Bad Blind Date (Billionaire's Club Book 8)
Bad Blind Date
Billionaire’s Club Book 8
Elise Faber
BAD BLIND DATE
BY ELISE FABER
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
BAD BLIND DATE
Copyright © 2020 Elise Faber
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-60-9
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-59-3
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
Billionaire’s Club
Bad Night Stand
Bad Breakup
Bad Husband
Bad Hookup
Bad Divorce
Bad Fiancé
Bad Boyfriend
Bad Blind Date
Bad Wedding
Bad Engagement
Contents
Billionaire’s Club
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Epilogue
Bad Wedding
Billionaire’s Club
Also by Elise Faber
About the Author
One
Trix
She watched her friend, Tanner, kiss his fiancée again then checked her watch, wondering two things.
First, why she’d come back to California in the first place.
And second, what the hell kind of drugs she’d been on when agreeing to this date in the first place.
The only good thing about it was that she had buffers: Tanner and his fiancée, Kelsey. Heather, her half-sister and the only decent member of her family, along with Heather’s husband, Clay, who was pretty to look at and not too annoying.
For a man.
Probably not the best attitude to have going into a blind date, but she’d shown up, hadn’t she?
Anyway, the dinner had also meant she’d been able to see Tanner. She’d met the photographer in sub-Saharan Africa almost five years before while she’d been working and he’d been documenting the health crisis for the Red Cross. They’d kept in touch, and he’d invited her to his wedding. It had been a surprise to both of them that they each knew Heather.
But that was the way the O’Keiths worked.
Infiltrating their way into everyone’s lives.
Even if they didn’t want it.
Regardless, she was back in California for the time being, ready to begin a new chapter in her life.
Apparently, that meant starting by dating.
At least, that was Heather’s logic.
Or maybe Trix’s own brand of stupid.
Still, whatever it was that had convinced her to come, she was there now and was going to make the best of it.
Or at least that had been her thought until she recognized who was approaching the table.
Him.
Trix slammed her eyes closed and counted to five.
It could not be him.
Could not—
She opened her eyes.
Clay was on his feet, shaking the man’s hand, shaking Jet’s hand, and making introductions all around. Heather looked thrilled, probably because Jet was gorgeous and funny and smart—
“And this is Heather’s sister, Trix. She’s a nurse.”
Jet knew that.
Because he knew her. Intimately.
The doctor and the nurse. So cliché. So stupid on her part to think that things in her life might have turned out differently.
He’d been smiling as he turned to meet her, and it was almost comical to see his expression darken to fury. Or it would have, if that fury hadn’t been directed at her. By then his hand was already in hers, mid-shake and fuck if his touch didn’t still make sparks shoot down her arm.
She went to pull back, but he held fast then jerked her forward, as though he were giving her a hug in greeting.
No one at the table could see that he was hissing in her ear.
“What the fuck are you playing at, Trixie?”
She did some hissing of your own. “Nothing. I had no idea this date was you otherwise I sure as hell wouldn’t have come,” she snapped, ignoring the way his scent coiled her stomach, sending little tendrils of heat down between her thighs. “You’re the last person I’d want to see at this table. And that includes my parents or maybe even Hitler, you freaking asshole.”
“Trixie,” he began.
“Fuck off, Jet,” she said, then pulled back and plunked into her chair, not about to ruin everyone’s night just because she couldn’t stand the man she’d been set up with.
She’d endure.
It was what she did.
Jet sat down next to her, and she tried to force herself not to look.
She didn’t succeed.
And what she saw on his face wasn’t fury, not any longer. It was weariness.
Good. After what he’d done to her, she deserved a man treading around her with a bit of hesitation. She’d been hurt before—heartsick and sad, a few times even devastated—when her relationships had ended.
But Jet had broken her.
He was the one man she’d let in, with whom she’d shared her past and hopes, her pain and desires. So maybe he wouldn’t understand how important what she’d shared was because she’d spent so long being closed down with everyone around her. Maybe he couldn’t have realized how hard it had been for her to give what she’d given. But part of her felt like . . . he should have known. Especially since he’d shown about as much care with her exposed and vulnerable heart as a physician tossing a soiled bandage onto the floor.
For a nurse to pick up.
Because that was all she’d ever been to him.
