The Billionaire's Deal: The Complete Story: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Kaswell, Crystal

  Ashleigh storms in with a burst of energy. Same tap-tap of her high heels against the hardwood floor. She's holding some kind of makeup kit and a garment bag. Too short to be a gown.

  "She has ten dresses here, Mr. Sterling."

  Blake glances at his watch. "You have an hour." He nods to both of us. "I'll catch up on work."

  "I'm going to set up a make-up lesson at the salon in midtown. There's no reason why Kat needs me here every time she's going out."

  "That's up to Kat," he says.

  "Why does she need a full face of makeup to see your family?" She looks at me. "You've done your makeup before, right? For Prom or graduation or something?"

  "Of course."

  Blake is already on the other side of the room, his back to us. Ashleigh shakes her head, muttering under her breath. He stops short but he doesn't turn back.

  The door to his office opens and shuts. It's the opposite of a slam. The calmest door shutting in existence. Blake is the epitome of calm.

  Ashleigh unzips the garment bag. It's a cocktail dress. Knee length, purple satin, a deep V-neck, and a high back. She shakes her head. "He has a thing for your tits."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Sorry. I don't mean to be brash. But he specifically requested a dress with a low neckline. And God knows his sister will call you a slut under her breath if you're in anything more revealing than a turtle neck."

  "She seemed a little—"

  "Uptight? A cheating husband will do that."

  "Shit. Really?" I ask.

  Ashleigh nods. "She seems like she's on the evil side, and like she hates Mr. Sterling, but meets him at the office sometimes to talk. I've never heard the conversations, of course, but she must be confiding in him."

  I try to imagine Blake listening to his sister and consoling her about her screwed up marriage. They didn't seem friendly at all. But siblings always fight. Maybe there is real affection between them.

  She lays the dress over the couch. "He hired a PI, well, he had me hire a PI, after one of their conversations. The evidence was undeniable. He never showed it to her, but I think she already knew."

  Figures Blake would spy on someone then keep his findings to himself.

  Ashleigh drops her makeup kit on the kitchen counter. "This isn't even part of my job description." She picks out a lipstick and stares at it like she's assessing the color. "But Mr. Sterling needs everything just so."

  "I appreciate it."

  "I should put you in bright purple eyeliner to teach him a lesson."

  "It would match the dress."

  She laughs. "So tell me something. There's no reason at all why you need all this shit to see his family. Does Mr. Sterling have a fetish?" She lowers her voice to a whisper. "I heard he has a sex doll."

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  "I'm sure it was just a rumor." She clears her throat. "I shouldn't talk about your fiancé like that. I'm so sorry." Her eyes get apologetic. "I had to cancel a date, but that's not your problem."

  "He made you cancel your plans?" I ask.

  "Not exactly. He made an offer I couldn't refuse. Student loans and all that." She moves on to picking out eye shadows.

  "I feel a little like a doll. As long as we're being honest."

  "Well, get used to being rich and semi-famous. Appearances are everything."

  Chapter Eleven

  Ashleigh spends twenty minutes on my hair and makeup. The next forty, she picks my brain about Blake. Seems she knows even less than I do. Imagine that.

  At six on the dot, Blake exits his office and dismisses her. He is still perfect in his suit and tie. His hair is mussed just so, like a model in a perfume add. He wakes up like that, no doubt.

  I step into the shoes picked for me. Black sling back wedges to match a tiny black clutch. It barely holds my cell phone. I hold my regular purse against my chest. It doesn’t match the outfit, but it’s mine dammit.

  We make our way to the elevator. I ignore the mirrored walls and ceiling. No need to see the other version of Kat, the one who is a doll that other people scrutinize. They can scrutinize all they want. I'm staying out of it.

  A few steps in the parking garage—still too many in these awful shoes—and we're safely in the limo.

  I drop my regular purse on the limo’s floor. Apparently, I am not to bring it to dinner. Perhaps Blake’s family will die of shock if they discover I have my own set of keys.

  His mother lives upstate. About half an hour out of the city. Traffic is light.

  Half an hour in the limo with Blake, and I'm not allowed to mess up my hair or makeup. A great injustice if I ever heard one.

