Venice Nights (The Billionaire's Girlfriend Prequel)

by Ava Claire

  Isabella clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “What time were you supposed to get breakfast to Mr. Whitmore and his guest?”

  Oh, here we go with that word again.

  “At—” Blanka stopped, shooting her gaze at the clock on the wall. Her face crumbled. “I didn’t realize—”

  “Don’t bother,” Isabella butted in. “After you finish preparing the tardy meal, you are free to go.”

  Blanka glanced at me, her blue eyes swimming before they returned to Isabella. Or Isabella’s back, since the brutal woman was halfway to the door.

  “F-Free to go?” Blanka called after her.

  Isabella stopped, casting a final, smoldering glare at Blanka. “You’re fired.”

  She dropped the bomb and left us to deal with the fallout. My mouth hung open in shock. Horror.

  Tears streamed down Blanka’s face as she obeyed, going back to fixing breakfast.

  Say something...anything!

  “She can’t do that,” I said weakly, standing awkwardly beside the stove. “You lost track of time because of me.”

  Blanka did not say a word, pouring the egg mixture into the skillet. The sizzle cut me to the bone.

  What was left to say?

  I had cost Blanka her job.

  Chapter Eight

  I paced back and forth in front of the door to Jacob's study. I remembered the first time I had made my way to this room, nerves bunched in my stomach because I was not sure what to expect. It was the first time I had fully submitted; the study leading to the special room he had created for a very specific purpose: kink.

  We had not returned to the study since. It was the door to Jacob's world. A world where Saint Andrews crosses stood against the wall, four poster beds took on a whole new meaning, and toy chests were filled with chains and whips instead of dolls and fire trucks.

  Well, I was back in his study—but not for erotic reasons.

  Jacob, Blanka, and Isabella were brought together when I made a last ditch effort to circumvent Isabella's overreaction earlier that morning. I just could not let Blanka be fired for something that was my fault. Or something as silly as running a little late with breakfast.

  I paused mid-pace in front of the door, the word ‘guest’ drawing me in. I scanned the room like there would be eyes in the shadows; watching as I leaned toward the wooden door, ears peeled for any further developments.

  There was a string of indiscernible words, but even muffled I knew that it was Isabella—and she was pissed.

  I pulled back, glaring at the closed door like there was no barrier. I wished I did not have to tattle on Isabella, but she left me no choice. When I was a kid and the teachers showed up right after a confrontation, hurt still all over my face and tears flooding my eyes, I would keep my mouth shut. I would look past the teacher to the bullies, fear flashing in their narrowed gaze—and then I would lie and tell the teacher’s I was okay.

  I fought my own battles, with quips and worst case with my fists. As much as I wished I could have blocked the kitchen doorway and demanded that Isabella give Blanka another shot, I was not her employer. I did not even have a place on the chain of command. So I could have swallowed the guilt and let Isabella get away with it, or I could go to the boss.

  I frowned, my ear practically glued to the door. The boss that apparently has nothing to say! In fact, the whole room was silent.

  I took a step back, just in case the conversation was done, and they were about to exit.

  “Mr. Whitmore...apologize...” Blanka’s voice cut through the quiet and I let out a sigh of relief. There was no way Jacob could let her go when he sees how earnest she was, and I told him it was my fault, right?

  I chewed on my lip, not a fan of the lingering doubt that clouded my head. I would like to think the answer to that question was yes, but Jacob had built a ‘no access’ zone around Isabella. I did not know anything about their past or why he would hire some drill sergeant to watch over a home that he rarely came to. Or why her word was law in the first place.

  I braced my hands on the door, leaning closer.

  “Second chance...if—”

  “Your job is facile!”

  I winced as Isabella’s voice shrilled into my ears, coming through loud and well, loud. She must have realized that she was shouting, or maybe Jacob gave her a look because she quieted down, fragments of her defense, harder to grasp.

