An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3)

by Nadia Lee

  “Why not? Everyone does it.”

  “So if everyone jumps off a bridge, she should too?”

  He cants his head. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  “No. You just don’t get it because you’re a man. Who’s going to hurt you even if you pass out? Worst case, somebody robs you, but it’s just money.”

  “Gigi—”

  I raise a hand. I don’t want to hear him call me by another woman’s name. Maybe that woman would’ve been more understanding, but I’m not her. He doesn’t know anything about me. “I can’t stay here if this kind of thing happens again.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you’re being unreasonable.”

  That only pisses me off more. “She could’ve been hurt! When a young woman gets drunk like that she is a victim waiting to happen because there’s no guarantee that the people she thought were on her side won’t take advantage of her. Don’t you know anything? Fine, it’s okay now. I get it. But what about next time? What if she gets careless or somebody spikes her drink again? She could be raped or get pregnant or ruin her life or experience hundreds of horrible scenarios!” My chest rises and falls rapidly as I slash the air with my arm.

  Elliot pulls back, but his brilliant eyes never leave my face. “Did something like this happen to you?” he asks, his voice quiet.

  I swallow a hot lump in my throat. Panic and anger have made me careless. “No,” I say. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Elliot just looks at me.

  “It’s common sense.” Wrapping my arms around myself, I tear my gaze away. “Every young woman knows this.”

  “No. Elizabeth ‘knows’, but not the way you seem to.”

  I flinch, my eyes flying up to meet his. “Did something happen to her?”

  “No. I’m saying something happened to you. She can quote statistics and studies. She raises money to help women and children, and she has to be able to throw numbers and anecdotes at potential donors to get them to fork over some money. But she doesn’t react the way you do.”

  Dizziness comes suddenly, and I grip the vanity behind me. “I see.”

  “So.” He folds his arms. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” I’m not going to talk about the sordid story. It’s so cliché, it’s painful.

  “Were you raped?” he asks quietly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know or you don’t remember?”

  I just shake my head. Coldness seeps all the way to my bones, and I clench my teeth. Breaths hiss through them.

  “Did you get pregnant?”

  I shake my head. I don’t even want to think about that period of my life. If I deny it, it doesn’t exist. Nobody knows anyway, not even Traci. Whoever got me pregnant never stepped forward, and if the universe has even a modicum of kindness, the boy was too drunk to remember anything.

  “Look at me.” Elliot steps up, grips my upper arms and shakes me. “Look at me when you deny it.”

  My eyes clash with his. They’re thunderous, a stormy sea of seething emotions.

  “Tell me again you weren’t.”

  I swallow. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that nothing happened to me, and I’m just a girl who had your typical upper middle class childhood, nothing more, nothing less. But I can’t. The lie sticks in my throat, and the hot ugly truth, the one I’ve kept buried deep inside all these years, finally comes out.

  “I drank,” I begin, my voice low. “And I passed out. Seven weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. Couldn’t tell anyone. No doctors.”

  I couldn’t have the baby. I was only fifteen at the time. My parents would’ve been so disappointed, devastated in fact, that I put myself in that position. Mom in particular told me to be smart because girls have to be smarter than boys—we’re weaker and more fragile…and we have something they want badly enough they’ll sometimes resort to violence to get it.

  But I didn’t listen. I was so very stupid.

  “What happened to the baby?” Elliot asks.

  “I miscarried,” I whisper. But there’s always a part of me that will forever wonder if the miscarriage happened, in part, anyway, because I didn’t want the child. I wanted to expel it from my body with the force of my will—and more—because no doctor would get rid of it without informing my parents first.

  “Jesus.”

  I pry my arms from his grip and step away. “Does it bother you that I’m damaged like that? I’m not just some fun, carefree stripper who likes sex for money.”

  “Shut up,” he says roughly. “Not a single unkind word about yourself or I’ll put you over my knee.”

  “Why would you care?”

