His thumb and forefinger glide down the bridge of his nose, betraying his frustration. "Because my father won't give me control of the company unless I'm a family man, deeply devoted to my wife. He and my grandfather made this pact—Kingston Realties will always be run by the family or it will be dissolved. None of my brothers or I are in relationships and my Dad is one step away from throwing away my grandfather's goddamned legacy. That's why!" His tone of voice rises with each word he spits out.
His body language says more than he does with his words. I could be reading the man all wrong but I think that this company means something to him. Saving the family business isn't just about money.
Okay, fine—Cannon Kingston might have a soft side under his thorny exterior. Still, I'm really not sure I’d want his conceited ass for my new landlord. Let alone, my husband.
He watches me for a minute before speaking again. “This arrangement will work out for all of us, Alexia. You and I get married, I take over the company from my father and the town of Crescent Harbor stays standing.” He thinks my acceptance is a foregone conclusion. His caramel eyes tell me that. “Let’s just hurry up and hammer out the details so this doesn’t have to be painful.”
The brittle truce between us snaps.
I can't believe I almost fell for that act. Putting up with his spoiled ass will never be worth my freedom. He doesn’t deserve to take over Kingston Realties. And he’s probably lying about this whole thing through his teeth to fool me. He just strolled into town and he has ulterior motive written all over him. I’m not buying it.
“It's a hell no, Cannon," I grit out. "I would never marry you.”
His eyes narrow down to caramel slits of indignation. "You're kidding, right?"
"I’m very serious." His neck goes red and his throat muscles tense with anger. "You're not even going to consider this?"
"This isn’t a negotiation, King. It’s a ‘no’."
His lips press into a thin line, and I can see he’s struggling to keep his temper in check.
I’m tired and grumpy myself, and I have zero energy to continue this ridiculous conversation. “You need to go,” I say, my voice shaking.
Cannon nods once and places an eviction notice on the counter next to my cash register. Just the sight of it makes it hard to breathe. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. Twenty-four hours." On top of the legal document, he slaps down a crisp business card bearing his name in big, embossed letters.
I stretch the business card back to him and lock my eyes on his hardened face. "There’s nothing to think about." I swallow. No hesitation in my next words. "I'll take my chances with the eviction."
I wait for him to react but he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, staring at me. His body is a giant pillar of muscle and testosterone. And anger.
Well guess what? I'm pissed off, too.
Frustrated after a long standoff, I reach up and slide the card into the chest pocket of his shirt. My hand lingers on his chest. I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the way his solid pectoral flexes under my fingertips. I turn to walk away.
With a brisk movement, he grabs my elbow. He spins me around so fast my body crashes into his.
A startled breath catches in my throat. My hand rushes up and curls in the expensive fabric of his shirt for balance. Cannon’s body is warm. It smells clean and male and wild.
Deftly, he slips the business card into the back pocket of my jeans, his expert fingers barely skimming the curve of my ass. His cock lays heavy against my gut. He's hard as fuck.
Y'know what? I'm not surprised. He's a sadist. Of course he'd get off on this shit.
My pussy clenches when his mouth comes near my ear. "Twenty-four hours to think about it, sweetheart. Before I take your precious business away." His voice is low, warning, bordering on a threat.
When he releases me, I stumble on my own feet.
Then he turns and walks out of my bridal shop.
11
Lexi
I’m sitting on the floor of Miss Lucille’s hair salon, pouring all of my attention into figuring out the inner workings of this high-dollar blow dryer. The mechanics of it are much more complicated than the twelve-dollar hair dryer I have at home but honestly, with everything going on in my world right now, I welcome the distraction.
“Scoot!” Penny smacks my hip with the shop broom and when I glance up, she grins.
I slide out of her way, so she can finish sweeping up her aunt's salon. It’s near closing time and this business is just as empty as the rest on Promenade Street, so the girls and I are all here helping out Iris’s mom.
