The Billionaire and I (Part One) (3 page)

Chapter Three

I didn't say a word to anyone.

Not to the smug faced woman that sat beside me for five whole minutes. I knew it was five whole minutes because I counted the seconds, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming desire to choke her. Not to Megan, who was ready to choke her out on my behalf. Not to Jacob, who made his way back to the table with the same shocked look on his face that Megan had when she saw Rachel. He was wise enough to turn that shock into a verbal 'Don’t even think about it' when Rachel had the nerve to open her arms like she was about to give him a hug.

I was silent and made of stone, flip flopping between wanting to scream, throw up, or come to blows with the starlet that got away. A starlet that sat grinning and bubbly through the remainder of the ceremony. Who claimed that my husband had been in contact with her.

Megan made a beeline for me as soon as the host hit the wings. She hurled a glare at Rachel and leaned in so I could hear her over the chatter and music. “Are you okay?”

That question again. Frustration kept my words stuck in my throat. I was afraid that if I spoke, it would bring the tears and there was no effin way that I was going to cry in front of that woman.

“Dumb question,” Megan winced, glancing over at Cade. She raised her eyes pointedly like she was waiting for him to do something.

Cade glanced over at Rachel and I gleaned the tiniest bit of satisfaction when she dropped the act and seemed slightly unnerved when Cade scowled at her.

We all knew that it wasn't like he was about to kick her ass. He wasn't that kind of a guy and there were way too many witnesses. Am I evil if I wante
d
someon
e
to kick her ass?

Jacob reached for my hand and I let him hold it. When we made eye contact I made sure he knew that when I was ready to talk, he'd long for these precious moments of silence.

“Thank you all for coming out,” Jacob said robotically, pulling us toward the aisle.

A few awkward congratulations were offered, along with a parting gift from Rachel.

“See you Monday morning, Jacob!”

I had tunnel vision, flashing my own fake grin while Jacob took a few pictures on our way back to the car. For the first time, I realized that maybe some plastic smiles were worn to hide the pain. My smile was a self defense mechanism, glued to my face until we climbed into the back of the limo and Jacob pulled the door shut. I watched his every move like a sniper waiting for a clear shot. When he finally met my gaze, I half expected some form of ‘oops’ to ripple across his chiseled features. I was left wanting. This was Jacob, after all. But with Rachel back in the picture, cool, calm and distant was not gonna cut it.

I clenched my teeth and crossed my arms furiously across my chest. Waiting. Impatiently. We weren't in the bedroom. Or the playroom. He owed me an explanation and I wouldn't be the one to ask him to give it to me.

The car eased into motion, but as far as I was concerned, we were hurled forward, put on a pot hole ridden rode that was all too familiar. I thought our secrets had names. The faces of my abductors. The crystal clear memory of all the ways I'd been mentally and physically tortured. My anger was bleeding into helplessness because those demons I could handle. Rachel Laraby being back in our lives and my husband neglecting to tell me about it? It was a blow that I couldn't bear.

“You are a lot of things, Leila,” He broke the silence. “Speechless is not one of them.”

My jaw dropped, my eyes scouring his face. What was left of his words hung on the air and I searched the echo for some indication that he was joking. “That's what you have to say to me? ‘Speak up, Leila’?”

He had the nerve to give me a look like I was the bad guy in this situation. “Yes. Speak up, because you've got a lot of explaining to do.”

My face twisted in confusion
.I
had explaining to do? After she walked in and took away his moment? Me standing up like some blubbering idiot, while my husband, my rock, didn't even bother to give me a head's up that Rachel was not only in our same zip code, but sitting with us? “Am I in some alternate reality? Or having some sort of really vivid nightmare?” I pinched myself, just to make sure. Nope, not sleeping. I turned to him, waiting for some sort of lifeline but there was none. “You don't tell me that she's back, that you two have been in contact, and I'm the one that needs to do the explaining?”

He didn't move a muscle, every limb locked in intense consternation. Good. I wanted a reaction. Something other than indignation. I needed him to take this seriously. When his hand lashed out suddenly, I expected him to grip the door handle and make a break for it instead of continuing this uncomfortable staring contest. Instead, he punched the button that raised the partition and dialed up his glare a few notches.

“After our conversation earlier, where we talked about being open and honest-”

“And you spanked me so vigorously that my ass is still tingling,” I spat, wincing when I heard myself and realized that I was taunting him instead of listening. His scowl made me duck my chin to my chest and mumble a halfhearted 'sorry'.