  “Job...control...guest—”

  “I swear if she calls me a guest one more time...” I covered my mouth, the words coming out louder than I intended. I took a step back, heat prickling my skin. It had been a wise move disengaging from the door because I would have spilled in the office, crashing to the floor. The door was pulled open, and the vitriol oozing form Isabella was proof that she had heard me—and hoped I would fall on my face too.

  I cleared my throat, pushing aside the last remnants of my embarrassment. I pulled on a mask that would make Jacob proud.

  My voice was calm and measured, just as non-confrontational as the neutral walls of Jacob’s office. “Is everything all right in here?”

  I knew the answer was no, but I would not admit that I had all but put a cup against the door to eavesdrop. My eyes swooped around the room, taking in the cold and efficient furnishings that filled Jacob’s office—dark couches, a black and white painting on the wall, an impressive mahogany desk—and the increasingly impressive man behind it.

  His eyebrow perked at my abrupt entrance. Blanka looked like a woman standing in front of a firing squad. Isabella glowered like she was the one holding the gun.

  “No, everything is not all right.” Isabella plowed toward me, and it took every ounce of guts in me not to back up.

  She stopped a few feet from me, then cast a look at Jacob like she expected him to banish me from the room. When he remained silent, her mouth twisted in disgust.

  “This is a private matter. Haven’t you shoved your nose where it doesn’t belong enough for the day?” When I didn’t budge, she reached out and poked me with her finger. “You’ve already cost Blanka her job—”

  “Excuse me?” I snapped, the cool facade crumbling. “So breakfast would have been a few minutes late—it’s not like Jacob was biting his nails, watching the clock. And I told you it was my fault.”

  “Oh, no one denies that bambina,” she huffed with a bitter laugh. “If only you had minded your business and remembered your place.”

  “Which is where?” I butted in, planted firmly in front of her.

  “Where all the other guests belong,” she said acidly, her dark eyes wild with anger. “In the bedroom.”

  My mouth flew open, the flush of embarrassment and indignation painting my face bright red. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—!”

  “That’s enough.”

  Jacob’s two words were more effective than all the ones me and Isabella were throwing at each other. We turned back to him; the billionaire planted behind his desk. His eyes glowed, and I knew he was tired of us all. He looked at me first, then flicked his eyes at Isabella.

  “For the time being, we all have to live under the same roof.”

  Isabella sighed dramatically. “Jacob, I just think that—”

  “Do not interrupt me,” Jacob growled, his voice low and dangerous. She fell silent, crossing her arms against her chest. “I want to know what happened. From the beginning.” I opened my mouth to fill him, but he finished with, “From Blanka.”

  Blanka swept her bangs from her eyes, stealing a glance at me and Isabella before squeaking. “Me?”

  “Yes.” Picking up on the tension, and the silent threat Isabella was sending Blanka with her eyes, Jacob added, “Please speak freely. Your job is not at risk.”

  I relaxed, mentally pumping my fists. Yay!

  Despite Jacob’s assurance, Blanka was not completely at ease. She had Isabella hate-glaring at her left, and Jacob’s unreadable face in front of her. I moved to where she stood, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

&
nbsp; She looked at me, chin trembling, and I gave her a nod. “It’s okay.”

  Her big eyes clouded with emotion, and she swallowed slowly.

  She turned back to Jacob. “I began breakfast as you requested,” she began, her voice stronger. “Miss Montgomery came down and we started talking, and I lost track of time. Ms. Moretti came in, and since I was late getting you your breakfast, she fired me.” Blanka stopped, wiping her palms on the front of her pants. “That’s what happened, Mr. Whitmore.”

  No one replied for a long moment, and I batted my gaze from Jacob, who gave nothing away, to Blanka, who was losing confidence with the lack of response, and ended with Isabella, who was chomping at the bit. Itching to say something.

  Screw it.

  I took a step toward Jacob. “It was totally my fault. Blanka shouldn’t be fired because of me. She can’t be.”

