Girl Meets Billionaire

by Brenna Aubrey et al.

  I was being ridiculous, jumping in too fast, dreaming too big. I stood and walked to the edge of the roof and looked out over the street below.

  “It’s a dumb idea,” I said now, all my confidence from earlier suddenly gone. “I have a meeting with Donovan this afternoon. I was going to turn his offer down when we met, but then I saw what Darrell was doing, and…I don’t know. I guess I thought I should do something...for some reason.”

  I heard the scrape of the lounge chair against the deck and knew my mother was coming over to me. A moment later, I felt her hand around my waist.

  “You thought you should do something because you knew you could,” she said, her warm voice dripping like honey.

  I sighed at her.

  “Elizabeth, if the company is that important to you, you should take whatever risk you need to in order to get your hands on it. I’m sorry I’m not a better advocate for you. I mean to be. I do. The problem is that you are your father’s daughter.”

  I cringed, hating it when she said that.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You are. And it’s wonderful that you are. Because if you were only my daughter you wouldn’t be even considering something like this. And I think it’s amazing and wonderful that you want to do something so bold and grand. But your father never got things done by doubting himself. He certainly didn’t get where he was by dismissing his own ideas as dumb. If this is what it takes to make you happy, I think you should take the chance. And if it’s not with Donovan Kincaid, then keep searching.”

  “You mean it?” I glanced over at her and this time I held her stare, searching for every bit of reassurance. With her encouraging me, the plan didn’t seem quite so dumb after all.

  “Yeah, I mean it. Go in there confident. Show them you have your father’s balls.” She pulled me into a tight hug that was quickly followed by an exclamation of, “My nails, my nails!”

  I let her go so she could examine her manicure and make sure that it had come out unscathed. Just then, the old grandfather clock chimed the hour from inside the apartment.

  “It’s one already?” I checked my wristwatch, needing the double verification. “Shit. I have to get going if I’m going to get to Midtown by one-thirty. So much for grabbing lunch first. Thanks, Mom, for the advice and for listening.” I bent in and kissed her cheek then walked over to Marie.

  “There’s chicken sandwiches in the fridge,” she said, standing to give me a side hug. “Take one on your way.”

  “Thanks. I will.” I started inside.

  “Elizabeth,” my mother called after me. She waited until I turned to give her my full attention. “Are you going to go through with this plan, then?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. Yes. Probably. I haven’t met the groom. I won’t agree if the guy’s lame. It’s a fake marriage, but I do have standards. My name is riding on this.”

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’ll be good-looking! Wouldn’t it be nice if a woman got to have a trophy spouse for once?”

  I laughed, but I wasn’t holding my breath. I was taking her advice to heart, though. If Donovan Kincaid’s plan was going to be a real option, he couldn’t know I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I had to be confident and self-assured, like my father would have been. I had to show the men of Reach that I had balls.

  I had to prove I could own that meeting and every man in it.

  Chapter Three

  “Weston, quit pacing and sit the fuck down,” Donovan said—correction, demanded—from his seat on the couch at one-thirty the next day. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  It was easy enough for him to sit calmly, enjoying his after-lunch Scotch since he didn’t have a hangover and a fifty-pound ring in his breast pocket.

  I ran a hand through my hair, ignoring his instructions to move to the couch. “I don’t know how you talked me into this. You laced my drink with something?” Drinks. Many drinks. There had been so many drinks.

  “You were still rather sober when you agreed, as I recall.”

  I looked out the window over the city. Our offices occupied the top floors of the King-Kincaid building we rented, and the view was spectacular. We’d designed the space so all of us had floor-to-ceiling windows, and the lounge where we entertained all incoming clients had the best views of all.

  Usually, looking out over the small specks on the sidewalks below made me feel powerful and confident, gave me a bit of the backbone that Donovan had naturally. But today I just felt agitated and nervous, like all the people below were priceless pawns in a chess game, and somehow I was going to squish them with my bad behavior.

  “Nate really could do this,” I said, turning to look at Donovan now. “Twenty years difference… What does that mean these days? It’s a fake marriage anyway. Who’s going to care?”

  “It’s important this marriage looks like it’s real. Those running the business aren’t going to want to relinquish power, so they need to be convinced that the two of you are in love if they’re not going to contest. Nathan doesn’t even give the vibe of a groom.”

  “And I give the vibe of a—?” My sentiment was cut off by the opening of the lounge doors.

  Speak of the devil, Nate came bounding in and glanced around the room. “Good, I’m not late.”

  No, he was late. But so was the Dyson girl.

  “I was arguing shades of green with one of the design teams. I swear half the staff we’ve hired is colorblind.”

  “You look fantastic. Are you not even a little bit hungover?” I had watched him drink at least as much as I had. How was it even possible?

  Nate paused his stride on the way to the mini-bar, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Hungover? No.” As though the idea were ludicrous. As though he’d never been hungover in his life.

  Maybe he hadn’t. Now that I thought about it, I’d never been around to see him if he had.

  He really was a god.

  “Hey, Nate, I was just telling Donovan that we really haven’t given as much consideration to your candidacy as bridegroom as we—”

  “No,” he said with finality.

