Mr. Dirty (London Billionaire Book 3)

by Nana Malone

  “O-okay.”

  By the time she hung up with her sister ten minutes later, she felt desperate and drained.

  Fe shook his head. “I don’t like the gist of the convo I heard.”

  “Family drama. The usual. Just this time, my dumbass father has managed to not pay the mortgage for God knows how many months.”

  “Shite.”

  “Exactly. I hate that he leaves these messes for me and Ebony to clean up. For fuck’s sake, Ebony’s only fifteen.”

  “And how old were you when you had to pull him out of a bar by yourself?”

  She wrinkled her nose. That was the problem with getting close to people, they knew all your shit. “That’s beside the point. I was way more mature. I was already looking after Ebony most of the time. She deserves to hold on to what little childhood she has left.”

  “To be fair, she’s hardly a child. Maybe she can—”

  “Can what? Come up with six thousand dollars?”

  Fe winced. “That’s a lot of dosh.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m going to have to dip into my savings and get an extra job to pay for it.”

  “Or you could take the easy way out and let me pay."

  She shifted uncomfortably. "No, Fe. We've been over this."

  "Yes, we have. And I have more money than I need. And as your gay husband, I want to help.”

  Imani swiped a wayward lock out of her face. "You help already. I’m practically paying you pennies for rent. You have the best hangover cure known to mankind. And most importantly, you've been my friend. That's all I need."

  She'd never met Felix’s father, who apparently was some kind of lord. He was embarrassed about having an openly gay son, so he paid him to stay away. She didn’t want anything to do with that money. She knew how painful it was for him to have his family reject him. He’d been in a relationship with his boyfriend, Adam, for two years, and he still didn't talk about Adam to his mother. Imani wanted no part of that rejection they soaked him in.

  There is another way out. One where she didn’t have to count on Fe’s blood money.

  He frowned at her. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  Imani shook her head and hoped she was a good enough actress to lie to her bestie. “Of course not. I’m not that crazy.” No. She was that desperate.

  As soon as Fe had his back turned, she texted Miriam.

  So about that non-dirty talking client of yours. I’ve changed my mind and would like to go method.

  Miriam’s return text was swift.

  I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you.

  “Xander, I've been calling you since last night, has your phone been switched off?"

  Annabel. Damn, he'd meant to call her back, but he’d been too busy at uni. For the next several months, if things went according to plan, then he’d be spending less time here teaching and needed to prep some things to transition to Abbie. "Sorry, love. Been working. What’s the emergency?"

  "You ask that casually like you didn’t approach me about the London Artistic Trust. I swear it’s like you don’t even want on the board."

  His gut twisted. Oh, he wanted the job. It was a vital piece in the puzzle he’d been working for the last five years. The trust both supported the arts and sponsored several charities, in particular, charities for at-risk and endangered children who were the victims of abuse. Getting on was the only way he’d get access to files on board members, or rather one in particular.

  He had his investigator, Garett Ball, looking into Alistair’s past and history. He needed access to those files. Xander was sure he’d find complaints against Alistair from the charities he worked closely with. And the only way to get them was to get on the board. But he had a secondary reason, as well. Only a board member could call for another’s dismissal. The Artistic Trust was the only charity board Alistair sat on. And he’d seen an interview once where Alistair talked about how much he loved it. And if Alistair loved something, then Xander wanted to strip it away. He’d been waiting for this opportunity for five long years.

  And now it was within his grasp. “I want the bloody job.”

  “Then you need to start making yourself bleeding available.”

  “I’m sorry, Annabel. I’m all yours.”

  “What? Xander Chase is capable of apology?”

  "I’m capable. I’m just not often wrong."

  "Next time, make sure your bloody phone is on. You said this was important to you."

  They might have been the same age, but sometimes she acted like his mother. If she were any other woman he’d cut her loose. But in this case, she was right. He needed her. Needed onto this board. And she’d pulled every string she could think of to get him this far. A position on the board was typically passed down in families. It was rare that the President Jean LeClerc allowed outsiders in. With Xander’s family connections, he could have pulled his own strings, but he didn't want his family anywhere near this. The controversy ignited would ruin everything. "Okay, fair enough, so what do you need?"

