The Billionaire's Cinderella Contract

by Michelle Smart

  It had been indoctrinated in Damián from birth that emotions were for the bedroom not the boardroom. Never mix business with pleasure on a sensual level. And all for very good reasons, namely that the man who allowed his head to be turned took his eyes off the ball. That, he’d always been certain, had been the reason behind Emiliano’s disastrous time working for the business. Rumours had flown throughout the Delgado Group that he’d been having an affair with one of the staff. Damián had never found proof of this but, considering Emiliano’s lust for life and lust for beautiful women, had believed it. True or not, something had turned Emiliano’s head far enough away from the job in hand that his eyes had lost sight of the ball altogether.

  In all his thirty-six years Damián had never had a problem separating the boardroom from the bedroom. Like his father, he’d never taken his eyes off the ball. Yet now, at the time he most needed to keep his famed focus, when his entire fortune and place in the world were at stake, he kept finding himself staring at the woman he was relying on and forcing himself not to strip her naked with his eyes. Every word exchanged between them came with a charge that raced through his veins and an uncomfortable heat that stirred his loins.

  Even now, when the space she’d sat in in the back of the car had been empty for twenty minutes, he could still feel the charge rippling through him.

  How he wished he could have agreed Mia’s request to terminate their agreement. He didn’t know if her request had been some kind of game to force more money out of him; he’d put her straight before she could ask. Terminating the agreement was out of the question. It really was too late to turn back. The wheels really had been set in motion. They’d been seen together. The world was vast but rumour could shrink it to the size of a snowball. If they weren’t already aware, whispers would soon reach his family that he’d taken a new lover. Having always been fussy about the women he chose to bed, suspicions would be raised if he dumped Mia and immediately hooked up with another actress.

  For all the dangers he could see himself having to navigate in the coming weeks, he was stuck with her.

  * * *

  The theatre audience the next night was a particularly enthusiastic one who laughed uproariously and applauded with gusto. This was the kind of audience Mia, like all stage performers, adored. It made the curtain call at the end of a performance a joy and made her cheeks hurt from smiling so widely and for so long. That night, though, she needed all her acting skills to fake her smiles during the curtain call. Right at the end of the song ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ she suddenly spotted the hulking figure sitting on the far right of the third row. Her heart clattered and the nightgown she’d been twirling around the stage dropped out of her hands. How she recovered without any of the audience noticing anything amiss she had no idea.

  As she bowed, she made sure to keep her gaze far from the right, just as she’d done for the rest of the performance. But, just as had happened throughout the evening, Damián’s stare burned straight through her. She couldn’t get off the stage fast enough.

  The chatter amongst the female cast members she shared the dressing room with was a distant buzz in her head and she could only smile and nod at any conversation directed at her, trying hard to control the tremors in her hand as she removed her stage make-up.

  A loud rap on the door made her heart clatter all over again. There was not a single doubt in her mind as to who was knocking, and she frantically smoothed the loose stripy top she’d changed into over her skinny black trousers while Nicole, who played Mrs Higgins, opened the door, still continuing her conversation with the others. Her words came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Well...’ Nicole said after letting out a very low yet very obvious whistle. ‘What can we do for you?’

  Mia squeezed her eyes shut as Damián’s deep, distinctive voice rang through the sudden silence. ‘I am here for Mia.’

  Behind her, she heard someone, probably Jo, mutter, ‘Lucky Mia.’

  Clutching her overnight bag to her chest, Mia fixed a smile to her face and spun around. Damián stood at the threshold, dressed down in a navy polo shirt and black jeans, hair impeccably groomed, dark eyes fixed on her. She knew perfectly well what he expected of her.

  ‘Damián!’ she cried, hurrying over to stand before him. ‘You made it!’

  The smile he gave could have powered the Eiffel Tower but, before she could appreciate its full effect, a wave of his cologne hit her as he hooked a giant arm around her waist, pulled her against him and, before she could blink let alone think, covered her mouth with a kiss that managed to be both fleeting yet hungry.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ he murmured. ‘Mi vida, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you on that stage.’

  Dumbstruck at the unexpected intimacy and the tingling rush of heat it sent careering through her lips and straight into her bloodstream, Mia could only stare into the dark, dark eyes and pray her legs didn’t give way beneath her.

  Noting the bright stain of colour flush over Mia’s cheeks, Damián conceded that she really was a superlative actress. Aware too of the open-mouthed shock on the other actresses’ faces, he released his hold around her waist and took her hand. ‘I hope you ladies will not be offended if I take Mia from you now? This is my last night in the UK so we want to make the most of the time we have left together.’

  Minutes later, hands still clasped together, they left the building through the stage exit and into his waiting car. The moment his driver shut the door, Mia snatched her hand away and edged as far from him as she could before glaring at him with enough venom to poison the whole suburban town they were in.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ she demanded.

  ‘I told you I would collect you after the performance.’

  ‘You said your driver would collect me. You said nothing about attending it.’

