The Billionaire's Bargain (Blackout Billionaires Book 1)

by Naima Simone

  “Yes, sir.”

  Darius rose from his chair and was already halfway across his spacious office when Helena opened his door and strode in. In spite of his unsettled thoughts, pleasure bloomed inside him at the unexpected but welcome visit. Several weeks had passed since the disastrous dinner at her home. Since then, he’d visited them several times, but without Isobel and Aiden. Though they’d asked about the boy and when they could spend time with him, Darius hesitated. First, he’d promised from the beginning that he wouldn’t make arbitrary decisions about Aiden without consulting Isobel. And that included taking him to see his grandparents without her permission, even if he longed for them all to build a loving relationship.

  Helena, regal in a black dress that wrapped around her still-slender figure, met him with outstretched arms.

  “What brings you here today?” He led her to his office sitting area, lightly clasping her elbow.

  She arched a dark, elegant eyebrow. “Do I need a reason to come see family? Especially when he’s been a bit of a stranger lately?”

  Darius laughed as he helped her settle on the black leather couch and then took a seat beside her. “That was subtle,” he drawled. “Like a claw hammer to the head.”

  She smiled, but her point was well-taken. True, he hadn’t been by the Wellses’ home as often as he’d visited in the past. In the past weeks, he, Isobel and Aiden had settled into a cautious but peaceful routine. A truce that included Isobel in his bed, where they fucked until neither could move. God, she stripped him of his control, and that both terrified and thrilled him. Intimidated him and freed him.

  It was the terror and intimidation that kept his mouth sealed shut when she slipped out of his bed in the dark, early mornings, returning to her room and leaving him alone. She never slept the night through with him. That bothered and relieved him.

  Relieved him because the intimacy of sharing a bed smacked of a relationship, a vulnerability he wasn’t ready to reveal to her. He’d given that trust to one woman, and she’d screwed him, literally and figuratively.

  Bothered him because her sneaking out like he was her dirty secret didn’t sit well with him.

  “So you’re here because you miss me?” he teased, deliberately dismissing his disquieting thoughts.

  Helena’s smile dimmed just a fraction, taking on a faintly rueful tinge. “Of course I do, darling. We all do. But I have another reason for coming to you. Next week is Thanksgiving. What are your plans?”

  He stifled a sigh. Him joining them for the holidays was a tradition. But this year, it wasn’t only him.

  “I haven’t discussed it with Isobel yet. She might want to spend the holiday with her family. And if that’s her choice, I can come by the house afterward.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes, and she thinned her lips. “I see,” she finally said. “You have a new family, whose wishes come first.”

  “Helena—”

  “No.” She sliced a hand through the air. “I’m glad you said that, it makes my next reason for being here easier to say.” Her chin hiked up. “I want a DNA test for Aiden.”

  Shock whipped through him, and he stiffened under the blow of it. “What?”

  “We want a DNA test,” she repeated. “Yes, Aiden does resemble Gage, but that’s not enough. In order for us to erase any doubt, we need to know he’s Gage’s son. And that can only be answered with a paternity test.” Her features softened, and she settled a hand over his knee, squeezing lightly. “I need this, Darius.”

  His first reaction had been to flat-out refuse, but then reason crept in. Would having a DNA test done be so wrong? It would cement that Aiden was indeed Gage’s son, and once the Wellses had the truth, they could finally lay this issue to rest and move on. He could give them that; he owed them that.

  Isobel. He briefly closed his eyes.

  Isobel wouldn’t agree, just as she hadn’t years ago. She would view it as an insult, but if it could facilitate healing... Yes, she would be angry about him going behind her back, but the results...how could she argue with the results when it meant the Wellses laying down their swords and Aiden having all of his family in his life, without doubts?

  Meeting Helena’s gaze, Darius nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”

  Satisfaction flared in the blue depths. “Thank you, Darius. Another thing? Let’s keep this between us for now. Baron doesn’t know I’m here, and I don’t want this impacting his health. So when you have the results, please contact me.”