“While your little display this morning was endearing and sexy a
s
fuc
k
...” He trailed off, emphasizing the 'f' word and a shiver of desire fluttered through me.

For a moment or three, I was back in the dressing room, ass in the air, taking the punishment I so ripely deserved. From the way his eyes turned into blue flame, I knew he was recalling our romp too. He peeled off his jacket, showing that sexy white shirt. Who knew a button down shirt could be as sexy as not wearing anything at all? When he settled back on me and the matter at hand, I saw that he was solidly out of xxx territory and back in ‘Leila's just a overly dramatic crazy person’ territory.

“I made it clear that secrets were toxic. And that there could be no more between us,” he continued tersely. “Do you really think I'd make that point and harbor some colossal secret like Rachel Laraby showing up tonight?”

I opened my mouth to retort. To defend myself. But it was indefensible. Shame flooded my face and I couldn't look at him and see myself reflected back. The harsh tone. The snarl. The eyes that held so much hurt because I'd thought he kept this from me.

I tugged my hair with a groan, needing to get the negative energy out somehow. Gather my wits about me so I could explain myself. When I stole a look at him, I knew that whatever anger that I saw was deserved. But there was no anger, just a pained frustration. That was ten times worse.

“It's me and you, Leila,” he said softly, reaching for my hand. He didn't hold it, instead, he traced the outline of my fingers. “You must know that. And as for Rachel, well, I informed her that I had no interest in having anything to do with her and all correspondence since has gone to Natasha.”

I balled my fists in my lap. A worthy target for my anger. I had a feeling that Natasha not only had a head's up about our surprise guest, but also arranged for her to be seated at our table. I could picture Natasha at home with a bowl of popcorn, waiting for the fireworks when Rachel busted back onto the scene.

“I know that look, Leila. And trust me, words will be had with Natasha Monday morning.” His tone hardened along with his glare. “She's a walking, living, breathing TMZ that lives off of gossip and drama. That's who she is. What's your excuse? How can you explain the look you've been giving me since Rachel sat her ass in my seat and ruined our evening? Please tell me how my wife, my partner, could think that after everything we've been through I'd slide back into the cesspool that is Rachel Laraby?”

I knew he wasn't really expecting an answer or an explanation. He wanted an apology. I wasn't too proud to give him one.

I scooted a little closer, wanting to reach out and touch him. Not the gentle, minefield navigating stroking he was sparingly doing, but a full on hug, kiss, or something. Something filled with passion so he could feel just how sorry I was. He was completely right. Part of me being so floored and blindsided was because it didn't add up. The Jacob who kept this from me? That wasn't the Jacob I married. That wasn't the Jacob that came back from Europe, committed to us. He'd even casually mentioned that certain things in our apartment would have to be remodeled because they weren't baby friendly. A man who was thinking about baby proofing didn't sync up with a man who would keep a woman that devoted herself to breaking us up a secret from me.

“Jacob, I'm so sorry.” I covered his hand. Squeezed.

He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on my knuckles. “Not yet, love. But you will be.”

I thought he'd rolled up the partition because he was about to chew me out and didn't want the driver to get an uninhibited front row seat to our conversation. I heard it in his voice and even though the kiss was brief, it sizzled in his touch. Today was quickly becoming Discipline Day and my rear end started aching at the thought of being spanked again. My core? It was on a whole other plane of existence, aching, begging me to push some more buttons so he could push a few of mine and leave me breathless and twitching.

“Don't worry, my plans don't involve spanking,” he assured me with a knowing half smirk. “There are other ways to remind you who's in charge, and who loves you and only you.” The tense lines of his face wavered slightly and he cupped my cheek tenderly. “I would never hurt you that way.” His fingers swept to my chin and he gripped me tight while he consumed my mouth, forcing his tongue against mine, kissing me with so much passion that my head spun.

His mouth hovered above mine, his eyes taking me in intently. Just as I was about to make a quip about how punishment never felt so good, his fingers dropped to my breasts. He didn't caress them. He rounded them with his eyes, then his fingers. He zeroed in on my nipples and squeezed until I swore he was going to wrench them right off.

I grit my teeth, then I couldn't help but squirm. He alleviated an iota of pressure, enough that my whole world wasn't pain, just most of it.

“Don't run from the intensity, Lay,” he said, his voice thick. His eyes like molten lava, churning with lust. “Give in to it. Give in to me and I'll take you where you need to go.”

