Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (52 page)

Megan noticed my snarl and gave me a glare that I flat out ignored.

“Leila, this is Mark.”

I just burned a hole right through him, taking the Colgate, ‘ain’t I fine’ curve of his lips, balled it up and spat it out. I didn’t say a word to him for two reasons. One, I had my bestie’s back...and from the things she told me about how he ogled anything that twitched her hips even after she told him about her trust issues, he was the kind of guy that mother’s warned their daughter’s about. Bad news. Gorgeous eyes, bodies that didn’t quit and tongues that only knew how to lie. So I was SO not gonna be fake and play buddy-buddy with this guy.

And two, just what was Megan thinking bringing him to my engagement dinner? This obnoxious guy who obviously spat on fidelity was her date to a celebration of me and Jacob devoting ourselves to each other? I was flabbergasted.

But Megan was the one looking at me like she was confused. “You remember Mark, right?”

“Oh yes,” I said roughly. I snatched the bottle of wine he was holding out as a peace offering, going back and forth between cracking him over the head with it and using it to knock some sense into my friend.

As if Jacob could sense something was about to go down, he appeared at my elbow, easing the bottle from my grip. “It’s always good to see you, Megan.” He shook Mark’s hand. “Why don’t I show you around while they catch up?”

Mark leapt at the opportunity, oblivious to why I wanted nothing to do with him but conceding the fact that things were dicey at best.

As soon as Jacob wheeled him to the next room I turned to my amnesiac friend. “What’s going on Meg?”

“What do you...?” She frowned then let out a clipped laugh. “OH. You mean Mark.”

“Yes, I mean Mark,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Mark that you work with. Mark the Woman Eater. Mark that’s a spitting image of your ex in every douchey way.”

She dropped the act almost instantly. I hated invoking the ex-boyfriend card, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Is this about Cade?” I grilled.

“What?” she snorted. “What does that have to do with Cade?”

“You told me he’s been calling. And you claim you don’t like him.”

“And I don’t,” she reaffirmed brusquely, her fair skin turning redder by the second. “Which is why I’m here with Mark.”

I was confused. “Let me get this straight. You’re seeing your skanky co-worker again to convince yourself that you don’t like Cade?”

She turned on her heels in a huff, proving me right. “Is there alcohol? This is supposed to be a celebration.”

I had half a mind to turn her back around and refuse to go along with this charade. It was bad enough that she vetoed any convo that tipped in Cade’s direction, but bringing Mark here tonight? That was too much.

But when I saw her pick up a bottle of wine and almost gulp it down straight from the source, I realized that maybe she didn’t need me to storm the walls and restore her honor. Maybe right now, she just needed a friend.

I swiped my half-drunk glass of wine from the bar and stepped up beside her. “Let’s make a toast.”

“To what? My idiotic romantic choices?” she quipped.

“No,” I answered, biting back the desire to scream, YES! and shake some sense into her. “To do-overs.”

“Do-overs?”

I nodded slowly. “For the chance to show you how much Jacob meant to me...and not through an article or cluster of pics on some blog. To the chance to have my best friend by my side, reminding me that love meant more than all the other BS. For being here for me today.” My nostril flared as I watched the emotion fill her eyes. “And I hope you know I’m here for you too, Meg.”

She sniffed and clinked her glass against mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

We both swallowed down some booze and I tried to focus on the warmth and not the burning questions in my head. But I saw Jacob and Mark strolling through the rooms and it just made me angry all over again.

She saw my pursed lips and her face hardened. “Not today. Today is about you, Leila.”

I heard the sound of the elevator, meaning the final guests were coming up, so I conceded defeat. For now.

Clarissa breezed over to us, giving Megan a cordial smile before she turned to me. “Everything’s ready to go, Miss Montgomery. Congratulations and have a wonderful evening.”

Megan walked over to the sculpture in the living room, admiring it. Changing the subject. “She did a great job. It’s beautiful in here.”

Nice try
. “Megan, I really think we should talk about this.”

“Leila dear!” I could pick my mother’s screech out of a sold out concert over the whoops of delight and guttural riffs. I threw Megan a silent ‘we’re not done here’ and wheeled to face her.

