The Billionaire’s Sham Girlfriend: The Beaumont Brothers Book One

by Leslie North

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. I’d have to learn how to sing first.”

  “You’re starting a new career. One as a stripper.”

  She snorted. “Hardly. Besides, I think you’re in charge of stripping me, if you know what I’m saying.”

  He gave a little growl, squeezing an ass cheek. “I give. What is it?”

  As if on cue, two cars came down the long drive. She looked over his shoulder at them—they had to have been sent by Nana. Gregor followed her gaze, brow arching quizzically. “Is this the surprise? You’ve hired kidnappers.”

  She shook her head, nervousness flaring in her belly. God, she hoped this would be as good as suspected. “Nope. But I did hire someone.”

  He turned back to her, some of the mirth drained from his face. “Who?”

  Kara paused, drawing a deep breath. “I called your grandmother. I asked if she could send some engineers to help you work on the engine problem.” When his expression turned to stone, she gnawed at the inside of her lip. The cars parked a few spots away from them, the doors opening as passengers stepped out. “I didn’t want it to derail your season, like you were worried about, so I thought—”

  “No. Hold on.” He rested his hands on his hips, turning to face the cars. He watched as the men poured out of the cars, most of them already dressed in overalls and holding toolboxes. “Let me see if I understand correctly. You went behind my back,” his tone sent dread spiraling through her limbs, “contacted my grandmother to grovel for help with a problem that isn’t even yours and that is being actively handled by me and my team?”

  She stared at him in shock, unsure where to begin defending herself. “N-not…exactly.”

  Gregor nodded and sniffed, eyes lasered in on the approaching men. When they neared, one offered his hand. “Hello, Gregor! It’s been awhile, eh, old chap?”

  “Leave.” He pointed toward the cars. “You’re not welcome here.”

  “Gregor, don’t you think you could all work together to—” Kara began.

  “This is my company, my technology, my innovation,” he spat, slicing his hand through the air. He turned to her, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t need any ‘help,’ much less from them.” He practically spat the word.

  When the crew stayed put, Gregor’s voice grew louder. “I said leave!”

  “Sir,” another began, “We were sent for a specific task, and Mrs. Montgomery instructed us not to return until the job is completed. We can help.”

  “I don’t need your help!” His voice came out a gruff bark. Turning to Kara, he said, “This isn’t your domain. You don’t meddle in these things. These are my affairs.”

  Kara’s eyes welled up, the intensity of his words acting like a slap across the cheek. “I was just trying to help,” she said, despair flooding her, making her legs wobbly and warm. “I don’t understand why you won’t fix the engine. It can be fixed, you said so yourself. So why won’t you fix it? Then you won’t run the risk of crashing again. If you have extra help, then you’ll be able to get it fixed and still race the season. It’s the perfect solution—”

  “You aren’t listening, Kara.” The way he said her name sounded like an insult. “These aren’t your affairs. They aren’t going to help me, no matter how perfectly tidy it seems to you. I’m racing the car as is. Take it or leave it.”

  Kara stared up at him, tears blurring her vision. He was being so cruel—so unimaginably rigid and brutish. This was a side of him she’d never seen, and in front of a crowd of strangers no less. I was trying to help you, why don’t you understand this?

  Kara blinked out some tears, wiping them away quickly. “Fine.” Hurt seared through her. This wasn’t right. He was being an intolerable asshole. “I’ll leave it then.”

  She turned on her heel, storming down the long drive, unsure where she was going as long as it was away from there. She stomped down the road, fumbling with her phone a few moments later to call for the car, expletives playing on repeat through her mind.

  This is bullshit. Humiliates me in front of everyone, and then gives me an ultimatum. She swallowed a knot of tears, barely able to see the number she was dialing. If that’s what it is, then I’m gone. I won’t be with someone who treats me like that. Who can’t budge even for his own safety. For my peace of mind.

