Hard Flip: A Billionaire Romance (Ridden Hard Book 1)

by Allyson Lindt

  The entire drive home, Mischa gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white, and at point she worried he might rip it from the steering column. His jaw was clenched, and lines were carved into his forehead.

  When they got inside, Kelly excused herself to her room.

  Ash followed Mischa into his home office. He kicked the door shut behind her, and stepped further into the room, rubbing his face.

  “I wish you wouldn’t let this get to you.” She kept her voice kind.

  Mischa stared at her for a moment, brows furrowed and lips drawn in a thin line. “Of course I let it get to me. How do you not? He all-but asked me to break off the engagement, in exchange for a break on my loan.”

  The edge in his voice caught her off-guard, and clawed inside at the desire to diffuse and deflect. “It’s just the way he is. Biting back won’t change him. He won’t be a different person tomorrow because you told him no.”

  “Fuck him. You don’t get angry for someone else’s benefit.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Mischa sighed, but his expression softened. “If you’re pissed off, you get pissed off. You don’t do it to show someone else they made you angry, or to try and change their mind. You do it because you feel angry, and you need to express it. The alternative is bottling it up until you explode.”

  “But I haven’t exploded yet.” Though, the more he said, the harder it was for her to smother the irritation growing inside. Not with Mischa, but with her dad. “Flying off the handle doesn’t solve anything.”

  “Do you remember the day I came to your apartment, to yell at the guy who had the nerve to blackmail me?”

  More vividly than she wanted to. Had it really only been a few weeks? “Yes.”

  “You fought back with me. Why?”

  Because she was pissed off and not thinking straight and couldn’t believe the sexy guy from the night before was accusing her of extortion. “Because I thought you might listen?”

  “Bullshit.” The way he spat the word raised her irritation another notch. “You did it because you were pissed off. It wasn’t a friendly change-each-other’s-minds conversation. You were irritated with my assumptions.”

  She gritted her teeth. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, I’m pissed off because no one should treat another person the way Ralph did to you. Especially when it comes to you, and especially not your own father.”

  “And I should be mad too.” She was trying not to be, but he made a convincing case. Years of pent up frustration and fury were knocking on the walls she’d built around them.

  “Aren’t you? Doesn’t it kill you to lock it away?”

  It did. It gnawed at her and kept her up at night and made her withdraw when she ran out of ways to ignore it. “I don’t know any other way. I’m not a primal scream type person.”

  “So you find a different outlet. Loud music. Art. Pen and paper and a few minutes of quiet so you can vent to the page. Something.”

  She didn’t know why he was pushing this so hard, but everything he said struck a chord. He was so passionate on her behalf, and the longer he talked, the hotter her blood boiled. But despite him trying to make it sound simple, to find an outlet, she didn’t know how or where.

  “You let the impulse drive you,” he said. “You know how to do that. Give the reins to your heart for a few minutes. Don’t you want to say something?”

  “Of course I do.” The words came out with more venom and irritation than she intended. “But it doesn’t solve anything. What am I going to do? Vent about how it’s not fair, the way he treated me? That he acts like it’s nothing? That even today, with him being polite and acting approachable, I questioned my own observations?

  “You want me to get it out? Fine. I hate it. I loathe wondering if I’m the one at fault. Asking myself how much of my life was a mistake of my own making? Am I ruining Kelly’s life, too? I can barely take care of myself. Fuck. Half the time I hate myself.” She rubbed the inside of her exposed wrist against her jeans.

  “If that’s how you feel, then yes, that’s what you’re supposed to say.” Mischa grabbed her hand, twisted so he could press his palm to hers, and tangled their fingers. He kissed the back of her knuckles.

  The simple gesture summoned a lump in her throat that hurt to swallow past. Frustration burned in her chest. “I can’t. Because I’m never more than a breath away from giving up, and saying it out loud makes it real.”

