LOVE AND HATE (A Billionaire Romance) (9 page)

“Here, why don’t you lie down back here and try and get some rest.” Scott led me to the bed and lay me down. “Can I get you anything?”

“A divorce?”

He waved his hand, showing me the lap of luxury I was in. The bed was shockingly comfortable, and I sank onto it amid a pile of decorative pillows. “You don’t really mean that. Now let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. I’ll be up front chatting with Susie.”

He pulled a curtain closed behind him, giving me some privacy. I stared at the jet’s ceiling. It felt so strange not to have to wear a seatbelt as the little plane took off. My ears popped as it ascended.

I’d had, without a doubt, the best sex of my life the night before. The way Scott had thrown me down and ravaged me… Thinking about it made me a little light-headed. But everything he’d said, the way he’d looked at me. I’d spent the night curled up on the bed in my hotel room crying. A month ago, I’d had it all. Now I had nothing. I was being manipulated by several people, and I didn’t know how to wrap my brain around any of it.

In the cabin of the plane, Susie laughed at something Scott had said. She had no idea he knew and was sitting up there, thinking he was a lovely man. I’d come so close to telling her the truth, but I’d stopped. I was embarrassed. And I didn’t want her to tell Mr. Fallon.

I remembered the cute house Lucas and I shared. In my imagination, I walked room to room. Scott expected me to go home with him to his penthouse. After hearing I wasn’t feeling well, Susie promised to bring by my suitcase with all my stuff in it—probably just to see the inside of Scott’s apartment.

# # #

Holy crap, Scott’s apartment. I’d seen the floor plans in my office, so I had a vague idea of what to expect, but the reality was so much more.

We didn’t speak on the drive from the airport. The doorman was a young Jewish kid, and Scott introduced him to me as Peter. “Peter, I’d like you to meet my wife, Mrs. Mackenzie Creed.”

I glanced at him, feeling my cheeks redden. I couldn’t change my name, just to change it back in a month. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach intensified.

“She doesn’t have a key yet, but I’m having Isaac make her one this afternoon.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Creed. Nice to meet you!” Peter beamed at me, and I smiled weakly back.

All was forgotten when the elevator doors slid open, revealing Scott’s home. Fifteen foot ceilings, everything in shades of black and grey. The sleek, ultra-modern kitchen stretched out to the left of the doorway, and a bright living room gaped to the right. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Central Park and the Manhattan skyline.

I never thought I’d be anywhere like this in my life.

“Follow me.” Scott walked straight down a hallway and up a curving flight of dove-grey carpeted stairs. He opened a door and revealed a sprawling bedroom. The cute bungalow I’d mentioned? Probably could fit in this one room. My old living room was the size of the attached bathroom. Was he giving me the master bedroom?

“This is the guest suite. I’m right across the hall. You can come in any time. Make yourself at home.”

“Are you serious?” I couldn’t tell if he really didn’t understand how crazy this was or if he was just messing with me.

“You live here now, at least for the foreseeable future. Tomorrow night we have an art opening at the Coventry Art Gallery. Starts at seven. You’re probably going to want to do some shopping before that. When are they expecting you back at work?”

“Uh, tomorrow. In the morning.”

“Can you blow it off for the day? I mean, your simple presence here is kind of work, right? You can tell them it’s your first day in my house and you think you might have already figured out where I keep all the good secrets.”

“Yeah, I can call out.” I thought about the piles of paperwork I’d come back to on my desk on Thursday morning, but Scott had a point. I was working here.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. Food in the fridge, entertainment center in the den. I’ve got some work to do. I’ll be in my office.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Scott left me standing in the middle of the palatial room. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and I was officially a kept woman. I sat on the edge of the bed and discovered an amazing memory foam mattress and about a million-count cotton sheets. I supposed I could explore, though I didn’t feel quite comfortable leaving what we’d established as my space. I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. My phone buzzed.

When do you want me to come by with your stuff?
Susie.
The kindergarten teacher texted me! She wants to get together some weekend soon!

How nice to meet a normal human being and share a connection. The only connection Scott and I shared was when neither of us wore pants. For a brief second I wondered if he would be up for a roll in the hay, but after yesterday I didn’t think I could take another round.

I decided I’d have Susie bring the stuff by later and take a bath in the swimming pool-sized Jacuzzi tub in the attached bathroom. An array of decadent smelling bath salts and oils graced the edge of the tub, and I chose lavender. I got the water as hot as I could stand and locked both the bedroom and bathroom doors before sinking into the water.

Scott

I had lunch with Giuliana to let her know I wouldn’t be marrying her after all. She sauntered into the restaurant almost a half an hour late with an expression of perfect disinterest on her beautiful, augmented face. She wore a dress so low cut I could see her belly button and the generous sides of her fake breasts. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. Long blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulders, and her makeup accentuated her cheek bones and lips. She was beautiful, of course, but she was a complete Machiavellian creature.

I stood and held her chair for her, giving air kisses by way of greeting.

“I couldn’t possibly eat anything. I’m full to bursting,” she lied. I could count her ribs through her tight dress. The woman was in drastic need of a cheeseburger. “I’ll just get a drink while you order lunch.” Irritating, but not unexpected.

“How were the Canaries?”

“Oh, you know. They’re just not like they used to be. So many tourists these days. The villa I rent used to be far away from everything. Now you can hear traffic from a major road, and you can see the other houses. It’s not relaxing.”

“Such is the price of progress. Your ocean view is still intact?”

