Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  Grace frowns and looks down at the city, her forehead wrinkled in thought.

  “I don’t mean to make you feel bad, but it is taking you a little too long to answer the question,” I say gently.

  She spins away from the railing, leaning back against it with her arms crossed. “For not trying, you are doing a great job.”

  “Then answer the question,” I say, stepping towards her, my hand sliding down the railing until my fingers are a whisper away from where her hip is pressed against the metal. “Tell me what you and Sebastian Wayde do for fun.”

  I look straight into her green eyes—a challenge—and silently pray she won’t say they spend their free time in the bedroom. Because if she says that, I might just have to pitch myself off the roof.

  Grace stares back, her eyes flickering green flames, but the longer we look at one another, the more the fire dims. Until finally, she glances down at the ground and shakes her head.

  “I don’t owe you an explanation, Leon. I hardly know you.”

  I want to press. I want to make her explore whatever feeling she is having, hoping beyond hope that I’ll wake her up from some hallucination and she’ll realize she doesn’t love Sebastian at all. Instead, I step away and extend a hand.

  “I believe you promised me a dance.”

  She looks at my hand and then at me, eyebrow raised. “I promised you no such thing.”

  I sigh, letting my head roll on my shoulders. “I’m trying to change the subject for you, dear. The least you can do is play along.”

  Grace grabs my hand and charges ahead of me, pulling me towards the center of the small roof. “Don’t call me ‘dear.’”

  When we reach the middle, she turns on her heels and faces me, hands balled into fists at her sides. “How do you want to do it?”

  I can’t stop the smirk that spreads across my face, and Grace’s cheeks go bright red.

  “Dance,” she almost shouts, leaning forward to elbow me in the stomach. “How do you want to dance?”

  I swallow my laughter, hold my left hand up for her to take, and wrap my right arm around her waist.

  She steps into the circle of my body slowly, looking up at me from behind heavy lashes as she presses her right hand into mine and places her left hand on my bicep.

  “I can barely hear the music,” she says, turning around to make sure the access door we propped open is still being held ajar by her clutch. The front half of the venue is a two-story tall room with skylights, but the back half is a kitchen on the first floor with offices above. The door to the roof is on the second floor with a permanent sign affixed to it that says, “Authorized Personnel Only.”

  “I don’t think they really want people dancing up here.”

  “Should we go, then? I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  She moves to pull away, but I tighten my grip and shake my head.

  “We won’t get in trouble.”

  “What if someone comes up here and—”

  “If it’s an employee, it will probably be some college student working here on evenings to pay off student loans, so I’ll toss them some cash and make it worth their while. And if it’s another guest,” I say, grabbing her hand and spinning her in a very reluctant circle. “Then we’ll tell them we’ve got dibs and to get lost.”

  She laughs and turns to look out over the city again. The sun set over an hour ago, but a deep red still colors the horizon, and the skyline glows from the streetlights and passing car headlights.

  “Do you ever not say exactly what you mean?” she asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  Grace shrugs, her mouth twisted up in a shy smile. “You don’t seem to have any issue with telling people exactly what you think. Within the first five minutes of knowing me, you told me you don’t like my fiancé and stole my birthday cake.”

  “I gave that cake back,” I remind her.

  “I’m serious,” she presses. “How are you brave enough to say exactly what you’re thinking?”

  Alone on the roof with my arm wrapped around her waist, I’m thinking this moment with Grace feels like a movie. I’ve never put much stock in fate or destiny, but being with her feels like it was planned for me. Like someone orchestrated our meeting, and I’d love to shake their hand and thank them. I’m thinking I want nothing more than to pull Grace against my chest and press my lips to hers until she forgets about Sebastian entirely.

  “I’m not,” I admit, pushing the fantasy from my mind. “I got a physical at the doctor’s office last month, and I thought my overweight doctor had no business telling me my ‘metabolism will slow down one day, and all the exercise in the world won’t compensate for a poor diet,’ but I certainly didn’t say that out loud.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Even earlier tonight—just before I met you, actually—I was talking to an accountant who might be the most annoyingly persistent man I’ve ever met, but I didn’t say that. I took his business card and walked away with the promise of calling him. I will not call him.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Everyone thinks things like that. Not saying them out loud makes you nice.”

  “Exactly. Nice, not brave.” I circle my arm around her trim waist, pulling her against my chest. The bulk of the bottom half of her dress is pinched between our bodies, and I know it wasn’t exactly made for close dancing, but it’s impossible to be this near to Grace without wanting more. Without wanting her a little closer.

  She adjusts her hand, sliding it up my arm and shoulder until her fingers are on my collar. I can feel the warmth of her nearness against my neck, and like a cat searching for attention, I want to lean into her touch. But because I’m not nearly as brave as she seems to think I am, I don’t.

  “I’m not brave,” she says, as though reading my thoughts.

  “Do you keep a lot of thoughts to yourself?” I ask, leaning down to peer at her like I’m trying to see inside her head.

  She laughs, her eyebrows flicking upward quickly. “You have no idea.”

  What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking.