  He nods to a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket. "The same you liked at the party."

  "The party where we had our joyful engagement?"

  The car starts. Pulls out of the parking garage. Once we're on the street, its movements become one comfortable blur. No wonder rich people take these things everywhere. You really do forget you're in transit.

  Blake folds his hands. "Don't say things like that."

  "Why? We're alone. This is the part that's real. That's what you told me."

  He stares at me. "Fine. Get it out of your system now."

  If I didn't know better, I'd swear I hurt his feelings. "That's okay."

  He shifts. We're on different bench seats. They're perpendicular, and I have to turn if I really want a good look at Blake. There's so much to his face. The strong jaw, the sharp line of his nose, the gorgeous brown eyes.

  That bit about eyes being the windows to the soul—total bullshit. They're not the windows to Blake's soul. I stare into those eyes and come up with nothing. Not a clue what he's thinking or feeling.

  If only I could crack that gorgeous head open and pry into his brain. It shouldn't interest me this much. He's closer to a boss than to a boyfriend. But he's so damn reserved. I can't help my curiosity.

  "Penny for your thoughts?" Oh, God, shoot me now. What a lame question. No way that's getting me anywhere.

  He offers me a completely neutral look. "We need to announce our wedding date tonight."

  My heart races. We don't have a wedding date. There's nothing to announce.

  "The last Friday in April. I booked a ballroom at the Plaza. Very exclusive."

  "I'm not getting married in a hotel ballroom."

  He recoils. Surprised. "Why not?"

  "Because it's awful and stuffy and not at all my taste."

  "What's the difference?"

  "You want people to believe this or not?" I tug at my dress, not sure which of the options sounds most appealing to me. "I'm getting married in a park."

  "It will be cold in late April."

  "I'll get a dress with sleeves."

  "It might rain."

  "Then it will rain," I say. "And since the season lines up, I'd like a park with cherry blossom trees."

  A smile. Blake smiles. Imagine that.

  "You like them?" he asks.

  "No, I want to get married there because I hate them." The sentence leaves me out of breath. My face is red, no doubt. Talking to him is impossible. I drop my sarcasm. "Of course I like them. They're gorgeous." Not like he would notice. Probably works through cherry blossom season every year. "Before the accident, we would go to DC for a weekend every April just to look at the trees. My parents got all sweet and romantic. I thought it was gross back then, Mom and Dad kissing under the flowers. And I didn't understand my mom's lecture either. Every time, it was the same. 'Life is short. You need to take time to enjoy it.'" I press my back into the seat. Move my eyes to the floor. I can feel Blake staring at me, examining me, but I press on. "I was a stupid teenager. Life felt long. I couldn't wait until I'd finally graduate high school, then college. I couldn't wait to be independent. Funny how quickly I became independent."

  A tear wells up inside me. I squeeze my eyelids together until it retreats. This is waterproof makeup, but I'm not crying in font of Blake. He's basically a robot.

  "It mus
t be hard being the woman of the house." His voice is steady but there's a certain sweetness to it. Almost affection.

  "Everything worth doing is hard." I meet his gaze. Smile. "I'm getting married under the damn cherry blossoms. You will not stop me."

  "Are you sure you wouldn't rather save that for your real wedding?"

  "Positive." Tension flares between my shoulders. I arch in an attempt to release it. "What's real anyway? We'll be legally married. Our families will attend. I'm sure I'll be in a very expensive dress. That's plenty real."

  "I'll get Ashleigh on finding you a dress. Tell her what you like and she'll find something for you. Rush cut, rush alterations." He looks at something on his phone. "Monday at eleven."

  "I want to bring Lizzy. And she has school until three."

  His brow furrows. "Monday at six."

  "Good." This is such a small compromise, but it feels like a victory.

  "She'll be your maid of honor."

  "I'll choose my maid of honor." I meet Blake's gaze. No clue what he's thinking. Again.

  "Are you choosing someone else?"

  "No. But it's still my choice. You're a control freak."

  "I do things my way." He presses his palms against the seat.

