Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3) Read online

  Laurel's Bright Idea

  Jasinda Wilder

  Copyright © 2021 by Jasinda Wilder

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

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  Also by Jasinda Wilder

  1

  I stood in front of the mirror in the powder room of Seven and Autumn’s house, fidgeting with my dress. I couldn’t get the cups to stay in place, and my boobs kept trying to escape, a condition I called wandering nipple.

  Or, peek-a-boob.

  Either way, not a good look for a backyard wedding for one of my best friends.

  I mean, the dress was killer. Givenchy, custom-tailored for me. Off-the-shoulder, cut to emphasize my hourglass figure, which, of late, was becoming more focused on the lower portion than I’d like. By which I mean, my ass was taking over. I wasn’t, like, pear-shaped quite yet, but I used to have a true hourglass figure, with proportions Marilyn Monroe would’ve been jealous of.

  No matter—I could just emphasize my cleavage with some nice supportive bras and no one would be the wiser, until they saw me naked.

  Which, lately, has been a sadly lacking part of my life.

  I’d never admit to it, even to my best friends, but I was…gasp…in a dry spell.

  The worst part was, I wasn’t even trying.

  Since I discovered boys at thirteen, I only had to give a male a look and they were mine for as long as I wanted to toy with them.

  It was no different now. If anything, I had the look down to an art form. Pickup lines were for amateurs—I could pick up some fun for the night with a single look.

  Of them, at me. If I gave them The Look, they’d be under my spell by the time we got to my Aston Martin DB6.

  Yes, I drove a vintage sports car.

  It’s very hot of me.

  But lately, I just hadn’t been interested in the same-old-same-old cast of loser wannabes and vapid playboys.

  I wanted a man.

  I knew the girls had posted an ad, and I’d gotten a few bites, but simple cursory sleuthing had precluded me from going out with any of them. Maybe I wasn’t giving them a fair shake, but shit, none of them interested me.

  I was lonely.

  I was sad.

  I was bitter.

  But I had a reputation as an icy sex goddess to maintain, and I couldn’t let my friends down, so I put on the Face, the bright smile and the glittery look to my eyes, which were a pale blue that was nearly white.

  My hair was perfect, coiled into tendrils of naturally platinum ringlets around my face, the top tied back, the rest loose.

  The dress hugged my curves, supported my boobs—when they weren’t wandering out—and made my hips look like straight-up man-killers.

  Which, TBH, they were.

  See, the thing about this dry spell was, my heart and mind weren’t playing along with my body—which was every bit as borderline nymphomaniacal as ever.

  It was my soul that was on a dry spell. My body wasn’t with that plan, and was doing everything it could to remind me that I hadn’t had sex in months.

  And even my vibrators had been off duty for a couple weeks.

  It was getting positively dusty down in my nether regions.

  But, time to suck it up. Be a good girl for Autumn’s wedding.

  Her wedding to the man I’d jilled off to every night and every morning for the past several years.

  Not that that was connected in any way to my dry spell. No, no…

  Not at all.

  Unrelated.

  Totally unrelated.

  Finally, with one last tug to make sure my boobs were firmly seated in the cups, I headed out.

  And I saw God.

  Or, a god, at least. Little “G.”

  But if he didn’t deserve the capital “G,” I don’t know who would.

  Tall, dark, and handsome, just the way I liked them. Only, this one took the cliche to sinful, devilish new heights. Six-six, if he was an inch, with naturally dark, swarthy, caramel skin tanned darker yet by the California sun. Long black hair in tight spirals hanging down loose around his back and shoulders. A short, neat beard framed a hard, rugged jawline. A silver hoop adorned the center of his lower lip. More earrings on his ears than I had, all of them heavy silver. Tattoos all over, colorful, masterful, of birds and tigers and guns and knives and angels and pinup girls and hands of cards and guitars and amps and I didn’t know what all.

  He wore a leather vest, open, over a bare torso.

  And fuck me, I’d never seen any man in real life as shredded as he was.