I had to swallow my snarl, the part of me that wanted to mouth off and tell him that it was easy for him to talk about letting go when his nipples weren't in some sort of death lock. But that was the me that existed outside of this realm. The me that exercised control. That saw the world through a different lens that clashed with the me that found a taboo freedom in exploring this place where pain and pleasure collided in frightening and fascinating ways.

So I gazed at my husband. My Dom. I surrendered to him. To the delicious bite of pain that was threatening to swallow me whole.

I tossed my head back and forth, the pain intensifying as the car hit what felt like a crater in the road and I lifted off the seat. When I came back down my body exploded in pleasure.

Jacob's other hand snaked up my skirt and he found that warm place that belonged to him.

“Jesus, you're wet,” he said huskily, his face in awe. It was moments like that, when I could still surprise him, still take his breath away, where I knew I'd found the person I was meant to be with. Our bodies moved together like we were destined for this. Still lusting. Still falling.

I didn't squirm, giving him command of my body and the nipples were forgotten in favor of his fingers.

Pushing.

Exploring.

Thrusting.

“Jacob,” I whispered hotly, closing my eyes to ride the wave of pleasure. “God, it feels good.”

“Open your eyes, love.” I did and I saw him, just as wild, just as overcome as I was. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

Laws were forgotten; seat belts flying, his belt unbuckling, his thick, veiny cock bulging as he moved to the floor of the limo. He gripped me and vaulted me forward until I hung off the edge, ripe for the taking. I had the perfect view of his cock, laying just at the juncture of my thighs. It disappeared inside me and he let it slide when my eyes closed. My body didn't belong to me anymore. It belonged to the pleasure. It belonged to us. We forget everyone and everything outside of our bodies.

Writhing.

Clawing.

Panting.

I begged for him to let me come and he not only gave me his permission, he demanded that I let go all over his cock and I spiraled into the pleasure.

Not alone.

With him.

Chapter Four

Megan: You know when I said it was understandable if you wanted to cut a bitch? I was just kidding...

I glanced at Megan's text and I couldn't help but smile. Normally, that kind of clarification was unnecessary. With Rachel Laraby in the mix, all bets were off.

I hit the button for the elevator, adjusting my hold on my briefcase, gripping my large white mocha with two extra shots. I had a few more moments to make sure that I was ready. My reflection in the chrome elevator doors looked ready to kick ass and take my names. I wore a black two piece pantsuit that was tailored for my curves. My blouse was a soft blush that matched the pearls in my ears. I stood tall in my heels, not a teeter or stumble in sight. And my hair didn't need to be slicked or tucked or tamed; my bun was in tact and ready to command that room.

I tucked my phone into my bag and kept repeating the words 'you're Leila effin Whitmore', reminding myself that Rachel was the one that came crawling back, realizing that being our client was worth more than her pride.

As I admired my reflection, raising my chin a couple of inches, I realized that my pride was far from in check. I thought I was over the cat and mouse game we played, but I was clearly mistaken. Pantsuit, heels, a tight and slightly uncomfortable bun at the top of my head like I was ready to go into battle instead of take care of a client? That was what would earn me respect from Rachel, pretending like this was something completely void of creativity and spontaneity? I'd let her turn my job int
o
Mission: Impossibl
e
, complete with the tense music playing as the elevator shuttled me to where I'd face off with the villain.

I used the last few floors to yank my hair free from my bun and shake out the locks, along with the nerves that were wreaking havoc despite the show I was putting on. I peeled off my blazer, reminding myself that I had nothing to prove to that woman. I had a job to do.

The doors slid open and my assistant, Jessa Blake, was waiting, with another cup of coffee and a tentative smile. When I took over new client campaigns and got a full team of my own, I'd had an out of body experience when Maria Delacourt asked me if I wanted to sit in on the interviews for my assistant. Once the shock dissipated, I was front row and center and I knew the minute Jessa walked into the room that she would be the perfect assistant. I may have been a little biased because she didn't exactly walk in, she kind of stumbled in, like I had right before the interview that changed my life. While there were other things we had in common besides a propensity for being clumsy as hell, like being overachievers and willing to do whatever it takes to climb that ladder, she was more skittish than she needed to be. Even now she seemed ready to pull out her white blonde hair when she saw that I already had a coffee.

“Mrs. Whitmore, I’m so-”

“No apologizing,” I said gently, but with enough force that she nodded and exhaled. “I’ll trade you.” I handed her my briefcase and double fisted the coffee cups as we headed toward the conference room.

