My Stepbrother, the Billionaire, & the Ball: Forbidden Romance (The Step Contract, Book 2)

by Stephanie Brother

  “I count myself in the same boat as Blake, then.” He grinned.

  Where was Blake? Why couldn’t he have texted if he were stuck in traffic, or better yet, have chartered a private helicopter? He could damn well afford it. I knew it was hypocritical of me, but I needed him, damn it! What good was being rich if you couldn’t find someone to take you to the ball on time?

  “George, would Blake tell you if…” I hesitated. “Blake would tell you if he was going to do something really important, right?”

  He looked confused. “Important?”

  “A big career venture, moving, getting married, having a kid, buying a house. Those sort of announcements.”

  “Oh,” George said. He shook his head. “He usually keeps me in the loop. I seriously doubt he would change jobs, move, or buy a house right now, as he likes his job and travels a lot anyway. As for the rest…” His expression turned mischievous. “You think he’s hiding a princess in the closet or something?” He looked around. “I suppose it’s possible, and this would be a pretty good time to propose to someone, with his Mom and Helen and Robert here. But I haven’t heard anything, not a hint,” he said, and I deflated on the inside. “I’d like to think he’d tell me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks. I just wanted to be sure.”

  I wished the desolation hadn’t crept into my words. Some part of me had hoped, knowing the idea was idiotic, that he would propose for real. The other parts would settle for him at least honoring the deal. Whatever it was Blake had decided to do, either he hadn’t had a chance to tell George and Dillon had convinced him to do nothing today, or Dillon wanted him to screw me over by other means.

  I refused to believe everything that had happened was a charade, that he would still doubt me. I couldn’t stand to think anyone could be that good at faking their emotions.

  There was another possibility I hadn’t even considered until that point. What if Blake wanted to continue our relationship but not tell Dad and Lana? He had brought up that option before. But I was gullible and crazy enough about him to put up with delays and excuses for who knows how long. He was who I wanted. Maybe I would think I could change his mind, or that he would finally tell them, tomorrow…

  “Any time,” Geerge was saying. “Save a dance for me tonight. I don’t bite. Or intentionally upset nice people.”

  I smiled. “I’ll try.”

  “Here. Take Dillon’s wine. You’ve earned it. Cheers to your upcoming toast. May it be awkward and unintentionally hilarious.”

  “George!”

  “I know. Say no more. I’m such a good friend.”

  * * * * *

  “…and that was the reason Bee confiscated my shoes every single time I got into her car.” Laughter and applause. I was almost done with no major fuck ups so far.

  Well, there was the near-fall when I had stood up on my dress accidentally, but in my defense, the gown was almost taller than I was, and chiffon and tulle seem to have a mind of their own when you ask them to obey the laws of gravity. The best part was George, giving me two big thumbs up when I stood and righted myself. That guy. If I had fallen on my face, I’m sure he would have held up score cards.

  “The phrase most often used when you hear people remark on 50th wedding anniversaries is, ‘How did they stay together for so long?’ This often puzzles me, since I obviously grew up with a shining example of how to do it right.” Well, not my parents, but hopefully Dad would forgive me.

  Then, movement at the back of the ballroom. Someone had entered late, staying in the shadows so as not to interrupt us.

  Blake.

  I stared at him, my words taking on new meaning. “The formula to happily ever after is surprisingly simple and sounds boring, but it works: communication. Bee and Niles never let their arguments prevent them from saying what they needed to say. They didn’t hide their feelings from each other, and it’s a testament to their openness and honesty that they’re sitting here before you today, still as happy with each other as ever. I love you, Grandma and Grandpa.”

  Blowing kisses as people applauded, I proceeded to raise my glass. “’Till the 75th!”

  “’Till the 75th!” the hall echoed, and I downed my glass.

  * * * * *

  The toasts had just ended. I was heading down the stairs of the raised platform to refill my flute, having lost track of Blake and most of the familiar face when the guests had stood up and started to move to the parquet floor after my grandparents had danced the first dance.

  I had to try not to draw too many conclusions. Blake’s phone could have died. Dillon was probably full of shit. I needed to figure out a way to keep my temper in check and not muck everything up if it wasn’t already mucked.

  “Jenna.”

  His voice stopped me on the second step.

  Blake looked immaculate, and if it was possible, even more gorgeous than usual. He wore a simple tailored black suit with unusual lapels and a gunmetal ties. His dark hair was just long enough to be wavy around his ears and neck, framing his face perfectly.

  He just stood there, staring, taking me in. My reflexes were hampered enough to let him.

  “You…” he swallowed. “You look…”

  “Better up close?” I replied, smirking.

  If he wasn’t so entranced, I’m sure he would have scolded me for ruining the moment. “I couldn’t see you very well from the back of the room.”

  I descended the stairs carefully. Well over the limit and wiser from the last wardrobe malfunction, I wasn’t taking any unnecessary risks. Besides, it gave him a better view of the full effect.

  “So? How do I look?” I teased him.

  Blake said, “Turn around.”

  I glared he made a twirling motion with his finger. I sighed and proceeded to twirl fully around, once each direction.