  "Well, compromise is the key to any healthy relationship. Even a fake one."

  His lips spread into a full-blown smile. Then, I can't believe it. He laughs. His entire face lights up. His eyes are bright. He's always been attractive as all hell, but that laugh, those bright eyes.

  Somehow, he's even more gorgeous when he smiles.

  "Noted," he says.

  "Who are we inviting to this under the cherry blossoms wedding?"

  "My family. Your family."

  "That's it?"

  His expression softens. He moves closer. "You object?"

  "No. That's perfect. I just expected a big show from you after last time."

  "This is for Meryl, not for anyone else."

  It's sweet, really. A big fat lie for his dying mother.

  Lucky me, I'm right in the middle of it.

  ***

  The house is more modest than I imagined. Two stories. Three or four bedrooms max. It's beautiful. Blue paint with white trim. Big lawn. Walkway lined with perfect pink roses.

  I squeeze Blake's hand on the walk. My heart is still racing. My stomach is flip-flopping. Nerves. A horrible mass of nerves. I was calmer at his company's party. Of course, that night, I didn't know how deep the lie would go, that I would be a ruse of a wife instead of a ruse of a girlfriend.

  It sounds so grown up. Wife. I can't be a wife, even a fake one. I'm only twenty-one.

  Blake squeezes back. It's almost sweet. I try to rid my brain of thoughts. What's it matter if I'm too young and naive to get married? It's not a real marriage. It's just a job.

  Inside, it's warm, and everything is bathed in a soft yellow light. The house has so many little touches. It's a real home. There are pictures along the staircase, blankets and pillows on the couch, messy stacks of books on an old shelf.

  We move into the kitchen. Meryl is nursing a glass of wine. Fiona and a man in a suit, early thirties probably, sit at one end. He's typing into his Blackberry. Funny, I thought those were already out of style.

  He's the picture of a Wall Street guy. Similar attire, but he's so different from Blake. It's hard to explain. This guy radiates a certain self-importance. Blake is arrogant, but there's a kindness behind his eyes.

  Or maybe I'm delusional.

  Blake takes my coat and hangs it, and his, on a rack. He greets his family with a nod. "Kat, this is Trey, Fiona's husband."

  Trey looks up from his phone for a split second. He nods. No offer of a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

  Meryl catches my gaze. She rolls her eyes as she nods, ever so slightly, to Trey. "What are you two drinking? And don't say you're driving. I saw the limo pull away. What does the poor driver do while you're here?"

  "Earn his salary," Blake says. "I'll get drinks."

  Meryl holds up her mostly empty glass, requesting a refill. "Wine is on the counter."

  Blake frowns but makes no verbal objection. Drinking and liver disease don't go well together. But with only three months left, Meryl might as well enjoy herself.

  My chest tightens. Not this again. There's no avoiding the facts. Blake's mother is dying. We're doing this for her. Sugar coating will only make it worse.

  "Have a seat, sweetie," Meryl says. "I remember working in a restaurant. I was always desperate to get off my feet."

  I sit. "Actually, I'm not working at the restaurant anymore."

  Fiona smiles. "Oh?"

  "There was a bit too much attention after the engagement landed me on Page Six."

  Not such a smile now. Still, there's something smug on Fiona's face. She nods like she understands. Trey's phone buzzes. On vibrate, but damn if that isn't a loud vibration. All the smugness flees Fiona's face, and the hate in my gut slips away. She's miserable. Hard to feel anything but sympathy when her husband is blatantly ignoring her.

  "My son is a lot of trouble. I hope he's making it up to you," Meryl says.

  Right on cue, Blake returns with drinks. Wine for Meryl. Whiskey for him. Gin and tonic for me. I take a long sip. Usually, these feel refreshing and crisp. Not so much tonight.

  "That isn't appropriate dinner table conversation," he says.

  "Oh, please. You know I wouldn't mind." Meryl nods to Trey as if to say this guy is so uptight he'd absolutely mind. "Dinner should be ready shortly. But if you're hungry, there are snacks in the fridge."

  "I'm fine, thank you." I finish half my drink. I almost feel calmer. Almost.

