Playboy Billionaire

“Sweetie, don’t use that word,” Mom said, pointing down at the page. “It doesn’t make you sound very smart.”

I nodded. I knew it was probably unusual for Mom to be helping me with my homework now that I was in college, but it didn’t feel weird to me. Mom and I had always been close. Back then, I was a bit sheltered.

Well, okay. Maybe a lot sheltered. But I didn’t mind it – I actually kind of enjoyed being naïve. It was like being safe. I never had to worry about things – Mom and her husband, Dean, took care of everything.

“Okay,” I said, erasing the word and writing a synonym down instead. “Is that better?”

Mom nodded. She smiled, standing up from her chair and walking across the kitchen. “You know I don’t want to help you cheat,” she said. “But I always want to make sure you have good grades. How’s your GPA right now, Kristin?”

I gulped. “Three point nine,” I said quickly. “It’ll be four point zero before the year is up, though. I promise.”

Mom stared at me. “What did we say about letting that drop?”

My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment and I glanced down into my lap. “Um,” I stammered softly. “That it wouldn’t happen.”

“And what else?”

“No matter what,” I added quickly. “That it wouldn’t drop no matter what.”

Mom nodded. She didn’t look happy anymore – she looked stern, like she did when she was upset.

“Well, what happened, Kristin?”

I took a deep breath. At least she’s not using my full name, I thought. I knew that whenever I heard “Kristin Mae Calloway” that meant I was really in trouble!

“I missed a question on a quiz last week.”

“And that was enough to drop your grade?” Mom crossed her arms over her narrow chest and stared. “Are you sure you’re telling the truth?”

Just as I was about to go into a passionate defense of my own studies, the door swung open and Dean walked in.

“Hi, all,” Dean said. He nodded at me, then walked over to Mom and kissed her on the cheek. As soon as I saw his expression, I knew something was up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it, Kristin,” Dean said. He glanced down at me. “Everything okay?”

Mom sighed. I prayed she wouldn’t say anything, but she opened her mouth anyway. “Kristin’s grade point average slipped a little,” she said. She looked at me and smiled. “But we talked, and it’s fine. She’s going to get it back up. She’s working on that right now.”

I could have sighed with relief but instead I smiled back, grateful for such a wonderful, supportive mother.

“Ah,” Dean said. I was surprised that he didn’t have more to say – normally, he was more strict about making sure that I did well in school than Mom was.

“Honey?” Mom turned to Dean. “What happened? You’re home so early.”

Dean shrugged. “I got a call,” he said slowly, keeping his eyes on me. “You know. About Andrew.”

Instantly, my ears perked up. I couldn’t wait to hear what Dean was about to say – if I was lucky enough to be allowed to stay in the room. Andrew Medina, Dean’s son, was my stepbrother. He was five years older than me, and endlessly cool. I’d always had a little…well, I don’t really know what to call it. But as soon as he walked into the room, my eyes always went right to him. It was like I couldn’t look away. Not because of anything bad, though. While I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, the way I felt about Andrew was almost like I had a crush on him.

Honestly, it was hard not to feel that way. He was so handsome – sexy, messy dark hair that stood up in cowlicks all over his head. Dark, intense eyes. A chiseled jaw covered with dark scruff. I especially loved the way he looked at people – almost like he could see right through them.

The first time I met Andrew, I was sixteen. He was twenty-one, and finishing up college in Boston. I didn’t know anything about him – Dean had always talked about “my son” this and “my son” that, but it wasn’t like the anecdotes were actually personal. It was stuff like, “my son loves oranges,” or “my son hated doing this, too.”

So, I was completely unprepared when I actually met Andrew. I hadn’t really known what to expect. Dean himself was a pretty normal, stand-up guy – the exact kind of guy I always saw Mom going for. I imagined that his son, Andrew, would just be like a tiny version of him.

Needless to say, I was really shocked when Andrew pulled into the driveway and swaggered into the house. There were no other words for it – he was just cool. He had longish dark hair that he kept pushing away from his forehead in a messy, practiced gesture. His dark eyes sought out all of the movement in the room. When he saw me, he stared. First his eyes traveled down my face, then my body. When I realized that he was lingering on my breasts, I blushed bright red.

“So you’re Kristin?”