Billionaires Prefer Blondes Read Free Page A

for?”
    “Because I tried to go shopping earlier, and I cased everystore I walked into on Madison Avenue. It was giving me a fucking panic attack.”
    He had the bad manners to laugh at her. “Then stop shopping on Madison Avenue, honey. There’s better stuff at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, anyway. In fact, I know two guys who have open requests for anything you can pick up by Renoir or Degas. We’re talking a cool half million for each.”
    “Shut up. I don’t want to know about those people.” Frowning at the phone, Samantha rolled onto her stomach. “Besides, I don’t do museums, if you’ll recall.”
    “I recall. What about Sotheby’s? Did you talk the billionaire into going with you tonight?”
    “It was his idea,” she returned defensively. “And I’m keeping my hands in my pockets. I’m just going to take in the view, and maybe to advise Rick on artwork.”
    “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”
    “That is what I say.”
    “Fine, honey. I was just trying to help distract you from your crisis.”
    Samantha blew him a raspberry. “With friends like you, yadda yadda yadda.”
    “I love you, too, Sam. And hey, as long as I’m already interrupting your vacation, those business cards we’ve been spreading around Palm Beach are paying off. Aubrey took three calls for appointments over the weekend. One mansion, one art studio, and an attorney’s office.”
    Oh, good, more joy and excitement for her. “Blech. Go talk to ’em, then.”
    “They don’t want to take security advice from me, Sam. They want Rick Addison’s girlfriend. The one who has fistfights with murdering heiresses and lays the smackdown on guys who steal paintings from Rick.”
    “Christ, Stoney, you make me sound like the Masked Mangler or something. I used my brainpower, thank you very much.” Of course on various occasions she’d also ended up with a concussion and a bullet graze and a series of other cuts and bruises, but hey, she’d won.
    “Then that’s what they want. Your brainpower. And you in person.”
    Three calls on a March weekend in Palm Beach, Florida, wasn’t bad at all, when she considered it. Most of the wealthiest part-time residents had left for their summer homes, and the number of year-round residents was tiny compared to the winter influx. “Did Aubrey tell them I was on a business trip?”
    “Is that what you’re calling it now?” She heard his sigh. “Yes, he told them.”
    “Then we’ll schedule something when I get back. It’ll be another ten days or so.”
    “Whatever you say. Just keep in mind that I’m not running this shit all by myself. We’re partners, remember? And besides, I think Aubrey’s getting kind of interested in me.”
    Samantha snorted. “You are pretty cute. Ten days. I promise. I’m trying to be a good significant other.”
    “Then you’d better quit casing stores. Addison probably wouldn’t like that.”
    He actually hadn’t seemed too upset, or even surprised. And she’d told him, which had to count for something. “I’m hanging up now. ’Bye, sweetie.”
    Groaning, she sat up again and strolled into the bathroom to turn on the shower. As if she needed Stoney to tell her that thievery wouldn’t mix with her new life. Hell, she’d been straight for five months now—and it was for her as much as it was for Rick. It was still so odd, to think of a life where she could settle in one place and not have to wipe her fingerprintsoff every doorknob in case the police or Interpol were following her, looking for evidence.
    She was in that new life now. Why, then, did she feel like she both wanted to keep on her toes, and that she needed to? Old habits and all that shit, she supposed. But to stop looking over her shoulder—that would be harder than remembering to smile for the paparazzi.

Chapter 2
    Tuesday, 6:08 p.m.
    B y the time Richard Addison ushered his minions—as Samantha called them—out the front door, he was ready to forgo both dinner out and the