“Good. I’m glad for you.” Her words stop me dead in my tracks.
I frown. “Thank you,” I say, after a long, uncertain pause.
“And you’re right. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.”
Now I’m outright staring. Who is this, and what has she done with my ex-girlfriend? The cameras are still rolling. Is she just apologizing for them? I glance around in confusion, then shrug. “It’s in the past,” I say.
“But I want to make up for it,” she says.
Oh no. Here we go. The catch.
She smiles at me, sweet as rotten honey. “Maybe I can give Sinclair a makeover. After all, if she’s going to date you, she’s going to need to learn how to put on a good face for the cameras; god knows she needs all the help she can get.”
That does it. Any patience I had remaining frays and snaps. “Sinclair is more beautiful, inside and out, than you will ever be,” I snarl. With that, I shove my way through the crowd, ignoring the flash of cameras, the pointed videos stuck right in my face.
“Mr. Helmtree! Mr. Helmtree!” I hear voices on all sides, people shouting, asking for comments. Reporters. Paparazzi. Fuck. They must have gotten wind of the argument, or maybe just seen somebody posting about this on Twitter. Hell, they could have just looked at Lily’s social media.
It takes longer than I’d like to extricate myself from the mob. In the end, I have to call Jonathan, who speeds up to the curb so fast he nearly hits a few guys standing in the middle of the street filming. They leap out of the way, cursing, and that, at least, makes me smile, if a little grimly.
I climb into the backseat, fending off more cameras as I go, and finally slam the door against the outside world and all its bullshit. “The office,” I tell him with a groan. “I’m supposed to meet Sinclair near there for dinner in an hour. But we’re going to have to think of some way to keep Sinclair off social media for the next few days.”
The last thing I want is a terrible person like Lily spoiling this proposal with an ill-timed video. Sinclair can’t find out what really just happened here today. Not until I give her this ring and find out her answer.
The nerves churn in my gut. I love her. And I know she loves me. But is she going to want to deal with this kind of shit her entire life? People like Lily getting overly attached or dramatic just to attract followers and attention and money? I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to opt out. I tell myself that if Sinclair says no, I have to respect that.
Even if it makes me crazy just imagining it. I need her.
But if she doesn’t want this, I won’t be like her ex. I won’t hurt her or use her. If she doesn’t want to be with me, I’ll let her go.
14
Sinclair
Shit. The pie is burning. I race toward the kitchen, glass of wine in hand, and reach the stove just in time to open the oven and remove the concoction I’ve worked all day on. Margot doesn’t understand why I don’t just order in for every meal. But I enjoy cooking. Especially cooking for Ankor, who I’m meeting out tonight. Or at least, I’m supposed to. He thinks we’re going to a restaurant, but I thought it’d be fun to surprise him at work, bring him dinner instead. Show how much love I put into it.
Margot thinks we’re both gross about our affection, but at least she approves. She’s been spending more time over since Ankor started going back to work semi-regularly this month. Which has been fun for me. She and I get along well.
It’s nice to have a female friend around.
“Shit.” I hear padding footsteps and turn to find Margot bent over her phone with a frown.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I saved it before it actually started burning.”
“No, I mean, shit, have you seen Twitter?”
“I don’t have Twitter,” I point out.
She waves a hand. “Then, Insta, YouTube, whatever!” She turns her phone around and holds it out to me. “Look. These videos are all over my feeds. Looks like Marco and Lily got into it in the middle of the street.”
My eyebrows fly upward. “Really?” I grab the phone from her and squint at the videos, scrolling through them. Shit, yeah. There’s image after image of Marco yelling, then Lily scowling. I tap on one, forgetting all about the open oven behind me until it starts to beep. I kick it shut and turn it off, then click on the video again as I turn up the volume.
