The Secret Billionaire (Paperback)

The Secret Billionaire Duet (Asher Blackstone)

1 - Seduction

2 - Embrace

Chapter One

Ugh, here he comes.

I ducked my head and nearly stared a hole through the wood grain of the bar, praying I’d gotten it wrong and that Rich Durbin, my ex-boyfriend, was not approaching me and we hadn’t locked eyes a few seconds ago. What did my gaze reveal? I was sure I hadn’t shown more than how shocked I was to see him in Bellies Bar and Grill. According to the great Rich Durbin, backup quarterback for the New Orleans Quest, the eatery, which catered mostly to those who worked at Unity Memorial Hospital across the street, wasn’t cool enough for him. The spots he frequented always had plenty of professional athletes with their entourages and groupies. 

I squeezed my eyes shut to think. In a matter of seconds, I would know if Rich was coming to see me or not. We’d broken up at the end of summer, which meant I hadn’t seen him for two, nearly three months. Have I missed him? Perhaps a smidgen, maybe not. I’d been so busy at the hospital that time without him flew by. However, we had dated for three years, which was one thousand ninety-four days too long. 

Rich was a serial cheater and, like most men, wasn’t that good at it. I used to occasionally receive phone calls from random women informing me that my boyfriend had given her an STD, which was never transmitted to me. I never slept with him without a condom. Instinct always warned me to protect myself in that department, and I always followed my gut. 

Also, the occasional girl came into the hospital, requesting me as their physician, only to learn that I was a neurosurgery resident, which meant that if her brain didn’t need to be sliced open for any reason, and bad judgment for getting involved with Rich didn’t qualify, then I was the wrong doctor for her. 

Sometimes the crazies showed up where I lived and banged on my door. After the fourth time that happened, I developed a process with Jamie, the building manager. I would call her. She would call her brother Joe, who was a local police officer, and he and his partner would stop by and escort the crazy lady out of the building and threaten to arrest her for trespassing if she showed up again. 

To say that dating Rich Durbin had been stressful was an understatement. It would be a spring day in hell before I went back to him. 

However, when a large hand came down on my back, I knew I couldn’t escape him. 

“Pen,” he said jollily, as if he was ultra-excited to see me. 

Everyone called me Pen, short for Penina. I hated my name. Grade school bullies had had a field day with it. I’d been called Pinhead, Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and other silly insults that were only funny to fifth graders.

I smiled hesitantly. “Rich? What are you doing here?”

He freely put his arm around my upper back and guided me in for a hug. “You look good, as usual.” 

I squeezed my arms against the sides of my chest, remembering how I never wanted him to touch me again. He had also avoided answering a direct question. Experience had taught me that he was hiding something, and such secrets usually involved another woman. Suddenly, all I wanted him to do was get as far away from me as possible. The feeling was like being overtaken by a wave of severe PMS. I wanted him to evaporate into thin air and get out of my life forever. 

Rich pointed at the glass in front of me. “Wait, you’re drinking alcohol?”

“It’s tonic water with lemon,” I mumbled and pointed at my wings. “I’m here for a bite before heading home, but you already know that.”

He sneered. “To sleep, then you’re back at the hospital to do it again and again, and million more times.”

My brow furrowed. “Yeah,” I said, remembering how he’d complained about the exorbitant amount of time I spent at the hospital. “So, why are you here again?”

He sniffed then scratched an eyebrow before donning his famous lopsided smile. The expression used to give me butterflies but not anymore. It was official. I was over him. 

“I’m here because I’m meeting someone,” he said.

Even though I was tired after an on-call shift and didn’t feel like carrying on a conversation, I piped up, “Oh, are you meeting one of the ortho surgeons?”

My question wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I’d met Rich because on the day Dr. Nordoff was to perform an arthroscopic surgery to repair his wrist, Rich passed out in the bed. His CT scan revealed a brain bleed. If he hadn’t been in the hospital already, he could’ve died. I was the resident assigned to him. During my post-surgery rounds, the first question I asked him was “How are you feeling today, Mr. Durbin?”

He went from appearing irritated about being bedridden to flashing his charming smile. “Better now that you’re here…” His eyebrows rose as he studied my name tag. “Whoa, the beautiful Dr. Ross. Today’s my lucky day.” 

I was used to being hit on by male patients, but I would never cross that line. My patients needed to view me as a medical professional only, especially when their health and, oftentimes, their lives, depended on me. Plus, a relationship was the last thing I had room for in my life, so initially, I kept our interactions genial but professional. However, every time I walked into his hospital room, Rich’s face would light up. He would engage me in conversation, which always ended up with me revealing something to him I hadn’t known about myself. My revelations weren’t deep, but they were certainly delightful. For instance, I didn’t know I loved The Southern Candymakers so much until I told him how often I walked down to their store on Decatur to buy turtles and pralines to help get me through a night-call shift. Or whenever I had a few moments to spare, I liked to visit old cemeteries just to remind myself how old the city was. He seemed so delighted by everything I said. For a professional athlete, I found him down to earth and nice back then, cute too with his wavy neck-length brown hair and seductive brown eyes. Rich also had a powerful frame, the sort that would have made him a champion gladiator. 

On the day he checked out of the hospital, he held my hand for way too long and said, “I’m not over you yet, Dr. Ross.”

I just smiled, feeling no need to tell him that I hadn’t felt the same way. 

Then the next day, he sent enough turtles and pralines from The Southern Candymakers to make the day of our entire ward. It went on for a week, and each delivery came with a card that had a message that said something like, “Beauty and brains, my perfect woman” or, “Practice went perfect because of your healing hands, Dr. Beautiful.”

One day, he personally delivered the candy himself and asked me on a date in front of everyone who was at the care station. Red-faced from embarrassment and utterly charmed into submission, I said yes. One dinner led to the next, then another, and soon we were making love and referring to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend.