Filthy Rich

by Dawn Ryder

  Despite the dry Vegas heat, Allie went cold all over. “What are you talking about?”

  Dave tugged on his earlobe and wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “I’ll explain it all tonight.” Another drawn-out pause. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  She shook her head, gripping the phone like it was a lifeline. “Tell me now. And who is Trevor Blake?”

  “He’s an investor. English guy.” His breath sounded ragged, his voice shaky. “I borrowed money for the business. But when your mom…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

  Allie staggered backward a few feet until her ass hit the Festiva’s taillight, her stomach in free fall. She felt a little woozy. “No,” she whispered. “It’s all we have left.” Lose the house? They’d already lost so much. “The business will pick up. We just need more time to pay off this loan. I could get a second jo—”

  “No. The business is busted. It’s over. You don’t know how sorry I am.” She heard his pain, as clear and sharp as her own. “Trevor Blake’s the new owner.”

  A thousand thoughts flooded Allie’s brain. How were they going to survive? Where would they live? How much time did they have before the new owner kicked them out?

  No, she couldn’t think about any of that. She needed to fix this. Now.

  She gathered herself together and pushed off the car. “Dad, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this tonight.” Without waiting for his reply, she hit the end button and tossed her hair over her shoulder as she strode back to Dave, shoving her phone into the pocket of her slacks.

  Another day, another freaking crisis. She needed to get rid of this guy before her youngest sister got home. If Brynn thought they were losing the house—well, Allie had to make sure that didn’t happen.

  “Mr. Buchanan?”

  A red-faced Dave looked at her with pity. “Sorry. These things are tough,” he said. “The economy’s bad for everyone right now.”

  God, Allie was so tired of pity. So tired of empty platitudes. She squared her shoulders and clung to her purse strap with both hands. “This isn’t a bank thing. We’re not in foreclosure.” Realizing how defensive she sounded, she swallowed and tried for a softer tone. “Can I see that?” Allie nodded at the clipboard.

  “Sure, of course.” Dave handed it over and stared at the Garcia’s house next door. With its freshly painted exterior and decorative yucca plants, it was the complete opposite of Allie’s raggedy place with peeling brown paint and a crumbling driveway.

  She read through the form, making a few mental notes. “Mr. Buchanan? I need you to put off this appraisal until tomorrow.” She held out the clipboard.

  “Not possible. Look, I’m sorry for your troubles, but I’ve got a job to do.”

  All right, Dave, time to pull out the big guns. Allie widened her eyes, glanced up at him through her lashes, and took a deep breath. “Please? Just twenty-four hours, that’s all I’m asking.” She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Please, Dave?” she whispered.

  He gulped and licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth. Finally, he let out a gusty breath. “Okay, what the hell? But I’m coming back tomorrow. And I’m getting in the house, one way or another.”

  Allie smiled. “Thank you.” Ma’am my ass.

  He sniffed and hitched up his jeans before climbing into his truck.

  She had bought herself some time, but how was she supposed to get their house back in twenty-four hours? And what if she couldn’t?

  She closed her eyes for a second. Focus. One thing at a time. Groceries first.

  Allie made three trips, hauling bags into the house. As she shoved a box of cereal in the cupboard, she heard the front door slam. “Brynn, is that you?”

  She stuck the milk in the fridge and glanced at the kitchen doorway to find her fifteen-year-old sister propped against the jamb. With a bulging backpack, she looked like a turtle ready to topple over. Brynnie was pale. And too thin.

  “How was your day?” Allie asked.

  Brynn studied her thumbnail and shrugged.

  “You hungry? I could make you—”

  “No, thanks.”

  Allie grabbed four potatoes out of the bag and dropped them in the sink. “What about your geometry test? Did you kick ass and take names?”

  Brynn scuffed her toe over the worn, beige linoleum, causing a high-pitched squeak. “It was easy. Boring.”