  “What the hell does that mean? Of course I care!” He drags his hands through his hair. “What happened to you is wrong!”

  “I’m just one in four. Not that unusual. I looked up the stats.”

  He spins around, then rushes toward me. His face is in mine. “So that justifies what happened to you?” He flings his arm. “Fucking numbers? They justify nothing.”

  Suddenly I’m tired. I don’t even know why I’m expending emotional energy on him. “You’re right. They don’t. Let’s just stop. There’s no reason for you to be so upset.”

  “How can you just dismiss it like…that? What’s the matter with you?”

  I laugh. It is an ugly sound, but I can’t help it. It kills me that he wants to know what’s wrong with me. Doesn’t he know? “How can you ask me that? You’re the one who insisted that I’m not good enough.”

  He recoils as though struck. “What are you talking about? I’ve never said anything like that.”

  “You won’t even call me by my name. To you, I’m a substitute for Gigi, not a person. Not a woman named Annabelle Key. But because I need money and you have plenty to spare, you get to make me into whatever you want.” He pales, but I don’t stop. The dam that used to contain my bitterness has been breached, I couldn’t control the torrent even if I wanted to. “You’re just like that boy who took me when I was unconscious. To him I wasn’t a person either. Just some orifice where he could stick his dick for his pleasure.”

  A tremor racks him. His hands clench so tightly, his knuckles turn white.

  My mouth keeps going. “Don’t worry. I signed the contract. So I’ll honor it. I won’t be like my father who cheated and lied.”

  Our rough breathing fills the room. It takes a while before Elliot finally blinks.

  The muscles in his jaw bunch, and his Adam’s apple twitches. “If you think that way, why did you even agree to the deal?” His lips barely move as he speaks.

  “Money. What else? That’s all you offered, isn’t it?”

  Except for the two red blotches on his cheeks, he’s even paler now, but it’s not the pallor of the sick. It’s the pallor of someone at a precipice and debating whether he should just let loose or rein it in.

  I continue, “I need it so I can have the kind of life I want for myself, so I can provide for my sister. I’m sick of not being in control because I have nothing.”

  His knuckles are bone white. “You are wrong,” he says. “You already had something, but you just didn’t know it because you thought you were damaged and unworthy somehow.”

  “Don’t talk like you know me.”

  “Don’t I? You’ve sacrificed everything for your sister. You won’t touch a drop of alcohol. You sold yourself for money because that’s all you put any value on. Without the million bucks I threw in your face, you would’ve never slept with me because you’d never enjoyed sex before.”

  Each observation pierces me like a lance, leaving me bleeding. I curl my hands. “Isn’t it great? We decorate our relationship so prettily, but ultimately you’re my john and I’m your whore.”

  He closes the distance between us in a step that’s almost a leap. His hands wrap around my upper arms, and he shakes me until my teeth rattle. “If you ever say that about yourself again, I swear to god—”

  “You’re hurting me!”
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  Instantly, he lets go. The handprints look livid on my bare skin. Anger and regret flit through his eyes, one following the other, as he glares at me.

  Then without another word, he stalks out of the room.

  I sink to the floor, curling up with my knees supporting my head and my arms wrapped around my folded legs. The area where Elliot grabbed me throbs, but the physical pain is nothing compared to what’s inside me. I feel like somebody’s taken a wrecking ball to my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Elliot

  Anger and shame churn as I stride out of the penthouse, pounding against my skull. I have to get the hell out before I do something I’ll regret. I don’t trust myself to talk to her rationally. I’ve already hurt her. The marks on her arms… They’re probably going to bruise. Damn it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I knew better than to lose control. The last time I lost it… Jesus. I don’t lose control, I don’t let women get to me. They just roll off like raindrops on an umbrella—just as inconsequential and forgettable.