  “Yeah, it does.” His voice was soft. “And if it’s real, you can deal with it, instead of letting it bounce around in your skull until it threatens to drive you mad.”

  “And then what?” She couldn’t hide her frustration.

  “Then you find a way to redirect it.”

  Anything that made the hurt go away. She shut off the voice of doubt, and grasped the next emotional thought she had. Ash grabbed the front of Mischa’s shirt in her fists, and dove her mouth to his.

  He kissed back, matching her desperation with intensity. Flames roared under her skin, terrifying and seducing her. When he gripped the back of her neck, holding her captive, her heart sang and her gut clenched. She could drown in this, and she wasn’t sure if that was incredible or terrifying.

  Mischa broke away, and she groaned at the break in connection. He held her head, and locked his gaze on hers. “Sex is a good outlet.” He was as breathless as she was.

  The gravel in his words rolled over her. She nodded, not sure what an appropriate response was.

  He nudged her toward his desk with his full body, his hard, sculpted form pressing into her. Demanding she yield.

  Wait, he meant now? Of course he did. Her thoughts were fuzzed. “Here?” she asked.

  He dragged his lips down her neck, sucking hard along the way. “I’m thinking yes.” He’d lost enough of himself that the trace of accent was back.

  She dragged her nails down his back, earning a hiss in return, and he scraped his teeth over her shoulder. “It’s the middle of the day.” Why was she arguing? She wanted this. Now would be a good time for her brain to stop talking without her permission.

  “It is. And if I want to fuck my fiancée, on my desk, in the middle of the day, I can.”

  “Okay.” She pressed as close as she could, wanting to melt into him. To feel everything. Desire burned away everything else, until hurt and anger were piles of dust. She could see why finding an outlet was a good idea.

  He pushed her shirt up, catching her bra along the way. The elastic scraped over sensitive skin, and she hissed. She received a wicked smirk in return. He lowered his head as he cupped one breast, and drew a nipple into his mouth.

  Each suck, and flick of his tongue sent a pulse through her. Need throbbed between her thighs. She let instinct drive her. His erection dug into her hip, and she reached down to trace the outline of his shaft. The right caresses earned her another nibble or lick.

  He made easy work of her jeans, pushing them to the ground. She kicked off flip-flops and toed them and her clothing aside. His hands on her hips were demanding, and he lifted her to sit on the edge of the desk. The wood was cold and smooth, a sharp contrast to the heat spilling through her.

  Words didn’t seem necessary. As though speaking would shatter the spell that propelled them.

  He nudged her legs apart with his knee, while he tugged down his zipper. The smooth fabric of his slacks was delicious friction against the inside of her legs. He worked his shaft free and slid on a condom. She hadn’t even seen him fish that out. She was too absorbed in the moment.

  Mischa moved his mouth back to hers, kissing her hard. “You have this effect on me.” He spoke between nips along her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to describe it.” Another nibble and suck. “It’s like landing an Ollie Impossible.”

  She giggled against his kiss. “That’s good, right?”

  “You make me delirious, and my head spin, and my thoughts evaporate, in the most satisfying way possible.” He fisted his shaft, and us
ed the head to shove her panties aside.

  “I like that...” Her words faded into a moan when he thrust inside her. She was wet enough he slid in easily, but still stretched her out.

  His groan matched her thoughts. She needed more. Something to dive into and burn away the rest of the bad lunch. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in tighter.

  He took the hint and increased the pace, sliding from steady to frantic. Her gasps grew louder, and she bit the inside of her cheek to try and keep quiet. It didn’t work.

  Mischa covered her mouth with his, swallowing her moans. He gripped her hips hard, pounding inside, and hitting something at just the right angle. When she tilted up for more, a spark of intensity spilled through her, fuzzing her thoughts and singing in her veins.

  The driving rhythm pushed her to the edge of climax, but left her hovering, not granting release.

