’s the picture of male vitality. It’s something neither Isla nor I can provide.

By the time I’m finished, they’re still deep in conversation. Timmy has half a page filled with notes. I lean against the cased opening. “Hey, guys. Ready to head out, Timmy?”

The grin he aims my way is blinding. “Cole said he’d take us to a baseball game! To see the Mariners!”

Oh no he didn’t. I give Cole a withering look, but he just gazes levelly back at me. “I have VIP season tickets. Might as well use them. The kid needs to see proper games if he wants to start playing one day.”

“Please say yes, Auntie,” Timmy says, almost bouncing with barely concealed excitement. “You don’t even have to watch. You can bring a book!”

That makes me smile. “We’ll go, if our schedule matches Cole’s. He’s very busy.”

“There’s a home game tomorrow night,” Cole supplies helpfully. “And I’m not too busy.”

What he’s offering… well, it goes well beyond the casual status we’d decided on. Warmth spreads through my chest and brings a smile to my lips. Regardless of Cole’s motivations, this will make Timmy’s week.

And judging from his puppy-dog eyes, I will quickly lose my best-auntie-in-the-world status if I say no to this. It’s a long way to fall.

“Let me call your mom,” I tell Timmy. “If she says yes, we’re going tomorrow.”

“Yes! Yes, thank you so much. Thank you, Cole.”

“My pleasure. I don’t go often anymore. It’ll be fun, kid.”

Cole walks us to my car, parked just across the street. Timmy doesn’t protest when I say that Cole and I need to talk on our own for a minute or two. Instead, he gives Cole a thumbs-up and a cheerful see you tomorrow!

When the door closes, I turn to Cole, rubbing my neck. “This is really nice of you.”

His lips twitch with a smile. “Are you about to say thank you?”

“Yes, I might be. I… Cole, it’s too much. If it was for me I wouldn’t be able to accept it.”

His hand lands on the curve of my waist, comfortable, like it belongs there. “Nonsense.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice sincere. “Truly.”

“But…?”

I lower my voice. “What part of this is casual, though? It’ll complicate things.”

He tips my head back and presses a kiss to my lips. It’s soft and warm, the kind of kiss you give someone when you know there’ll be lots more opportunities. “We won’t let it. And your nephew will love you for eternity.”

I smile, a bit crookedly. “Buying a kid’s love, huh?”

“It’s the way I was raised.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, running his hands down my arms. “Tell him I’m just a guy you’re dating. Your sister won’t know the difference.”

“You’re right.”

“Wear a baseball hat and sunglasses to the game, and no one will recognize you.” He flicks my nose again—it’s quickly becoming a habit of his—and grins. “This is still casual.”

“Good,” I say happily. “We’ll go, but we’re still enemies.”

He laughs, releasing me. “I’m counting on that, Holland. And don’t forget to bring a book.”

Normal game day experiences for me have included waiting in line. Lines to get in, lines for the security check, lines to get a hot dog or a pretzel. Turns out the one percent doesn’t live like that.

With Cole’s VIP tickets—and VIP status—Timmy and I are ushered along through a separate entrance. We ride in an elevator instead of taking the stairs. It’s almost ludicrous, and when Cole sees my expression, he gives me a not-so-subtle elbowing. “I don’t make the rules.”

I elbow him back, his chest a solid brick wall. “Do you have different snacks too?” I ask. “Gold-infused soda? Truffle-flavored popcorn?”

“No. That would be ridiculous.” A pause. “But the caviar-flavored pretzel is to die for.”

I laugh, keeping a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Sounds delicious.”

Timmy’s wearing his favorite baseball shirt, complete with the team’s logo and winning colors. I’d pulled out one of my own—about two sizes too big and twenty years too old, one of the few pieces of clothing I have from my dad. I’ve tucked it into a pair of jeans, a baseball cap low on my head.

Cole isn’t in a suit. It was so jarring at first that I had to needle him. “Not used to seeing you without a tie,” I’d said, which was a mistake. In his eyes, the rebuttal was clear as day. You’re used to seeing me without anything at all. Check mate—there was nothing I could say to that in public.

We’re escorted to a terrace-like seat. The pitch unfurls before us, green and endless. Four padded chairs and a table with a monitor embedded, and on it, stats about the players are already circling.

“Wow,” Timmy exclaims, climbing into one of the chairs. “Look!”

Batting practice is done, it seems, and both teams are milling on the pitch, preparing for the national anthem.

Cole hands me a menu with the entire snack selection. “What do you want?”

I scan the lists, a smile on my lips. “No caviar pretzels. Damn.”

“They must be out.”

“Then what will you have?”

He snorts, pulling out one of the chairs for me. “The normal ones are nice, too. A bit of sea salt. Melted butter.”

I pretend to shiver in pleasure. “Perfect. Timmy, do you want a pretzel?”

His eyes are glued to the pitch with an almost feverish intensity. “Yeah,” he says, but in a way that confirms he hasn’t been listening for a second.