Jenna’s heels matched the beat of her words as she updated me on my schedule for the day. “As you know, the Laraby meeting is up first, then you have Scott Michelson from th
e
Househusband
s
reality TV show at 11, Ms. Diaz wants to sync up re: the movie premiere for Mr. Wallace at 1, then there’s the staff meeting at 3.”

She took a breath as we rounded the corner, slowing her speed when we saw the group huddled around the conference room.

Jessa leaned in, her soft voice carrying. “I just wanted to say that I really admire you working with Ms. Laraby, considering your history.”

I paused, using the moment to squash the flash of annoyance when I saw people used to celebrity clients swarming Rachel like she was the second coming of Christ. They were dazzled by her, the same way audiences were. There was no denying the woman had charisma. They didn’t know that beneath that million dollar smile and flirtatious wink was a manipulative, cruel woman. Even Jessa had only heard the watered down version, where I just summed up that she tried to sabotage both my career and relationship.

“Jessa, there are going to be clients that work your last nerve, clients that may even make things like jail time seem like a worthy price to pay to finally call them on their BS.” I inhaled deep and said the words that I had to keep on loop. “But the job comes first. And I’m going to treat Rachel Laraby like I would any client...with respect.
”
That she didn’t ear
n
. “And keep my cool.
”
Which she definitely didn’t deserv
e
.

I continued my trek toward what was sure to be the longest meeting of my life. The semi circle of admirers parted and Rachel stood in the center, shining in a white shift dress that showed off her legs, yet gave her an ethereal, innocent glow. Her smile said something else entirely. It said, ‘game on’.

We squared off, a hush rippling across the bystanders. Half of the people gathered weren’t familiar, so I doubted they even worked in this department.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Whitmore!” Rachel oozed, giving me a once over that used to make me feel completely out of my element. Today, it was just annoying. “And she brought me a coffee!”

I had a moment of wanting to guzzle them both down, or at least lick the lids, then offer her one with a ear-to-ear grin. Instead, I handed her the one that Jessa gave me. “Enjoy.”

I had many, many more words I wanted to share; words that would be bleeped out if the convo was on broadcast television, but I practiced what I preached. Professionalism-even though I knew Rachel would make me regret my kind gesture.

She took a sip and shuddered. “What is this? Two cups of sugar with a shot of espresso?” She held it out like I’d just handed her a cup of lard. Someone swiped it with an effusive apology and hustled the offensive thing from Rachel’s sight.

“Actually, it was a white chocolate mocha,” Jessa corrected, standing tall beside me. I glanced over at her with a mixture of surprise and pride. There was nothing skittish or cautious about the way she spoke to Rachel. “And it was for Mrs. Whitmore.”

Rachel’s smile chipped as she set her sights on Jessa. “I’m not sure why she would need two cups of coffee, but I think her hips answer that question.” She glowered at my assistant, using the same laser glare that usually reduced everyone else to ash. “And who are you?”

I opened my mouth to tell Rachel to knock it off so we could get to work, but Jessa held her own.

“I’m Jessa Blake, and I’m Mrs. Whitmore’s assistant.” She propped a hand on her hip and glared right back at Rachel like every accolade the actress trumpeted was irrelevant. “Who ar
e
yo
u
?”

Now
,I
was smiling. Rachel lost hers instantly, her mouth twisting with disgust. “You’re clearly new.” She flicked her emerald eyes in my direction. “How adorable. The assistant has become the boss.” There was a glimmer in her eyes that made me wonder if she was about to make a crack about BDSM and contracts, so I just navigated my way into the conference room and left her with her admirers.

I focused on flipping through my objectives for the meeting. Rachel had recently starred in an indie feature that was due out in a month. Her movie resurrection, if you will. The film had performed well with test audiences, a few even commenting that Rachel’s turn as a prostitute who has to take care of the baby she gave up as a teen was sure to earn her an Oscar nomination. But when you Googled ‘Rachel Laraby’, the first hits were headlines that questioned if she’d fallen from grace one too many times to recover. They wondered if she had finally alienated the very people who made her a star in the first place. To say she was in dire need of damage control and an image overhaul was being conservative.

Jessa passed out the team folders and tidied up the refreshment bar before she waited at the door. Her hands were locked in front of her and she twisted them back and forth like she was waiting for me to reprimand her for the words she’d had with Rachel.

