The Billionaire's Bargain (Blackout Billionaires Book 1)

by Naima Simone

  “A shame,” Gabriella murmured behind her.

  Isobel stiffened, a stinging retort dancing on the tip of her tongue. But Darius interceded, tossing a quelling glance toward Gage’s sister over his shoulder. With an arched eyebrow and open hands, he silently requested to take Aiden. Dipping her chin, she passed her son to Darius, who practically launched himself into the man’s arms. Aiden popped his thumb back into his mouth, grinning at Darius around it.

  “Well, how about that,” Baron whispered. “He certainly seems to have taken to you.”

  Darius shrugged, sweeping a hand down Aiden’s small back. “It doesn’t take long for him to warm up. And once he does, he’ll talk your ear off.” He poked Aiden’s rounded tummy, and the boy giggled.

  The cheerful, innocent sound stole into Isobel’s heart, as it’d had done from the very first time she’d heard it.

  “I have to admit, he does resemble Gage,” Helena said, appearing at her husband’s side, studying Aiden. “Isobel.” She nodded, before dismissing her and turning to Darius, an affectionate smile thawing her expression. “Darius.” She tilted her head, and he brushed a kiss on her cheek. “I haven’t seen you in days. But it seems you have time for everyone else.” She tapped him playfully on the chest. “Beverly Sheldon told me how she saw you at the Livingstons’ dinner party. And how Shelly Livingston couldn’t seem to keep her hands to herself.” Helena chuckled as if immensely amused by Shelly Livingston’s grabby hands.

  Isobel fought not to react to the first shot fired across the bow. It hadn’t taken long at all. She thought Helena or Gabriella would’ve at least waited until after drinks before they got in the first dig, but apparently the “you’re an interloper and don’t belong, darling” portion of the evening had begun.

  Yet her purpose—letting Isobel know that Darius had attended a social event without her on his arm, probably out of shame—had struck true. Which was as inane as that flash of jealousy with Gabriella. Pretending to be the newly engaged, loving couple hadn’t been a part of their bargain. He could do as he wanted, escort whom he wanted, flirt with whom he wanted...sleep with whom he wanted. It didn’t matter to her.

  Liar.

  Flipping her once again intrusive, know-it-all subconscious the middle finger, she shored up the walls surrounding her heart.

  “Beverly Sheldon gossips too much and needs to find a hobby,” Darius replied, frowning. “It was an impromptu business dinner, not a party, and I’m sure Shelly’s fiancé, who also attended with her father, would’ve had some objections if she ‘couldn’t seem to keep her hands to herself.’”

  Helena waved his explanation off with a flick of her fingers and another laugh. “Well, you’re a handsome man, Darius. It’s not surprising women flock to you.”

  “Helena,” Baron said, a warning heavy in her name.

  “Now, don’t ‘Helena’ me, Baron.” She tsked, brushing her husband’s arm before strolling off toward the bar across the room. “Would anyone like a drink?”

  Good God. This was going to be a really long evening.

  * * *

  “Have you decided on whether or not you’ll acquire SouthernCare Insurance?” Baron asked Darius, reclining in his chair as one of the servants placed an entrée plate in front of him.

  Isobel let the business talk float over her, as she had most of the discussions around the dinner table. If the topics weren’t about business, then it was Helena and Gabriella speaking about people and events Isobel didn’t know anything about, and neither woman had made the attempt to draw her into the conversation. Not that she minded. The less they said to each other, the better the chance of Isobel making it through this dinner without emotional injuries from their sly innuendoes.

  Still, right now she envied her son. By the time dinner was ready to be served, Aiden had been nodding off in Darius’s arms. He’d taken Aiden to one of the bedrooms and settled him in. Aiden had escaped this farce of a family dinner, but she hadn’t been as lucky.

  Mimicking Baron, Isobel shifted backward, granting the servant plenty of room to set down her plate of food. When she saw the food, she barely managed not to flinch. Prime rib, buttered asparagus and acorn squash.

  Gage’s favorite meal.

  She lifted her head and met Helena’s arctic gaze. So the choice hadn’t been a coincidence. No, it’d been deliberate, and just another way to let Isobel know she hadn’t been forgiven.

  Nothing had been forgotten.

  Message received.

  Picking up her fork—the correct fork—and knife, Isobel prepared to eat the perfectly cooked meat that would undoubtedly taste like ash on her tongue.

  “I was leaning toward yes before the trouble with their vice president leaked.” Darius paused, murmuring a “thank you” as a plate was set in front of him. “One of their employees came forward about long-time, systematic sexual harassment within the company, and their senior vice president of operations is one of the key perpetrators. No,” he said, shaking his head, tone grim. “I won’t have King Industries Unlimited tainted with that kind of behavior.”

  Unlike the rest of the conversation surrounding business, Darius’s comment snagged her attention, surprising her so much, she blurted out, “You would really base your decision on that?”

  Silence crackled in the room. In the quiet, her question seemed to bounce off the walls. Everyone stared at her, but she refused to cringe.

  It was Darius’s scrutiny she resolutely met, ignoring the others’. And in his eyes, she didn’t spy irritation at her interruption. No, just the usual intensity that rendered her breathless.

