by S. M. West
“I don’t want you alone at your parents’. At least stay until they come back.” The truth, something real, burns my throat and squeezes my chest. I’m responsible for last night, for what that sick asshole did, and I can’t have her alone until he’s behind bars for good.
It’s unlikely he’ll go after her now that she’s no longer staying at that place, but I’m not willing to take that chance. A striking pair of tender brown eyes stare at me and her countenance softens. But she remains mute.
“Come with me.” I take her hand, leading us onto the terrace off my bedroom.
It’s half the size of the other balcony and I’m grateful for the fresh air. Things were getting too tense inside. She was digging in her heels, and hopefully being outside, the change of scenery, will help her clear her head and change her mind.
“Zach, we need to talk about this.”
Or not.
“Sleeping together is way beyond what we agreed to.” She stops to take in the view. “Oh, my.”
I nudge her into a cushioned chair, sliding an ottoman under her feet. While the outdoors sinks into her bones, I pour us a drink.
“It’s going to be fine.” I hand her a glass and watch as she sips the crisp, fruity white wine.
“Mmm, this is good.”
“Sancerre. Sit back and relax. There’s more where that came from.”
“But…”
“Paige.” I sit on the edge of the ottoman. “What’s the problem? My bed is big enough for the two of us.”
“That’s an overwhelming understatement.” She glances through the open French doors into my bedroom. “I’ve never seen a king that size. It’s huge.”
“And guess what?” I pause as she peers over her shoulder at me. “I don’t hog the covers.”
She laughs, covering her mouth with a hand, and the warmth of her joy spreads through my chest. Joy can be a dangerous, dangerous thing. Especially over something make-believe.
“Zach? Paige?” Morgan says from inside.
“Out here.” I scowl, displeased at the interruption and not bothering to hide it.
“Hey, if I’m going to be a third wheel, I can stay with Nan.” Morgan steps onto the terrace and just like that, I feel like an ass.
She doesn’t visit that often and I love having her stay with me. She makes my place come alive and here I am giving her the exact opposite impression with an uninviting glare.
“No, stay,” Paige and I say in unison. Our gazes meet and she returns my smile with one of her own.
“I feel like I’m intruding.” Paige sits up straight as if ready to bolt. “I’m the one who should be going so the two of you can catch up.”
Not this again.
“You aren’t in the way.” My voice is crisp, almost edgy, not wanting to revisit our earlier conversation. She hasn’t agreed to stay but, for me, no other option is acceptable.
“No. You could never be in the way. I actually like having another woman around. Zach is a workaholic and it gets lonely. Besides, I’m not used to the easy lifestyle while I’m here.” She adds a wry grin to her jab at how spoiled she thinks I am. “At home, I’m usually grinding.”
“And where’s home?” Paige sips from her glass.
Morgan pours herself a glass and leans against the bar. “Florida. I’m in Miramar at the moment. It’s about twenty-five minutes north of Miami—without traffic—but I’m thinking about heading further south. We’ll see.”
“And what do you do?”
“Right now, I don’t have a job.” She’s nonchalant, and it strikes me again just how unalike we are. We both had the same opportunities growing up, yet she’s never wanted anything to do with the wealth and power afforded her by the Rothwell name.
“Morgan likes to live paycheck to paycheck.” Now it’s my turn to take a jab at her nomadic ways and, at times, hard lifestyle.
She willingly goes from job to job when she has options and opportunity most would kill for. Even without her inheritance, she’s had a good education and could find a challenging and well-paying profession.
“Hey, don’t knock it. Some of us like to work for what we have.”
“I work hard for what I have.” My tone is unforgiving and it’s too late when I realize I’ve taken the bait.
After graduating with a physics degree—which if you ask her why physics, she’ll say just for kicks—Morgan took off for parts unknown and hasn’t looked back. Somehow, she feels unworthy or reluctant to live off the family money and uses her trust fund sparingly. The only time she’ll grudgingly accept our lifestyle is when Nan insists she come home for a visit.
Morgan tilts her head back and laughs. Our differing lifestyles are a running debate between us and neither is willing to see the other’s side.
“Anyway, I’m off. Don’t wait up.” She downs the last of her wine and deposits the empty glass on the bar. For someone who claims to have no friends and nothing to do when here, she always has someplace to go or someone to see.
“Have a good night.”
“You, too. And Paige, let’s do something one night this week.”
“Sure, sounds good. Bye, Morgan.”
Paige stands, placing her glass next to the other empty one. “Zach,” she says and I can see she’s picking up where we left off.
“Listen. Stay until you find a permanent place. You’re already moved in. JP has already made arrangements to bring over your car and clear out your furniture. He’ll put the things you don’t need in a storage facility for the time being.”
“What?”
“Don’t freak out. I have the means to help and that’s all I’m doing. You don’t owe me anything outside of our deal. Stay.”
“I guess this helps our arrangement.”
I nod, not liking her train of thought but also knowing better than to clarify or push it at this point. She’s almost there in accepting the idea of staying here. “Exactly.”