She’d gone all out, wearing a sleeveless fuchsia dress and dangling earrings. Her brown hair was highlighted and she towered over my father in heels. She took a long look at me. “This little black dress is beautiful, sweetheart.”

It was an ebony colored spaghetti strap number that was chic enough to be elegant but the knee length hem kept it casual.

Dad stepped up beside her, adorably holding out an orchid.

I gave him a bright smile. “Thank you so much.” I deposited it on the counter and swiveled back to the living room area, ready to show off the place and the touches added for tonight. I gestured for them to follow, wanting to give them a tour. “Let me show you-”

Mom yanked my left hand toward her face. “I told you Earl! She’s engaged!” She brought my hand to her eyes, squinting. “Where’s the ring?”

****

I
’d been awake for what felt like hours, watching the sun chase the shadows until there was only light. I wasn’t avoiding the day per se, but I was comfortable. I was cuddled up with the next best thing to Jacob, a big, fluffy pillow that smelled like him: fresh, with hints of musk and a smell that was uniquely his. I was perfectly situated, the cotton candy soft covers wrapping me in the world’s most comfortable burrito. And I knew once I threw the covers off I’d have to think. I’d have to remember the horrible night I was pretending I wasn’t avoiding.

Jacob had tried to be covert when he hired the party planner, but I’d seen the invoice. $500/hour plus the less than 24 hour fee of $375 equaled a whole lot of money just so I could relax. Focus on us. Focus on sharing our wonderful news.

Eight hundred and seventy five dollars down the drain because my mother fixated on the fact that I was ring-less. I’d counted six,
six
times that she found some slightly different way to ask why my ring finger was bare.

Questions like, “Are you still shopping around for a ring?” and “I’m sure Jacob has something special tucked away to give you soon!” and “Is there a big reveal after dinner?” Poor Jacob probably regretted offering the use of his hand as my stress ball when I nearly crushed every single bone after she had the nerve to ask if Whitmore and Creighton was having financial problems. Dad picked upon my nonverbal cues—deadening silence, grinding my teeth, downing three bottles of wine in the span of two hours—and put me out of my misery, claiming that he wasn’t feeling too hot.

And then there was Megan and Mark. I could barely keep my eyes off him. I was sure I caught him winking, savoring that fact. I couldn’t deny that he was attractive. All-American good looks paired with his blond hair and bright baby blues. He was dressed in head to toe Abercrombie and Fitch, reeking prep and holding himself like  a man that had been told he was cute one too many times...and all but ignoring his date like a man who’d broken one too many hearts.

He was so obviously sketchy it was ridiculous. Just what was Megan trying to prove by bringing him to this private function? I’d barely been engaged for 24 hours and I was already feeling Bridezilla coming on, but of the eloping variety. At the moment, I didn’t want to see anyone’s face but Jacob’s.

Jacob. I pulled the pillow close and inhaled deep. Catastrophic dinner or not, no one could take away that moment. The first bars of that song hushing the crowd. My heart skyrocketing to my throat. My brain officially on the fritz because it was happening. Eyes locked, souls so in tuned that I just knew, before I took a step toward the stage, what would come next. He was going to ask me that question. The question I knew I’d say yes to before it even left his lips.

And we were gonna get married.

“Married.” I said out loud, the words bouncing off the walls and settling back on me. “Mrs. Leila Whitmore.” Or would I keep my name? Hyphenate? It all seemed to pale in comparison to the greater thing. Marrying him. After the contract, the worries, Rachel Laraby, and Cade Wallace, we’d figured it out and it would be just he and I, just like this. Always.

My arms slackened on the pillow. Just like this? Me snuggling with a pillow? I threw it back on his side of the bed and unrolled myself from the covers. I stretched my arms wide and let out a lazy yawn.

Jacob better have all kinds of coffee...

I froze just outside the door, hearing hushed, nearly muted voices filter up to the second level. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:35. Not the wee hours of the AM, but definitely too early for visitors. I was infinitely closer to a morning person than Jacob was, especially on the weekends. Everyone at the office knew to not even send him an email before 10 am. He spent the first few hours of his day replying to messages, checking out the financials, things that didn’t require human interaction.