  Eight razor-sharp abs, a V-cut peeking up out of his faded, ripped black jeans. Long lean hard arms with rippling cords of muscle—guitarist forearms, fingers glinting with rings.

  Heavy black boots, shitkickers.

  A rock star.

  THE rock star.

  Titus Bright.

  The baddest bad boy in music. Front man for a long-lived hard rock band notorious for taking the rock star lifestyle to its wildest extremes. And then, when that band broke up following the sudden overdose death of the drummer, he’d done an about-face and started a new project, Bright Star, which did ballads and touching acoustic pieces with delicate melodies and haunting lyrics. Bright Star could rock out, but they were not a metal band of the same vein Titus’s previous band had been. Bright Star defied genre. They’d featured rappers, flamenco guitarists, cellists, accordionists, opera singers, gospel choirs, banjos…anything and everything, and every single song was a platinum hit.

  Titus Bright was the mastermind behind it all, the musical genius who also happened to be the single hottest and most eligible bachelor on the planet, now that Seven St. John was marrying my best friend, Autumn Scott.

  And he was here, in Seven’s backyard, setting up a rack of guitars.

  He saw me floating, stunned and hypnotized, across the yard, and he paused. Froze, really. Slowly set the guitar down into the rack without looking away from me.

  I’d never been looked at like that in my entire life.

  Like prey.

  Like something to eat, a helpless little bunny caught out alone in a field.

  He was the wolf, prowling along the tree line.

  His eyes were a tan so pale they were almost yellow, lupine.

  He shoved his hands in his back pockets and met me in the middle of the yard, eyes narrowed, jaw flexing.

  “Goddamn.” His voice was hoarse, raspy, guttural. “You’re even more fuckin’ stunning than I’d imagined you would be, Laurel McGillis.”

  I blinked, swallowed, tried to breathe. “You…you know who I am?”

  He shuffled closer. Towered over me, his presence imposing, powerful, primal. “Yeah, I do. I know you. Not as well as I’m going to, though.”

  “I see,” I said, trying for the icy demeanor that had never yet failed me. Until now. “You’re sure of that, are you?”

  He reached up with one hand, twisted a ringlet of
my hair around his finger, brought it to his nose and inhaled. “Yes,” he murmured. “I am.”

  “Awful confident of you, Mr. Bright.”

  His eyes ravaged me. “You’re mine, Laurel. You may not know it yet, but you will, soon enough.”

  I gulped, an audible gulp. “You can’t say that to me,” I whispered.

  “But I just did.” He smirked. “What are you gonna do about it?”

  I had not a single clue.

  For the first time in my life, I felt as if I was at the mercy of a man, rather than the other way around.

  This would either be the most fun I’d ever have, or…

  It would utterly change me. Forever.

  I turned on my heel and click-clacked across the lawn, away from Titus Bright. I ducked into the first doorway I came to—the laundry room.

  “Laur?” Kat’s voice.

  I peeked out, saw my friend. Reached out, snagged her arm and tugged her to me. She squealed in surprise.

  “Laurel? What are you doing in the laundry room?”

  “This is bad, Kat,” I whispered under my breath. “Really, really bad.”

  She laughed, and wasn’t even quiet about it. “Why are you whispering? We are literally the only ones in the house.”

  “Titus Bright is out there.”

  “So?”

  “So…he knew my name. He said things to me.”

  “Again, so what?”

  “It’s Titus Bright, dammit. You don’t understand.”

  Kat pulled me out of the laundry room and toward the staircase to the spare bedroom where Autumn was getting ready. She glanced over at me as we paused outside the closed door of the bedroom. “You met Titus Bright. He’s hot. He knows your name. So the hell what? He probably saw The Ad. He wants you. Great.” An eye roll; she pulled her phone out of her clutch, tapped and scrolled a moment, and then showed me her phone.

  On it? The Ad. A photo of me—a selfie, as a matter of fact. In my bathroom, at home.

