A Collateral Attraction: A Romantic Suspense Novel (Fire and Ice Book 1)

by Liz Durano

  “Wouldn’t he have been nominated?”

  “He was, and he won the nomination because of his qualifications. Unfortunately, his methods of restructuring the company did not endear him to many people. It saved the company but not long-held positions,” Alicia replies. “But if he hadn’t done what he had to do, the company would have imploded from the inside—just as I suspect it’s about to happen again, what with this current argument between brothers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What better way than to keep everyone distracted? But then, I’m just a personal shopping assistant, Billie, not a corporate adviser. I only know what people tell me.”

  I think for a few moments, not caring if some of the assistants are peeking from behind the wall that separates the showroom from the back room, probably waiting to see if they can come back out with more dresses and accessories. But I can’t even worry about them. Something doesn't sit right with Blythe's alleged embezzlement. Even if it were true—that Blythe is embezzling money from the company — surely it's not enough to make a company like Kheiron Industries implode from the inside. Ethan is not the president of the company; Heath is.

  But then I also remember Heath's first words to me yesterday, when he mistook me for Blythe. Ethan had stolen something from Heath, and he wanted it back. He was willing to take everything away from Ethan to get it. And then there's Jackson and the superior way he told Heath that he was fraud.

  “Would a scandal do it? This distraction?”

  "Maybe," Alicia says, shrugging."

  "A hostile takeover," I murmur, remembering Heath's words just minutes earlier.

  "Hostile takeovers, leveraged buyouts, even blackmail — who knows? Worse things have happened for the pursuit of power and money, even murder. But then, that’s just me and the mystery shows I love to watch on cable TV,” Alicia says as one of the assistants appears behind her, clearing her throat. "Well, I've said enough, so now it's your turn to work with me. Let me work on your wardrobe and your overall appearance and I promise that you will belong anywhere Heath Kheiron decides to take you. However, there is one thing I can’t help you with.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The feeling that you're a little fish in a big pond, because right now, you are,” she replies. “But you either learn to make it work to your advantage, or you might as well get the hell out of it while you still can because that big pond is about to get bigger. And you do know what big ponds have, right?”

  “Big fish?”

  Alicia smiles at me, and this time, I can almost swear it’s genuine. “Exactly.”

  6

  Concessions

  The flight to Castries, Saint Lucia takes seven hours—or so I remember being told. That's because my last memories of leaving the shop and going to a private hangar close to JFK airport are pretty foggy.

  I remember raving about the beautiful burl on the eucalyptus panels that lined the walls of the jet interior. There was also a divan that the flight attendants converted into a comfortable bed complete with duvet covers just before I jumped in it. And then there was a hazy memory of Heath asking me, besides the champagne and lunch he had brought into the shop, what else I happen to have taken?

  “A Xanax, silly!” I had replied, laughing, before someone switched all the lights off.

  By the time I wake up hours later and feeling quite rested, the rear cabin is in semi-darkness. The muffled sounds of the jet engine almost lull me back to sleep when I realize where I am. As I turn to look towards the front of the plane, I see Heath lying on a reclined seat, asleep.

  When he stirs, I turn away and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. I’m also trying to figure out why I’m only wearing my panties under the covers. Did anything happen that I wasn’t aware of? Would Heath honestly do such a thing?

  As I sit up and look around the bed, I see my clothes at the foot of the bed, thankfully within easy reach. As I struggle to remember who I'd asked to undo the snaps of my lingerie, I come up empty.

  Oh, please don't let it be Heath, I groan as I move as quietly as I can, reaching for the bra first, then the white V-neck dress with its thigh-high slit that Alicia had picked out for me. Hastily I dress, and barefoot, I tiptoe towards the far end of the rear cabin, grateful to find the lavatory on my first try. It's three times bigger than the usual airplane bathroom, with portholes with views of the clouds against a moonlit sky. It's so beautiful all I do is stare for a few minutes till I remember why I need to go to the bathroom in the first place. After finishing my toilette, I go through the drawers and find a brand new toothbrush still in its plastic bag, a tube of toothpaste and floss. Perfect.

