Billionaire Stepbrother Enemy

“So, everyone!” says Scott, suddenly loud. Then he claps his hands to get the attention of the ’rents. “I’ve got something planned for tonight, something a little different. If you would come this way….” And he goes to the front door and opens it. Like in the blink of an eye, he turned into a cruise director.

The rest of us follow along wondering what he’s up to. There’s a limo out front, a ridiculous stretch, white, with two attendants holding open doors.

“Get in, I’m taking us to dinner tonight,” says Scott, and he seems terribly pleased with himself about the whole thing.

Show-off. Stupid, annoying, horrible, sexy show-off.

CHAPTER THREE

The parents aren’t saying anything and neither am I, so the only conversation in the limo is between Scott and the driver. I notice how he treats the guy—he’s respectful but not pally, you know? He’s the boss and no one forgets it, but he’s not shoving it up in their faces either, being a dirtbag just because he can, the way I bet a lot of super rich dudes behave.

Which, all right, I’m vaguely surprised. But I guess just because he was a dirtbag to me doesn’t mean that’s his management style. Although I was sort of under the impression that you don’t get to be a billionaire without getting your asshole card stamped pretty much daily.

I do give Scott credit in one way—he could have just coasted on his dad’s money and never done much of anything but lie around a pool or something. But instead he left home not all that long after I did, skipped college, and started his own business—make that plural, I think he’s up to seven different ones now. All tech,

all super successful. And he did it on his own, apart from probably getting some starter money from some of his dad’s contacts, but I don’t even know that for sure.

He’s self-made, just like me. Even if my version is considerably less…upmarket.

So anyway, the limo is gliding through the streets and I admit I’m enjoying watching people stare. It’s fun to be on the other side of the smoked glass for once. Then we’re zipping out of town and onto a narrow country road. I can’t imagine what restaurant he could possibly be taking us to way out here. It’s just farms as far as the eye can see, with maybe an old gas station here and there, long out of business.

I can tell my stepfather is not liking any of this. Randy’s lips are pressed together and his eyes are cloudy and dull the way they get when a storm is brewing. I don’t really give two shits because he’s not my problem anymore, but I hope his anger doesn’t rain down too hard on my mom. He likes to be in control and you can see a mile away that being in Scott’s limo being taken on Scott’s surprise…it’s not sitting well at all.

Okay, yes, I’m enjoying it, just a tiny little bit. Is that so wrong?

Finally the limo turns down a long dirt road. We go past a farmhouse and then a barn, and finally stop at the end of the road, parking next to an old tractor that looks like it hasn’t done any tractoring in about twenty years.

The attendants hop out and open the doors, and the three of us climb out and look around. The farm is stunningly beautiful—it’s the peak of spring and everything is this vibrant, amazing color green. Everything, that is, except the apple blossoms. There’s a whole orchard here, long rows of apple trees covered in the most heavenly, wonderful-smelling pink blossoms.

I can’t help myself, I shriek like a little kid. Scott grins at me.

“We’re having a picnic,” he says, and I can see in his face that he knows our parents won’t understand at all. They’re, you know, more valet parking types than picnic types.

“I don’t see the point,” says Randy. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking around with a sour expression. “My suit’s going to be ruined with dust.”

Even my mother rolls her eyes at that one.

“Oh come on,” she says to him, trying to jolly him up, “it sounds like fun! Scott, you are always so creative!”

My eyes may get stuck up in my head, I roll them so hard. Creative my ass. But…much as I try to find some way to get pissy, I’m touched. I know he’s arranged this picnic for me. And how sweet is that?

But what is he up to? I want to jump into his arms—but I’m wary of something blowing up in my face.

The attendants are taking coolers and boxes of food out of the limo’s trunk and then going to get everything arranged on blankets under an apple tree. My stepfather is clenching his jaw so hard I think he might crack some teeth.

“Come on,” says Scott, reaching for my hand. And I let him take it. We walk to the orchard and down between rows of trees, blossoms falling around us like snow. The scent of them is intoxicating, and the feel of Scott’s strong hand in mine is dreamy. It might be the most magical moment of my entire life.

“I probably should have left them at home,” he says, nodding his head back at the parents. His father is complaining to the driver about something and we can hear his angry voice though thankfully we’re far enough away not to hear what he’s saying.

“I’m used to ignoring them,” I shrug.

“Ainsley,” says Scott, pulling me close, and I swear I hear something in his voice.

Something like…yearning.

I’m all melty again. I can’t be this close to him without my body responding, getting flooded with desire, wanting to press against him, let him do anything….I’m pretty inexperienced, and—

—okay, almost completely inexperienced. Pretty much everything I know about sex is from watching R-rated movies, all right? Just never met the right guy, is all.

Well, actually, the right guy is enfolding me in his arms right now. We look into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and so much of what I want to say seems suddenly unimportant. His lips come closer, then graze mine deliciously.

“SCOTT!” his father screams.

“What the—” says Scott, taking his scrumptious lips away. “I guess we’d better….”

So, yeah, way to go parents. At least that’s my first thought. My second thought is: did I just barely avoid doing something stupid? Because Ainsley, have you forgotten how he treated you during that horrible year?

There I go, talking to myself in my mother’s voice again.

We’re running back to the limo to see what the hell is the matter. I’m guessing my stepfather has manufactured some reason we have to leave—pretended to get stung by a bee or something. No, wait—he’ll blame it on my mother, that’s more his style.

“What’s the problem, Pop?” says Scott. I’d never noticed before how cold his tone is when he talks to his dad.

“At least I’m able to get cell reception out here,” Randy says, “so we found out early. You’re going to have to gat back to town and deal with this right away, son.” He holds his phone out so Scott can see it.