Escorting the Groom (The Escort Collection Book 4) (18 page)

"What's
what
like?"

The coy look evaporated. "To be rich. To live like that, in a fancy apartment with a driver and more money than you know what to do with. What's it like?"

Chelsea had been hustling since the day she'd been born. She'd always wanted to live the high life; she had champagne tastes on a Miller Lite budget. When Vince had proved to be more talk than delivery in the earnings department, she had promptly divorced him. She'd been looking for Mr. Right-and-Rich ever since, and not necessarily in that order.

"The lifestyle's nice, but it's ridiculous. When you think about how
we
live—just over the bridge in our crappy apartments, it seems opulent. When you think about how people all over the
world
live—in shantytowns, without running water or electricity—it's too much. But Lucas gives a ton of money to charity. He's wealthy because he's brilliant and he's worked hard his entire life. He doesn't even seem to care about material things."

My sister snorted. "That sounds like one of those actresses—like Kristen Stewart—who says they don't care about being famous, but they are
so
famous
.
That's a problem I'd like to have. I care about material things. I just wish I had more of them to care about."

"Then you should try getting a job." With all the effort she put into getting something for nothing, it was like a full-time job anyway.

"I'm thinking about going back to school." She dove into her appetizer of bacon-wrapped scallops and moaned, fluttering her eyelids. "These are so good." She didn't offer me any.

"You mean to get your GED?"

"I graduated from high school," she snapped.

"Barely."

She leaned across the table and glared at me. "For a hooker, you seriously have a superiority complex."

"Please keep your voice down," I begged.

"You need to stop acting like you're better than the rest of us."

"I don't think I'm better than anybody else." I picked at my wedge salad, wishing we were finished and I could get the hell away from her. "So… school for what?" I hated to ask, but this was the portion of the program where Chelsea finally got to the point. I motioned to the waiter for more wine, because I felt certain it was going to be a doozy.

"Acting school. There's this really great one in New York that I want to apply to." My sister's eyes glittered with excitement.

"I didn't know you wanted to be an actress."
I thought you just wanted to be a diva, with a driver, Louis Vuitton luggage, and a pair of big-ass sunglasses. On your Miller-Lite budget.

"I'm thinking about trying out for
The Bachelorette
." She tossed her hair. "You don't have to be an actress to get on there, but I bet it helps. I would kill it on that show. I'm totally perfect for it."

I opened my mouth and then closed it. Chelsea, queen of looking good for no reason, constant scheming and zero loyalty, would
totally
kill it on
The Bachelorette
.

The idea of my sister relocating for school was immediately appealing, until it sank in that someone was going to have to fund her Manhattan lifestyle—me. "That sounds exciting, but isn't it expensive? I know school's pricey, anyway, but the cost of living in New York is crazy high." I knew this because Elena had looked into expanding AccommoDating into the New York market. She'd said the higher prices we could charge wouldn't offset the price for office space, which she called "completely fucking exorbitant."

Last time I checked, completely fucking exorbitant wasn't in my sister's budget.

"Tuition's about one hundred thousand dollars. And I'll need living expenses and money for clothes, of course." Chelsea casually adjusted her sparkly tank top. "You can't dress like a hick in New York."

"Wow. That's a lot of money. Vince is going to need to pony up on the alimony payments."

"Vince isn't going to pay for it, silly! What he gives me is, like, coffee money compared to what I'll need." She grinned and my stomach sank. "The money's going to come from
you.
You're the only one I know who has any!"

I shook my head. "I don't have any money, though. Lucas has all the money, and I'm not asking him for a hundred thousand dollars to send you to acting school just so you can have a rose ceremony on
ABC
."

"But you have to ask him!" she said a little too brightly.

"Why?"

Chelsea leaned forward, her grin becoming triumphant. "Because if you don't, I'm going to tell his family and the press and anybody else who'll listen to me that you're a
hooker
. That before he picked you up and dusted you off, you were
literally
a filthy whore."