  He glided one hand up her chest to flick her nipple with his thumb, then pinched the nub. The sharp sting sent her tumbling into ecstasy. She ground against him as she came. The way she clenched around him drew out the orgasm, until all she knew was them. The pounding and kissing and pinching. The groans and sighs. The scent of aftershave and sex.

  His grunts and stuttered pace were familiar now, telling her he was close too. He dug his fingers into her skin when he came, and slammed against her, drawing her own pleasure out to another peak before fading off.

  Mischa slowed to a stop. She draped her arms over his shoulders, and they leaned into each other. Them trying to catch their breath was the only sound in the room.

  Her tension had drained, leaving her encapsulated in a bubble that was only them. With his solid chest beneath her cheek, and his weight supporting her, she felt like nothing could intrude in their life.

  It would though. As the haze faded, the outside world treaded back in.

  “I should get dressed.” She hated saying the words. She could stay like this forever.

  “Mhm.” He didn’t make any move to let her go, and she didn’t push. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Is this like a we have to talk kind of conversation?” She winced at the way the words came out, and the insecurities they dragged forward. Why was her subconscious trying to ruin this?

  “I suppose in a way. But not the typical way. I was wondering if you want to make this more of a real thing, and less of a for show one. Not the engagement, though I’m not taking it off the table at a later date. But us.”

  Her brain jumbled the question until it was nonsense. “As in, actually dating?” Her heart sped up at the question.

  “As in. I’m enjoying this—enjoying you—and I’d like to see where things go if we strip away the pretenses.”

  She smiled against his shirt, and pressed closer. “I’m in.”

  “Good.” He stepped back, and lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “And now for a less pleasant topic. Dinner Tuesday night.”

  Right. She forgot about that. She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why I volunteered us. I hated those things growing up.”

  “We can skip it.”

  She wanted to. “No. I appreciate it, but I also like the idea of showing my dad he’s not winning.”

  “True. But we could bow out. Family emergency?”

  She let out a light laugh. “I don’t think teaching Kelly to do a hard flop counts as an emergency.”

  He looked like he was trying to hide a smirk. “Hard flip. And it was worth a shot.”

  “We’ll go, and prove to my dad we don’t care what he says. We’ll show everyone we’re happy, and he can go screw himself.” She didn’t feel as bold about the statement as it sounded, but saying it out loud made it easier to cement in her mind.

  He kissed her on the forehead. How did that feel more intimate than what they’d just done? “That’s my girl,” he said.

  His. She liked the way that sounded.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll make sure you get the perfect dress, shoes, whatever you need. But you have to promise not to complain about the price.”

  She didn’t like the idea of asking him for more, especially where money was involved. She wanted him to shine tomorrow, though, and that meant looking good on his arm. As much as she didn’t want to be anyone’s accessory, she knew what these people expected. She hated knowing that—and it was going to take a lot of focus over the next few days to make sure anxiety didn’t eat from the inside out. But if it meant showing her father there was one place he had no influence, it would be worth it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ASH’S HEAD SWAM WITH demographic details and ad research. She was going to make this work for Mischa. She sat at her desk, at work, absorbing as much as she could, and figuring out how to put the knowledge to practice.

  Her phone chimed with a new email, and she glanced at the message.

  Saw your Insta pic. Of the board. Give you five grand for it.

  It was insane to her that something like that was worth so much. She understood the fandom behind it, but she couldn’t imagine tossing away used car amounts of money on a skateboard.

  She forwarded the note to Mischa, along with a comment of her own. Fallback career. Custom boards for fans with too much money. She made sure to put a winky face at the end.

  A moment later she got Mischa’s reply. Ask the guy if he wants to buy an office building.

  She smiled, it seemed like she did that a lot when it came to Mischa, and turned back to her work. For the next few hours, she lost herself in CPC and ACOS and ROI, until her head spun with acronyms.

  “Ash?” The female voice startled her from her work.

  She looked up to see Victoria Small step into her cubicle, and lean against her desk. Even in something simple like gray slacks and matching heels, the woman radiated elegance.