  Donovan shrugged as if to say, what did you expect?

  “This is bullshit. I shouldn’t be the one condemned to—” Once again, I was interrupted by the opening of the lounge doors. This time, Roxie, my amazing and faithful assistant, stood there, gesturing for the woman behind her to come inside.

  I moved my gaze to the stranger as she entered the room. She was sharply dressed in heels and a designer pantsuit. The royal blue color showcased her creamy skin and long red hair, which bounced with a natural wave. The tailored pants were business and attitude while the satin cowl neck softened her and gave just a hint of cleavage, so the outfit managed to make her appear both professional and feminine at the same time.

  She was a knockout. Put together and made of money. She held her shoulders back and her neck high. She knew how to carry herself.

  She was the kind of woman who could carry the world.

  “Here you are,” Roxie said in her Hungarian accent. “Gentlemen, Elizabeth Dyson here to see you.”

  Donovan immediately jumped up to greet her. Nate followed suit.

  And I forgot words.

  What words meant, how to say them, how to translate what they meant when other people said them around me.

  The thing was this—I was not particular when it came to which women I took to bed. Tall, short, plump, thin. I liked them blond or brunette. I liked them of all racial and religious varieties. I liked them moody or sporty. I liked cougars. I liked them barely legal. It didn’t matter. I liked women. Period.

  But I did have a type.

  Smart.

  That was my weakness. If she had a fantastic body to match, I was a goner. Sabrina Lind, for example. She was that kind of girl. She had everything going on upstairs plus everything going on outside.

  And dammit, so did Elizabeth Dyson.

  She had yet to open her mouth, and I could tell that she
was one of the smartest women I’d ever met. I could spot a hot brain a mile away. I had a sense for it. It was something about the way a woman carried herself. The way she wore her clothes. The way she did her hair, the way she held her lips. A smart woman wore her brain everywhere on her body.

  Fuck if Elizabeth Dyson’s hot brain wasn’t on full display.

  “Weston?” The tone in Donovan’s voice made it sound like he’d said my name more than once before I heard it.

  I shook myself and stepped forward with my hand out in greeting. “Hi, Weston King.”

  “As Donovan just said,” Elizabeth Dyson remarked, her hand closing around mine. Her shake was as firm as her voice, and both were stiff. Neither were as stiff as my cock was threatening to be in my pants if I couldn’t keep it down.

  I focused just past her, not meeting her gaze, in an attempt to settle myself.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She included all of us in her appraising look, not lingering on anyone. It was a much-needed reminder that this was an arrangement. There was going to be no flirting, no “player” me, as Donovan had said the night before.

  Though, for the life of me, I couldn’t quite remember why.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” Donovan said, gesturing for all of us to sit down. He dominated most rooms without even trying, and I expected this one to be no different.

  Except as we headed toward the couches to take our seats, Elizabeth surprised me.

  “Donovan, just a moment,” she said, and even though he hadn’t been talking, it felt like an interruption. “I’m sure you have things to say, but I have a few things I’d like to say first.”

  She was still standing, and so the rest of us didn’t know what to do—whether we should take a seat, or stand as well. It was common courtesy to wait until the guest took a seat before we did, and here she was still erect.

  Shouldn’t have thought the word erect. It was a bad mistake on my part. I had to think of unsexy things very quickly. Zombies killing people. Zombies eating their flesh.

  “Go ahead and take a seat,” she said, looking mostly at Donovan.

  And that’s when it was completely clear. She’d taken over. She’d taken charge.

  She was dominating Donovan.

  And something about that was fucking hot. I tried to think unsexy thoughts.

  Zombies eating Donovan’s flesh.

  We sat. Everyone did. Including Elizabeth. Including Donovan.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” Nate asked.

  “No, thank you. I’d rather just get to the point.” She crossed one long leg over the other and set her hands in her lap. Then she leaned back ever so slightly, shifting her gaze from one of us to the next, meeting each of our eyes.

  I leaned forward, the anticipation built up so much that I was near the edge of my seat.

  “Now. I haven’t decided yet if I’d like to take you up on this very interesting offer, but I have considered it very thoroughly. And if I do, there will be even more to take into consideration.”

  She was a witch. She had to be. Only moments ago, I’d been doubting this arrangement, but now that she was potentially taking it away, I was already starting a mental litany of reasons why she shouldn’t.

  Which was stupid. I didn’t really want to do this. No matter how hot she was topping Donovan.

  “I’m guessing that everyone in the room is caught up on the situation I’m in?” she went on.

  “Yes, everyone here is aware of the predicament you’re in, and of the offer Reach has made you. But don’t worry,” Donovan continued, predicting her unease. “No one here has said anything to anyone else. And of course, anything that’s said in this room will stay in this room.”

  “That’s actually the first thing that we need to discuss,” Elizabeth said. “This arrangement would have to be kept fully under wraps. Though it’s headquartered in Europe, you all know Dyson Media is a genuine world empire. I hate to bring numbers and figures into it, but it’s safe to say that my father’s company is well above the net worth of anybody else in this room. Even when we put you all together.”

  That comment alone should have killed my boner. It was rather emasculating to be reduced to a relative bank account value.

