by Ava Claire
You people? She was lumping me in with the likes of Rich? “I know you think I’m the enemy-”
“To be honest, Mrs. Whitmore, I don’t care who you are. But I’ll tell you who I’m not.” Her green eyes burned with the fire of a thousand suns. “I’m not a victim.”
I blinked, literally at a loss for words.
I knew that I had a choice. The lighting crew was finishing set up. Nothing was rolling, no one was miked yet. Hell, Rich was still having a drink and shooting the breeze, like he was on a date. No one would fault me for shuttering this whole thing.
But that would be too easy. It would let Rich off the hook. And it would prove that I was who she thought I was—an opportunist. Yet another person of privilege that used her as a means to an end.
One of the production assistants hustled over, popping her gum, her tangerine colored hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that went well with the harried, impatient look on her face. “Ready for your mic?”
She was looking at Marissa, who was looking at me.
“Well, Mrs. Whitmore?” she asked, nostrils flaring. “Am I ready for my mic?”
I pushed back from the table, silencing the voice in my head that whispered, ‘she is gonna eat him alive’. The first step to recovery was admitting you have a problem, and Rich wasn’t there yet. Marissa would give him a push in the right direction.
“Absolutely!” I nodded at the second set. “I’ll get Rich ready, then we can begin.” I didn’t try the handshake thing again, but my mama raised me right. “It was nice to meet you.”
I inhaled and exhaled, poker face on as I made my way to the bar.
“-and that’s when I told everyone that I had afforded you know who-” Rich hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “The opportunity to hang me out to dry.”
Of course he was talking about himself.
I cleared my throat and the bartender’s eyes twitched in my direction and I saw a flash of ‘Oh thank God’. It was the universal, silent SOS when some guy is hitting on you and missing (or ignoring) every cue that you’re not interested.
Rich finished his drink, then wheeled around to face me, eyes dropping to the mic. “You’re doing the honors, eh?” He slipped off the stool, throwing a half hearted wave in Marissa’s direction. “She looks about as fun as I remember.” He wiggled his eyebrows like I needed confirmation that he was trying to be funny. The fact that he was still sitting pretty, thinking this was all some joke, just confirmed that I made the right decision.
I got him set up and tested the equipment, getting a thumbs up from the PA. “Showtime.”
“Any last word of wisdom?”
I flicked my eyes back to him, expecting to see the jokester, but his face was as serious as mine. Like maybe, it was finally sinking in that this was for real.
I put aside my misgivings and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Just be honest.”
“That’s it?” he winked. “Easy enough.” He breezed past me, holding out both arms like he foolishly expected Marissa to give him a hug. If she could give him anything, I had a feeling it would be more along the lines of a slap across the face.
“Marissa! How are you?”
I turned back to the bartender, gesturing for the bottle of wine she had beside her. “I’d pour one for yourself too, you’ve earned it.”
“Are we live?” Marissa didn’t even acknowledge Rich’s awkward greeting.
The PA was beside the cameraman nodded as she she counted down.
3...
2...
1...
“The only reason I came here today was because I refuse to let you win.”
Rich stopped just shy of the table, glancing back, like he was waiting for me to step in. To yell out, ‘cut’ so we could rewind and...what?
How did he expect this to go?
She’d grin and hug him after he insulted her and turned her life upside down?
I gave Rich the same nod the PA gave Marissa.
You’re live, dude. This was what you wanted. I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t stab you with a butter knife.
“Win?” Rich recovered, pulling out the chair across from her as smooth as sin. “I didn’t know this was a game.”
“Right,” Marissa held onto the letter I, letting out a bitter laugh. “Guys like you think everything is a game. That it’s your world, we’re all just living in it. Why else would you behave the way you did the last time I had the misfortune of sharing oxygen with you?”
I brought my glass to my lips as Simone saddled up beside me.
“A glass for you as well?” the bartender smirked.
Simone grinned from ear to ear. “That would be great, thanks!” She tried to hide the fact that she was enjoying this a little too much when I gave her a look. “What? I’m just observing. This is going about as well as I thought it would,” she whispered.
It was a little closer to gloating, but I let her do her thing, as long as she didn’t blurt out anything like ‘Preach!’.
“It’s lovely to see you as well,” Rich said with a bite behind every word.
“Lovely? That’s the last thing this is. I almost didn’t come today. Because I see right through this. Right through you. If you were sorry you wouldn’t need a special freaking CBS special to tell me so. You know my name—it was blasted all over the internet the day the video went viral. You could have called, emailed, tweeted. Putting this exchange on camera should have been the last thing on your mind, considering how well that went for you last time.”
“I like this girl,” Simone murmured.
“Simone,” I hissed, tuning into their exchange. Easing closer because I could already tell from his body language that this was gonna be a short video. His shoulders were locked, his spine ramrod straight. And when I saw his face, I decided I liked Marissa too—because she didn’t cower, shying away from him. She stood her ground.
