by Jennie Lucas
Was that a trick question? Was there a chance she wasn’t about to be sacked? “Um, yes?”
Then Laney looked across the elegant suite, with all its feminine decor of Louis XVI furniture and wall-to-wall white shag carpeting, and saw her suitcases and a big box of her things sitting on the floor. And she knew she wasn’t going to get lucky here.
Desperately, she said, “Madame, please forgive me. I owe you an apology—”
“Too late for that.” Coming forward, the comtesse shoved a fifty-euro bill into Laney’s hands. “Here.”
“What’s this?” she said, confused.
“Your last paycheck.”
“But my next paycheck is due tomorrow, for two full weeks. And then there’s also eight weeks of paid vacation time you always postponed—”
“Too bad. That’s all you get.”
“That’s illegal!”
“Who’s going to fight me? You?” Mimi’s expression was hard. “You think you’re my equal now, just because Kassius Black took you to bed? You’re nothing, Laney. No one. Common street trash.” She tossed her blond hair. “Now he’s used you, he’ll toss you out like garbage—”
“Ah. Mimi. So nice to see you this morning.”
Kassius’s husky voice made Mimi whirl around with a gasp. “Oh! I didn’t expect—”
“Happy New Year.” Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he gave her a smile. “I came to help Laney get her things. But also to talk to you.”
“To me?” Mimi said.
His dark eyes were warm. “We have a few things to discuss.”
Laney felt a stab of wild jealousy that made her sick inside, and no amount of reason could argue her out of it.
“Sir?”
A large man had suddenly appeared in the doorway behind Kassius.
“Ah. Benito.” Kassius looked at Laney. “Are those your suitcases?” She nodded. “Is that everything?”
“Of course it’s everything,” Mimi snapped. “Do you think I want her trash left behind?”
He gave her a hard smile, then turned back to the man. “Please take Miss Henry’s suitcases up to the penthouse.”
“Tout de suite, monsieur.”
“Thank you.” He looked pointedly at Laney. “Can you manage the box?”
“Of course I can, but I don’t see why—”
“I’ll see you upstairs later,” he interrupted.
She scowled. She didn’t understand why he’d apparently asked his bodyguard to take her suitcases up to his penthouse. But she’d clearly been dismissed. And so coldly. Kassius couldn’t wait to be alone with Mimi—probably to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and make a date for tonight. While Laney felt exactly like the harlot her ex-boss had implied—standing here like a fool in his oversize robe!
“Sure,” Laney said coldly. “Later.”
As Benito got her suitcases, she tightened the belt of the robe and lifted up the box that held old books, a plant and her grandmother’s quilt. Turning, she left Mimi’s suite with as much dignity as she could muster, without looking back.
Once in the hall, she turned to the bodyguard, or whoever he was. “I’ll take those suitcases. There’s no reason for you to take them upstairs. I’m just going to the airport.”
The man shook his head. “Sorry, mademoiselle. Monsieur Black said to take you and the baggage upstairs, so upstairs you will go.”
He insisted on taking her up in the elevator to the penthouse—her and the rest of the baggage. Once there, Laney stomped to the bedroom, fuming.
“I’m not going to wait for him!” she yelled back grumpily, but the man had already left. Fine. She’d just change her clothes and leave.
She dug through her suitcases for comfy cotton panties and a bra and started to reach for a white shirt and khaki pants. She stopped, remembering she wasn’t anyone’s employee. Not anymore.
Instead, she grabbed a brightly colored vintage T-shirt she’d bought at a flea market, advertising a rock concert in Paris in 1976. She put on red jeans that fit her like a glove, skimming tightly over her small waist, curvy hips and butt. Finally, she zipped up a fuzzy purple hoodie and pulled her hair back in a tight, French ponytail, tumbling straight down her back. Then she reached far into her suitcase for a tube of shocking red lipstick. There. Looking at herself in the bedroom’s mirror, she smacked her lips with satisfaction.