“Maybe I can give Sinclair a makeover,” Lily is saying, looking infuriatingly gorgeous, with her perfectly styled hair, and her hands on her perfectly sculpted, narrow hips. “After all, if she’s going to date you, she’s going to need to learn how to put on a good face for the cameras; god knows she needs all the help she can get.”
I wince, my stomach churning. Ouch.
But as I watch, Ankor whirls on her, his face going red, his fists balled. The only other time I’ve ever seen him look that furious was the night I told him about my ex, and what he did to me.
“Sinclair is more beautiful, inside and out, than you will ever be,” he says.
My lips part. In the video, he stalks off, pushing through the crowd. I can’t help it. I smile.
Margot snatches the phone back from me with a groan. “Ugh, he’s so grossly in love with you.” But she flashes me a grin as she says it. “And thank god it’s you and not some gold-digging user like Lily.”
I can’t wipe the stupidly wide smile off my face. “She does seem like the worst.”
“The absolute worst,” Margot is saying, when she suddenly spots something that makes her eyes go wide.
“What?” I make a grab for the phone again, but she holds it out of reach. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She looks back at me. “Just… don’t tell Marco I showed you those Tweets.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“And stay off Twitter for the next few days,” she adds.
“I already told you, I don’t even have Twitter,” I point out.
“Well, stay offline altogether then. It’s for your own good.”
“Now you’re scaring me.” I glare.
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing bad, Sinclair, I promise. Just something good that you’d ruin if you looked. Like opening a present before Christmas, okay?”
I frown a little, confused, but I nod anyway. “Okay.” I trust Margot. If she says it’s not bad, then whatever it is, I’m probably better off not knowing. Most likely it’s Lily calling me more terrible names or insulting my clothing or whatever.
I go back to fanning the pie.
“You guys are doing couple-y dinner, right?” Margot points from me to the pie and back. When I nod, she shakes her head. “In that case, I’m out. You need a ride anywhere?”
“That’s okay; I’m just going to meet him at the office. I’ll walk.” It isn’t far from the penthouse. Ankor had planned ahead well when he moved to the city. Back then, work had been his biggest concern, so he’d been sure to find an apartment within jogging distance of his desk.
These days, he has a much better work-life balance. But still, sometimes duty calls. I don’t mind. It gives me time to catch up on my own projects. Time to figure out what I’d like to pursue, going forward.
Time to start hunting for new nursing jobs in the area. I haven’t told Ankor yet, but I know he’ll approve. After all, he’s happy when I’m happy. And I’m happy when I’m doing my job and helping people.
After kissing Margot’s cheek as she leaves, I pack the pie I’ve baked into a little cooler and sling it over one shoulder. I head down the elevator and wave to the front desk man, Andy, on my way out. Outside, it’s a deceptively nice day. Warm, sunny, bright. I’m glad I decided to walk.
Since we moved here, I spent the first few weeks holed up indoors. But lately, I’ve started venturing out more. Daring to walk down the street, unafraid. I run errands to the grocery store by myself. I walk through Central Park some days, by myself, and go lounge on the lawns or buy ice cream and stroll past the pond, watching kids feed the ducks.
Every day, I
get a little more rooted in the present. A little farther from the dark past that sent me running to Maui in the first place. But I’m grateful, in the end. Without all of that, I would never have found Ankor. And I can’t imagine my life without him now.
I’m thinking all this as I cut across the avenue nearest our apartment and jog up the cross streets. I’m thinking it as a man climbs out of a cab on the corner and starts to shout.
I’m so lost in those thoughts that I don’t realize for a moment… He’s shouting my name.
On instinct, I turn to look at him, and freeze. Every muscle, every bone in my body, everything in me just… freezes.
Because it’s him.
“Sinclair.” Lenn sneers at me. His smile is exactly the same, creepy and leering. His face is the same, narrow and pinched like he’s sucking on lemons. His gangly, bony arms and thick legs are the same.
Panic starts to creep through my veins and up my throat. How are you here? Why are you here? I want to shout all of that, but I don’t. I just freeze there in panic.
