by Maddy Raven
"You don't remember checking the clock when you woke up?"
"Honestly? I was a bit hung over.” Alexa paused. “I think I still am.”
"I see…" Elaine peered at her through narrowed eyes, her mouth twisted as if she was considering Alexa’s story.
"And what exactly was your relationship to Ms. Palmerson?" Elaine asked.
Alexa froze. "Are you a lawyer or something? Because this feels like an interrogation, not a briefing.”
"No.” Elaine’s chuckle patronized her. "I'm not a lawyer. I just want to tell Rebecca what she can expect."
"Why don't you tell me what I can expect?" Alexa asked, matching Elaine’s condescending smile. The shock was beginning to pass, anger quickly taking its place.
Elaine’s eyebrows shot up. "Why don’t we try to get through a few more of these questions, and then you can ask her yourself.”
"I don't think I want to answer any more questions."
“Alexa.” The voice seemed to echo across the entryway. She looked up to see a well-dressed woman emerge at the top of the staircase, descending toward her with a tight-lipped smile. As she reached the last step, she extended her hand in one fluid motion. "How lovely to see you,” she cooed with practiced kindness. “Rebecca Harper. Welcome to our home."
Alexa instinctively reached out to take Rebecca's delicate hand, her ill temper quickly fading. There was something about this woman that made her pause. Her manners were gentle and soft, and she seemed so genuine when welcoming her to her home, Alexa couldn’t stand to be anything but polite.
"It's nice to meet you. May I ask—why am I here?"
Rebecca opened the French doors to a sitting room off the corridor. “May we have the room, please?” she asked the small group that was busily working inside.
They immediately stood and began to gather their things from the coffee table.
“I don't think that's quite the best idea." Elaine stepped aside and watched the group leave before trailing after Rebecca. "It may be advisable to keep—"
“Thank you for your concern." Rebecca smiled at Elaine. “That will be all for now."
Alexa felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips, gratified that the woman had been dismissed so quickly. She couldn’t tell if she liked Rebecca yet, but this was certainly a step in the right direction.
Rebecca smoothed her skirt and seated herself on one of the plush couches, crossing her legs and patting the spot next to her.
“Sit,” she said.
Alexa sat.
Rebecca studied her for a moment, and Alexa could only imagine what she looked like—hair in knots, zipped up hoodie covering a creased cocktail dress. But instead of commenting on her appearance, Rebecca smiled. "I saw you in those pictures with my son yesterday. You're very eye-catching, you know. Those silly blogs that write about William are enamored with you already."
"Well…thanks?"
"Of course,” Rebecca continued, "you’re a natural beauty. And the press likes beautiful people.” She sat up a little straighter, shoulders back. "Now, Alexa, let's get down to business. As you know, Vivian Palmerson was murdered last night. You and my son were the last two people on record to see her, which currently make you persons of interest. Have you spoken to the police yet?"
"No,” Alexa answered. "I was afraid to answer my phone.”
"Good. I’m happy to hear we reached you first. We can protect you from the law, as long as you cooperate and help us protect William."
"Protect William?" Alexa was confused. Where exactly was this going?
"My son is a lot of things, Alexa. Brilliant, but spoiled. I blame myself, mostly, for letting Henry raise him as the son of a billionaire rather than the little boy he was. We’ve sheltered him his whole life, which makes him naïve.”
“Will is…” a pain in the ass, Alexa wanted to say, but her opinion of him had changed from their first meeting in the grocery store just 24 hours ago. Now—especially now—she could only be honest.
“He’s… ultimately good. He tries to fix his mistakes.”
“I’m glad you speak so kindly of him.” Rebecca smiled, her eyes softening for the slightest of seconds before she stood abruptly, crossing to the window. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, more urgent. “I need your help, Alexa. We both know my son isn’t capable of murder. He's known Vivian since childhood—he would never harm her, especially not when he was in love with her sister."