“The timing of this eviction couldn’t be worse,” Miss Lucille comments for the third time, falling into a styling chair and toeing off her shoes. The weight of her daughter’s struggles are clearly beating her down.
“Do you think Mr. Kingston even knows about your divorce?" Jessa addresses the question to Iris. "Maybe he’d work something out with you if someone talked to him.” She wears a hopeful look as she sprays down each styling station.
“How could he not know?” Penny cringes.
“This is Crescent Harbor. Everyone knows,” Iris mutters, face pinkening as she gathers up a fistful of combs and tools to disinfect them.
Jessa sighs. “This really isn't fair…”
The girls continue to moan but I don't lift my eyes from the broken dryer. It's all I can do to keep from crying. Facing reality means I'll have to make a choice. And if I make the wrong choice, I could blow up my whole life—and everyone else in the blast radius.
“Hey. Hey.” Jessa pokes me in the shoulder with her spray bottle. That’s when I realize it’s gone quiet in the salon. I look up, tuning back into the girls’ conversation. “You okay? You zoned way out there.” My sister gives me a concerned look.
Everyone is eyeballing me. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” I lie.
“So what do you think?" Penny's expression is skeptical. "Is there anything we can do to help Iris keep her shop, or is Mr. Kingston a lost cause?”
Iris glances at me from over by the sink where she's washing the combs. “Did he work out a deal with you when you went to talk to him about your rent?”
Shit. I never told her—or any of the ladies—what happened that day. Or afterward. But it’s clear I need to come clean now.
“I—I never got to talk to Mr. Kingston," I admit. "I ran into his son instead.”
“Walker?” Penny chirps.
“Um, no. Remember the asshole from the coffeeshop that I did not flirt with?...That was Cannon Kingston."
Penny nods slowly, her face broadcasting surprise. "Oh…Walker did mention that his younger brother was back in town."
"I don’t know who he thinks he is, but he just showed up, and suddenly he’s the one who’s orchestrating all the Kingston Realties evictions. I...I don’t think any of us are safe,” I add quietly, hating to drop this on everyone.
“Oh, lord,” Iris’s mom croons.
Jessa whispers. “Are you serious?” Her skin goes pale. “He can't do that, can he? He doesn’t even live in Crescent Harbor!”
“There’s…more,” I admit and the room goes silent. “Cannon says the whole company is going under, and Mr. Kingston is looking to sell it.”
“So, maybe future evictions will be off the table, while they deal with all that?” Penny suggests hopefully.
“Not exactly. Cannon said they’ll be selling to an outside investor. You know, some big corporation that will buy everything up, demolish it, and rebuild factories and warehouses and shit.”
The salon is so quiet, I can hear my own heart beating. This is bad. Really bad.
“Cannon mentioned one option to prevent all that from happening.” Every eye swings to me. “If he’s married, he’ll get control of the company. He said he’d stall the evictions…if I marry him.”
There are wide eyes and then a ripple of hysterical laughter sweeps the room as the girls come to grips with the ridiculousness of our very
serious situation.
"He wants you to marry him?" Jessa's jaw drops in disbelief.
“Oh, girl. I'd be all over that." Penny fans herself. "Jessa said the chemistry between you two was on-freaking-fire.”
“Are you kidding?" I blink, incredulous. "I don’t even know the guy. And I'd put money on him being a sociopath.”
“He’s not, I promise,” Penny provides with a laugh. “He’s my best friend’s brother. He grew up in Crescent Harbor before making it big in the tech industry in New York.” Of course Penny would throw her weight behind him. She’s got the biggest crush on one of the other Kingston brothers. Too bad Walker had zero aspirations to be part of the family business. Then maybe she’d be on the hook here, instead of me.
“What about you? You know him, too?” I ask Iris. She grew up in Crescent Harbor. If she can vouch for the asshole brother, maybe I should give this some serious consideration.
