Blame It on the Billionaire

by Naima Simone

  “Sure.” He kissed her cheek, then glanced back at Grayson, giving him that chin tip that seemed to be a part of the masculine language. “Nice talking to you, Grayson.”

  When he once more disappeared into the kitchen, she shifted her gaze to Grayson. “I’m sorry about that,” she said with a small wince. “He’s a little overprotective.”

  But Grayson shook his head, his stare flicking over her shoulder in the direction her brother had gone. “He loves his sister and is watching out for her. There’s nothing to apologize for.” Nabbing her jacket from her hand, he held it up, and she slipped her arms through the sleeves. “You’re lucky to have one another,” he murmured, his large hands settling on her shoulders. His fingers lightly squeezed, before releasing her. “Let’s go.”

  Though questions about his enigmatic statement whirled inside her head, she went.

  * * *

  “I should be annoyed with you right now,” Nadia muttered, sinking into the chair that Grayson pulled from the restaurant table.

  A delicate glass vase filled with water and floating, lit candles in the shape of lilies cast a warm glow over the white linen. Folded black napkins that reminded her of origami sat next to sparkling silver flatware. A breathtaking view of Lake Michigan through floor-to-ceiling windows, its gently lapping waters gleaming orange, pink and purple from the setting sun, provided a stunning backdrop. Even though other diners and the low hum of conversation surrounded them, their corner table, partially shielded from prying eyes by a wall of lush greenery, exuded the illusion of privacy. And from the curious looks they received upon entering, she clung to that illusion.

  By himself, Grayson would draw attention. But with her by his side? The looks seemed sharper, the whispers louder. Part of her wanted to rise from the table and walk out. She’d been on the receiving end of hushed talk behind hands enough to last a couple of lifetimes. But the other half of her—the half that brimmed with defiant anger—met their furtive glances. Yes, she’d dared to enter their cushy, exclusive turf. But she wouldn’t lower her eyes in apology for being there.

  Grayson ordered wine for both of them, and as their waiter hurried away, he turned to her. “Annoyed with me?” he repeated, the corner of his mouth quirking as he settled in the chair across from her. “Whatever for? Didn’t we just spend a great day together? Buckingham Fountain. The SkyDeck. The Riverwalk. Navy Pier. Fried Twinkies.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Extra points for the fried Twinkies. They’re probably the only reason I should be annoyed and am not full-blown irritated.” He arched an eyebrow, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, fiddling with the napkin on the table. “I sound like an ungrateful shrew, and I’m sorry. Thank you for an amazing day I wasn’t expecting. Ezra and I have been in Chicago for a little over a year, but between work and his schedule and, well, life, I haven’t had the opportunity to explore the city. Today was wonderful. So again, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Nadia. It was my pleasure,” he murmured. Cocking his head to the side, he studied her. “Now tell me what you’re not saying.”

  She huffed out a ragged laugh that abraded her throat. “It’s...this.” She leaned back and waved a hand up and down her torso, indicating the royal blue long-sleeved sheath dress that both glided over and clung to her breasts, hips and thighs. Beneath the table, black knee-high stiletto boots of the softest leather embraced her calves and feet. Yes, Grayson had escorted her all over Chicago in a laid-back, surprisingly fun tour of his city. He’d gifted her with a day that had made her feel free and special. But... “The dress for the cocktail party, this one—they’re not part of our bargain,” she finished.

  It went deeper than not wanting to be the recipient of his charity. So much deeper.

  “But it is part of our bargain, Nadia,” Grayson contradicted. “I asked you to play the part of my fiancée. And that includes making you look the role, as well. And that’s my responsibility since the arrangement was my idea, not yours. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t take care of the needs of the woman I supposedly love? Not just emotional and sexual needs. But her material needs, as well? And not because I owe her anything, but due to it simply being my pleasure.”

