The Rake_Billionaire Seeking a Bride

by Melanie Marchande

This. This is nice.

  I walk the perimeter, reading all the menu boards and trying to make a decision. The indistinct chatter of a dozen different conversations makes a nice background noise to my pleasant dilemma. Everything sounds, and smells, so good. I don't even know where to start.

  "Try the pork," says a familiar voice in my ear. "It's really out of this world."

  I whirl around.

  No. It's impossible. It's completely fucking impossible.

  Am I hallucinating? I must be hallucinating.

  "Hi," says Devon Wakefield, with a small wave of his hand. He looks...exhausted. His hair, always neatly trimmed, is overgrown. There's a few days' growth of beard on his angular jaw. And his eyes, they're so dull and tired, surrounded by dark circles.

  I swallow a few times, trying to find my voice.

  Months. It’s been months. Not a word from him, and now he’s appeared five thousand miles away, at my fucking vacation.

  "What the hell?" I finally manage to squeak out. It's not my most dignified moment.

  "I know," he says, raising his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm really, honestly sorry. But I had to...I had to see you. I had to say I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry?" I repeat, numbly. "I don't see what for."

  "Come on, Cassie. Don't act like this."

  "Like what, Mr. Wakefield?" I demand quietly, folding my arms across my chest. I feel like people are staring, because how could they not? You could cut the tension between us with a knife. Or a dull spoon. "How am I acting?"

  He takes a step closer, something dark flashing in his eyes. "Like we were nothing," he says, his low, deep voice sending an involuntary shudder through me. "Like your little heart's not beating a million miles a minute just to see me. I know it is."

  "Oh, you do?" I stare him down, trying not to tremble. "And how would you know that, exactly?"

  "Because," he growls, reaching out and grabbing my hand before I can pull away. He presses my palm flat on his chest, against the fabric of his dress shirt, the warmth of his skin. I can feel the thump-thump-thump, like he's just run a marathon.

  "Okay," I whisper, breathless. Because what the hell am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? I came here to get away from him. I came here to forget.

  "I know you think we were a mistake," he says. "And for a minute there, I agreed with you. I'm still not sure. You might be right. I know I might be bad for you, but Cassie, I don't want to keep running. I want to face this and I want to tell you the truth."

  He stops talking. I stare. I realize I'm still touching his chest, and I pull my hand away quickly like he's burned me.

  "The truth?" I echo.

  He nods. "Sit down."

  I do.

  “It’s true that we’re going bankrupt,” he says. His voice is so quiet, so defeated. “I’m going to lose the company. The website. The proprietary code. The trademarks. Everything.” He takes a deep breath. “But all the shit that was in the news, it was all twisted. I made sure everyone was taken care of. I never stiffed a contractor. Not once. The pensions were the first thing I saved. But it’s an easy narrative to believe, so the news took it and ran with it.”

  “What happened?” I ask, because what the hell else am I going to say?

  “I was Icarus.” He touches the cup in front of him like he’s about to take a drink, but then thinks better of it. “I just had to have it all. The perfect site. Nothing was too good for us. I needed partnerships with the biggest and the best, and you don’t get that without making some promises. It had to be worth their while, so I took all of the projections my team gave me - all the data I’d be able to provide if they gave me theirs, all the valuable insights I could have for them - and doubled it. Tripled it. Quadrupled it. I said what I needed to say.” He hesitates for a moment, rubbing his hand across his face like he’s trying to scrub away the memory. “Fuck that - I lied.”

  He looks up, but not at me, exactly. His eyes are distant when he finally speaks again.

  “I thought it would be okay. I pushed my team hard, pushed myself ten times harder. Fine came out when magazines were supposed to be dying, and it exceeded its growth projections by three hundred percent in the first year. I thought I could do that again. I actually thought I was...you know, special. Some kind of business genius. I thought everything I touched would turn to gold.