She was done being anyone’s servant.
She was now a woman with prospects.
On second thought, maybe her prospects weren’t so great. But she was at least a woman of ambition.
Let’s face it—she’d always known that working for the spoiled Mimi du Plessis was not exactly a lifetime occupation. It was time she figured out what she really wanted to do with her life, rather than squandering it by fits and starts.
There were other ways to make money. She could go to community college and train for something useful, like nursing or teaching. At twenty-five years old, she was no longer a kid. She could, and should, start acting like it. She would find a way to have a decent career that didn’t leave her depressed and ashamed, one that would let her be close to her family and home. It wouldn’t be easy. She’d likely have to work full-time while she attended night classes. But the sacrifice would be worth it.
She missed her family. Her home. Right now she would have killed for her grandmother’s famous jambalaya with dirty rice, or her fried chicken and collard greens. Cheesy fried grits. A little crawfish étouffée or a muffuletta sandwich. She licked her lips at the thought of the tangy olive salad. Or the perfect breakfast—chicory coffee and hot buttery beignets, laced with powdered sugar, from the Café du Monde.
It was time to face the real world, of work and bills, but also, she thought hopefully, of chicory coffee and fried chicken. The real world, with both its hardships and joys.
But she’d always remember the New Year’s Eve ball and the night she’d been Cinderella.
Her eyes fell on the exquisite golden ball gown on the floor. Slowly, she picked it up and folded it neatly across the back of a chair. Her fingers traced the sparkles of gold over the netting and tulle.
She would never forget the night. Or the man. Ever.
For the next ten years, when she was working two jobs to pay her way through school and studying all night and eating ramen noodles and beans, she’d remember the one night she’d gone to a ball in Monte Carlo, like Grace Kelly.
Laney stuffed her grandmother’s quilt into one of the suitcases and the empty box in the trash. She looked regretfully at the potted geranium. She’d have to leave that behind. She started digging in her small tattered handbag for her phone to order a ride to the airport, then stopped. She had no phone. It had been crushed by Kassius’s car.
But it could have been so much worse. After giving him her virginity, after feeling such unbelievable pleasure and sleeping in the protective comfort of his arms all night, she felt how easily she could have fallen for him. A few more such nights, and he could have really broken her heart.
A phone? That could be replaced.
Snapping the suitcase shut, she stood, and looked around one last time at his lavish penthouse suite, with its expensive modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling views. The sun was shining across the bright blue sea.
With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned away. Dragging the two suitcases, she started for the door. Then stopped when it opened and Kassius came in. He looked at the suitcases, and his expression turned dark.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
“What does it look like?” She returned his gaze steadily. “Leaving.”
“Leaving?” He gave a low laugh, then closed the door behind him. “Laney, we’re just getting started.”
She swallowed and hated how her heart fluttered. The expansive suite suddenly felt small with him stretching the walls inside it. All she could see was him. “I assumed when you wanted to be alone with Mimi...”
“That meeting was not
personal.” His dark eyes glittered. “Just business.”
She blinked. “You’re offering another loan to her boss? I’ve met Boris Kuznetsov, by the way. He’s nice. Takes good care of his employees. Is that why you keep offering him loans?” she said curiously. “Just to help him out?”
“Something like that.” His eyes were hard and veiled as he came closer, holding out a wad of bills. “Here.”
Oh, dear heaven, he surely wasn’t trying to pay her for what they did in bed last night? She said coldly, “What’s that?”
“The money Mimi owes you. Two weeks’ salary. Plus all the vacation she owed you for the past two years.”
“How did you get it from her?”
The edges of his cruel, sensual lips lifted. “I asked nicely.”
Hmm. Truly he had magical powers. She started to reach for the pile of euros, then stopped suspiciously. “What do you want from me in exchange?”
“You think I am trying to buy you?” He sounded amused. “I cannot buy what I already own.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t own me.”
