The Billionaire's Deal: The Complete Story: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (14 page)

It's a sweet offer. I nod. "Pink."

Meryl smiles. "A girl after my own heart."

The kitchen timer rings. Meryl presses her hands into the table, but she struggles to stand.

Blake rushes to help her. She shakes her head like she can't stand the fuss.

"I'll get it," Blake says.

He motions to Fiona, another sibling secret. Whatever it is, it works. Fiona excuses herself and they put together dinner in the kitchen.

"Let them fuss," Meryl says. "Tell me, what do you like to do for fun?"

"Typical stuff. Movies, TV, hanging out with my sister."

"What about the stuff that isn't typical?"

I play with the hem of my dress. "I ran cross-country in high school, but I haven't kept up with it."

She looks at her glass wistfully. "Never cared much for running myself."

I nod. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. What about when you want to relax? After a run? You don't strike me as one of those girls who is mostly interested in parties and shopping. Not that I didn't enjoy both in my day."

"I draw." I make eye contact. Confident. I'm about to marry the woman's son. I need to seem like a strong, independent woman. Someone worthy of him. "I've been thinking about art school."

"Excellent. Art school. Yes, that would suit you. You'll have to stay in the dorms and drive Blake mad forcing him to visit."

"That would get him out of the office."

She smiles, but it's not the same as before. She doesn't quite have her strength.

Blake and Fiona finish setting the table. They bring in dinner on thick ceramic plates. It's homemade, a pot roast and side salads dressed with a dark vinaigrette.

"Thank you," I say to no one in particular. No telling who made the homemade dinner.

I take Blake's lead when everyone starts eating. There are a few rounds of
thank you
and
this tastes great.

Meryl picks at her salad, not really eating. Fiona stares at her food like it bores her. I wouldn't have much of an appetite if I was in the middle of a divorce.

She turns her attention to me. "Can I see the ring?"

"Oh. Sure." I place my hand over the table like I'm modeling the enormous rock. "It's beautiful."

"Tiffany's?" Fiona asks.

Blake shoots her a
shut up
look.

"It looks expensive." She glances at her smaller but still impressive wedding ring.

"Don't be tacky," Meryl says.

"I'm admiring my future sister-in-law's jewelry." Fiona huffs. She squeezes her hands together like she's trying to stay calm. "Am I not allowed an interest in jewelry either?"

"What did I ever do to raise two children who care so much about status?" Meryl shakes her head. "What the hell are you going to do when I'm not here? You'll drown yourselves in your fucking money."

"Mom, that's not true," Fiona says.

Meryl pushes her plate aside. "Excuse me. I need some air."

Blake makes a move to follow her.

"Sit down. I'm fine. My only problem is the two of you. Finish your dinner, and clean up after yourselves. I know you both have people who do that for you at home." Her eyes turn down. The energy drains from her expression. "Have dessert and coffee without me."

"Mom." Fiona's voice breaks into a whine. "It's cold out."

"I grew up here. This is nothing. Please, let your poor mother have a chance to be alone." She grabs her coat off the rack and walks up the stairs.

For once, I can perfectly read the look on Blake's face. He's terrified. Every strained step, he winces. Meryl does seem awfully weak. His anxiety doesn't lessen until his mother is all the way up the stairs.

A bedroom door opens and slams shut.

"There's a balcony in the master bedroom," Blake explains. 

"We can't let her sulk," Fiona says.

"She made her wishes clear."

We finish dinner in silence.

***

Fiona excuses herself the second she's finished eating. She sulks on the balcony, speaking into her cell phone with hushed tones. Her divorce lawyer, probably.

It's just Blake and me. Alone. Again. He clears the table. Perfect son. Perfect gentleman. Truth or lie, I don't know. Maybe manners really mean this much to him.

He returns with two fresh drinks. I nurse mine. Invigorate me. Please, invigorate me. At the very least, ease me into a state of calm. My family wasn't perfect. We fought sometimes, called names sometimes, but it was never this cold.

Blake slides his arm around my waist. He pulls me into a tight hug. His lips hover over my ear. "You're tense."

"I'm fine."

