by Christa Wick
She handed me the book and I looked inside to find margin after margin filled with the same bold hand that had written down the attorney's address.
The woman practically beamed at me.
“He didn't finish his degree but he could teach all those fancy MBAs a great deal more than a thing or two.”
I nodded. I knew Blake's history. Out of money, his father and grandmother dead, his mother long gone from his life, he'd quit college in the middle of his third year. He then sold pretty much everything he had to make samples of his first product. From there, he went from boutique to boutique, coaxing pre-orders out of the owners, most of them women unable to resist the charming, dead sexy twenty-something.
With the orders in hand, he sold a note on the receivables for half the value just to buy the material to fill them. Day after day he'd kept pushing that snowball up the hill, hoping it wouldn't finally roll down and crush him.
I turned back to Abigail to find her moist-eyed and smiling. She reached forward, her hand brushing my shoulder for an instant before she dabbed at her eyes. My confusion must have shown in my face.
“I'm just so happy Mr. Cross has fallen in love. Seven years I've worked for him and...” She looked up, shook her head as if she was asking the Lord to have mercy on Blake Cross.
I tilted my head and nodded. “A lot of women have passed through, I know.”
“Come now, you've seen through that facade of his or you wouldn't be marrying him.” Abigail laughed, shook her head again. “I just knew something was going on, especially with all the questions he’s been asking me lately.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “Would you believe I even found him reading an issue of Cosmo that didn’t even have an article about him in it!”
I smiled. Clearly, she had a soft spot for him, a mother's affection, for sure. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the man she thought of as her child wasn’t really in love.
Instead, I directed our conversation toward getting a little more insight into the man I was now engaged to. As far as inside informants go into the private world of Blake Cross, I couldn’t find anyone better. “What kind of questions did he ask you, exactly?”
“The most obvious kind.” She chuckled as she started moving around the room, straightening the rows of books. “Like when did I first know I was actually in love with my husband, what drew me to him, questions like that. It happened all of a sudden, and it’s just gotten more adorable ever since.”
Abigail looked me over, her gaze approving as a fresh smile lit her face. “I can see why he is so taken with you, if you don't mind my saying. You’re nothing like those other women. I knew when he fell in love, it would be with a sweet girl like you.”
God, I really didn’t want to be here when she discovered this was all a business agreement.
She shook her head. “I’m just surprised it took him so long to propose.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? When did you first suspect he’d…fallen in love?”
“Oh, a couple months ago, I’d say.”
I swallowed the number down, its texture like broken glass sliding through my throat to slice open my stomach, my guts falling onto Blake’s polished slate floor.
Anna Burke had turned in her resignation a couple of months earlier.
No. Not possible. He couldn’t fake the anger and disdain he’d shown when he talked about her suing his company.
But then again, if the last forty-eight hours were any indication, he was masterful at throwing himself into a necessary role.
The previous night in the limo and in his bedroom flashed through my mind.
Followed immediately by an image of the sleek, towering blonde that was Anna Burke.
Hair extensions, false eyelashes, surgically enlarged breasts—there wasn’t a whole lot to her that was real or original, but she pulled off the whole package well. She had a couture appeal for sure, stunning in a way mere mortal women probably wouldn’t ever hope to achieve without a glam squad on call 24/7.
Holding my heart together with duct tape and hope, I tried to think the scenario through.
Could Abigail be right? Could he really have been in love a few months ago?
It wasn't hard to imagine Anna getting Blake to fall for her and then breaking his heart. She was beautiful. A perfect trophy wife with all the pedigree and polish.
Is that what made him so angry when he thought about the woman? Why he was going to such great lengths to parade me around as his wife-to-be before he went up against her in court?
It all fit. Even though I didn’t want it to.
“Is anything wrong? Are you feeling alright, dear?” Abigail stared at me, her brows knitting together as she pressed one hand against her chest.
Realizing I was wearing my feelings on my face, I forced a bright smile, picking up my purse and smoothing out my clothing along with my rumpled emotions. “I'm just worried I'll be late for the appointment Blake set up with his attorney. Getting a cab at this hour is going to be tough.”
“Oh, is that all?” She ushered me to the door. “Both the town car and the limo are parked downstairs, at your disposal. No more smelly New York cabs for you, Miss Jones.”
“Please, I'd prefer it if you call me Pippa.”
“See. Different. He picked a good one. You’re not just with him for his money like all the others.”
And here I thought I couldn’t feel any worse than I had a few minutes ago.
EIGHT
- Pippa -
The drive to the attorney’s office did not go as expected. For some strange reason, my cell phone wouldn’t pull up a Wi-Fi signal in Blake’s town car today. At all. Which was strange because I had a phone signal, just no data capabilities.
When I asked Carson why that was, he politely side-stepped the question by telling me he was under strict orders to give me total peace and quiet the entire commute across the city.
Blocking my internet seemed an extreme way to do that, but effective. I can’t remember the last time I went this long without online media chatter filling my head.