“What?” Iris questions, suddenly very interested in cleaning one of her mom’s brushes. She's acting strange. Instantly, I know that she's withholding information. Juicy information.
“What do you know about Cannon Kingston? Is he really the heartless bastard I think he is? Or did we just get off on the wrong foot?” The tiniest piece of me might be holding out hope that I’m wrong about him. Deep down, maybe I want him to be an upstanding guy.
“Nope, don’t know him...” she spits out, earning more than one unconvinced look in her direction. The way Penny eyes her cousin, I know for sure that there's more to the story. But Iris is too sensitive for intense questioning at the moment so I let it go. For now. I drop my attention back to the hair dryer.
More than anything, I think each woman here is a little on edge, lost in her own fears. Business in Crescent Harbor always slows this time of year, but this is our home. Kingston Realties legit owns most of the town, and nearly all of the commercial properties. If they go under—or if Cannon continues his eviction crusade—we’re all impacted. It’s not like Crescent Harbor, Illinois is booming with available jobs either. If we’re shut down, we won’t be the only ones who are unemployed.
Penny earns her living at the bar in town. Jessa’s getting her start at the coffee shop while she looks for stable work as a teacher. Everything Iris’s mom owns is wrapped up in this beauty salon.
The buildings housing every single one of those establishments is owned by Kingston Realty Holdings.
And given how quickly they dumped Iris on the street, we all can see they mean business. Serious business. It’s just a matter of time before we all follow Iris’s demise.
It terrifies me. I’ve been in this situation before. I know what it means to have the rug pulled out from under you, to have to worry about whether you’ll have food to eat or if this month will be your last with a roof over your head.
I can’t live like that again.
“What are you going to do?” Jessa asks me softly.
I stop fiddling with the dryer and look up. I can read the terror on the faces of my favorite people. It takes my breath away. I essentially possess the power to save each and every one of them from having their lives upended.
But can I save them if it means selling my soul to a ruthless handsome devil?
12
Cannon
The turrets of my Tudor-style mini mansion cast long shadows across the wet black-brick driveway as my Tesla emerges from the garage. Rain beats down on my windshield and my lawyer’s voice fills the cabin of the car. “Cannon, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Stalled at the foot of my driveway, I brace myself for whatever bullshit he’s about to throw my way.
My estate sprawls for acres, contouring the south bank of the river. The view from up here is fucking breathtaking, even in the rain.
The property is badass and I paid Kingston Realties a fortune for it a few years ago. But really, it's this view that makes it priceless. The way sunbeams crash off the surface of the water at the height of summer. The way the leaves shatter into a prism of reds and purples and yellows across the lawn in the fall. It’s fucking phenomenal and it kind of sucks not having anyone to share it with.
When Margot would come out here, all she did was complain about the mosquitos. So, I decided to keep her presence in Crescent Harbor to a minimum. I didn’t need all that negativity fucking up my feng shui.
Because of that, I haven’t spent as much time out here as I would have liked to over the past few years. Every visit was just a day or two to check in with family before heading back to my penthouse in New York or my condo in L.A. or my flat in London.
As I’m sitting here, admiring this piece of architectural brilliance, I wonder if it might be time for me to slow down. Lay some roots. Stop and smell the roses—or whatever the hell that bush is jutting out of my overgrown parterre garden.
Damn. I need a landscaper. And nothing says 'I'm laying down roots' like hiring a landscaper.
With the flick of a switch, my windshield wipers kick up to full speed, scattering the torrents of rain clobbering my front window. I merge onto the narrow road leading into town. Through a tight jaw, I grit out. “Tear off the Band-Aid, Frank. What’s the bad news?”
“Unfortunately, I can't, in good conscience, proceed with some of the requests you made.” Frank’s voice rasps. “We’re straddling a thin line, Cannon. Bordering on illegal territory. I need to go at this from a different angle to strip Carl of the aforementioned assets without breaking the law.”