  “Unearthly.”

  “What?” I said.

  “You look beyond beautiful. It’s unearthly. Exquisite. Divine.” It all came out, this rush of words, and I knew Blake meant them.

  How I wanted to love him. I wanted to make love to him right then. Of course, that would have ruined the mood. Also possibly the chiffon.

  “Thank you.” I noticed his tie complimented my dress, which did bend Helen’s rules about wearing black or gold over silver and white. “Like the tie. It’s not gold.”

  “No,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up. No, it’s not.”

  “You’re late,” I said.

  “You’re drunk,” Blake countered.

  “It was either me or our parents,” I said. “Someone had to pick up the baton.”

  He sighed, then took my empty glass from my hand. “Let’s dance.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. He wouldn’t be able to dodge my questions for at least five minutes.

  Only as I quickly discovered, the nearness of Blake and the heady feeling the wine gave me were driving my senses into overdrive. He held one of my hands in his and put the other on my waist, as if I was actually capable of making complicated foot movements this late in the game, and drew me into a waltz. There was a live band, of course. Helen had spared no expense.

  It was too good. What was that Shakespeare line? ‘Too flattering sweet to be substantial.’ I didn’t want to ruin the moment, so I decided to enjoy it for as long as I could.

  Make no mistake, it was definitely wonderful, even if Blake couldn’t hold me close like I wanted him to. His hand on my back alone was enough to make me wet. I imagined him throwing me onto a table, spreading my legs, and pleasuring me with his tongue until I came screaming. I was really glad the booze kept me from being too nervous.

  Blake seemed to be enjoying himself. A lot. He took every chance to spin me and dip me that he could, and I swear they were just excuses to admire my ass and breasts. It was a major turn-on, and I caught myself before I complimented him on his sneaky moves.

  Unfortunately, one of the most dangerous aspects of heavy drinking is that your self-censoring capabilities are
scatter-shot at best, and I could never figure out the point at which my skills at tactful conversation were about to nose-dive. I wasn’t quick enough to catch the spontaneous question that tumbled out of my mouth a second later.

  “Did you tell Dillon about our deal?”

  That genuinely surprised Blake. “What?”

  “Did you tell your security manager, Dillon Fox, about our deal, Blake?” My voice rose a few notches above what I had intended. “Because implied that some major business deals for Gabblrr might go south because we had spent the weekend together. Yes, he knew we were together at the hotel,” I said as Blake was shaking his head. “Yes. He knew. You have some kind of spyware on your business phone and laptop, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was installed on your personal phone as well.”

  He frowned. “That was my fault. I should have left everything at the lawyer’s, but I guess I forgot.” We continued our waltz with smaller movements. “But Jenna, he’s responsible for the financial security of the company, and since I’m the public face of the company, Dillon needs to know any time I enter into a contract of any kind. All I did was explain to him the basics of the plan and let him know there would probably be pushback from the family.”

  “So he didn’t convince you to cancel the deal or delay telling our parents?” I asked.

  Blake looked around. “Jenna, maybe we should discuss this somewhere else. You’re upset.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.” I planted my feet. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”

  “Jenna…”

  I hoped I didn’t sound as desperate in real life as I did in my head. “Blake?” I leaned in close to him and whispered my fear. “Were you going to tell our parents we were engaged tonight or not?”

  He had that look people have when they’re trying to soften a blow. “We did discuss it, but the decision was mine. Dillon had nothing to do with it. I just don’t think it’s the right time—”

  So that was it. He had used me after all, just like I had dreaded. At best, he still wanted me but had never intended to make our relationship public, preferring to string me along indefinitely.

  At worst… the possibilities were endless. He could blackmail me, of course, with the contract or the witnesses who had seen us together, and make me do almost anything. He could wield my financial gamble as a weapon and indict my father in Lana’s eyes by painting me as a deviant home-wrecker. He could shame me using his clout on one of the most popular social platforms in the English language world. He didn’t even have to do the deed himself; Blake had dozens of employees with the ability to pull a digital trigger that would destroy my life. With the click of a button, I could become an overnight social pariah.

  I doubted Blake would do any of these things… if I was good to him. If he didn’t find some reason to resent me or hate himself for sleeping with his stepsister down the road.

  If I was very careful.

  Forever.

  Or he could just break my heart, like he was doing at that moment. I thought that was more than sufficient.

  “The right time.” I was trembling, I noted dully. “The right time.” My laughter was harsh and short. “Blake, there will never be a right time to tell our parents that their children are sleeping together.”

  “Please calm down.” He looked around, worried. My voice had risen a decibel or two, but I wasn’t shouting.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. We had a plan, and you agreed to stick to it!”

  “I know,” Blake said, and he gripped my shoulders, as if he could force me to believe anything he said if he forced me to listen. “I have a solution, but this isn’t the place to discuss it.”

  “It’s not the time to discuss it, either,” I snapped. “That was on Monday morning, or Tuesday on video chat, or today on the phone. Not now when it’s too late to have a private conversation with our parents and grandparents outside of this party.”

