Blame It on the Billionaire

by Naima Simone

  Her breath caught in her throat. She made him hard. That wasn’t anything special. He wanted her to remember her place and stay in it. To not have delusions of grandeur where he was concerned. Contrary to the fantasy fairy tales peddled, princes didn’t fall for scullery maids.

  Fine with her. She didn’t believe in princes and their false professions of love anyway.

  “Like I said, that won’t be a problem,” she assured him. “And since we’re setting boundaries and rules. I have two.” She ticked up a finger. “One. As you mentioned earlier, sex isn’t on the table. Which I’m fine with.” The low thrum between her legs sent up a plaintive Are we really, though? Ignoring her traitorous and greedy body, she continued, “But that means it’s off the menu with everyone else, too. I refuse to be a pathetic side piece in the public’s eye.” Been there, done that. No thank you on a repeat. A scowl darkened Grayson’s face, but again, she moved on. “And two, at the end of the four months, I break up with you.” She paused. “That’s a deal breaker.”

  She didn’t go into why it was important to her that she be the one to end this relationship, fake or not. Redemption, maybe. Or pride. It was one thing to look like Cinderella with Prince Charming. It was another thing to be dumped by Prince Charming and return to the cinders and ashes.

  The scowl eased and something uncomfortably close to understanding darkened his eyes. She fought not to squirm or, worse, explain herself.

  Finally, he nodded. “Human Resources has your banking information, so I’ll transfer five hundred thousand there from my personal account tomorrow.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I only want two hundred and fifty thousand.” Just enough to cover all four years of Ezra’s tuition and a little extra for incidentals.

  Once more, displeasure creased his brow. “The agreement was for half a million now and an additional quarter million when the four months were up.”

  “No, we didn’t agree on that because I turned down the original offer. The terms of our new arrangement are two hundred and fifty,” she argued.

  “Who in the hell turns down that much money for a lesser amount?”

  “That would be me. Take it or leave it.” When she walked away from this it wouldn’t be feeling like a gold digger. She stretched her arm out toward him. “Deal?”

  He studied her palm before closing the distance and enfolding his big hand around hers. It was just her hand but, God, she felt...surrounded. That small gesture reminded her of how he’d wrapped his larger frame around her body, holding her tight as he thrust inside her with care and ferocity.

  “Deal.”

  Why did that one word sound like a warning?

  A hard squeeze of her fingers shattered her thoughts, and she glanced from their connected hands to his hooded, sensual gaze. “You have secrets, Nadia Jordan. And I’m going to enjoy uncovering each and every one of them.”

  Now that was definitely a warning. She jerked her hand away from his, not caring how he interpreted the action. Pride demanded she deliver some pithy remark and casually stroll out of the office. But self-preservation... Well it screamed louder than pride at the moment.

  With a jerky nod of her head, she wheeled around and damn near charged out the doors, not daring to look back.

  Best not to tempt fate...or her shaky resolve.

  Seven

  The ballet.

  She was going to the freaking ballet.

  Standing in front of her small closet, Nadia squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. She counted to ten and once more surveyed the contents. Jeans, shirts, blouses, skirts and a couple of dresses—all clothes suitable for work and casual time outside of the office. But nothing in the cramped mess came within even centimeters of appropriate fashion for the ballet.

  God, every time she said it aloud or in her head, her stomach rolled and pitched like a ship in a storm. Unless she could count the number of times she’d watched Fame—and honestly, did that even count?—she’d never been interested. But apparently not only did the elite of Chicago attend ballets, they hosted parties before them.

  When Nadia had decided to take part in this relationship charade, she’d figured on having at least a few days to become accustomed to the idea that her life wouldn’t be hers for the next four months. But no, Grayson had called the following morning—this morning—to inform her they were attending a pre-ballet cocktail party at his parents’ house.

  God, what had she been thinking to agree to this?

  Ezra needs to go to college debt-free.

  Right. If she kept repeating that to herself, maybe she could make it through this evening and the long ones ahead of her.