I recoiled from her words and the venom in her voice. "What did I ever do to you?" I didn't know why she hated me so much. First, she'd stolen Vince. Now, she was trying to ruin me so she could afford to keep herself in gel manicures and Jimmy Choos as she stalked around Manhattan, hoping to meet her near-future husband on the reality television circuit.

She didn't even blink. "You think you're better than me."

"You stole my fiancé, and you just threatened to blackmail me. I
am
better than you."

She arched an eyebrow. "See? It's that. Right there."

"
What
?"

"That holier-than-thou routine. You think you're the only one who cares about Mom. You think I'm a lazy, no-good fiancé-stealer. And you're prettier than me—not that you
think
you're prettier than me; you just
are
prettier than me. People like you better than me. It's annoying. It's tired. And now you're married to a hot billionaire, and it's not
fair
." She sounded like a petulant teenager about to have a temper tantrum at the mall. "Mom didn't tell me anything, but I know you married him as a job.
I just know it.
So, you cough up the cash, or I'm going to cause you a world of hurt."

I looked at her defiantly. "No."

"What did you just say?"

"I just said
no
. You're not getting a dime from my hot billionaire husband. Go ask your sloppy seconds of an ex for money."

Chelsea pointed her finger at me. "You're going to regret this."

"Not as much as I'd regret funding your lifestyle and unleashing you on a bunch of poor, unsuspecting bachelors."

She picked up her fork and started eating her expensive lunch, her eyes never leaving mine. "We'll see about that."

"
W
hat are you saying exactly
?"

Blake looked at me miserably. "I'm saying that my sister's trying to blackmail me by outing me as an escort to I don't know who—your family, the press, anyone who'll listen."

"This is your sister who stole your fiancé?"

Blake looked pale. "The one and only."

My heart ached for her. "She makes Serena look good. Not an easy task."

"I know." She sank down on the couch. "I shouldn't have taken this job. I know my sister, what she's capable of. She was born to blackmail me in a situation like this. I'm so sorry." Her voice was wobbly.

Christ.
Since my lunch with Serena, I'd been trying to keep Blake at a distance, except when I was plundering her with my dick. But I couldn't bear to see her hurting. I sat down and pulled her into my arms. "We'll deal with your sister. Don't even worry about it."

Blake was stiff against me, taking no comfort in the embrace. "I don't want to give her anything."

I ran my hands down her hair. "You don't have to. I'll take care of it."

She pulled back, eyes flashing. All traces of forthcoming tears had vanished. "Lucas Ford, don't you dare!"

I blinked at her. No one had said "don't you dare" to me since my mother had caught me sneaking the gin out of the liquor cabinet when I was sixteen years old. "I don't understand why you're upset. I'm offering to make the problem go away."

"She's not just a problem—she's my
sister
, and she's a pain in the ass!" Blake's face now had two hectic spots of color on it. "If you give in to her, you'll never get rid of her. This tuition and her wannabe-New-York-City-socialite lifestyle are just the tip of the iceberg."

"There's no reason to let her upset you."

Blake threw up her hands. "There's every reason in the world for her to upset me! She's a scheming, money-grubbing, lazy you-know-what that rhymes with
blunt
!"

"So let me take care of it like I'm offering to." I tried to keep my voice gentle, but I was becoming annoyed. This was something I could fix. Even though Blake’s sister didn't deserve anything, it was better to throw some money at the problem and keep her the hell away from my wife.

Blake stood up. "You can't just 'take care of it.' First of all, Chelsea's not an 'it'; she's a person! And you have to
deal
with people! You can't just throw money at everything all the time and then swagger back to your ivory tower, acting like you've solved the world's problems!"

I sat back. "I don't act like that."

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You bought a
wife
. So that you could keep your sister from inheriting your entire family fortune, in order to give money to worthy charities
and
to piss her off in the meantime. And now you want to pay off
my
sister to make her go away, so that I don't have to be bothered by her. Are you seeing a pattern here?"

"No." I could hear the defensiveness in my voice.

"You would rather deal with dollars than people."

I got up and headed for the bourbon. "I don't see why you have to make it sound like a negative personality trait."

