by Jen Doyle
“Did she mention that you’re insane?” Jeremy asked once Simon ended the call.
It wasn’t the first time Jeremy had said something to that effect over the last two days, and Simon was sure it wouldn’t be the last. To that point, Simon couldn’t honestly say he disagreed. At least they were now past yesterday’s phase, during which Jeremy had been constantly muttering things like ‘Goddamn fucking head out of his Goddamn fucking ass.’ Now that they were mostly settled into the three-bedroom suite at the Buena Vista, however, Jeremy had mostly calmed down. The fully stocked bar had no doubt helped.
But Jeremy wasn’t wrong. Simon wasn’t entirely sure he was fully present of mind himself, and if anyone had asked, he would have told them he just wanted to keep a closer eye on Nicki. Not that he thought she’d do anything to jeopardize the property—she’d never struck him as someone who was dishonest. In fact, as far as Simon could tell, she’d been entirely upfront about selling the jewelry he’d given her. Her note to the solicitors’ office couldn’t have been clearer.
Reaching for the bottle of Macallan’s, Simon held it up for Jeremy to see. A peace offering of sorts. With a look indicating he was, yes, well aware he was being bribed into acceptance, Jeremy took a seat at the bar. He waited until the glasses were poured to say, “What changed?”
Of course, despite all of his muttering, Jeremy would have caught on.
Although they were as far from related as two people could possibly be—Simon was born into an extinct Dukedom on a country estate in the UK, whereas Jeremy had been orphaned as a ten-year-old when his single mother had overdosed on heroin on the streets of New York City—Jeremy was the closest thing to a brother Simon had. He was the head of Simon’s security team and his personal bodyguard, the only person Simon trusted enough for this particular diversion. The man was observant and smart and knew Simon far too well. He had clearly noticed the moment Simon had pulled back from what he’d originally considered to be a fairly straightforward business deal—more difficult to navigate than others due to the personal nature of the task, but that within several rounds of negotiations would be done. Instead, Simon had not just retreated from the confrontation, he’d gone so far as to commit to a property that would personally cost him £10 million given the current exchange rate.
Glad to finally be somewhat in Jeremy’s good graces again, Simon leaned on the counter, tumbler in hand. “She was…quite cross. Angrier than I thought she’d be.”
Jeremy took a sip of his Scotch. “‘Irate’ is the word I’d use.”
A smile wasn’t the proper response and yet Simon couldn’t help himself. Nicki was passionate in nearly everything she did; it was one of the things he’d loved most.
“No guilt at all,” Jeremy added, voicing the very thing that had seemed so odd. “Or calculation.”
Exactly. “Except for upselling me at every turn.”
Jeremy laughed. “The country club memberships were a nice touch.”
Simon smiled at that one, too. “She has an affection for those who are less fortunate.”
They drank in silence, Jeremy no doubt running everything through in his head. It was therefore no surprise when he said, “Do you think maybe she didn’t just sell everything off?”
Simon shook his head. “I saw the bills of sale. I saw the dates.” He remembered it clearly, as that was what had finally convinced him his mother was right; what stung so much. Nicki had begun selling off the jewelry before his place in her bed was cold.
But over the last two days Simon had been thinking. And although the facts remained clear, he had finally forced himself to look at it in the way he truly would another business deal; to remove the emotional component entirely. And that was when he began to realize Nicki wasn’t the only one who had been playing at the manipulation game back then. He’d seen the bills of sale only because his mother’s solicitors had thrust them in front of him. His mother’s assistant had shared the email between Nicki and the family’s law firm in which Nicki clarified it was her right to sell the jewelry and do with the proceeds whatever she pleased. And it was his mother herself who had been the one to tell him how little resistance Nicki had given when the annulment documents were presented to her.
His mother, who had scoffed, Marrying a woman after two weeks. What did you expect?
Of course, it was also a fact that he’d attempted to contact Nicki multiple times in the weeks after he’d left and had gone so far as to send someone to Vegas on his behalf as he’d had no way to get there on his own. It had taken him nearly two full months to find someone both who he could trust not to tell anyone and who could afford the weekend trip since, at the time, Simon had no access to funds of any kind. But his emissary had been turned away at the stage door.
And Simon had given up. Nicki had given no indication she’d seen him as anything other than a paycheck. And with his mother watching every single move he made—and restricting those she didn’t approve of—all the while sharing the details of Nicki’s deceit, he’d come to believe everything with Nicki had been a lie.
So, yes, maybe Nicki’s reaction to him seemed off. Maybe there was a piece of information he was missing that would make everything clearer. Maybe, even, he would find Nicki was, as he once upon a time believed, innocent and genuine and had truly been in love. With him. He found it highly unlikely, but he supposed the potential was there. Even if it were all found to be true, however, the ultimate goal was still the same.
Jeremy twisted the glass in his hand. “I think she kind of hates you, you know.”
Of that Simon had no doubt. “Agreed entirely.” He took another sip of his drink.
Don’t be a bloody idiot and fall into her trap again, his mother had said before he left London.
