Jennifer Greene - The Billionaire’s Handler

Maguire, though, was his usual common-sense self. “You’re certain you want to mix that Japanese sushi and the Thai curry?”

“I think the chances of my ever coming here again are nonexistent, so I’m trying everything they’ll let me.” She tried to keep her eyes off him. His business glitches had been taken care of, and he’d lost the take-charge posture, even looked relaxed. But he still stunned her in the tux.

Apparently tuxes were standard Monaco attire, judging from the number of men wearing them-but it was only Maguire who glued her attention. The shock-white shirt and formal black tux did something to him. He looked all brash and blond. A rogue trapped in gentleman’s clothes. There was something not quite civilized in the tilt of his chin, the way he walked, the arch of his brow.

She’d had a blast dressing for dinner, but it wasn’t as if she could compete with this crowd. Maguire had had Henry pack a few of her own clothes before this trip, but she was still limited in what she could pull together. The black satin pants and top had been on sale at T.J. Maxx the holiday before, and just happened to go perfectly with her red Versace shoes. Maybe the cowl neck could have used jewelry, but she didn’t have anything for this sort of occasion or place, so her neck and wrists were bare. She’d stroked in some mousse to add body to her hair, used a simple crystal clip to make the style look more formal, but there was a limit to what she could do with the equipment she had.

Trying to impress Maguire wasn’t a goal, anyway. Or trying to pretend she was something she wasn’t. As far as Carolina could tell, trying to outthink Maguire was a waste of time. He didn’t respect people who lied to him or tried to manipulate him.

So, she didn’t have to do anything but be herself-a T.J. Maxx girl who intended to try everything on the menu-if they let her. The waiter, so far, had been a hundred percent on her side. “When I saw the menu didn’t have any prices listed, I knew it had to be over the top. And since I’m on major greedy mode, how about if I pay for my own dinner?”

“Nice try. Not going to happen.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

“To Monaco, once. But not to this restaurant. It’s got a reputation around the world for being stupendous.”

“It sure is.” Midway through the meal, though, Maguire responded to the vibrator mode on his cell. He stood up, apologized and moved away from the other diners to take the call. It was business, Carolina could tell, because he immediately went on hard-face mode. He listened. Spoke crisply. He hadn’t told her what business glitches he’d been dealing with that afternoon-she suspected he never would. But whoever he was talking to, Carolina was mighty glad it wasn’t her.

The interruption gave her a chance to stand up. She wasn’t sure how many courses they’d finished-surely six or seven-and she was comfortably stuffed. She carried her half-filled wineglass to the balcony edge. Night had dropped. Clouds skimmed past necklaces of stars, and the turquoise waters of the Côte had turned black satin. Just below, cars kept delivering patrons to the restaurant… car models she’d never seen before anywhere.

She must have been there several minutes before she realized Maguire had joined her, and was leaning over the edge as she was. “You see down there…the first car, the one everyone’s looking it? It’s a Bugatti Veyron,” he informed her. “It’s the most expensive car in the world, if I remember right. Under two million, but not by much. It’s the only car that can hit four hundred miles an hour.”

“Where on earth could you drive four hundred miles an hour?”

“That’s not the point.”

She motioned below. “What’s the yellow one?”

“Porsche 911. This year’s model. Right behind him is a red car… It’s one of the newest Ferraris. You can buy that one for a cool million. Oh. Man.”

She glanced below, at the car that had finally brought Maguire to his knees. He wasn’t drooling, but his tongue was all but hanging out. All she saw was a grayish car that looked like a long bug.

“The Pagani Zonda,” he identified it. “She can go from zero to sixty miles per hour in 3.2 seconds. I had a chance to drive one a few months ago. An idiot friend of mine bought one. Drove it to my place just to show it off, wanted to make me suffer.”

“Did you? Suffer appropriately?”

“Oh, yeah. Believe me, she’s a honey. She could park in my driveway any time.”

Finally, a chink in his armor. Carolina was charmed. “So…were you tempted to buy one?”

“Well…no. She’s wonderful. But she’s not exactly a car you could take for a trek in the mountains, much less drive in a snowstorm.”

“Was it bad news?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“All those business calls this afternoon and then, just now. You looked…annoyed.”

“No. It was just some problems. Solving problems is what I do.” He straightened. “And right now we have a problem to solve together-which is to find out how you take to gambling.”

“That’s easy. I can tell you right now, I’m a wild gambler.”

“I’ll have to see that to believe it.”

“I’ll stake both of us, since you sprang for dinner,” she offered.

“I’ll stake myself, Carolina… but I’m all for you using your own money to play with. My thought would be to give you a little stake to get you started, until you learn what the games are about.”

“No way. I’m thrilled we’re doing this. But I’ll learn on my own money. Period.”

He shot her a look. “Whew. You’re getting tougher all the time.”

She was used to his teasing, but this time it itched. Just because she’d been through a stretch when she was overwhelmed didn’t mean she had no character or strength or skills. Just once, she’d like Maguire to see that she didn’t need or want to be treated like Waterford crystal.

By the time they reached the infamous casino, she was buzzed. Maguire cupped her elbow as he escorted her past fountains and lights, and into the heart of the casino. The buzzed sensation intensified, just from the warmth of his hand on her arm. From the way he walked next to her, as if they were a couple. From the way her pulse did musical scales-in several pitches-just from being this close.

“So…do you have any ideas which games you’d like to play? Or like to learn?”

“Hey, I can hold my own at a card table. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. The way I’d trust a lamb at a slaughterhouse. If you just wait here for a minute, I’ll get us some chips. You pick the game-anything you want is fine by me.”

“Baccarat,” she voted.

“Yeah, I watched that James Bond movie when I was a kid, too. You tired?” he asked swiftly when she stumbled.

“No!” It was possible, very unlikely, but possible, that she’d been wearing her new shoes nonstop for a little too long and her feet were a wee bit tired. But admit that to Maguire, and she’d never hear the end of it. “I’ll just wander around while you’re getting the chips, okay?”

“Sure, but stay in sight. This is safer than an alley in a big city, but there are still sharks here. They just look nicer. I want you to have fun-but we’re not putting you in any situations where you have to worry.”

She couldn’t have been less worried. She picked a baccarat table, and wedged herself between a woman draped in sapphires and a white-tuxed Japanese gentleman. There were no seats together, but Maguire had a spot at the end. The gaming table was one of the most crowded. The dealer, Carolina thought, spent more money on a hairstylist than she did. Was cuter, too.

She settled down on the velvet bar stool, not just prepared to have some fun playing the game, but to prove to Maguire that she wasn’t such a sissy or a wuss. Granted, he’d seen her in bad shape, but that was before. Days ago. Aeons ago.