  “Turns out, I was just lucky. You can’t capture lightning in a bottle twice. I should’ve known that already. It’s been obvious for months, at least. Maybe a year. The writing was on the wall. I just didn’t want to accept it. I don’t know what I thought would happen. A prophetic dream, some kind of insane Hail Mary idea at the last minute...but the numbers don’t lie. I’m in debt for more than the company’s worth. More than it will ever be worth.”

  I swallow thickly, not quite trusting my voice. But I have to say something. He clearly needs to talk this out with somebody, somebody he...trusts, I guess. And for some reason, that’s me.

  “What’s going to happen, then?” I ask him. I’m pretty sure I know the answer already.

  “They’ll take it,” he says. “They’ll take all of it. Might be a few years, if I fight it, or I could liquidate and put myself out of my misery. Get it over with on my terms. Either way, it’s inevitable. Maybe if I let them do it their way, they’d let me stay on as CEO. As a gesture of good faith.” His smile is hollow. “I’d rather burn it to the ground.”

  He shakes his head, silently, for a few moments.

  “I know,” he says, finally. “I know I shouldn’t be bitter. I made this bed and now I’m lying in it. But fuck, Cassie…I never wanted you to end up as collateral damage.”

  He looks at me, really looks at me, and I force myself not to look away. It’s not easy. Nothing with him ever is.

  “I’m not,” I tell him. “At least…I don’t think so.”

  “If I could’ve been honest with you, though…” He searches my face, but I’m not sure what he’s looking for. “Things would have been different. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with saving my reputation. If I’d cared a little more about you, and a little less about myself.”

  “Yeah?” I’m still not totally following. “If?”

  “Like I said. Things would’ve been…different.”

  "What things? Different how?"

  "I don't know," he says. "But I'm done with the subterfuge. I'm done pretending. This is who I am. A smut-peddler, a playboy, a rake. A failure. But the last one's the only thing I'm ashamed of. I've always been resourceful, I've always been able to dig myself out of every mess I fell into. But this...this is different. And you deserve better."

  "That's not your call to make," I reply, softly.

  His smile is hollow. "I wanted to tell you how I feel. I wanted to tell you that I can't live without you. But I can't ask you to tie yourself to the mast of a sinking ship. That's what I am, Cassie. A wreck. I guess I always have been. It's just that it's catching up to me now."

  "You're not a wreck," I tell him. It's easier to focus on that, than what he's really saying.

  "We both know that I am," he says. "You've been the only bright spot in my life for these past few months, you know."

  "I don't believe that."

  "It's true," he says. "When we were together, I forgot about everything else. Nothing mattered except making you smile. I know how it sounds. I know. You're not a romantic, and neither am I. You want to roll your eyes at me. I want to roll my eyes at myself, trust me. But you can't tell me that you don't feel it too."

  "Devon..." I rub my temples, staring at the weatherbeaten wood of the picnic tables. It feels rough under my elbows. I have to focus on these little sensations, because I can't even begin to process what's happening here.

  "I know," he says, shaking his head. "I know, this is too much to throw at you all at once. I know that. I shouldn't have come. But I never would've forgiven myself if I didn't."

  My head is spinning. I don't care about the money, the status - all I care about is h
im. And the fact that he didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth about his company...until now.

  He expects me to reject him. I can feel it. His whole life, no one's ever really cared about him for who he was. Only for what he could give them.

  But of course, I'm different. I don't need him, and he knows that. Well - that's not quite true. I don't need his money, I don't need his luxury cars, I don't need his standing reservation at the restaurant downtown that's so fancy they don't even put a sign out front. I have my own business. My own life.

  I don't need him for anything he can give me. I need him for different reasons entirely.

  Because he makes me laugh. Because he gives me goosebumps. Because, my whole life, I've never met anyone I can imagine myself falling asleep next to every single night, without ending up hating them. Considering how we started, with my shoe smacking the back of his head, it's incredible that this is where we've ended up.

  "I'm so sorry," I blurt out, finally. I don't know how long we've been sitting here in silence.