But I could hear the disdain in his voice. He wasn’t just interacting. He was arguing with someone.

I hovered at the landing, fingering a hole in my old, worn t-shirt. I felt like I was eavesdropping, even though Jacob had told me a million times that this was our home, what’s his was mine and vice versa. But he had so much. It was easy to forget, to be overwhelmed and feel like I was a visitor.

I heard ‘Leila’ ring out in a female, uncomfortably familiar voice. A voice that was speaking my name like it was a cuss word.

Alicia.

I don’t know if it was the fight end of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in or a desire to look her in the face and tell her I wasn’t going anywhere (again), but my legs were moving down the stairs at lightning speed. They were in the library, Jacob at the fireplace, dangerously close to the fire poker. Alicia was sprawled out in one of the chairs like she owned the place.

Naturally.

Jacob was the first to notice me, his expression softening almost guilty. “Leila...I didn’t know you were up.”

Alicia tossed me a wilting look that she exacerbated with a perfectly disgusted scowl. “Well, at least she bothered to put on a bra this time.”

The annoyed, slightly juvenile part of me wanted to whip it off and toss it in her self-righteous face with a whoop, but I didn’t want to give her the pleasure of the added effort. “Alicia.”

“It’s Mrs. Whitmore,” she corrected, her tone frosty enough to make hell freeze over.

I wished I was better at playing this game, at pretending being around people I hated was easy as pie, but I stalked over to Jacob, knowing every bone in my body was spoiling for a fight. When I stepped up beside him, I realized that he probably wasn’t at the mantle because he was considering something homicidal but because it was the farthest point from Alicia.

Somehow, it still wasn’t nearly far enough. The woman could turn a glare into poison. I felt queasy just being on the receiving end of it.

I took Jacob’s hand and nudged him toward me. I didn’t care about her. I knew the number she’d done on him. The life he’d lived that almost drove him to suicide.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

“Did you just ask my son if he was okay?” she said indignantly. She pursed her lips into a thin, no-nonsense line that matched the two piece charcoal gray suit she wore. “What are you implying? That a mere conversation with me would do him harm?”

I kept my eyes on him, but directed my answer at her. “I’m implying that your negativity isn’t good for anyone. This is a happy time for us.”

“A happy time for
you
, maybe,” she replied coolly. “Mrs. Jacob Whitmore...as soon as you say ‘I do’ your net worth increases substantially.”

His eyes were pleading. Well, as close as Jacob’s stark blue eyes got to asking for anything. Asking wasn’t even in his dictionary—Jacob commanded. But they were soft and I knew he was telling me to keep my cool. She just wanted a reaction, like all bullies did.

I spun to face her, ignoring my own little voice that told me I was just feeding the fire. “I know your marriage was about money. But that’s not why I’m marrying your son.”

“You’re marrying for love, right?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Right.”

“So there will be a prenuptial agreement.”

Jacob and I both rushed to answer her, each reply on the other side of the coin. He said absolutely not—my answer was missing the whole ‘not’ part.

We exchanged a look and she let out an airy, condescending laugh.

“Engaged, and you haven’t even discussed one of the most important things.”

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Everything happened so fast; being swept into Jacob’s world. Living, loving...being dumped in the lap of luxury had its perks. The jet, the fancy restaurants, the clothing, all the trappings of wealth and prestige. But I’d fallen in love with the man. The strong, confounding, dominant man. I wasn’t expecting some payout on the off chance that our marriage came to an end. I only wanted my fair share, whatever that meant.

I could tell the prenup conversation was far from over, but whatever frustration the topic brought Jacob was hurled at his mother. “I never should have allowed you to come here.”

“You could have denied me access to the elevator. Had me thrown out like you threatened the last time I was here.” Her gray eyes glittered like she had something up her sleeve, one last trick that would change the whole game. “You try to make me the bad guy in all of this—a bad mother. But if that’s so, why did you invite me here?”

I had no words, gaping, waiting for the answer to that question myself. Last night after everyone left, the one thing that brought a smile to my face was a joke he’d made before whisking me up to bed to make me smile for a totally different, R-rated kind of reason.