  She didn’t have an answer. Couldn’t formulate one because her mind had stopped functioning at “emotional and sexual,” fogged over by the heated arousal pouring through her. She, more than anyone, comprehended how well he fulfilled a woman’s desires, satisfied her body.

  “You’re still not being completely honest, though,” he continued, those piercing eyes glittering like gems in the light of the candles. “Tell me. Is your aversion to receiving gifts a general issue, or is it specific to me?”

  She stared at him, the width of the square table seeming to shrink to that of a postage stamp. Suddenly, he was too close, his presence too large, too compelling. Too...tempting. Everything in her screamed to avoid that gaze, to keep silent. That she didn’t need to divulge more to him—didn’t need to give him more of herself—than what was required to pull off the relationship charade.

  But trapped by his enigmatic, fascinating eyes, she couldn’t squelch the impulse to confide in him. Even if it was just this little thing.

  Because all she could afford with this man was “a little.”

  Defying the voice that warned that even a small amount was too much, she murmured, “It’s both, I suppose.”

  Their waiter appeared with their wine. She gladly sipped from her filled glass, appreciating not just the sweet flavor of the Riesling but the temporary reprieve it provided. Moments later, the waiter left them again after taking their dinner orders, and she set her wineglass down on the table. Lifting a fingertip, she traced the slender stem, focusing her attention on it instead of Grayson.

  “I grew up in a small town in Georgia. The kind where there’s still a dime store, a pharmacy that also sells ice cream and a church on every corner. As you can imagine, everyone knows everyone and their business. For some, this could be the perfect place to grow up, but when your mother is...” She paused, the scraps of familial loyalty and respect her mother hadn’t destroyed not allowing her to call Marion Jordan a whore. “Popular with men,” she substituted, “your life can be hell.”

  She shifted her regard from the glass to his face, searching for a reaction to learning who her mother was. Surprise? Revulsion? But his stoic expression revealed none of his thoughts. The absence of a reaction gave her the courage to continue.

  “My mother didn’t work. She was taken care of by the men she ‘dated,’” she said, using Marion’s term. “Mostly wealthy men. They paid her rent, her bills, and yes, bought her jewelry and clothes. That’s how Ezra and I survived—off the gifts of these men. But that’s only when my mother decided to share the wealth. When she would remember to buy groceries or clothes for us, when she wasn’t spending the money on herself. Once, when I was sixteen, I was so desperate to feed my brother, I stole a loaf of bread and jars of peanut butter and jelly from the store.”

  Her voice didn’t waver as she confessed her one and only crime to him, and she didn’t lower her gaze. The store security guard, the gossips in her town, the judge had all informed her she should’ve been ashamed of herself. But she hadn’t been then and wasn’t now. She’d done what needed to be done so her little brother didn’t go to bed hungry, his stomach cramping with pains because he hadn’t eaten in two days. Their mother had vanished on one of her many disappearing acts, probably with some man at a hotel where she ate while her children starved.

  No, Nadia had accepted the probation and the town’s scorn and the whispers of “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” and apologized to Mr. Carol, the grocery store owner, but she’d never bowed her head in shame.

  She wouldn’t start with Grayson.

  “I learned those gifts came at the price of my pride in taking dirty money, knowing what my mother did to earn it. The price was
our sense of security, our independence. As soon as I was old enough—and as soon as I could find someone willing to hire me—I got a job at a gas station convenience store in the next town over. It meant spending time begging for rides or biking it the thirty minutes there and back, it meant less time with my brother so I could provide for us, it meant not finishing high school and graduating with a GED, it meant passing on college. But it also meant not depending on another rich man’s ‘gifts and generosity.’”

  Silence reigned between them for precious seconds. Her heart thumped against her rib cage, the pulse ponderous in her ears. In this instant, staring into his unique eyes, she tried not to cringe under the vulnerability clawing at her. She felt more exposed than she had when he’d stripped her clothes from her body in that dark hallway.

  Not only had she confessed that her mother had been the town whore, but Nadia had also admitted that she had a criminal record and was a high school dropout. Not exactly fiancée material compared to the women he dated.