“Okay. Then could you please stop for a bit so I can pick up a copy of The Post to read for the ride?”
“I’m not at liberty to allow that either, Miss Jones.”
A side glance at me through his rearview mirror gave him away.
Shit, was the coverage really that bad?
“Carson, public relations is my job—”
“And this is mine, miss. I’m sorry.”
Sighing, I settled back against the seat, and attempted to reason with the impressively loyal driver, “You do know there are copies of The Post at every corner of the business district.”
A smile entered his tone as he replied, “Today, I don’t believe there are, Miss Jones. I had…quite the busy morning.”
Gah! Blake! How was I supposed to fight such ridiculously sweet protectiveness?
No internet, no paper—what on earth was I supposed to do for the next hour?
Being protective was one thing, but restrictive was entirely another. I had a right to know what was being said about me, and what I may or may not be able to handle.
I could—and would—fight my own battles, thank you very much; I’d built an entire career on being able to build the best possible defense for any situation.
Unsurprisingly, by the time I arrived at the attorney’s office, I was beyond ready to go on the offensive.
Walking into the conference room, I marched right up to Blake to tell him enough with the kid gloves.
Before I could though, he smiled at me and pushed his cell phone in my line of sight. A picture of Gorman filled the screen.
Gasping, I grabbed his phone and tried to make out the words on the building behind the bastard in the photo. I could just read the first few letters B-a-n-c-o d-o... “Is that Spanish?”
Blake took the phone back and pocketed it as he led me to the conference table. “Portuguese. My P.I. found him; he's in Brazil.”
A le
gal pad and paper were on the center of the desk and I reached for them, my mind racing with possibilities. “Where in Brazil? Banco means bank, right? Does he have an acc—”
“Slow down, love.” Blake put one hand on my wrist, the other plucking the pen and paper from me. He pointed at the suit that had just walked into the room. “First let me introduce you to my attorney, Michael Stein. Michael's firm is working with the Brazilian authorities to find out if Gorman is stashing any illicit assets in the country before giving my P.I. the green light to bring him back. Disgustingly, you weren't the only one he embezzled from, so we want to make sure all his other victims will get their money back as well.”
God, how could I have trusted someone so evil?
“I told you, Pippa. I’ll take care of you. Just let my people do what they do best.”
I nodded. He really was such a good man, this fake fiancé of mine.
That said, he couldn’t really expect me to simply take a backseat while he drove us through this mess.
Turning to his attorney, I stuck my hand out to belatedly shake his. “So nice to meet you, Michael. Now tell me, why is Anna Burke suing him?”
Stein startled and whipped his head around to meet Blake’s amused gaze, which swiftly turned stern and just as steely as the last time I’d broached the topic. A brief, silent exchange happened between the two men before Michael pulled out a stack of papers from the folder he was holding and placed it on the table in front of me. “Ms. Jones, I’m afraid I cannot yet discuss why Ms. Burke is suing Mr. Cross and the company. Not before you sign these papers to make this…arrangement official. And even then, I’ll be restricted as to what I can tell you.”
Moving around the table to sit opposite Blake, the attorney continued. “But if it eases your mind a little, I can assure you, Ms. Burke’s lawsuit is as frivolous as it is malicious. I give you my word.”
I lifted a brow to subtly communicate exactly how little value I placed on the word of a thousand-dollar-an-hour attorney paid by someone other than me. “If you’re so confident about that, then why go so far as getting Blake hitched before you take Anna on in court?”
Another wordless, loaded exchange passed between the two men. This time, I kept my attention on my husband-to-be. Poker-faced and unreadable. Classic Blake.
“I’m afraid, Ms. Jones, that professional ethics prohibit me from discussing our trial strategy until you’re married. And that process begins, as I mentioned, with you signing the agreement.”
Eyes locked on mine, Blake handed me a pen.
Surveying the thick stack of papers before me, I took in a deep breath and looked over at the attorney while calmly taking the pen from Blake. “Very well. I’m taking you at your word, Mr. Stein. But if I find out you’re just covering Blake’s ass in some way, be advised that I’m going to sue you for everything you’ve got, and use my future husband’s money to pay for the legal costs.”
After which, I heard Blake murmur for the second time in two days, “That’s my girl.”
NINE
- Pippa -
After the meeting, Carson picked us both up, in the limo this time. I figured out that when it was just one of us traveling, Blake had Carson bring the town car, but if we were together, Carson switched to the limo.
I didn’t want to think about why Blake thought we’d need that extra room and extra privacy when we were riding together.
Instead, I chose to study my new fiancé.
Though Blake had seemed amused before I’d signed the paperwork, now that we were alone in the limo, there was a distinct pout on his face.
Never, not on camera or during the dozens of meetings over the last year, had I witnessed anything approaching a petulant look on his face before.
I called him on it.
“I am not pouting.” He glanced my way, the alleged expression instantly replaced by an impassive, but slightly peeved, mask.
I waited him out.
He frowned at me and asked bluntly, “Are you still under the severely mistaken idea that Anna has a legitimate claim against me?”