  “Your art teacher emailed me this morning.” Allie glanced over her shoulder. “She said you didn’t want to enter your drawing in the art show this year.”

  “So?”

  “That’s the drawing of Mom, right? The one of her in the hospital.” Their mother had been beautiful, even if she had lost all her hair and forty pounds. Her frame was thin, her face gaunt, but her smile was radiant. Brynn had captured that. “Mom was proud of that picture, Brynn. And your teacher said you could win an award.” Allie scrubbed at the potatoes and blotted them with a paper towel.

  Brynn rolled her eyes. “Who cares about awards? I’m not showing it. Ever. And why’re you making so many potatoes? Dad will be late and Monica won’t be home.” Digging a hand in her pocket, she whipped out her phone, her thumbs flying over the keyboard.

  “Have you heard from her?” Allie asked.

  “Right. Like she talks to me.”

  “She skipped school again today.”

  Brynn ignored her.

  “Did Monica even get on the bus?”

  “No.” Brynn paused and glanced up. “One of her stupid friends picked her up at the bus stop. As usual.”

  Fantastic. Banking her anger and frustration, Allie dried her hands on a dish towel. “We’re having pork chops for dinner tonight.” Pork chops were Brynn’s favorite. That’s why Allie’d bought them, even though they weren’t on sale. She knew the chances of Brynn coming out of her room for dinner were almost nonexistent, but she kept trying.

  “I’m not hungry. Sometimes…I just wish we could all be together again.” She said it so quietly, Allie barely caught the words.

  “We can be. I’ll text Monica and tempt her with chocolate cake. A family dinner would be nice.” The cheerful note Allie forced into the words grated on her nerves. She knew what Brynn meant. But if she thought about it right now, she’d completely fall apart. And she couldn’t do that in front of her little sister.

  “Monica would never pull this crap if Mom were here. I miss her so much.” Brynn pressed a hand to her abdomen. “I remember how it was before she got sick.”

  Allie remembered too. The house had been filled with chatter and laughter and the smell of her mother’s sweet perfume. But the chatter had been replaced by Monica’s bitching and Allie’s nagging. Deep lines of stress and worry etched their way across her dad’s face, and he seemed older than his fifty years. Losing Mom changed everything. For all of them. And Brynn was right. Monica wouldn’t dare act like this if Mom were alive. Allie was doing her best, but she made a poor substitute parent. And Monica resented the hell out of her for it.

  Allie glanced away from the pain in her sister’s eyes. “Dinner will be ready soon. Do you have homework? When is that English essay due?”

  “I know what I need to do,” Brynn said. “You don’t have to keep reminding me. I’m not a six-year-old.”

  Allie stepped forward, her hand outstretched to pat Brynn’s shoulder, but her sister turned and walked out of the kitchen. As Allie’s arm fell, so did the fake smile that left her cheeks sore.

  She wanted to follow Brynn, hold her close, tell her everything would be all right—even though it was a lie. Everything will be fine. It gets better. We’ll be okay. Lies. She said them over and over and felt like a fraud every time.

  A hug wouldn’t make Brynn feel better. Wouldn’t bring her mom back. Wouldn’t heal her family.

  Allie glanced at the wooden doorjamb
Brynn had been leaning against and the growth marks her mother had charted. Each sister had a different color. She traced a finger over her own red marks. This was her family’s history.

  Crossing her arms, Allie cast her eyes over the dated kitchen, took in the red-and-white-checkered curtains and the rooster wall clock. Her mom loved that stupid rooster.

  Allie made a promise. Take care of the family. She was supposed to hold everything together, but she was failing. Big time.

  Losing the house would be like losing her mom all over again.

  She had to talk to this Trevor Blake, make him understand, beg if she had to. Allie was prepared to do anything to keep the promise she made. She would take care of everyone—starting with the house. She was going to get it back.