  “What did you want to go to college for?” he asked quietly, taking her aback with the question.

  “Nursing,” she said. “Maybe because I’ve always been the caretaker in my family.” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It just wasn’t meant to be. And besides, Ezra is the genius in our family. He’s—” She bit off the rest of the sentence, almost spilling about him being accepted to Yale. Though she’d shared some of her past, she still didn’t trust him with her family. “He’s brilliant. Special,” she added.

  “And you aren’t?” he challenged, a snap in his voice. She frowned at the scowl that creased his brow, at the flash of anger in his narrowed gaze. He propped an arm on the table and leaned closer. “Baby, from what you’ve told me, you practically raised yourself and your brother. You sacrificed your childhood so he could have what little security a teenager could manage to give him when his real parent couldn’t be bothered. You packed up from the only home you ever knew to move thousands of miles away to a strange city. You’re a fighter, a survivor. A GED doesn’t make you any less brilliant, any less special. Not going to college doesn’t mean you’re not as smart, not as driven or successful as other people. In my eyes, it requires more intelligence, more grit to carve out the living you’ve made for both yourself and Ezra than to just accept all the advantages of being born with wealth and opportunities as your due. One takes character, determination and strength, the other the Russian Roulette of birth and luck.”

  She couldn’t speak. Could only feel. Surprise. Delight. Gratitude. Sadness. They all swirled and tumbled in her chest, swelling in her throat.

  No one—absolutely no one—had ever called her smart, strong or a survivor. And for this man to say those words...

  She dodged that intense stare, instead ducking her gaze to the pale gold contents of her wineglass. God, she wanted a sip. Anything to distract her from the weight of his scrutiny, from the almost terrifying depth and power of her own emotions. But she didn’t dare attempt to lift the glass with her trembling hands.

  “Nadia,” he said, and though she avoided his eyes, the vein of steel threading through the tone brooked no disobedience.

  She lifted her regard back to him, immediately becoming ensnared in the blue-and-emerald depths.

  “I’m going to continue to give you gifts. Not because I owe you or as a debt I expect you to repay.” He reached across the table and wrapped his long fingers around hers so they both held the glass stem. The warmth and strength of his grip was an embrace that enfolded her entire body, not just her hand. “I’m not going to stop because you deserve them. The girl you were, the teen who grew up too soon and the woman who bears all the responsibility of the world on her shoulders but too little of the beauty. That’s what I want to give you. It’s my honor to give you. Some of that beauty. Let me.”

  Again, she couldn’t speak. Didn’t dare nod. No matter how much she longed to. God, the temptation to relinquish control just for once and let someone—no, not someone, Grayson—carry the burden and care for her swept through her like the sweet warmth of a spring day. It lulled her, coaxed her to lie down, to let go.

  Who would it hurt?

  Her.

  In the long run, it would devastate her. Because she could so easily come to rely on him. And the day would come—four months from now to be exact—when he would be a non-factor in her life. When he would disappear, leaving her aching for him—yearning for his shoulder to rest her head on, his chest to burrow her face against—instead of facing the world.

  No. Grayson might not be Jared, but he was still a handsome, wealthy man who could make her believe in fairy tales.

  Patching up the chinks in her armor that his words and her longing had created, she sat back in her chair, placing much-needed distance between them. Picking up her wine, she sipped, wishing the alcohol would transform into something stronger.

  Their waiter chose that moment to return with their plates of steaming food. Thank God. Several minutes passed while they dug into their entrées. In spite of the emotional storm brewing inside her, she moaned at the first bite of tender, perfectly cooked medium-rare sirloin.

  “Oh, my God.” She closed her eyes, savoring the blend of spices and loosed another near orgasmic groan. She lifted her lashes. “This is so good it should be criminal...”

  Her voice trailed off. How could she speak when her lungs refused to release any air?