  “That’s me.” Ash tried to stow any feelings of awkwardness.

  “You know who I am?”

  The attitude in Victoria’s voice gnawed at her, and she redirected her irritation at feeling less-than, into her retort. “In the ephemeral sense? Is this more of a personal thing? Or do you mean your where are they now status?” She kept her expression sweet and her tone sugary.

  Victoria’s face looked like it might crack if she moved it wrong. “I meant to Mischa. He told you about him and me?”

  “Yes. Vivid, painful details about what you did.” Ash couldn’t help the hint of disdain that slipped into her voice.

  “Here’s the thing. I know who you are, too. We recognize our own.”

  “Female?” Ash didn’t like the attitude directed at her, from this person she barely knew. And she couldn’t ignore the twinge inside, remembering what Mischa told her.

  Victoria’s smile was condescending, but it didn’t break her face after all. “I put Mischa through a lot of shit back in the day.” She spoke quietly, her words only meant for Ash’s ears. “More than he deserved.”

  At least she owned it. Ash had begrudging respect for that. “Sounds like it’s a good thing you went your separate ways.”

  “It was. He still doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. But he’ll go through it, because that’s who he is. A collector of pretty broken things.”

  Ash really hated that phrase. Loathed it. “Your point is?”

  “Don’t be that person. Don’t be me. Don’t put him through hell because you can’t stand on your own.”

  Ash clenched her jaw, and swallowed back the first several retorts that came to mind. All of them sounding like, Fuck you, you insecure, jealous bitch. That was a hair too catty, even for this conversation. “I appreciate your concern for my fiancé. Was there anything else?”

  “Nope. Tristan’s next on my list”

  Ash was going to ask why, but wasn’t interested in prolonging the discussion. After Victoria left, she tried to forget the conversation. Those kinds of comments only came from people who were jealous. Victoria didn’t have Mischa anymore, and didn’t like that it seemed as though Ash did.

  But the wor
ds, their meaning, wouldn’t leave her alone. Ash didn’t go into this arrangement—and that was all it was—asking for Mischa to fix her life. The stuff with her dad happened before she knew Mischa. And she was doing her best to help. She wasn’t broken. Or dead weight. Or trying to hurt him in any way.

  So why did a tiny bit of her agree with Victoria?

  She looked at the email exchange with Mischa from earlier. Her fingers twitched with the urge to send him another note. Something like, You’d still love me if I were middle class, and didn’t have tons of baggage from my past, wouldn’t you?

  But she wouldn’t send that, because he wasn’t hiding his feelings, and she refused to sink into insecurity.

  At least not too much.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MISCHA LIKED WALKING into Wolfram’s party with Ash by his side. It didn’t hurt that she looked stunning. The blue of her dress matched the storm that always seemed to be brewing in her eyes, and her hair was pulled into a bun, with a few strands hanging around her face, the whole effect highlighting her long, elegant neck.

  She’d even let him get her a ring. She tried to play it off as no big deal, but the sparkle in her eyes when he slipped it on her finger had been worth it.

  But his favorite part of showing up with her was her. Her shy smile, the nervous jokes she’d cracked on the drive here. That she opted not to cover her cast, leaving the art and signatures on display. It was the perfect contrast to her evening wear.

  And she was the perfect distraction from the cryptic text Tristan sent as Mischa and Ash were walking out the door.

  When you see my date, don’t kill me. I promise I’ll explain.

  Mischa had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but it couldn’t be as bad as walking into this lions’ den.

  “No way.” Ash’s voice was a whisper, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

  Mischa followed her gaze to Tristan, who was on the other side of the room, at the bar. Victoria stood next to him, hand looped around his arm.

  If Mischa was looking for an omen this night would go well, that wasn’t it. Tristan caught his attention and nodded for he and Ash to join them. He hooked his arm around Ash’s waist, and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s do this,” he whispered.