I smile at the back of his head, noting the spot where his hair curls. It’s always curled right there, from the time he was a toddler. “Two pretzels, then, one for us each. And some soda?”

Cole uses the screen to order. All around us, people are taking their seats, clad in Seattle green, white and blue. Seated in our own little terrace, we’re attracting a fair amount of curious looks.

“Good thing I remembered to wear glasses and a cap,” I stage-whisper to Cole. He smiles, throwing an arm around the back of my chair.

“Anonymous brunette number one,” he says, letting his fingers trail lightly over my shoulder.

“Glad I got the number-one spot,” I tease.

“Of course. I’m a gentleman.”

An attendant delivers our food and a chilled bucket of beer, shooting Cole a practiced smile.

Timmy pays the food no mind. He’s standing up, arms around the railing. On the table is his notebook and pen, brought along for research purposes. Cole asks him questions about the opposing team, in from out of state, and to my surprise Timmy knows nearly all the answers.

“When did you learn all this? Both of you?”

Timmy’s voice is proud. “I keep up with the Major League.”

“Of course you do,” Cole says, arm still around my chair. “You love the game.”

I laugh, propping my legs up. “Okay, okay, I get it. I know nothing.”

“We’ll teach you,” Timmy offers generously. “It’s starting!”

And so it is. We stand for the national anthem, and then I watch, nearly as entranced as the two boys, as the batter hits with the sound of a whip. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a baseball game, even longer in such an enthusiastic crowd. It’s exhilarating.

Timmy cheers and high-fives with Cole, occasionally giving me one, too. Next to me, Cole is outwardly relaxed with a beer in hand, but his eyes don’t leave the pitch. He wasn’t joking when he said he was a fan. He hasn’t shaved today, either, and his five-o’clock shadow is pronounced. It looks good on him.

He looks at me, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re here to watch the game, not me.”

“But you’re so much more interesting than a ball.”

He chuckles. “Is that a compliment, Holland?”

“Yes. Don’t get used to it.”

“No risk.” He tightens his arm around me and looks back at the game. On impulse, I lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t turn his head, but his lips curve into a smile.

Timmy is ecstatic at the first break between innings, so excited that he hasn’t taken a bite out of his pretzel. He discusses moves with Cole, who indulges my nephew in every part of the game he wants to dissect. And to my delight, both of them seem to be enjoying themselves.

Someone clears their throat next to us. “Didn’t know you’d be here today, Cole.”

A tall man leans against the entrance to our terrace, a rogue grin on his face. His hair is dark ink and cropped short, eyes taking in Cole, Timmy and me with dark amusement.

“Nick.” Cole nods, a look in his eye that’s impossible to interpret. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here today, either.”

The man snorts. “Glad we’ve established that. Hello,” he says to me, extending a hand.

“I’m Skye,” I say, as we shake.

“Nicholas Park.”

The name rings a faint bell. He sees it in my eyes, because his smile widens. “Yeah, that one.”

Wow. Arrogant, much?

Cole clears his throat, as if he was thinking the same thing. “Nick runs a venture capital firm.”

Timmy takes a step closer to me, watching this display of masculinity with bright eyes. I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Just came by to say hi. I won’t bother you guys, out on a family outing.” Nick’s eyes are shining with sly amusement.

“Thanks,” Cole says. “I’d invite you to stay, but then again, I don’t really want you to.”

My exhale is audible—Timmy is staring at Cole with an open mouth—but Nick just throws his head back and laughs. “Of course you don’t. And you know what, I was considering going easy on you next time we play. But now I won’t.”

Cole snorts. “As if. Well, good luck trying.”

Nick’s gaze shifts to me and Timmy. “Pleasure meeting the two of you,” he says, and then he’s off, striding down the steps to his own VIP seating.

That’s when the name registers. Nicholas Park, Seattle’s most hated billionaire. Destroyer of companies. Hedge fund manager extraordinaire. Not a builder, like Cole. No, Nick deals with destruction.

“Wow.”

Cole reaches for another beer. “Sorry about that.”

“That,” Timmy declares, “was awesome. You just said…”

“I only said that because we’re friends,” Cole says. “And because Nick isn’t offended by anything.”

“Still, though. Awesome.” The hero worship is clear in Timmy’s eyes.

Cole reaches out to punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Game’s starting.”

It is, but I only spend one-third of my time watching it. One-third I’m looking at Timmy, happy at his happiness, and the other third is to sneak glances at Cole beside me.

Here, at the baseball game, he seems so ordinary. We seem ordinary, like this is something we do all the time. He’s relaxed and smiling. Still too attractive by far—there is nothing ordinary about his broad shoulders or square jaw—and yet it’s dangerously easy to pretend that we’re more than we are. Dangerously easy to forget the bookstore, the demolition plans, the expiration date on our casual relationship. I push the thoughts away, like I have so many times before with him. Live in the present.

By the seventh-inning break our team is in the lead, and you can tell. All around us, people are cheering and laughing, toasting with beer bottles, waving foam hands around.

