Dark Masquerade: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Michelle Love

  Elli shook her head, seeming to fight back the tears. “Come inside, Viv.”

  They went to Vivienne’s office, and Elli shut the door. She opened her laptop and slid it over to Vivienne. “I’m so sorry, Viv.”

  For a moment, all Vivienne registered was the browser was open on the website of one of the biggest gossip magazine in Italy. Blinking, she saw her own face, an old picture from her graduation from Brown. The headline read: “Grace and (Sexual) Favors: The Secret Life of One of Italy’s Most Glamorous Business Mavens.”

  “Holy fucking shit,” she whispered as she read the article. It told—in salacious detail—of how Vivienne paid for her tuition through college by being an escort to the rich and wealthy of Massachusetts’ high society during her college years and after. It painted her as an ambitious, gold-digging woman who had used her brains and her beauty to get where she was today, even intimating that Italia Mondo had been set up using cash from one of her sugar daddies.

  “What the fuck?” Vivienne was incensed. She looked up from the paper to see Elli with tears in her eyes. They both knew where this story had come –from—Rolando.

  “That piece of shit,” Elli raged. “When I get my hands on him …fuck, Viv. I’m so sorry.”

  There was a tentative knock at the door and a nervous Felicity poked her head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt …but Barnes Campo is on the telephone for you, Viv.”

  Vivienne closed her eyes. Barnes Campo was the head of the board for the company that published Italia Mondo. She heard Elli say, “Just give us one minute, if Mr. Campo doesn’t mind holding, Fliss, please.”

  “No. No, it’s okay. Put him through.” Vivienne opened her eyes and nodded at Felicity. Elli looked worried, and Vivienne tried to smile at her.

  “I need to talk to Barnes now, Els. Could you give me the room please, darling?”

  Elli nodded, unsmiling, and left her alone. Vivienne took a deep breath in and picked up the phone. “Barnes, good to hear from you.”

  Barnes Campo, an elderly man in his eighties, sighed. “Vivienne …I’m so sorry about this.”

  “I’m sorry for the embarrassment it has caused the magazine,” Vivienne said carefully, “But you realize, it’s all salacious gossip.” She took a deep breath in. “The truth of the matter is that, yes, I escorted men to functions—but that’s it. I did not sleep with anyone for money, nor did I ever consider these men my meal ticket. I’m a graduate of Harvard and Brown, and I am a self-made woman, and that’s exactly what I’ll tell anyone who asks.”

  Barnes was silent for a long moment. “Vivienne …what with the scandal over Elliana Moretti and Aldo Constanza …there’s concern about the future of Italia Mondo.”

  Vivienne felt anger flash through her. “Barnes, what happened wasn’t a scandal. Elli was almost murdered. She was badly injured and yet survived a madman.”

  “A madman whom you brought in to invest in the company, Viv.” He said it gently, but Vivienne felt the sting. “Look, we’re not stupid. We know whoever this is selling this crap is just a malicious idiot, but we have to ask ourselves why? The magazine’s reputation is at stake.”

  “So what are you saying, Barnes? Please, just spell it out for me.”

  Another pause, then he sighed. “I think it best for you to step back from the magazine for a while until this all blows over.”

  Vivienne closed her eyes. “You’re kidding, right?” Fired? Over a sleazy gossip story with some half-truths and the past that she had never been ashamed of until now? Fuck.

  “I’m not saying forever, Viv, just until …”

  “I’m not an embarrassment. I get it, Barnes. You want me to resign, right? So you look like the good guys? Do you have any idea what that will do to my reputation?”

  “I’m so sorry, Vivienne. You will, of course, receive a very generous severance package.”

  Dread settled in Vivienne’s heart. Her work, especially for this magazine, was her passion. Her life. “Fine. Send me the details and I’ll draft a statement of resignation.”

  “Good. Viv, look, I …”

  She hung up on him. For a long moment, she stared into space, not really believing what had happened in the space of a few minutes. It was only ten after nine in the morning and she had been publicly shamed and fired.

  For a moment, she just let her anger simmer, then, picking up the heaviest thing on her desk, a glass ashtray that she never used, she hurled it at the wall and screamed.