  She waited by the gates of the property, keeping an eye on the road behind her. Just to see if Gregor would come after her, softened and ready to talk. But no, he never came. And deep down, she knew that he wouldn’t. He’d never budge on this. For him, racing would always come first, even if it meant risking his life unnecessarily.

  And can you be with someone like that? Who won’t even participate in a partnership?

  Kara knew what she wanted—someone who was all the way in with her, willing to compromise, find the middle, make her a priority in their shared lives. And maybe she was asking too much of Gregor. Maybe he could never give that to her.

  But at this point, she was in too deep. She couldn’t just hang on for the payout. She wanted Gregor, and she wanted a committed partner.

  If she couldn’t have both, then she had to back out.

  As she slipped into the back seat of the private car, she made up her mind. She’d pack her things, find a different hotel, and fly back to America ASAP.

  11

  “Jesus, Gregor.” Christian stilled Gregor’s hand as he lined up another dart to hurl at the dart board. “Stop it already. You’re going to make the building fall down with all the holes you’re poking in the wall.”

  It was true—he’d missed the board at least half the time, the darts lodging themselves in the wooden wall of the one British pub they could find in the city. But he didn’t care. It wasn’t about the score. It was about getting drunk. And distraction.

  “I don’t care.” His words were slurred even to his own ears. When he reached for another dart, Christian shook his head, moving it out of his reach.

  “You’re cut off from the darts.”

  “Then get me another beer.”

  “You’re cut off from that too.” Christian sighed, swiping his phone on. “It’s probably time you went home and apologized to Kara.”

  Gregor grunted, peering at the other man’s phone. “Are you texting your fiancée?”

  Christian gave him an unamused look. “Yes. I am.”

  Gregor groaned. “Why did you get engaged, anyway?”

  “This really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “I just don’t understand.” Gregor’s blurry mind was eager to latch onto this, something else to complain about. Something that felt a lot like complaining about Kara.

  “I got engaged because I love her. It’s that simple, friend.” Christian clapped him on the back. “Like I know you love Kara.”

  Gregor scowled into his nearly empty beer. “Would you ever give up racing for her, though? I mean really.” He swiveled to narrow his eyes at his friend.

  “We’ve talked about it.” Christian eyed him, as though weighing his words. “We’ve decided that when she gets pregnant, I’ll stop racing.”

  Gregor blinked, unsure he’d heard his friend correctly. “Sorry?”

  “It’s true.”

  “And you’re okay with letting someone else dictate your life for you?” He almost spat the words out, he was so appalled. “That seems fine and dandy?”

  “It wasn’t her,” Christian insisted gently. “It was me. It was us. You know as well as anyone a man should have priorities. And I know what mine are. I want to be a great dad to my kids, a great husband to my wife…and I need to stick around for both of those things. Championships and payouts are all well and good, yes, but I want to build something with the woman I love.”

  Gregor scoffed.

  Christian shook his head. “Right. Well excuse me while I make a phone call to my fiancée. And don’t get another beer while I’m gone.” He stood, sending a warning look Gregor’s way. Gregor sneered at him until he walked out the front of the bar.

>   But once he was gone, Gregor assessed his surroundings. Drunk and alone. Doesn’t this feel all too familiar? The very thing he sought to fix by chasing after nameless girls during whirlwind nights. But they barely helped, either. Even then, he hadn’t been able to avoid the sad truth of his life. That beyond the glitz and the money, beyond the wins and the high-powered company…he had an empty apartment each night.

  Kara had been a gift. In a way, his grandfather truly had orchestrated something lovely. Gregor had discovered the warmth of letting someone penetrate his shell. Someone to get past the lactose intolerance and see him for the weird, bumbling, horny teen he secretly was inside. He grinned to himself. Kara would like that one.

  Christian was right—building something, with somebody special…that was where the good stuff was.