  “Of course. I don’t condone it, and I won’t be associated with any business or person who does. Every person under my employ or the umbrella of my company should have the expectation of safety and an environment free of intimidation.”

  “Your employees are lucky to work for you then,” she murmured.

  More and more companies were trying to change their policies and eliminate sexual harassment—or at least indulge in lip service about removing it. But the truth couldn’t be denied—not everyone enjoyed that sense of fairness or security. Even at the supermarket, the supervisor didn’t think anything of calling her honey or flirting with her, going so far as to occasionally say how “lucky” her man was. She’d never bothered to correct him, assuming if he knew she didn’t have a “man” at home, the inappropriate behavior would only worsen.

  That Darius would turn down what was most likely a multimillion-dollar deal because of his beliefs and out of consideration for those under him... It was admirable. Heroic.

  “I like to hope so,” he replied just as softly.

  A sense of intimacy seemed to envelop them, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, her heart tap-dancing a quick tattoo at the heat in those golden depths.

  “Of course his employees are fortunate,” Gabriella interjected, shattering the illusion of connection. “Darius is a good man. He doesn’t brag about it, but he’s founded—and often single-handedly funded—several foundations that provide scholarships for foster children, housing for abused women coming out of shelters, and literacy and job-placement programs for under-privileged youth. And those are just some of his...projects.”

  The strategic pause before “projects” let Isobel know Gabriella considered her to be one of those charity cases. If passive-aggressiveness was a weapon, Gabriella and Helena would own codes and security clearances.

  “It’s wonderful to know Aiden will have an admirable role model in Darius,” Isobel said, voice neutral. Silence once more descended in the room, but Isobel didn’t shrink from it. The scared, quiet girl they had known no longer existed; the woman she was now wouldn’t stand mutely like a living target for their verbal darts.

  Darius glanced at her, and once more she found herself trapped in his gaze. Something flickered in
the golden depths. Something that had her lifting her glass of wine to her lips for a deep sip.

  “If Gage couldn’t be here to raise him, he would’ve wanted family to do it,” Darius finally said to the room, but his eyes... His eyes never wavered from her.

  “Still,” Helena pressed, not looking at Darius but keeping her attention firmly locked on Isobel. “A boy should know his father. Tell me, Isobel, since you claim Aiden is Gage’s, have you showed him pictures? Does he know who his real father is?”

  “Helena,” Darius growled a warning.

  “Darius, darling,” Helena replied, tilting her head to the side. “We all commend you for your sacrifice in this difficult situation, but I think you’d agree that a child deserves to know who his true parents are, right?”

  A muscle jumped along Darius’s jaw, but Isobel set her glass down on the table, meeting Helena’s scrutiny.

  “I’ve always shown Aiden pictures of Gage, since he is Aiden’s father, as well as talked to him about Gage. And he understands who his real father is, as much as a two-year-old can.”

  “Hmm,” came Helena’s noncommittal, condescending answer.

  “Aiden looks so much like Gage when he was that age,” Baron added from the head of the table, aiming a quelling glance at his wife.

  But Helena didn’t respond, instead turning to Gabriella and asking about a function she was supposed to attend that week.

  Pain and humiliation slashed at Isobel, but she fought not to reveal it. Not only did she refuse to grant them that pleasure, but she didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. They accused her of cheating, when the opposite had been true.

  But what would be the point in trying to explain the truth to his family? They would never believe her. Not after they’d always accepted every utterance from Gage as the gospel.

  And with him dead, he was even more of a saint.

  And she would always be a sinner.

  Eight

  Darius poured himself another glass of bourbon. This would be his third. Or maybe fourth. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t drunk yet; he could still think. So whatever number he was on, it wouldn’t be his last. He’d keep tossing it back until the unease and anger no longer crawled inside him like ants in a colony.

  Tonight had been a clusterfuck. Oh, it’d been frigidly polite, but still... Clusterfuck.

  After crossing the study, he sank down onto the couch and took a sip of the bourbon. Clasping the squat glass, he slid down, resting his head on the couch’s back, his legs sprawled wide.

  Jesus, when would the forgetful part of this begin?

  He hated this sense of...betrayal that clung to him like a filthy film of dirt. And no matter how hard he tried to scrub it clean with excuses, it remained, stubborn and just as grimy.

  When he’d asked Isobel to the Wellses’ house that night, he’d promised her they would be civil, and she would be in a safe space, be welcomed. Baron had, but Helena and Gabriella, they’d made a liar of him. He understood their resentment—even now, when he thought of Gage, that mixture of anger and grief still churned in his chest, his gut. But tonight had been about Aiden, about them connecting with the boy, and that meant forging a fragile truce with his mother. Showing her respect, at least.

  Hours later, the disappointment, the disquiet continued to pulse within him like a wound, one that refused to heal.

  Isobel had definitely been enemy number one when she’d been married to Gage. All of them believed Gage had moved too fast, married too young. Darius had been equally confused when he’d cut them all off for almost a year. None of them could understand why Gage hadn’t divorced her, especially when he started confiding in them about her infidelity. As far as Darius could tell, his friend had genuinely been in love with his wife, and her betrayals had destroyed him.