Alexa felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. This conversation wasn’t looking good for her. Will and she were both persons of interest, which meant the best way to get the heat off of herself was to point the finger at him. Rebecca had to know that, and that had to be why she called her here, to judge for herself what Alexa might do next. The problem with that was, Alexa didn’t think Will was guilty. He was selfish and a jerk, but did that make him a killer?
And Will was in the same situation, capable of pointing that finger right back at her. Did he believe she was guilty? Was that why she was here? Was that what the Harper family was planning—not to protect her, but to exploit her? Was Rebecca asking her to take the fall for Vivian’s murder to protect her son?
"Alexa." Rebecca sat next to her again, leaning forward to touch the top of her knee in concern. “You look positively ill.”
Alexa shook her head. “Just a bit weary. You said you wanted to help me?"
Rebecca smiled and patted her arm. “I want to hire you a defense team, so we can get you out of this awful—"
“You want to hire me a lawyer?" She was completely perplexed now. What happened to wanting her to take the fall? What on earth was this woman playing at?
"I like you, Alexa,” Rebecca said after a long pause. “You’re sharp and intelligent. You have so much potential, if only someone could harness and put it to good use.”
"Mrs. Harper.” Alexa frowned, searching for the most delicate way to decline. “I'm grateful for the offer, but I don't understand—what is it you’re asking of me in exchange?”
"This murder investigation is another blip on my son's record of bad behavior. I'm sure you've read about him—the speeding tickets, the tangles with law enforcement, the legions of women he spends his nights with.”
"Actually, I haven't,” Alexa admitted. “I didn't even know who your son was until yesterday."
Rebecca smiled. "Of course you didn't. You're not a silly, gossiping gold digger like those other girls he’s pictured with.”
Alexa raised her eyebrows, not knowing how to respond. She bit the inside of her cheek, deciding that her best bet was to keep silent.
Rebecca’s cool blue eyes stared at Alexa for a long moment. Then, she shifted, crossing her legs towards Alexa, and smoothed her skirt.
“Alexa, the reason I like you is because you remind me of myself. I didn’t grow up with this, you see.” She gestured around her, and Alexa couldn’t help but shift her gaze to the antique furnishings and expensive art that decorated the room.
“With all due respect,” Alexa said, “you don’t even know me.” She seriously doubted that Rebecca had any idea what her life had been like—no one did. That had been the point of moving all the way to Chicago, after all.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Rebecca said lightly. “You’re thinking I know nothing about you, but I know more than you think. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and you have an air of pedigree that would welcome you into our world.”
Alexa opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again. She couldn’t tell if she should feel insulted or complimented, and Rebecca’s speech coming on the heels of offering legal counsel for a murder investigation made her skin crawl with suspicion.
And then it came.
“William needs a woman like you in his life. Someone to stand by him during this crisis, to remind the public of his more respectable qualities, to prove to my husband that William is worthy of succeeding him—"
“Mrs. Harper.” Alexa held her hands up, interrupting the woman
before she could continue. “Are you shopping for a wife for your son?”
“Not a wife, dear. An alibi.”
Alexa felt her mouth drop a little—this was not what she expected, not at all.
Rebecca sipped her tea. “William needs to clean up his image, prevent any more negative press, and stay out of trouble during this investigation. You are the closest thing to an alibi for Vivian’s murder that he has, and since you were recently photographed with him, we want you to keep up that ruse, to put him back into the public’s—and my husband’s—good graces.”
Alexa stared at her in stunned silence. “You want me to date your son? Mrs. Harper…” She gave a hollow laugh from the absurdity of it all. “I don’t think you understand. Will hates me.”
"Not date him, Alexa. Of course not. What I want is for you to nurture him, guide him. What I want,” she said, “is your allegiance to my son.”
“Why?” she asked.
Rebecca sighed. “Even with my vast resources, the one thing I can't buy in a potential partner is the forethought to be loyal. William is headstrong, but it only takes the right woman to turn his head in the direction she wants.”