  Unease over the further request for secrecy ate at him, but again he nodded.

  “I should go,” she murmured, standing. But then she hesitated, staring at him. “You’re like a son to me, Darius,” she said, steel entering her tone, belying the sentimental words. “And I love you, which is why I believe I have the right to say this to you. Gage fell for Isobel’s sweet, innocent act, and look how he ended up. Betrayed, broken, angry...and dead. I would want to die myself if she did the same to you. So please, Darius, be careful, and don’t succumb to the same game. Just...be aware, because Isobel is not who she pretends to be.”

  Darius didn’t stop Helena as she left his office. After the door shut with a soft click, he slowly rose, her words of caution whirling inside his head.

  Please be careful, and don’t succumb to the same game... Isobel is not who she pretends to be.

  He shook his head as if he could dislodge them, but they clung to him like burrs. Anger continued to dog him the rest of the day, nipping at him. He’d refused to play the fool again. But with Helena’s warning ringing in his head, he couldn’t shake the thought that her words had come a little too late.

  * * *

  Darius shoved open the front door to his house, the usual peace it brought him as he stepped into the foyer absent. His day had gone from hell to shit. By the time he left, hours earlier than his usual time, his employees had probably tossed confetti in the air as the elevator doors closed behind him. And if he were honest, he wouldn’t blame them. His mood had been dark ever since Helena’s impromptu visit, and even now, shutting the door behind him, he couldn’t shake it loose.

  He needed a drink. And time alone. Then, he mused, heading toward his study, he’d go find Aiden and Isobel. It wouldn’t be fair to inflict his attitude on them.

  What the fuck?

  He slammed to a halt in the doorway of the study, shock winding through him like frigid sleet.

  Gage fell for her sweet, innocent act, and look how he ended up. Betrayed, broken, angry... Please be careful, and don’t succumb to the same game... Isobel is not who she pretends to be.

  As they had all day, Helena’s words tripped through his brain, growing louder and louder with each pass.

  Isobel sat on the couch in his study, with her head bent close to the man perched next to her.

  On the same couch where she’d straddled him, and he’d pushed into her body for the first time.

  Jealousy, ripe and blistering, ripped through him. The power of it rocked him, and it was only the unprecedented intensity that unlocked its grip on him. Dragging in a breath, he forced the destructive emotion under a sheet of ice.

  As if she’d heard his deep inhale, her head lifted, and their eyes met.

  Surprise rounded her eyes, and an instant later, a smile started to curve her mouth, but that stopped as she scanned Darius’s face. It shifted into a frown, before smoothing into a carefully blank expression.

  “Darius, I didn’t hear you arrive,” she finally said, voice neutral as she rose to her feet.

  What did that expression hide?

  Isobel is not who she pretends to be.

  “Obviously,” he drawled, then shifted his attention to the tall man who now stood beside her. Handsome, wearing an expensive gray suit and about Darius’s age. Green-tinged acid ate at his gut.

  Faith used to wait until he’d left for the office, then snea
k men into their house. Their bed had been a favorite location for her trysts. She’d gleefully thrown that information at him. Part of her pleasure had been in knowing that, at night, Darius would lie in the same bed where she’d fucked other men.

  And here Isobel stood with some stranger. Playing the same game? After all, she hadn’t expected him home from work this early. He studied her. Seeking signs of deceit, of guilt, but not expecting to find any. She was more of an expert than that.

  “Where’s Aiden?” he asked.

  Translation: Where is Aiden while you’re down here...entertaining?

  From the narrowing of her eyes, she didn’t require a translator. “He’s upstairs, taking a nap. Ms. Jacobs is with him,” she replied, tone flat. Turning to the man beside her, she waved a hand in Darius’s direction. “Ken, let me introduce you to Darius King. Darius, Ken Warren.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. King,” the other man greeted, striding forward with his hand outstretched. “Ms. Hughes speaks highly of you.”