  My make-up, however, is a mess, but at least, even as I awoke with my face smushed against my pillow, I don't think I've lost any more lash extensions. I do what I can to fix my make-up, wiping the smudged eyeliner from my skin before fixing my hair. I wish I hadn't taken the Xanax, but it's done.

  Whatever it is I've done or said in addition to whatever little I remember, I have to take responsibility for my actions. Besides, I have to have an honest talk with Heath, and if I don't step out of the bathroom right now, I'm afraid one of the flight attendants might suspect I fell in.

  As the flight attendants efficiently convert the bed back into a divan and put away the down comforters and pillows, I make my way to the middle cabin and sit across from Heath as he sleeps, rehearsing what I need to say to him. But it's difficult to repeat lines when an angel sleeps across from me. It’s much harder to believe it's the same man, but it is, and I lean back into my seat to watch him before he wakes up.

  Asleep, the muscles on his face are relaxed, and the face that always seemed hard and cold when glaring at me seems completely angelic now. Even his mouth is kind, conjuring the memory of our first kiss. The butterflies in my belly stir and I cross my legs, uncomfortable with the thoughts that enter my mind. A lock of hair rests across his forehead, and it makes him look so vulnerable. Then he wakes up, and I look away.

  Heath yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as his other hand presses a button and the seat back moves upright.

  "How long have you been awake?" he asks as he presses a button on the armrest and the seat back moves upright. One of the flight attendants approaches to ask if we need anything.

  "Coffee, please, Camille,” he says, before turning to me. "Would you like one?"

  "Coffee sounds great."

  "I hope you slept well.”

  "You should have taken the bed. These seats aren't as comfortable as the bed back there."

  “Oh, but they are," he says, grinning. "Besides, you claimed the bed first."

  I groan. "I was drunk, and I'm so sorry if I did anything stupid."

  "No, you didn't do anything too stupid, or at least nothing so foolish that the pilot would have requested you off the plane," he says, pulling aside the blanket and I see that he's wearing a dark short-sleeved shirt over a pair of track pants. The shirt clings to his torso, hinting at his muscled chest as he stretches his arms upwards, and I have to force myself to look away.

  “You kept saying you had something to tell me over and over again earlier, just before you conked out,” he continues as a flight attendant gathers his blanket and stores it in the rear cabin." Do you remember what it was?"

  I wait till the flight attendant returns with two cups of coffee and returns to the front cabin before I answer him, taking a deep breath and steeling myself to remember every word.

  "I don’t care what you say, but I will not accept charity from you, and I definitely will not be taking everything you paid for this afternoon like they're presents to a girlfriend because I'm not your girlfriend. I'm only here because I want to get to my sister."

  “Is that all?”

  "Also, there's a question of my name.”

  "Your name?" Heath asks, his left eyebrow arching as his blue eyes narrow. "What about your name? Are you telling me you're not who you say y
ou are?"

  "No! I mean, my name is not Not-Blythe," I reply. "It's Billie. Billie Rose Delphine. I was named after my grandfather, William, but everyone called him Bill, so I'd like you to respect that. He was a good man."

  "William is a good strong name, and so is Bill. Billie Rose, it is then."

  "Billie.” I can’t understand why he has to be so stubborn.

  "I like the sound of Billie Rose," he says.

  "Whatever. Just...no more Not-Blythe, because I'm not…” I pause, exhaling. "I do keep saying that, don't I?"

  He nods.

  "And two more things…”

  "Yes?"

  “I know you said I'm your personal wind-up doll…”

  “That was a figure of speech.”

  “Whatever. But while I won't mind whatever it is you plan to do to get me looking and acting presentable to your circle of friends, there will be no…” I can’t help but pause, the words refusing to come out

  He tilts his head to the side. “No what?”