  My emboldened response was contagious, and Isabella came forward too. “Can’t be? Who’s in charge here? You or Jacob?”

  I wanted to go back and forth with her until the ridiculousness of her actions sunk in, but I ignored her and looked to Jacob. He was the final say. All I could do was hope he would make the right choice.

  Jacob rose, walking to the front of the desk. He perched on the edge, looking at Blanka first.

  “You still have a job, but please be mindful of the requirements set forth by Isabella and myself.”

  Blanka and I let out a single sigh of relief. Just as I was about to hug her, Jacob interrupted.

  “Leave us, Blanka.”

  My stomach dropped.

  Uh oh.

  Blanka left without a second glance, closing the door behind her. I had a feeling she would not have her ear pressed to the door, listening for what happened next. If she were smart, she was putting as much distance between herself and ground zero as possible.

  Jacob’s eyes shot back and forth between Isabella and me. “I want a truce.” When my face scrunched in confusion, he elaborated. “I want you both to shake hands, sing Kumbaya, whatever you need to do to make this right.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Isabella said with a haughty flick of her wrist, dismissing the notion. “She has undermined me from the moment we met—”

  “That’s not true and you know it!” I snapped, whipping to face the woman. “I’ve been nothing but kind and respectful to you and all that’s done is nearly getting an innocent girl fired.”

  “Innocent?” Isabella shook her head like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. “She’s about as innocent as you are.”

  “And what is that supposed to—”

  “Enough!” Jacob roared, his deep voice silencing our argument. Everything that was not nailed down trembled. I had seen the look on his face before; the darkness in his glare, the disgust in the snarl in his lips. It was the look he had when he found out that I betrayed him by striking a deal with Rachel Laraby.

  “Blanka is not fired, Isabella,” Jacob said, sounding each word out, like he was trying to make her understand that it was no longer under debate.

  Isabella did not relent. “But—”

  “Leave us.”

  I did not turn my eyes from Jacob, but I felt every dagger Isabella had thrown at me before she stomped from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Once we were alone I exhaled, the toxicity level dropping until I did not feel like I was about to step into a boxing ring. Jacob had also visibly relaxed, the angry lines in his face easing.

  I came forward, reaching for him with a smile. “Thanks.”

  He dismissed my touch, maintaining the distance between us. “I told you to stay out of it, Leila.”

  I jutted my lip stubbornly. “You know me, Jacob. I’m not gonna stand by while someone gets fired because they served breakfast at 10:05 instead of 10. And not to mention—”

  “Stop talking.”

  My lips curled into a snarl. “Excuse me? We’re not in the bedroom. You can’t just—”

  “Actually, I can,” he said darkly. “Isabella is in charge in my absence. Period.”

  My lips worked double time, but I did not know what to say. How could he side with her, or even give someone that evil power in the first place? There was more to this. More to them. There had to be.

  “What’s the story with you and Isabella?”

  The look of pure rage that streaked across his face made my stomach drop.

  “That’s none of your business.” He circled his desk and stopped at the chair, lowering himself. He flipped open a leather organizer, eyes on its contents.

  "That'll be all, Miss Montgomery."

  Anger choked me, but I clenched my jaw, turning on my heels. I paused at the door. Maybe he did not have anything left to say to me, but I was not done.

  "Thank you, m'lord," I said sarcastically. His eyes rose to meet mine as I bowed at the waist.

  I snapped upright and left the door wide open, storming toward the bedroom.

  I need to get out of the house, I thought, finding my purse. Before I say something I’ll regret.

  Chapter Nine

  I ducked my head to my chest as I stepped out of the cab, then snapped it back in place when I remembered I was alone. No Jacob to scope out the area, making sure there were no photogs.

  I glanced over the rim of my Ray-bans, eyes sweeping the area. Unless paparazzi were using kids to do their dirty work, the coast was clear.

