The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  Maybe that guy will buy me dinner. He wasn’t haughty, but he stank of money. Tech money. Those days that’s where all the money was. Nala didn’t care that he was mega-rich, but she did care that he may pay for things here and there. Even at her angriest, there was a lot to be said for a full stomach and a free ride home.

  “Hey, Nala.” One of her coworkers appeared in the doorway. “We’ve got a big truck coming in. Hope you wore your wrist braces.”

  She glared at him. “Do I even want to fucking know…”

  “Looks like practice jerseys and cleats and shit. One of the community outreach programs got new ones and is donating these. Have fun.”

  Nala dropped her clipboard on the rolling rack with a sigh. First baby shit, now the stank of athletes who forgot their deodorant. She really, really hoped Mr. App Man bought her some food tonight.

  ***

  Still dressed in her jeans and blue work shirt, Nala ambled up a downtown sidewalk long after the sun began to set. She looked at the address on the business card for Lane Technological Solutions and crosschecked it with a transit map standing firm in the commercial district. The names of dead presidents went by with every block, until she came to the guy whose wife saved some portrait of George Washington or something. That’s literally all I know about him.

  The greeter behind the front counter looked at her with a stern face. No wonder. Everyone else milling about the lobby was dressed in their Sunday best and chatting about stocks and Ducks and Timbers and mergers. All the same around here. Nala slapped her handwritten appointment on the counter and hoped that her hair wasn’t too greasy. She had washed it that morning, but sweaty athlete jerseys…

  “Can I help you?” the elderly gentleman asked.

  Yeah, kill Xavier Crow for me. “I’m here to see Vincent Lane of the tech… thing.” Oops. “What floor is that on?”

  The grizzly glare she received would unnerve the average woman. She, however, was anything but average in that regard. I once had a neighbor who could’ve been this guy’s brother. Glared at everyone as if they had personally affronted him. Nala’s mother said it had to do with families and KGB and some asshole named Gorbachev. Come on, guy, tear down this wall between us and tell me what floor to go to!

  Nala was about to turn to the video monitor displaying floor information when the man said, “Sixteenth floor.” He kept a careful eye on her as she walked toward the elevator. Dare you to call security. Yup. He was reaching for a phone.

  No surprise when the elevator doors opened on the sixteenth floor and Nala was greeted by a young intern-y looking guy in a department store suit. Although behind his own desk, he looked as if he were expecting the young Miss Nazarov to announce she was there for a baby daddy check.

  “Hi. I have an appointment with your boss.” Nala slapped the business card down again, Vincent’s handwriting up. “See? That’s his handwriting.” She looked up at the Lane Technological Solutions logo hanging on a wood wall. Bold. White. Red asterisk behind the L. Nala sniffed and checked for her wallet out of habit. Yup. Still in the back pocket. Aggressive pan handlers hadn’t whisked away with it yet. It’s the chain. She liked chains.

  The man forced a smile as he picked up the card. “Well…”

  “It’s okay, Andrew.”

  Nala looked to her left. There, standing in a nondescript doorway, was Vincent. A very different looking Vincent from Tuesday night.

  That Vincent wore a suit meant for forty-year-old stock brokers showing off their wares. This Vincent wore pleated trousers, comfortable black shoes, and a burgundy button down tucked into a slim black belt with a simple gold buckle. No tie. No perfect posture. He was the epitome of laid back tech professional. Would be straight out of the Bay Area, but instead he had those PNW sensibilities that made him dress dark and probably carry a huge black umbrella.

  Nala’s eyes went straight to the big, bold silver watch on his wrist. Mostly because Vincent absentmindedly fussed with the clasp, like he had adjusted his cufflinks a dozen times the other night. Every man has his tic. If that was the worst of them with Vincent, then Nala should consider herself lucky.

  “Come on in, Nala. Andrew, hold any calls. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  Andrew looked between his finely dressed boss and the girl who looked like she stepped out of a big box store staff room. Nala grinned at him before following Vincent into his office.