I put down my pen and gave her my full attention. “I think that’s all I need for now. I’ll check in after the meeting.”

She stopped worrying, her face brightening. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore.”

“And Jessa?”

She glanced back at me over her shoulder, her pale eyes rounding with fear.

“Thank you.”

She grinned broadly. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Whitmore.”

I settled in my seat, wondering if Rachel was going to make me come out and get her or show me the respect of actually being on time for a meeting that was taking place ten feet from where she stood.

Two minutes to 9AM, Rachel sauntered into the room along with my team. Each flashed me apologetic winces before they took their seats.

Rachel made no apologies, standing at the door like a queen who had just made her grand entrance. She brought a regal hand to her chest like she was about to share something that was of the utmost importance.

“I just want to say that I’m thrilled to be a part of the Whitmore and Creighton family again.”

Like the prodigal daughte
r
, I thought, suppressing my eye roll. When I spoke, my voice filled the room, leaving no doubt who was really in charge. “If you could take a seat Ms. Laraby, we can get started.”

Rachel didn’t seem ready to face the fact that I was running things this go round. She remained at the door like she was waiting for me to beg her pardon. Or a trumpet to herald her arrival. Maybe she thought a red carpet would spontaneously appear so she could shine and glow before the cameras. Without all the lights and fancy dresses, she was just a woman. A woman that clearly had self esteem issues because she spent way too much time trying to knock everyone else down a peg.

This time when I stared at her, it wasn’t as an adversary. She’d come to us. She was a client, and this wa
s
m
y
team. “I”m sure you have a very busy schedule.” I gestured at her seat. “Please have a seat.” I chewed and spit out the ‘please’.

Still holding onto the last echoes of control, she fluttered her fingers through her locks before she made her way to her seat. Her scowl told me that I was right in believing she would give me as little cooperation as possible.

I didn’t take the bait. “If you could open the folder to my ideas on how to re-introduce Ms. Laraby-”

“Re-introduce?” Rachel spat, pushing the folder away with a finger like it was contaminated. “I’m Rachel Laraby. The world knows who I am.”

“I won’t waste your time by kissing your ass, Rachel. I’m not here to get your autograph or to snap a selfie that I’ll cherish forever and ever.” Each moment emboldened me. It had nothing to do with the fact that Rachel was essentially coming to me for help. While there was a part of me that wanted to rub her nose in the fact that she needed me, it was a waste of time and counterproductive. Not to mention that cruel, kicking someone while they’re down thing was her style, not mine. “You are not America’s Sweetheart anymore. You’re on probation. They want to know why they should spend their money on someone that uses that money to get wasted. They want to know why they should bother. You don’t have the market on being gorgeous and talented. That’s a dime a dozen in this industry.”

Rachel’s mouth hung open, like I’d just reached across the table and slapped her. Her expression was one of anger, red faced and wild. But she wasn’t hurling obscenities; she was frozen. Like she couldn’t find the words. I’d take her silence. It wasn’t a debate anyway.

I cleared my throat and got on with it. “Okay, if we can go back to page 3. I’ve already contacted several morning shows-”

“Just who do you think you are?”

I went ahead and closed my folder. I was foolish to think that the no BS approach would work with someone that cloaked themselves in it. “Rachel, I’m just trying to do my job-”

“Is that what this is? Because it seems like you’re humiliating me. Like it’s not enough that you get-” She stopped short of saying what we both knew she was about to say
.
Like it’s not enough that you get Jac
o
b.

Our eyes locked onto each other in that moment, all of our history flashed in an instant. All the negative emotions I’d kept buried and shoved to the side so I could do my job came rushing to the surface.

“You’ve got a whole lot of nerve coming in here and wasting everyone’s time,” I snarled. “I know you’re used to throwing a temper tantrum and getting your way-”

Rachel picked up the folder and hurled it in my direction. It didn’t get very far, dropping back to the table with a plunk, the papers landing on members of my team, the table, and the floor. It was a mess, not unlike the woman that sat frothing at the mouth. I’d never seen her so unhinged. It didn’t make me feel victorious because I got a rise out of her. I pitied her.

“Do you know how many awards I’ve won?” Her voice grew louder with every word. “How many directors still call me up, begging to work with me?”

“I have a feeling it’s not nearly as many as those who wouldn’t dare bring you onto their project with all the drama that comes with the Rachel Laraby experience,” I replied coolly. “Not unlike the drama that’s unfolding right now, when we’re just trying to help you.”