  "No sex."

  “No sex?” He looks amused. “Now why would I assume there'd be sex between us?"

  “Just in case, you know, you'd think that just because you bought me everything—this dress, and everything else, the makeup, the skin and hair care products, you might assume that I’d, you know…” I stammer, not knowing how to say it without my face turning any redder, not when Heath is eyeing me like I'm suddenly on the menu, his eyes narrowing as he watches me.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me, Billie?”

  ”That's why I'm going to pay you back. As far I'm concerned, you're after one thing—which is whatever Ethan took from you—while I just want to get my sister out of trouble,” I say. “So what we have, with the shopping sprees and the private jet and all, is just an arrangement. But no sex."

  It takes Heath a few minutes to answer, and the entire time he's just watching me as squirm in my seat across from him.

  “And what would it take for us to have it?"

  “Excuse me?”

  Heath pushes his coffee to the center of the table and leans forward, crossing his forearms on the table between us. Gone is the angel's face and in its place is the cold and hard mask he's worn since I met him.

  "You heard me, Billie. What will it take for me to have sex with you?"

  “Are you out of your mind? Who do you think you are to say such a thing?” I sputter as I get up.

  "Sit down, Blythe.”

  I don’t even think twice. From the tone of Heath’s voice, I sit down. "I thought we agreed about who I am. I am not Blythe. I'm Billie."

  "Really? Is this just another one of your games? Even that whole act about being drunk? Xanax with your champagne? The charade of playing the innocent coy virgin and telling me about how it's been three years, blah, blah blah since you've been fucked while at the same time trying to seduce me when I had to help you undress?”“

  Crap! So it did happen.

  “I’m not going to say I didn’t enjoy it but is this just another one of your games to distract me while your sister is playing my brother for a fool? That way, she can rob him blind and ruin whatever’s left of his reputation? Did you meet him a long time ago, Blythe, persuade him to keep your relationship secret till you had all your ducks in a row and all the private accounts set up before you made your move and had him set you up as his employee? Is that how you managed to make this embezzlement scheme of yours work, by fucking my brother silly while you steal from-“

  "Stop this!" I exclaim, slamming my palm against the table top as coffee spills from the cups. "I'm not going to sit here and let you insult my sister and me like this. But I assure you, Heath, I am not Blythe. How else do you expect me to convince you of that?”

  He shrugs, unaffected by my outburst. "I don't know, Blythe, but I'm open to suggestions—sex being one of them,” he says, each word meant to sting, and it does. "But as I'm not interested in sloppy seconds, I'll make it easy for you."

  He pulls something from his backpack underneath the table and barely missing our coffee cups, tosses something carelessly onto the table top.

  "Now talk,” Heath says coldly as my eyes land on my clutch and its contents spilling on the table top, Blythe's smiling face on her driver’s license staring back at me.

  7

  Trust Issues

  Heath's words, coupled with the simple act of tossing my clutch on the table, is like a kick in the gut. Fear tells me to do as he says, but if he thinks I’m so afraid of him that I’m going to ask, how high? when he orders me to jump, he’s wrong.

  His disdain for Blythe frightens me, and as much as I'm better off returning home even if I have to empty my entire bank account to do so, I can't. Not when Heath feels the way he does about Blythe. He’s going to throw her to the wolves the first chance he gets.

  "No," I say firmly.

  “No? Won't you even explain yourself? Not even when I find this on you?" He picks up Blythe's driver's license and holds it up. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't make it a habit rummaging through women's purses, not even when they're sprawled naked on my bed and begging me to fuck them from here to Sunday."

  "I told you. I am not Blythe."

  "Why don't you put yourself in my shoes and tell me, what am I supposed to believe?” He drops Blythe's driver's license on the table in front of me.