  For a man of many apparent means, Vincent did not have grand tastes. In fact, they were quite subtle. His desk had no drawers. Just a black, sturdy table boasting a powerful graphics machine, printer, and telephone. The grandest piece of furniture was the office chair that looked like it hardly got any use. Two leather chairs sat before the desk, one of which Nala sat in while taking in the stark cream-colored walls and the few photographs around. There was one frame on the windowsill behind Vincent. Four pictures sectioned off. One was a middle-aged woman who looked enough like Vincent to be his mother. A college graduation photo. An old, worn photo that looked like it came from Ellis Island.

  A recent picture of a woman with big, frizzy hair and a smile that could light up the night sky. Sister? Vincent said he didn’t have a girlfriend, but, well, men lied.

  “Sorry about the trouble.” Vincent slumped into his chair and pushed paperwork aside. “I hate this building. Lots of old style types. Even the interns who canvas here are… well, never mind. It’s convenient to the other offices we deal with, though, and the restaurant downstairs is pretty great. Do you want some coffee? I could get Andrew to bring us some.”

  Nala shook her head. Her stomach growled, and she hoped to God Vincent didn’t hear. She hadn’t eaten since her half of a turkey sandwich at lunch. I’ve lost ten pounds since moving here. Food was expensive.

  “Anyway, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me. I honestly wasn’t sure if you would after Tuesday night.”

  Nala suppressed an amused snort. “Why?” Like she had anything better to do?

  Vincent’s expression remained firm. God, you’re kinda scary. Like a robot. Or was that an android? Cyborg. “You seemed very put off by what happened at the club. I know what you said in the restaurant, but I thought maybe you would have second thoughts. About everything.”

  Nala crossed her legs, dangling one foot in the air as she sucked in her cheeks and stared at her dirty fingernails. Dirt or feces? “I told you, Mr. Lane…”

  “Call me Vincent.”

  She stopped mid-thought. “Fine. Vincent.”

  “Anyway…”

  She fought to keep her eyebrows up. “Anyway, I recall telling you that I like that bastard about as much as I like passing a kidney stone. He and I have some serious unfinished business. Not that he knows me. I doubt he would even recognize my name. Look, I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I’m telling you right now… you take me with you as your pretend girlfriend, and I may do something that reflects poorly on you.”

  Palms turned inward into fists. Vincent took a deep breath, his composure remaining, but the wheels turning so hard in his head that Nala could practically hear the gears screaming. “Funny you should say that. I was going to warn the same thing about me.”

  They fell silent yet again. Secrets, secrets. They were both keeping them from each other. Nala preferred it that way. She didn’t want to share her conspiracies with a man she barely trusted, and she sure as hell didn’t want to know his opinion on things. As far as she was concerned, she was entering a type of non-romantic partnership, regardless of what they had to do to play up a fake romance.

  “Seems like we both want to do something brash around that man.”

  “Seems that way.”

  Vincent held her gaze for a few seconds before resolutely turning to a drawer. He opened it, fished out a piece of paper, and slid it across the table to Nala. She pricked it between her fingers and recognized Xavier Cross’s personal letterhead. I saw this in my mother’s things after my sister died. Offering his condolences, of course. The scum
.

  “That’s the letter he sent me inviting me to check out his club. While he contracted this company, I found out about his predilections for… what we saw that night. I’m warning you, that was tame. The guy is an extreme voyeur. He surrounds himself with kinky couples to feed off their sexual energies. They put on shows for him, and in return he treats them to extravagant getaways and gives them important business connections. They’re almost closer to him than his public friends.” Vincent grimaced. “I hope you see where I’m going with this.”

  Nala ran her tongue across her front teeth. “We’re going to lie about being a kinky couple.” Lying and acting were starting to sound like the same thing.

  “Nala…” Vincent leaned forward, his cologne growing stronger. Something about it relaxed Nala. “We are going to be a kinky couple. At least in front of Crow.”

