Playboy Billionaire

“Who’s the boy?” one yells, and she puts a hand up to shield her eyes. Mostly, I hear her name screamed from all directions. She acts as if she’s used to this. Is this going to be my life for the next couple of months?

Shit.

“Antonio, you should let me—“ Barker leans in, beginning to insist again that he should drive.

“I can drive!” I call back to him, and he backs off, continues pushing paparazzi as I load Stella into the passenger’s side. I run around the car, Barker shielding the driver's side from paps, so I can easily get in. Swiftly, I jump in , closing the door and reveling in the silence that felt impossible in the sea of shouting slimy stalkers.

It’s hard to fathom that people actually get paid to follow others around and harass them with cameras. It feels void of humanity. Kinda pisses me off that Stella has to deal with them giving her shit like she’s an inanimate object to be sold for commodities. The moment Barker hops in the car, squeezing into the back seat not made to fit three men of their size, I peel out of the spot as quickly as I can.

“McDonald’s!” Stella calls, pointing to the one on the opposite side of the road. So, in a split instance, I whip the car around and cross three lanes to make it. The car is silent, but I know I made a risky move that could have been highly dangerous, so I call back to Barker as we pull through the drive-thru.

“I’ll let you drive us home.” Driving while still very much intoxicated is not something I want to add to my record.

Dinner is good, and the drive back is even better. Stella has her head on my lap. Why? I don’t know. But she does, and I’m reveling in it. I think she’s asleep until she turns over to look up at me, her eyes wide with realization.

“Shit! Alk!”

“You have a boyfriend?” Why the fuck is that my first conclusion?

“No. My driver. I forgot to tell my driver—“

“Ms. Lombardi, we’ve already alerted your security team that we will be driving you back to Malibu this evening,” Barker calls back, and she sighs with a nod.

“Thank you.” She reaches to the front and pats his arm. I can tell he’s smiling. He doesn’t usually get thanked for doing something that’s a part of his job description.

She’s such an interesting person. Mostly hot. But intriguing nonetheless.

After about two hours, we turn onto a road paved with smooth stones and towering green trees with what look to be oranges. I can tell in the dim light of the moon that they have a barn, maybe some animals roaming. It’s stunning, actually. Very serene.

“Hey.” I lean down to Stella’s warm skin, possibly a little too close. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes sleepily open.

“Hi.” She whispers back, and I lift my head to break away from the moment that felt strangely more intimate than I intended.

We stop in front of the biggest home in all of Malibu. Seriously. I can’t believe only three people reside in this castle. They must have at least three hundred staff members at all times.

Stella sits up, silent, eyes still wandering like they’re calculating what year it is. Then she sees me again and gives me a soft smile that makes me want to jump out of the car and run back to LA because I hate that even her in this state is hot enough to make me wanna do shit we agreed not to do.

I take a breath and hold it in as I jump out of the car. Shove my hands in my pockets as she jumps down and walks over to me. The boys stay in the car. They know how this shit works; it’s not their first rodeo— me with a woman late at night on her front porch.

“Gran will be watching from that window.” Her eyes shoot up to one of the right windows, reflecting the full moon.

“Oh,” I whisper back, take her hand, and kiss it to give Madame Lombardi a show. Stella plays along, pretending to blush and walking with me through twisted iron gates. We are in some sort of garden, soft, warm lights scattered throughout it, so it looks as though it’s lit from within. We continue to walk across the pebbled pathway, up to towering glass double doors.

Lanterns on the wall lit by fire dimly light the marble porch.

“I feel like I’m in a fucking storybook,” I laugh to break the silence I realize has been constant since stepping up to the doors. She lets out a soft laugh.

“I had fun.” She smiles, going to place a hand on my shoulder. It's a second, just a second where I almost let her, but instead, I take it in mine, pull her in quickly, a firm hand to her lower waist. Our bodies touch before our lips do, but she meets me before I’ve gotten a chance to think. Her hands are in my hair, mine are on her waist, and I’m out of my body.

What the fuck is going on? I'm feeling under her suit jacket, slipping my fingers up under her crop top that looks more like a silk bra. She lets me, pressing her hips firmly to mine as we sink into each other.

Again… What the fuck is going on?