The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids,(3)

“Leave New York until they finish filming. They can’t catch you on camera if you aren’t here.”

He shot the man an irritated look. “I’m not going to hide from the world for months. My friends and my businesses are here.” Hell, he was going to an engagement celebration tomorrow night. He was sure as hell not going to bring that up in case his lawyer had loose lips and liked to spill details to the show’s staff. That had been a problem with the last entertainment lawyer he’d hired . . .

. . . Who was also now a staple on the damned show.

“Visit family in Portugal? See the roots? Doesn’t your father have a castle there?”

“Two, actually.” Sebastian drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. Then he shook his head. “They’ll follow me there if I go.”

“Then I would suggest preparing for a new round of media.”

He stared at the paperwork in the lawyer’s hands and fought the urge to rip it up out of annoyance. “What if I got a restraining order against Lisa?”

“You think that won’t show up in the papers? It’d be a media frenzy. And the show would milk it for all its worth.”

Okay, he had a point.

“You need to think up an alternative,” the lawyer said bluntly. “Be creative. Unless you want to get back together with Miss Pinder-Schloss?”

“God, no.” Lisa had gone from being a sweet if somewhat clueless girl to a woman obsessed with her appearance and making sure her every moment was documented by the paparazzi. “Lisa and I were a momentary thing. The only reason it lasted longer than a few dates was because we ran into my mother while she was being filmed.” It was a total setup, which he hadn’t known at the time.

Again, he wasn’t quite that na?ve anymore.

“Then you need something that’s going to get this woman off your case.”

He did. But what?

*

He was still pondering his options as he finished his meeting and had his driver take him home to his town house. Most of the rooms were artfully bare and tastefully decorated in a minimalist fashion. He’d hired decorators for that, the best that Manhattan boasted. But he bypassed the rest of the attractively decorated house and headed straight to the study, which he liked to call his “thinking room.” He kept the door locked so the maids wouldn’t wander in to straighten up, or pick through his art.

Because, like every seven-year-old boy in the world, Sebastian Cabral had liked to draw. Unlike every seven-year-old boy in the world, he’d never grown out of it. His family, more interested in making money or swanning about with society, had never really quite understood his need to “doodle.”

But for Sebastian, working with his hands released a lot of anxiety. He sculpted sometimes, and every now and then he painted. Mostly, though, he sketched. Not landscapes or fantastical monsters or anything like that.

Sebastian liked to sketch women. He supposed it was the red-blooded male in him that appreciated the female form in all its aspects—thin, waifish girls with big eyes, or curvy, buxom women with big smiles and bigger breasts. Sebastian drew them all.

He sat down at his drafting desk and pushed aside a stack of papers full of half-finished sketches. More sketches lined the walls of the small room, pinned up in a haphazard fashion. He pulled out charcoals and a new sheaf of paper and began to outline the gentle curve of a woman’s cheek, then began to fill in eyes, a nose, and a hairline. No one in particular, though with the right hairstyle, this could be Bettie Page. He just liked to let loose and draw. Sometimes, when he dated a woman, he’d draw her.

He’d never drawn Lisa, though.

Didn’t feel the urge to start now, either.





Chapter Two



Chelsea Hall adjusted her knee pads and then checked her elbow pads and wrist guards one last time. She wiggled her ankles, testing them, but her skates were tight. Game on.

Next to her, Kid Vicious smacked Chelsea on her purple helmet. “You ready to kick some ass, Chesty LaRude?”

“Born ready, baby,” Chelsea responded, and elbow-checked her.

Kid Vicious grunted. “You don’t play fair.”

“Fair’s for the after-party.”

The music started and the announcer’s voice reverberated through the arena. “Let’s give a warm welcome for the Broadway Rag Queens!”

With a cheer, Chelsea and the girls on her roller derby team strutted out onto the track to Destiny’s Child’s “Bootylicious.” They skated several laps, flexing their arms and showing off. One by one, the roster was called out.

“Good Whip Lollipop, number 1!”

“Morning Whorey, number 3.14!”

“Lady ChaCha, number 18!”

“Chesty LaRude, number 34DD!”

Chelsea raised her arms and waved, blowing kisses at the audience. She cocked her hip and skated on one leg, the other bent, and vamped for the crowd. Her pigtails fluttered on her shoulders and she flipped up her skirt, showing off her bright yellow panties with the NO CROSSING street sign emblazoned on them. It was fun to play up the crowd. Roller derby was a sport, but it was also about confidence and fun.

“Kid Vicious! Sandra Flea! Tail Her Swift! Gilmore Hurls! Cherry Fly! Rosa B Ready! China Brawl! Pisa Hit! Grief Kelly!”

Once the team had been introduced, they stepped off the track to their bench. The opposing team, the Diamond Devils, were the next onto the track, and they skated their intro. Chelsea put in her mouth guard and their coach, Black HellVet, pointed at her. “All right, ladies. Our starting blockers are Chesty, Grief, and Pisa. Vicious, you’re in the pivot panty, and Lollipop’s the jammer. Any questions? No? Good. Let’s do this.”