Blame It on the Billionaire

by Naima Simone

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Hope, it turned out, wasn’t foolish.

  Or only relegated to fairy tales.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  “Now there’s a sight I imagine no one would believe they’d ever see,” Shay Knight mused.

  Nadia followed the direction of the other woman’s gaze. But besides the couples crowding the DuSable City Gala’s dance floor, she didn’t notice anything different.

  “What?” Gideon asked, slipping his arm around his wife. Grayson’s business partner and Nadia’s former employer appeared as impassive and intimidating as ever, but she’d spent a lot of time around him and his wife. The man might scare the hell out of other people, but not her. She’d witnessed how much he adored Shay, and that kind of scaled down his scary factor from a ten to a three and a half. Okay, four.

  “Darius King and Isobel Hughes together. And the Wells family, too, all in the same room, and no open warfare,” Shay teased. Catching Nadia’s confused frown, she grinned. “Oh, Nadia, I have to bring you up to speed on all the gossip you’ve missed out on. That group used to make the Hatfields and McCoys look like bosom buddies. Now, Darius and Isobel have two children together, and the Wells are doting grandparents.”

  “Speaking of grandparents...” Gideon dipped his head in the direction of the back of the ballroom. “Mom and Olivia just arrived. Since Shay told them she’s pregnant, Mom has been a helicopter grandmother,” he drawled. But his affection for the women in his life shone brighter than the light from the crystal chandeliers.

  “We’ll catch up with you,” Grayson said, clapping a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “You know your mother loves me best, so if I don’t come say hello, she’s going to be crushed.”

  Gideon slid him a cutting glance, but the smile playing about his lips ruined the threat in the look. Grayson laughed, and Nadia snorted.

  “So, Cinderella,” he said, turning to Nadia and lifting her hand that he held clasped in his. The laughter in his eyes warmed her, as did everything about her husband. They’d been married for nine months, and she still lost her breath around him. Still pinched herself that she could call her longtime crush her spouse. The name he’d once called her in this same place a year ago fit. She was Cinderella come to wonderful life and had the most beautiful man as her Prince Charming. “Will you honor me with a dance?”

  She scrunched her nose, pretending to think it over. “Depends. Do I get to lead?”

  “Always.” And with a grin and a heart-melting kiss to her ring finger, and the smaller, princess-cut pink diamond in an antique setting that replaced its ostentatious predecessor, he led her among the swaying couples. “Just in case I haven’t told you tonight,” he murmured, drawing her close into his arms, “you look amazing.”

  “Thank you.” She cupped the nape of his neck. “But since you picked this dress out, I think you’re really just giving yourself a backhanded compliment.”

  He chuckled. “Possibly. But in my defense, you did tell me to pick whatever. I love when you’re neck-deep in work. It allows me to get away with so damn much.”

  “Something tells me after I graduate, it’s going to be hard as hell to rein you in,” she grumbled, but the words ended on a bark of laughter. “Between you and Ezra, I’m going to have my hands full.”

  Ezra, in his freshman year at Yale, still called her regularly to compare class schedules, homework and tests. He also checked in with Grayson almost daily. Those two had become as close as brothers, and she couldn’t be happier that the two men she adored most also loved one another. Between work at the urgent care clinic, school, her husband and her brother, her life had never been as full.

  Or as blessed.

  As perfect.

  “Just think,” she said, tangling her fingers in the shorter hair above his neck. “This time last year we were trapped in a hallway—”

  “Having sex,” Grayson interjected with a wicked grin.

  She playfully slapped his shoulder. “And yes, having sex.” She laughed. “A lot has changed since then,” she said.

  “In the best ways, though,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her lips. “I’ve found the love of my life. I’m happier than I could’ve ever imagined. Melanie is already growing Chandler. And my mother actually smiled at you last week.”

  Nadia grinned. “Cherise is coming around.” Okay, so she was being generous, but Grayson’s parents were thawing toward her. But their acceptance of her didn’t matter when their son stared down at her as if she were the most precious jewel he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just enough—it was everything. “After all we’ve been through, we’re definitely going to have stories to tell our kids about this gala... And we can start in about seven months.”

  For a moment, Grayson’s face blanked. Then, seconds later, joy so bright suffused his face, it was almost hard to gaze upon.

  “You’re pregnant,” he confirmed, voice hoarse and thick with the blinding love that gleamed out of his mismatched and beautiful eyes.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said, grinning.

  With a shout, he lifted her in the air, twirling her around, heedless of the people around them. “She’s pregnant!” he shouted.

  Heat poured into her face as applause broke out, but she threw back her head, laughing. And when his mouth covered hers, she lost herself in it. In him.

  Out of the darkness of a blackout, she’d found the shining light of love.

  Happily ever after wasn’t just for Cinderella.

  It was for her, too.