  “Does she now?” he murmured, and after a pause in which he stared down at the extended palm, he clasped it. “A shame I can’t say the same.”

  “Thank you, Ken,” Isobel said, walking forward and shooting Darius a look that possessed a wealth of fuck you. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here. I bet house calls are rare in your profession.”

  “Not as much as you’d think.” He chuckled. “Call me if you have any questions.” Nodding at Darius, he said, “Again, nice to meet you.”

  She ushered him out of the room, and Darius moved into the study, stalking toward the bar. He poured Scotch into a glass and then downed it, welcoming the burn.

  With his back to the door, he didn’t see her reenter the room, but he felt it. The air seemed to shift, to shimmer like steam undulating off a hot sidewalk after a summer shower. That’s how aware he was of her. He could sense the moment she entered a damn room.

  Pivoting, he leaned a hip against the edge of the bar, taking another sip of the alcohol as he watched her approach.

  “You are an asshole,” she hissed, the anger she’d concealed in front of Ken Warren now on vivid display. It flushed her cheeks and glittered in her eyes like stars as she stalked to within inches of him. “I don’t know what happened at the office, but you had no right to be so rude to him and to me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong is that I came home to find a strange man in my house, with my soon-to-be-wife, sitting on the same couch where I’ve fucked her,” he drawled. “So forgive me if my mood is a little...off.”

  “I knew it,” she murmured. For a long moment, she studied him as if trying to decipher a code that baffled her. “I knew it,” she repeated, a soft scoff accompanying it. “I took one look at your face and could’ve written a transcript of your thoughts. I caught her with her latest screw. In my house. I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her legs closed for long. Am I close?” The sound that escaped her lips was a perversion of laughter. “You’re so predictable, Darius.”

  She whipped around and stalked to the couch. Leaning over the arm, she picked up a small, dark brown box and marched back to him.

  “Here.” She thrust the case at him. “Ken is the husband of one of the moms I met at the Mommy Center Aiden and I go to on Tuesdays and Thursdays. When I found out he was a jeweler, I thought of you. Take it,” she ordered, shoving the item at him again.

  A slick, oily stain spread across his chest and crept up his throat as he accepted the box. As soon as he did, she moved backward, inserting space between them that yawned as wide as a chasm.

  He clenched his jaw, locking down the need to reach for her and pull her back across that space. Instead he shifted his attention to the case. It sat in the middle of his palm. A jeweler. She’d said Ken Warren was a jeweler.

  With his heart thudding dully against his sternum, he pried the top off. And it ceased beating at all as he stared down at the gold pocket watch nestled on a bed of black silk. A detailed rendering of a lion was etched on the face of it, the amber jewels of its eyes gleaming, its mouth stretched wide as if in midroar. Awed, he stroked a fingertip over the excellent craftsmanship and artistry.

  It was...beautiful.

  “When I saw it, I knew it was yours. A lion for both your first and last names. Darius, which means royalty, and then King,” she murmured. “I thought it would be a perfect addition to your and your father’s collection.”

  He tore his gaze away from the magnificent piece and met her eyes. Awe, gratefulness, regret and sadness—they all coalesced into a jumbled, thick mass that lodged in his throat, choking him.

  She’d bought a gift for him, had chosen it with care and thoughtfulness.

  And he’d returned that kindness with suspicion and scorn.

  He’d fucked up.

  “Thank you,” he rasped. “Isobel...”

  “Save it.” She took another step back. “You’re sorry now. Until the next time when I fail some test or, worse, pass it. Is this what I have to look forward to for however long this agreement lasts? I spent two years walking on eggshells. At least give me a handbook, Darius. Tell me now so I can avoid the condescending comments, the scathing glares and condemning silences.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, trying again to apologize. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  “I know I didn’t,” she snapped. “But the truth is, you can say those two words, but you obviously believed I did. You convicted me without even offering me the benefit of the doubt. Of course, me sitting with a man couldn’t be innocent. Not Isobel ‘The Gold Digger’ Hughes.”