  And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  ***

  Trevor Blake sat behind his polished desk and stared at the girl—woman, really—who’d come to plead her father’s case. Her lips were full and pink. Her cheeks were bright with color. She was flustered, nervous, hand trembling as she repeatedly tucked her pale hair behind one ear.

  Lovely. Although that uniform should be burned. The bright green waistcoat hid a spectacular pair of breasts.

  “So, that’s why we have to keep the house.” She looked at him and waited.

  Chin propped on his palm, he stared at her. Truly lovely. He roused himself and straightened in his seat. “I don’t care, Miss Campbell.”

  With wide blue eyes, she stared back. “Excuse me? I don’t understand.”

  Trevor placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “I said I don’t care. Not about your problems, not about your house. I don’t care about any of it.”

  She blinked a few times. “But my mother died six months ago. We’re still trying to recover.”

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He gestured toward the door.

  She shook her head and a few blond strands slid over those amazing tits. “No, I won’t excuse you. Didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t know what my father owes, but we can pay you back. We just need time.”

  “I was only half listening, really.” He leaned forward, his gaze resting on her face. “You’re rather beautiful. I find it distracting.”

  With a clenched jaw, she clutched the armrests of her chair until her knuckles were white. As she took a deep breath, the green buttons on the waistcoat strained and looked ready to pop right off the bloody thing. Very distracting indeed.

  “Please, I’m trying to keep my family together, Mr. Blake. Since my mom died, that house is all we have left. Surely you understand that?”

  “I don’t have family, Miss Campbell. Relatives are considerably more trouble than they’re worth.” A pain in the bloody ass was more like it. He flatly refused to acknowledge his own.

  “Please?” Her voice was a breathy whisper and she tugged on that full bottom lip with her teeth. “Can you give us an extension? Just a month or two. I promise we’ll pay every cent.”

  He bit back a smile. Oh, she was good at this. Very practiced. Most men probably tripped over their own cocks to give her what she wanted. But he wasn’t most men. And her sad eyes left him as unmoved as her tragic little family drama. “Do you know what I do, Miss Campbell? Who I am?”

  She met his gaze. “Who are you, Mr. Blake?”

  “I am, for lack of a better phrase, an investment angel. When I loaned your father money to expand his business, he put your house up as collateral.” He lifted his shoulder. “But he’s hemorrhaging money, an astounding feat given that he has a commercial refrigeration repair business and we’re in the middle of a desert. He even sold off the tools and equipment, which were also mine.” He raised a brow in annoyance. Brian Campbell had gone behind his back. Did he think Trevor wouldn’t find out? And even though the loss was trivial, Trevor hated losing money, no matter how small the amount. “How your father’s managed to keep his head above water this long is something of a mystery.”

  “What? No, you’re wrong. He wouldn’t do that without telling me.” She scooted to the edge of her seat and placed her hands on top of his desk. Her nails were ruthlessly short, the skin around them red and rough. “You can’t do this. My sisters will be out of a home. I’m begging you.”

  “I am sorry for your plight, but it changes nothing. Now, I trust you can find your way out.” Dismissing her, he turned his attention to one of the computer screens and checked the commodities prices. Wheat held steady, oil down, gold up.

  Hmm, he’d made a nice little sum today. Not a fortune, but tidy.

  When he glanced back, she still hadn’t moved. The heat drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale. That lush bottom lip trembled.

  Trevor sighed. Oh God, not tears. He narrowed his eyes and gave her a nasty, calculated smile. “You know, Miss Campbell, with assets like yours, you could make money in this town. I’m sure you could work a pole as well as the next girl. Or there are the brothels. Prostitution is legal in parts of Nevada, after all.” Just as he’d planned, the tears that clung to her lashes didn’t fall. Color flushed her cheeks. He’d lit the fuse, and now he waited for the explosion. Anger—so much better than tears.

  She leaped to her feet and slammed her palm on his desk. “Fuck you. Take your loan and your investment angel bull crap. Just…” Her gaze darted from his face to the multiple computer screens and her mouth flattened into a straight line. Angry eyes met his. “Fuck. You.”