  The story of her rape goes through my head in an infinite loop. What the hell? None of the background checks dug up any info about a rape or subsequent pregnancy…or miscarriage. On the other hand, it makes sense that she wouldn’t tell anybody…although it’s mind-boggling that her doctors had no clue. But maybe she never got checked and just let her body do its thing.

  I’ve stopped underestimating women—and how far they will go to get what they want.

  A violent need to destroy something roils in my gut. I would do anything to go back and rip apart the son of a bitch who took her choice away from her.

  You’re just like that boy…

  Fuck. Fuck!

  I tunnel my fingers into my hair and grip until it feels like it’s coming unrooted. I didn’t… She has no idea what the hell she’s talking about. But then how could she know when I never told her?

  My siblings don’t know either. I’ve never talked about it. At first I was a malleable idiot. Then later I was too humiliated and furious.

  I’m sure Dad knows everything—it fit his MO. But he also didn’t brag about his role. Men like him are supreme assholes but also know how to manage a public persona. To everyone else in the world, he’s a self-made man who was strict with his children and taught them the value of hard work. So what if he’s had six wives? His success excuses such a minor flaw.

  I dig the heels of my hands against my eyes, then blink when the elevator stops at the garage level. I hop into my Maserati and drive, my mind working on autopilot.

  The freeway is a tangled snarl of cars going nowhere fast. I get off and take other roads until I somehow end up at Ryder’s mansion.

  It’s practically a fortress, with thick concrete walls and barbed wire on top. Security cameras monitor the premises twenty-four seven, and it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if the place also has anti-air missiles to shoot down helicopters. Ryder hates uninvited media, and he absolutely abhors psycho fans, of which he has tons.

  The gates unlock at my arrival. I’m on the special guest list, and can come and go as I please.

  I park in front of the main mansion and climb out. As I turn toward the marble steps leading to the front door, I hear Ryder’s voice from behind me.

  “Yo, Elliot. Over here!”

  He waves from the pool. I walk over. “What the hell, man? Swimming at this hour?”

  “Jet lag,” he says, heaving himself out of the water. Rivulets pour down his lean and tanned body. Looks like the time in Thailand was good for him. “Want a scotch?”

  “Sure.” He goes to the bar and grabs a bottle and tumblers, while I take a seat at the table by the pool.

  “Your wife okay?”

  “Seems to be.” I drag my fingers through my hair again. I can’t talk about her past. It’s her private life, and I have no right to air it.

  With a dark scowl, he pushes a full glass of scotch my way. “Boy, Number Six really fucked things up.”

  “Yup.”

  “She’s lucky there was nothing sharp around. Could’ve sworn your wife was going to cut her.”

  No kidding. But it was more than just outrage. It was… I forcibly breathe through my mouth, hating the tight feeling in my gut. “When do you think he’s going to get rid of her?”

  “Before the year’s over. Hopefully. You aren’t the only one who can’t stand her.” Ryder’s jaw hardens. “She insulted Paige at my place.”

  I take a healthy swallow of the liquor. “Is there anyone she hasn’t pissed off?”

  “Dad, maybe. She needs his money.”

  I snort.

  We finish our scotch in silence.

  “It’s only a year,” Ryder says.

  “Exactly,” I respond even as my heart thumps a little harder.

  “You have a good prenup in place?”

  I nod.

  “See. There you go. Totally protected.”

  “Of course.”

  “Just… Don’t let her mess with your head. Buy her something nice and she’ll calm down.”

  “Does your wife calm down when you buy her something nice?”

  Ryder barks out a laugh. “No. She’d probably try to brain me.”

  I make a noncommittal noise. “Mine would probably do the same.”

  “Reeeeeaaaaaally?” He cocks an eyebrow. “So where did you find her?”

  “At one of my favorite clubs, then out of that cake you didn’t send.”

  “Bro, I swear I didn’t. Did you ever find out who did?”

