by Shayla Black
As we’re talking through the coming day—and the impromptu parties tonight—West jaunts out of the bedroom, an impeccable suit hugging his fine form perfectly.
He drops a kiss on my cheek as he grabs a protein bar and a coffee to go. “I’ll be home about four. You should be done with all your appointments then, right?”
I nod. Irrationally, I’m worried that the closer I get to this man the more attached I become, but all I want to do is fling myself against him and beg him to hold me close. “Yeah.”
“Then we’ll all have a nice dinner before Flynn, Carson, Hayes, and I find some mischief on the Strip.” He turns to Ella. “What do you have planned?”
She grins. “An evening full of dollar bills and sweaty, half-naked men.”
“I didn’t need to hear that, sweetheart,” Carson grouses.
Hayes steps in front of his best friend protectively. “Echo doesn’t like loud, dirty places full of strangers.”
She elbows him. “I’ll make an exception for this.” At Hayes’s scowl, she shrugs. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll be with my sisters.”
West kisses me one more time. “As long as you wake up ready to be Mrs. Weston Quaid tomorrow, I’ll be the happiest bastard alive.”
His words touch me. I tell myself to drown the anxiety and doubt once and for all. But no, it’s still sitting on my chest. I feel myself staring at him longingly, like this is the last time we’ll ever be together, close.
“I hope the meeting goes well,” I manage to get out.
“Thanks. I’m as prepared as I can be. I’ve got a strong voting bloc. And if Eddie turns up sober, I’ll be shocked. If he doesn’t, that will help my case. Except for the people whose asses he’s licked or he’s paid off, I should get the votes. Then this shit will be off my chest once and for all. And tomorrow, we’ll celebrate by getting married, right?” He leans in for one last kiss and searches my face. “Have a good day, honey.”
After he’s gone, everyone pitches in to help cook some breakfast and do the dishes. My sisters and I get ready and bustle out the door.
A few hours later, I have blushing pink nails and toes, a face brightened by polished but tasteful makeup, and a romantic updo I absolutely love. Tomorrow, I’ll want exactly the same look before the ceremony. Then we grab a fast-food lunch and hit the mall for a new party dress for tonight.
It’s not quite two in the afternoon when we step off the penthouse’s elevator. I’m laughing and feeling almost happy again. The minute we step inside the entryway, Carson and Hayes greet us with all the levity of a funeral procession.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my belly clenching with worry.
The two men look at one another, then Carson whips out his phone and sets it in front of me. “This hit the press fifteen minutes ago.” Pity transforms his expression. “I’m sorry.”
TMZ. There’s a headline that stops my heart.
PLAYBOY CEO DISHING OUT FAVORS FOR A FAVORABLE VOTE?
The picture below shows a man and a woman naked and entwined in a conference room, their lips plastered together as he lays her back on the table and covers her body with his own. The room is shadowed, and the picture is a bit grainy…but I’d know that profile anywhere. The date and time stamp says this image was captured two days ago, when West was late from work, didn’t answer his phone, and arrived sweating and obviously exerted.
The summary identifies my fiancé and Olivia Martin and speculates that West must really want to keep his CEO chair to seduce the widow who inherited her late husband’s board seat.
I shove the phone away, swallowing down both shock and tears.
“What do you want to do?” Ella asks gently.
My first instinct is to pack and leave. Right now, I don’t care if that nullifies our mistress pact and I end up broke, losing my restaurant, and on my ass financially. I want away from this man and all the pain that comes with him.
On the other hand, I’m furious. I want to understand his deception. Why the hell did he want to marry me so badly if he only intended to hurt me in the end?
“I’m staying. The second that asshole walks through the door, I suggest you all leave. It’s going to get ugly. Then…you can take me home.”
WEST
Could this meeting be any more ridiculous? There’s a lot of unnecessary pomp and blustering before we get down to brass tacks. Uncle Eddie insists on speaking first. He makes his case, sounding almost sober. To someone not familiar with his ways, he probably doesn’t seem under the influence at all. But I hear the slight hesitations, the silent lapses in speech while he gathers his words and thoughts.
His case is decently thought out but unfortunately not much different than the argument he made the last time he tried to take the CEO position from me—and failed.
Normally, I would suspect that my mother’s acidic smile is merely smug acknowledgment that her brother-in-law is toast, but I don’t like that look in her eyes. I like the way she keeps watching her phone even less.
Finally, it’s my turn to talk.
Assuming the front of the conference room with confidence, I welcome everyone, look my adversaries in the eye, and challenge them to look at the results I’ve produced since assuming the CEO role and vote in the company’s best interest rather than their own.
I’m only on the second slide—the one that shows the latest year-to-date financials—when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. It buzzes again less than five seconds later. Then again. And again until it’s a nonstop distraction.
With a curse, I pull it from my pocket to shut it off—then pause when I see a screen full of notifications. News articles, Instagram, Google notifications, and a mountain of texts. The first one I read at the top is from my sister. Gen wants to know if I’ve lost my mind and what I’m going to do now that the shit has hit the fan.
I freeze. What the hell is she talking about?
