One Bad Idea: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance Read online

  A day without sleep will definitely do that.

  As I continued shoving aside clothes, the guy said, "Hey Velma, you wanna check the bookcases, too?"

  Velma? It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to that Scooby Doo cartoon character – the bookish one with the big eyeglasses.

  Whatever.

  Still rummaging through the closet, I told him, "You don't have any bookcases, dumb-ass. I checked for those first."

  "That's not true," he replied. "We've got a whole library downstairs."

  They did? I hadn't seen it. But then again, the house was big – very big, with too many rooms to count.

  Was it any wonder that I might've missed a few?

  From the open doorway, he said, "So who's the dumb-ass now?"

  Deciding that was a rhetorical question, I kept my attention on the clothes even as I threatened to shove a Scooby Snack up his ass.

  Whether he heard me or not, I had no idea. By now, the closet was a total mess, with clothes falling off the hangers into rumpled heaps at my feet.

  And yet, I kept on going and refused to be distracted, even when he said, "Found her."

  Sure he did.

  I called over my shoulder. "Oh shut up. I'm not falling for that again."

  "Suit yourself," he said. "If you want me, I'll be in the library."

  Without bothering to look, I yelled, "As if you can read!" Under my breath, I added, "Idiot."

  But then, a moment later, I heard a voice – a new voice, standing eerily close. It was Cassidy, who said in a soothing tone, "Allie?"

  Chapter 5

  With a little gasp, I whirled around, and there she was – Cassidy, my best friend and former roommate.

  No, I reminded myself – not my former roommate. She was my current roommate. After all, that's why I was here, wasn't it? To take her back home?

  Beyond relieved, I soaked up the sight of her. She looked perfectly fine, thank goodness. Wanting to be sure, I eyed her up and down, taking in her black yoga pants, the pale pink T-shirt, and her long dark hair, without a single strand out of place.

  Finally, something in my heart eased. She was definitely okay.

  Tears pricked at my eyes, and I wanted to lunge forward and wrap her in my arms. And I wanted to throttle her for making me worry. Before I could stop myself, I'd already blurted out, "Where were you?"

  She bit her lip. "Um, out?"

  From somewhere down the hall, my shirtless tormenter yelled, "Told ya!"

  God, what a jackass. So he'd known she was fine? And he hadn't bothered to tell me anything useful? I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I turned and hollered back, "Oh, fuck off!"

  As the words rang through the house, I stifled a gasp. Okay, I did tend to curse when I got angry, but normally, I cursed in private, where I wouldn't make a total spectacle of myself.

  Too late for that now.

  Turning back to Cassidy, I murmured, "You weren't here."

  She glanced away. "I know. I was getting…" She cleared her throat. "…uh, pancakes, actually."

  I stared at her. "Pancakes? Are you freaking kidding me?"

  At the mere thought of breakfast, my stomach gave a low rumble. I hadn't had pancakes. Come to think of it, I'd eaten nearly nothing since dinner yesterday.

  Before leaving on my impromptu road trip, I hadn't had the time. And after leaving, I couldn’t afford much of anything to eat, not with that stupid truck guzzling gas like there was no tomorrow. And I still didn't know how on Earth I'd be paying for fuel to get home.

  Knowing Cassidy, she'd be willing to pay for every gallon if she could. But knowing her mom? Cassidy was dead-broke by now.

  And how did I know this?

  It was because Cassidy was always broke whenever her mom bounced back into her life. The woman really was awful.

  But that wasn’t important, not now. Somehow, we'd figure everything out. We always did, right?

  As my thoughts churned, it slowly dawned on me that Cassidy was eyeing me with obvious concern.

  It was easy to guess why.

  No doubt, I was a total mess.

  On the inside of the closet door, there was a full-length mirror. I gave my reflection a sideways glance and wanted to cringe at the sight.

  I looked even worse than I'd imagined.

  My long blond hair was in a tangled disarray, with only half of it contained in the loose ponytail that I'd whipped it into however many hours ago. My rumpled clothes – long black shorts and a dingy grey sweatshirt – were way too big and not even my own. As for my eyes, they were red-rimmed and glassy, with dark circles underneath.