Blake took a step toward me. "It's only negative if it isolates you. If it keeps you from having a connection with people. If it makes you forget what's real."

I poured two fingers of the amber liquid then, after a slight pause, made it three. "I'm all too familiar with what's real."
My mother. Elizabeth. You…

"That's why you don't date. That's why you've never had a girlfriend since Elizabeth left you. That's why you hired me to live with you for a year—so you can give me money and send me on my way, without having to get attached!" Her whole face was flushed now, her hands clenched into tight fists.

I set the bourbon down without drinking it. "And you're so different?"

She looked slightly abashed. "I'm still close to people. And I'm not the one…"

"What?"

Blake shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind. I need to remember my place. I'm the hired help."

Her words cut me. "Don't say that."

She looked at me, her chin jutting out in an almost imperceptible sign of defiance. "The truth hurts, but don't worry. It hurts me, too." She headed down the hall. "Is it okay if I go to the gym and then take a shower? Today's sort of thrown me for a loop."

My shoulders sagged. "You don't need my permission. I'm not your jailer."

She stopped and turned to me. "So then, would you like to come with me? You've been so worried about that deal…" Her tone turned from angry to wistful. "We haven't hung out in a while."

"I have to go back to work," I said, hating myself.

The flash of disappointment across her features was clear. "Of course."

"I'll see you later, though." I wanted nothing more than to be with Blake right now. I could probably retire and just spend the rest of my years being her gym buddy, letting her order for me, and worshipping her body, not necessarily in that order. But this had to stop. She was leaving in a few months. In fact, if Serena had the trust terms annulled, Blake was leaving any second. I had to get a motherfucking grip before I let what I was feeling inside rip me apart.

Nodding, she disappeared into the bedroom.

* * *

I
was
in a foul mood at the office. Shirley tried to ask me a few questions about our new HR initiative, but I practically ripped her head off and bowled it down the hall. In an effort to calm down, I downloaded all my quarterly reports and started analyzing them. My business holdings were performing better than expected. Normally, this would satisfy me, but I couldn't keep my mind off of Blake. She'd been reeling from what her sister had pulled, yet I'd pushed her away again.

I stood up and grabbed my cell phone. I needed to go back home and make this right.

The receptionist buzzed in. "Mr. Ford, there's someone here to see you."

"I don't have any appointments," I snapped. I never had any appointments. I made Shirley do all my dirty work, and I paid her quite handsomely for it.

Another example of throwing money at your problems
,
my inner analyst chimed in.

Fuck off
, I chimed back.

"It's Chelsea Maxwell."

"I see."
The sister has balls.
Time to cut them off.
"Bring her in."

My receptionist appeared shortly thereafter, followed by a young woman who looked strikingly similar to Blake. She had long blond hair and blue eyes, but she was slightly shorter and curvier. Where Blake's skin was smooth and fair, Chelsea's was a deep bronze, as though she spent a fair amount of time at M Street Beach with a big bottle of coconut-scented oil, a stash of wine coolers, and a red Solo cup at her side.

Her ample assets almost burst out of her black, low-cut dress that seemed to have a death grip on her body. Spiked heels, big hoop earrings, and lots of black mascara completed the look—a Southie hottie in her prime, out for an afternoon stroll, an iced coffee with extra cream from Dunkin' Donuts, and a side of blackmail.

Someone had left Blake for
her
? I couldn't fathom it. But then again, Elizabeth had left me for my father, who favored ascots and wore argyle socks to bed. People were so fucking weird. That was why hiding in my office was awesome.

Not that I was actually admitting to that.

The receptionist closed the door behind her, and Chelsea batted her dangerously long lashes at me. "Lucas Ford, we finally meet! It's such a pleasure."

She held out her hand to shake mine, but I just motioned for her to sit. "What do you want, Chelsea?"

She pouted a little, her pillowy lips forming an annoyed O. "So formal! We're family now. You can relax." She positioned herself in her chair so that her breasts were jutting toward me. "I finally saw Blake. She seems like she's doing well."

