Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series

by Sylvia Pierce

  “In the history of our relationship, when has that ever stopped you?”

  “Excellent point.”

  “Again, I find myself asking: What is your point, Evan?”

  “I think you should consider letting the firm run a check on her.”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Jared didn’t even have to think about it. There was no way in hell he’d let the company’s security firm dig into Arianne’s records and past just to indulge his own suspicious mind. If she’d wanted him to know her secrets, she would’ve shared them by now.

  Unless she was up to something nefarious…

  “Look,” Evan said. “I’m just putting it out there as an option. They’re already looking at Hastings and his staff. I’ll tell them she’s got some kind of connection to the family—one more person they need to report back on. It won’t raise any red flags. Besides, I’m not even convinced you’ve got much to worry about.”

  Jared tried not to cling too tightly to that hope. Cautiously, he asked, “How do you mean?”

  “For one thing,” Evan said, “you’ve got a tendency to overreact.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Jared slammed his hand against the desk. “This isn’t a game, Evan. I’ve—”

  “Proven my point, yet again.”

  “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed,” Evan said. “But my other point, if you’d allow me to make it without further interruption—”

  “For God’s sake, man—”

  “For another thing, lots of people have skeletons in the closet. Things they’re trying to forget. Just because she’s been evasive with you, it doesn’t mean she’s a criminal.” Evan gave Jared a small smile, all jokes aside, and Jared relaxed. Evan was probably right—that was usually the case.

  “What would they look into, exactly?” Jared asked. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course,” Evan said. “Hypothetically, they could find out anything. Credit history. Employment. Criminal records. Relatives. Property deeds. College transcripts. High school. Really, they could go as far back as you want.”

  “I don’t want them going too far,” Jared said. “If I do this—and that’s still a big if—I’d just want the basics. Who she is, aliases, recent employment, and addresses. I also need to know if… if she’s married.”

  If Evan was surprised by the last bit, he didn’t show it. His lack of reaction made Jared feel like a fool. But now that he’d mentioned it, it seemed like the simplest, most obvious answer.

  Married…

  The thought was like a hot knife in Jared’s gut, and with a pain that almost doubled him over, he realized that that was the thing he’d most feared—and most suspected.

  Reaching across the desk, Evan clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of support Jared hadn’t even realized how badly he’d needed. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m pretty sure she’ll check out. And you’ll never even have to tell her we had this little chat.”

  “I certainly don’t need to stress to you the importance of discretion here, right?” Jared asked. He hated that he was actually considering it, but the idea that Arianne might be married had turned his stomach sour. He couldn’t shake it.

  Evan only laughed. “If you think I’d tell your girlfriend that you were practically crying on my shoulder about her, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “And you’re sadly a bastard.”

  “We’ve already established that. Now, let’s go find a pub and get a few pints. You and your future wife are both driving me to drink.”

  Haunted by his thoughts and frustrated by all the secrecy, it took Jared less than an hour and a single glass of scotch to give Evan the green light.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It had been four days since Jared had last spoken with Arianne.

  And only two since Evan had delivered the bad news.

  With a sinking feeling, Jared suspected—no, he knew—that his days with Arianne were numbered. In fact, tonight might be the very last.

  He stared at the report in his hand, a simple printout of black ink on white paper, just like the hundreds he’d seen over his years of merging and acquiring companies and new staff.

  The only thing different about this one was that the name across the top wasn’t a potential partner or employee.

  It was Arianne Jennifer Holbrook.

  No known aliases or former names.

  No known employment history.

  No verifiable income sources, social security earnings, or income tax payments.

  No criminal record.

  No vehicle registrations.

  Not much of anything on record, actually.

  Only the name she’d been given at birth and a chronological list of addresses, culminating in the penthouse on Park Avenue where Jared suspected—based on the little bits of information Arianne had shared with him—Arianne and her sister currently lived.

  But even the address wasn’t a simple matter. The deed to the luxury apartment was in Arianne’s name, inherited from her deceased father, along with a handful of utility bills and credit cards that were paid monthly from an account belonging to a man named Charles Davidson.

  The same man who, according to Jared’s follow up investigating, had paid the bill for Arianne and her driver’s hotel rooms the night before the fundraiser in Annandale.

  Despite her claims about working as a consultant, about her years of employment in the art world, none of it was verifiable. In the two days since Evan had delivered the report, dozens of follow-up phone calls and e-mails across the tri-state region had served only to confirm what Jared had suspected all along.

  Arianne was lying. About her work, about her education, about untold other things about which Jared could only speculate.

  But worse of all, Arianne was being financially supported—at least on paper—by another man.

  A man Jared hoped wouldn’t be at Arianne's penthouse when he arrived tonight.

  Natasha called to her sister over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway, her voice light and teasing. “Arianne! Your boyfriend is here.”