  Good grief. I looked like a druggie, fresh off a bender.

  But this wasn't all my fault.

  When I'd left Nashville, I'd looked perfectly normal. I'd even been wearing my own clothes, not the ill-fitting extras that I'd found in Stuart's gym bag.

  Now, ten hours later, my reflection was living proof that the drive had not been fun. Even the one thing I'd splurged on – a small hot chocolate with extra whipped cream – had ended up mostly on my lap, thanks to the lack of cup holders in the truck. Thus, the need to change my clothes.

  In happier news, I was here. And Cassidy was safe. That's all that counted, right?

  In front of me, she was saying, "Gosh, Allie. I'm so sorry."

  I tried to smile. I wasn't sorry. I would've driven twice as far if that's what it took. I whispered, "You're okay?"

  "Uh, yeah," she stammered. "I called. Didn't you get my message?"

  "Of course I did. Why do you think I'm here?"

  She winced. "Actually, I meant the second message, the one telling you that I was alright."

  I gave a confused shake of my head. "What?"

  "Yeah. In fact, I left two second messages – one at the apartment, and then another on your cellphone. You didn't get either one of them?"

  I tried to think. She must've left them after I'd pulled away from that truck stop, the one where I'd bummed a charge for my cellphone. That was the last time I'd been able to make or receive any calls – at least until showing up here, where I'd spent most of the new charge, the one I'd bummed on the front porch, talking to that chick with the attitude.

  As I stared stupidly at my friend, I considered that awful voicemail, the one informing me that Cassidy was selling her goodies for gas money.

  Finally, I gave a low scoff. Just as I'd suspected, the message was a big, steaming pile of crap. And yet, like a total idiot, I'd still stepped into it with both feet, barging into some stranger's house like a crazy person.

  Looking back, it was a wonder the guy hadn't called the police – or at the very least, tossed me out on my ass.

  Judging from his physique, he was certainly more than capable.

  Still, I had to wonder, why on Earth had he left open the door?

  Cassidy's question hung between us. Did I get her messages? I tried to laugh. "Do I look like I did?"

  "But how did you get here?"

  Wasn't it obvious? "How do you think?" I said. "I drove."

  She frowned. "But I thought your car was in the shop."

  I hesitated. It wasn't just in the shop. It was totaled, thanks to that incident with the cement truck. The only upside was that I hadn't actually been inside the car at the time, thank God, or I'd be the pancake, hold the syrup.

  But in my first frantic voicemail to Cassidy, I hadn't mentioned any of this, mostly for lack of time. Now, I regretted mentioning my car at all. And I especially regretted telling her that I wouldn't be able to pick her up.

  All of it was a huge mistake – and one I would've surely corrected sooner, if only I hadn't had such a hard time getting my hands on a vehicle.

  And then, by the time I did, my phone was as dead as a doornail. On top of that, I'd been racing against the clock – not only to help Cassidy, but also to avoid getting busted in a truck that I wasn't supposed to be driving.

  The whole thing was a giant mess, and I'd be facing a load of
grief when I returned to Nashville – assuming that I wasn't arrested somewhere along the way.

  As these thoughts swirled in my head, I considered how horrified Cassidy would be if she ever found out the truth. And she'd feel guilty, too. She always felt guilty, even when she shouldn't.

  In reply to her question, I looked away and mumbled, "I uh, borrowed something."

  "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

  I looked back to her and sighed. "I borrowed a pickup. You didn't see it when you came in?"

  She gave me a perplexed look. "In the driveway?"

  "No. On the street."

  "Honestly, I was pretty focused on the house."

  I gave her a rueful smile. "Yeah. Me, too."

  Just then, a noise near the bedroom door made us both turn to look. In the open doorway stood a guy who looked eerily familiar. This was the first time I'd seen him, but I was pretty sure that I'd met his brother – the jackass who'd answered the front door.

  They had the same dark hair, the same muscular build, and the same dangerous eyes. But at least this guy was wearing a shirt.