  God, this photo? Really? I’d just gotten back from vacation in the Caribbean, where I’d spent a lot of time tanning on the beach, and the photo in question was a private one, meant to show off to my girlfriends how tan I was. I was naked, in the selfie. My body was twisted to the side from the waist down, showing my thigh and buttock in profile, thereby blocking any view of my hoo-ha, but it was clear I was naked as a jay bird. My arm was barred across my tits, left hand clutching my right boob, forearm over my right, upper torso twisted around to face three-quarters to front. Long platinum blond hair loose, curly and kinky from having been in a braid all day. No makeup. Granted, it was a damn good shot of me, showed off my bangin’ ass and thighs, my toned waist, and my boobage was spilling over my wrist and hands to rather dramatic effect. Under the photo was the now-standard caption, which had now adorned The Ad beneath photos of both Lizzy and then Autumn before me: Beautiful, successful single woman in search of a wealthy, handsome man to help her get pregnant the old-fashioned way. Financial validation a must. Serious inquiries only. DM for more info.

  “It’s Titus Bright,” I repeated.

  “You’re overthinking it, babe,” Kat said. “I’ve heard stories about that man that’ll make your toes curl. I’m sure you have too. I mean, shit, there’s a whole sub-Reddit about Titus Bright urban legends and sex stories. You wanna get on that cock for a quickie after the wedding, I’m sure no one will be surprised. If you don’t, we’d be a little surprised, but you do you. You’ve been kinda weird lately, so not taking advantage of the attention of a sinfully sexy rock star worth, last I checked, five hundred million, who also happens to have looked at you, in your own words, like something to eat…well, that would be weird.”

  “I don’t care how much he’s worth. Honestly, I tend to avoid rich guys. This whole billionaire thing is you guys. I’ve been there, done that.” I sniffed. “Rich guys are lazy. They think because their bank account has a few extra zeroes that I’m gonna suddenly just start spontaneously orgasming and they aren’t gonna have to put in the work to get me there.”

  Kat laughed. “Honey, I have a hard time believing it’s difficult to give you an O. A stiff breeze will get you off.”

  I snorted. “And what gives you that impression, Katja? When was the last time you were in the room while I had an orgasm?”

  “Ew. I was teasing, Laur, you don’t have to be gross about it.”

  “So now my orgasms are gross to you?”

  Kat frowned at me. “You’re picking a fight, and I’m not here for it. My point is, have sex with him, don’t have sex with him, it’s your call. But don’t make it into this whole big thing.”

  “You’re the one who mere moments ago was all like ohh, he’s so rich, he’s so famous, there’s a whole swath of the internet dedicated to his sexual prowess.”

  “All of which can be considered reasons both for and against you having anything further to do with him. And you’re the one who just said wealth isn’t interesting to you.”

  “Kat, Laurel, are you going to stand out there arguing all morning, or are you going to get your asses in here and help me with my hair?” Autumn called, from the other side of the door. “It’s not going to braid itself, you know.”

  We exchanged looks and went in. Zoe was doing Autumn’s makeup, and Teddy was steaming her dress. Autumn sat in a tall chair, wearing a strapless white bra that was more sheer lace than anything else and provided rather little by way of support, and a thong that was similarly sheer and white. She looked stunning, sensual, and I was seeing more of her than I maybe needed to. Not that I was prudish about it—we were all comfortable with each other’s nudity, especially Lizzy, Kat, and me, having been friends since college and having shared rooms with each other on numerous occasions.

  “You look sexy AF, Autumn,” I said. “That lingerie does amazing things for you.”

  She smiled at me. “Thanks, Laur. Seven picked it out.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “He did, huh? And has he seen it on you?”

  She smirked, rolled a shoulder. “I mean, he was in the changing room with me, so yes. But not yet today.”

  Zoe had the tip of her tongue sticking out as she ran lip liner over her older sister’s lips. “I guess it’s one of their things, lingerie shopping together.”

  “He likes picking out my underwear,” Autumn said. “And it’s fun. He picks stuff I’d never pick for myself, but I figure that’s the point of fancy panties, right? It’s not for me, it’s for him.”

  I flicked a finger at her. “Clearly. That bra looks great, but it’s not really doing much by way of support.”