  ‘Did you find my presence a distraction?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She sniffed airily. ‘I didn’t even notice you in the audience.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t, Pinocchio.’ He’d seen the nightgown drop from her hands in the moment her eyes had fallen onto him. Everyone had seen it, the only mishap in an otherwise spellbinding performance, but she’d covered it so well that no one would have realised. Only he’d known it for what it was and it had made all his sinews tighten to witness the effect he had on her.

  Her glare deepened. ‘And what the hell were you playing at, kissing me like that? How dare you? You do not kiss me, not ever.’

  He contemplated her coolly. ‘We were in public. I made it very clear that I expect you to show me affection in public. It’s what I am paying you for.’

  ‘And I made it very clear that I’m not an escort.’

  ‘Do you refuse to kiss on stage if the role calls for it?’

  Her pretty full lips clamped together, fury firing from the bright blue eyes.

  He held the gaze and shook his head disparagingly. ‘I thought not. Get used to the idea of us kissing in public, mi vida. When we are with my family you will be glued to my side, if not to my mouth.’

  ‘Lay one finger on me in private and I swear to God...’ Her voice trailed away as whatever threat she’d been about to utter vanished into the ether.

  ‘Get over yourself,’ he drawled. ‘The kiss meant nothing.’ If she could only see the tingling on his lips, still there from that one fleeting brush of their mouths, she would know it for the lie it was. Mercifully, his iron control hadn’t let him down and he’d stopped the tingles spreading anywhere more intimate. ‘As it is, we are stuck together for next few weeks so grow up and get over it.’

  Damn it but this was the last thing he needed. He’d watched her perform on stage for the second night in a row and been as captivated as the first time. More so. He’d been unable to tear his eyes from her, unable to stop his mind running riot as he mentally undressed her, unable to stop his
heart throbbing in response to her melodious singing.

  He could not afford to have his mind distracted. When they were at the villa he needed to keep his wits about him and focus on finding the documents. The last thing he needed was to have his mind occupied with fantasies of Mia Caldwell naked and the cells in his body stirring and straining in anticipation of being alone with her.

  The attraction would go nowhere even if he wasn’t trying his damnedest to stop his brother stealing everything from him and destroying the Delgado legacy. Forget her criminal record and lack of money, both huge crosses against her for a man of his means and interests; Damián made it a point to only sleep with women he believed he could one day trust and whose interests aligned with his. That had been the basis of his parents’ marriage and it had served them well for thirty-seven years.

  Only a fool would trust a chameleon who played make-believe for a living.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MIA HAD NEVER been to Canary Wharf before. Far removed from the arty, if rundown, area of London she called home, Canary Wharf was crammed with skyscrapers that mingled with converted ironwork buildings, and yachts and boats moored where the River Thames meandered. There was zero surprise to learn Damián owned a penthouse apartment in the tallest of the skyscrapers or that the apartment itself was as far removed from her own home as its location. It was so much like she’d imagined that she couldn’t help her bark of laughter when she stepped in it.

  ‘What’s funny?’ he asked.

  She shrugged and rummaged in her overnight bag for her phone. ‘I was just wondering where all your stuff was.’

  Obviously, the apartment was ginormous and had the requisite exquisite views accessed by floor-to-ceiling windows across every wall overlooking the Thames. All the furniture was clearly bespoke. Everything was sparkling clean and white, apart from polished oak flooring. Everything screamed money in flashing neon lights. There just wasn’t very much of it. The living area, which could fit her entire flat in it, contained the biggest television she’d ever seen, two white leather sofas and a glass coffee table. Approximately a mile away on the other side of the vast space was a glass dining table and eight chairs. And that was it.

  ‘This is a base to sleep when I’m in London,’ he answered stiffly as he flipped a laptop open. ‘My home is in Buenos Aires.’

  She pulled a face and turned her phone on. ‘I assumed you owned it.’

  ‘I do own it. Now, excuse me a moment; I need to run a security check.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To make sure no one has tried to enter my apartment... What are you doing?’

  She held her phone up. ‘Say cheese.’

  He blinked as the flash went off. ‘Did you just take a picture of me?’

  ‘I took a picture of my lover...’ she stressed the word for effect ‘...for my sister.’ Ignoring Damián’s glower, she attached the picture to Amy’s email and pressed send. Then she looked back at him and smiled brightly. ‘The location on my phone’s switched on but, just in case, I’ve sent her your address, so if my body’s dumped in the Thames the police will know where to find you.’

  His jaw clenched so tightly she wouldn’t have been surprised to see the bones poking out. ‘What have you told her?’

  ‘Amy? Only that I’ve met someone.’ She’d told her mother too, and it wasn’t just for self-preservation. Mia didn’t know if the press would ever publish pictures of her with Damián, but if they did she wanted her family prepared for it. With any luck, the press Damián had told her would be camped outside the villa for the party would be too intent on getting snaps of the glamorous playboy, polo-playing Emiliano to bother with them.

  The last thing Mia wanted was for the paparazzi to focus on her. Being seen on Damián’s arm might bring the kind of attention usually reserved for celebrated film actresses. If Damián could dig out her old criminal record, what was to stop the press?