  From the open doorway, he gave us a long, inscrutable look. As he did, I felt myself squirm in embarrassment. It was beyond easy to guess what he was thinking. "Who's the psycho in the closet?"

  Cassidy gave him a tentative smile. "Oh, hi."

  He didn't smile back. "Hi."

  Feeling more self-conscious than ever, I glanced around. So did Cassidy.

  The room was a total mess, with open drawers and clothes scattered across the floor. As I watched, Cassidy's gaze landed on the final drawer that I'd ransacked. It was overflowing with lacy undergarments, most with price-tags still attached.

  From here, I couldn’t see the tags, but I'd gotten a decent look earlier. All of the stuff was incredibly expensive, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I'd be expected to pay for it.

  Technically, I hadn't ruined anything – well, except for the shirtless guy's sandwich, but that was a different matter entirely.

  Cassidy turned back to the new guy and summoned up a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," she told him. "I'm gonna clean everything up. You won't even know we were here, honest."

  I bit my lip. This was easy for her to say. She hadn't seen the sandwich.

  The stranger still wasn't smiling. But he wasn't frowning either. That was good, right?

  He replied, "I wouldn't count on it." And then, he turned his cool gaze on me.

  I felt myself swallow. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. I mean, what could I say?

  Oops?

  He asked, "You need anything?"

  The question caught me off-guard. It was surprisingly thoughtful, which had me rethinking my conclusion that the two guys were brothers. Based on their personalities, they hardly seemed related at all.

  As I considered his question, I reached up to rub the back of my neck. There were a lot of things that I needed – food, gas money, and cripes, even a bathroom. But it seemed beyond rude to ask for anything at all after making such a mess.

  I mumbled, "No. I'm fine." Under my breath, I added, "Now, anyway."

  He gave me a dubious look. "You sure about that?"

  "Sure." I cleared my throat. "I mean, what would I need?"

  His gaze dipped to the hem of my sweatshirt. "I dunno. A shower, breakfast, clean clothes?"

  I snuck another quick glance in the mirror and spotted a coffee-colored stain just above my waist. Damn it.

  I heard myself sigh. If he thought these were dirty, he should see what happened to my first set of driving clothes.

  Now, those were dirty.

  I was still trying to think of something relevant to say when Cassidy turned to me and asked, "Are you sure? There's a private bathroom, and…" She perked up. "I have some things you can borrow."

  Now, that confused me. Why would she have extra things so readily available? Was she living here? I snuck a quick glance at the guy in the doorway. Maybe he and Cassidy were a thing?

  On one hand, I could totally see it. They were both very good-looking, and he'd been surprisingly nice, all things considered. Plus, they'd just returned from breakfast in spite of the fact that it was now early afternoon.

  But I knew Cassidy. Like me, she preferred to take things slow. She'd been living in Florida for only a week, which meant that she'd known the guy for just a few days at the most.

  It was way too soon for her to be moving in, regardless of the guy's looks or money, which he obviously had in abundance.

  There was definitely more to this story, and I made a mental note to start asking as soon as we returned to the truck, assuming of course that it hadn't been towed away.

  I still hadn't replied to Cassidy's offer of clothing and what-not. I was seriously tempted, and yet, I forced myself to decline, if only to spare everyone further embarrassment.

  Finally, I looked to the guy in the doorway and said, "I guess I should apologize for barging in." I couldn’t help but wince. "And I might've been a little rude."

  He gave an easy shrug. "Forget it. Knowing my brother, he had it coming."

  From somewhere down the hall, the first guy called, "I heard that!"

  The guy at the door turned his head and called back, "You were meant to hear it, jackass, so quit your bitching."

  In spite of everything, I almost smiled. If he and Cassidy were a thing, I'd totally approve, not that she needed my approval. It was just that I could totally see them together, and Cassidy was way overdue for something good in her life.

  When I turned to give her a questioning look, she whispered, "They're brothers."

  "I know," I teased. "He just said so."

  She smiled. "Oh. Right."

