Page 26 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

“We need disguises. Thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that Mr. Banks came prepared.”

“You went through his things without asking?”

“Indeed, I did,” she said, holding up what looked like the contents of an eight-year-old’s costume box. “I’m guessing the mustache and monocle belong to Monsieur Baguette-Bordeaux, while the feather boa and the eyepatch came out of a shoebox labeled ‘Pirate Jenny.’”

“Pirate Jenny?”

“Now’s not the time to ask questions,” she said, putting on the eyepatch and fling the boa around her neck. “Now sit still.”

“I am not—no—that mustache is not going on my face—”

“Too late. There,” she said, popping the monocle onto my left eye to complete the look. “You’re either about to give someone a library fine or dig up Tutankhamun. ”

“We’re not digging up anything.”

“Are you kidding? We’re digging up the dirt on your husband’s affair. Now let’s move—there’s espionage to be done and shellfish to sample.”

Apparently inspired by Mr. Banks’s love for nom de plumes, Mrs. Mulroney made a last-minute reservation at the yacht club under the name Katarina von Kunningsberg.

“We’d like your finest table,” she insisted once we arrived.

“You’ll get our last available table,” the ma?tre d’ replied, gazing suspiciously at her eye patch.

That table, unfortunately, was also right next to the men’s bathroom.

The minute we sat down, side by side, we lifted our menus to shield our faces.

As I glanced over the top at the room, Mrs. Mulroney glanced at me. “Why on earth are you wriggling your nose like a bunny who can smell the rabbit stew that the farmer’s wife is baking?”

“That’s an unsettling analogy, but if you must know, it’s this damn mustache,” I told her. “It’s tickling my nostrils. I keep thinking there’s a hairy caterpillar on my lip trying to crawl up my nose.”

“Just keep calm. We can’t afford to draw any attention to ourselves.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Countess von Kunningsberg.”

“Just try not to get the flibberty-gibbets like you always do when you’re nervous.

We’re here to observe, not to intervene or cause a scene.

And remember, Cal is innocent until proven guilty.

Chances are there’s nothing going on at all, which would probably be a good thing, because if Cal and Hal became a couple their blended name would be Chal?

What kind of a name is that? Unlike Cal’s and your blended name. ”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about blended names. Mashups. Like conjoined twins but with names instead of limbs. You know, like the celebrities. Bennifer. Brangelina.”

“You mean Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck? And Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie? You do know none of those marriages lasted… several times!”

“Ah, but Catthew might be the one to break the mold.”

“Catthew? That’s Cal’s and my blended name? We sound like a sneeze.”

“Fine, how about Malvin?”

“Now we’re a chipmunk. Can we please just focus on the task at hand?”

“Right. Back to spying. I’m on it.” She peered over the top of her menu and gasped almost immediately. “Sweet Jesus in the library with a candlestick! I see them!”

“Where?”

“Over there. The table with the best view of the marina… naturally.”

She pointed discreetly in their direction, and there they were.

Cal looking professional and handsome.

And Hal with his shirt unbuttoned down his bronzed chest.

“Look at him,” Mrs. Mulroney said, glaring in Hal’s direction. “He looks like a right proper twat. All style and no substance. And why do I have ‘I’m To Sexy For My Shirt’ suddenly ringing through my head?”

“Exactly! Thank you!”

They were sitting outside on the deck, angled just so, their sunglasses gleaming in the sun, drinks in hand.

Cal was laughing.

Laughing.

Not polite work-laughing. Real laughing. Leaning back in his chair and touching Hal’s arm laughing.

“He touched him,” I whispered. “He touched his forearm. ”

Mrs. Mulroney leaned in. “The forearm is intimate. That’s one step away from stroking his willy.”

“This is a nightmare.”

“Stay focused, Matthew. I’m reading their lips.”

“You can’t read lips.”

“I absolutely can. I once dated a ventriloquist. He used to sit me on his knee and put his hand up my—”

“Okay, okay, I believe you! So what are they saying?”

She hushed me with a dramatic wave and squinted like a sea captain preparing to fire cannons.

“Cal just said, ‘The porpoise is mine. Tell the emperor I accept his sandwich. I will come dressed as a pigeon.’”

“What?”

“And Hal just said, ‘Then let us roast his dentist.’”

“That can’t be right. Do you need my monocle?”

“I do not. I have perfect vision… almost.” Suddenly she realized she still had the eye patch on and lifted it. “Ah, that’s better.”

The mustache twitched against my upper lip. I tried to discreetly scratch it with the corner of the menu.

It made it worse.

My eyes began to water.

My breath came faster.

The tickle became unbearable.

“Don’t sneeze,” Mrs. Mulroney hissed. “You’ll draw attention to us.”

“I can’t help it. I think it’s made of cat hair.”

Suddenly Cal shifted in his chair.

Then he stood.

“What’s he doing,” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and stifle the sneeze.

“He just told Hal he’s going to the craft room.”

I froze. “Oh God. He’s coming this way. ”

Mrs. Mulroney snapped her head around. “What? Where’s the craft room? I don’t see a craft room.”

“The bathroom. The men’s bathroom.”

She glanced at the restroom right behind us. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“We have to get out of here! He’s going to walk right past us!”

“There’s no time!” she barked. “Quick! Get under the table!”

“What?!”

“Under the table! Now! ”

There was no time to argue.

We both dove.

Menus flapped. Silverware clattered. My knee hit the leg of the table, and I swore loudly into the tablecloth. The mustache—it tickled again.

I held my breath.

Cal’s footsteps grew louder.

Closer.

I could see his loafers.

The cat-hair caterpillar felt like it was halfway up my nose.

Then suddenly—

“ AAACHHOOOO!! ”

The sneeze exploded out of me like a missile.

The mustache launched itself off my face, sailed through the air like a majestic fur torpedo, and landed—

Right on Cal’s shoe.

He stopped.

Bent down.

And slowly lifted the tablecloth…

Revealing me, on my hands and knees, teary-eyed and sniffling…

And next to me was Mrs. Mulroney, who slowly lowered her eye patch as though she could hide behind it.

“Matt?” he said flatly.

I gave a mortified wave. “Oh hi. What are you doing here? ”

He didn’t answer as his eyes shifted to Mrs. Mulroney.

“Mrs. Mulroney?”

She tilted her chin. “Or is it?” She flung her feather boa over one shoulder. “If you care to check the reservations book, you might be surprised to find you’re talking to the one and only Countess Katarina von—”

“Stop,” Cal said in a quiet but firm tone.

“Whatever it is you’re doing here… under this table…

you need to leave. Both of you. Do it discreetly.

Do it so you don’t embarrass me. Do it so that I don’t have to explain what it is you’re doing, because honestly, I wouldn’t know where to start.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom. ”

“Not the craft room?” Mrs. Mulroney asked light-heartedly.

Cal chose to ignore her. “And when I return, I want to see the waiter clearing this table for the next guests. Are we clear?”

He didn’t expect an answer, he just stared long enough to make me sweat.

Then he turned and walked away with the slow, deliberate dignity of a man who just found a mustache on his shoe.

Mrs. Mulroney and I both gulped.

And we knew we were in trouble.