  Sighing, she reached inside the closet and withdrew her black “any-do” dress. The dress that would do for any occasion whether it was a wedding or funeral. Holding it up, she peered at the modest neckline, cap sleeves and knee-length hem. Simple and perfectly respectable.

  Perfectly boring.

  Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Unfortunately, her budget didn’t allow for a shopping spree on the Magnificent Mile. Tossing the dress on her bed, she bundled her hair on top of her head and glanced at her watch before slipping it off and setting it onto the bedside dresser.

  Five thirty. She had an hour and a half before Grayson picked her up. Between now and then, she had to shower, put on makeup and get dressed. She would definitely be cutting it close, but—

  The loud, obnoxious buzz of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she hesitated before treading out of her bedroom and down the hall. Who could that be? Ezra had travel ball and wouldn’t be home until after nine. And other than his friends, no one else would drop by unannounced.

  Because she no longer lived in Tatumville, she peeked out the small window bracketing the front door. A beautiful woman in a perfectly tailored forest green pantsuit stood on the doorstep. Confusion and curiosity warred as Nadia opened the door.

  “Can I help you?” Nadia asked.

  The woman, who appeared to be several years older than Nadia, smiled, and a sense of familiarity niggled at her. Did she work for KayCee Corp? Is that where Nadia had seen her? Had to be. It was doubtful Nadia would’ve met this woman of obvious sophistication and wealth at one of Ezra’s ball games or at the neighborhood supermarket.

  “Nadia Jordan?” she greeted.

  “Yes.” Nadia nodded, arching an eyebrow. “And you are?”

  “Melanie Chandler. Gray’s sister.” She dipped her head in the direction of the tiny foyer behind Nadia. “May I come in?”

  “Oh. Um, sure.” Though a barrage of questions pinged off her skull, she stepped back, granting Melanie entrance. “I’m sorry if I forgot that you were coming over. I don’t remember Grayson mentioning—”

  Melanie arched an elegant eyebrow, and in that moment, she looked so much like Grayson, Nadia wondered how she hadn’t immediately guessed her identity. Though Melanie’s eyes were sky blue, she and Grayson shared the same strong facial features and confident bearing.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Melanie shook her head, then glancing over her shoulder, waved at someone behind her. “In here, Pete.”

  In moments, an older man with white hair, dressed in a black suit, strode up Nadia’s short, narrow walk. He carried several garment bags and a smaller case. With a smile in Nadia’s direction, he entered her home and stood next to Melanie. Her small foyer suddenly seemed tinier and shabbier with these two in it.

  “Where should I put this, ma’am?” Pete asked Nadia.

  “I don’t know what ‘this’ is,” she said, flustered and a little annoyed at the sense of being ambushed. “Anyone want to tell me?”

  Melanie sighed then crossed her arms. “Let me guess, Gray not only didn’t mention my arriving, but also didn’t mention that he instructed me to bring over several dresses for you to choose from for t
onight?” Nadia’s expression must’ve reflected the icy punch of shock ricocheting through her because Melanie huffed out a bark of laughter. “Well this is...awkward. Why wouldn’t he tell you since he asked me to come by?”

  “Probably because he knew I would’ve told him I’m not a paper doll that needs to be dressed since I’ve been doing it quite well on my own for all these years,” Nadia gritted out from between clenched teeth.

  Mortification seared her, probably branding her cheeks a neon shade of red. Yes, she wasn’t wealthy, but dammit, she wasn’t a charity case, either. He’d asked her to go along with this charade. And now having his own sister show up on her doorstep with clothes because obviously what Nadia had to wear wasn’t good enough... He might as well as have said she wasn’t good enough.

  Face still burning, she straightened her shoulders and met the other woman’s gaze. “This is really nice, but not necessary.”