  "Don't be," he says. "I'll live. This was a lesson I needed to learn."

  "What are you going to do?"

  He shrugs. "It's not like I've got nothing to live on. I'll be all right, for a while at least. I suppose I'll start a new business. Something very vanilla and boring. One of those businesses that only exists to do things for other businesses and uses the phrase 'core competencies' a lot."

  I consider my next words carefully. "And will that make you happy?"

  He makes a noncommittal gesture.

  "Would you ever think about working for someone else?"

  Devon lets out a bark of laughter. "Me? Oh, I don't think that's a very good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "You know I don't like being told what to do." His eyes glint. "Except under certain circumstances, of course."

  "But what if you had a boss you could actually respect? Someone you don't mind listening to?"

  "If such a person were to exist," he says. "Then yes. Yes, I suppose I could get used to it.”

  I close my eyes for a second. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Go on.”

  “I knew,” I say, simply. “I knew about the bankruptcy before it went public. This guy…he said he knew you. Said he went to school with you. I ran into him at a bar.”

  Devon’s face darkens. “Freddy Peterson.”

  “I never knew his name,” I confess. “But he told me…he told me everything that ended up being in the news. I didn’t want to believe it, but then when the articles started coming out…”

  “Of course you believed it,” Devon says, through gritted teeth. “I should have known he’d go after you.”

  “I should have asked you.”

  “And I should have told you,” he says. “There. Now we’re even.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  ***

  Of course, I take him back to my room.

  I don’t know where he’s staying. I don’t bother asking. It doesn’t matter. Now, he’s with me.

  His fingers made a trail of fire down my back, igniting every nerve ending with a rapturous pleasure. I'd never been touched like that before. Not even by him.

  So this is what it feels like when you're in love.

  That thought would've terrified me, once. But now? Now it just felt right.

  All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, and my heartbeat. Or maybe it's his. I can't really tell anymore. His warmth, his strength, the scent of him, it's all surrounding and overwhelming me. This is what it means to truly get lost in someone. If the world ends now, in this moment, I'll be happy.

  His eyes burn into mine. His fingers slide up the back of my neck and curl into the roots of my hair, grabbing a handful and tugging.

  With my throat now exposed, he goes in for the kill, kissing and licking, biting, ever so gently, then not so gently. I gasp as his teeth graze my earlobe. I'm already weak in the knees, and we're not even in bed yet.

  This is insane. Totally and completely insane. And I love it.

  One hand closes around my breast, feeling the stiff peak of my arousal, and I can feel him smile against my neck.

  "Did you miss me?" he murmurs in my ear.

  "Of course," I breathe.

  "I don't know if I believe you." He slides his hand down my lower back, coming to rest on the swell of my ass. "You don't seem that excited."

  "I don't?"

  He shakes his head, eyes glinting with mischief as he pulls away slightly. "In fact, you seem quite bored. Should I let you take a little nap? Did you get too much sun today?"

  “Maybe I’m a little distracted,” I admit. “I’m trying to decide…”

  “Decide what?” He strokes my head, gently.

  “Will you be angry with me if I offer you a job?”

  He tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to gauge whether I’m serious or not. “Me? A job? Matchmaking?”

  “I’ll train you,” I tell him, everything I’ve been thinking coming out in a rush. “You and Becca both. I’ve got more than enough clients to keep you both busy. You’ll start with the easier ones until you’ve got some experience under your belt. It’s not as hard as you think. I mean…it is. But you’ll learn.”

  I pause to breathe. Devon smiles.

  “I’m honored,” he says. “Now. Take off your dress.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The indistinct noises of the busy coffee shop are just enough to distract me from the thrumming nerves. I don’t know why I’m afraid to tell Becca what I’ve done. She’s been on my case to hire someone new for ages and ages, ever since I started racking up a waiting list that was more than I could handle.

  Of course, she wanted a promotion too. But that’s going to be part and parcel of the whole thing. I just want to let things develop a little bit before I dump it all on her at once.