His breath is warm. "I'll get your mind off it."

"Not at your mom's house."

He pulls back. Takes a long sip of his whiskey. His eyes pass over me, slowly picking me apart, finding any hint of weakness.

Blake offers his hands. "Come here."

I squeeze his fingers. Warm. Comforting, too. Nothing wrong with taking comfort in a little touch. I can find him comforting and understand the nature of our relationship.

He leads me to the den. It's a cozy room with a TV, a couch, and a little table. He points to the table, an instruction to sit. I do. He digs through the shelf and pulls out a box. Chess.

"I haven't played since grade school," I say.

"The rules are easy." He sits and arranges the pieces on the black and white board.

"I haven't got a chance against you."

"I'll take a handicap."

"Is that right?" I ask.

A tiny smile creeps onto his lips. "The simplest and most severe is removing the queen." He picks up the black queen and sets it on the table.

"Why is it the most severe?"

"The queen is the best piece on the board. It can move in any direction, any number of spaces."

"And to win I have to murder your king, right?"

A laugh. Oh, God, he's actually laughing. It's the best thing I've ever seen. I clear my throat. So. Not. Going. There.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

"It's called checkmate. Or check."

"It's regicide, plain and simple, buddy. Don't sugar coat it."

Blake smiles. Amused, I guess. He explains all the movement rules. Bishops are on the diagonal, Pawns go forward one, attack sideways. Knights are some weird 3:2 angle and they jump. Rooks are horizontal. The queen can move in any direction, any number of spaces. And the utterly useless king can only move one space in any direction.

"That's bullshit," I say.

Another laugh. My heart races. Way. Too. Fast. That flutter returns to my body. Blake never laughs. He's laughing at me, with me. I shouldn't feel so fond of the sound. If I'm going to fall for a sound, it should be him moaning. That's what our relationship is about—sex, lies, and sex."

"Why is that?" His voice is light. Easy.

"The queen has all the power. She's a total badass. Why is this stupid game based around protecting a king who is hiding behind all his minions?"

"Think of him as a figurehead. And the queen as the one pulling strings behind the scenes."

"Yeah, I'll consider that." I look at the board. I'm white, the player who goes first. A pretty big advantage, apparently, but nothing compared to losing a queen. "Is that your attitude towards powerful women—you throw them away?"

He stares at me. All serious now. "I'm not going to throw you away."

"I'm not powerful."

"You are."

"You're right. I have a great power to deceive people. But you have that, too."

He slides out of his seat and kneels in front of me. His fingertips graze my thigh, right under my dress. "You're capable of so much."

My heart does a backflip. "Like what?"

"You're captivating."

He slides his hand up my inner thigh. My eyes close instinctively. Want flutters through my body. I tug at my dress. My legs part. Captivating. I like the sound of that.

Blake leans closer. His lips connect with mine. A hungry kiss. His tongue claims my mouth as his. His hand slides over my panties. Wow. Wow. Wow. I'm wet already. I need him touching me. Even if this is the most inopportune place.

He kisses me harder. His palm is flat against me. Damn fabric in the way again.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Fiona shrieks.

Blake shifts back into his seat. He holds quite the stare of intimidation, considering the circumstance.

Her eyes are red. No doubt about it—she's been crying.

She moves to the kitchen. Returns with a bottle of red wine. "If you insist, take it to your fucking limo."

Blake motions to me
one minute
. "Get another glass."

"Not now."

"Now."

I slide out of my seat. "I should get some air."

Fiona sniffles. She speaks to Blake like I'm not here. "I'm not discussing this."

"Will Meryl mind if I ask to join her on the balcony?" It's the perfect excuse to check on her. Ease the tightness in my chest a little.

"Knock first," Blake says.

Fiona drops into one of the chairs. She pulls the cork from the wine and pours herself a glass. "Get your own."

He brushes against me on the way to the kitchen. Says nothing. Okay. It's family time. I'm not invited. Not like I want to talk Fiona through her relationship troubles. Not like I'd be capable of the task.

The stairs creek with every step. I knock on the only closed door. "Meryl. It's Kat. I'm looking to get some air, and Blake is preoccupied downstairs."