No need to worry, he’d replied with complete conviction.
And yet as he sat here now, he couldn’t summon up a single bitter thought about the woman he’d married. Instead, all he could see was a soft, warm ray of sunshine in his otherwise cold, duty-bound life. Soft, smooth curves rather than just another set of hard edges.
He almost laughed. Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing if the reason he could speak with such perfect assurance wasn’t because he was in danger of falling in love with her again, but instead because he’d never fully fallen out of it?
6
“You sure you’re okay?”
Simon took a seat at the table Jeremy had secured in the back corner of the restaurant, too close to the kitchen but with the benefit of being mostly out of sight. He avoided meeting his friend’s eyes.
Very few people would have dared ask—or, for that matter, would have even known to be concerned. Gemma, if she were here. His two other sisters if their offspring hadn’t been distracting them. But otherwise only Jeremy.
“It’s an opportunity to assess. That’s all.” That’s what Simon was telling himself, at least, so it may as well be what he told everyone else. Because no, he hadn’t been thinking about Nicki for two days straight. He hadn’t been coming up with reasons she might have done what she’d done or ways he might have handled his own actions differently.
Except for maybe a little bit.
With a snort that made clear he didn’t believe Simon at all, Jeremy checked the room one more time. “I’ll be at your six.” Then he took a seat of his own, several tables away.
After a glance around the room, Simon looked down at the wine list. Santa Christa wasn’t the worst place to pass some time, he had to admit. His people had already identified some potential holdings in the area. If nothing else, the house would be an incredible place to use as a showplace. Maybe he should sponsor some artists as well. There were all sorts of possibilities. It had nothing to do with Nicki at all.
Wow. It didn’t even sound convincing in his own head.
But it was better than the nagging thoughts that, yes, maybe he’d gotten everything wrong. He was well aware self-reflection wasn’t his strong suit and it felt odd to even allow the question. No m
atter how hard he’d tried to put it out of his mind, however, he couldn’t quite shake how Nicki had acted like a woman scorned. Which was not his impression of how he’d left her. She’d been sated and happy and… Beautiful. So damn beautiful lying in their bed that he hadn’t wanted to disturb the perfect picture in his head. He’d wanted to savor it instead, knowing he’d soon be back in his mother’s venomous sphere for the first time in nearly three years.
So he’d laid a white rose on the bedside table, written Nicki a quick note, and then left quietly. He’d had every intention of returning within the week; not in his wildest dreams would he have thought he wouldn’t see her again for another nine years.
Had his mother lied outright? No. Simon didn’t think so. But might she have exploited a situation in which her 24-year-old son—fresh off his extended gap year—was highly susceptible to questioning even the idea of love? It certainly wasn’t something he’d grown up experiencing, his father having disappeared from their lives once his role in breeding heirs was done.
Yes. It was absolutely something Simon’s mother would do. And with an enforced distance already wedged between him and Nicki, Simon had let his head overrule his heart.
He turned his attention back to the wine list. Before he could find another thing to occupy his mind, the restaurant’s front door opened and his heart skipped a few beats. He told himself it was because he was irritated at Nicki for insisting she meet him at the restaurant rather than allow him to pick her up—not because he was eager to see her. But it wasn’t a convincing argument at all. He loved her streak of independence.
No. Had loved it. Past tense.
He’d loved that she would fight him on almost everything just because she could, while still coming across as the sweetest and most caring woman he’d ever met. It hadn’t quite matched the fortune hunter she’d soon revealed herself to be, but he’d come to believe everything had gone exactly as she’d orchestrated. It was what had gotten them talking about marriage in the first place, after all.
You’d probably even refuse a diamond engagement ring, he had joked, holding up her unadorned hand to the light. Insist on a twist tie, or some sort.
Try me, she had replied before nudging him to his back and climbing up over him.
So he’d gone out and gotten the biggest, most ostentatious diamond ring he could find.
Or, to be more accurate, he’d waited until they were both entirely worn out and she’d fallen asleep before texting his assistant. But he’d met the challenge. And then he’d spent the next nine years wondering if that had been her intention all along.
He still wondered. He was very actively wondering right now, in fact, thus his request that she join him for dinner. He wasn’t planning to come out and ask if she’d married him for his money, and, if so, would she settle for a hefty settlement of, say, ten million pounds in lieu of taking a chance and suing him for half of what he was worth. But, yes, as he’d told Jeremy, he was here to assess. Observe. When he’d met her, he’d been so much younger—so less jaded; he hadn’t stood a chance. Things were different now, however. He was different. These days, for example, he expected women to want him because the word ‘billionaire’ often accompanied his name. Everything else was secondary. Thanks to Nicki, he was no longer surprised.
Unfortunately, neither was he immune to her, and he was glad he saw her before she saw him because it gave him a chance to absorb the impact. The blouse and skirt she wore were nearly utilitarian; it was almost as if she’d dressed as dully as she possibly could to meet with him. And yet the pale blue blouse cupped her breasts as tightly as he once had; the dark gray skirt did nothing to hide the outline of legs that she had wrapped around him to great effect. Getting to his feet as she made her way across the restaurant, Simon refocused his thoughts by reminding himself of what he had to do.