  Still. Remembering the woman he’d shared a hallway with in the dark... The woman who loved her son so selflessly... The woman whose family rallied around her, supported her and her son unconditionally... That Isobel didn’t really coincide with the one the Wellses detested.

  But if he were brutally honest—and alcohol had a way of dragging that kind of truth forth—it hadn’t only been this evening that had unnerved him.

  She did.

  Everything about her unsettled him.

  From the thick dark hair with the hints of fire to the delectable, curvaceous body that tempted him like a red flag snapping in front of a bull.

  Earlier, when she’d thrust her chin up in that defiant angle, he’d had to force himself to remain in his seat instead of marching around the table and shocking the hell out of everyone by tugging her head back and claiming that beautiful, created-for-sin mouth.

  Another truth he could admit in the dark with only bourbon for company.

  He wanted her.

  Fuck, did he want her.

  Maybe if the past had stayed in the past, he could have convinced himself their space of time in the hallway had been just that—a blip, an anomaly. But once he’d kissed her again, once he’d swallowed her moans, once he’d felt her slick, satiny flesh spasm around his fingers as she came... No, he craved this woman with a need that was usually reserved for oxygen and water.

  Even knowing that she’d betrayed Gage just as Faith had cheated on Darius, he still couldn’t expunge this insane, insatiable desire.

  So, what did that say about him? About his dignity? His fucking intelligence?

  He snorted, raising his glass to his lips for a deep sip.

  It said that, as much as he’d claimed to the contrary, his dick had equal partnership with his brain.

  Yet...he frowned into the golden depths of the bourbon. The more time he spent with Isobel, the more doubt crept into his head, infiltrating his long-held ideas about her, about the woman he’d believed her to be. But for him to accept that she was not the woman who’d betrayed her husband in the past, it would mean that Gage had consciously—and maliciously—lied to Darius’s face. And to his family. And to all of their friends. It would mean Darius’s best friend, the man who’d been closer to him than a brother, had intentionally destroyed Isobel’s reputation.

  And that he couldn’t believe.

  Could Gage have somehow misinterpreted her actions? Or maybe there was more to the story that Gage hadn’t shared with his family before his death?

  “Darius?”

  He glanced in the direction of the study’s entrance, where the sound of his name in her voice had originated.

  And immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Now the image of her standing in the doorway, barefoot, her long, toned legs exposed by some kind of T-shirt that hit her midthigh, and hair a sexy tumble around her beautiful face would be permanently branded onto his retinas.

  “What are you wearing?” he growled.

  Hell, he hadn’t intended to vocalize that question. And with his bourbon-weakened control, no way in hell could he prevent the lust careering through him.

  She peeked down at herself, then returned her fairy eyes to him. “What?” she asked. “This is what I sleep in. Excuse me if it’s not La Perla enough for you, but I didn’t exactly expect to bump into anyone.”

  La Perla. Fox and Rose. Agent Provocateur.

  His ex-wife had insisted on only purchasing the expensive, luxury lingerie for herself, and they’d shown up regularly on his credit card statements, which was the only reason he recognized the brands.

  But damn. Now, staring at her body with those lethal curves, he would love to put that useless-until-now information to work. To drape her in the softest silk and the most delicate lace. To personally choose corsets, bras and panties to adorn a woman who didn’t need anything to enhance her ethereal beauty and earthy sensuality. And still he wanted to give them to her. To see her in them.

  To peel them from her.

  Taking another sip, he wrenched his ga
ze from the temptation in cotton.

  “What do you want, Isobel?” he rasped.

  She stepped into the room, the movement hesitant. It should be. If she had any idea of the need grinding inside him like a relentlessly turning screw, she’d leave.

  “I was headed toward the kitchen and saw the light on in here. I thought you’d gone to bed.” A pause. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said automatically. Lie.

  “I’m sorry for you,” she said, gliding farther into the room and halting a small distance from him. As if unsure whether or not she should chance come any closer.

  Smart woman.

  The way the alcohol and lust coursed through him like rain-swollen rapids, he should warn her away, bark an order to get out of the study. Instead he watched her, a predator silently waiting for his prey to approach just near enough for him to pounce.

  “Sorry for me,” he repeated on a serrated huff of laughter. “Why?”

  “Because I went there tonight knowing I wouldn’t be welcome. I wasn’t surprised by anything that happened. But you were shocked...and hurt. And for that, I’m sorry.”

  He lifted his head, stared at her, astonishment momentarily robbing him of speech.

  Discomfort flickered across her features, and she shrugged a shoulder. “Anyway... Your relationship with them isn’t my business...”

  “You weren’t hurt?” He ground his teeth around a curse. He hadn’t intended to snap at her. Dragging in a deep breath, he held it, then exhaled. “You weren’t hurt by what they said, how they acted?”

  She studied him for a long second, then slowly shook her head. “No, Darius. For me, it was business as usual. For the two years I was married, I was never good enough. Smart enough. Sophisticated enough. Just never...enough.”