  ***

  Indio was giving Enzo his supper when Elli came back down. He looked up at her. “How is she?”

  Elli sighed. “Pretty wrecked. God, if I ever get my hands on Rolando Lucci, I will rip his gizzards out with my bare hands.”

  “She’s sure it’s him?”

  Elli nodded, sitting down at the table and kissing her son’s soft curls. “Yeah. He’s not returning her calls. Asshole.”

  Indio leaned over to kiss his wife, stroking her cheek. Elli looked tense, stressed, and worried for her friend. She leaned into his touch. “Indio …if they’re going to fire Viv over some ridiculous gossip …I don’t want to work for them anymore.”

  Indo sat back and studied her. “Baby, you and Viv have outgrown that place anyway. Look, you both have stellar international reputations as journalists. Go freelance.”

  “Easier for me, thanks to you, money bags.” She smiled at him, “But Viv …”

  “Viv has nothing to worry about.”

  “She won’t take charity.”

  “She won’t get it. You could start your own magazine, the both of you. I’ll be your biggest investor, your champion. You, Viv, and me would be the Board. If Italia Mondo is going to fire Viv over this, then they’ve just lost my investment. There’s a clause I made sure was in the contracts—if they act unfairly toward any of the staff, I’m out.”

  “The trouble is, Indio, they weren’t really unfair.” Viv stood at the kitchen door. She came in, her face pale but with a sad smile on it. “I was an escort—not a hooker, no—but an escort. You hear that word, you’re going to presume that I offered sex for money, no matter how much I tell you I didn’t.”

  Elli grumbled, but Viv put her hand on her arm. “I swear to you both now that I never took money for sex. But I did sleep with one of them, not because he was paying me, but because I fell in love with him.”

  Elli gaped at her best friend. “What? Who?”

  Vivienne hesitated. “Josiah Merchant.”

  Indio’s eyebrows shot up. “The hotelier?”

  Vivienne nodded, sighing. “He broke my heart, and that’s when I came to Italy. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “What happened?” Elli’s eyes were troubled at Vivienne’s revelation.

  Vivienne looked away from her gaze. “He was married. He told me he was separated, but then his wife came to see me. She told me she knew about us and that she wanted her husband back. I gave him a choice …and he chose her. End of story.”

  “Bastard.”

  Vivienne shook her head. “No. He wasn’t, Elli. I knew it was breaking his heart too, but they had a child together. He did the right thing by his family, but I’m not afraid to say that he was the love of my life.”

  Elli shook her head. “How come you never said anything? After all the years you listened to me about …” She trailed off, flushing red, but Indio smiled.

  “After all the years you listened to Elli being broken-hearted because I was a weak fool,” he finished, stroking his wife’s cheek. “Listen, Viv …I have met Jos. He’s a great guy and he’s divorced now. Why not see …?”

  Viv laughed softly. “Indio, I love you for saying that, but too many years and too much water under the bridge. Now, what were you saying about starting a magazine?”

  They talked long into the night, chatting and laughing, and by the time Vivienne went to bed, she was feeling more positive. Maybe she should embrace this as a crossroads moment and take some time. Despite Elli’s fears, Vivienne had been savvy with her m
oney—her Venice apartment was well-appointed, but not overpriced, and she always saved more than she spent. She could afford to take some time off. When she was younger, she had loved to travel.

  “Paris,” she said to herself now, quietly. It had been almost twenty years since she had been to the French capital—to the place where her parents had been born. She had been estranged from them ever since she was a teenager. An uncle—really, just a family friend—had been stalking the young Vivienne, culminating in a terrifying assault one evening when she had been alone in the house. She had told her parents, but hadn’t believed her. As soon as she had turned sixteen, she’d left their home and never returned. Neither parent had ever contacted her again, and now, Vivienne had stopped caring. But she loved Paris, loved the atmosphere, the café culture, the beauty of it. Maybe some time there would inspire her and return her to her love of writing rather than editing. Indio had been right—she should go freelance.