And then he grabs me.
I scream, too little too late, into the palm of his hand where it’s crushed over my mouth. I feel my feet leave the ground, feel him start to drag me, backwards, I’m not sure where. I flail my arms. The nice New York City street disappears around a corner as he drags me into a tight alley. He must have been waiting. He must have been watching, picking out a spot to do this. I wonder how long he’s waited. How long he’s known exactly where I am and how to get to me.
Did he plan this all out? What happens next?
I don’t want to find out.
He slams me against the wall of the alley, cold brick fraying the cotton of my T-shirt.
“You think you can just walk away from me?” he snarls, full in my face, his breath hot and reeking. Exactly like I remember that, too.
But me? I’m not like he remembers. I’m not the broken, beaten-down girl he kicked around for all those years.
I remember all those months ago in the pool, when I finally swam across it all the way through the deep end that first time. The expression on Ankor’s face when he looked at me, so full of confidence and support.
You’re so damn brave, he told me. You can do anything, you know that? You warrior.
And he was right. I can do anything. I am a warrior.
I reach into the bag at my waist, without Lenn even noticing. He’s not used to resistance. He’s used to me crumpling in fear. But not anymore. I close my hands around the pie plate. And then, at the same time that I open my mouth and bite down on his hand as hard as I can—making him scream and curse, dropping his hand from my mouth—I raise the pie plate and smash it across his head.
It shatters, pie splattering over both of us. He collapses to the muddy alley in front of me in shock, eyes wide, bleeding where the glass shattered and cut his bald head. But I don’t wait. I scream in fury and kick him full in the stomach. He curls around my foot, and I wrench free of him.
“Don’t you ever come near me again, you pathetic creep,” I shout.
Dimly, I’m aware of people stopping outside the alley. A couple of burly guys catch my eye, and one of them mouths You okay?
I nod at him, just once. But he stays close anyway. I love New Yorkers sometimes.
“Are you listening to me?” I bend down close to Lenn until he tilts his head up, one bruised eye opening to meet mine. “If you come anywhere near me or my boyfriend again, I’m having you arrested. Do you understand me? And when my boyfriend’s lawyers are through with you, you’d be lucky to see the outside of a jail cell before you’re seventy.”
I raise my fists, and he flinches. It’s enough to make me smile, vicious.
Ankor is right. I’m brave. I’m a warrior.
I step away from him, leaving him bruised and covered in pie and shards of glass. “Stay the hell out of my life,” I yell, before I stride up the alley, still covered in pie splatter myself. I don’t care. A few of the women watching cheer, and I flash them smiles. Then I keep walking, straight past, up the streets until I reach the one I’m looking for.
I walk into the lobby of Ankor’s office, still drenched head to toe in dripping blackberry pie. I leave purple and black stains across the marble entryway. The doorman takes one look at me, his eyes huge, and leaps forward, hand extended.
I stop him with a glance. “I’m going to Marco’s office,” I say, my tone brooking no room for disagreement.
His mouth hangs open. For a moment, I’m worried he’ll stop me, or worse, try to call security about the crazy woman covered in pie. But his eyes narrow, and he seems to do a double-take, before they widen in recognition. I’ve been in here with Ankor before. Not dressed like this and certainly never with jam and berries all over me, but still. He recognizes me.
“Of course, Miss,” he says, after only the briefest hesitation. “Take the last elevator, please.” He opens the door for me and hits Ankor’s floor. The top floor.
I smile. “Thank you.”
Still looking completely confused by my appearance, he nods. “My pleasure.” Then the doors slide shut and I square my shoulders.
* * *
The entire office floor falls silent when they see me. Eyebrows shoot up in every direction. I recognize a few of the people from Ankor’s team who he’s introduced me to. I don’t stop to say hello or explain. I walk straight past them all, to the corner office with the huge windows overlooking the park and the city skyline beyond.