  “Come again?”

  “They won’t make us do anything but watch in the beginning. Soon enough we’ll have to perform like those other people. Not just on that stage. He’ll scrutinize us, from the way we look at each other, hold hands, and even speak. He not only has to think we’re in love, but into kink. Otherwise he might kick us out.”

  Nala shook her head. “You’re kidding. You’re going to…” She remembered Quail, her ass beet red and that look of surrender on her round face. “You’re going to hit me?”

  Fear laced her voice. Not enough fear to startle herself, but Nala was not happy with the amount that appeared. She didn’t need this man thinking she was fearful of him.

  Vincent didn’t flinch. “Technically? Yes, and a lot more.”

  Nala turned away, chin resting on hand as she considered this. He’s going to spank me in front of those people. He’s going to do God knows what else. Not just in front of strangers. In front of Xavier Crow.

  That sounded like heresy.

  “Do we have to have sex in front of these people?”

  She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. Matter of fact. Logical. Too bad her heart was thumping wildly in her chest as she imagined Vincent lifting up her skirt and parting her legs so he could get inside her… in front of people… in front of…

  Her cheeks must’ve been on fire.

  “Would that bother you?” No man seemed more asexual than Vincent Lane right now. Or perhaps that was solely Nala’s perspective at the time. No way. This guy is what most women would consider a total catch. Good looking and successful. In another life, one in which she wasn’t so jaded and angry, Nala would go on a date and maybe more with him. As it was, she hadn’t been on a date since her sister died.

  “N…” she tried saying no. To put up the façade that she would do anything for her sister, even if Vincent didn’t know this was why she did this. She tried. Then she saw Xavier’s face, twisting in sadistic glee as he watched the sister of Tasha Nazarov be smacked on the ass and fucked like a doll. “For fuck’s sake!” She leaped up, towering as well as she could over Vincent. “Are you crazy?”

  “No.” He said it simply. “I don’t want to go forward unless you know what’s on the line.”

  “You need me that badly?” Who was she? Some girl he found snooping around a man they mutually disliked. She had no name. No clout. She was average looking and had the manners of a raccoon.

  “I need you in that I have no one else to ask. My other option was hiring a woman to do this for me…”

  “You mean an escort?”

  “Something like that.”

  Nala sat back down, gob smacked. This man was willing to go as far as hiring a professional woman to pose as his kinky girlfriend. “At least a pro would be more familiar with that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, and pros can talk. I’d rather have a woman who also has something to emotionally gain from this arrangement. It doesn’t matter to me what your issue with this man is. We both want to see certain things unfold. You can’t get to him unless you’re with me. I can’t stay near him unless I have you.”

  “Unless I have you.”

  Tenderness abounded. They had yet to flirt one iota, and even so that warmth returned all over Nala’s skin. She hadn’t felt like that since she was seventeen, crying in her sister’s arms because she suddenly missed their deceased father. She had almost forgotten what it was like to be coddled.

  Not that Vincent was coddling her. This man seemed as affectionate as a wet fish.

  “I’m not having sex with you.”

  Still Vincent did not flinch. “You will definitely have to play the sub in front of him.”

  “You used that word the other night.” Nala pushed her fists between her legs, willing this excess energy to go away before she started rocking back and forth. “You called me your sub.”

  “Yes. It’s short for submissive.”

  I was afraid of that. “And that other word… Nightingale. What was all that about?”

  The sigh exuding from Vincent’s body implied that was a long answer. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that the other women there had bird names. Obviously, those aren’t their real names. They’re code. He calls his club The Aviary. A place where birds are kept. Men bring their submissive little birds there for his amusement. I knew this ahead of time and, well, when put on the spot I thought of the nightingale. You could probably change it if you want. It’s not set in stone until we sign his NDA.”

  The nightingale… A bird that sang beautifully. A song of lament. A song of grief.

  It was fitting.