  Jared was grateful she’d been the one to answer the intercom when the doorman finally agreed to announce his arrival—it took some convincing, the effort of which reminded Jared that Arianne really didn’t want to see him. Showing up unannounced at the penthouse she’d been so diligent about keeping a secret was sure to make things worse, but he had to deal with it.

  “Thank you for letting me come up,” Jared said to Natasha.

  She gave him a knowing smile, a co-conspirator in the making. She reminded Jared of his sisters back home—bright, big-hearted, full of mischief. His heart tightened; he’d barely gotten to meet Natasha, and now he’d be losing the opportunity to know her even a little bit.

  It was one more thing he’d be walking away from tonight, but he had no choice but to move forward with his plans; Arianne stood in the foyer behind her sister, her face masked to hide the shock Jared sensed was coursing through her whole body.

  Leaving a quiet smile in her wake, Natasha made herself scarce, leaving Jared alone with the woman he loved.

  It took all his strength not to gather her into his arms, pull her against his chest, and forget he’d ever set his eyes on that awful report.

  But he couldn’t do that. Not now.

  Arianne didn’t turn him away, but she was totally guarded, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing him warily. “How did you find me?”

  “I wasn’t aware that you were hiding from me.” Jared flashed a smile, but it faded quickly.

  “I’m not. I didn’t… oh, just come in, Jared.” Arianne finally smiled, but Jared could tell it was forced. He knew every contour of her face, every curve of her brow, every turn of her luscious lips. He’d only seen that flash of fear in her eyes one other time.

  The first night he’d caught her snooping at the auction on Central Park West.

  As he followed her through the large penthouse, down a l
ong hallway, and finally into her bedroom suite, Jared was weighted with sadness. He would’ve given anything to not have the information from Evan’s guys. To go back to his blissful ignorance about Arianne, pretend their relationship was as passionate and real as it had seemed on the surface.

  But he’d seen the report. And now, armed with the knowledge that she was at best hiding from something and at worst a con artist and criminal, Jared had only one choice.

  The moment she closed the bedroom door, giving them total privacy, Jared said, “We need to talk, Arianne.”

  “No kissing?” She made an exaggerated pout, but like her earlier smile, it was forced and uncomfortable. When Jared didn’t return her flirtations, she stiffened. “You’re serious. Okay, do we need drinks for this conversation?”

  “No. We just need to have this conversation. Now.”

  Arianne nodded, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against her bedroom door. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night. Now that you’re standing here in my bedroom, it seems so ridiculous… I just… things are moving so fast between us. I got a little overwhelmed by everything, and when you said you wanted to come here—”

  “It’s not about that,” Jared said.

  God, he hated the look of worry he put on her face, the sadness in her eyes. They were here in her bedroom, a place that until this moment had only existed in his imagination. Her bed was large and inviting, a silky white oasis upon which he’d envisioned Arianne floating as he’d instructed her, over the phone, how to touch herself. How to bring herself to exquisite release under his firm commands, whispering and moaning in his ear. During those intense calls Jared had imagined himself here with her, touching her, making love to her in that very bed that now stood just a few meters away, unruffled and cold.

  All he wanted was to grab her, to fall into that bed with her, to strip her bare.

  “Jared, what’s going on?” she asked. “Seriously. How did you find me?”

  He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts, the report flashing coldly behind his eyes.

  Please just have a perfectly rational explanation for this…

  “Arianne.” Jared opened his eyes and leveled her with a steely gaze. “You’ve been keeping things from me. You’ve—”

  “I can’t—”

  “Hear me out. Please,” Jared said. When she nodded softly, he continued. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the first moment we met, and as we’ve gotten to know each other better, I’ve tried to be understanding. Not to push you. But more and more, your secrets have gotten in the way of our… of whatever this is between us. I can’t… I can’t trust you, Arianne.”

  Jared paused, expecting her to unleash her denials, her defenses. But other than the wrinkle between her eyebrows and the tears gathering beneath, she’d hardly responded.

  “You live here,” he said, gesturing around her large and well-appointed bedroom. “You seem to be supporting yourself and your sister quite comfortably. Yet I’m still unclear about what, precisely, you do for a living. I wasn’t aware that the art world could be so incredibly lucrative—not the legal art world, anyway.”

  “I told you,” she snapped, her patience fading. “I’m a consultant. And you know nothing about my financial situation, so where is this even coming from?”

  Jared took her hand in his, knowing it was likely the last time he’d ever feel her soft skin.

  Jared was smitten.

  He was in love, maybe even a fool.

  But he was not a doormat.

  He took a deep breath, then spoke again, his words measured and even. “I’m sorry, love. But there is absolutely no record of Arianne Holbrook at any consultancy in the tri-state area, of which there are a surprising few.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. Of course there’s a record of—”

  “There is no record,” he continued, taking another step toward her, “of Arianne Holbrook ever having been employed at any of the city’s hundreds of museums. Not in Manhattan or the boroughs. Not even in New Jersey.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this. I’m—”

  “In fact, no one has heard of you at any museum, gallery, art school, library, or auction house on the entire eastern seaboard. Believe me, I’ve checked them all.” For two days after Evan delivered the report, Jared was on the phone and on email, even stooping so low as to have his assistant help make calls. It was the same story every place they contacted.