  "It's more like what do you need. I got a personal call from LeClerc yesterday. He thinks you’re an excellent fit. And they’d like to slot you into a creative director-type of capacity."

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins. This was it. The next domino stacking into place. After five years he was finally getting what he wanted. The seeds of challenge started planting themselves, taking hold.

  He kept his voice even. He didn’t want Annabel digging too deep into why he’d wanted this job. “When do I meet with them?”

  "There’s a problem, Xander.”

  His throat constricted. He had the pedigree. But had his past come back to haunt him? There might have been rumors of what happened in his childhood home. Of how Silas McMahon had died. Of what he and Lex had done. But his father had long buried the truth. “What is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  She sighed. "Alistair McMahon."

  Oh, he wasn’t a problem. No point in destroying a man when he couldn’t stand and watch. "What about him?" Or rather he wouldn’t be once he dealt with him.

  "Well, he is a problem. Or at the very least has convinced LeClerc that you are a problem. That your past history with women is not what the trust wants associated with its image.”

  Xander smirked. It’s not like he hadn’t expected Alistair to put up a fight. “I’ll meet with LeClerc. Once he sits down with me, it’ll be hard to argue that I’m not the best fit.”

  “You’re going to need more than your charm, Xander. I’m afraid they are seriously concerned. I don't know what you did to McMahon, but he’s dead set against you and is trying everything he can to make sure they don’t bring you on. Lucky for you, you’re good at what you do. LeClerc intimated that if there was some way to be sure you'd settled down, your past wouldn’t be a question. He wants you to join them at their annual retreat in a couple of weeks in Paris."

  Settled down? Bollocks. "Look, it won't be a problem. Tell them I have a girlfriend."

  Annabel coughed. "Is that true?"

  He almost choked. "Fuck no, but it'll get my foot in the door right?"

  "Xander, LeClerc may be a geezer, but he’s not an idiot. He’ll see through a ploy like that. Besides, you’ll eventually need to produce one. Preferably, take one to Paris with you. Significant others are allowed and encouraged."

  He was hardly prepared to materialize the perfect girlfriend out of thin air. Especially one who didn’t expect complicated entanglements. “Sod it. I’ll sort it out.”

  She sighed. “I know you won’t listen to me, but maybe, this time you should. Go out, find a nice girl. Someone wholesome-looking who will play along and who will hang around. At least for a bit. You’ll have to produce her from time to time for it to not seem like a ploy. You don't want to get booted just as soon as you get on.”

  She had a point there. While LeClerc might appreciate his gumption, he wouldn’t like being made a fool of. “Would you relax and
let me worry about that? Believe it or not, I occasionally know what I’m doing.” It looked like he would be paying Miriam a visit. He belatedly wondered how she would do with “wholesome.”

  Four

  There was no way she could do this. Imani paced the long foyer of the posh Notting Hill flat. Yeah, sure she needed the money. And it was good research, but this was stupid. She knew it was stupid. But here she was, wearing a dress that probably cost more than this term’s tuition with shoes that made her mouth water and her pocketbook ache. She hadn’t really had anything appropriate, so Miriam had lent her some clothes.

  There is no sex. There is no sex. She checked the large clock on the far wall. If she was going to run, she'd better do it in the next ten minutes. She dragged in a deep breath. Relax. Miriam said he never wants to have sex. He only wants to talk.

  She tried to picture herself as an extremely well-paid therapist, just chatting away with a client. What therapists did she know that wore La Perla and Jimmy Choo? While the tiny voice tried to speak up, tried to convince her of her madness, the daredevil inside her tried to be calm. He’s just going to talk. All you have to do is be yourself and find out about him. Sex is not on the menu.

  Besides, she had pepper spray. Actually, make that several bottles of pepper spray. She’d left them around the flat in case she got into a situation she couldn’t get out of.

