The Billionaire's Baby - L. Steele
"Gah, you're a frustrating man, Wolfgang." The radio announcer groans. "You know that?"
"Exactly why you like me." Wolfgang chuckles. "And Ivy?" There’s a pause when, I swear, I can imagine him leaning in closer to her. "The name’s Wolfe."
"Errm," Ivy clears her throat over the airwaves, "so that’s our favorite TV trope, brought to life by Wolfe and me…which sounds like something out of Red Riding Wood."
"Hood." Wolfe chuckles.
"That’s what I said." Ivy huffs. "Red Riding Hood. So, as I was saying, that’s our favorite TV trope. Can you guess what it is? This is Ivy—"
"—And Wolfe," the male announcer interjects.
"And we are so very pleased to be guest hosting the Evening Show on your fave, Smile London FM. Email us, call us…and let us know—"
I lean forward and shut off the car radio. What a couple of twerps those two are. Firstly, the attraction between them is off the charts. Secondly, they have no idea about it and are clearly dancing around it, all but punching each other in the face with the force of the tension building between them. Thirdly…well…if they don’t sort it out, they are going to blow up on the show in front of everyone. No doubt, smack each other in the face before smacking each other on the lips. Ha! I snort aloud. Good to know my sense of humor is somewhat alive… Especially considering I have to spend the evening evaluating and repairing security on the boat of Mr. Full-of-Himself-Douchecanoe, aka Arpad f’ing Beauchamp.
A man whose demeanor is every bit as pompous as his name. Yeah, he comes from old money, la-dee-dah. Like I care. But to see him stomp around with that giant stick up his ass, you’d think he’s conscious of his status every single second of his life. Which, he probably is. Which is why he’d ordered me to get to his boat and fix the security camera on it that he claims has stopped working before he sets off to whichever island it is he is sailing off to next.
A camera, which had been set up by someone else before I came on board as his security consultant.
Some of us have to spend the evening working; others party till dawn, then sail off into the sunrise. Of course. Admittedly, he and the rest of the Seven pay me a lot… Like a l-o-t; enough for me to leave my life in LA and move to London to ensure that their security detail is top notch.
The Seven had been kidnapped as pre-teens by the Mafia. They had been rescued, but not before it had left them with a burning need to get even with the perpetrators of the incident. It also means that the men are ever vigilant about the Mafia attacking them or their loved ones. That's why they had asked me to increase the security on them and their families. Add to that, the fact that most of the Seven had recently met and married the women of their dreams... And it means I have a shitload of people to protect, from a security standpoint.
Which means… Yeah, I have never been busier. From finding the right talent to add to my team, to constantly upgrading the security details for the ceremonies when any of them decide to get married—the latest being Damian, the rock star who married his almost-nanny and produced a single that knocked the socks off of every single critic and countdown chart.
So, I can’t complain. My bank account is happy…which means I should be happy. Only I am not.
I am not one to rest on my laurels, not one to bask in my success… I know what I want next—a family of my own. Good news is, I am already working on it.
In fact, I have a date tomorrow night to fire the first salvo in that direction. No pun intended. I snort aloud. I just have to get through this last chore on my list and then I can get some rest—and god knows, I need it—and be ready to get started on this latest project.
I ease the car into the parking lot of St. Katherine Docks, then grab my bag—which, while being stylish enough to take to a party, is also spacious enough to hold my emergency tools—and head down the line of gleaming vessels. Trust London’s wealthiest to bag a spot in the center of London to park their toys. I search for one yacht in particular… What had he called it?