  “I wouldn’t be able to stand going by my real name there anyway. I’ll take it.”

  “So you’ll do it?” Vincent almost sounded hopeful.

  “Now hold on. So I have this straight, I have to pretend to be your girlfriend. You’re not exactly expecting anything from me, are you?”

  “No. This isn’t a real relationship. If you have a boyfriend, I don’t care. Hold up your end of the bargain by being a good liar.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Nala played with the end of her short ponytail. “If I do this, I still won’t.”

  “Certainly.” Vincent released a pent-up sigh. He sighed a lot for someone his age. “I’ll also be willing to pay for any expenses related to this. It’s the least I can do. Do you need a stipend? You may have to take time off work if he wants to go to the coast or something. Or Bali. I hear that happens a lot.”

  “Stipend? So now I am a pro?”

  “Hardly. It’s an inconvenience fee. How does a thousand a week sound? I can give you the first grand before the next club meeting Sunday night.”

  “A… thousand…” Nala hadn’t had a thousand dollars to her name in years. Not since Carson City. A thousand a week? Dear Lord. “I mean, I think that’s insane, but I won’t say no.” She wouldn’t tell him that she needed the money. To eat. To get around town. To save for emergencies, because there would be some in the future. She didn’t dare to think about moving, though. The closet sucked, but she didn’t think she and Vincent would have this arrangement for too long. She didn’t know why, but… “All right. All right! Let’s try this bullshit out for size. You said the next meeting is on Sunday? What do we have to do?”

  “Watch and mingle. He’s throwing a party in a hotel suite here in downtown. It would be a good chance for you to study the other women. They are all naturally submissive, and you need to pretend to be one too. We’ll go over the details that night. Oh, do you need money for a dress? The one you wore the other night was okay, but I’m sure you saw how everyone else’s popped.”

  “That’s the only dress I own.”

  “I see.” Vincent pulled out his wallet and a crisp $100 bill within. Air shot through Nala’s nostrils. He wasn’t kidding, was he? Apparently not, because he pulled out another hundred with it! “Here. Get something sexy that you’re comfortable in. I’ll bring the mask. I’ll pick you up at six and we’ll head to the party. Sound good?”

  Nala nodded, although her head felt completely detached from her body. “Are you made of money, by the way?”


  Vincent cracked a hint of a smile. “Something like that. I’ve had a very successful past couple of years.”

  “And you’re single.”

  He frowned again. “I told you before. I’m not looking.”

  “Oh, but I’m sure women throw themselves at you all the time.” Nala fanned herself with the money in her hand. It smelled like dusty old paper, ink, and traces of the cocaine she heard was on money everywhere. “I’ll be the envy of every woman in Oregon. That may be the most annoying part of all.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m rich, but I’m not high society. I doubt people will be watching out for who I date. This is Portland, not New England.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. By the way, when do I get that first check?” Hey, she might as well milk this opportunity! A path of vengeance and thousands of dollars? Sweet.

  “I’ll give it to you after our adventure on Sunday.”

  “Awesome.” Nala stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Well, Mr. Lane… I mean Vincent… I look forward to lying about being your submissive little fuckdoll in front of a guy I would love to wring the neck of.”

  Vincent stood, holding his hand out for her to shake. “The feeling is mutual, Nala.”

  They shook hands. He was firm. So was she. There was no denying that they had something to benefit from in this situation. Who would fall first? Nala had to wait to find that out.

  First, she had to go shopping. For a slutty dress that screamed sexual submissive. Whatever that meant. Surely, there was something at a consignment shop. Surely.

  After that? She was already thinking about what she would do with the money. What she would do with her access to Crow and the evidence she could amass.

  What would happen during her time with Vincent.

  Him spanking her.

  Kissing her in front of others.

  Also, spanking her.

  Why was she dwelling on that? Nala shrugged on her way into the elevator. Apparently she was fixated on the weird shit people could be into. At least it took her mind off all the terrible shit she was exposed to on a constant basis.