  She hurries in the door, five minutes early, and sits down at the table without ordering anything. She knows I’ve already got her drink on the way.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Hi.” I smile. ”I need to talk to you about something."

  Becca stares at me. "Oh no. Are you dying?"

  "Of course I'm dying." I roll my eyes. "Just hopefully not anytime soon. This is about the business."

  "I didn't burn it down when you were away. Just like I promised. Right?" Her eyes widen a little. "Shit, are you firing me? Am I dying?"

  "Calm down. Let me finish. Things...happened in Hawaii. Things I didn't expect. I couldn't have seen it coming, and if you told me about it a year ago, I wouldn't have believed you. It's crazy. But I think you're going to agree that it makes a lot of sense." I stop, staring at my coffee. She's going to think I've lost my mind, and she'll be right.

  "Cassie," she says, gently, touching my hand. "Come on, you can tell me anything. You know that. Whatever's going on, just spit it out. I'm not gonna judge you. Unless you sold the agency to a serial killer or something. I trust you, I trust your judgment. You know that, right?"

  I nod. "Becca, how would you feel if I told you that I hired someone else?"

  "It's been a long time coming," she says, slowly. "But...I'd be surprised that you found someone else you felt like you could trust."

  "Not to replace you, of course," I rush to explain. "But to help take on more clients. To fill in the gap. Expand our clientele. You know."

  "Yeah, I know," she says. "I've been telling you for ages, we need another matchmaker or two. But you won't loosen that grip."

  "Well, what if I did?" I ask her. "What would you think?"

  "I'd think that I want to know for sure that you're eventually going to let me take on my own clients," she says. "I want a timeline for it. I know I'm not ready yet, but I will be. Other than that? I trust your judgment. Whoever you hire, I'm sure they'll be great."

  I take a few deep breaths. Why is this so hard?

  "Come on, Cass." She shakes her head, smiling at me. "You're acting like it's G
enghis Khan or something. Why, is it somebody I know?"

  "You could say that," I reply. "Listen, Becca...I didn't plan for this to happen. But while I was on the island, I ran into Mr. Wakefield. Devon."

  I wait for a reaction. She just watches me, impassive. She hasn't leapt to the conclusion yet, because it's completely crazy. Of course. Nobody would ever assume that's where this conversation is going.

  "He admitted that it wasn't a coincidence. He followed me there, because he wanted to apologize for ghosting me. So I heard him out. And he told me the truth about what's been going on with him, and with Fine People."

  Becca's forehead wrinkles slightly. "The truth?"

  "The company's going bankrupt. He doesn't want to stay, even if the board lets him. He wants to leave it behind, he's tired of it all. So I asked him if he'd like to come work for me."

  She stares at me. The espresso machine shrieks. The baristas murmur indistinctly, some conversation that I'd one hundred percent rather be having than...whatever this is.

  "So, that's the whole story?" Becca says, finally. "He, uh, followed you to Hawaii to ask for a job?"

  "He didn't ask for a job. I offered."

  "Right. Of course. My mistake." She smirks. "So that's it, huh? Nothing else going on between you two?"

  "I don't understand," I blurt out, reflexively.

  "Stop it," she says, sharply.

  My jaw drops. I've never heard her use this tone with me, not in twenty years. I'm in too much shock to respond.

  "All you ever do is try to protect me," she goes on. "Like I'm still five years old. I thought you were getting better, but apparently Hawaii didn't change you that much. You have to stop lying. Stop hiding. Stop telling me half-truths and expecting me to just nod and smile and accept it. It's not fair to me. I want to be partners, I want to own this business together. I don't want to be your secretary anymore. You know I can do it. You know that you need me. And you've got to stop acting like I'm too fragile to know what's really going on in your life."

  I stare at her, mouth agape. "Becca..."

  “Oh, and by the way, before you ask. Yes. I’m the one who told him you were in Hawaii.”