  I paused in the street, watching them play on the cobblestone. A soccer ball skittered in front of me, stopping within my reach. I leaned down and picked it up, holding it out to a boy that barely reached my thighs.

  “Grazie,” he grinned, taking the ball and going back to his game.

  I watched the children play a little while longer, then turned toward the cafe, only to stop again. A group of men were huddled around a small iron table a few feet from me, playing checkers. They murmured back and forth, probably trading barbs. So at ease, at home.

  My eyes shot to the corner, a florist outside consulting with an older woman. The customer paid no mind to the rest of the world; inspecting sunflowers and whispering to them like they kept her secrets.

  Everything was so blissfully relaxed—and in my sweatshirt, flowered scarf, and harried expression, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

  The street around me was so effortlessly beautiful, like the lazy blades of a pinwheel. I was so busy trying to be invisible that I missed the magic all around me. I was so nervous about the paps dominating my life that I was forgetting to actually live.

  I closed my eyes, inhaling, then exhaling, letting the air wash over me.

  “Beautiful day, no?” A familiar voice murmured behind me.

  I whirled toward it and threw my arms around Allegra’s neck, squeezing tight.

  “It’s so good to see you, Al!”

  After I nearly squeezed all the air from her lungs, she held me at arm’s length. She cupped my cheek and I closed my eyes, the gentle touch reminding me of my mother’s touch. Making me miss home and normalcy.

  My eyes sprung open. My hood had fallen, my scarf askew.

  I yanked away from her, snatching the hood back up.

  Her dark eyebrows rose. “I’d ask if you were okay, but that’s an unnecessary question, isn’t it?”

  I fiddled with the drawstring of my hoodie. “I am okay.” I could not hold up the ruse, my face crumbling.

  Her arms brought me back in for a second hug, letting me cry on her shoulder. I breathed in her smell; the warmth of leather and soap with a hint of flowers. When the tears slowed to a trickle, I pulled back, wiping my eyes. I was not sure what to expect when I looked up at her. Would I find sympathy in her dark eyes, considering she had been in my position years ago, but the Whitmore she loved chose someone else? How sympathetic would she be given I got my happily ever after and was crying about it?

  My eyes skimmed the lines of Allegra’s face, the creases deepening in her forehead. Her green eyes were narrowed in...concern! I breathed a sigh of relief.
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  A wary smile fluttered across her lips as she steered me inside the cafe. “Let’s get some caffeine in our bellies and you can tell me what’s going on.”

  When I stepped into the cafe, my face fell. I had expected something a little more rustic, considering the quaint exterior of the building. It was painted a muted gray that matched the cloudy sky, and scuffed wooden tables marked the outside. Gathered around those tables were modestly dressed patrons, sipping their drinks.

  Now inside the restaurant, I felt severely underdressed.

  The interior of the cafe was contemporary and warm with long, mahogany tables meant for family-style seating. The tabletops were covered with white linen and flowers, probably from the florist at the corner. The walls were lined with black and white abstract photographs. There was a large serving station past the tables. The area behind it was covered in a variety of spices and teas and coffee beans, a wait staff dressed in head-to-toe black, taking orders.

  I pushed back my hood, attempting to smooth my wild curls as I followed Allegra’s lead.

  “If I would have known we were going somewhere nice, I would have dressed differently.”

  “You look fine,” she assured me, patting my shoulder.

  I did not remotely believe her. She looked amazing. Her short, salt and pepper locks were held back by a golden headband that matched her blouse. Her glossy top was tucked into denim jeans and the ankle boots on her feet turned up the chic factor. I looked like I was headed to the gym in a sweatshirt and t-shirt beneath, too lazy to swap my jeans for sweatpants. My curly locks stood on end, disobeying efforts to curtail the just-stuck-my-finger-in-an-electric-socket look I was rocking. My oversized shades were not nearly oversized enough.

  Allegra ordered two cafes, glanced at my blanched expression, and changed it to two doubles. She shepherded me to a table away from the bustle and smiling conversations.