“I own all the way down to the water. They’ll get my ocean view and private beach when they pry them from my cold, dead hands.”

As though it wasn’t an abnormal request, she ordered a vodka, no ice. The waiter was good, didn’t even quirk an eyebrow. I ordered a burger. I’d seen Giuliana get drunk enough to devour them with orgasmic passion.

“Change of plans, love,” I announced.

“At least wait until they bring my drink.”

“Fair enough.”

“You were in Las Vegas? How plebeian.”

“It was a hell of a trip.”

“You were with Ryan?”

“Yeah.”

“How is Ryan? He got divorced, right?”

“I believe he’s actually been remarried and divorced again since the last time you saw him.”

“Huh. Is it him, or is it them?” she asked, skeptical.

“I’d say it’s a little of both.”

The waiter set Giuliana’s vodka in front of her and my beer in front of me. She took a healthy pull of her drink, and for all the world she looked like a thirsty woman drinking a glass of water. “Change of plans?”

“I can’t marry you.”

She raised her gaze to me, her body motionless. “What are you talking about?”

“I got very, very drunk in Las Vegas and woke up with this.” I flashed my left hand, showing off the ring. I still wore the cheap band we’d bought at the chapel. I saw no reason to upgrade to something more substantial.

Her eyes narrowed, and she took another drink. “Who’s the lucky lady?” The ice in her tone could cool a drink.

“An account specialist from a financial firm here in the city.”

Giuliana set her drink down. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“What are you doing? We had a deal.”

“We discussed it, but we didn’t sign anything.”

“We planned to announce our engagement tonight at Coventry. What are you doing, Scott? You don’t want to be married any more than I do.”

“I fell in love. What can I say?”

She took a few measured breaths and polished off the rest of the drink. “I guess that concludes our lunch, then. Unless you have something else you’d like to tell me?”

“No, that was all I had.”

“Scott?”

“Yes, Giuliana?”

“You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Maybe.”

“Setting aside the fact that you’ve married some classless Vegas tourist, you have made me most unhappy.”

“I suspected I might have.”

“This is not going to work out well for you, I promise.”

“Are you threatening me? I honestly can’t tell.”

She laughed, a sound with no humor, and left the restaurant, passing the waiter with my burger. It tasted delicious.

# # #

I’d expected to glean some manner of amusement from the arrangement with Mackenzie, but in reality, she behaved like a trapped wild animal in my house. She was impressed with my chef and the omelets he cooked for breakfast, but other than that, she stayed in her room all day. I hired her a stylist, because let’s be honest, she wasn’t going to make the impression I needed her to without one. The stylist went in, and as the hour got closer and closer to seven, I started to worry.

I dressed myself and sat at the island in the kitchen, running my fingers over the flecked marble countertop. I wanted us to be late enough to make a notable entrance, but I didn’t want to be rude. I heard the door open upstairs, and in that moment I was convinced I’d made a terrible mistake. I should have stuck with Giuliana, even if it meant buying stock in Grey Goose and having palates of it shipped to my door.

Mackenzie appeared in the kitchen doorway and took my breath away. Her floor-length gown was a glittering, royal blue material, strapless, with a heart-shaped bodice. A matching shawl draped over her shoulders. The stylist had curled a gentle wave into her thick brown hair, and it hung loose to the tops of her breasts.

“Wow,” I said. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” Mackenzie blushed and smiled a little. For a heartbeat I think we’d forgotten we didn’t like each other.

I made a spinning gesture with my finger, and she twirled, the skirt of the dress billowing out around her. “You look amazing.”

“You said that.”

“It bears repeating.”

We headed to the elevator. “So what kind of artwork will be at this opening?”

“Honestly I have no idea. I don’t know art.”

“I can tell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sighed. “Every one of your pieces looks like you chose it because it was expensive, not because you care about it.” She sighed again. “Did you even pick them, or did some designer?”

“The designer.” I felt more chastised than I expected to over it.

“None of them are you. The colors match, but there’s no personality. If you’d spent a few hours at some of the galleries downtown, you could have spent far less and gotten pieces that fit the décor just as well but that actually say something about Scott Creed.”

“Like what?”

“I certainly don’t know. I just met you.” The coldness crept back into her voice, then, and she crossed her arms in such a way that pressed her breasts up. Her cleavage plunged miles deep.

I was tired of women being upset with me, but on this day I deserved it. I ran some numbers in my head. Maybe I deserved it most days. I shoved the pesky thought out of my head.

“So what’s your plan?” Mackenzie was all business now. “We show up, we tell everyone we’re married, we toast, we mingle, and we go?”

“You have somewhere better to be?”

“Aren’t you worried I’m going to embarrass you? I’m one of five kids. I wash bread bags so I can reuse them.”

“Five kids? Damn.”

“I know nothing about your people, or what to talk about, or anything.”

“You’re aware of what the weather has been. Everyone’s favorite small talk. ‘This spring has been unseasonably cold this year, don’t you think?’ You have an art degree. Surely you can say something articulate about the art we’ll be looking at. Be positive, even if you don’t like it. The artist will be there, and we don’t want to upset her.”

“I’m not an asshole. I’m not going to trash-talk an artist at her opening.”

“I’m trying to do damage control before I need to.”

“If you’re worried about damage control, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“I’m well aware this isn’t a good idea, but you’re getting scads of money out of it, and I’m getting the glowing approval of my future business partners.”

“Do you even need this merger? You’re not, like, going broke, are you?”