  Gregor let his head drop into his hands, rocking it back and forth as he considered his options. He should talk to her. Make sure she was at least at the penthouse still, since leaving the garage hours ago. But he wasn’t quite ready to hear her voice. He needed time to gather his thoughts. Brainstorm the apology. He fumbled for his phone, calling their hotel.

  A smooth Italian voice answered on the second ring. Gregor cleared his throat, sitting straighter. “Hello, could you please tell me if Kara Alerby has returned today to the penthouse? This is Gregor Beaumont.”

  A few seconds of tapping and clicking, and then a regretful voice. “I am sorry, sir, she checked out this afternoon.”

  He stilled, pressing the phone harder to his ear. That couldn’t be right. “Did she—did she say where she was going?”

  “She used the concierge service; we can check on the destination.” Hold music tinkled through the line as Gregor fought to clear his mind and sober up, at least to make sure he was processing this correctly. Where the fuck has she gone? He hadn’t believed she’d actually leave. They’d just had a fight, that was all. Or maybe that was what he wanted to believe.

  Take it or leave it. His own words rang between his ears as he waited for the receptionist to return, his knee bouncing wildly. When she came back on the line, she had the name of a hotel and an address. He fumbled for a napkin, snapping his fingers to attract the attention of a bartender. He asked for a pen, miming the use of one since the bartender wasn’t great with English, and had the receptionist repeat the instructions while he jotted it down.

  After hanging up, he stared at the chicken scratch on the napkin. He had to go there.

  He had to win Kara back.

  Two hours later, Gregor tread carefully up the steps of a small hotel near the airport, trying not to disturb the contents of his purchase. He’d brought three dozen roses, no small feat to acquire at this time of night, but he’d managed it nonetheless. After a quick chat with the desk clerk, he found Kara’s room and enacted his plan: win his darling back. The bribe he’d had to pay the florist be damned.

  He unwrapped the packages carefully near room 221, hoping she wouldn’t step outside early and see him arranging petals every which way. He glanced frequently at the door as he plucked each rose, divesting each stem of all its petals only to scatter them in various colored semicircles around her door. He tossed a few whole flowers on the ground for good measure. And then he grabbed up five to hold as a bouquet, hiding it behind his back as he knocked softly on her door.

  He shifted from foot to foot as he listened for a response. Soft footsteps sounded, followed by a jiggle at the door. A gasp. And then she pulled open the door, her eyes puffy and red, nose tinged pink.

  “Kara,” he breathed, looking her up and down. Half a day apart, and it had felt like a week. His heart throbbed in his chest as he watched her, suddenly at a loss. All the words he’d practiced at the store and in the car evaporated into thin air. All he could say was, “I love you.”

  That certainly hadn’t been part of the plan. But it wasn’t a lie either. Dammit, it was the truth. He’d never said those words to anyone but his family members. She inhaled sharply, pressing a tissue to her eyes.

  “Please forgive me,” he croaked. “And please give me a second chance. I promise to do better.” He went down on one knee, revealing the roses from behind him. “I want to listen to you better, and…and this.” He propped the roses against his arm while he rummaged in his pocket for the other part of the gift. “Here. Take this.” He offered a check he’d written. “It’s for a sum worth three times the cost of the theater. I just want you to take me back. You can have everything. Anything you want, darling.”

  She blew her nose, watching him silently.

  “And I think you’ll be quite chuffed to know that I’m planning to enlist a team of engineers, as you had the incredible foresight to look into. Not my grandfather’s engineers, of course, but I’m arranging for a team to come out next month.”

  “After the race,” she said, her voice strained.

  “Well yes, of course, these things take time.”

  She watched him for a few moments and then shook her head. “Gregor, nothing has changed.”

  His mouth parted and suddenly his knee began to ache, as though protesting the prolonged gesture. “What do you mean? Everything is changing.”

  “No. You haven’t changed your stance, not really. I can’t live my life with someone who is willing to risk himself like this. With so little regard for what your death would do to me. To everyone. To your family. Besides, I want to build a relationship with someone who’s willing to work with me. Love is a partnership. It’s not something to finagle and negotiate.”