“We made a deal last night.” He ran his hand lightly along her shoulder, over her thin vintage T-shirt. “Or did you forget?”
She had sudden memory of his words, huskily spoken in the dark. If I make you explode with joy, you will surrender everything. You will allow me to take possession of your body and fill you with my child. You will be mine—forever. She blushed.
“But that was ridiculous. A joke,” she stammered. “Verbal foreplay. You don’t actually expect me to—”
“I never joke about deals. Or go back on my word.” He looked at her in the slanted light of morning. “Are you saying you do?”
The morning light of the Mediterranean caressed the hard edge of his cheekbones, with that lightly etched scar, the dark bristle of his sharp jawline, the boyishly mussed-up dark hair that looked so soft that even now, she longed to run her hands through it again. She forced her hands to remain still and lifted her chin. “In my experience, the wealthy have many whims that quickly change.”
“It’s not a whim. My proposal was straightforward. I want a family. I want a wife I can trust. You seemed to indicate you might be such a woman, but your only fear was that you would be inadequate in bed. That fear was proven false.” He leaned forward. “You surrendered yourself to me, Laney,” he whispered, his lips inches from hers. “Everything.”
Her mouth went dry. “What kind of choice did you give me? I had no experience. No chance to resist your expert seduction.”
Towering over her, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I took you against your will?”
“Of course not,” she said helplessly. She spread her hands. “It’s just...women are interchangeable for you. An amusement. You switch them out like dirty socks, never committing to any of them.”
“I’m willing to commit to you.”
She swallowed, shivering with desire. “But it was just fantasy,” she said helplessly. “Don’t men always say things they don’t mean to get women into bed?”
“You feel like home to me.” Reaching down, he cupped her cheek. “I intend to marry you, Laney. Soon. Even now, you might be carrying my child.”
The idea of marrying Kassius...of having his baby...it was a dream, a silly romantic dream. It couldn’t be real! Girls like her didn’t marry billionaires!
“You’re just toying with me,” she whispered.
For an answer, he pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.
His lips were rough and sweet, and as he kissed her, slowly and tantalizingly, her fears and doubts disappeared. She felt lost in the hungry demand of his embrace, the warmth and power of his body against hers. She clung to him, reaching on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck, kissing him back with all the long-dormant passion inside her.
He drew away. “You are mine now,” he whispered against her lips. “Accept what your body already knows.”
She was shaking all over. “Why choose me? We barely know each other!”
“For the same reason I sometimes buy land the moment I see it. Sometimes it’s not about the data or growth numbers or years of study.” Looking down at her, he stroked her long dark hair. “Sometimes you see something, and you just know.”
Was it truly possible? Laney thought of her own parents, who’d known each other their whole childhoods, growing up on the same street, dating all through high school. And look how that turned out.
Was marrying someone you’d known your whole life any less risky than taking a chance on love at first sight?
Love?
Could she love him?
Was she half in love with him already?
She shivered. Infatuation, she told herself. But how would she even know the difference? Maybe love was nothing more than infatuation that lasted.
“But I am going back home to New Orleans,” she said numbly. “To get a job.”
“No.” Kassius ran his hand slowly down her back. “You’re going to stay here and marry me, Laney. You know it. I know it.”
She stared up at him, her whole body shaking, feeling wildly alive, her heart in her throat. Oh, this was insane.
“But strangers don’t just decide to marry,” she breathed.
“Don’t they?” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it. She felt the warmth of his breath, the gentle seduction of his lips. She thought how wonderful it was to have someone beside her. Someone watching over her.
“Would it help if I got down on one knee?” His lips curved humorously as he did just that. Pressing his hand to his heart, he said a little mockingly, “Elaine May Henry, will you do me the honor, the incredible glory, of becoming my—”
“Stop, stop!” she cried, her cheeks burning as she pulled him to his feet. “Don’t tease!”