  “Wait, before you toss us out of your house—which you’re well within your rights to do,” Melanie said, holding up a hand. “I realize my brother’s method might bear all the sensitivity of a goat, but his heart is in the right place. You’re someone he cares about, and he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and confident tonight. While you are a beautiful woman, and I can see why he’s so taken with you, a gorgeous dress never hurts. Besides... You haven’t seen the shoes, Nadia.” Melania smiled, an almost avaricious glint in her gaze. “The. Shoes.”

  In spite of the lingering hurt and embarrassment, Nadia laughed. Melanie didn’t appear to be covered in the same condescending ice as her mother, and she didn’t deserve Nadia’s anger.

  Capitulating, Nadia waved toward the small living room. “These better be some shoes,” she muttered.

  Pete walked ahead of them carrying the small pile of luggage, and Melanie looped her arm through Nadia’s.

  “One thing you’ll learn about me really quick. I don’t kid about stocks, world peace or footwear.”

  Chuckling, Nadia let herself be led forward.

  An hour later, she stood in front of the cheval mirror in her bedroom. And stared.

  This can’t be me.

  She lifted her arm, about to press trembling fingers to the glass, but at the last minute, she aborted the gesture. Sheepish, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Melanie had seen the foolish move, but the other woman was busy packing up her makeup case. Returning her attention to the mirror, Nadia again gaped at the woman gazing back at her.

  Though she’d initially been upset with Grayson for his high-handed tactics, now she...

  Oh hell, she felt like freaking Cinderella.

  Instead of hiding her abundant curves, the deep silver dress accentuated them. The boat neck flowed into a formfitting top that glided over her breasts and stomach. The rich satin skirt gathered at her waist before falling in stunning draping to the floor. Melanie had parted her hair down the middle and then gathered the thick strands into a bun low in the back. The pointed toe of stilettoes sprinkled with twinkling rhinestones peeked out from under the dress’s hem. Diamond studs that’d had Nadia nearly hyperventilating graced her ears and an impossibly thin silver necklace with a diamond nestled in the dip of her throat encircled her neck.

  Forget Cinderella. She looked like a goddess.

  It both delighted and terrified her.

  Yes, in this attire she might look like she belonged more than she would’ve in her black wedding/funeral dress. But no dress, shoes or jewelry could change the fact that she didn’t.

  A wave of panic blindsided her, and she pressed a palm to her chest. What if she humiliated herself and Grayson? She didn’t know how to mingle with people who might as well as be from another planet instead of a different part of town.

  From one moment to the next, she was once again standing in her old house in Tatumville with Jared informing her he wouldn’t be escorting her to his parents’ anniversary party because it was doubling as an engagement celebration for him. To the woman worthy enough to wear his last name. Not her. Not Marion Jordan’s daughter. Nadia might be good enough for a secret roll in the sheets, but not to introduce to his family and friends...

  Pain, sharp and bright, sliced into her, and she gasped at the agony of it. Even now, almost two years later, that memory still contained the power to bring her to her knees. Of all the lessons she’d been taught in her life, that one had nearly devastated her.

  It was also the one she could never afford to forget.

  “Nadia?” Melanie’s reflection appeared behind her. Gentle hands cupped Nadia’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” Nadia forced a smile to her lips, and in the mirror, it looked as strained as it felt. Turning away from the condemning visual, she faced Grayson’s sister. “Thank you so much for all your help. I can’t believe you worked that much magic in an hour.”

  “Please,” Melanie scoffed, squeezing Nadia’s shoulders before releasing her. “Like I had to do much. You’re gorgeous, Nadia.” Melanie tilted her head to the side, studying her. “I have to confess, when Gray asked me to pick up dresses and shoes he’d chosen and to come over and assist you for tonight, I was curious. It’s a first. You’re obviously different.”

  “I know.” Nadia waved a hand. “I’m poor. Can’t tell a salad fork from a dessert fork. Thick. Come from peasant stock instead of American royalty...”