  From the doorway, the guy looked back to me and said, "Let me know when you change your mind." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me and Cassidy alone.

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. Obviously, that last comment had been directed at me. But I wasn't planning to change my mind. Mostly, I was planning to leave – the sooner the better. And yet, I'd be smart to at least use the bathroom before hopping back into that truck.

  Cassidy said, "Come on. Let's talk in my room, okay?"

  I frowned in confusion. "Your room?"

  "Just for last night," she clarified. "But it'll give us someplace to talk." She reached for my hand and gave it a gentle tug. "Now, come on."

  Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was stupidity. Either way, I let her lead me down the hall, and then, in the private bedroom, proceeded to make her feel awful – even though that had never been my intention.

  Chapter 6

  Sitting in the small armchair beside the bed, I tried to laugh. "But then, I remembered Stuart's extra car key – the one he keeps hidden under his bumper." I hesitated. "Wait, does that make it a truck key? It probably does, right?"

  Yes, I was rambling.

  From nerves? Or lack of sleep?

  Probably both.

  Cassidy, who was sitting on the edge of bed, stared at me in obvious horror. "Wait, are you staying you took it without permission?"

  I hesitated. "The key?"

  "No," she said. "The truck."

  "Well, yeah." I forced a shrug. "I had the key, so..." I let my words trail off, like this should explain everything.

  Apparently not.

  Cassidy was still staring. "You stole it?"

  "No. I borrowed it, just like I told you."

  Cassidy paled, looking like the pancakes weren't sitting so well.

  Damn it. I'd meant for the story to be funny, not worrisome. Oh sure, it hadn't felt funny at the time, but surely we'd look back someday and laugh, right?

  I just prayed I wouldn't be laughing from some jail cell in Tennessee.

  What Cassidy didn't know was that I'd omitted the most concerning details, including all of the messages that I'd received from my ex, promising to send the police out after me.

  Like he knew them personally or something.

  Then
again, his brother-in-law was a deputy sheriff in Memphis, so maybe Stuart really did have connections.

  But I couldn't think about that now.

  Now, the most important thing was returning the vehicle to Stuart's driveway – and fast. And then, I'd just have to smooth everything over, that's all.

  It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, Stuart had borrowed my vehicle plenty of times without permission. In contrast, this was the first time I'd ever done it to him.

  Of course, my timing could've been a teeny bit better, considering that, unlike him, I'd done the borrowing after our horrendous breakup.

  To Cassidy, I mumbled, "Hey, I left a note."

  She gave a weak laugh. "Well, that's good. What did it say? 'I'm taking your vintage truck to Florida'?"

  No. It hadn't. In truth, the note had been a bit short on details, mostly because I hadn't wanted him to flip out.

  It hadn't worked, and I had the text messages to prove it. I also had a whole bunch of voicemails, which I'd listened to at that truck stop in Alabama. I'd even called him back and promised that I'd return the truck tomorrow.

  From there, the conversation had gone decidedly downhill, especially when he informed me that I'd be dealing with the police, not him, in the future. True to his word, I hadn't heard from him since.

  I was still mulling all of this over when Cassidy said, "He doesn't know the truck's here, does he?"

  I sighed. "Not exactly. I mean, I didn't tell him specifically where I was going, just that it was an emergency." I glanced away and muttered. "And besides, he was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him."

  Cassidy made a scoffing sound. "How thoughtful of you."

  "Oh, shut up."

  "Alright, forget last night," she said. "Did you at least call him this morning?"

  No. I hadn't. Our conversation from the truck stop was bad enough, and besides, I hadn't the time – or a charged cell phone for that matter.

  Now, I tried to make a joke of it. "Are you kidding? He'd just tell me to bring it back."

  But Cassidy wasn't laughing. "Well, obviously."

  "And besides," I said, "my phone died in Alabama. I couldn’t call him even if I wanted to."

  And I hadn't wanted to.

  Yes, I was worried about the consequences, but not nearly as worried as I'd been for Cassidy's safety. Her mom really was awful – and not the normal kind of awful either.