Tank (Blue-Collar Billionaires 1)

I dig frantically in my bag for my phone. I’m not even sure exactly what I’m planning to do but I know that I have to give this back. Mr. Marshall must not have thought I was serious when I told him I wouldn’t help him. Or it’s some kind of mistake. Maybe he authorized the check before I came last week and didn’t stop it in time.

I search through my contacts to find the number for his hotel. A man answers. The voice is slightly familiar but I don’t have time to try to puzzle it out.

“Hi, is Mr. Marshall available?”

“No, he’s not. Can I take a message?”

“Tell him that Emma is coming over. I need to give him something.” I hang up before he can try to talk me out of it. If I have to I’ll just shove the envelope into his hands and walk away. He’s probably one of Mr. Marshall’s many assistants. I don’t care who takes the check as long as it’s out of my hands.

“Tank, I have to go out.”

He appears at my elbow, looking concerned. “What do you need? I’ll drive you.”

“It’s personal stuff. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” I lean up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his lips. He softens slightly.

“Call me if you need

me.”

I grab my coat from the back of the chair and shove my arms into it. The cold air hits me as I rush out the door since I didn’t even bother to button my coat. My car emits a soft purr when I turn the key. I gave Tank a hard time about it but I’m truly grateful. Whatever his friend did to my car, it’s been running better than ever.

As I drive, my mind isn’t on anything but getting to the hotel. How can I take anything from his father when I know now why Tank didn’t want to see him? Although that’s not the only reason I can’t do this. It feels wrong to attach currency to any part of what I’ve shared with Tank.

How do you attach a price tag to falling in love with someone?

By the time I arrive at the hotel, I’m almost sick thinking about the envelope in my bag. I hand the valet my car key and run for the doors.

“Wait, Miss. Your ticket!”

“I’ll be right back.” I don’t stop, barreling through the elegant lobby toward the elevators. The businessman on board looks shocked when I stick my hand between the rapidly closing doors.

“Sorry,” I mutter before hitting the button for the penthouse. He glances at me from the corner of his eye and I use the time to slow my breathing. He gets off on the eighth floor and I ride the rest of the way up to the penthouse alone.

The doors open with a ding and I walk down the plushly carpeted hallway to the double doors. They open before I even get there. It’s Jon. I stop, mid-stride. Stupid stupid stupid. No wonder his voice sounded familiar. I’ve only spoken to Jon on the phone once or twice.

“Emma.”

I turn around to run back the other way. He’s on me before I even reach the elevators.

“Get in here.” He drags me back toward the hotel room. His hand clamps over my mouth so tightly that I can’t even bite him. Once we’re in the suite, he kicks the door closed behind us. The main living area is empty.

“If you hadn’t hung up on me, I could have told you that Mr. Marshall is in a meeting across town. You’re too late.” He’s talking to me in the calmest voice, as if he’s not holding me in a stranglehold. “You know it’s interesting how after visiting with you, suddenly the old man decides to do independent audits on all his accounts. Am I supposed to believe you two are just besties now, huh? What happened Emma? Were you worried there wouldn’t be any money left before you could get your hooks into him?”

I scream against the back of his hand. He squeezes my jaw so hard my teeth grind together.

“Shut up, bitch. I know what’s going on now. I saw the check, Emma. You can drop the innocent act.”

I stop struggling momentarily. He knows about the money? I didn’t think Mr. Marshall would have told anyone about it. Isn’t it illegal to do stuff like this? Then I realize he’s a very rich man and probably used to giving people large sums of money all the time.

I struggle against him and try to elbow him. He snickers. “I just figured you were cozying up to the old bastard so he’d pay your rent for a while. Or give you some money for tuition. But a million dollars? You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

His arms tighten around me. I can feel his breath, hot on the side of my face. A ripple of disgust rolls through me.

His hand has finally loosened slightly so I wrench my head to the side. “I don’t want it! If you’re the one who sent it than you can take it back.”

“Let me guess, you want more? You probably figured a million isn’t enough for a rich old codger like Mr. Marshall. Well, I protect him from greedy bitches like you every day.”

In his mania, his grip has loosened enough that I can lift my leg a bit. I raise my foot and stomp down on his toe. He stumbles and I run to the other side of the room, so the couch is between us.