Rebecca paused, examining her. “I can make this lucrative for you, Alexa. You’ll have my legal team at your disposal if this investigation deems it necessary. I can provide you with anything else you need—an apartment, a student loan payoff, a contract job within the family business…”
Protection if she were falsely accused, a place to live, a steady job… an offer from Harper Global could be exactly what she needed to reenter the corporate world… Alexa shook her head and put her face in her hands. What was she thinking? The Harper’s were trying to buy her off, not for her silence, but to protect Will. Her protection—her very innocence—relied solely on him.
“Why me?” she asked. I understand why you’d want my alibi for Will—but why the rest?”
“Oh, Alexa,” Rebecca said softly. “Do you think I don’t know who your father is?”
The words echoed in Alexa’s mind with a deafening ring. How could Rebecca Harper possibly know about her family?
“I’m not in contact with him right now,” she said. “He adopted me out of charity—“
“He is your birth father,” Rebecca said matter-of-factly.
Alexa tried to contain her surprise. “It would ruin his campaign if the truth came out.”
“And is that something you want?” Rebecca asked, still too nonchalantly to capture the seriousness of what she was saying—what she was doing.
Alexa frowned. She hated her father, and for good reason—but her feelings toward him were still… complicated.
“That’s not my style,” she finally said.
“You’re a good daughter,” Rebecca said. “Sacrificing the life you had… the life you were entitled to.”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” Alexa said, standing up shakily. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She couldn’t believe that the Harpers were using Vivian’s death to somehow hurt her father’s career.
Rebecca didn’t ask her to sit back down as she fumbled with her grabbing her purse. “If you don’t want revenge,” she said slowly, “perhaps I could provide you with the documentation you need to become a legal citizen in this country.”
Her face paled. How could Rebecca Harper possibly know that she hadn’t legally been born in the United States? That she had just been a baby when she immigrated? How far was Rebecca willing to go to make sure Alexa consented to her plan?
Finally, Alexa understood. Rebecca wasn’t just asking Alexa to be Will’s alibi; she wanted someone she could control. She wanted someone who had skeletons in her closet, someone who wouldn’t actually fall in love with her son. She wanted a soldier, someone to carry her orders, someone who had no choice but to do so.
Someone like her. Someone with no other options.
“You’ve dug deep,” Alexa finally said, her eyes following the older woman as she walked to the window. Her initial impression of Rebecca had dissipated; the woman standing before her was shrewd, calculated… and incredibly dangerous.
“I always do my homework, dear. Don’t be alarmed, your secrets are safe with me.”
She doubted that. Alexa knew what blackmail looked like. The problem was, it was working. She was in a bad place financially, legally, and emotionally, and Rebecca knew just how to exploit that. She had to protect her secret—her family’s secret—at any cost. Even if it meant doing the unthinkable and selling herself to the Harpers.
“What do you say, Alexa?” Rebecca watched her expectantly, a smile lingering on the corners of her mouth. “Will you be my son’s alibi?”
Alexa looked away. Inhale 1… 2… 3… exhale 1… 2… 3…
“Alexa?” Rebecca inquired kindly. “Did you hear me?”
She looked up. “How long do I have before you need my answer?”
“The cops are almost here for your statement. Time is of the essence.”
Alexa’s eyes darted past Rebecca to the window. Her heart started to race. Police cars travelled the driveway along the manicured lawn, their sirens off but their lights still flashing in rotation.
“Alexa.” Rebecca’s voice hinted at her impatience. “I need an answer.”
She stared at the vehicles as they pulled up to the house; outside the room, she heard the front door open and the shuffle of uniformed bodies being ushered in. Alexa looked up at Rebecca.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Excellent,” Rebecca said. “Now, here’s what you’re going to tell the police…”
*****
What happens next?
Puzzled over Rebecca's motives, or her sources, or both?
Curious about how Will will take his mother's news?
Wondering what Rebecca will make Alexa do next?
Get the answers to these questions and more in The Billionaire's Alibi: The Contract (The Billionaire's Alibi #2).