  Grace works her lower lip. Her eyes bounce off me and look instead over the edge of the roof again. She swallows, and her throat bobs nervously.

  “You don’t have to,” I say.

  “Have to what?” Her forehead is adorably wrinkled.

  I reach out and tap my thumb between her brows. “Keep your thoughts to yourself. Beautiful people have different rules than most people. You could speak the darkest parts of your mind and everyone would still love you.”

  “That is so not true. You hate Sebastian.”

  I hate his name on her lips. Because not only does it mean he still exists, but it means she thinks he is beautiful. And, I mean, yes, he is objectively, stereotypically handsome, but I’d feel better if Grace didn’t admit as much to my face.

  “Not because he says what he thinks,” I explain. “But because he’s an asshole. There is a difference between being honest and being cruel.”

  “How do you know I’m not cruel?”

  Her eyes are wide, the dying light of sunset reflected in her irises, and I want to reach out and brush my thumb across her cheek. I want to tuck my fingers behind her ear and marvel at her.

  “I can tell.”

  She stares at me for a moment longer and then shakes her head, laughing nervously. “Well, I might not be cruel, but I’m not pretty enough to say half the things I think.”

  Suddenly, my hand has a life of its own. It does all the things I’d just told it not to. My thumb brushes over her porcelain skin and my fingers tuck a wavy strand of hair behind her ear. Grace catches her breath and looks up at me, red lips parted.

  “You’re beautiful.” I don’t mean to say the words, but they come out in a reverent whisper, and then I’m leaning down towards her. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to hit the brakes, but to no avail. I’m not thinking with my brain right now. I’m all thundering heart and trembling
fingers.

  Grace softens against me as I cup the back of her neck and tighten an arm around her waist. She is pressing up on her toes, closing the distance between us, and her fingers finally, mercifully find my neck. Goosebumps rise across my skin. We haven’t even kissed yet, and I’m fighting back a moan. I close my eyes, lean down, and…

  “Wait.”

  She presses on my chest and arches away from me. I let her go immediately, stumbling back like someone has just poured ice water over me in the middle of a great dream.

  Grace shakes her head and turns away, moving back to the railing. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Leon,” I say, breathless.

  She looks over her shoulder at me, and I instantly wish I had a camera. Her sad eyes and red dress against the dark sky would hang in any gallery in the world.

  “If I’m going to cheat on my fiancé, I should at least know your last name, don’t you think?”

  Is that what we were doing? Cheating? It didn’t feel like cheating. If anything, it feels like she is cheating on me with Sebastian. Why is she with him? She’s beautiful and sweet and witty. What could she see in a man like Sebastian Wayde?

  “Leon Knight.”

  I don’t have to wait long to see if she recognizes my name. Her shoulders stiffen, and she turns around, eyes wide.

  “Knight?” she repeats. “As in, Leon Knight, CEO of FutureTrust?”

  “The very same,” I say with a smile I don’t mean. I hadn’t withheld my full name from her on purpose. Once I knew who she was, however, I avoided offering it freely. “I assume you’ve heard of me.”

  She nods without turning around. “A time or two. We’ve actually spoken on the phone before.”

  “No, we haven’t.” I’d remember talking to Sebastian Wayde’s fiancée on the phone because there would be absolutely no reason for it. Grace has to be mistaken.

  “Yes, we have,” she insists, turning around, her hands bundled nervously in front of her. “I’m Sebastian’s assistant. I called you once to set up—”

  “You’re his fiancée and his assistant?”

  Before Grace can answer, the door to the roof thuds open, bouncing off the stone wall, and Sebastian steps out.

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t know, Knight,” he calls out.

  Grace’s eyes go wide when she sees Sebastian, and she looks down at the floor, ashamed. I don’t know what for. We’re standing five feet apart. If he’d walked in on us dancing, it may have been a different story.

  “I didn’t know,” I say, speaking only to Grace now.

  She doesn’t look up.

  Sebastian crosses the roof in a few long strides and wraps an arm around Grace’s shoulder. The move looks awkward and clumsy, and he jostles Grace against his side, trying to get a firm grip on her.

  “You said downstairs you weren’t in the mood to spar tonight, but I guess that is what you would say if your real plan was to try and scam on my fiancée.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” I say, glaring at him, but hoping my words are registering with Grace.

  I know it looks bad. Grace knew Sebastian and I didn’t get along, but now she understands to what extent. I don’t want her to think being with her was just some trick to get one over on Sebastian. If anything, I continued talking to her in spite of her connection to him. Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to pull myself away.

  “The only reason we’re here is because you left her alone all night. On her birthday.”

  Sebastian snaps his attention to Grace like he is surprised, and I wonder whether he even knows it is her birthday. Then, just as quickly, he looks back at me and sneers.

  “Don’t pretend to be the better man, Leon. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Grace has gone quiet and lifeless in his presence, and I want to remind her of our conversation. She can speak her mind. She can say what she thinks, stand up for herself. But she just crosses her arms and stares down at the ground.

  “I don’t have to pretend,” I snap, anger getting the best of me. “I’m not the one dipping my pen in company ink.”