Although she did glance at him briefly when the hostess pointed out his table, it wasn’t until she sat down that she fully met his gaze. “Simon.”
Not the warmest of greetings, although he didn’t blame her. “Hello, Nicki.”
Taking the napkin from the table and placing it in her lap, Nicki looked down as he took his seat again.
He couldn’t help but look at her, however. He actually couldn’t stop. And starting with, “You cut your hair,” wasn’t the best opening; not when he needed to remain detached. She had, though, and although he’d always loved the long, dark waves flowing over her shoulders, he was finding the shorter, just-below-the-chin cut suited her quite beautifully. The caramel-colored highlights rippling through her reddish brown hair made him want to run his fingers through it.
Her head came up sharply. Her hazel eyes flared before she almost too smoothly softened her gaze as, for possibly the first time since he’d arrived here yesterday, she looked at him without hostility. With resignation, in fact.
“What are you doing here, Simon?”
He would have preferred the hostility. Or even an attempt on her part to recapture what they’d had in order to see what else she could get from him. What he wasn’t at all prepared for was the lost and vaguely bewildered look in her eyes. He sat back in his chair. “Buying a house.”
She clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “We both know that’s not why you came here. I just can’t quite figure out what the real reason is.”
“Does there need to be another reason?” he asked. Yet, as he placed his napkin in his lap he found himself saying, “Our San Francisco office has been growing over the last year. It seemed prudent to secure a property nearby.”
Simon felt the pull as her lips went into a tight line. “And you just happened to choose Santa Christa? The company I work for?”
She nodded her thanks as one of the waitstaff came over to fill their glasses with water. It gave Simon a minute to come up with a response, although he should have figured one out long before now. It wasn’t as if it were a surprising question. The surprise was that he felt more off balance, not less. Nothing about this woman said, You were the best get-rich-quick scheme I ever could have come up with and would you like to have another go at it?
In fact, she didn’t seem defensive at all. More the opposite, if anything.
The uneasy feeling returned. “Your name came up during our search,” he said. “I figured anyone who could plan a wedding in the course of a day would be able to meet my needs.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he realized he’d let on much more than he meant to. There was no way her name would have ‘come up’ if not for the team of three people whose sole job for a week was finding out where she was and what she was doing. It had been a great deal more difficult than he’d expected.
She took her water glass and twisted it in her hands. “How exactly did you know I was working for Russel? I barely even knew it.”
Simon resisted glancing over his shoulder at Jeremy. He should have left this to someone else. As he sat here with her he could barely even find all the anger he’d held on to. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to see if her skin was still as soft and warm as he remembered it. He wanted to see if she still tasted like honey and cream.
So much for his cool, calm assessment.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered.
Her words brought him back into focus—and back to where it was impossible to ignore the hurt in her eyes. “How was I looking at you?”
She brushed at her eyes suspiciously. “As if you actually cared.”
As if he cared? “Says the woman who sold off everything I ever gave her at the earliest possible moment.”
Outrage colored her cheeks. “You left me. In the middle of the night, by the way, and with a note that didn’t say one goddamn thing about me except that I could call your lawyers if I needed them. Spoiler alert: your lawyers sucked.”
If only she knew how badly. It clearly wasn’t the time, however.
“I had every intention of returning,” he answered. Also, he’d left her a flower.
Something he almost actually came out and said with an entirely straight face before realizing how ridiculously idiotic it sounded. And sadly pathetic.
So. Very. Pathetic.
He straightened out his napkin. “I rang you for a week.”
Nicki’s lips settled into a grim line. “You waited two days and then had your assistant call.”
It was one of the secretaries in his mother’s office, actually, which meant the calls had to be placed at 8:00 in the morning Sydney-time, before his mother came in.
But, yes, it did sound bad from Nicki’s point of view.
What Nicki didn’t know, however, was that his mother had essentially had Simon escorted from the hotel in Las Vegas directly to her plane—like a child, which had been nearly as infuriating as the fact that he’d had no recourse since at that point he had nothing directly in his name. She’d had his overseers wait until they were almost in London to inform him she’d just left for Australia and he would therefore have no contact with the outside world as they flew the rest of the way around the globe. And while he’d been in the air, she’d canceled his credit cards and cut off all access to the accounts he’d freely used since his graduation from university, including his phone.
All of which had been intentionally done to demonstrate she still had complete control of his life until he turned twenty-eight and was no longer under her thumb.
He couldn’t deny, however, that the seed had already taken root. At that point he’d already begun to wonder if it was lust, not love, he felt for Nicki; no one could truly fall so deeply in love in such a short amount of time.
None of which was relevant. “I sent someone to see you.”
That was…not the right thing to say. He cleared his throat.
“Sent someone!” Eyes flashing, Nicki clutched the glass in front of her with both hands. He had the feeling it was to hold herself back from throttling him. “Do other girls get off on that?”