I glance up at my mother. Her smile couldn’t be more smug.
“Carry on,” she insists with a dismissive hand gesture and a placid mien that sets off all my warning bells.
What has she done to me? No, to Eryn.
I was a fool to think she’d take my threat lying down.
Flynn comes flying into the conference room, my harried assistant behind him, trying to stop his intrusion. He sends our mother an absolutely killing glare, then rushes to my side.
“This is all over the news. And if I’ve seen it, I guarantee Eryn has, too.”
My brother shoves his phone in my face. A picture is worth a thousand words, but the caption makes everything seem even more damning.
WESTON SLEEPING HIS WAY TO THE TOP?
“That isn’t me,” I protest instantly.
“Nope.”
Immediately, I understand. It’s Edward. I don’t know who captured this image or how, but I have zero doubt who leaked it to the press. And I swear I will throttle my mother—later.
All that matters now is getting to Eryn.
“Excuse me. I have an emergency I need to take care of.”
Because if I don’t explain these pictures to my fiancée right away, she’ll leave me for good without ever hearing my explanation. And the man in this photo looks so much like me that I can hardly blame her.
My mother stands. “No, you’ll stay. You have a presentation to give. The board has to vote.”
I glance at my brother, and he nods.
“I’ll stand in as his proxy and finish the presentation on his behalf.”
“But you could lose the vote if you walk out!” my mother shrieks.
“Maybe. But that’s not what’s most important right now, and before you organized this debacle, you should have realized I’d say that.”
“I’ll call you later,” Flynn assures me.
“Thanks, man. I owe you.” I nod at the rest of the board. “My leaving is in no way indicative of how seriously I take this company and my position as CEO. Rest assured, only the most serious of incidents could i
nduce me to leave now. Ms. Martin,” I address Olivia. “I hope we can agree that you and I have never done more together than shake hands.”
“We haven’t. What’s happening?” Then she reaches for her phone, gasps, turns sheet-white and blinks up at me. “Oh, my god. No. This isn’t you. I don’t know how…”
I cut a glance at my mother that promises retribution. “I do.” Then I turn to the board member most likely to oppose me. “Mr. Warren, you’ve always thought I lack the experience and wisdom necessary to do this job. Unlike my uncle, I have more integrity than to seduce or court your daughter simply to win your vote here today. If I get it, I hope that you voted for me because you respect me—at least more than someone capable of wooing a fellow board member and showing up for the vote after consuming half a bottle of vodka. But I’ve said my piece, and that’s up to you. I leave the rest of this in everyone’s hands.” Then I turn to Flynn with a clap on the shoulder. “And yours. Thanks, bro.”
After I walk out, ignoring my mother’s gaping protests, I find a throng of tabloid bottom-feeders in the parking lot, waiting to take my statement. “I’m not the man in those pictures, and I have no other comment.”
Why say more when they won’t listen or believe me? Besides, only Eryn’s opinion counts.
The drive back to the penthouse is a blur of multiple traffic violations. I screech to a halt in the parking garage and sprint all the way inside the building. I’m both rehearsing what I’m going to say to Eryn and cursing the slow elevator. My heart pounds. If I can’t say or do the right things now, I will lose the woman I love—whom I will always love—and any chance of our happiness will be over.
Yes, I wish she simply believed me, but I know the disappointments in Eryn’s life have been many, and that for years I was at the top of that list.
Finally, the elevator dings, and I step off.
I don’t have to search for her. She’s standing there, waiting for me, packed suitcases beside her. Her sisters and their men melt away, giving us blessed privacy.
“Eryn…” I shake my head. “Honey, it’s not me in those pictures.”
“How many times do you expect me to just believe you?” Tears fill her eyes. “You swore to me the other night that you weren’t with Olivia Martin. I tried so hard to trust that you were telling me the truth. I was trying to put all my qualms aside and marry you anyway because what do we have without commitment and trust, right? Then these pictures surface. I know you needed her vote, but—”
“It’s. Not. Me. I would never fuck someone for their support. More importantly, I would never do this to you.” I rake my hand through my hair. “Hell, I walked out on the vote to reassure you. If jeopardizing my position as CEO isn’t enough for you to believe that I will put you above all things—and that I wouldn’t fuck someone to keep my title—then I don’t know what else I can do. I see your bag is packed.” I glance at her ring finger. It’s bare, and I spot the box on the kitchen counter to her left. “And I guess you’ve made up your mind to let my mother win again. The first mistake was mine, and I take full responsibility for that. The second one, honey… This will be all on you. I can’t be the only one fighting for us anymore. I’m still going to hope that you’ll think about this overnight and want to marry me tomorrow. But if you don’t”—I shrug—“I hate to sound cliché, but we’ll both spend our lives miserable. And I’m such a stupid bastard. Because even if you walk out on me, I’m always going to love you.”
Chapter Eleven
Eryn
I spend a miserable night with Señor Cuervo and my sisters in an unfamiliar but surprisingly posh hotel suite. Now, with the cold morning light filtering through the windows, my booze-and-tears hangover is killing my head. Despair weighs heavy on my heart.