  As far as the legitimate art world was concerned, Arianne Holbrook simply didn’t exist.

  Now, her face was flushed, her eyes wide with fear. “But Jared, you—”

  “You’ve got no verifiable source of income. You’ve never paid taxes on anything more than an inheritance from your father.”

  Arianne blinked, her tears finally spilling forth. Jared hated himself for putting them there, but he couldn’t play the fool anymore.

  “How do you know that about me?” she asked, pulling away from his touch. Jared winced at the loss. “What are you, some kind of undercover IRS agent?”

  “No.” Jared lowered his gaze, unable to look into her eyes. “It was a simple background check, Arianne. No different than the ones most employers and lenders require.”

  “But… why would do something like that?”

  “I had to know.”

  “You ran a background check? You’ve been spying on me?” The tone in her voice was so wounded, so shocked, it sent a bolt of pain through Jared’s insides.

  “Nothing you’ve told me adds up. You’ve been dodgy since day one, Arianne.” Jared cringed at the desperate rage that had crept into his voice, but he couldn’t stop. “Nothing about you makes any sense. And you won’t tell me a thing. I’ve tried so many ways to get in, to get to know you, but every time I get close, you slam the bloody door in my face. Everything about you is… it’s a lie. Tell me it isn’t.”

  He finally met her eyes again, and something passed between them, unspoken but utterly real. In the silence that followed, Jared honestly thought she might finally let him in. Tell him the truth about all the things she’d been hiding, about whatever it was she’d been running from. He reached for her again, but just as she was about to lean into his touch, she recoiled.

  The moment had shattered, leaving only anger in its wake.

  Arianne turned her back on him, shutting him out. “So instead of confronting me and maybe, I don’t know, having an actual conversation with me, you sent someone to dig through my past. My very personal, painful past—things I had the right not to share with you.”

  “Arianne, it wasn’t—”

  “Did it ever occur to you that there are things I haven’t told you, simply because I don’t like to talk about them? Because they’re too painful to dredge up? Because I still haven’t dealt with them myself?”

  Jared’s mind flashed to that night on his game room couch, the silver scar on her hip. An old war wound…

  “Was it Evan?” she asked. “Or a private investigator? Or did you just pay some kid on the street to snoop into my life? Am I being watched now? Bugged? Tracked like a goddamn zoo animal?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” Jared ran his hands through his hair, frustration pumping through his veins. “My company has a security firm. I simply asked them to run a few checks, that’s all. No one is watching you.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered, finally turning to face him again. Tears spilled unbidden from her eyes. It was all Jared could do not to run to her, to enfold her in his arms and promise her he’d make it better, take away her pain. Because this time, he was the one who’d caused it.

  But he was rooted to his spot on the carpet, still hoping against the odds that she’d prove him wrong. That she’d scream at him, punch holes in every one of his findings, offer a logical explanation. They could fight about it now, and then make up. Kiss. Make love. Laugh about it later over Mexican takeout and a vicious game of Brawler.

  Instead, Arianne opened her bedr
oom door and gestured for Jared to exit. “I think you’d better leave.”

  “That’s it?” Jared was incredulous. “You don’t want to talk about this?”

  “I might have, had you been straight with me about it. But it’s too late for that now.”

  “Arianne, you lied to me. It’s like you have this… this entire double life that no one knows about. I suspect you keep your sister in the dark, too. For all I know, you have a husband and kids somewhere, and your name isn’t even Arianne.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger, but Jared pressed on, asking the question he’d been dreading most, steeling himself for the worst. “Who is Davidson?”

  The anger in her eyes turned instantly to raw, unguarded fear. Jared’s first instinct was to protect her, but he forced himself to remain still, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

  But when she spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “I think you’ve said enough. I suggest you forget that name, and everything else you think you know about me, and leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you come clean.”

  They stared each other down, both of them unwilling to budge, until finally the tears spilled from Arianne's eyes.

  What she said next—the words that fell out of her mouth with calm certainty as though she hadn’t been at all rattled—chilled him to the core.

  Because for the first time since he’d ever laid eyes on her, Jared knew without a doubt that Arianne was speaking the absolute, irrefutable truth.

  “Goodbye, Jared Blackwell,” she said. “For the last time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Moments after Ari had sent Jared away, before she’d even had time to catch her breath and process what had transpired, Tasha barged into Ari’s bedroom, hand on her hip.

  “Are you fucking stupid?” she said.

  It stung almost as much as Jared’s betrayal.

  Almost.

  Tasha wouldn’t let up, even as Ari’s eyes glazed with fresh tears.

  “That guy is amazing, Ari. And he’s totally in love with you.”