The Billionaire and the Bad Girl

by Bella Love-Wins

  I glance over at him. “For the record, I hate that you’re right.”

  He smiles, and it reaches his eyes. “We have more in common than you think.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Reaching his hand up to my face, he cups my chin. “It took you three years to realize what I saw all those years ago. And it took me three years to tell you I love you. I’d say we’re even.”

  My eyes well up, my chest is tight with the flood of emotions, and my lips start to tremble. I’m sure the words won’t come without chest-heaving sobs and ugly crying. I cover his hand with mine and clasp my other hand on my chest, clenching my grandmother’s locket, saying nothing.

  Because he already knows.

  18

  Liam

  “Do you mind if we talk later?” Vanessa pats my hand as I drive up to the resort’s valet area. “After the reception? I’m a bit tired from the trip… and everything.”

  Sure. Words can wait, but I’m not ready to let her leave my side. Not after this two-hour drive with her sweet scent so close, attacking my brain, expanding my need and other things. Two-plus hours, picturing her mile-long legs wrapped around my waist, pussy hot against my groin, and her gorgeous face more vulnerable and open than ever before. I want to touch every square inch of her pale, creamy skin, to stare into her light-colored eyes, to bury my hands in her blonde flowing hair, kiss her pouty red lips until they’re raw and swollen, to feel her erect nipples that press against her lacy bra and thin shirt.

  “I know this is a lot for you to take, but no. You don’t want to be alone. Just trust me.”

  A bellman helps her out of her seat while another stands at the back of my car, waiting for the trunk to open. They load up our luggage and promptly check us in curbside. Our rooms are on the same floor, so we follow them to the elevator, her hand securely in mine the entire way. She doesn’t put up a fight when I instruct the bellman to bring all the suitcases and suit bags into my suite, or as I lead her inside to the bedroom and pull her into my lap.

  Her short breaths against my neck warm my skin, and I’m hard as slate at the feel of her body relaxing into mine, ass in my lap, light locks tumbling down over my hand at her back as I take in her citrusy vanilla scent. I tighten my hold at her back, pressing the softness of her breasts to my firm chest, and her nipples harden through her shirt. Gripping a handful of her hair, I take her mouth hard as I re-explore every detail of her lips, tongue, and teeth that I’ve missed. She breathes a plea into our kiss, begging me to take her. Both our hands busy themselves with removing our clothes between kissing, grinding, and a burning need to take down any remaining barriers between us. Wrapping her legs around my waist, I flip her over and worship her body. Then I take full advantage of the moment.

  “Say it,” I order her.

  “Hmmm?” she moans out the question.

  “Tell me what I want to hear.”

  She knows what I’m asking, but saying it doesn’t come easily to her.

  Vanessa’s mine to tease, taste, and devour, as long as I want to, but right now, she doesn’t want slow. Her moans plead for immediate relief as I kiss along her neck and jawline, taunting her a little longer while I run playful fingertips over her breasts, tweaking the nipple. Her fingernails dig into my back, chest arched up toward me, her hips grinding to line up her pussy with the tip of my cock.

  “Say it,” I repeat, pulling away slightly.

  “I’m yours, Liam. I don’t want anyone else…because I need you. I’m all yours.”

  Fucking right she’s mine.

  One raspy groan at her neck in response and her hands make it to my ass. She jerks her hips up toward me so sharply that it’s game over. I bury into her with a single thrust. Urging me to go on, her hips rise and fall, finding our rhythm. She molds to every part of me, and I pick up the pace, demanding more of her each time I bore deeper into her core until she cries out through her climax and calls me to mine.

  Our hips are still locked together when she raises a hand to the side of my face and smiles. Panting hard, I stare down into her face. We’ve crossed an invisible hurdle that somehow, we both recognize. As if marking the moment, her body relaxes.

  “You love me,” she whispers the words with a clarity that transcends her voice to her eyes and all through her body to her core.

