by Leigh James
“Wes!” The word came out garbled, as if I were underwater.
Carey undid the safety and hissed at me, “I said, shut up!”
“Hannah Taylor, I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I don’t have time for lies.” She stood at the foot of my bed, her arms crossed against her petite frame.
I jumped out of bed, and she moved in front of me, blocking my path.
Carey went inside the bathroom.
In the slow, stupid grip of my panic, I noticed that Li Na was even more beautiful in person. Her hair was perfect. She wore her signature bright lipstick, a black leather bomber jacket, and slim-fitting pants. Dressed to kill.
My heart thudded so hard, I thought it might burst.
“What are you doing here.” I couldn’t make it sound like a question.
She smiled, playing along, revealing her perfect white teeth. “You ruined my life. And because I have nothing left to lose, I’m here to ruin yours.”
The gun went off in the bathroom. I could hear the glass from the shower stall shatter and explode.
Finally finding my voice, I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “Wes!”
Li Na at least had the decency to let me finish. Then she stepped forward, her high heels clicking on my hardwood floor. Who wears high heels to murder someone? I thought, wildly, but I refused to let that be my last thought—I grabbed my lamp off the nightstand and wielded it, threatening to strike her with it.
I thought of Wes. I thought of our baby, tiny and growing inside me. Can I reason with her? “You don’t have to do this—”
She took another step forward. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Hannah. I’m not afraid of you.”
I threw the lamp at her face, but she dodged in time, the impertinent, thieving, murderous c-word of a CEO that she was. She came at me again, but that was when Wes barreled out of the bathroom, stark naked and dripping wet, pointing Carey’s gun at her head.
“Wes! Wes.” My shoulders shook with sobs as he bolted for us. He shoved the gun against Li Na’s head.
She looked at his penis and frowned. “I am not impressed.”
He frowned back. “The feeling’s mutual.”
“Just do it,” she snapped, sounding bored. She motioned to the gun. “It’s better this way. You get your revenge, I go quick. Win-win.”
“Wes—don’t. Don’t do it!” I shrieked.
Wes looked like he really wanted to do it.
“Please. Let her rot in prison like she deserves. Let her wear prison clothes and eat prison food and be somebody’s bitch. Please.”
Both Li Na and Wes groaned.
But he didn’t shoot her.
And he gave me enough time to call the police.
* * *
We’d finished our interviews with the police and the FBI. Carey’s body had been removed from the bathroom, and Lauren had hired a service to clean up the rest of the mess.
Li Na had been taken away in handcuffs by Agent Marks, who seemed happy to finally get his hands on her. It turned out she’d bribed several Chinese government officials, managing to escape extradition long enough to get on a private plane to California.
“Can you believe she actually came to your house?” Bethany shivered.
“No. I can’t believe it.” I took one of the crudités intended for Lauren’s botched shower off the tray and unceremoniously stuffed it into my mouth.
Fiona eyed me. “Do you want some wine to go with that? You could probably use it after a day like today.”
Lauren, Bethany, and Fiona all leaned forward, waiting for me to finish chewing so I could answer.
“No, thanks,” I mumbled. “I’m pregnant.”
“I knew it!” Lauren shrieked, hugging me. “Oh my God, I’m going to be an aunt! Pay up,” she said to Bethany, who rolled her eyes, but then happily handed over a hundred-dollar bill.
Fiona wiped tears from her eyes and poured wine for the rest of them, while I shoved another appetizer into my mouth. “You did not know.”
Lauren took a triumphant sip of wine. “Did so. I cannot wait for you to have a baby. We’re going to play classical music for it, and start math flash cards at an early age, and have a baby shower instead of a stupid bridal shower. Okay?”
I giggled. “Okay. I’m not going to say no to you, not today. I’m so sorry about your shower.”
“I’m not.” Lauren grinned, but then her expression turned serious. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you think you need to get checked out? That was an awful scare you had.”
“I feel fine. But I still don’t know why she came here. I mean, I know why she came here, but did she really think hurting me and Wes was going to solve her problems?”
Wes, Gabe, Levi, and Ellis came in then. Ash was at FBI headquarters, following up with Agent Marks on behalf of Betts Security. We wanted to make sure we knew exactly what was happening with Li Na, unlike earlier today.
Gabe sat down next to Lauren and threw his arm around her. “I don’t think she was looking to solve problems per se—I think she was looking for her own version of justice. I think she thought coming after the person who’d shamed her was the only honorable thing to do.”
Wes sank down next to me. “I swear, she wanted me to shoot her. She wanted me to end it.”
Gabe nodded. “Again, I think that fits with her notion of honor. Rotting in a prison cell isn’t very honorable, but going down fighting is.”
Ellis stood behind Fiona, while Levi sat near-ish to Bethany, who glared at him.
“What?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed by her of if he thought her glaring was cute—maybe both.
She just rolled her eyes.
“I told you Carey was a bad seed.” Ellis’s voice startled all of us. “You never should’ve trusted him.”
“You’re right,” I said. “He did give me fair warning, though—he said he’d go to the highest bidder. In the end, I guess that was Li Na.”