I sigh, taking three full breaths to control myself before responding. “Make it happen, Frank. The plan I gave you is foolproof.”
“But not necessarily legal.”
I respect the old guy. He and his firm have gotten me out of a lot of shit over the years. But lately, he’s been pissing me off. Frank used to be hardcore. That’s what I liked about him. But ever since last year when his latest wife pawned off her wedding ring and left him to join a topless traveling folk band, he’s gone soft on me.
“If you have a better solution, then do it. Otherwise, stick to Plan A. Consequences be damned.”
He sighs wearily. "Cannon, this revenge thing has gone on long enough. You need to be here in New York, managing DataCo. You left a billion-dollar ship without a captain and Carl is driving it into a ditch.”
I massage the line of my nose. I know he’s right. But it’s too early in the morning for melodrama and mixed metaphors. I won’t let him dictate my decisions.
“I’m not changing my mind, Frank,” I state tersely then change the conversation while switching lanes. “And one more thing—I’ll be getting married.”
“Oh?”
I choose to ignore his veiled surprise. I know the old man would appreciate more details, but I’m not willing to divulge too much. Not just yet. I mean, Stormy hasn’t exactly agreed to our arrangement, but I know she will. And, soon. She’s running out of time.
“Yes, and it’ll happen quickly. Can you pull whatever applications and documents that are needed?”
“I'm on it as we speak.”
“Perfect. Thank you,” I clip before hanging up.
This marriage cannot happen fast enough. I will not allow everything Gramps built to fall into the hands of the highest bidder. I'm proud of the legacy my grandfather built. He worked his ass off to make sure his family was taken care of. But he didn’t make all those sacrifices for us to just fuck it all up. He ensured the company was in good hands—in a position to grow—when he passed it along to my father. I’m more desperate than ever to save Gramps’ legacy.
My desperation brings me full circle to a crazy woman I barely know.
That damn sassy girl keeps popping into my thoughts, obstructing my peace of mind with her long legs and her thick hair and her pushy attitude. As I roll up to a stop sign, I make a conscious effort to block out the memory of the way I fisted my cock last night in the shower, imagining her on her knees in front of me. Or the fact that I did it all over again this morning.
That’s so
not like me.
I’ve never had a problem controlling my thoughts so to have this stranger barge into my head and start changing the drapes and moving the furniture around is really pissing me off.
I don’t possess the time or energy to put together the jigsaw puzzle that is Alexia Robson. I have just two targets right now. Save my family’s company and destroy the two backstabbing cheats in my circle. I need to stop letting my libido run amok with Lexi and just focus on getting her to be my on-paper wife.
Because that’s all this can ever be. An on-paper arrangement for mutual gain. Nothing more. I just need my subconscious to accept that.
With no warning, an old pick-up truck swerves off the shoulder of the road and bumps into the lane ahead of me. A broken television set with the wires hanging out is wedged between a doorless refrigerator and a cracked microwave oven. The lot of it balances precariously on top of an ancient washer/dryer set and is bound together by a fraying rope.
The fuck is wrong with people?!
As a precaution, I pump on my brakes and allow a careful distance to grow between our vehicles.
The truck veers abruptly. It comes to a reckless stop beside a discarded sofa and a pile of other garbage on the curb. I swerve just in time and lay hard on my horn. “Pick a lane, you little fucker!”
An old man in a faded red baseball cap and overalls hops from the driver’s seat. He throws me a friendly wave as I zip by.
“Indicate, Dipshit!” In my rearview mirror, I see his frail body hauling the dirty couch toward his truck.
A right turn onto Hart Road brings me away from the waterfront and down the narrow tree-lined strip that runs past my old high school. Huddled figures move along the sidewalks, cowering under shared umbrellas. There’s not a streak of sunlight in sight to soothe the uneasiness digging a path under my skin because I don't know what's awaiting me when I reach my destination.
Mister Billions: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance Page 7