  “Yeah.”

  She just stares, her gaze burning into me as though she can finally see what I’ve been about all along.

  And it fucking scares her.

  I expect her to bolt any second now, but she doesn’t. It’s not an all-out escape this time. She gets up after some time and heads into my bathroom. Letting the jacuzzi tub fill with perfectly heated water, she rolls her smaller suitcase inside and closes the door behind her.

  Half-hour later, she’s still in there. I’ve wrapped a towel around my waist as I wait in the living room, working on my third shot of Bushmills whiskey. Waiting. The pre-wedding reception starts in less than an hour. I won’t hazard a guess as to what state of mind she’ll be in when she emerges from hiding. She may turn tail and put more distance between us, or she may stay the course. And I know this because it’s her way. The push and pull of whatever Vanessa went through before me, or years ago, are like storm winds that can blow her either way. But it’s all about to change. Because tomorrow night, after the wedding is over, I’ll make sure she tells me everything. Even if I have to force her.

  Vanessa pulls open the bathroom door as my hand hovers the whiskey bottle over my glass for one more shot. She stands there, frozen, silent, naked under the plush, white hotel robe. I have a change of heart that instant. This conversation hanging between us—between Vanessa and the rest of the world—is happening now. It’s written all over her face.

  Finding another glass, I forget about shots and pour her a half glass of what I’m drinking, which she gulps down like water before taking a seat on the sofa.

  19

  Vanessa

  The terror of taking this step can paralyze me, but there’s no turning back now. I know the alternative.

  Life without risk.

  Life without the love of my life.

  Life without Liam, the man my heart screams for.

  So I share. But the universe has an uncanny sense of timing. My next half hour with Liam goes down like this. I bare my soul. I tell him the deepest darkest secrets about my mother. I talk about my grandmother. I show him the tiny picture of her inside the locket. I spill tears. I ugly cry. He doesn’t judge me, but rather, consoles me and goes as far as suggesting that no one is perfect, including my mother. I try to explain how difficult it was, being raised by her.

  I ask him, “Do you know what it’s like, living with someone who treats you like a complete stranger? And they don’t open up to you no matter how hard you try to reach out to them?”

  He replies with, “It sounds like a trick question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do know what it’s like.” He presses his lips together in a thin line. “It’s natural to hold your parents to a higher standard than anyone else…including yourself.”

  Wait a second.

  Did Liam just suggest that I’m not much different from my mother? Is he calling me a hypocrite for expecting more of her than I give of myself? The bastard’s got some nerve. I’m torn now. Do I thank him politely or punch him in the face for being way out of line?

  I’m rearing to tell him off and strike down his assertion, but I don’t get the chance.

  My mother knocks on Liam’s hotel room door.

  More like she pounds on it.

  And it’s my name that she’s shouting through the study wooden barrier.

  Giving Liam a curious look, I wrap my robe tightly around me and head out of the bedroom for the main door.

  “What’s going on? The reception’s not for almost an hour,” I tell Mom as I pull the door open.

  Her discerning gaze travels down my body and back up to my damp hair. “Get dressed.”
/>
  “How did you know I was here with Liam?”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Please. A blind man can see he’s in love with you. Where else would you be?”

  Wow. Okay. I’d like to spend some time dissecting her statement, but I’m more curious about why she’s here in the first place. “What’s this about, Diane?”

  She pulls me out into the hallway, moving me aside as she steps into the room and looks on the inside of the door. “We can’t talk in here.” Her fingers swing the metal security jamb outward so that the door won’t lock. “I need you to take a look at something I found. I don’t want to set off any alarm bells with Craig or Liam. Just get dressed for the reception and meet me downstairs in the lobby in fifteen minutes.” Her glance lands on my hair. “Twenty minutes. Take care of, of that. Put it up in a bun or something. You won’t have time to style it.”