  Suddenly the anger leaked from her face, from her body. Her shoulders sagged, and a heavy sadness shadowed her eyes. The sight of it squeezed his heart so hard, an ache bloomed across his chest.

  “I just wanted to do something nice for you. To show you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for Aiden, show you all that you...” She trailed off, ducking her head briefly before lifting it. Finish it, he silently yelled. Finish that sentence. “I’m fighting a losing battle here, and Darius, I’m tired. Tired of trying to change your mind, of proving myself, of paying the price for a sin I never committed. I’m...” She shrugged, lifting her hands with the palms up in surrender. “Tired.”

  Slowly, she turned and headed toward the study entrance.

  “Isobel,” he called after her, her name scoring his throat. But she didn’t pause, and desperation scratched him bloody, demanding he stop her. Give her the truth he’d kept from her. Pride and honesty waged a battle inside him. Self-preservation and vulnerability. “Stop. Please.”

  She’d jerked to a halt at his “please.” Probably because she’d never heard him utter the word before. Still, her back remained to him, as if he had mere seconds before she bolted again.

  Shoving a hand through his hair, he thrust the other in his pants pocket and paced to one of the walls of windows. “I don’t remember you at the wedding, but you might recall that I married. Her name was Faith.” He emitted a soft scoff. “When we first met, her name had seemed like a sign. Like fate or God sending me a message that she was the one. I’d wanted what my parents had, and I thought I’d found that with Faith.

  “She’d reminded me of my mother. Not just beautiful and elegant, but full of life and laughter. Faith had a way of dragging a smile out of you even when everything had gone to hell. Dad used to call it the ability to ‘charm the birds right out of the trees.’” In spite of the ugly tale he was about to divulge, a faint smile quirked a corner of his mouth. He couldn’t count how many times his father had lovingly said that about his mom, usually after she’d used said charm to finagle something out of him. “Faith and I only dated several months, but the Wellses loved and approved of her, and I believed we would have a long, happy marriage... I was wrong.”

  Isobel’s scent, delicate and feminine, drifted to him seconds before
she appeared at his side. She didn’t touch him but stood close enough that he could feel her.

  “Within six months, I realized I’d made a mistake. The affectionate, witty woman I’d known turned catty, cold and spiteful. Especially if I said no to something she wanted. I discovered a little too late that she didn’t love me as much as she loved what I could afford to give her. As much as the lifestyle I offered her.” He clenched his jaw. The despair, disillusion and anger that had been his faithful companions back then returned, reminding him how foolish he’d been. “But even then, I’d still been determined to salvage our relationship. Hoping she’d change back into the woman I’d married. Then...” He paused, fisting his fingers inside his pants pockets. “Then I came home a day early from a business trip. Since it’d been late, I hadn’t called to let her know I was arriving. I walked into our bedroom and found her. And one of my vice presidents. I froze. Stunned. And in so much goddamn pain, I couldn’t breathe. By this time, our marriage was hanging on by a thread, but I was still hopeful. Of all the things she could do—had done—I hadn’t expected this betrayal. Didn’t think she was capable of it.”

  Again, he paused, his chest constricting as the memories of that night bombarded him, the utter helplessness and grief that had grounded his feet in that bedroom doorway, rendering him an unwilling voyeur to his wife’s infidelity.

  A delicate hand slipped into his pants pocket and closed over his fist. He tore his sightless gaze away from the window and glanced at Isobel. She didn’t face him, keeping her own stare focused ahead, but the late afternoon light reflected off the shiny track of tears sliding down her cheek.

  She was crying.

  For him.

  Clearing his throat, he looked away, that tightness in his chest now a noose around his neck. He forced himself to continue. To lance the wound.

  “I filed for divorce the next morning. We’d only been married a year and a half. A year and a half,” he repeated. “I felt like a failure. Still do. I was so ashamed, I hid the truth from Baron, Helena and Gabriella. They still don’t know why Faith and I divorced.”