“Well,” Rich began, his voice a gravelly, uncomfortable thing. “I would hope that you of all people would understand that sometimes, people fuck up.”
“Why me of all people?” She fired back, leaning in like she knew this was gonna be good.
“Because you work in the customer service field and deal with assholes like me every day,” he shrugged.
“Ah, I see,” she responded, not missing a beat. “So it comes with the territory. I should be used to customers calling me frigid. And a bitch. And discussing the existence of my vagina because I declined to have a bite while I was trying to do my job.”
“No, I meant-”
“It’s cool, I know what you mean.” She picked up her glass and took a drink. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “I knew what you meant back then. That I was nothing more than the ass you leered at when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. Or when I reminded you of my name, several times, and you insisted on calling me Marcela, because that was sexier. And then, when I finally breathed a sigh of relief because I brought your check and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, you made sure I knew just how little you thought of me.” She refilled her glass with Perrier, every eye in the room locked on her. “Well, Mr. O’Connor, this is how little I think of you.” She took the glass—and hurled the liquid at his face.
I leapt into action as I watched the steam rise off Rich. “Let’s wrap right there-”
“But we’re not done,” Rich said, his tone lethal as he snapped a napkin like lightning cracking the sky. He wiped his face, then tossed it on the table and slowly turned his head until he was locked on Marissa. Marissa, who was hyperventilating, and within choking range.
“You wanna know who were until I called you a bitch? No one. You were nothing more than a pretty face with a name tag. And look at you now!” He held his hands up like a worshipper at the altar. “You’re practically Moses, leading all of your uptight sisters to the promised land.”
If I’d had anything in my mouth, I would have choked on it. Instead, I choked on my tongue.
; We were still rolling. Live. The whole world was experiencing this as I did.
All eyes were on Marissa.
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of getting upset or shedding a single tear.
“Now that’s the apology I was expecting. Have a nice life, asshole.” And with that , she marched right out the front door.
The room was dead quiet and I peered at the cameraman and PA. They were just as shocked as I was. I took my pointer finger and made a line across my neck and they killed the feed.
Rich let out a whistle that grated on every last one of my nerves, and I knew what I had to do.
“Well, that was fun.” He pivoted to the bar. “Shots on me?”
“I can’t help you anymore, Mr. O’Connor.”
He blinked at me rapidly, like there was something in his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a liability to our company, and you’re a liability to yourself.” I called Simone over. “And to be honest, you’re exactly what Marissa called you.” I put him out of mind, talking to Simone while he lost his shit. “Make sure you gather all pertinent information and send it to his people so we can close this case.”
“You can’t do this! You can’t fire me, I...I fire you!”
I marched back to the bar. “And reach out to the manager. I want to make sure the entire staff receives their full pay for today.”
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Rich sputtered from the table. “You are gonna regret this, mark my fucking words!”
I paused just long enough to look him in the eye. “An hour ago, you may have been right. Now? I’m pretty sure helping everyone get a good look at the real Rich O’Connor is one of the best things I’ve done in my career.”
“MOM, IT’S HER FIRST time on a plane, not her first day of school.”
“Will you just let me spoil my grandbaby?” My mother shooed me away from Hope’s suitcase.
I hadn’t addressed the sheer amount of clothing she pulled for our weekend trip to Venice. Right now, I was still poking fun at the mini photoshoot she had happening. She’d put on her favorite t-shirt (‘My Grandma Loves Me’) and paired it with matching leggings and a hoodie. The best part was that she had a mini chalkboard beside my baby that read ‘Hope’s 1st Time On A Plane’.
My mother snapped pics like the paparazzi. “When your granddaughter is this cute, how can you not commemorate everything?”
I thought it was adorable and definitely an improvement over ‘Hope’s 1st Time Wearing A Diaper As A Hat. “You sure this isn’t to fuel the fire?” When she frowned at me, I flashed her a conspiratorial wink. “I do follow your Instagram, Mom. I saw that you and Margaret are still engaged in your epic Cutest Grandbaby war.”
Margaret was one of my mother’s oldest friends. Or she was—until she got an adorable grandson and made the mistake of proclaiming that she had the cutest grandbaby in the world.
I believe my mother’s comment on the photo was, ‘He’s a cutie, but clearly you forgot about Hope!’.
I stood back and watched them, Hope pointing at the sparkly stars on her leggings, then glancing up at me and Mom and giggling. She was such a happy baby. And just so we’re clear, she was the cutest baby ever.
She lifted Hope and came over to show me the shots. “Not bad, huh?”
I pecked them both on the cheek, watching the slideshow. “Not bad at all. So, this suitcase...”