  But instead of being turned off by it, I wanted to pull Elizabeth Dyson across my lap and spank that smug grin off her face. Spank her and then...

  “That is safe to say,” Donovan affirmed regarding our net worths, and he was the one who would know. He had the most money of all of us, and I was certainly no pauper. “And we do recognize what is on the line, Elizabeth,” he added. “I promise you that.”

  “Yes,” she said, that sly uptick of a smile bordering on condescending. “I’m sure you do. The point is, so does my cousin. Darrell is currently in charge of the Dyson empire and does not want to give up that position before he has to. He’ll do anything he can to prove that any marriage of mine is a false one. If I’m going to get married in an attempt to inherit my company earlier, it has to be a relationship that appears entirely legitimate.

  “I can’t run away to Vegas. There can’t be a small ceremony at City Hall. There would have to be a ring of truth to it, which means there will have to be a wedding of somewhat large proportions. The kind that would be expected of a woman of my wealth and stature. As soon as I announce an engagement, Darrell will likely investigate to make sure I was dating that person beforehand. Even though he’s in Paris, he’ll watch over every step of my engagement. I don’t assume he’ll take anything at face value. To be blunt, my groom will have to be both a convincing choice and invested for the long haul.”

  “How many months are you talking about here?” I braced myself, afraid that she was going to say that years were required for this game.

  “I don’t want to be ridiculous, as this is a sham relationship. But I do also understand that in order for it to look real, it can’t be quite as much of a whirlwind as we’d prefer. So if we announce the engagement fairly soon… perhaps seven months? Give or take.”

  I almost choked. Seven months? Seven months with my ring on someone else’s finger?

  I needed a drink.

  I stood up and headed over to the bar, pouring myself a gin and tonic. Donovan side-eyed me, but fuck Donovan. It’s not like he was the one going through with it; he was just directing the play, as always.

  “Seven months does seem fairly reasonable,” Donovan traitorously agreed. “A wedding in December and then a month or two to finalize your takeover. And I don’t see any reason why annulment couldn’t happen soon after.”

  “I think it would need to be a divorce,” Elizabeth said. “Darrell will believe the whole thing was a ruse in the first place. I wouldn’t want him to come back in retrospect and re-take over the company. Or try to appeal the decision.”

  “Divorce?” I directed this at Donovan. I had not intended to have a divorce on my record. I drank my gin and tonic in four gulps and then started to make another one.

  “Weston, sit down.”

  I scowled, cursing under my breath. Donovan was right. This wasn’t a good first impression to make, and for some reason I did want to make a good first impression on Elizabeth Dyson.

  I abandoned my drink and slunk back over to the sofa to listen to other people plan my future.

  “I know a lot of people who could pull off a spectacular wedding in a short amount of time,” Nate mused. “With our connections we could book a fantastic hotel with a ballroom—“

  “I can handle catering with my restaurant,” Donovan offered.

  “I’m friends with the Pierce’s, Donovan,” Nate said. “Mirabelle’s has amazing wedding gowns, and I can arrange an appointment. LeeAnn Gregori, the wedding planner, is an acquaintance as well. She can arrange the rest.”

  Jesus, it was like I wasn’t even in the room.

  “And you are perfectly okay with a pretend relationship lasting that long? There would have to be dates and public outings. We’d have to
be seen together. Is that going to be a problem?” Her eyes darted from one of us to the next.

  It occurred to me then that Elizabeth didn’t even realize who she was supposed to be addressing, didn’t know who was supposed to be her fiancé.

  I could still throw Donovan under the bus if I wanted. If this whole arrangement was so easy to take care of—by them—then it was only fair that one of them should be the nominee.

  But, honestly, that wasn’t what I wanted, either. Nate didn’t look right next to her, and the thought of Donovan pretending to be her lover made my gut twist in some weird strange way that I couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.

  “Weston?” Donovan asked. “Are those expectations going to be a problem?”

  I looked to Elizabeth, watched her features as she realized that I was the suggested candidate and tried to discern if she was disappointed or intrigued.

  But her face showed no emotion at all except the lift of one brow.

  “Oh,” she said as if it should’ve been obvious. “It’s you.”

  Something in that indifferent stare of hers made me want to eat her up. Tear her apart. Find her heart and see what made it beat faster. I didn’t know if it was a sexual attraction or an angry kind of attraction.

  At the very least, I needed to stop thinking about zombies while around beautiful women.

  But it was more than that; I felt insulted for the second time in as many minutes.

  Women didn’t ever toss me aside easily. Women didn’t look at me with an indifferent stare. And they never made me doubt myself. She should be appraising me with her gaze. At least to flatter me, if nothing else. After all, I was the one doing everyone—including her—a favor.

  I had never been as competitive as Donovan about anything. Except for winning the hearts of women, but only because I didn’t really have to do very much to try to win them. In Elizabeth Dyson, I was suddenly sensing a challenge, the kind I’d never truly experienced before.

  And if she was going to be so stoic about our arrangement, hell yeah, I was into this game. That’s why I was called a player, after all.

  “I don’t see a problem with it,” I said, holding her stare.