“But Carey served his purpose.” Fiona had a sip of wine. “He gave the police the name of Jim’s killer.”
“True.”
Ellis smiled at me, breaking the sad mood. “By the way, congratulations—I can’t wait to be an uncle.”
I grinned at him and then at all my friends. My baby was already the luckiest person I knew.
Later, when everyone had gone home and Wes and I were settled in the guest room, he traced a finger across my jawline.
“That scared the hell out of me today.” His eyes were wide, sad.
“Me too. When I heard the gunshot…”
“Shh, don’t.” He leaned down and nuzzled his face against me. “I Hulk-smashed his ass, and we don’t ever have to talk about it again.”
“Okay.”
We were quiet for a minute, his heart beating against mine. I’d thought he’d fallen asleep when he said, “I was going to wait for the right time for this, the absolutely perfect time, but I’m pretty sure that because we almost died today, and we already bought this house, and we’re pregnant, this is it.”
“Okay?”
He sat up and reached for the drawer of the nightstand. He pulled out a box and held it out to me shyly.
“What’s that?” I knew what it was, but I wanted to hear it.
“Open it.”
I opened the box to see the most beautiful ring ever, the exact one I’d circled in all the bridal magazines I’d left lying around the house. It was a large, ethically sourced diamond, mined from sources that followed strict labor regulations and environmental standards.
Hey, when you had specific taste, you needed to be…specific.
“Oh my God! It’s gorgeous! It’s perfect!”
Wes’s eyes sparkled as he slid the ring onto my finger. “I can’t imagine spending another day without you. I want to grow old with you, have a family with you, share my life with you. Will you marry me? I love you so much.”
I beamed at him. “I love you more. And by the way, the answer is yes. Hell yes.”
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Wes clasped my hand, admiring the way the ring sparkled against my skin. He leaned down and whispered to my stomach, “An ethically sourced, conflict-free engagement ring. Now I’ve heard everything, little buddy!”
I giggled, then leaned down to kiss the man I loved.
* * *
Also By Leigh James
* * *
Silicon Valley Billionaires
LAUREN
GABE
HANNAH
* * *
The Escort Collection
Escorting the Billionaire
Escorting the Actress
Escorting the Player
Escorting the Groom
* * *
The Liberty Series
Liberty Begins (Free!)
Liberty At Last
Liberty…And Justice for All
* * *
The Bad Judgment Series
Dangerous Proximity
Special Thanks
Thank you to my readers! Every single one of you light up my days. I love hearing from you, and also that you love the Silicon Valley Billionaires…your support means everything!
You can sign up for my mailing list at www.leighjamesbooks.com to be notified of new releases.
Thank you to Marie Force for being an amazing publisher, mentor, and person. Working with you has taught me so much—it’s a privilege and an honor! Thanks to the wonderful editing and eagle eye of Linda Ingmanson. Julie Cupp of Jack’s House, thank you for always making the publishing process shiny and painless! Also, a huge shout-out to Holly, Lisa, and the team at Jack’s House for taking me on and their continued support.
I could not write without the love and support of my husband and my three children. You guys make every day worth it. And a special shout-out to my mom, who is always ready with a pep talk, and who always told me to never give up.
About the Author
Leigh James is an author of contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She is a vocal lover of strapping alpha males in movies, books and real life, which makes her three kids roll their eyes and makes her husband feel appreciated.
When she's not writing, you can usually find her reading or watching Outlander, Game of Thrones, and Vikings (see penchant for alpha males, above). She has a degree in journalism from the University of New Hampshire, which is good for deadlines and word counts, and a law degree from Suffolk University with a Concentration in High Technology Law, which is helpful when writing about sexy tech billionaires with legal woes.
For more information about Leigh, please visit her website, “Like” Leigh on Facebook and follow her on Twitter, Instagram and Goodreads. Join Leigh’s newsletter to be the first to hear about upcoming releases. She’s loves hearing from her readers. Email her directly at [email protected].
Also from Jack’s House
Sink your teeth into another powerful romantic suspense series from Jack’s House Publishing!
Wicked Beautiful
Chapter 1
Bitch: noun a slang pejorative for a woman who is belligerent, unreasonable, malicious, a control freak, rudely intrusive, or aggressive.
From behind a Plexiglas podium on the vast, lighted stage in the Broadway Ballroom of the Marriott Marquis hotel in Times Square, I stand looking out, scanning the faces of the twenty-five-hundred women in the audience.
Pride suffuses me. Even after raising the price to two hundred dollars a ticket, I’m still packing these seminars to standing room only.
Man-hating is big business. I’ve built my entire empire on it.
I lean forward and speak into the microphone. “Ladies, a show of hands, please. How many of you have ever been called a bitch?”
Over two thousand hands shoot into the air.
“Well, congratulations. You’re doing something right.”
Scattered laughter from the crowd. Smiling, at ease because I’ve given this particular speech dozens of times before, I unhook the mic and stroll out from behind the podium, smoothing a stray wrinkle from the perfectly tailored waist of my white Armani suit.
