Bad Boy Billionaire is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck-Up Suit.
It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times bestselling series.
Grace
I was like a bird watcher, but I wasn’t. Because I didn’t really watch birds. In fact, I didn’t like birds at all. They scared the mess out of me. I was more of a people watcher. But not just any people. Couples to be specific. No, I wasn’t a creeper. I didn’t hide behind bushes with a pair of binoculars or anything. Well, not quite anyway. Honestly, I was more of a romance watcher than a people watcher. And there was no better place to do that in New York City than in Central Park.
Sure, you could see sexy couples grinding or random hookups in the plethora of restaurants and clubs in the city, but that wasn’t romance. Not the true kind anyway. Not the real kind. That was lust and you could find that just about anywhere. But I was on the hunt for something incredibly different.
Real romance. That was what I was always looking for.
It wasn’t as easy to find as you would think, so I had to keep my eyes peeled for it. It wasn’t hot, passionate kisses or full-on ass grabs. It was a couple walking side by side, pink cheeks, cheesy grins, and the subtle brush of their hands that would cause those pink cheeks to deepen to a blush red. It was a wife and husband jogging by and the husband noticing his wife’s shoe was untied and him bending down to tie it for her while she grinned like the luckiest gal on the planet. It was a mom sitting in a swing with her baby in her lap while daddy pushed them together, all of them giggling and starry-eyed like there wasn’t anywhere in the world that they would rather be. And they probably didn’t want to be anywhere else and that was the point. It was love and it was one of the main reasons I’d moved from the south to a big city up north. So that I could find it. Not in the sense of finding it for myself. No, I’d tried that already and decided I was swearing it off for a while. A girl could only take so much heartbreak before moving the hell on with her life. I wanted to find love so I could write about it. It was all a part of my big plan of becoming a big-time romance writer.
Anyhow, I was sitting in the park doing my usual romance watching from my favorite bench when I spotted a couple. Three weeks and I already had a favorite spot in New York. It made me giddy that this city was slowly becoming mine. One day it would feel like my own and I couldn’t wait.
Today was my lucky day. There was a couple sitting across from me and to the right on one of the benches like I was sitting on. I tried not to ogle them but, God, they were perfect. Oh, who was I kidding? I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. There they were in their little copse of trees hidden from most everyone except me. They were young, maybe early twenties. They were doing that dance. The one where they were leaning into each other but not quite touching. Their hands each lay in their own lap, just itching to move toward each other. The young man, who had dark hair and light colored eyes from what I could see, was smiling down at the woman with what could only be considered complete adoration. His mouth was moving and I could imagine he was telling her about his day while they took their lunch breaks together. I was locked deep in on that gaze and imaginary conversation I’d conjured up when I was interrupted.
“Miss Gracie, who are you watching today?”
The smooth, deep voice of my only friend in the city besides my cousin Tig and his wife Delia interrupted my thoughts. I smiled at Clive, even though I knew he couldn’t see me at all. Although, the self-assured way he waltzed toward me told a different story. Truly, the walking stick in his hand was the only giveaway that he was blind. His sure swagger and easy gait could make a person think he could easily see. But the truth of it was, he just knew this city and this huge park like the back of his hand.
“Well, hey there, Clive. I thought you might skip lunch with me today.” I couldn’t help my big smile. I loved our lunches in the park. They were the highlight of my week, but he was a bit late today, so I’d assumed he wasn’t coming.
He shook his head and chuckled, his teeth bright white against his brown skin. “Now, you know, no one else in this city makes chicken salad like you,” he said from behind his dark sunglasses. “I just got a bit held up this morning at a doctor’s appointment.” He took a seat in his usual spot on the bench next to me.
I giggled and shook my head as I reached into the small brown bag beside me to pull out the other half of my chicken salad sandwich. “Here you go. We can’t have you wasting away, now can we?” He was far from wasting away at six feet tall and easily two hundred pounds. But the southern girl in me always liked to feed a man and it looked like Clive never missed a meal. He was pretty hearty for a seventy-five-year-old man.
He laughed and the deep baritone of his chuckle rolled over me and felt like home. My home, to be exact. I reckoned that was why I liked Clive so much besides his charming personality. We’d met in the park a few weeks ago when I’d first moved from North Carolina. He’d sat on my bench and chatted me up right away, not a shy bone in his big body. And when he told me he was from Tennessee, I knew that was a wrap. I had made a best friend in the city. Clive felt like a little bit of the south in the chaos of the big place. His southern twang and slow ways felt like a warm blanket on this autumn day. The big city hadn’t stole any of Clive’s southern charm, even if he had been here fifteen years as he liked to tell me.
While he chewed on his sandwich, I asked him a question I’d been dying to know the answer to. “How do you know it’s me sitting here and not some strange woman waiting to steal your virtue?” He had a little mayo on his lip so I pressed a napkin into his hand.
Clive always knew it was me after the first time we’d talked. I kept waiting for him to slip up these last three weeks, but he’d never not known it was me sitting on our bench.
Wiping his mouth, he said with a grin, “Woman, I haven’t had my virtue since I was fifteen.”
I giggled. “Wow! Fifteen?”
He gave a slow shrug. “What can I say? I’ve always had a way with the ladies.”
I wasn’t surprised one bit. He was pretty good looking even in his old age. And he always dressed to impress in pressed slacks and a suit jacket, a crisp white shirt beneath.
“I can smell you.”
“What?” I asked, my smile falling, completely confused.
He shook his head. “You asked how I know it’s you. My answer is I can smell you.”
“Oh.” I leaned my head over and gave my armpit a sniff and Clive busted out laughing.
“Don’t worry, sugar. You don’t stink. I haven’t had my sight in over twenty years. I’ve developed a strong sense of smell. And, you, my dear, smell like Carolina sunshine and freshly laundered cotton.”
I smiled at him and passed him some homemade chocolate chip cookies. “Well, sir, you just earned yourself a homemade cookie. Smooth talker.”
Leaning down, he sniffed the dessert I passed to him. “Mmm, chocolate chip. My favorite.”
“You really do have a good nose.” I pushed my blonde hair behind my ear and took a bite of my sandwich.