  “Let’s go somewhere else and I’ll tell you what I was thinking.” Then he repeated that macho thing, grabbing my hand and starting to drag me out of the party. I wrenched out of his grasp only because he wasn’t willing to make a scene in the middle of a crowd of people. If we had been at the edge of the dance floor, he totally would have thrown me over his shoulder, caveman-style, and walked off with me, wooden club dragging behind him alongside his knuckles.

  “Not happening.” I rubbed my fingers and narrowed my eyes. “By the way, that’s the problem: you weren’t thinking, not about what I wanted or how I would feel. I think I’ll enjoy the rest of this party while I’m still conscious, thanks.”

  Blake looked extremely pissed that I wasn’t listening to his bullshit excuses. Good. About time someone told him off for prioritizing his needs over other people’s.

  “Jenna!” George tapped my shoulder.

  I tried to recover from the surge of rage that had enveloped me just then. “George. Having fun?”

  “That’s a given,” George said. “Want to dance?”

  I was about to reply when Helen materialized out of the crowd behind George. “Yes, give her a chance to enjoy herself before you argue her to death, dear.” That was directed at Blake.

  Blake sighed. “Grandma. Are you having a good time?”

  “What a question! Of course I am.” She turned to me. “You look lovely, Jenna. I’m so happy Sylvia could help you.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you for the dress, Helen,” I said, and I truly meant it. There was no way in hell I would ever have afforded it or bought it if it hadn’t been for her.

  This seemed to be the correct answer, because her smile was just a little deeper, more genuine. “Nonsense. Have a good time and hug Bee and Niles for me, that’s all I ask.” Helen turned to Blake. “Blake, you naughty boy. You missed the group picture this afternoon. I’ve managed to locate the photographer over by the snack bar, but he needs to take your picture now so that he can… what’s the term? Something for cut and paste. Anyway, he needs to take a couple of photos of you. Come, dear.” She tapped on his arm.

  Blake appeared to debate whether or not to protest, then thought better of it. “Excuse me,” he said to us, giving me a meaningful look as he walked away, as if to say, This discussion is not over.

  I brushed a curl out of my face. “I’d love to dance, George.”

  He held out his hand, and I took it.

  * * * * *

  It was remarkably easy to lose track of time when I was trying so hard not to think. So easy, in fact, that I forgot why I was still partying. George kept up the stream of conversation, and this was fortunate, because I was not focused enough to think of new things to talk about while we danced.

  In another life, one where I wasn’t obsessed with my brooding, secretive stepbrother and hooked on the drug that was the drama our lives produced, I would have wanted to date someone like George. He was kind, he was funny in a light-hearted way that balanced out my inclinations to sarcasm, he was guileless and open, and he definitely wasn’t hurting in the looks department. George was, in my view, the perfect armchair diplomat. I had the feeling that if I started on a tirade about the mistreatment of captive orcas, he’d sign us up to go on an anti-whaling ship just so he could moon at fishing boats.

  He was always on, though, always at ease, as if it were an effortless state of being rather than a mood to be when around other people. He was that guy who knew half of the people on campus at college; the fact that this was my family’s party was the only reason he wasn’t greeting someone every five seconds. If we were together, my desire for privacy, for time to be off, to be alone, would slowly suffocate him, and that would be a far worse crime against humanity than trying to make a square peg and a round hole fit together.

  George would always be an optimist. I just hoped he wasn’t optimistic about us.

  Besides, I knew someone far better suited for him.

  “So when’s the next time you’re going to be in Boston?” I asked.

  “I’m a
ctually heading up there in a few weeks to present a report to some clients,” George said. “You’d better have that display case dusted off when I visit.”

  “I’ll do you one better,” I said. “If you make some extra time, my friend and I could take turns giving you tours of some of the hidden gems in the area.”

  “Take turns?” George laughed. “That sounds like a very nice Boston tour.”

  I shoved him in the shoulder playfully. “My friend Mimi also helps me run the book store, so we can’t really do daytime activities together unless I hire someone else, and I can’t afford to hire someone else. But she’s the expert and has lived in the area longer than I have.”

  “Ah. I understand.” George nodded. “We’re on a fairly strict schedule, but I’ll see what I can do.” He winked and squeezed my hand.

  “I promise you won’t regret it,” I said. “Boston has some of the coolest districts on the East Coast.”

  “Jenna.”

  Blake was back. He looked unsettled, and his eyes darted between the two of us, the way George held me close, my hand in his. For the first time, I saw an expression that I had never witnessed on his face before: jealousy.

  Good.

  “May I cut in?” Blake said to George when I ignored him.

  George look conflicted. As he slowed our movements, I said, “No. He can wait his turn.”

  “Jenna,” Blake said, “I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Blake, I’m not sure she wants to talk to you right now,” George said.

  “George, man, you know you’re like a brother to me, but this isn’t any of your business,” Blake snarled.

  “He’s right, Blake. I don’t want to talk to you at the moment.”

  Blake cut between us. George exclaimed, “What the hell, dude?” Things were getting ugly fast.

  “Fine, Blake,” I snapped. “Two minutes. You get two more minutes of my time.”

  George put his hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to go with him, Jenna.”