  Grayson stared at her, and the heat in that gaze seared her, sent flames licking over her, engulfing her. His hooded contemplation dipped to her mouth, and she sank her teeth in her bottom lip to trap her gasp. As if he’d heard it, his scrutiny rose to hers.

  She wanted to rear back from the intensity and heat—and also tip her face toward it as if his desire was the sun, and she longed to bask in it.

  Jerking her attention back to her meal, she concentrated on cutting, chewing and swallowing. Ignoring the tingle in her nipples, the twisting of her belly and the yawning ache between her thighs.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she murmured as their plates were cleared away.

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  Though he’d granted her permission, she still hesitated. “Why are you going through this whole charade? In your office, you told me telling your mother you weren’t interested in her matchmaking wasn’t an option. But why? I know we don’t know each other that well, but you just don’t strike me as the kind of man who would...” God, how to finish that sentence without offending him?

  A slight smirk curled the corner of his mouth. “What? Allow others to manipulate me?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled, but the sound was dark, sharp and humorless. “I’m not. Usually.” He grasped his glass of wine and raised it, but instead of drinking from it, he stared into the golden depths. “What do you know about me, Nadia?”

  She lifted her hands, palms up. “Like I said, not much.”

  “Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “You haven’t looked me up at all?”

  “Not really.” It wasn’t a lie—exactly. She’d obsessively followed any online item about him before the night of the blackout. Now, it seemed almost as if she were betraying him. Which was utterly ridiculous.

  “My family is well known. They’re a part of Chicago history and trailblazers in the financial industry. First steel, then railroads, then real estate, then they diversified in everything from insurance to media. Chandler International was—is—a powerhouse in the corporate world. And since my great-great-grandfather started the company over one hundred years ago, a Chandler has always sat in the CEO office. And until six months ago, my brother Jason would’ve continued the tradition.”

  A shadow crept over his face, dimming his eyes. Guilt for bringing up the subject and an overwhelming need to comfort him crashed into Nadia. Before she could check the impulse, she reached across the table and wrapped her hand around his larger
fingers, mimicking his earlier actions. After a slight hesitation, he reversed the hold and his hand gripped hers. As if holding on.

  “My older brother died six months ago from a brain aneurysm. It was sudden and so damn unexpected. One moment, he was healthy and strong, the next...” Grayson shook his head, not finishing the thought, though he squeezed Nadia’s fingers tight. “My parents, they took his death hard, as you can imagine. Jason was their firstborn, the heir, their favorite. And he should’ve been. We were thirteen years apart and weren’t close, but I still admired him—loved him. He was a good man. Smart. Respectable. Commanding. Perfect.”

  “No one’s perfect, Grayson,” she whispered.

  “In my parents’ eyes, he was,” he said. “They adored him. And when they lost him...” His full lips firmed into a harsh, straight line. “I’ve never seen them so broken. They’d not only lost their child, but their favorite.”

  Again, she countered him, leaning forward across the table. “Not their favorite. Maybe they had the most in common with him since he was the oldest. Or spent the most time with him since he would one day take over the business. But parents love their children equally. Even my mom did, although that’s not saying much. They would’ve been just as devastated if, God forbid, it’d been you who’d died. Or your sister. Their love is the same.”

  A grim smile curved his lips even as he lifted a hand, and after a pause, cupped her jaw. He rubbed the pad of his thumb just under her bottom lip, and she fought to contain the sigh that tried to escape. Her lashes fluttered, her body liquefying. It was the first time he’d touched her outside of their charade. And other than when they’d been stuck in that dark hall. If she were thinking, if she were smart, she’d pull back. Instead, she leaned into it, turned her head slightly so her mouth brushed the heel of his palm.

  Even across the distance of the table, she caught his ragged inhale. His gaze lowered to her mouth, studying it as if he would receive a PhD on every curve and dip. She trembled under his inspection, and when his eyes lifted to hers again, she shivered harder from the flash of fire there. That stare promised things—things she knew damn well he could deliver on.