The between-inning entertainment begins and up on the Jumbotron excited fans cheer, captured by the panning camera.

“You really go here all the time?” Timmy asks, finally reaching for his pretzel.

“Fairly often, yeah,” Cole says. “More often in the past, though. When I didn’t work so much.”

“What do you work with?”

“I’m in construction. Buildings, you know,” he says, as if his job was that simple. His gaze flickers to me—challenging me to add what we’re both thinking. And occasionally tearing them down.

“Coooool,” Timmy says, and then shoots me a look, like I might be offended. “Skye is really cool, too.”

Cole’s smile is crooked. “I think so, yeah.”

“She always lets me eat candy when I’ve finished my homework.”

I hold up a finger. “One piece, after math homework.”

“Whenever I stay at her place, I get to watch TV late, too. We watch a lot of nature shows.”

Cole chuckles at that. All my bad habits are being exposed here, apparently. “Anyway, are you Skye’s boyfriend?”

I open my mouth, but no response comes to mind. I’d told him before that we were friends. Apparently, I hadn’t been convincing enough.

Cole shakes his head. “No, but we’re very good friends.”

Timmy cocks his head. “Most friends don’t kiss, though. At least not any of mine.”

“You’re right,” Cole says, lips twitching again. “It’s not usual. We’re more like boyfriend and girlfriend in that way.”

“So…” Timmy breaks off, glancing at me furtively, perhaps wondering if he’s going too far. “You’re friends who might become boyfriend and girlfriend? But you don’t know yet?”

Oh, dear God.

Cole gives a decisive nod. “That’s exactly right.”

Is it? I sink back into my chair, a jumble of conflicting emotions racing inside me. And that’s when I notice people around us are cheering far louder than usual. It’s still a between-innings break, isn’t it?

It is.

And Cole and I are on the Jumbotron. Surrounded by a heart.

I watch the screen in a dazed sort of horror, seeing Timmy’s massive grin when he realizes we’re on TV. My own face is half-hidden, the baseball hat pulled low. Cole’s is set in determined lines.

“Damn it.” His voice is nearly lost in cheering around us. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

I pull my hat down lower. “This is on camera!”

“They won’t see you.” And then he’s kissing me, pushing me back into the chair with force, an arm around me. His lips are warm, his back broad.

Covering me from view.

He pulls back an inch. “Duck your head.”

Obediently, I duck my head as he sits back, pulling me against his chest. Applause and whistles sound all around us. And then it’s over. The camera moves on, the cheers die down, and breath returns to my lungs.

“Wow,” Timmy is saying. “We were on TV!”

My voice is faint. “Imagine that.”

“Damn Nick,” Cole says, his hand fisted on the edge of his chair.

“This was his doing?”

“Undoubtedly.”

I shake my head, trying to clear it. The game is shown on TV. The odds that any of my friends are watching, not to mention my family, are low. Nearly infinitesimal. But they’re not zero—and that’s enough to make my stomach turn.

I put my hand on Timmy’s shoulder to distract myself. “What player is your favorite? Do you want to show me, on the touch screen?”

He launches into a discussion about pitcher strength and technique and I listen intently. Ignoring my emotions yet again where Cole is concerned.

The game begins again and Timmy’s attention is glued, although he occasionally turns to us to point out something extraordinary. I lean into Cole, and his arm tightens around me. “Stop worrying about the kiss cam,” he murmurs. “No one will be able to recognize you.”

I play with the hem of my baseball shirt. “But people will recognize you, right?”

His voice is reluctant. “Yes.”

“And wonder who you’re with.”

“Probably,” he says. “But you’re Anonymous Brunette Number One.”

I put my feet up on the little table. “Sometimes it’s good to be plain.”

“There’s not a plain thing about you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. And despite it all, the words make me blush.

After the game, Timmy has two full notebook pages of notes. He’s talking excitedly about the tryouts with Cole, who as it turns out, is an expert at amping up Timmy’s confidence.

“It’s not going to be easy, but that’s okay. If it’s easy, what would be the point? And if you don’t get into the team on the first tryout, you try again. And again. And you practice.”

Timmy is nodding, brown locks flying. I smile at the two of them. Whatever comes out of this night, it has been worth it for the giant grin on my nephew’s face.

The attendant allotted to us shows up again, a box under his arm. “Before we go, there’s something here for the youngster amongst you. The team heard that you’re a big fan.”

Timmy’s eyes are the size of saucers. He looks at me once, and I nod encouragingly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now come on, let’s get ahead of the crowd.”

Timmy holds the package like it’s the Holy Grail. Once in Cole’s car, he opens it with reverent hands. There’s a baseball shirt signed by the players and a set of three baseballs.

“This,” he declares, “has been the best night of my whole life!”

Cole grins at me. “I can’t complain either, kid.”

I smile back at them both, my heart full, even if the happiness feels as fragile as a soap bubble. One thought of the bookstore and it might pop.