  “Nope.” That still bothers me. The cake company said it was handled by some guy who paid cash. Since their clients don’t always want their information made public, a lot of them don’t even give out their real names when booking a service. But the man wasn’t that old—maybe in his late thirties or forties, the company rep couldn’t say for certain—with rather ordinary brown hair and brown eyes and nothing else to notice.

  “Maybe they got something mixed up.”

  “Maybe.” I stare at the water. A breeze ripples the surface. “Strippers are supposed to be simple.”

  Ryder gives me an unreadable look. “All women are simple…so long as you don’t care.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Annabelle

  When I open my eyes, I’m still on the floor in the same position I was in last night. My neck protests as I move, and my knees actually creak and pop. I rub my face and check the clock. It’s almost nine, and Elliot didn’t come home.

  Or if he did, he certainly didn’t come into the master suite.

  I raise myself up with care, moving like an old lady. I shouldn’t have said the things I did last night.

  Now that I have some time to digest what happened, it’s obvious I overreacted and lashed out at Elliot and ruined what should’ve been a nice dinner with his siblings and father. He’s not responsible for his stepmother. She acted like a spoiled brat, determined to do whatever she wanted because she’s the “mom”.

  I shouldn’t have freaked out the way I did, and I shouldn’t have said half the things I said. I’m the one who’s trying to turn what’s between us into something it’s not. It’s unfair for me to say okay to it then later complain about it being not good enough when Elliot has done everything he promised. Actually more than what he promised. He didn’t have to go out of his way to arrange for Nonny’s transfer. Or get me into an investment house.

  I strip the dress off and shower quickly. Then I throw on a blue cotton housedress that says Keep Calm and Let It Go, leaving my feet bare. My hair hangs damp over my shoulders. I’m feeling too defeated to bother drying it.

  The guest suite is empty, and so is Elliot’s office. So he didn’t come home last night. Where did he go? A hotel? A friend’s place?

  Maybe Ryder’s. His brother is back in town.

  I sigh. I should call and apologize. Then just get through the year without any more drama. I can do that. I’m a survivor. I can survive anything.

  My p
hone’s in the living room, where I left it last night. Nonny’s still sleeping, and I leave her be. It’s Saturday, and sleep will be good for her hangover.

  I unlock the screen. Notifications for missed texts pop up. The first one’s from Mr. Grayson. Congratulations on your marriage. You chose wisely.

  My teeth grind together. He has no idea how much I dislike him now. He used to be helpful, but not anymore. To him, I’m just a girl who owes him…who can’t even eat without him. Thanking him would be the polite thing to do, but I can’t bring myself to type the words. I skip to the other missed texts. They are all from Dennis.

  We have to talk.

  What the fuck?

  Don’t ignore me!

  What’s wrong with you?

  You owe me! Damn it!

  You bitch! Are you trying to ruin me?

  I rub my eyes. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Did he even text the right person? I told him I’d get back to him. As a matter of fact, I was planning to contact him after the family dinner was over to figure out when we can sit down and talk. Whatever we have to say to each other won’t be pleasant, but it’s a necessary step given our history.

  I start the coffee. After caffeinating myself, I’m calling Elliot, then texting Dennis. Just as the machine’s done brewing, the doorbell rings.

  As I get close to the door, I hear voices—one female and the other Elliot’s. He’s speaking softly but forcefully, while the woman’s talking rather loudly with a lot of heat.

  I open the door just as he says, “Annabelle.”

  I almost let go, stunned that he’s using my name. He’s in the clothes from last night, except now they’re rumpled. Even so he’s still heartbreakingly gorgeous.

  The woman is a willowy brunette with lush breasts and hips. She looks to be around Elliot’s age, and the makeup on her heart-shaped face is so flawless, it almost looks photoshopped. Dark hair tumbles over her slender shoulders, and the diamonds around her throat sparkle expensively. Her brown-eyed gaze flicks to me for a fraction of a second, then dismisses me as inconsequential. She rests a hand on his forearm. “Yes, love?”