The Billionaire's Desire

"I'm tired as hell, Yahya," she snaps back. "You know I love him, love him more than I thought it was possible to love anyone except my daughter, but..." she trails off trying to find the words. "He needs me. Constantly. Round the clock. It's like I have a newborn again, except you smelled all sweet when you were a baby and Otis just smells like sickness." I can hear her sniffing through the phone "I can smell it on me. It's in my hair, my clothes..."

"Mama, calm down. It's okay."

"Is it?" she asks wildly. "They want to take his femur, Sanniyah. That's the news. The cancer that was supposed to be in remission spent its time eating away at his bone and now they want to put a metal rod in there like it's going to do something. He can barely walk now, but they want him to keep trying, keep walking, keep putting himself through hell on the off chance they can pull off a miracle."

I am frozen in place. The guests are arriving and sitting in the pews, but I can't even muster the strength to move out of their way. "Oh,

I reply in a small, sad voice.

"What's that?" Mama isn't talking to me. I hear the scrabbling sounds on the other end, then a heavy sigh. "Mrs. Parker has to go pick up her grandbaby at daycare, her daughter just called all frantic. I gotta go, Yahya." She exhales forcefully into the phone. "Love my baby girl," she sighs in her standard goodbye, but there's none of the usual warmth. She hangs up before I can even reply.

I turn on my heel and head right into the bathroom. A dab of cool water soothes my burning cheeks and ten deep breaths calm the tears that sting my eyes. I have to work. I am a professional. I can't bring my personal shit into the mix.

"You can deal with this later when you have a plan," I tell my reflection, then nod in agreement with the woman in the mirror. I straighten my shoulders and head out into the vestibule with a smile on my face that doesn’t' reach my eyes.

The first fifteen minutes of the ceremony go off flawlessly and I almost feel like I can get through today without falling apart. That is, until I feel my phone buzz in my hand.

"No fish."

Two little words from the reception site, but they're enough to spell disaster. The bride's seafood order has been mishandled and now a hundred and twelve of the five hundred guests are going to have to go without the flounder they had ordered. My father's cancer is back, but now I have to worry about fish. I could laugh if I didn't want so badly to break down crying.

I duck out the back, right as the bride and groom are lighting the Unity candle, and furiously scroll through my contacts. Gordon has helped me out of a few jams before and I know his product is fresh. If I can just get him to deliver on time.

"No can do, Yahya. I've got a full house tonight." My phone vibrates so loudly that several heads turn. "Sorry," I mouth, and push my way into the vestibule, fingers flying.

"Gordon, work with me here," I type. "How can I make this worth your while?"

"Excuse me? Where are the pictures being taken?"

I whip my head up to see the bride's ten-year-old nephew looking up at me, all buck-toothed and earnest with an overpriced DSLR around his neck. Why a kid his age has a camera like that, I couldn't possibly understand, but I nod and smile anyway. "The Roosevelt Room downtown," I tell him as my phone vibrates in quick succession.

"Hmm, the light in there is not ideal," he intones pompously, looking down and fiddling with his toy.

"I'm sure you can make it work," I say smoothly and duck around to check my phone. When I see Gordon's refusal, I curse softly under my breath. This isn't happening!

I feel a steely resolve settle over me. I can't fix Otis's femur but I can fix missing fish fillets, dammit.

"That's it for the church pictures," the wedding photographer is poking me as I text in a flurry.

I need time. "Are you sure?" I sing out to the bride. "Look at the way the light is angling through the stained glass there."

The bride squeals and grabs her new husband's arm. The photographer shoots me a look and I smile charmingly.

"You win Yahya. Just give me some time."

I sigh in relief and hide a discreet fist pump behind my back. I pulled it off. But the pride is hollow and short lived. I still need to distract the bride long enough to give Gordon time to deliver. "Oh Katie, you look amazing," I coo out. "Your veil looks like a halo."

The bride smiles and her new husband whispers something dirty into her ear. The photographer and the nephew are getting in each other's way snapping pictures.

I check my phone. Nothing. Shit.

"Let's get mom in there!" I trill, grabbing the mother of the bride. "Just one more shot, the light really is perfect." Even I can hear how crazed I sound.

Katie looks at me, confused, as I shove her mother into the shot. The photographer presses her lips together in a thin line, but bends down to her camera anyway and snaps away. I check my phone again, glaring at it. "Come on, ring, you stupid thing," I mutter.

Just as I am wondering how many more family members I can shove into the shot, my phone rings loudly, echoing across the now empty church.

Gordon doesn't even say hello. "One hundred and thirteen fillets are being delivered as we speak," he barks into the phone.

I smile and heave a silent sigh of relief. I fixed this. I made it happen. "Gordon, you are a miracle worker. You just secured a lifelong client, I promise you."

Gordon grumbles, but sounds pleased. I hang up the phone and hustle the startled bride down the steps of the altar and out into the hail of rice wielding guests.

Just then my text message alert goes off. No, goddamnit!

My phone has brought me nothing but bad news today. I briefly contemplate drowning it in the baptismal font and running away. How much more bad news can I take?

But it isn't bad news at all.

"I should have kissed you."

It's Carter.

Chapter Thirteen

Sanniyah

He is standing and waiting for me on the helipad, the casual ease of his linen shirt and khakis gone. Instead he is wearing the hell out of a suit. It's crisply tailored, hugging close to his body. A suit is lingerie for men, I think wildly, and suddenly the saying makes sense. Instead of detracting from his body, it adds to it.

His hair is gelled back, showing off the strong bones of his forehead and temple. A small bit of tension pulses there and I have to restrain myself from smoothing it away. Instead I clasp my shaking hands behind my back, a trick I learned long ago, and I smile at him eagerly, thinking of the promise of his text. "I should have kissed you," he wrote.

But now that I am here within kissing distance, he is standing stock still. My hands flutter at my sides. I can feel my lips straining towards his as I stand in front of him, and I forcibly tuck my chin back down. What the hell is he waiting for?

He looks down at my outfit. "You look wonderful," he says, stiffly, formally. I feel like he is reading from a script.

I look down, I am still wearing the simple black dress I always wear to weddings. It helps me fade into the background, but with him I feel completely on display. "I was working," I hedge. There is an energy between us that is so strong the air is practically crackling. I feel like I am about to jump out of my skin, how can he stand there making small talk like this?

"Me too," he nods. "The burdens of being self-employed. You don't really get to keep normal hours, do you?" He chuckles nervously.

What the hell is happening here? Stop making small talk and kiss me!

"No, I guess not," I smile, ever professional. If frustration was visible, it would be rising off of me in green, noxious waves.

Carter blinks and looks around over my head. His stance reminds me of a trapped animal, looking for an escape. There is a palpable fear about him, and I find myself looking around as well. There is no one on the helipad but us. I see it, and I think he must see it too, because he visibly relaxes. The tension drains from his face, and when he looks down again, I am startled to see naked hunger in his deep blue eyes.

He h

olds out his hand. I take it, expecting him to help me into the helicopter.

Instead he yanks me to him and presses his whole body flush against mine. His fingers snake around the back of my neck, holding me firm. "I should have done this last night," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my forehead as he speaks. "I shouldn't have let you leave without kissing you goodbye." He tilts my chin upward. "I guess I'll settle for kissing you hello."