  Zoe sat back, twirling the lip liner pencil between her fingers, and then tapped at the underside of her sister’s boob. “She doesn’t need much support with these cute lil mosquito bites.”

  Autumn stuck her tongue out at Zoe. “Hello, Pot? This is Kettle, come in Pot, over.” She pointed at Zoe. “You’re not rocking anything more than I am, princess. Less, if anything.”

  “Maybe. But mine are perkier.” A flouncing shrug. “Because I’m younger.”

  Autumn faked a glare. “You’re age- and boob-shaming me, your beloved elder sister, your only family, on my wedding day?”

  Zoe burst into laughter, and fell against her sister, hugging her. “You know I’m teasing, Autumn. I’m just jealous because I’d never have the courage to wear lingerie like that. I’m too much of a scaredy-cat.”

  Autumn pushed her away, patting her cheek. “Someday, you’ll grow up and find a man of your own, and you’ll understand.”

  Zoe snorted, setting aside the lip liner and reaching for a contouring pad. “One can only hope. I’m beginning to think otherwise, though.”

  “Your date with the hot mechanic didn’t go well?” Autumn asked.

  I moved behind Autumn and began dragging a brush through her long copper locks. “Do tell, Zoe. Did he replace your spark plugs?”

  “Or did he fix your carburetor?” Kat said, snickering.

  “Mayb
e he changed your oil,” Teddy suggested.

  Zoe snorted, focusing on her sister as she answered. “He was awful. I was so bored. I barely made it to dessert, honestly. All he wanted to talk about was cars. Like, listen, I like a sexy car as much as the next gal, but buddy, in no way, shape, or form do I give one single shit about the sixty-eight Chevelle you’re restoring. He talked for literally an hour straight about how he bored out the cylinders to get all this extra horsepower. I legit told him I wasn’t all that interested and could we talk about something else, and he was like, yeah, sure, and started in on—I shit you not—the upholstery he was planning on using.”

  “Ohmygod,” Teddy said, putting the steam wand away and leaning against the wall near Autumn. “I had a date a lot like that a few weeks ago. This guy I met on Tinder. Yes, I’m still using Tinder. He was hot, I swiped, we DM’d, he made good conversation, had a good pickup line, so we met. In person, he was nowhere near as hot as his bio made him seem, and he literally only wanted to talk about airplanes. He’s a pilot, I guess, which is great. But god—airplanes. For two hours.”

  Autumn wanted her hair done in braids that wrapped around her head, and Kat and I were by far the best braiders of the group, so we’d been tapped to do her hair. Of course, Autumn could have paid for a glam squad herself, and you know Seven offered, but Autumn insisted it was us. And, I had to admit, this was more fun. There was champagne, for one thing.

  The worst date stories continued as Kat and I worked on the braids.

  “Your turn, Laurel,” Lizzy said; Lizzy’s job was to help Autumn into her dress once hair and makeup were done. She’d been sitting off to one side, out of the way of the hair and makeup, sipping champagne. “Worst date. Go.”

  I sighed. She knew this story already, but the other girls didn’t. “My first year working with Lizzy, it was just her and me, as Kat hadn’t hired on yet. We would trade which of us got the good listings, right, so we both had a chance at the bigger commissions. It was my turn for the good listing, and when it came in, it was this plum of a place in Laguna Beach. Top floor condo, two units that had been combined. The biggest listing we’d had, and I was freaking out. I was there every day, fiddling with the staging, updating the photos, just obsessing. I discovered there was a drip leak under one sink, and I just freaked the fuck out. Called every plumber I knew, but they were all weeks out, and I had a showing that day. I mean, the first showing I’d scheduled on this massive listing, and I had a leak. No one could come look at it. So I was sitting in my car in the parking lot, yanking my hair out trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. And I saw this guy carrying a toolbox to a truck. He was big, he was sexy, and he had tools. Problem solved, right? I had a feeling it was just a loose fitting or something, but what the hell do I know? So I do my best flounce over to him where he was messing with the tools in the back of his truck.”