“Okay, I’ll stay. I’m going to take a bath.”
I should be satisfied but I’m plagued with thoughts of only an hour ago when she arrived. A rush of heat blasts through my body at the memory of our kiss.
Our fake kiss.
Only for show.
I’m full of shit.
I’m attracted to Paige Hayes, but I know better than to mix business and pleasure. I’ve got to keep my attraction in check. This deal with Paige is strictly business and having her live here will only make it easier to convince Nan how serious I am about settling down. Even still, I’m confused. I got what I wanted and yet I hardly feel victorious.
Sixteen
Paige
By the time ten rolls around, Zach is still holed up behind closed doors. He’s been working in his home office for most of the evening. Reluctantly, I pass the room I slept in the night before, wishing I could do the same again but knowing I can’t with Morgan here. Exhausted, I fall into bed, and less than ten minutes later, Zach comes in.
“You awake?” he asks in the dark.
“Uh-huh.”
“I meant to join you after dinner, but I lost track of time. Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“JP says you didn’t eat a lot.” The faint halo of light from the closet is enough to reveal Zach removing his shirt and then pants. A lean, defined silhouette.
“Not hungry.”
“Okay. Just so you know, you can ask for whatever you want. If you didn’t like what JP suggested, you could have asked for something else.”
“It was good. Thanks.”
Standing there in his boxer briefs, he has an impressively fit physique given his high-demand office job. He spends hours upon hours behind a desk and yet it’s obvious he finds the time to be active. His membership at the Rock Club is certainly paying off.
He’s now in the bathroom and the running water and other familiar noises stream into the darkened room. Minutes later, he’s slides into bed.
With a full pillow of space between us, I lie facing him and he
is flat on his back. His profile holds my attention for longer than it should—a tangle of dark wayward waves and the sharp, firm angular lines of his face. As I get to know him more, he’s a wickedly sinful mixture of pretty-boy perfect and ruthlessly handsome.
It’s peculiar how far we’ve come in only a few days. Here I am in bed with Zachary Rothwell—a billionaire and one of Canada’s most eligible bachelors. While it sounds sexier and more promising than it really is, it’s still extraordinary.
Under the cover of darkness, I’m bolder than usual with someone who is virtually a stranger and reach with my hand to lightly graze his bicep, warm and firm, and he shivers, turning to face me. This man has gone above and beyond our agreement to help me. While I’m humbled by and grateful for his generosity, I’m also curious. I didn’t get a reasonable answer as to what he stands to gain by our arrangement.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way.” I pause to mull over how best to broach what’s been on my mind for a while.
“That’s always a good start to a conversation.” He laughs.
“True. Just hear me out. How does a fake relationship help you with a new business venture?”
He sighs, briefly closing his eyes. “I need the money in my trust fund.” His voice is low and in the dark, it sounds almost like defeat.
“Your trust fund? But you’re filthy rich. What—you don’t have enough money? You need your trust fund to keep you warm at night?”
“Funny.” My comment garners a rueful grin. “I’m entitled to my trust.” He frowns, shaking his head. “I sound like an arrogant, self-important ass.”
“You said it.” Now it’s my turn to smile. “Fine, it’s your trust but it isn’t like you need it and you’ll eventually have it.”
“Yes, I will, but I’ve got a business venture in the works and need the funds sooner than later. Without the funds from my trust, I can’t execute this deal.”
“Is that all?” I push onto my elbow, peering down at him.
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, it just seems like you’re going to all this trouble—a fake relationship just to pursue a business venture.”
“I’m simplifying the situation, but there’s more to it than that.” He sounds agitated.
“Well, explain it to me. I’m not stupid, I’m sure I can follow along.”
He pushes onto his elbow and the dynamics have shifted. He’s now above me, forcing me to look up at him.
“Fine. I don’t owe you an explanation but to be fair, I’ll give it to you.”
“Wow, how magnanimous of you.”
“Hey, cut out the sarcasm or you can forget about me sharing.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“This stays between us, okay?” He waits for my compliance and I nod. “Nan sets the parameters of eligibility for the trust and over the years, she’s changed them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Any Rothwell offspring receives a trust at age twenty-five. Morgan has had full access to hers since her twenty-fifth birthday, but Nan has changed my eligibility several times with her latest being age forty or marriage, whichever comes first.”
“Why would she do that?”
My stomach tightens with the mention of marriage. I’m now viewing our deal in a different light. He never mentioned marriage and I don’t think he ever would, would he?
“It’s bullshit, that’s why.” He flops onto his back and runs a hand through his hair.
“Why marriage? If that’s the only way you get your trust before the age of forty, how does our relationship help?” He opens his mouth and before he can respond, I add, “We’re not getting married.”
He’s silent for a beat or two but it feels longer than that and it takes everything in me not to run from the bed, calling the arrangement off and never looking back. But I won’t—not yet, anyway.
He’s kept his end of the deal and the least I can do is hear him out. Up until now, there’s been no mention of marriage.