  Grace’s head snaps up, her eyes wide for a second before narrowing in. I regret the words immediately, but it’s too late. Sebastian shakes his head, tightens his hold on Grace’s shoulders, and pulls her towards the door.

  “Let’s go.”

  It’s a command, and Grace resists for a second, staring at me, waiting for me to say something. To apologize. I’m waiting for it, too, but the words won’t come.

  Because what does it matter? She’s engaged to someone else. She’s going home with someone else. If she thinks I’m the biggest jerk in the world, then rather sooner than later, right? It would be impossible to be married to Sebastian and keep a good opinion of me. Sebastian wouldn’t allow it. Pushing Grace away is the easiest solution. It will help us settle into the roles we will have to play once they are married.

  Then, she turns with him and walks across the rooftop, head down.

  “Lovely meeting you, Grace,” I say, both as a jab at Sebastian and a compliment to Grace. “Happy birthday!”

  She looks back at me for just a second, stealing a glance over her shoulder as Sebastian grabs her clutch off the ground and then pulls her through the door and down the stairs.

  I stay on the roof for a while longer in hopes I won’t go back down to the party and run into the two of them working the room. I don’t want to see them together. I don’t want to walk around and pretend it doesn’t bother me. And I especially don’t want to have to be the nice guy and keep all the thoughts I have about Sebastian and Grace being together in my head.

  They don’t make sense. Sebastian is scum, and Grace deserves better. Why is she with him?

  As I look out over the city, I wonder whether I shouldn’t leverage my wealth more. Sebastian does, and clearly it works for him. If he can get a woman like Grace with money and power and an insufferable personality, what could I do with money, power, and a great personality? Or, a good personality, at least.

  Fine, an okay personality.

  After enough time has passed for them to have said their goodbyes and left, I walk back down the stairs, the music from the party growing louder, and wonder if I should drown my sorrows in whiskey or take Alessia up on her offer and find myself a model.

  I’m astounded to discover I’m not interested in a model, though. Not with the memory of holding Grace in my arms while we danced still fresh in my mind. With that realization firmly affixed, I head toward the bar.

  Chapter 5

  Grace

  “I’m not the one dipping my pen in company ink.”

  The words echo in my head all the way down the stairs and through the party. Sebastian is stopped by several people, pulled into conversations that don’t concern me, and I just stand there, dumbly, wondering if Leon meant it.

  Am I nothing more than company ink? A throwaway employee at his rival’s company who he wanted to fool with to get back at Sebastian?

  It didn’t feel that way when we were talking. And he came up to me with the cake before he even knew who I was. I could tell by his reaction to Sebastian’s name that it was a surprise. So, there had to have been some genuine interest in me in the beginning, at least. Once he found out, however, did his intentions change? Did the game begin? And did I fall into the trap?

  I shouldn’t have gone with him to the roof. No matter how I spin it to Sebastian, it’s going to look like I was trying to cheat on him at a party with all of his friends and colleagues in attendance. But I didn’t cheat on him. I went to the roof for air…and there just happened to be a man with me. A very handsome man. Who is also his biggest rival.

  Sebastian talks about Leon Knight enough in the office that the name “Leon” alone should have registered somewhere in the back of my brain. Maybe it was the four glasses of champagne impairing my judgment. Or his dark stubble and bright eyes and winning smile. Probably, it was a combination of all of the above.

&
nbsp; No matter what Leon thinks, I did speak with him on the phone once. I remember because I was surprised he answered the phone and not his assistant. I had to call and confirm his attendance at a benefit Sebastian was throwing for one of the many charities he works with but knows nothing about, and Leon was friendly—nothing like the prick Sebastian made him out to be. Knowing I was Sebastian’s assistant, he still treated me like a human being. He thanked me for calling to confirm and wished me a good day. It was a short interaction, but one of the few I’ve had with men in higher positions that didn’t leave me feeling like a speck of dust on their tailored jackets.

  “We should get going. She’s tired,” Sebastian says, wrapping his hand around my waist.

  Leon’s arm was in the same position not ten minutes ago, and it felt like my entire body was going to burst into spontaneous flames. Now, I feel itchy and barely resist the urge to shrug him away and put distance between us.

  I don’t know if the people Sebastian is talking to know that “she” is Sebastian’s fiancée. That “she” is named Grace. And I don’t care.

  The more time I spend with Sebastian and his people, the more I’m content with the idea of being his fake, hermit wife for two years. I’ll hide away in the penthouse, letting Sebastian attend events on his own and make excuses for why I’m not there, and then we’ll get divorced. No one will be surprised since Sebastian’s wife was never seen in public, and then I’ll take my money and put the entire thing behind me. Because two more years of this? Of clinging to his arm and smiling like a good little trophy wife while people whisper about Sebastian making an honest woman out of his own assistant? I don’t think I can handle that.

  Sebastian leads me from the party with a smile on his face. He tips his hat to people as we pass, but he does it in a way that makes him look like the Pope. Rather than bowing to them, he is extending some sort of invisible blessing to them by acknowledging their existence. He smiles at an employee holding the front door, raising the right side of his face up in a smirk like, “aren’t you delighted I’m here?”