Footsteps and the door opens. Meryl smiles. No strain on her face. No signs of her outburst at all. She motions
come in
. I do. Her bedroom is clean but not freakishly so. Nothing like Blake's place.

I follow her onto the balcony. It's cozy. We can see into the backyard. A wide lawn and flowers. A few are starting to bloom.

She leans against the wooden railing and looks out at the stars. "How old are you, dear?"

"Twenty-one."

"A baby. Your whole life is ahead of you." She sighs. Wistful. "If you do marry Blake... you can't give up on what you want out of life. No matter how easy it would be bask in luxury."

My mouth is sticky. It's the kind of talk mothers have with their daughters. I never got the chance. "I won't."

"I'm sorry about before. My kids mean well, but, quite frankly, they're idiots."

I laugh.

"Really. Fiona and that awful stockbroker. He's such an ass. Just like her father. Well, not quite. Thank God."

The guy must have been awful for all I've heard about him. I replay Blake's story from earlier today. His father hit him. But he said it so casually. Like it was no big deal. An accident. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a regular thing.

Was Blake's father abusive? I do a quick scan of Meryl for scars, but there's nothing I can see. She's in a heavy coat, long pants, boots. It would have to be obvious, and I'm not trained for this kind of thing.

"Is art school what you really want?" she asks.

"I don't know. The last few years, the only thing I wanted was for my sister to be okay. I haven't had the energy to think about the future."

"Is she ill?"

"No. She has a back injury, but it's not serious anymore." I run my fingers over the railing. "My parents died in a car accident three years ago. She was in the backseat. Critical condition for a while, but she survived."

"Is she in school?"

"High school senior. She's going to NYU next year." I beam. It's like a light goes on inside me. Lizzy is going to be great. I'm so damn proud of her.

Meryl picks up her wine glass and stares at it. "You must have grown up fast."

"I did what I had to do for my family."

She turns her attention to me. Studying me the way Blake does. "Any art schools in mind?"

"Not a clue."

"Make me a promise, dear."

Breath comes only with great effort. Promises are not my strong suit. "Okay."

Her expression hardens. "Whatever happens between you and Blake, promise you'll go to school."

I look up at the moon. My heart speeds. This is such a strange mix of truth and lies. I can't add to my deception. Whatever I tell Meryl now, I have to mean it. Am I going to school? It's a new idea, but I like it. Four years to focus on what I want, to find my style, to find myself. It's the perfect way to spend some of the money I'll get in the divorce.

Listen to me. Divorce. Talk about growing up fast.

I make eye contact with Meryl. "I promise."

She smiles, softening. "You two don't have to get married on my account."

"We're not."

"He told you. I can tell. After my outburst or before?"

I bite my lip. Suddenly aware I'm not in a jacket. It wasn't this cold two hours ago. I'm sure of it. "Before."

"Don't rush on my account."

"That's not it. It's just... I want to do it now, before my sister leaves for school."

"Before she's all the way uptown?"

I laugh. "She'll be busy. And I want to do this now." Passionate, whirlwind romance. That's the story. I conjure up the image of something that makes my heart flutter, but the only thing that comes to mind is Blake. Damn. "I really want to be with him. I don't want to wait for anything."

She studies me. "I'm sure you have the best intentions, love him even. But that kind of fire in your loins—and I see the way he looks at you like he's undressing you—that never lasts."

"That's your son."

"Men. They're all the same. Always thinking with the head between their legs." She finishes her drink and sets it on the railing. Then all her attention is on me. "He's handsome and rich. That can cloud things. Make you believe you're in love." She leans in. "But dear, all the money in the world isn't worth a loveless marriage. Trust me on that. True love is priceless."

My heart stops. Okay, it doesn't quite stop, but it feels like it smacked into a wall. Meryl is looking at me like she has truth vision. It's like she can see every lie I ever told. I take a step towards the door. This is too much examination.

"Excuse me," I say. "I could go for some dessert. Would you like to join me?"

"I'm afraid not. But help yourself. There's coffee and tea in the pantry. Even some of that almond milk everyone is drinking now."