He’s crazy if he thinks I’m marrying him.
“Relax.” His voice is low and steady. “Nan only needs the promise of marriage, to think I’m serious and settling down, to change her mind. It’s already working. She adores you and just the thought of us getting married one day…”
He might be right. I don’t know his grandmother like he does, but she’s already treating me like family. I understand his logic.
“Okay. What is it about your business idea that she opposes?”
“I want to diversify our business and she’s not keen on it. Withholding my trust is her way of stalling, hoping I’ll move on or forget about the idea entirely.”
“But you have your own money, so what’s stopping you?”
“It’s not that easy. My money is tied up in Rothwell Enterprises. It isn’t as simple as making a withdrawal. My trust fund could cover this venture easily.”
“And Nan stands in the way?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Not particularly.”
“Too bad. You’re going to hear it anyway.” I lean in closer, hoping to get a better view of his expression. “I think what bothers you the most is that you’re locked in this unspoken battle of wills with your grandmother. It’s more about control or beating her than anything else.”
He turns to face me, his gaze intense and unblinking. He’s silent, not quick to refute my inference.
“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re lying to Nan? Now that I know our fake relationship is all for her, I’m…”
“Having second thoughts?” He eats more of the little space between us.
“Kinda. I don’t like lying to her.”
“I don’t either, but she’s given me no choice. My venture will be good for the company in the long run.”
“What’s your plan?”
He doesn’t miss a beat or hesitate to share his idea of expanding into hotels and his conviction is contagious. Even knowing nothing about the real estate industry, by the time he’s done explaining his vision, I’m behind the idea. If I had the money, I’d give it to him.
“And to further set ourselves apart from the other luxury hotels, we’ll focus on mainly sustainable features, reducing our global footprint. And furthermore, I want to expand this thinking and eventually retrofit our other properties.”
“I like it. I can’t see why Nan wouldn’t. Did you tell her all of this?”
“Our conversation doesn’t usually get that far. She shuts it down and walks away.”
“I’m sorry. That must suck.”
He chuckles. “You have a way with words.”
“Don’t I, though?”
“Yeah.” His smile slides into a neutral line and his features sober. “How are you doing with all of this?”
“What? Our deal?”
“No. Everything else. What happened last night.” He stares hungrily into my eyes, bringing his palm to my face, and my insides quiver. Visions of his lips and tongue dancing with mine swamp my thoughts.
“Okay. I guess. I’m not looking forward to the police station tomorrow,” I admit in a moment of truth and vulnerability.
I have done everything in my power not to dwell on my upcoming visit to the station. It’ll be relatively simple and straightforward, but the sooner I can put Joel Hummel behind me, the better.
“I’m going with you and Tamara will meet us there.” His fingers stroke my jaw and my eyes flutter closed.
“You don’t have—” I’m about to mention Tom will be there tomorrow when he cuts me off.
“I want to.” With one final caress, he releases my face and lies back onto the pillow. “Tell me if you need anything, all right?”
“Uh-huh.” I’m unable to form words thanks to the swelling in my throat at this strangely intimate turn to our conversation.
“Night, Paige.” With one final look, he turns away from me.
“Night, Zach.”
I wake t
o someone peeling my fingers from a hard, warm abdomen. My face is plastered to Zach’s bare back and I’m nestled against him, hugging his body as if he’s my favorite stuffed animal.
God, no. I’m a hugger and usually cuddle an extra pillow while asleep. I must have latched onto Zach during the night.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them to relax along with the rest of my body, as he extricates himself from my death grip. By the time he’s out of the bed, I’ve managed to calm both my breathing and muscles.
He slips into the bathroom and I sigh with relief, although my mortification isn’t too far behind. A few hours pass and our paths don’t cross as he works out, showers, and dresses. Later, I’m staring up at the closet shelves when I hear him enter the room.
“Hurry up, Paige. I’ve got a ten o’clock meeting at the office. We need to get going.” He taps his foot impatiently, leaning against the doorjamb to the walk-in closet.
“I told you that you didn’t have to come,” I snap, searching the shelves for my purse.
I’ve no idea where JP put the few purses I have and it’s only adding to the stress of my upcoming visit to the police station, not to mention the possibility of Zach mentioning my molesting him in his sleep.
“We’ve had this discussion already—let’s not do it again.”
Zach marches to my side, pulls down a bunch of purses from the top shelf, out of my sight or reach, and hands them to me.
“There it is.” I grab the suede hobo bag. “Thank you.”
I shove my wallet, sunglasses and other belongings into the purse as Zach follows me down the stairs. My hands are shaking and it’s in that moment I admit to myself just how nervous I am to officially recount what happened the other night with Joel Hummel.
Adding to my nerves is the fact that he’s no longer in jail. He was released the very next day thanks to his lawyer and although he’s been charged with criminal harassment and could serve up to ten years, getting a conviction is a long and tough road. Convictions aren’t easy to come by and there will likely be a trial. I’ve been reassured he won’t be at the police station, but it’s more than that. I hope to never see him again.