  "The truth, for starters, if you only listened to a word I've been saying. But I can see now that there's nothing I can do or say to make you believe that I'm Billie. Nothing. Not even if I told you that before you ran into me last night at the club, Blythe and I accidentally switched clutches inside the bathroom. That’s why I couldn’t fly home, not when your company conveniently canceled her card.”

  His expression softens, but he’s still frowning.

  “Even Jackson could tell I wasn't Blythe. Took him a few seconds, but he was smart enough to know I wasn't her before he bailed the hell out of there with the right woman,” I say, picking up Blythe’s driver’s license and waving at him. “Do you think I’m happy being stuck with this? After a lifetime being compared to my sister, do you honestly believe I'd do a happy dance and enjoy being mistaken for her everywhere I go?"

  I set the driver's license down on the table. "Do you know just how frustrating it feels to live under your twin sister’s shadow because she’s everything that you’re not?”

  “I do."

  I make my way to the rear lavatory but stop and turn to face him again. “I'm leaving you the moment we land.”

  “Where are you going? You don't know anyone in Saint Lucia."

  "I know Blythe, and when I find her, I will tell her all the things you're accusing her of, and that you're on your way to catch her because that's just the kind of man you are. I don't care if I'll end up begging on street corners, but I won't leave that island until I find her and bring her home myself."

  "You're not begging on any street corners, Billie, not if I can help it."

  "Oh, please! I would rather do that than spend another minute with you and have you insulting me and asking me what it will take for me to have sex with you. Besides, just how bad is begging compared to this?" I gesture to my dress. "I already allowed you to buy me, Heath, which makes me just some high-class beggar. What's one more step down?"

  I don't wait for him to say anything. I hurry to the rear lavatory and lock the door, relieved to be alone for once so I can think of what to do next, the calls I need to make to both Mick and Norah at the shop, and the credit union to check just how much money I have left in the store account. I'm still shaking that my knees buckle, and I have to sit down on the floor.

  I don't think Heath and I can say anything else from here on, at least, nothing that can undo the damage that's already been done between us. Whatever trust we had for each other, no matter how flimsy, is all gone, and I can’t see how I can get him to trust me again. But that's only because Heath Kheiron can't trust anyone—not even himself.

 
I'm sitting on the floor with my back against the door when the soft knock comes, one that doesn't startle me, though I say nothing. I'm not giving Heath the satisfaction of hearing my voice anymore. I'm tired of talking to a man who refuses to listen to a thing I say, and I've also run out of things to say to him.

  I hear him moving about outside the door, but the knock doesn't come again. If anyone wants to use the bathroom, I'm sure there must be another one at the front of the plane, and if not, someone's bound to let me know that they have to use the facilities. But until then, I straighten my legs in front of me and close my eyes.

  "I apologize for the things I said about you and your sister," Heath says, his voice sounding muffled. "In the very few times that I've met her, she was nothing but civil. She never liked me, but I can't blame her. I am dour compared to my brother, and everything I said about her was meant only to get it through to Ethan that I was willing to do anything in my power to get back what he stole. And when I first saw you at the shop, Billie, I honestly thought you were her. I knew she had a sister, but I had no idea she had an identical twin. That’s a big difference.”

  Whatever. I have to roll my eyes as I lean my head against the door, fighting the urge to tell him that it’s not that big a difference. Really.

  "Still, no woman deserves to be treated the way I've treated you these past two days, and by proxy, Blythe. I've acted in such a despicable manner towards you both, and there is no excuse to justify such behavior. My mother would be ashamed of me if she ever found it, and I am very sorry for letting my anger get the best of me, even when I knew full well that it wouldn't achieve anything but hurt you."

  I don't open my eyes, or even dare move a muscle. Instead, I tell myself that Heath Kheiron doesn't deserve my forgiveness, no matter how pained he sounds. He can talk my ear off for all I care, but I'll never forgive him for the things he said about Blythe or me. So I recite a mantra again and again like it's a shield against his words.