  She tried to remember everything Miriam had told her. "Be yourself. Be calm. Let him talk about himself. Don’t talk about yourself. He'll be surprised and perhaps not that thrilled to see a replacement, but if you get him talking, he'll relax.”

  You can do this. You’re brave. This is for Ebony.

  The clock chimed nine. The soft dongs of the bells made her stomach pitch. Now or never. She couldn’t have run even if she wanted to. When she heard the scratching at the lock of the front door, she was powerless to move, completely frozen at her spot on the window seat. Before leaving, Miriam had dimmed the lights of the flat and lit candles to make the hypermodern flat seem more relaxed. It looked awfully romantic to her.

  "Miriam?" A deep, raspy voice called from the front door. The smooth quality of it washed over her flesh, warming her from the inside. "Are you here?"

  That voice. It made her skin tingle. Smoothing a hand down her dress, she sucked in a breath, then released it slowly. As the heavy footfalls approached, Imani tried to swallow, but she couldn’t get around the sawdust. She shifted to the left in her staggering heels and tried to peer around the pillar. She stumbled slightly, and her dress caught on the hook on the wall. Damn it. This thing probably costs more than her rent. She didn’t need to come up with the mortgage and pay Miriam back for ruining her fancy dress. She wiggled and a stitch ripped. Oh shit. She immediately stopped moving. She was going to tear this dress off her body if she moved.

  The lights flickered on to full power and she held her breath, lifting her gaze to meet the most astonishing set of slate-gray eyes she'd ever seen—deep set and surrounded by thick, sooty lashes. Sandy blond hair, an angular jaw, high cheekbones and pouty mouth completed the picture of that amazing face. And the body, tall, lean and rangy. He was beautiful. There was no way this guy was the talker. He oozed sex appeal in spades. “Oh God.”

  He spoke at the same time through ground teeth. "Who the fuck are you and where the fuck is Miriam?"

  Shit. “You probably hear this all the time, but this is not what it looks like.”

  Tall and beautiful cocked his head and his lips twitched into the hint of a smile. “You mean you’re not a beautiful girl in my flat, uninvited, wearing a handkerchief of a dress then?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. All a figment of your imagination. But while you’re imagining things, could you, uh, maybe help me unhook myself? I’m sort of stuck and I don’t want to rip this dress. It costs more than my flat.”

  He raised a brow. “So if you move, that dress rips right off of you?”

  Imani sputtered. “What? No. Look, if you help me down, I’ll get out of your hair and you and Miriam can reschedule.”

  His intense gaze roved over her body. “Okay. On one condition.”

  She swallowed hard. Was he going to ask for something kinky? Besides just wanting to talk? “What’s that?”

  “You tell me who you are.”

  Xander’s body locked into position as lust, closely followed by confusion and anger, flooded his veins. His brain fired off a stream of questions as he tried to make sense of the situation. Instead of Miriam, this girl with the wide, hazel eyes stood in his Notting Hill flat.

  Who the fuck was she? And why did she make his muscles bunch and his skin tight and itchy? From where he stood, the faint hint of coconut and hibiscus tickled his nostrils. The way the moonlight hit her honey-brown skin, she looked luminescent. And God knew that dress didn’t cover enough. Or maybe it covered too much. Admittedly that last thought was just…wrong on so many levels. And what the fuck did he care what her name was?

  He didn’t need this kind of shit tonight. What he needed was Miriam. He had just over a week to find someone suitable to take to Paris. He could kill her for pulling this shit. They had an arrangement. It didn’t include substitutions. “Are you going to make me repeat myself? Or are you going to tell me your name?” Her eyes went wide at his raised voice, forcing him to modulate his tone and bite back a curse. “Please.”

  She blinked several times causing her long lashes to just dust her cheekbones. “Uh, Jasmine. Like I said. There was a mix-up and if you can just help me down, then I’ll be out of your way. No harm, no foul.”

  “You’re American?” He asked with a cocked head.

  “What? The accent give me away?”

  There it was again. That twitchy thing his lips kept doing. Why did she make him want to laugh when right about now all he wanted to do was strangle Miriam? “For all I know you could be from Canada.”

