Hate Crush (Filthy Rich)
Page 32
That was another highly secretive deal that Roxanne Medina wasn’t supposed to know about: An American resort company wanted to purchase half the Monte and develop it as a playland for rich Americans to live out their royal fantasies. But her source for that info was easy; his father daily threatened repercussions if Mateo didn’t sign the papers for the deal.
In the three months since Mateo had stormed out of that meeting, leaving his father and the American resort group furious, his IT guy had noticed a sharp rise in hacking attempts against his lab’s computers. And there’d been two attempted break-ins on his apartment, according to his security company.
Billionaire Roxanne Medina might be the preferable devil. At least she was upfront about her snooping and spying.
But have a kid with her? His heir? A child that, until an hour ago, had only been a distant, flat someday, like marriage and death? “So I’m supposed to make a kid with you and then—what—just hand him over?”
“Didn’t the king tell you...? Of course, you’ll get to see her. A child needs two parents.” The adamancy of her raspy voice had Mateo focusing on the screen. The billionaire clutched her fingers in front of the laptop, her blue eyes focused on him. “We’ll have joint custody. We won’t need to see each other again, but your daughter, you can have as much or as little access to her as you’d like.”
She pushed her long black hair behind her shoulders as she leaned closer to the screen, and Mateo once again saw that tiny, gold cross against her skin.
“Your IQ is 152, mine is 138, and neither of us have chronic illnesses in our families. We can create an exceptional child and give her safety, security, and a fairy-tale life free of hardship. I wouldn’t share this responsibility with just anyone; I’ve done my homework on you. I know you’ll make a good father.”
Mateo had been trained in manipulation his whole life. His mother cried and raged, and then hugged and petted him. His father bought him a Labrador puppy and then forced Mateo to lie about the man’s whereabouts for a weekend. Looking a person in the eye and speaking a compliment from the heart were simple tricks in a master manipulator’s bag.
And yet, there was something that beckoned about the child she described. He’d always wanted to be a better everything than his own father.
The nurse sat a contract and pen in front of Mateo. He stared at the rose gold Mont Blanc.
“I know this is unorthodox,” she continued. “But it benefits us both. You get breathing room for your work and financial security for your people. I get a legitimate child who knows her father without...well, without the hassles of everything else.” She paused. “You understand the emotional toll of an unhappy marriage better than most.”
Mateo wanted to bristle but he simply didn’t have the energy. His parents’ affairs and blowups had been filling the pages of the tabloids since before he was born. The billionaire hadn’t needed to use her elite gang of spies to gather that intel. But she did remind him of his own few-and-far-between thoughts on matrimony. Namely, that it was a state he didn’t want to enter.
If he never married, then when would he have an heir?
Mateo pulled back from his navel gazing to focus on her. She was watching him. Mateo saw her eyes travel slowly over the screen, taking him in, and he felt like a voyeur and exhibitionist at the same time.
She bit her full bottom lip and then gave him a smile of promise. “To put it frankly, Príncipe, your position and poverty aren’t the only reasons I selected you. You’re...a fascinating man. And we’re both busy, dedicated to our work, and not getting as much sex as we’d like. I’m looking forward to those three nights a month.”
“Sex” coming out of her lush mouth in that velvety voice had Mateo’s libido sitting up and taking notice. That’s right. He’d be having sex with this tempting creature on the screen.
She tilted her head, sending all that thick black hair to one side and exposing her pale neck. “I’ve had some thoughts about those nights in bed.”
The instant, searing image of her arched neck while he buried his hand in her hair had Mateo tearing his eyes away. He looked out on the city. Jesus. She was right, it had been too long. And he didn’t need his little brain casting a vote right now.
She made it sound so simple.
Her money gave him more than the three years of financial ledge-clinging that he’d scraped together on his own, a timeline that had already caused sleepless nights. The only way Mateo could have the Tempranillo Vino Real planted and profitable in three years is if everything went perfectly—no problems with development, no bad growing seasons. Mother Nature could not give him that guarantee. Her deal also prevented his father from taking more drastic measures. The chance for a quiet phone and an inbox free of plans like the one to capture the Monte’s principal irrigation source and bottle it into “Royal Water” with the king’s face on the label was almost reason enough to sign the contract.
Mateo refused to list “regular sex with a gorgeous woman who looked at him like a lollipop” in the plus column. He wasn’t led around by his cock like his father.
And that child; his far-off, mythical heir? The príncipes y princesas of the Monte del Vino Real had been marrying for profit long before Roxanne Medina invented it. He didn’t know what kind of mother she would be, but he would learn in the course of the year together. And if they discovered in that year they weren’t compatible...surely she would cancel the arrangement. After the initial shock, she’d seemed reasonable.
Gripping on to his higher ideals and shaky rationalizations, he picked up the pen and signed.
The nurse plunked an empty plastic cup with a lid down on the desk.
“What the...?” Mateo said with horror.
“Just the final test,” Roxanne Medina said cheerily from the screen. “Don’t worry. Helen left a couple of magazines in the bathroom. Just leave the cup in there when you’re finished and she’ll retrieve it.”
Any hopes for a reasonable future swirled down the drain. Roxanne Medina expected him to get himself off in a cup while this gargoyle of a woman waited outside the door.
He stood and white-knuckled the cup, turned away from the desk. Fuck it. At least his people were safe. An hour earlier, his hands in the dirt, he’d thought he could save his kingdom with hard work and noble intentions. But he’d fall on his sword for them if he had to.
Or stroke it.
He had one last question for the woman who held his life in her slim-fingered hand. “Why?” he asked, his back to the screen, the question coming from the depths of his chest. “Really, why?”
“Why what?”
“Why me.”
“Because you’re perfect.” He could hear the glee in her rich voice. “And I always demand perfection.”
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ISBN-13: 9781488057052
Hate Crush
Copyright © 2020 by Angelina M. Lopez
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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