Page 2 of Ezra the Billionaire

I shrug out of my suit jacket and tug at the soaking fabric clinging to my chest as I march out of the lobby, my shoes squeaking with each step.

This isn’t the first time something has fallen from the tiered balconies surrounding the heart of the lodge. People are careless. They fumble cell phones, water bottles… Once, a social media influencer accidentally dropped an entire tray of sandwiches. I don’t know what the hell they were trying to promote or how it happened, but a guest’s golden retriever had been happy to gobble them up.

Most items land in the long planters strategically placed to avoid head-on collisions and massive legal fees, but there are a couple of unavoidable impact zones. Places where a guest has to stand just right from above, and an unlucky someone’s timing becomes shit—like mine.

My younger sister Kennedy walks out of her office and abruptly stops. “What happened to you?”

“A cup of morning coffee, that’s what.” She follows me into my office down the hall and watches as I strip off the ruined shirt and replace it with an extra I keep in a desk drawer. Sometimes a late night turns into sleeping on the leather sofa in the corner, so it helps to keep spare clothing available for quick changes. My siblings joke about my overly prepared tendencies, but once again, it’s proven to be necessary.

Kennedy tilts her head. “Did it explode in your face?” She gestures to the wet jacket and shirt, amusement hiding in the corners of her pressed lips.

“No, it fell from the damn sky.” My fingers fight to push the tiny buttons through their holes on the fresh shirt as frustration quickens my pace. “Damn balconies. Damn clumsy-fingered, violet-eyed…” I continue to mutter under my breath when Keisha knocks on the doorframe with the culprit of my disastrous morning standing behind her.

“Lauren!” Kennedy greets the woman attempting to use Keisha as a barrier between us. “Is everything okay? Keisha, we’ve got it from here, thank you.”

She nods, casts a sympathetic glance toward Lauren, then disappears.

“I spoke with security, and they assured me that you shouldn’t have any more trouble with paparazzi while on the property. But if they’re still hounding you…”

“No, no… That’s not why I’m here.” Lauren looks between me, Kennedy, and the discarded clothing hanging on the back of achair before her gaze falls to my half-covered chest. A flush of scarlet rises to her cheeks as my dick swells with interest.

Dammit.

Who cares if there was a flare of attraction in her stare? Who cares if her rosy blush has me curious to know if it matches the color of her nipples?

I don't have time to lust after a guest.

She studiously refocuses on my sister. “There was an accident.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I grunt, determined to control the flame of desire threatening to spark free.

The last staff meeting replays in my mind as a distraction, and I recall the mention of increased security due to some minor celebrity arrival.Shemust be the celebrity. An actress? A model? Her pretty curves and wholesome features give off girl-next-door vibes—perfect for screen and print.

“Oh, no! You weren’t the one who—”

“Yes, she was,” I cut Kennedy off, snapping my collar into place after finishing with the damn shirt buttons. Though charcoal twill hides my bare chest from view, it doesn’t quell the burn left from Lauren’s brief show of interest.

“I’m so sorry. I saw someone with a camera and panicked.” Lauren bites her lip, my eyes instinctively drawn to the pink plumpness before common sense takes over.

I don’t need to be staring at Lauren’s bow-shaped mouth. Or the way her breasts fill out that vee-neck sweater that shows just a hint of cleavage. No fucking way can I afford to be distracted by a beautiful woman when said beautiful woman is the reason I’m sticky, stinking of sugar and caffeine, and fighting an inappropriate hard-on.

And late for a meeting.

Plus, she’s acelebrity. Probably an entitled diva.

My mind adds more fuel to the fire of annoyance in my gut and purposely ignores the lower stirring of attraction.

Kennedy’s brow furrows. “Was it one of the gossip rag photographers? I’ll let our head of security know.”

“No, it wasn’t. They didn’t even have their camera pointed my way; it was hanging around their neck while they juggled a backpack and tumbler. I just…” She shrugged and sighed. “I wasn’t thinking. That’s how I bumped into the balcony railing and dropped my coffee.”

A glance at my watch shows it’s fifteen minutes after ten. This entire fiasco will have me running behind for the rest of the day.

Fuck.

I hate getting off schedule. That’s my twin brother’s specialty: going with the flow, pretending time has no meaning unless it involves an emergency for the fire department, then Beckett is all business.

After the quick swipe of a wet wipe—another item I keep on hand for emergencies—I toss the crumpled cloth and stare at Lauren.

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