A PREVIEW FROM BEAUTY AWAKENED: THE QUEEN AND THE HONEY
IT is 7:49pm on a Monday night when I see him, finally. He doesn’t come every day, but when he does come to sketch, he sits in a specific wooden chair at a specific wooden table on the seventh floor of the Harold Washington Library in Chicago. I’ve seen him there so many times, never far from where I’m sitting, sketching my own designs. But I’ve never worked up the nerve to speak to him, as much as I want to.
He parts his hair on the far left and it swoops across his forehead like a dove’s wing. His hair is blonder than mine and not as golden, but more like the color of sunlight itself. He has long, soft eyelashes, nude lips, and crisp, blue-green eyes the color of the ocean. His straight-angled nose is the perfect size for his long, oval face. His thick biceps pop under the sleeves of his polo shirt. I normally hate men in polo shirts, but he manages to pull it off without looking like a tool, or a frat boy. He’s a dreamer, despite the way he dresses. I like that about him.
His pen slides with fluidity across the page, making movements that are simple and soft, never abrupt or intrusive. When he hunches over his sketchpad, his hair falls across his eyes and I pretend I can’t see him peeking at me. But he does.
It’s my twenty-seventh birthday today, and I can’t get his image out of my mind. The drawing in front of me is a half-finished sketch of a party dress for my debut line of clothing. Next to the party dress, there is a sketch of a man who looks a lot like my boyfriend. We’ve been together for nearly six years, and he still hasn’t proposed. But he lets me live at his apartment while I pursue my dream of becoming a fashion designer. Plus, according to what I sketched, he looks good in a suit.
I promised myself several weeks ago that if I saw the blonde stranger today, on my birthday, I wouldn’t let him disappear without getting his name. My biggest fear is that one day I’ll show up and he won’t, and I will have never spoken to him, never taken a chance on him. I never take the chances I should. I want this year to be different
.
I’ve never really dated as an adult, and I’ve only had sex with two men in my entire life. To be fair, one was my high school sweetheart. We broke up in college after the fabric wore thin on our long-distance relationship. That’s when I met my current boyfriend, Derrick.
We are the perfect couple on paper and all our friends would say so. I graduated from the Art Institute a few months ago, at the beginning of the summer. My degree is in fashion marketing, and I’m going to be a big success someday. Derrick has an MBA from Northwestern and works as a financial consultant for United Airlines. He makes good money, six figures, and he doesn’t mind spending it on me, as long as he gets what he wants out of the deal.
But behind closed doors, where only the two of us can truly know what happens, things aren’t as lovely as they are on paper. Derrick isn’t very affectionate. He doesn’t touch me unless he wants sex. When he fucks me, he’s always on top, always staring at the headboard behind us, never looking into my eyes. He doesn’t caress my breasts, doesn’t suck on the lips of my rose, doesn’t care if he gets me wet before shoving his dick inside me.
I know it shouldn’t matter. I have safety, security, everything a young woman could want. Derrick supports my career, even though I’m working in retail for now. He knows I have to build my portfolio and my network before I can see my designs on the runway. He is the rock to my wings. He keeps me on the ground, and because of him, I never float away.
But I also have longings. Like the blonde man who never speaks to me, but probably wants to. These longings eat me alive with guilt.
I sometimes wonder, if I just acted on what I wanted more often, would I feel so empty in my relationship with Derrick? Sure, he loves me, in the most sterile sense of the word, but would it always be enough? Would I spend the rest of my life wondering, wishing that I could be someone else for a few days?
I make a decision and pack my sketchpad and pencils into my backpack. I read somewhere that love at first sight doesn’t exist, that what we feel instead is the fantasy that we have projected onto someone, based on their looks. I am confident that if I talk to the blonde man, he will disappoint me. And once he shatters the perfect image I’ve created of him, I’ll lose interest. It’s much safer that way, anyway. I don’t want to jeopardize what I have with Derrick. What I have with Derrick is good. Why risk that?