  Her mind made up, Vivienne slept better than she had in months. A new life, she thought as she drifted off. A new life.

  A month later …

  Vivienne breathed in the cool evening air of Paris as she sat outside a café in Montmartre. After a wonderful meal at Le Consulat, she felt her legs aching from walking around the city all day and decided to treat herself to a glass of good house red while she people-watched. As usual, the Montmartre streets were thronged with tourists from every nation and Vivienne’s imagination ran wild as she invented stories for each of them.

  She glanced at her watch. Dusk had fallen over the city, and in the distance, she could see the Eiffel Tower twinkling with lights. God, I am in heaven, she thought to herself, breathing deeply. Since coming here, she had regrouped and fought back from the crushing jolt to her self-esteem that being fired had handed her. Barnes Campo had sent her a very long, apologetic letter, and her severance package had been enough to pay for a very nice apartment in the Marias for three months as well as keeping her financially secure for the next few years if she was careful.

  Vivienne didn’t need a lot of material things in her life. She always dressed well, but was careful how she shopped, buying a good capsule wardrobe and then enhancing it with a few carefully chosen statement pieces to maintain her patrician, elegant aesthetic. She didn’t wear expensive jewelry or have an expensive car. She was happier with a notepad in her hand to write or sketch.

  She was lost in her reverie when she heard her name being spoken and started, a little annoyed that she had been found. A second later, her heart started to pound as the man who had spoken smiled down at her, a little pensively.

  “Vivienne?”

  God, no. Why? Why him, of all people? Vivienne stood to greet him, her heart thumping hard against her ribs. “Hello, Josiah.”

  Josiah Merchant, tall, broad, with dark wavy hair and green eyes, smiled at her. “It’s been a long time, Viv.”

  Her stomach was doing somersaults. “It has …Jos, what are you doing here in Paris?”

  Jos motioned for her to sit again and joined her. “Looking for premises for a new hotel. I might be going into business with Benoit Vaux. You know him?”

  Vivienne shook her head, still stunned to see him. God, was he always this devastatingly handsome? Or had age made his face manlier and less boyish than she remembered. He was only about five years her senior, but he seemed so much older now. The salt and pepper of his hair, the crinkle of his eyes at the corners …she realized he was waiting for her reply.

  “Sorry, no, I don’t, but he’s a friend of a friend.” She smiled wryly. “I’m sorry, Jos. I’m just a bit shell-shocked to see you. How have you been?”

  Jos nodded slowly. “Okay. Deirdre and I are divorced now, Shelby is at Harvard …other than that, not much has changed.”

  Yes, yes it has changed, Jos. I’m a grown woman now. A grown, successful woman. Tell him, tell him what you’ve achieved …but Vivienne couldn’t help it—in his presence, she felt like that same kid who adored him.

  He was studying her. “Is it possible you got even more beautiful?”

  Oh no. Not the charm offensive. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to resist that. Run. Run far away from this man. Vivienne gave him a cool smile and finished her glass of wine. “I really must be going.”

  “Wait …” He pulled out a business card. “I don’t know how long you are in Paris for, but I’d love to see you again. Dinner?”

  Vivienne hesitated, then took the card. “Sure. Maybe toward the end of the week?”

  “How’s Friday?”

  “Perfect. Goodnight, Jos. Great to see you.” She stood, and he stood with her.

  “At least let me walk you to the nearest taxi stand …the Pigalle is not a place for a woman alone at night.”

  Vivienne felt her feminist hackles prickling, and it must have shown on her face because Jos grinned suddenly. “Firecracker, still? Hey, I meant no disrespect, but seeing as I’m going that way anyway.”

  She let him take her arm, and they walked slowly through the crowds, riding down the Funicular to the streets below. Street vendors immediately swarmed, then, trying to sell them everything from umbrellas to knock-off designer handbags. Jos dismissed them all with a friendly but firm wave of his hand and Vivienne was suddenly grateful for his presence. She always found them to be intimidating. God, listen to yourself. The last thing I want to be is the damsel in distress with this man or show any vulnerability. She was terrified of showing the cracks in her heart that he could so easily sneak back into. Of all the people …

  Suddenly, Vivienne got it. She looked at Jos with narrowed eyes. “Jos …who is your mutual friend of Benoit Vaux’s?”