Today is supposed to be my wedding day. But after yesterday’s revelations…what the hell am I going to do?
“Morning,” Ella murmurs.
I roll over. My older sister stands over me, holding a bottle of water and two ibuprofen. The concern on her face is sweet, but I don’t need it half as much as I need those pills.
“Hey. Thanks.” I grab the agua and the headache tablets, downing both.
“Did you sleep?”
“Enough. You okay?” I glance around the room. “Where’s Echo?”
“With Hayes. I’m not entirely sure where they went.”
Knowing Echo, she’s hungry and wanted to find coffee that’s organic, fair-trade, and piping hot.
“What about Carson?” I sit up and draw my knees to my chest.
She hesitates. “In our room, talking to West. Predictably, your fiancé wants to know if you’re all right and if you’ll be at the wedding.”
Great question.
Last night proved that wallowing sucks, and drowning my insecurities with booze isn’t effective, either.
The truth is, I need to get off my ass and decide what I want more—to avoid any possible chance of heartbreak or marriage to a man I love for however long he makes me happy.
“Can I ask you something?” I peer up at Ella. “I know you’ve only been married for two months, but you spoke your vows when you weren’t totally sure. How has it been?”
“Fantastic. But that’s us. Carson and I are dedicated to making our marriage work. Any relationship will fail unless both parties are committed to each other and resolving their conflicts. But if you can agree on that, you can overcome almost any obstacle. Do you love West?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he loves you?”
“In his way.”
Ella frowns. “What way is that? He pursued you. He proposed to you twice. I overheard him on the phone late the other night, and he threatened his mother for you. He left the most important board meeting of his life—without any assurance he would remain CEO—for you. All for you. I know the circumstantial evidence looks bad, but…who are you going to believe? The man who’s trying so hard to prove he loves you or his petty, controlling mother?”
My sister has a point—a damn good one, in fact. Would West really have made any of those choices if he was willing to do anything to get ahead in business?
“Do you know what happened with yesterday’s vote?”
“I don’t.” She winces. “West didn’t say…and I don’t think he cares about anything right now except you.”
I close my eyes. “I’ve been a twit, haven’t I? I let Miriam get in my head, even after he warned me. She knew exactly what to say, and I fell for it. Ugh. I feel stupid. Of course marriage doesn’t come with guarantees.”
“It doesn’t.”
I peek at Ella and find a curl playing at the corners of her lips.
“And I’ve been looking for one.”
“More or less.”
“I really have been a total twit.”
“Pretty much.”
Despite the grim situation, I laugh. “Thanks for sparing my feelings.”
“What are sisters for?” Ella grins. “So…decision made?”
“Yeah. If West and I are going to fall apart, I refuse to let it be because I was too scared to commit or didn’t give us my all. If we divorce someday, it will be on him. Because I’m going to do my best to be happy with the man I love.”
Ella fakes a sniffle and wipes away a nonexistent tear. “I feel like such a proud mommy.”
“Shut up. What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“Shit. My hair appointment is in an hour. If I’m going to look like a bride, I have to get moving. Um, West still wants to get married today, right?”
“As of ten minutes ago, yes.”
I bound out of bed, brush my teeth, and shove my hair into a ponytail. My head protests, but the rest of me is damn happy. It’s my wedding day, and no one is going to steal my joy, least of all bitchy Miriam Quaid.
I’ve barely managed to toss on some clothes when I hear a knock at the door.
My sister and I share a glance. If it were Echo or Hayes, they’d eit
her call out to us or let themselves in with a key. So who is it? Room service? Housekeeping?
Carson emerges from another bedroom with his phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, West. She’s awake now. Let me ask…”
Ella gives Carson a thumbs-up and a grin. I nod at my brother-in-law in confirmation.
“And it looks like there will be a wedding today, buddy,” Carson whoops into the phone. “Put on your tux.”
Grinning, I head to the door and yank it open. I’m utterly shocked to see Edward Quaid standing at the threshold, looking contrite.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I don’t think we have anything to say, especially if you’re going to proposition me again.”
He winces. “Did I do that? I’m sorry. I’d had too much to drink. I often…overcompensate with liquid fortification when I know I have to face Miriam and West. I just want five minutes of your time.”
With a sigh, I step back and let him in. He eases past me, heading for the desk chair.
I sit on the edge of the bed, facing him, appreciating the way my sister melts into the background. Carson drifts to a corner, watching protectively.
“You need help,” I tell Edward.
“I know. Yesterday, I had the worst day of my life. And yet, I’m wondering if it was all for the best.” He sighs. “I lost the vote.”
I’m relieved for West’s sake, yet oddly sad for this man. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to run Quaid Enterprises.”
“I did. Or I thought I did. But I never really questioned why. Tradition? Expectation?” He shrugs. “But losing yesterday helped me to put that part of my life behind me so I can move forward.”
“Great. So you’ll go on serving on Quaid’s board and doing…whatever else it is you do. And have more time for treatment and counseling.” And I’m happy for him, but I wonder why Edward is here, telling me all this.