  * * *

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  One

  Maybe a wiser man would have blocked her number.

  Weston Rivera gripped his cell phone tighter as he paced from his home office into the sunken family room. He knew he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen the text from a certain sexy private investigator he really needed to avoid.

  The sun was already setting outside, but he could still discern the faint outline of the Bitterroot Mountains framed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The hulking, irregular peaks were partially shrouded by an incoming storm.

  Swearing to himself, he peered back down at the message on his screen.

  Any tips for navigating the Northeast Couloir trail? Just made camp but hope to summit in the morning.

  Did he have tips?

  As a proficient climber and mountain-rescue volunteer, he sure as hell had advice for April Stephens, the smoking-hot financial forensics expert who was an unwelcome guest at Mesa Falls Ranch. She should have never climbed a class-four trail in the winter by herself in the kind of weather brewing out there.

  Too bad she hadn’t asked him before she started up the mountain.

  He’d really thought he’d dodged April for good. The last time she’d cornered him at the ranch office, he’d made it abundantly clear that he had no comment about her investigation into the finances of Alonzo Salazar, a frequent guest of the retreat Weston owned with his brother and four other partners. Salazar had been a friend and mentor to all of them since they were teenagers. And he’d been there when a devastating accident had ended in a classmate’s death. Weston wasn’t a
bout to speculate on what the man did with his money. Loyalty wasn’t something Weston took lightly.

  Yet he hadn’t blocked the investigator’s number after that meeting, which had paved the way for today’s text message.

  Was she baiting him? Looking for a way to restart their conversation and dig up dirt for her investigation? Or was she genuinely contemplating that climb? He’d heard from one of the trail guides that she’d visited a local outfitter for gear when she’d first arrived, so he wasn’t surprised she wanted to get out into the mountains. But a day trip was tough enough in the winter, even on the easier peaks.

  Cursing again, he dropped down to the leather sofa close to the fireplace. A log popped and shifted, sending a shower of sparks against the screen. How should he respond? Obviously, he didn’t want her trekking back down the mountain by herself in the dark. But with the weather worsening by the minute, spending the night up there could be hazardous too. He knew he had an overdeveloped sense of caution where others were concerned, even if he was a risk taker himself. That cautious streak probably stemmed from the tragedy that had bound his fate to Alonzo Salazar’s more than a decade ago.

  Where are you?

  He banged out the words with more force than necessary, already knowing where this conversation was going to lead.

  She replied with a link. Map coordinates like any good hiker would use, showing her exact position.

  His chest eased a bit at first. If she knew about tricks like that, she surely had some solid climbing experience. Clearly, she understood the importance of knowing her location at all times. But as he zoomed in closer on the map to see where she had made camp, the tightness in his chest returned.

  And then tripled.

  Because April wasn’t camping in one of the safer spots like Gem Lake or Baker’s Lake. Instead, she wasn’t all that far from the Northeast Couloir. A notorious avenue for avalanche activity.

  It didn’t matter how experienced a climber she was or whether she knew the risks. She was a guest of his ranch. Someone he felt responsible for. Now that she’d specifically asked for his advice on this ill-advised venture, he had no choice. He had to help.

  Stay there. Keep phone on. Don’t light a fire. I’m on my way.

  She might not be happy to see him. But Weston didn’t particularly care. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he took the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom to dress for a climb that he hoped like hell wouldn’t turn into a rescue effort. Just the thought of it turned his blood icy, and he hadn’t even set foot out of the house yet.

  He already had one catastrophic event on his conscience. He couldn’t survive a second.

  * * *

  “‘I’m on my way’?” April Stephens read aloud from the text she’d received almost an hour ago.

  Tucked in the sleeping bag laid over an insulated pad she’d rented from the local outfitter, April still couldn’t fight off the chill from her climb as she shut off her screen to save the phone battery. The shiver up her spine didn’t have anything to do with the knowledge that Weston Rivera, the rich and powerful rancher who’d been dodging her attempts to speak with him, was on his way to see her. The memory of his hazel eyes smoked through her, even though the last time she’d confronted him he had threatened to call security to have her escorted out of his office.

  Why was he hiking up here now? In the dark?

  Wind howled off nearby Trapper Peak and tore at her one-ply tent, making her wonder if her shelter had been the right choice for this trip. It was lighter, which had allowed her to bring the additional gear necessary for a winter climb. But she hadn’t counted on this level of heavy gusts. She’d thought she’d read up on the Bitterroot Mountains thoroughly, and she’d checked the weather before she started hiking, but somewhere during her trek this afternoon, the conditions had shifted dramatically.

  That was part of the reason she’d reached out to Weston Rivera, who was well known around Mesa Falls Ranch for his mountaineering skills. Of course, there was more to her agenda than getting tips on the mountain. She’d hoped maybe their shared interest in climbing would spark a dialogue. Give her another chance at wrangling some answers from him regarding a case that was thwarting her at every turn.