A convenient place to stash his dick before he’d tossed her aside, dirty and used, and she had to cobble herself together enough to throw away those pathetic hopes she’d been hanging on to.
“Trixie,” he murmured.
She smiled brightly and picked up the menu. “I’ve heard the prickly pear margaritas are delicious,” she announced to the table at large.
As she knew it would, that turned the conversation to Kelsey, who had proclaimed her love of the cocktail far and wide as they’d all chatted a few minutes before. This jumpstarted the bantering with the table at large, and pretty soon, the waiter came over to take their orders.
All through dinner, she managed to keep the conversation light, to keep her physical and verbal distance from Jet while still pretending to get to know him enough to satisfy the others at the table.
Her fatal flaw began when she slipped away to use the bathroom.
Because when she came out, Jet was standing in the hall.
Sniffing, she started to move past him.
His hand on her arm stilled her.
“What, Jet?” she snapped. “What could you possibly ha
ve to say to me?”
A growl. “Nothing.”
“Good.”
“Everything.”
He kissed her, and the world went topsy-turvy.
Two
Jet
In fairness, the smack of Trixie’s palm across his cheek was probably warranted.
They hadn’t seen each other in nearly three years, not since he’d packed up and moved on to another assignment.
And part of the reason he’d packed up was because he’d known he’d never get what he needed from Trix.
Selfish? Yes.
The truth? Also, yes.
Cutting ties before he got even more connected, before it got even harder to leave? Painful, but necessary.
Trixie was beautiful. She was fun to be with, hilarious, and the most low-maintenance person he’d ever met. She didn’t need anyone’s help. She got her shit done and did it well.
Which had been part of the problem.
He hadn’t felt needed, hadn’t felt loved. He’d had scraps tossed his way or held back in reserve, and he knew he couldn’t live with that.
He needed more.
And circling back to selfish. But look, he knew himself, knew how much he enjoyed being with Trix, but he also knew he couldn’t have a future with a woman he felt shut out from, one who preferred to exist in two side-by-side lives rather than two intertwined ones. After his childhood, after spending so much time being shut out and trying—and failing—to earn his parents’ love, Jet knew he couldn’t go through that again.
It wasn’t sustainable, and so he’d torn off the Band-Aid.
Quick and painless.
Of course, it had definitely been the first, just not the second.
But, back to the well-deserved smack. Trix shoved his chest hard, tearing her mouth from his, and skittering several steps away. “What the fuck is your problem?” she snapped, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. “I-I can’t believe that you would think you had any right to touch me.”
She was absolutely right. Not that he was going to tell her as much. “I just had to check on something.”
Her teeth came together with a sharp click. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
But he wasn’t lying.
The rest of the table had cleared out while Trix had been using the restroom, ostensibly because they had work and life commitments, but Jet knew they’d been trying to give him and Trix some time alone, based on the knowing look that Clay had given him before his friend and Heather had taken off. Tanner was a cool guy, and his girl, Kelsey, had been a hoot. They’d both preceded Heather and Clay, Kelsey’s cheeks flushed from the sheer volume of prickly pear margaritas she’d consumed over the course of the meal.
Based on the hot glances she’d been shooting Tanner as they’d prepared to leave, the other man was going to have a good night.
Unlike him.
“I was checking on you,” he said. “Not whether we still had enough heat between us to spontaneously combust. Though”—he leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles and arms—“in case you were wondering. We do.”
Trix rolled her pretty gray eyes. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Jet grinned. “Thanks.”
“Not a compliment, fuck twit,” she muttered, brushing by him and heading back to the table, not knowing the rest of the group had already left.
He trailed her, and because he was a total asshole already, he figured he might as well enjoy the view. And it was a view. Tight black dress, pointy heels she could stab him with, full sleeve of tattoos down both arms visible.
Jet had spent many an hour holding Trix close and studying those swirling colorful pictures, tracing them with his fingers.
Now she stopped, those arms falling to her sides as she took in the empty table.
Slowly, she turned, angry eyes coming up to meet his.
He held out her purse.
Two steps and she came close. Fire in her gaze, fury in her stride. One part of him thought she was going to smack him again, another thought she might kiss him when those gray eyes caught on his mouth before drifting up to meet his eyes.
The air in his lungs caught.
Fuck, yes. He’d had a taste and now he wanted more—that brief touch had been enough for him to crave her lips on his for a hell of a lot longer than a few seconds.