  “Another word for negotiate is ‘compromise’,” he pointed out.

  “But we’re living your life.” She shrugged, sniffing. “There’s no room for me here. I’m a tagalong, an afterthought. I don’t want to play that role anymore. I don’t want to play that role ever again, actually.”

  She closed the door a moment later, leaving him stunned in silence. He looked around, assessing the petals and flowers, telling himself this had to be a mistake. Nobody could turn down a gesture like this. He’d actually tried. He’d bloody said I love you. Didn’t that mean something?

  He looked between the roses and the door for a while, hoping she’d open back up and change her mind. But she didn’t come.

  And why would she? He scowled at the petals, suddenly embarrassed by the rejected gesture. Maybe that was the thing about Kara. She didn’t operate like the girls he was used to. Any one of them would have bent to his will at something as extravagant as this.

  But not Kara.

  And that was precisely why he loved her.

  12

  Five days. Five days without Gregor.

  Kara blended back into American life with difficulty, finding even small reminders of Gregor to be painful. How had she fallen for him so fast?

  It was those damn blue eyes. At least she had Lexie to keep her mind off things. She rejoined the improv classes as quickly as she could, eager to find the stream of daily life as she’d known it before private jets and expensive dinners and penthouse suites in foreign countries. The contours of her little apartment in Seattle were a welcome sight, one that made her burst into tears the second she got home.

  But they weren’t happy tears. And five days into her Gregor Recovery, she was still smarting from his absence. Almost daily she wondered if maybe she should just call him up. Send him a text. Get it sorted out, lower her standards, suck it up.

  But no. Gregor was impossibly driven to live life on his terms only. And while she admired that from a distance, it wasn’t a healthy aspect for the relationship she wanted. She needed a costar, not an egotistical producer hellbent on slapping his name on everything.

  Even if the producer was the single greatest love—and now heartbreak—of her life.

  The fate of the theater rested in uncertain hands. Now that she’d walked away from Gregor, she didn’t trust him to uphold the deal. Why would he? Besides, that check he’d offered her last week only stirred up the confusion about how he truly felt. Why offer her money
to stay, when all she wanted was his commitment to compromise?

  It didn’t seem that hard to understand. But men were different beasts. That was the only truth she could tease out of the tangles of life.

  She’d begin delving into the ownership issue soon. But for now, she went back to researching grants and finding alternative sources of funding. There had to be a way. A way that doesn’t involve selling yourself for love.

  Kara whiled away Sunday morning ignoring her computer, trying to resist the urge to see what was happening in Italy for the race. Gregor would be racing, of course, with the same old wonky engine, and tuning in to watch the race just seemed like asking for it. Her heart couldn’t handle it. Not yet.

  She busied herself as best she could with planning and organizing her apartment. Around eleven, she got a text from Lexie.

  “Hey girl, can you stop by the theater? Wanna run something by you for tomorrow’s class.”

  Kara jumped on the chance. Anything to resist the temptation of the race. “On my way.”

  Kara tugged on a light sweater and a pair of leggings for the unseasonably cool summer day, opting to walk to the theater instead of driving like normal. She needed the time to think, to clear her head. To remind herself not to text Gregor. To remember why she preferred her little old life in Seattle to anything that arrogant Brit had to offer.

  As she walked down tree lined streets and walls covered in murals, her mind circled back to something else that bothered her. In five full days, Gregor couldn’t even reach out to her once? Not even to say he was sorry again, or that he actually loved her?

  His silence seemed like the proof she needed that he didn’t actually love her. No matter how desperately she wanted to believe that he did. How could he love her and just let her go like that? Nothing made sense. Men didn’t make sense. Man logic was one of the wonders of the world, and she was yet another victim left gaping in its wake.

  It’s fine. You’ll be over him soon. Someday, at least.