The Billionaire and the Virgin (Billionaires and Bridesmaids #1)(31)

It was mercenary of him, but Rob didn’t normally stop to think about other people’s feelings. Hell, if he did, he’d never have a show called Tits or GTFO. Actually, most of the programming on The Man Channel would be a bust.

And Rob liked money. He liked money a lot more than he liked most people.

The assistant—Cresson—returned with his drink. Rob tasted it, grimaced at the strength of the tequila, and drank it anyway. “We hear anything from Logan Hawkings yet?”

“No, sir,” Cresson said. “Shall I call down to the front desk and check on things again?”

“Do that.” Rob had mulled over his shitty run-in with Logan at the bar a few days ago and had come to the conclusion that only spitters were quitters, and he’d be a dumbass if he didn’t try to reach out to Logan again. They were both here, they both had a mutual interest in money, and Rob was sure that if he could just get Logan to see his point of view, they could make a lot of money together. He’d had his assistants order a massive gift basket and send it to Logan and his new bride-to-be, along with another request for a few minutes of Logan’s time. That was early this morning, and since it was nearing noon, he was bound to get an answer sooner or later.

Rob checked his phone but no more texts from cute Marjorie. Either she was busy or a shitty texter. He’d have to ask her about it tonight when he saw her. Speaking of . . .

We still on for tonight? he sent.

We are, she sent back a few minutes later. Meet you at five.

Well, if she wasn’t the most cheery texter, at least she used complete sentences. He could work with that.

The glass double door to the balcony opened, and Cresson came back, an unhappy expression on his face. That was never a good sign.

“What is it?” Rob asked.

“Mr. Hawkings left a message for you down at the desk,” Cresson said, holding out a tri-folded piece of paper.

Rob took it from him, flipped it open, and read.



Mr. Cannon,

I regret that I am too busy to entertain business consultations with you. Please be aware that I’ve taken the liberty of letting the front desk know that you will be leaving today and your suite will be paid in full as a thank-you for the thoughtful gift.

Sincerely,

Logan Hawkings



“Fuck!” Rob wadded up the piece of paper and threw it over the balcony. “That f*cking cocksucking stuck-up *!”

“What is it?” Cresson asked, taking a step backward.

“We’ve been f*cking tossed out of the hotel,” Rob sneered. “He’s booting us and disguising it as a favor to me.”

“So we’re leaving today?”

Rob drummed his fingers on his mouth furiously. There was no way he was leaving today. Not with his date scheduled for later tonight with Marjorie. Not when he hadn’t got what he came for. Clearly Logan wasn’t receptive to pleasant overtures. He’d just have to get vicious. “We’re not leaving,” he said after a long moment. “Go downstairs and check us out of this room. Then tell Gortham that when he gets back, I want him to get me another suite under a different name. I don’t care what name, just as long as Hawkings doesn’t realize I’m still here. And then get my other assistant.” He snapped his fingers, trying to think. “What’s her name—”

“Smith,” Cresson supplied helpfully.

He pointed at Cresson in thanks. “Smith. Yes. Get Smith to call the Tits or GTFO people and get them on the first flight out here.” His smile was cruel. “If Logan thinks my being here is f*cking up his wedding, he hasn’t seen a thing yet.”

It was officially time to misbehave.





Chapter Thirteen



Still in a hazy, dreamlike state of contentment, Marjorie floated from breakfast the next morning to shuffleboard, to a late lunch scheduled with Bront?, the bride to be. Her body was present, but her mind was still on that moonlit beach last night, when Rob pressed his mouth to hers and told her that he desired her. Actually, he’d said it with a lot more f-bombs, but she didn’t care. He could use all the cuss-words he wanted, as long as he kissed her like that and made her feel so incredibly beautiful.

She’d never had a moment like that, ever.

And Rob still liked her, even after she’d thrown up on him, made a spectacle of herself on their first date, and acted strangely on the second date. He still wanted to see more of her. She’d done everything possible to mess the dates up and he’d still come after her.

Marjorie’s heart felt full to bursting at the thought. Rob said he wasn’t capable of love? That was too bad, because she was half in love with him already. He might not think of himself as a kind man, but his actions toward her had spoken differently. He might have a tough, cuss-laden outer shell, but there was a tender heart beating underneath.


She was still on cloud nine as she wandered in to the Green Dining Hall. Bront? had asked to meet there instead of the cute Seaturtle Cay cafe, and Marjorie scanned the empty room looking for her friend. Bront? was at a back table, a small figure hunched over a mountain of cream-colored envelopes.

“Bron?” Marjorie called, moving forward.

A head rose from behind the hill of envelopes. Bront?’s loose curls were pulled into a bun atop her head and dark rings smudged the skin under her eyes. She waved Marjorie over, a smile on her face. “Hey Marj! Thanks for meeting me here. I hope it’s not a problem if we have someone bring lunch to us instead of going to lunch?”