“Are you still refusing to give me more information about said mysterious claim?” I countered without missing a beat.
A low growl rumbled out of him before he answered me with silence.
Casting one last frustrated glance at me, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out some papers to read. It was nice seeing him intent on entertaining himself with something other than my body for a change, so I relaxed against the seat and watched him work.
In everything he did, Blake always had this intensity about him. Even something as simple as him reading some paperwork was proving to be a riveting experience.
And evidently, the expression on my face was giving me away because when Blake caught me staring at him, his expression shifted abruptly, and a dangerous light sparked in his gaze.
Lips curving, brow lifting, Blake dropped his reading materials back into his briefcase.
I swallowed nervously and cursed my lack of a poker face. I didn’t want him thinking I was mooning over him—even if I had been. All that intense focus he’d been directing at his paperwork was now aimed at me again. Frankly, he looked ready to devour me, and if last night was any indication, I desperately needed more time to learn how to steel myself against his charms.
I slid noticeably closer to my door and tried to bring it back to business matters. “What were you reading? Anything you’re able to share with your wife-to-be?”
His gaze sobered and though I knew that he knew exactly what I was doing, he surprised me by pulling the paperwork back out to show me.
“It’s another request to sell books in my stores. And it came with this.” He took out an envelope that looked to be part of a matching stationary set as the letter and shook out the contents inside. A hardcover book landed in his hand, followed by one of the Cross neckties in Blake’s signature gray.
Laughing, I took the tie from him and ran it through my fingers. The sender had shoved the tie inside but it emerged wrinkle free. I smoothed my thumb along the edge. Fifty-ounce silk, British-milled in Blake’s own factory.
“Let me guess, you’re not thrilled by the idea.”
His nose crinkled as he looked at the book. “Should I be?”
I tilted my head, staring into his eyes and trying hard not to think about the book’s contents or the sudden change in the tie’s utility. “Are you asking your future wife or the head of your outside PR firm?”
“Both.” He looped the fabric around my wrist, the scowl that had started to surface over the talk of the letter now replaced by a bad boy grin. He stopped me before I could shape my reply. “Wife, first.”
My blush over what he was doing was instantaneous. The thought of Blake using the tie to bind me was having a profound effect on my panties. Not that I was going to offer up that answer. If I did—well, I had the feeling I’d quickly find myself tied in the back of his limo, my skirt up around my waist.
I decided to forego answering him as his future wife and answered as I would his PR manager. “From a publicity and business standpoint, I’d advise against it. Vintage will be selling the books in Target, too, only next to polyester ties.”
He blanched at the thought and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Unwinding the tie, I dropped it onto the seat.
Pushing his briefcase aside, he reached for me. “Why do I get the feeling you did that so I’d be too horrified by the idea of polyester ties to ask you what else you were just thinking?”
Pulling me onto his lap so that I straddled him, Blake lifted my skirt. “You know, I almost hid your panties this morning so you wouldn’t have a pair to wear today.”
My mouth dropped open. He chuckled at my scandalized expression.
With the clothes he’d had waiting for me in the bedroom when I woke up being a loose flowing skirt and a top with a plunging neckline from the same boutique as the silver tube dress, I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to leave his pentho
use without any panties on.
The man was impossible.
I pushed at him, tried to leverage my weight to the side because, panties or not, this situation was quickly escaping my control.
Tsking at my feeble attempts, he captured my wrists and pulled my arms behind my back, one strong hand hooking my thumbs to keep me trapped…while he retrieved the tie.
“Blake…” I semi-protested, in a breathy voice I’d never heard come out of me before.
Eyes on my face the entire time, he started to loop the tie around my wrists. “I thought all the trendy New York ladies were fainting with the need to be tied up by a billionaire.”
“I’m not trendy.” But I was close to fainting.
My wrists secured, Blake wrapped his hands around my bottom and slid me higher up his lap. I could feel him hard at the juncture of my thighs, my pussy contracting from all the carnal possibilities the position offered.
His mouth landed against my throat and then I felt the slow scrape of his teeth. My nipples, already painfully hard, tightened. His lips sealed around my throat. I felt the wet push of his tongue as he sucked at my flesh.
I gasped. “You’ll leave a mark. I don’t go to work with hickeys, Blake.”
“You do now, love.” He kissed the soft underside of my chin, his tongue trailing up to my mouth.
There was that word again. It fell so effortlessly from his lips. The hard truth of the matter was that I knew it could fall effortlessly—and truthfully—from mine as well, which is precisely why I needed to keep a tight rein on my emotions.
I drew back. He gave my bottom a rough squeeze, his tongue plundering my mouth until I melted into him again, my mound flush with his hard, thick cock straining the seams of his pants.
“Love, I’m going to make you come again before I leave you for the day.”
A moan left me as Blake cupped my breast. His thumb brushed along my nipple, followed by the pad of one finger. A slow grind of thumb and finger had me lifting off him, another moan clawing at my throat.