“Leila, aren’t you rich?” My mother rushed towards it, like she was protecting it from me. “You’re acting like you’re flying basic economy and you’re not allowed to bring anything onboard.” She shuddered, like she was reliving the one time she accidentally booked such a thing. She and my dad barely made it through the first leg of the trip without my mother becoming a meme or being kicked off the plane, so I paid for the trip back and let them know they had a standing invitation to use the jet. We even invited them on this last minute trip, but Dad had a bowling tournament and I knew better than to come between my father and his trophy. And his team would come after me with pitchforks if I secreted my mother away—she always treated the entire team to a home cooked meal after their victory.
“We’re gonna need a separate car just for Hope’s stuff at this rate,” I joked, referencing the growing pile of items. “It’s just a long weekend, not a summer vacation.”
“Well, let your strapping husband take it all down.” She eyeballed me until I let go of the suitcase handle. “That’s too heavy for you—I want more grandchildren!”
I rolled my eyes at her old wives’ tale and not-so-subtle suggestion that Jacob and I get busy. I lifted the handle, my cheeks darkening. We were getting busy, but a new baby was not in the cards right now. “Next trip, we’ll give you some notice so we can all go down,” I quickly changed the subject to vacations, hoping her Grandma biological clock would stop ticking. “You’re gonna love Venice, Mom. The food, the air, the culture-”
“The men?”
I slowly pivoted to face her. “I think we’re both good in the men department.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just making sure, Leila Rae. It seems like you have men at every turn trying to wreak havoc in your life.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
I eased Hope out of her arms, needing my baby. That smell that turned me into goo. This tiny bundle of love and adoration, with at least another year before she started talking back and driving me crazy too.
First, there was Rich. I’d hoped the man would take some time, go on a retreat and lay low after our last encounter—and the ensuing shit storm when the world got a look at just how sorry he really was. No such luck though. He’d been on a non-stop bender since we stopped representing him. There was a tiny part of me that felt sorry for him, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves.
And then there was Corbin. While our names weren’t being mentioned in the same breath quite as frequently, there was no escaping him. About Us’ latest hit was tearing up the charts and they were teasing some new love song that was due to drop any day now. I was just ready for it to happen so the world would find something else to talk about, including my mother.
“Rich will hopefully have his ‘Come to Jesus’ moment sooner rather than later and Corbin?” I raised and dropped my shoulders, earning a squeal from my baby girl. I said the last bit in a sing song voice that made her face brighten with glee. “He is not my problem. I don’t wish him ill, I don’t wish him anything at all. I’m just trying to live my life.”
“Uh huh.” My mother was out of the room before I could tell her that this was not an ‘Uh huh’ or wink-wink situation.
I was still holding Hope, and trying to hold onto my good mood and my volume since Jacob was upstairs. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I don’t trust that boy. I never did, then after what happened-”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” That tingle, that itch that was dying to be scratched, a tsunami of memories and feelings that would take me under? I refused to go there. I wouldn’t. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
She unscrewed the cap on her water with a weary sigh. “You got that stubbornness from your father.”
“Uh huh.” I balanced Hope on my hip, checking my phone. “The car should be here in twenty. Can you take her for a second? I’m gonna see if Jacob needs any help.”
“Of course I can, I have to get in enough loving to get me through this long weekend!”
I moved up the stairs with purpose. Not because the clock was ticking. Jacob was probably already packed with a full itinerary typed and ready to go. I was trying to put ‘that boy’ behind me, which was hard enough with his name and picture all over the place—and it didn’t help when my mother reminded me about the past.
I walked over the threshold, the smell of candles, vacation mode, and Jacob wrapping around me like an embrace. An embrace that went cold when I saw the rigid set of his back.
“Jacob?
”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t say a word.
I erased the distance between us and smiled, relaxing when I saw that he had earbuds in. My smile fell from my face when we locked eyes.
Something was wrong.
He plucked the earbuds out slowly, his eyes dropping to his phone screen.
“Jacob, what’s going on?”
He handed the phone to me.
I searched his face for some clue, but the Whitmore mask was in full effect, so I knew it was bad.
The headline emblazoned across the screen read, ‘Corbin Wolfe Shares All After Billionaire Threat!’.
I couldn’t breathe.
And I wasn’t sure which part to freak out about first, ‘shares all’ or ‘billionaire threat’.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter because in the first paragraph, one word leapt from the screen. It was a word that shook me to my very core.
Miscarriage.
Thank you for taking the time to read The Billionaire’s Mistake. Please consider leaving a review. xoxo, AC
Loving The Billionaire Series
The Billionaire's Kiss, #1
The Billionaire's Caress, #2
The Billionaire's Risk, #3
The Billionaire's Mistake, #4
The Billionaire's Secret, #5
The Billionaire's Vow, #6
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her e-reader, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and fantasizing about her favorite book boyfriends.
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Blog: http://avaclaireromantica.blogspot.com
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Stay tuned to my blog for up to date information on my works in progress and release schedules!