  Fiona stares at me like she's assessing my potential. "What are you doing now that you're unemployed?"

  "I'm not sure," I say. "I doubt I'll find another job at a restaurant with all this attention."

  "I'm surprised Blake hasn't offered to help you." She looks to Trey but gets nothing. "When we were first married, Trey offered the seed money for me to start a fashion line." Her composure breaks for a moment then it's back. "He was very supportive."

  Her face fills with regret. The guy on his blackberry is clearly not supportive. He's one of those wealthy guys who writes a check instead of tending to his wife's emotional needs.

  I don't know the asshole, and I already hate him.

  I glance at Blake. Damn. He's good at this. There isn't a single visible reaction on his face. The man is the picture of cool. Maybe I can pick up the skill from him instead of drinking my way there.

  "I'll do anything for Kat. Anything." He runs his fingers over my cheek. Stares at me like we're in love. "But her independence is very important to her. She wants to work."

  "Admirable, but sweetie—" Meryl takes quite the sip of wine. "Take the poor fool's money if he's offering it. Waiting tables isn't worth the trouble."

  "It will be our money soon." Blake smiles. "We set a date. The last Friday in April."

  "You're not asking for a prenup?" Fiona tries to wipe away the shock on her face but doesn't quite land at a neutral expression.

  Blake raises a brow as if to say bitter? So Trey asked her to sign a prenup. It's not unheard of.

  "I don't want to hear those words again," Meryl says. "And I do not want to hear a single figure."

  Fiona frowns. "But Blake is worth billions. A divorce could halve—"

  "What did I say?" Meryl squeezes her wine glass.

  Fiona flushes red. She stumbles over her words. "I only want to help him protect himself."

  "And how did that prenup work for you?" Meryl asks.

  "That's different. I wasn't the one with money," Fiona says.

  Trey rises to attention. "Ms. Sterling, you aren't being fair. Everyone who marries into my family—"

  Meryl cuts him off. "I don't want to hear another word about it." She stares daggers at Trey. "Marriage is about partnership, not about protecting yourself. I hope you're happy with your share of things."

&n
bsp; "Mom, Trey is here to support me. Not because he—"

  "The asshole is your husband for at least another few days. Is it too much to drive thirty minutes out of the city?"

  Trey slides his phone into his pocket. "Ms. Sterling—"

  "It's Meryl. Everyone else calls me Meryl." She shakes her head. "This is the example I set for you. Hell, at least you're leaving."

  Somehow, this doesn't hurt Trey. He's awfully disaffected. He looks to Fiona and whispers something. She narrows her eyes and furrows her brow. That's one awful marriage.

  Trey stands and takes a step towards the door. "I should go," he says. "I have to make a few calls."

  Meryl clears her throat. "Have a safe drive."

  Trey kisses Fiona goodbye and steps out of the room. Everyone is quiet until the door slams shut and a car outside turns on.

  Fiona addresses Meryl. "He's trying to be supportive."

  "He's an asshole."

  "So was Dad."

  Meryl lets out a loud sigh. She stares at her wine glass like it holds all the secrets of the universe. "If you do this to Kat, I swear to God." She looks at me. "Some family to marry into."

  I swallow hard. "Blake is very sweet."

  Meryl makes eye contact with him but speaks to me. "This is what money gets you—the pursuit of more money."

  "I'm not like Trey. And Kat isn't like Fiona," Blake says.

  "Fuck you." Fiona folds her arms.

  "Not everything is an insult," Blake says.

  They exchange hostile looks. There's something so knowing about it. They are brother and sister. They're the only people who really know what it was like to grow up in this household.

  Even with all this acrimony, they're closer than Blake and I are.

  Meryl's voice softens. She offers Fiona her hand. "You didn't know better, sweetie. You were just a kid."

  Fiona pulls her hand into her lap. "I was nineteen."

  "Exactly. You're better off without him," Meryl says.

  "With nothing," Fiona says.

  Meryl looks to Fiona. To Blake. Neither one of them is willing to challenge her. Something about her expression makes them stand down.

  Meryl shakes her head. "What is with you two? Why is it always money? There's so much more to life than that."