  “Yes,” Melanie agreed, but with such a matter-of-factness, Nadia couldn’t take offense. “All that is true. But I was thinking, you’re different because my brother gives a damn. He’s never asked for my help before, and he’s never chosen a woman’s evening gown to my knowledge. The fact that he cares about you being as comfortable as possible makes you...more.” She paused, and the corner of her mouth quirked. “And the salad fork has longer tines but a shorter handle. The dessert fork is the opposite. Shorter tines, longer handle.”

  “Thanks,” Nadia murmured. And not just for the flatware advice. Melanie’s words whirled in Nadia’s head. My brother gives a damn. The fact that he cares about you being as comfortable as possible makes you...more.

  The charade. Grayson needed to make the charade as believable as possible. It was all a part of the act.

  Silently repeating those reminders, she picked up her purse from the bed. Just as she finished fastening the band, the doorbell rang. The knotting of her stomach belied the words tramping through her head. Nerves because of the evening ahead. Nothing else.

  Liar.

  “Here’s your wrap.” Melanie laid a matching length of satin over Nadia’s arm. “And I’ll see you there.” Squeezing Nadia’s hand, Melanie disappeared out of the bedroom.

  Dimly, Nadia heard Melanie greet Grayson, and though Nadia’s mind ordered her to get going, her feet refused to cooperate. Closing her eyes, she inhaled several deep breaths. She could do this. For Ezra, she could do anything, face anything. Even the cliquish, Chicago social elite—and Grayson’s mother.

  With an image of her brother walking across Yale’s illustrious campus planted firmly in her mind, she exited the bedroom and strode down the short hallway toward the front door.

  Grayson stood with his hands in the pockets of his pants, his back to her. But maybe he heard her carpet-muffled footsteps or caught the frantic slamming of her heart against her ribcage... Either one, he turned and faced her.

  And God, did he look amazing.

  The perfect American prince in a tapered black suit that practically worshipped his tall frame. A stark white shirt emphasized the golden tones of his skin, while a light blue-and-gray pinstriped tie that appeared to be silk even to her untrained eye, drew attention to the hard wall of his chest. A pocket square of the same pattern and color as the tie peeped out of his jacket and a gold, black-faced watch adorned his right wrist.

  She’d encircled her fingers around that strong wrist as his full mouth had sexed hers. She’d stroked
that chest. Brushed her lips across it while he’d plunged into her over and over again. Faint twinges of pleasure echoed deep and high in her body.

  Fake fiancée. No sex. Ezra’s tuition money.

  Drawing in a breath, she halted several feet away from him.

  “Well, I’m ready,” she needlessly announced, running her palms down her thighs in a nervous gesture she regretted revealing. She raised her gaze to Grayson’s and resisted the urge to fidget. She waited as his hooded, blue-and-green inspection swept over her from the middle part of her hair to the jeweled toe of her shoe. After an insurmountable amount of time—okay, seconds—his scrutiny returned to her face. His expression remained as neutral as ever, but his eyes...

  The minimal amount of air left in her lungs made a break for it. Driven away by the gleam lighting his stare like flashes of dry heat. That was...good.

  Good for the pretense. To help convince people that he did indeed find her attractive.

  But, oh God, not so good for her resolve to remain distant. When he looked at her like that—she nervously fingered the small diamond pendant at her throat. When he looked at her like that, he almost made her believe, too.

  And that was dangerous.

  “You are stunning,” he stated, and the flinty tone contradicted the blaze in his eyes that had flames dancing along all her exposed skin. He withdrew his hands from his pocket and approached her. She almost dipped her head. Anything rather than study the careless sensuality in his confident prowl. “Here.” He extended his palm toward her, and in the middle sat a small, black box. “I can’t have my fiancée showing up at our first public event without her ring.” His lips curled in a sardonic twist as he lifted the lid.

  She should’ve been blown away by the huge, multi-carat diamond nestled in the bed of white satin. The thing could’ve funded a small developing nation. But it left her cold. Probably because it seemed cold. A statement piece, not jewelry lovingly and carefully chosen for a woman he planned to spend the rest of his life with. Or shoot, maybe it was the kind of ring he’d bought Adalyn at one time. If so, that was incredibly sad.