Bad Billionaire (Bad Billionaires 1)

What was also true was that I was still afraid. Terrified, actually.

Because Devon Wilder wasn’t a halfway sort of man. He was all or nothing. And when it came to him, so was I. I had run because I couldn’t just stand by and watch him get hurt or killed, then shrug my shoulders and move on. I had run because if whatever we had didn’t work out, it would crush me, rob me of everything even more than failing art school had. The intensity scared me. Devon Wilder had the power to break my heart so hard it would never heal again. That had scared me—it still scared me. And yet right now he was very much too far away.

I scrubbed my palm over my forehead and texted him again.

I should return your car, I wrote.

Again, there was no hesitation. I only want it back if you’re in it.

This man. This man. Are you sure? I asked him. I can’t take it if this doesn’t work. I can’t. Are you sure it’s me you want?

There was a pause. I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling.

My phone pinged with a text. I took a breath, picked it up, and read it.

I would burn down the world for you, it said.

I blinked hard, my eyes stinging. And I realized what I already knew: It was time to go home.

Twenty-Nine

Devon

I was watching the work in my back yard when my phone rang. I was in one of the spare bedrooms, the one that gave the best view of the back, sitting on the end of the immaculately made bed and looking out the window. I was wearing a t-shirt, boxer shorts, and nothing else.

The back of my property was a mess, pilled with dirt and gravel and mud. A backhoe worked industriously, its engine grinding, as a dump truck backed in with high-pitched beeps. I’d decided I didn’t want to re-landscape back there after all. Instead, I’d decided to tear it all out.

I didn’t want some artful scrub and some perfectly planned trees. I didn’t want a fucking koi pond, scum or no scum. Who the hell used a koi pond? I wanted a pool, a multi-level deck. Places to sit. A space I could use. I’d never been a guy who spent even ten seconds of his life thinking about decorating, and I had no idea why my back yard—a back yard I hadn’t known existed a month ago, when I was sitting in a prison cell—was suddenly so important. It was only while the landscaping contractor was showing me his plans that I realized it was because I planned to spend a lot of time in this house. Because I planned to make it some kind of a home.

I’d never had a home before. I’d faced down cops and drug kingpins and dirtbags of all kinds in my life, but it was the idea of having a home that made my stomach queasy with fear. What the fuck did I know about it? I’d probably fuck it up. But I wanted a place that maybe people could come to and feel comfortable. Max, if he wanted to get out of Shady Oaks. Ben, if he wanted to hang out. Cavan, if he ever came out of hiding. Olivia.

I tried not to think about the fact that it had been ten days since Olivia had driven off in my Mercedes.

Ten long fucking days. She was back in San Francisco now; she had told me that much. She was back at her apartment in Shady Oaks. And still she hadn’t offered to see me. Still she’d stayed away.

I would have felt panicked about it, if I was capable of feeling anything at all. Instead, the knowledge that Olivia was here, in this city, and didn’t want to see me made a dead numbness creep through me. Some kind of protective instinct, maybe, that comes when the only woman you’ve ever wanted turns you down. The protective numbness was accompanied by a persistent voice deep in my brain. You never deserved her. You’ve always known it. Now she knows it, too. Why would she ever want a lowlife piece of shit like you?

I told the voice to go fuck itself and I rebuilt the back yard anyway. But late at night, when I was in bed alone, I wondered if the voice was right.

I didn’t have to go to bed alone. That was one thing I’d discovered about having money—suddenly you never had to go to bed alone if you didn’t want to. The news items had brought all kinds of people to my door, just like Ben had warned, and many of them were women. Money, it turned out, made some women willing to overlook a man’s prison record and other obvious faults. It suddenly made a man sexy in some women’s eyes. When I’d cashed out my twenty million, my banker’s assistant, the woman with the pouty lips and shiny hair, had licked her lips at me when the boss wasn’t looking. What are you going to buy with it? she’d asked in a low voice.

I’d looked at her and felt nothing. Not a single fucking thing. I’d suddenly graduated from hard-luck waitresses and divorcees, and I didn’t care. She could have been a bag of dried-up hay for all the desire I had to fuck her.

I’m going to make some investments, I’d said, and left it at that.

If Olivia didn’t want me, then I didn’t want anyone. I’d been celibate before. I could do it again. Without Olivia, it was no big fucking deal.

On the bed next to me, my phone rang. It was the phone from my new life, which was the only phone I had anymore. I’d thrown the phone from my old life into the ocean.

Reluctantly, I picked it up. It was Max. “Yeah?” I asked when I answered. I had an idea already of what this would be about. He was going to rip me a new one.

“What the fuck, asshole?” he nearly shouted at me, proving my point.

“Take the money, Max,” I said.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He was good and steamed. “I get this notice from the bank that I have a deposit of five million dollars, and I’m supposed to just take it?”

&nb