  I open my mouth to object, but she shakes her head and stops me. “There’s no time. Just trust me and see for yourself.”

  “Fine.”

  “And don’t say a word to Liam. As I said, I don’t want to cause a panic if there’s a reasonable explanation.”

  “Okay.”

  “Twenty minutes,” she repeats and hurries off.

  I don’t want to lie to Liam, but as I have no clue what’s gotten into my mother’s head, I tell him she’s having a moment and wants to talk to me privately. That explanation satisfies him, leaving me with enough time to put on my little black cocktail dress, slide on the sparkly Louboutin fuck-me shoes that Liam likes, throw my hair up into a messy bun and apply a bit of makeup. Liam steps out of the shower as I head for the door.

  Without my grandmother’s locket, I’m naked, helpless and incapable of handling what my mother learned and proceeded to share with me.

  She figured out that the Wainwright Group’s been up to some reporting that can be considered to be in the gray area. It’s hard to believe how she found out. Mom made a wrong turn going from the lobby to the conference and banquet rooms. She noticed a pattern in the naming conventions used for each room, and out of curiosity, pulled up one of the reports attached to an email I sent her while I was in Chicago.

  Shoving her smartphone into my hand with the attachment open, she points at each room as we pass it. “Look. Gilbert Hall, then the Edison Complex, the Salon Elite, Liberty Vista, and now, the Chelsea Lounge. They’re empty meeting and banquet rooms, not self-contained venues with individual revenue-generating operations. I’m sure the city hasn’t issued individual liquor licenses either. Do you understand what I’m showing you?”

  “Yes, I think so, but it’s possible this is the only misreported location.”

  “It’s possible, but we can’t recommend the sale until an outside party verifies the data. If the Wainwright Group doesn’t acknowledge an error, then it means they intentionally disclosed false assets. At a minimum, they inflated the property valuations. If it’s rampant, it can be considered fraudulent. O’Sullivan Entertainment would be out a lot of money if the deal closes as is.”

  “But Craig can sue after the fact.”

  “He can request that we initiate a bad faith civil litigation right now, even before we close the deal. But we won’t take that route. You need to go back to Craig and offer him two options. Walk away, or bring in a dedicated facilities audit resource. Someone responsible for attending each location and marry up the asset with the proposed valuation.”

  “At whose cost?”

  “Craig’s, simply for an unbiased assessment.”

  I'm relieved to learn about this now, but my mother informs me that I have to let Liam and Craig know. Tonight, after the reception, she expects me to drive back to New York with Liam and provide the information to Craig. It’s our legal obligation.

  Correction.

  My legal obligation.

  Because I’m the associate.

  I implore to her for some compassion and guidance. I’m new, for crying out loud. O’Sullivan Entertainment is my first client. One of my childhood friends is about to get married, and I’m a bridesmaid. But she doesn’t care.

  “It's the cost of admission,” she tells me.

  If I don’t advise my client immediately, I face a potential breach of ethics, and can be called in front of the Bar to answer for it.

  Yes, she pointed that out too, with something to the effect of, “I'd hate to have to report you to the Bar, Vanessa. I’m obligated to report a suspected breach within one working day of discovering it. Or it’s my ass too.”

  “You just said it yourself, Diane. Even if you’d do such a thing to your own employee… your daughter, we’re learning of this now, at the end of business day on a Friday. I have to report it to Craig by the end of the day on Monday so that you don’t have to throw me under the bus. And by the way, do you see how unreasonable you’re being?”

  “It’s my name on the door of my firm, Vanessa. You need to act. Tonight.”

  Is this woman even my mother? She’s willing to throw me, her daughter, to the wolves for the sake of preserving her squeaky clean reputation. What kind of parent does that? I press my hand high on my chest, over the spot where the locket would normally rest. I know what kind of parent would do it. The one standing in front of me. The one who resented having children, kept us at a distance, gave her career the best of herself to the detriment of Dad, Dylan and me, then turned around and blamed us for it.