She leaned close . . . and snatched the purse from his hands.
Then spun around and high-tailed it for the front doors.
And he was again in the not-so-unfortunate position of having to follow her out.
Trix could move in those heels, click-clacking across the floor, pushing out the doors, ass bouncing as she strode to her car. Conveniently, the small gray hybrid was parked right next to his sedan.
She beeped the locks, yanked at the handle, and tossed her purse inside.
A sheet of dark brown hair flew over her shoulder as she spun to face him again. “Why the fuck are you following me?” she snapped then threw her arms wide. Jet noticed there was a new addition to the inside of her left arm—a curved line that was shaded with blue and purple. But before he could look closer, she let her hands fall to her sides. “This is your chance to go. So take it. We both know you’re excellent at it.”
He’d been amused up until that point.
But her words struck home, and as such, his temper spiked.
He crowded her against the car, close enough that he could smell the slightly tropical scent of her shampoo. Even in the middle of the jungle, with humidity making all the rest of them smell like ass, she’d still been all coconut and vanilla and pineapple.
Like a fucking piña colada and he’d been thirsty.
“I didn’t want to leave,” he growled, leaning in and inhaling that tropical scent into his lungs.
“More. Fucking. Lies.”
“I had to go.”
“Great.” She shoved at his chest. “Sure. So, if you had to go, then why were you so pissed off to see me at the table?”
She had him there.
But he’d been pissed because he’d been blindsided at seeing her. He’d left three years before and then spent the entire time trying to pretend she hadn’t existed at all, and now he was finally moving on with his life and had agreed to go on a fucking date after a long ass hiatus, and then of course, it had been Trix sitting at that table waiting for him.
Beautiful, fun, smart Trixie had been there.
Reminding him of everything he’d walked away from.
He ignored the fact that he’d initially felt a blip of pleasure at her presence then narrowed his eyes and focused on the knee-jerk pain of knowing that no matter what he did, what he gave, she wouldn’t ever be able to meet him in the middle . . . and so he said something unforgivable, “I was pissed that you were flaunting your tits to the world in that dress.”
Her cheeks flared pink. “How dare you,” she gritted, shoving him back enough to sink down into the driver’s seat. “How fucking dare you. As if you think you have some sort of say in my body, in my clothes.”
She wasn’t wrong.
He was just trying to be an asshole. To push her away like she’d pushed him, to keep her at a distance and remind himself of all the reasons she was wrong for him.
So he wouldn’t forget all the bad and remember the good.
Trix in his bed, smiling up at him.
Trixie working alongside him, unfazed at whatever crisis thrown their way and always finding a way to get through it without losing her smile.
Trix who’d seen so much, and who’d always had his back.
Who’d never judged.
So, yes, insinuating that about her clothes, about her as a woman, was a low fucking blow.
But it was easier to despise Trix for that initial pulse of joy upon seeing her, easier to blame the fact that their relationship had been doomed from the start on her because she was so closed off and unavailable and—
“Oof.”
Strong.
Caught in the past, he wasn’t prepared for her shove. He stumbled back enough for her to slam the driver’s door shut. He heard the locks click, the engine start up, then had to jump another pace back when she hit the gas and screeched out of the spot.
The glare she shot him as she pulled out made him glad he hadn’t jumped in front of the car to stop her.
Because she wouldn’t have stopped.
And he couldn’t help but think that maybe he deserved it.
In many ways.
Three
Trixie
She was running on about two hours of sleep and a half-cup of coffee because she’d gone on a fucking blind date the evening before instead of grocery shopping . . . and still needed to show up on time for her shift.
But that was nothing new.
She’d spent a decade working abroad, moving from country to country in under-supplied and sometimes dangerous conditions, often with a limited amount of caffeine.
Definitely not the way she preferred to work.
But she could push through.
She always pushed through.
Sighing, she tugged her scrub top over the long-sleeved shirt she’d slipped on, then pulled on and zipped up her hospital-branded fleece. Feet into sneakers, hair into a ponytail, homemade lunch in her purple insulated case, and she was ready to go.
Before she’d moved to San Francisco three months before, or rather before she’d moved to a town south of San Francisco—because working for a nonprofit didn’t exactly make a girl rich—she hadn’t worked at an actual hospital for years. Now, she’d adjusted to her job. For the most part.