He’s on the phone when I enter, with his back to me. I shut the door behind me and flip the switch next to the lights that lowers the curtains over the glass wall, cutting us off from view of the rest of the office.
Ankor turns in his chair, still chatting, something about making sure it doesn’t get any worse online, when he freezes, his eyes going huge, mouth slack in surprise. To his credit, he recovers after a split second. “I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone and stands, coming around his desk. “Sinclair, my god. Are you all right? What’s that all over you?”
I walk toward him without a word.
He tilts his head as I get closer, frowning. “Is that… pie?”
I fling my arms around his neck and pull his face to mine, kissing him, hard. He hesitates, but only for an instant. Then his arms go around my waist, and he kisses me back, his tongue parting my lips, his mouth crushed against mine. I taste blackberries and buttery crust.
His hands slide down my hips, but I catch them and draw them away, then push him lightly backward, until he’s leaning against his desk. He chuckles softly, eying me with his brows lifted. “Whatever’s gotten into you today, Sinclair, I like it.”
“I’m just getting started, believe me,” I reply with a grin. Then I grab his shirt and yank, hard. Buttons fly in every direction. Behind us, the blinds have finished closing, so the rest of the office can’t see us, at least. But Ankor seems to know I mean business. He reaches across his desk to tap a button near the side, and music fills the room, something low and thrumming. I flash him a grin as I push his shirt the rest of the way off.
Then I grab the belt of his pants.
“I want to feel you inside me,” I whisper as I undo his belt. Then his zipper. Finally, I shove his jeans roughly toward the floor, leaving only his boxers in the way. I run my hands over his chest, his pecs, his abs. I trace the V leading down to his groin with gentle fingers and slip my hands beneath the hem of his boxers.
He groans, low and deep in the back of his throat. “Sinclair…”
The way he says my name always undoes me.
I guide him toward his office chair and push him into it. He sits with a wide grin, and reaches up to grab my waist, pulling me across his lap.
“What’s gotten into you today?” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Besides pie.”
“What’s gotten into me is realizing you were right,” I tell him. I take his face between my hands and tilt it back, until he’s looking up at me, still smiling. I trace my finge
rtips over his cheekbones, his jawline. “You told me once that I was brave.”
“Once?” He shakes his head. “Sinclair, I should tell you that every damn day—”
I press my index finger over his lips to quiet him. He kisses my fingertip but falls quiet. “You told me I could do anything. That I was a warrior. Well, you were right.” I grin at him. “I am brave. Being with you taught me that.” I reach down between us, and with that, yank his boxers the rest of the way off.
I trace my hands over his cock, even as he slides his hands down my hips to grip my skirt. He pushes it up around my waist. “My warrior, huh?” He grins up at me.
“Your warrior,” I tell him, spreading my legs to either side of his waist. He draws me onto his lap, and I arch my body against him, positioning his cock beneath me. I lower myself onto his cock slowly, taking my time. Savoring every inch as the tip pushes past my entrance and into my pussy. I keep my hands on Ankor’s waist, pinning him against his chair as I ride him, slow at first, but then building up the pace.
He holds me above him, hands on my hips. Guiding me at first, until we start to move faster, harder. Then he tightens his grip on me, fucking me hard, driving up into me as I let my head fall back, my hair a mess across my face. “Right there, oh, fuck yes,” I hear myself gasping.
He drops one hand between us and presses his thumb against my clit as I ride him, and I can’t help it. Even though I know his whole office is probably out there listening to what we’re doing in here over the loud music he’s playing, I let out a cry of pleasure.
“That’s it, come for me, Sinclair,” he whispers against my neck. His finger presses against my clit a little harder, and he bucks up against me, making my hips move, driving into me over and over.
Before long, my toes are curled tight, and I’m near the edge again. One look at me, and he can tell. He always knows when I’m going to come.
Married to the Secret Billionaire Page 13