"Really? She didn't mention it," I lied.

Chelsea sniffed. "She wouldn't, would she? Mom and I didn't even get invited to the wedding."

"I think you know the reason for that."

She peeked up at me from under her lashes, and I wanted to smack her. "You mean…"—she leaned forward—"because she's a…
you know
?"

"Episcopalian?"

Chelsea cocked her head, looking confused. "Huh?"

Not as pretty as Blake, and nowhere near as smart. "Never mind. You were saying?"

"I was saying that we didn't get invited to your wedding because my sister's a hooker, and you didn't want your family to know." She appeared satisfied with herself.

"Ah." I sat back in my chair. "That."

Chelsea sat there, waiting for me to say more, or at least look surprised. "Yeah," she finally said, "
that
."

I shrugged. "What about it?"

"You tell me," she said, her voice provocative.

"You called this meeting, Chelsea. I have no idea why you're here."

The smug look slid off of her face. "The hell you don't."

"Ah, I see your true colors run close to the surface," I said. "I appreciate that."

"Good." Her tone was all business now. "I told Blake today—I need money for school and to relocate to New York. She said she wouldn't give me anything, but she's holding a grudge against me for some old stuff. She wouldn't even consider it. She's not thinking clearly."

"What do you mean by 'old stuff'? The fact that you stole her fiancé a month before her wedding, and that you married him yourself?"

Undeterred, she looked at me coyly. "If you met Vince, you'd know I did her a favor. I helped her dodge a bullet."

I gave her a tight smile. "How very philanthropic of you."

She looked confused again but quickly shook it off. "Whatever. I need money to start my new life. I'm coming to you because you're the only person in our family who can help."

"I'm not in the business of giving handouts."

Her throat worked as she swallowed. "I'm not looking for a
handout
. You do something for me; I do something for you."

I leaned forward. "And what's that?"

Taking my stance as a cue, she also leaned forward. Her breasts seemed dangerously close to popping out of her dress. "That all depends on what you want, big boy. Some people like to call it a sister act. You get what you have with Blake, and you get me on the side." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I'm told that I'm a little spicier than my sister. She might be better-looking, but I can give you what you really want."

"I don't think you can."

She licked her lips and my skin crawled. "Lemme give it a try."

"Blake was right." I smiled at her again, sitting back against my seat. "You really are a piece of work. But you were sort of right, too."

She cocked an eyebrow, still looking hopeful.

"Your sister's
much
better-looking than you. She's also kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and altogether in another class of human beings. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole wrapped in Clorox wipes."

She straightened, her cheeks heated. "Suit yourself."

"Are we done?"

"Not quite." She pursed her lips and adjusted the top of her dress, putting her boobs away. "I can always go to the press about my sister and her questionable work history. Or your dad. Or your work partners. Or whoever will listen to me. I'd gladly take money in exchange for my silence."

"Done," I said.

Chelsea looked stunned. "Really?"

"Really."

"What's the catch?"

"You'll have to sign an airtight confidentiality agreement and a contract with me," I said. "This is a one and done, Chelsea. I give you this money, and you agree to walk away forever. You can't come back and ask me for more, because there won't be any. And you have to leave Blake alone for good. No more threats. Understand?"

She nodded, her eyes glittering. "How much money?"

"More, much more than you deserve. Enough to pay your tuition and get you settled in New York. Enough to keep you comfortable for years to come, provided you don't blow it. But if you contact the press or take any other steps to harm your sister, I'm coming after you with an army of attorneys. We'll take your money and whatever possessions you have and leave you on the street—literally. Sound fair?"

She nodded quickly, as if she were afraid I would change my mind. "S-sure."

"Fine. Wait in the next room. I'll have my attorney prepare the documents right now. You'll be on your way with a check before the close of business."

She opened her mouth and then, thankfully, closed it. I buzzed Shirley and had Chelsea removed to a waiting room far from my sight. Sister act, indeed.

Then I called my attorney and started the process to have Blake’s leech of a sister removed from her side. Forever.