The Billionaire and the Virgin(6)

Logan took one look at Rob’s extended hand, and then gave him a withering glance.

Well, if this wasn’t a f*cking grand start, he didn’t know what was. Rob kept the smile on his face and put his hand down. He’d keep his cool, even if right now he wanted to punch someone. He needed Logan, whether he liked it or not. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

The cold man in the business suit eyed Rob’s Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, and the drink in his hand. “Security alerted me to the fact that you were here.”

“Gotta love security.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you’ve chosen to lurk at my resort this week?” He sounded pissy as f*ck to Rob’s ears.

Lurking, eh? Fuck you too, buddy. “Little birdie in New York told me you’d be here, and I thought I’d come say hello, since you won’t return my calls.”

“I imagine there’s a reason for that.” His hands remained in his pockets, his expression unfriendly.

This didn’t deter Rob. He was used to people icing him out because of who he was and what he produced, but damn it, there was a market there and he’d be an idiot to let opportunity go by. So his “Man Channel” was full of ridiculous game shows and lots of tits? That was what men liked, and the ratings proved it. Before The Man Channel had even been on the air for five years, he had three additional spin-off channels, a few On-Demand channels, and a robust business online with interrelated sites. Business was booming. He’d made billions off of peddling the right product to the right people.

But now that he had money and success, he wanted credibility. And that was the one thing he couldn’t get on his own. Which was why he needed Logan Hawkings. People respected him. He’d been in Time, Forbes, Newsweek, and countless other magazines, as a businessman to watch.

The only rags that Rob made were tabloids. They loved to run stories about which down-on-her-luck boozy actress he was f*cking (he wasn’t), which coke-fueled orgy someone had seen him exiting (he didn’t do drugs), and anything else they could come up with. Normally, he let that shit stand because even bad publicity was publicity.

But now that he wanted to bring investors in on a new project? It was working against him.

“I’m telling you,” Rob said, his tone easy. It didn’t give a hint of the frustration he felt at Logan’s stonewall. “I have a business proposition that can make both of us real money if you’d just talk to me.”

“And I’m telling you,” Logan said in that cold, cold voice. “That I don’t like you here this week. The paparazzi follow you like bitches in heat.”

Well, that they did. “Don’t worry. Your ass is too boring for them most of the time.”

The look Logan gave him could have shriveled dicks from a mile away. He moved closer to Rob, and his voice lowered to an angry hiss. “I am getting married this week, and the last thing I want is a bunch of paparazzi mucking up the works. My bride has worked very hard to ensure that everything in this wedding goes off exactly how she wants it to, and I’ll be damned if you show up and ruin this for her. Do you understand me?”

Married? Well, that explained the growly bear act. Rob put on his most charming smile. “Congrats, man. Can I buy you a drink?”

“You can leave the premises.”

“Now, that would be a shame. I’d have to tell all the paps why I’m leaving, and wouldn’t they like to know?” Rob’s smile remained easy despite the menace he was throwing down. “I’d hate to give them fuel to stick around.”

Logan’s glare got colder.

“Congratulations on the wedding, though. I’d love to be invited.”

“You’re not invited.”

“Too bad. I’ll settle for a business meeting with you. Just a half hour of your time. I promise it’s worthwhile.”

“I’m not here on business this week, and this isn’t the way to get my ear.” He leaned in. “And if you ruin my wedding, I will f*cking ruin you.”

So defensive over a dog and pony show. The man must truly be in love. Rob smiled thinly. “See you around, then.”





Chapter Three



After reviewing several dismal ratings reports in the privacy of his suite, Rob was in a shit mood. His botched meeting with Logan hadn’t helped things, and by the time three in the morning rolled around, he was done with Seaturtle Cay, done with jackasses who didn’t want to give him the time of day, and done with a lot of things. Unable to sleep, he phoned up his assistants and told them to pack up and be down at the lobby within an hour. They were heading back to California.

After all, there was no point in hanging around in the Caribbean not getting any work done when he could be back in California not getting work done. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to the beach again. Not after the near-drowning. He’d be happy to never hit the f*cking waves ever again.

At four am, two of his assistants were in the lobby with their luggage, yawning, and the third was nowhere to be found. Impatient, Rob checked his watch again and handed his bags to the valet, who scurried away.

Everyone just stood there like lumps, clearly waiting for instructions.

“Get a f*cking cab here ASAP,” he said to one of his assistants. “I’m tired of this place.”