  It was too late now. Damián had made that very clear. She was committed: stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea. Her priority was to protect her family and herself, and in that order. Protecting her family came in many guises and not adding undue worry to their shoulders was the biggest part of it. There was no way she could disappear for a weekend to Monte Cleure and not have them worry. She felt awful about lying to them and building their hopes up that she’d finally met someone, but this was a lie of necessity.

  ‘I thought you wanted the world to think we’re in love?’ Batting her eyelashes, she smiled again and theatrically added, ‘Our love will burn like a flame and then it will, sadly, extinguish itself.’

  There was zero amusement in his expression. ‘The terms of the non-disclosure agreement includes your sister.’

  ‘I know.’ Eyeballing him back, she gave him her most withering stare. ‘You’ve made a liar of me.’

  Now he was the one to conjure a fake smile before he switched his attention back to his laptop. ‘We can add it to your list of attributes.’

  Suddenly afraid she might slap the laptop’s lid onto his fingers, she spun around and poked her head around a partition wall. Behind it she found the whitest, cleanest kitchen she’d ever seen. Unsurprisingly, it was functional over beautiful. The only gadget on display was a coffee machine that probably cost more than her monthly mortgage. She looked back at Damián. ‘If you own this place, why does it look like a decluttered show home?’

  ‘I use it as a convenient base, nothing more. Banco Delgado has offices on the thirty-first and thirty-second floor of the building opposite us.’

  She sighed in mock disappointment.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Now what?’

  ‘I’d guessed you lived in the same building as your offices. Just as well I never made a bet on it. Where’s your staff?’ Surely a man of Damián’s wealth had live-in staff?

  ‘The building’s concierge service includes staff when I need them.’

  Great. That meant they were truly alone. ‘Do you get them to spy on your front door for you too?’

  His jaw clenched. ‘I’m paying you to do a job, not make endless speculation.’

  ‘Then maybe you should have chosen an actress with a blunter brain,’ she stated sweetly. ‘Can I be nosy and look through your kitchen cupboards?’

  ‘If it shuts you up for five minutes, be my guest.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Suspicion now in his eyes, he followed her into the kitchen and put the laptop on a work surface. ‘Why do you want to look?’

  She opened the nearest cupboard. It was empty. ‘I’m curious what a billionaire’s cutlery is like.’ She opened another cupboard and found that empty too. ‘Where’s your food?’

  ‘Are you always this nosy?’

  ‘Only on special occasions. I’ll be able to tell anyone who asks how a billionaire lives that the answer’s soullessly... Unless discussing your decluttered show home apartment is a breach of the NDA?’

  His look became meditative. ‘Are you always so antagonistic?’

  ‘Not at all.’ The next cupboard was also empty. ‘Consider yourself special.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You have to ask?’

  ‘I’m paying you handsomely to perform a role that is no different to what you perform on a stage. You are certain to get a career boost from it. I do all this and still you act like I’m El Cuco.’

  Aha! A cupboard with a set of plates and bowls. And what a surprise. They were all white. ‘El who?’

  ‘El Cuco. He’s like your bogeyman.’

  ‘Right... Well, considering you won’t let me quit this role even though you know I only took it because I thought you were blackmailing me, can you blame me for thinking of you as an El Cuco figure?’

  He raised a brow. ‘You expect me to believe you would have turned all that money down?’

  ‘I offered to pay the money back, remember? W
hether you believed that was genuine or not is on you. I don’t care what you believe. Have you got anything alcoholic to drink?’

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘An hour before the performance.’

  ‘I will order food.’

  ‘Drink first.’

  ‘Not a good idea on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Who made you my mother?’

  ‘Mia...’ Damián sucked a large breath in and closed his laptop. From the moment they’d stepped into his apartment there had been a manic energy about her. ‘Have you been taking drugs?’

  She looked affronted at the question. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ There had been no suggestion from the reports he’d had compiled on her that she still used drugs and he’d been prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt on that score because she had the talent and the look he needed and he’d been desperate. For possibly the hundredth time he wondered how great a mistake he’d made in choosing her.

  ‘I don’t take drugs.’

  ‘You used to. You cannot deny that.’

  A spark similar to the flashes he’d seen whenever he mentioned her criminal record flew from her eyes but her lips clamped together.

  Holding onto his temper by a whisker, he scrutinised her more closely. Damián knew what drug addiction looked like. He knew too many people who relieved the pressures that came with a high-octane career in the banking and finance industries with cocaine not to recognise the signs of a user. Mia’s eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with colour but there was no sign of dilated pupils or a runny nose, and nor did she do the obsessive sniffing he associated with drug use.

  ‘You are displaying edgy behaviour.’

  She pressed her back against a worktop. ‘I’m not edgy, I’m nervous. And can you blame me?’

  ‘Are you afraid of me?’

  She stilled as her eyes found his, the animation in her features dulling. Then her head dropped and she said in a low voice, ‘I’d be a fool not to be afraid.’