  Josiah had the grace to look guilty. “Indio Navaro,” he said, and Vivienne cursed softly.

  “So this is a setup?”

  They were waiting at the taxi stand, but Josiah chuckled suddenly and made a motion with his hand. A town car with blacked-out windows glided to the curb. Josiah opened the door for Vivienne, but she remained still. “What is this?”

  Jos, hiding a grin, pretended to check out the vehicle. “I’m going to say …a motor vehicle. Damn new-fangled things.”

  Do not laugh. Don’t give him the satisfaction. “Why do I feel corralled all of a sudden?”

  Jos shook his head. “Viv …let’s drop all this politeness. Yes, Indio—and more specifically his lovely wife—just happened to mention to Benoit that you were here. Benoit, in turn, very casually told me.”

  “Don’t give me that—this was set up.”

  He shrugged. “Yes. Is that what you wanted to hear? Please, Viv, won’t you join me at my hotel? Just to talk and have a drink. I promise.”

  Was he for real? “How did you know I was here, in Montmartre?”

  He had the grace to look guilty, and Vivienne was outraged. “You followed me?”

  “Yep.”

  Vivienne rubbed her head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Jesus, Jos.”

  He took her hands. “Look, nothing expected, nothing assumed. Let’s just talk, catch up—as friends. It really is good to see you.”

  And she had to admit, seeing Jos made her insides quiver with desire and love as well as regret and hurt. She nodded briefly and got into his car. Jos slid in beside her and gave his driver the order. “George V, sil vous plait.”

  As they drove through the city, Vivienne hyper-aware of his body next to hers. She could smell his cologne, woody and spicy, and feel the heat of his body. She sneaked a side-long look at him. He was all machismo and brooding beauty, she decided, not unlike Indio. But whereas Indio was more artistic, she knew Jos was methodical, organized, and ruthless in the boardroom—and an animal in the bedroom. At least, he had been back in the day …no, looking at him, he looked even more determined and readier to seduce her. She knew what would happen once they got back to his hotel. So now she had to ask herself—did she want this?

  He caught her looking at him and held her gaze, his eyes intense on hers. “Whatever you are t
hinking, Red,” he said softly, “times that by a million.”

  God, the instant reaction of her body betrayed her. Her breasts swelled, her nipples hardened, and a pulse began to beat hard between her legs. Vivienne’s mouth hitched up in a small smile.

  “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

  Jos grinned. “Shouldn’t I be? We’re both adults, Viv.”

  “If you finish that sentence with, ‘in the most romantic city in the world,' I will get out of this car and I won’t care if it’s still moving.” She laughed suddenly at the speed with which this was all happening. When I get hold of you, Elliana Navaro, I will kill you. But Viv suddenly felt her spirits lift. Maybe she did need this—a fling with an old flame. And yes, here, in the most romantic city in the world, it seemed the perfect reunion.

  Jos held her hand as they walked to the elevator of the George V and to his room. Inside, she turned to him. “Jos …why are you staying at this hotel when you could stay at one of your own?”

  Jos gave her a crooked smile. “Because it’s the best. It’s the quality and experience my hotels aspire to and aren’t quite up to yet.”

  “You always strove to be the best.”

  Jos’s smile faded. “And nearly always failed. I should never have left you, Viv.”

  Vivienne turned to him. “No. We’re not doing that, Jos. Do you understand me? We’re not doing regrets and if only’s. This is for here, now.”

  She didn’t know what came over her, but as the elevator reached his floor, she felt stronger and more confident than she ever had. So what if this was a bad idea? She wanted him, so she was going to have him and fuck the consequences.

  In his suite—the best in the hotel, of course—they stood, gazing at each other for a long moment.

  “Hello, again,” Jos said softly and Vivienne smiled.

  “Hello, again.”

  Jos bent his head and brushed her lips against hers, and Vivienne felt her pulse quicken. She curved her body into his as they kissed, his hands on her caressing and stroking.