“Let’s take a closer look at this definition of bitch for a moment.” I turn to the large projection screen on the wall behind me. “Belligerent. A word meaning hostile, combative, warlike. We all know what unreasonable means: uncooperative, unhelpful, difficult.”
Grinning, I turn back to the audience. “So far, so good.”
More laughter.
“Then we have malicious. That’s a real baddie. It means intending to do harm, cruel, or unkind. No bueno, right? And how about control freak? A person who attempts to dictate how everything around her is done. Not so great. Rudely intrusive is self-explanatory, and then we come to my favorite one. Aggressive.”
The smile fades from my face. For a silent beat, I examine the audience, enjoying watching them watching me. I get such a charge from being up in front of so many people, having them hang on my every word. It’s almost better than sex.
Definitely better than the sex I had last night, anyway. I left Mr. Forty Seconds of Fury lying sprawled on his back in his bed without a backward glance. I should’ve known it would be a disaster when he claimed to be packing a python in his pants. I have heels bigger than his dick.
“The word aggressive is commonly only used in reference to rabid dogs, savage dictators, or a woman with an opinion. If a man is aggressive, he’ll be described as a go-getter, or ambitious, or even simply masculine. In fact, every word in the definition of bitch that you see here is a masculine attribute. Warlike? Difficult? Unkind? Controlling? Those are all the antithesis of what society tells a woman she should be, because they are inherently masculine traits. So when a man calls you a bitch, he’s really saying you’re acting like a man.”
I pause for effect and then say forcefully, “And I’m here to tell you that acting like a man is the only way you’ll ever get what you want out of life.”
In the ballroom, it’s silent as a graveyard. Everyone stares at me, waiting.
“This is a man’s world, ladies. It might be cliché, but it’s the truth. Women are born at a disadvantage. We lack testosterone, the hormone responsible for the urge to build skyscrapers and fly to the moon and go to war. We are conciliators, peacemakers, nurturers. We are self-sacrificing, which is not only ridiculous, but also a ridiculous waste of potential. What we need to be in order to live truly fulfilled, productive lives is powerful. Can anyone tell me how a woman becomes powerful? Just shout it out. You don’t have to raise your hands.”
There are a few calls of “Education!” and “Self-knowledge!” and even “Weight lifting!” which brings on laughs. I laugh too, loving the energy of the room.
“Those are all good examples. But none of them get to the heart of the matter.”
I always make sure to use the word heart. It’s every woman’s Kryptonite. Well, that and love. But that word is strictly verboten in my seminars.
And in every other part of my life.
“Here’s a quote from Roseanne Barr. ‘The thing women have yet to learn is that nobody gives you power. You just take it.’ Sounds simple enough, right? The problem with that is that it assumes the source of power is outside you. It isn’t. You already have all the power you need, but you’ve been giving it away. You’ve been trading it, bartering it, squandering it, because your need to be liked is stronger than your need to honor yourself. Every time you don’t speak up if you’re disrespected, every time you say ‘yes’ when you should say ‘no,’ every time you put someone else’s needs or desires ahead of your own, you give away your power. And what do you get in return?”
I wait. The audience leans forward, a collective held in thrall.
“Frustration. Resentment. Anger.”
Heads nod. I’m preaching to the choir. Picking up energy, I turn and stride stage right. Every eye in the auditorium follows me.
“Here’s a fun statistic. Women are nearly twice as likely as men to suffer from depression. Twice as likely. Do you thin
k that’s fair?”
When I hold out the mic toward the audience, I get a blistering shout in return.
“No!”
“Of course it’s not!” I pace back the way I came, my legs eating up the stage, my hair tumbling over my shoulders, a lioness going in for the kill. Agog, they watch me.
“And can you tell me who NEVER suffers from depression?”
Right on cue, hundreds of voices cry out. “Bitches!”
“That’s RIGHT!” I roar. “Bitches never suffer from depression! They don’t suffer from anything, in fact, because if it makes them unhappy, they move on! They don’t try to change it, or whine about it, or spend hours with their girlfriends analyzing why. They simply open their hands and let it go!”
Clapping. Ah, how I adore the sound of clapping. It takes a great deal of effort not to break into another grin, but I manage it. I stand with my legs shoulder-width apart in the center of the stage and gaze lovingly at my audience.
Even in my thoughts, I’m careful not to call them my “minions,” as my best friend Darcy does. The word is far too disrespectful for a group of people who are putting half a million dollars in my pocket for a few hours of listening to me talk.
“The bitch’s motto is, ‘After me, you come first.’ Whether it’s a man, or a job, or a family member, the priority is always her own happiness. In this way, and in this way only, a woman controls her own destiny, and realizes and safeguards her power. She’s never at the mercy of anyone else.” I pause briefly to let that all sink in. “What you need, ladies, is simply a new interpretation of that old insult for a strong woman. A definition you can truly embrace.”
A new graphic flashes on the large projector screen on the wall behind me.
Bitch: noun a woman in control of herself, her life, and her destiny, who always gets what she wants.
