How to Bag a Billionaire
Logic. Angles. Weight. Mass distribution. Those were the things to focus on—because, come hell or high water, Olivia would get inside. Never mind that it looked to be physically impossible.
So should she wriggle in forwards on her tummy or try to get in backwards? There were so many things that could go wrong: she could get stuck, she could fall into the arms of a waiting security guard... Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea.
But if she gave up now then she wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Adam Masterson.
That was unacceptable.
Good thing she was flexible.
* * *
Adam Masterson perched on the edge of his security officer’s desk and scowled at the CCTV footage of the woman balanced on the windowsill.
What the hell was she doing? Apart from an excellent impersonation of Catwoman. Dressed completely in black, with a beanie pulled low over her forehead, it was impossible even to know her hair colour.
More to the point, who the hell was she? Journalist? Photographer? Wishful thinking... He’d already arranged publicity for the event. Which meant here was yet another hopeful player in the new party game Bag a Billionaire. Bad enough that he knew the ballroom would soon be awash with legitimate guests scheming how to waylay him over the canapés. At least they’d paid for the privilege, with the money going to a more than worthy cause.
Tendrils of memory threatened and he cut them off before they could take hold. He’d had his daily surfeit of grim memories already today, following his earlier conversation with his ex-wife and the news that she was remarrying. He was happy for Charlotte, but the exchange had brought back recollections of a time in his life he was less than proud of. Way less.
Plus, it had highlighted the way their lives had gone in the eight years since their disastrous union . There was Charlotte, with the happy-ever-after she had always wanted; here was Adam, being pursued by a bunch of women mining for his gold.
Speaking of which, right now he had to contend with his gatecrasher. He bit back an exasperated groan; he didn’t need this. The entire billionaire-bagging thing was getting old.
‘Do you want us to apprehend her?’ Nathan asked.
Adam pulled himself into the present and focused on the screen. The woman appeared to be engaged in some sort of internal Q and A session before she wriggled limbo-dancer-like through the gap in the window.
An arrow of desire shot straight through him.
He ran a hand over the top of his head. Talk about misplaced. A probable stalker, a definite intruder, was breaking into his hotel and his libido had decided to come to the party. The woman landed on the floor, glanced round the empty room and opened the bag she had pushed through earlier.
Adam opened his mouth to instruct his security chief to get a team down there.
And closed it again on a strangled gargle, unable to wrench his eyes from the screen as the woman pulled the black beanie from her head and shook out a mane of extraordinary hair. Strawberry blonde tresses, with the balance towards strawberry, fell past her shoulders.
Crossing her arms, she hoisted her black jumper over her head to reveal a white tunic top, and then with a little twist pushed her jeans down her hips.
Misplaced or not, desire pulled his libido’s strings. Time to get a grip; better yet, maybe it was time to get a date. Clearly it had been too long—ever since that article had appeared and the baggers had emerged from the woodwork he’d put himself on a stint of enforced celibacy. Partly because the thought of being chased for his money brought a tang of distaste, and partly because he wanted any press attention to be focused on his charitable activities and not his bedroom ones.
Until now it hadn’t been an issue.
‘So what next?’ Nathan asked.
It was a good question.
The woman was now fully clothed in an outfit that at a glance resembled the uniform worn by all hotel employees; she’d obviously done her research. White tunic top, black trousers—she’d even got a clipboard. The intent look on her face backed up the determined set of her jaw as she swept her magnificent hair into an efficient bun.
Picking up the bag, she opened the door and walked down the corridor. Her stride confident, she looked as though she knew exactly where she was going and why.
Of course there was no way he would allow her access to his guests; it was just fascinating to watch her at work. The first bagger to catch his interest and certainly the most resourceful.
But enough was enough. Time to mobilise the troops.
Before he could say anything Nathan’s massive body tensed as she ducked into the ladies’ restroom. ‘Better hope she is a bagger. For all we know she could be building a bomb in there.’