  She nodded. “Eh?” She muttered with a rueful smile.

  This time, there was no stopping the chuckle that escaped. As he shook his head he wondered just how crazy this girl was. For starters, she didn't look like a Jasmine and secondly, she was no escort. There was something real about her. She wasn’t manufactured. She wasn't hard and world-weary, too sophisticated. She could make him laugh. “So tell me, Jasmine from Canada, what’s a nice Canadian girl like you doing working as an escort?”

  “What are the chances you’ll believe I’m working my way through school?”

  “About as much as me believing your name is Jasmine.”

  She licked her bottom lip, drawing all his focus to that full bottom lip. “Look. This was a mistake. Just forget I was here.”

  Considering she was the reason he was here, that was unlikely to happen. “You realize a nice girl like you could get hurt playing around like this?” He spread his hands. “Was this Miriam’s idea?”

  Her brows furrowed, even as her chin tilted stubbornly. “Look, Miriam said it was supposed to be a no-stress kind of thing. I’m sorry. I really am.” She covered her face with her hands. “Just help me get unhooked and I’ll go. You clearly don't want me here any more than I want to be here, so…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Who said I don’t want you here?” He stood rooted to the gleaming hardwood floor as the truth seeped inside his skull. He did want her here. This was the first time he’d laughed properly in weeks. Not to mention, there was something about her that made her accessible. Easy to connect to. She was completely guileless and wanted nothing from him. Too bad that made him want her. Her sassy attitude, her wide eyes and a mouth that looked like it was handmade to suck his cock had him itching to touch her. Stop it. What the fuck is wrong with you? He hadn’t come here for sex tonight. Though, someone should probably tell his cock that, because the fucker was starting to swell in his jeans.

  There was no way Miriam’d do this to him. He’d made it clear he needed to see her. Why the fuck would she do this when he needed her? You’ve never tried to sleep with her before. Xan
der spun on his heel. This was so fucked up on so many levels.

  Some of the tension rolled off her shoulders. “D-do you need to talk? Miriam said you would want to.”

  That broke the spell. Soon, Jasmine or whatever her name was, would have questions about why he was seeing an escort to talk and he didn't need that headache. “No, I don’t need to talk. I’ll release you and then we can promptly forget we met, yeah?”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Just one thing, though, I want your word that you’re not going to do this again. You’re not cut out to be an escort.” He strode toward her, tossing the envelope of Miriam’s usual payment on the mantel. He stopped when he was just a foot away from her. The coconut and hibiscus scent was more potent now. Was it her shampoo? Damn, it made him want to nuzzle her hair. It was official. He had issues.

  “Trust me, I won’t. I’ve had enough of walking on the wild side.”

  He’d reached for her but stopped before he touched her shoulder, his blood going thick and his voice dropping an octave. “Is that why you’re here? To walk on the wild side?”

  Her head reared back. “No. I thought I could do this. But I can’t.” Wiggling a little, she raised her brows pointedly. “A little help, please.”

  He muttered a curse and tried to reach behind her without touching her, but no dice. His motions just made another stitch rip. “Why the second thoughts? I’m not your type?”

  A strangled laugh escaped her pretty, pink lips. “Really? Someone as good-looking as you fishing for compliments now? Why don't you tell me why you’re even here to see an escort if all you want to do is talk? I’m at a loss for why. But hey, it’s your prerogative. No judgment.”

  He cocked his head. “Somehow, that look on your face looks an awful lot like judgment. I’ve seen that look on my mother’s face enough to recognize it.” This close, he could see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. And even better, he could tell that even though she was slim, those curves of hers weren’t enhanced. Enough to overflow his big hands. The evil side of his brain conjured an image of him fucking those honey-brown tits. What color would her nipples be? Mocha? An even more alluring image replaced it. This one had him fucking her ass cheeks. His cock sliding between the firm, oil-slick globes as he held on tight to her flesh. Fuck! He was a dirty boy. And fuck if he didn't want to show her just how dirty.