  He took in her pink cheeks, the determined tilt of her chin, then his gaze slid downward, landing on her breasts, which were rapidly rising in agitation. “If you’d like, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “My God, do you think this is funny? My mother is dead, my father is now unemployed, my sisters are about to get kicked out of their home, thanks to you, and you’re joking about sex?”

  He splayed his hand over his chest. “I never joke about sex, Miss Campbell. I take my fucking very seriously.”

  She froze for a moment, her lips forming a perfect O before she turned and stalked across the room to the fireplace. Clasping the edge of the marble mantel, she remained silent.

  Even in those hideous black trousers, her ass looked nice and firm. She was rather magnificent.

  He was a bastard for saying those things to her, for taking her family home. But it was business. It wasn’t personal. Why didn’t people understand that?

  She swung toward him. “All right. If that’s the only way, then I’ll do it.”

  “What?” Her ass had him in a bit of a daze. What had they been talking about?

  “I accept.”

  He replayed the last couple of minutes over in his mind. Then it finally hit him, like a cricket bat to the head. She was offering to fuck him in exchange for her house. Dear God.

  She licked her lips and glanced at the door.

  Already regretting her hasty offer? Good, she should be. And of course, the idea was ridiculous. She was hardly the type to offer up her body in exchange for anything as mundane as a small house in a rather shabby part of the city.

  He stood and stepped from the behind the desk, strolling toward her slowly, purposefully. His gaze lowered to her mouth. She audibly swallowed but stood her ground. He liked her spirit. She was tall, but he towered over her, forcing her to crane her neck to glare up at him.

  He placed his hands on the mantel and caged her between his arms. With his head angled, he leaned forward. Their lips were only inches apart. Her pupils dilated, her breathing became shallow. If he leaned just a little closer, those breasts would graze his chest. So tempting.

  She smelled good enough to eat—a light, fresh fragrance that wasn’t too delicate, wasn’t overpowering. It made his cock stand up and pay attention. “All right then, I’ll forgive the debt if you agree to cater to my needs. At my beck and call, fulfilling my every whim, f
or as long as I want you. How does that sound?” Dropping his hands, he pulled back and smiled. Positive she would throw his offer and probably her fist in his face, he waited. Baiting her was rather delicious. But he needed to get back to work. He couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon taunting Allie Campbell, as delightful as that sounded.

  She stared at him with those impossibly blue eyes. “All right,” she said after several seconds, “for one month, but I want it in writing.”

  His jaw dropped for an instant, gobsmacked. “Sorry?” He’d just been teasing her. He couldn’t have a mistress. Didn’t want one. Especially one that came with so much baggage. A party girl who knew her way around? Possibly. A woman who had sisters to take care of, a widowed father? He resisted the urge to shudder.

  “I said yes.” She tilted her chin and studied him. “You expected me to say no, didn’t you? Are you trying to welsh out of it?”

  Was she challenging him? Questioning his word? He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her coolly. “I’ve never welshed on anything in my life.”

  She mimicked him, also crossing her arms, and nodded. “Good.”

  “Three months, not one, and there’s a catch, Miss Campbell.” He smiled at the panicked look in her eyes.

  “What’s that?”

  Ah, now he had her. “You have to comply with whatever I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, no matter how…depraved”—his voice deepened on the word, drew it out—“or the deal is off.”

  Her arms fell and she shook her head. “No. Forget it.”

  Excellent. “Well then, good day.” Turning, he walked back to his desk.

  “Wait,” she said, a thread of desperation in her voice. “Two months. And I won’t do anything that could hurt me.”

  He wasn’t sure what possessed him to turn around, but when he did, he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. And it made him feel… He rubbed his chest. He didn’t know what the feeling was, but he didn’t like it. He quickly dropped his hand. “But a little pain can be very pleasurable.”