  She most definitely hadn’t expected him to drop everything to come to her. But the fact that he would do that—even though he’d made it obvious he wanted to avoid her—caused her to wonder if she’d overestimated her skills in making this climb on her own.

  Guilt nipped at her nearly as hard as the bitter wind. Did he think she was in danger? She should have made it clear that she had a reasonable amount of climbing experience. She’d even tackled this mountain once before, just not this particular trail. She never did anything without studying all the angles first. It was a quality that made her excel at her job as a financial forensics investigator.

  As soon as she’d received his cryptic text, she’d messaged him back a bunch of question marks in reply. Then she’d sent him an assurance she was fine, but she hadn’t heard anything else from him, prompting her to believe he really might be climbing a mountain in the middle of the night.

  Unzipping the tent a couple of inches, she peered out into the inky blackness. She still wore her parka for sleeping, but she’d taken off her boots and gloves for the night. She felt more than saw the swirl of snow kicking up outside, the tiny flakes peppering her cheeks in a frigid blast. A gust of wind whistled past her ears, lifting the inner tent roof and whipping the outer fabric so hard she feared it might rip. The snow was coming down faster now. The powdery base had scaled the tent walls at least an inch since she’d pitched the shelter.

  A little bubble of panic rose inside her at the feeling of being closed in. She’d been drawn to mountain climbing as a teen to escape the suffocating home life with her mother, who was then in the early stages of a hoarding disorder. April had climbed to find fresh air and freedom, a place without walls of crap threatening to fall on her everywhere she looked. Now, as an adult, she lived in a beautifully spare home of her own, but she felt the urge to climb whenever stress built from dealing with her mom. April still tried to help, making scheduled trips over to the house where she’d grown up to make sure her mom was still going to counseling and hadn’t fired the professional organizer who came through once a month. Her mother’s house would always be cluttered—to put it mildly—but at least things were at a habitable level.

  Even knowing that she’d done all she could to make her mother’s disease manageable didn’t stem the memories of how bad things had been—and how quickly her mom could relapse. Which was why April hiked until her mind was clear again.

  So now, as she took in the way the snow covered the lower zipper on the tent, almost as if it was going to block her exit, her heart pounded fast. Her face heated despite the cold, a sweaty fear crawling up her scalp and making her see pinpricks of light in front of her eyes.

  Light?

  Frowning, she focused on the glow bobbing in the blizzard. As it grew closer, the bright spot seemed to rise in the sky.

  Coming toward her.

  “April.” A man’s hoarse voice carried on the wind just as a dark shadow took shape in front of her.

  Weston—wearing a headlamp—was stalking up the trail.

  “Here,” she called back, her softer voice mostly lost in the wind. She found her flashlight just inside the tent and flipped the switch so he could see her.

  As he entered the circle of illumination from her torch, she could tell how much conditions had worsened. He was covered with snow, from his jacket and pants to his helmet and balaclava. Even his goggles were coated. Knowing that he’d trekked through this weather to get to her filled her with new alarm.

  He crouched down near the entrance to the tent, his broad shoulders blocking the wind. Close enough to touch. He raked his goggles up and switched off the headlamp. His hazel eyes locked on hers, his demeano
r as serious as the last time they’d met when he’d threatened to call security on her if she didn’t leave his office. Only now, he looked concerned.

  Worried, even.

  “We need to move you,” he told her, his gaze never wavering. “Carefully and quickly.”

  Confused, she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re in a well-documented avalanche corridor.” He spoke the words clearly and almost kindly, as if he weren’t talking about the imminent possibility of a deadly accident. “And conditions are only going to deteriorate with this storm.”

  She recognized now what he was doing. He was speaking to her like a rescue worker. Like someone used to dealing with people in terrifying danger. That manner of his, as much as the words themselves, sent a cold ball of fear into the pit of her belly.

  “Why—” Her breath stuck in her chest, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment as panic spiraled into every corner of her body. “Why didn’t you tell me in your text? I’ve just been sitting here...”

  She peered around the tent, calculating how long it would take to put on her gear. Another sharp gust tore at the outer tent. She was pretty sure she heard the fabric tear.

  “Look at me. April.” He spoke patiently, his tone still kind even though she’d made a horrible mistake in coming up here. Risking her neck and his. “You were safer staying put than you would have been out there when you don’t know the nuances of this trail. But I know this area like the back of my hand, and I’m going to take you to a safer location.”

  Nodding, she appreciated his calming presence while her mind raced. She had logged countless hours climbing in summer conditions, but not as many in the winter. One of her mentors back in Denver had told her that she should take an avalanche course, but she hadn’t gotten to that stage yet. Hadn’t known she’d need it for this peak so early in the winter. She felt foolish for endangering herself and—worse—Weston too.