  The threat of tears blurs my vision and fuels my anger that I placed my budding legal career in the hands of this woman, and she put me in an unreasonable position the first chance she got. Soon, my hand pulls from my chest and tightens into a fist. She can’t get another free pass.

  Not this time.

  “I don’t have a problem telling Liam on my own. I’ll do it tonight. But I need you when we let Craig know, and it’s going to have to wait until Sunday, after the wedding’s over.”

  “You don’t get to call the shots,” she objects.

  “And you have an opportunity to live up to your capacity for some compassion. I’m your daughter. Grow a backbone.”

  “You’re an Associate. Earn it. No one gave me any breaks. Don’t expect me to hold your hand and baby you.”

  “You can say that now because Grams isn’t around to tell us otherwise.”

  “Leave my mother out of it. I’m not going. Not tonight and not on Sunday.”

  “The hell you aren’t, Diane. No. Mom. You’re backing me up, and that’s the cost of being a goddamned parent.” I play the dirtiest hand possible by adding, “Don’t make me accidentally let this entire ordeal slip into my first ever interview with the media.”

  A hush moves across the room as Dahlia and Jackson enter the reception ballroom. I should be enjoying this more. I should feel something, but the weight of having to tell Liam then Craig the bad news about this deal they were so looking forward to sucks the joy out of me. Jackson has Dahlia on his arm. They’re perfect together, coordinated in their soft cream and black formalwear. All heads face their direction, and in turn, they acknowledge every guest with nods and embraces.

  As the crowd picks up where they left off in conversation, Liam leans in close to my ear.

  “Just tell me.”

  Looking him in the eye has never been this difficult. Telling him what I learned will be even harder. But I have to do it. He deserves the truth. I lead him out into the hallway, away from the lighthearted crowd. Even out here, it’s not the right place to break bad news to him. I can also use a fundamental piece of my personal support system, so we head back to his suite, and I find my locket.

  Taking a deep breath, I clasp my fingers around my locket for strength and tell him everything. As I confess what I’ve learned, and my difference in opinion with my mother, the person I know as Liam fades away from the man sitting before me, and is replaced by a hard, stern, cold facsimile with the iciest, most vicious stare I’ve ever seen. He has every right to be angry, but I get to a point where I stop myself from continuing because I’m genu
inely afraid of what this seemingly darker, more ruthless Liam will do.

  “I’m going to fix this,” I try to appeal to him.

  “No.” He gets to his feet and storms from the living room to the bedroom. “I agree with Diane. We need to leave.”

  “I don’t appreciate that you’re siding with—”

  “Stop right there before you say something unprofessional that proves how green you are. You don’t have to change your opinion about Diane’s parenting decisions to take her legal advice. She’s been around the block. At least give her that. This is a big fucking deal. A huge transaction for Craig, and he’s your client. He deserves as much time with the information as possible. Tell me something. Would you do anything differently if you stood to lose hundreds of millions of your own money? What if I were putting up a portion of the money to help Craig close this deal?”

  “All right! You made your point and then some. Let’s go.” This is one time where I don’t object, resist or defy him. He’s right, which means my mom’s right too, and that alone makes me cringe. Gathering my laptop and purse, I wait at the main door.

  Now he’s the one who won’t look at me. The annoyance and anger in his eyes and the tight strain in his voice as we head to the elevator cause a lump in my throat that I can’t manage to swallow. I hate that I’ve disappointed him. That he doesn’t see me in the same light as an hour ago. That we don’t quite see eye to eye about my willingness to do what it takes to get things done. What we had before all this sharing was so much simpler than it is now.

  But that may be Liam’s point. He’s been saying that he knows me better than I believe he does. These last few weeks, he’s forced me to face myself, he’s challenged me, and Christ, he just compared me to my mother, and came to the alarming conclusion that I’m. Just. Like. Her.