He looked down at her, his dark eyes serious.
“You are the one doing the teasing, Laney,” he said. “For once and all, what is your answer?”
Her answer?
No.
No, of course.
Except...
Except it was yes.
After a lifetime of being sensible and good, of working all hours and being invisible, she felt the pull of being reckless. Of feeling alive. She yearned to be brave enough to do it—to love him—to jump headlong into the unknown. Right or wrong. She wanted to live.
She exhaled. “All right.”
“You will?”
“Yes.”
“There will be no going back,” he warned.
“I won’t go back.” She offered him a trembling smile. “As you said. The deal was made. I honor my promises.”
“And I honor mine.” Pulling her tight into his arms, he tilted up her chin gently. “From now on, I’ll always take care of you, Laney, and everyone you love. You’ll never have to worry about anything, now you have my ring on your finger...”
She looked down at her bare left hand.
“Which ring is that?” she teased. She looked around the lavish penthouse suite. “Maybe we can find a ribbon or string or something that we can tie around my finger. A plastic ring from a Cracker Jack box?”
Smiling, he started to pull her toward the door. “I can do better than that.”
“Where are we going?”
“The jeweler’s.”
“I was joking,” she protested, then shook her head. “Besides, it’s New Year’s Day. Won’t all the shops be closed?”
His smile widened. “They’ll open for me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MONEY, KASSIUS OFTEN reflected, was magic.
He’d built his business empire from nothing, fueled not by any desire for luxury, but his need for power. From the age of sixteen, he’d been grimly determined to make sure he’d never be desperate and helpless again. Never be ignored or left behind. He’d known he’d someday be so powerful and rich that he could get his revenge on the man who’d left him and his beloved mother behind, like garbage.
At eleven, Kass
ius’s relatively happy childhood had ended when his father had abruptly stopped visiting or even sending money. No father. No money. No power. No name. News rushed through their neighborhood that Kassius’s parents had never even been married, and just like that, the comfort of their little apartment in a quiet Istanbul street had ended.
He and his mother had suddenly found themselves outcasts. The wives of their neighborhood, distrustful of Emmaline’s beauty, immediately froze her out, while their menfolk suddenly believed she would welcome their advances. Kids who’d once been Kassius’s friends turned on him at school, repeating cruel taunts they’d heard from their parents. “Your own father doesn’t want you—why don’t you just curl up and die?”
But in the end it had been Kassius’s fragile mother who had died—first her dreams, then her soul, finally her body. She’d been poisoned by waiting.
“Why don’t we just sell the apartment and leave, Mama?” Kassius had asked her, stricken and bewildered. She’d shaken her head.
“We can’t leave. Your daddy will be back soon...”
But he’d never come back. His Russian father had loved his company and his fortune and his dreams of a Cap Ferrat villa more than he’d loved them.
So that was what Kassius would take from him.
After his mother’s death, when he was still a teenager, he’d sold everything he owned and left Istanbul. He’d borrowed as much money as he could get—some from banks, some from less legal, more dangerous loan sharks—to buy a single run-down tenement in an up-and-coming neighborhood in Athens. He’d rebuilt it himself, brick by brick, risking everything, holding back nothing, sleeping on the floor just four hours a night.
He’d put his foot on the throat of success and forced it to cough up what he wanted.
Over two decades, his small real estate holdings had grown into an international conglomerate. He’d bought up beachfront properties in Croatia, factories in Eastern Europe, spreading to Western Europe, then the Americas, Asia and, most recently, Africa.
In the last few years, as Boris Kuznetsov’s oil company had run into trouble, he’d pounced, quietly buying up his loans and distressed assets, vacation homes around the world, his jet, the yacht. Kuznetsov still did not realize whom he’d lost them to, and why. But all the man had left now were the two things he cared about most: control of his flailing company, and the gaudy pink villa on Cap Ferrat, a luxurious enclave thirty minutes outside Monaco.
