The Billionaire's Forbidden Desire (7 page)

Betsy sighed. “Well, what about Chad? He has his own place.”

“He’s gone. He can’t stay with me if I can’t pay him.”

Betsy tsked. “Disloyal of him. Won’t Libby—?”

“No!” How was she going to tell her best friend about what had happened? “She’s out of—”

“Then try Salazar.”

“Who?”

“Salazar Pryce. He’s related, but only distantly. He’s your uncle Julian’s in-law, and lives in L.A. Not far from Seattle, really. He has a reputation for being kind to women.”

Now she remembered. “Are you kidding? Geraldine’s brother? You stole her husband!”

“I did no such thing.”

“But from their point of view, you did. Salazar would never help me.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, sweetie, and you’re mistaken. He
will
help you—he owes us.”

Sophia’s jaw dropped. Her mother had always had a wacky way of looking at the world, but this was too much. That man didn’t owe them anything!

“No matter what, you’re still my daughter and I love you. I’m hanging up now, but I’ll call him and arrange things, all right? And I’ll text you his address. You have enough cash to get out there, don’t you? If not, use the credit card before the vultures cut it off.”

“
Mom!
”

It was already too late. Her mother had hung up.

PART II

THE PRESENT

–
The Pryce mansion

Standing in the middle of the study, Dane looked dispassionately at his father.
How the mighty have fallen
…

It wasn’t even ten in the morning, but Salazar Pryce was already semi-drunk. At least he had the taste to get plastered on good booze, but still, the study stank, and the custom-tailored Italian shirt on Salazar had lost all its starchy crispness. Dane wouldn’t be surprised if his father hadn’t touched a razor…or soap…in the last four days or so.

“What do you want, Dane?” Salazar’s words were slurred. Sloppy.

“Stop moping,” Dane said coldly. “This isn’t like you.”

“I’m not moping. What do you know about what I’m like?” Salazar poured more scotch. “Want some?”

“No.”

“Then get out. I don’t want to hear your whining.”

“I do not whine,” Dane said, his diction sharp enough to draw blood. “Your lawyer called.”

“What the hell for?”

“If you’d answer your phone, you’d know.” He tossed an envelope on the desk. “Sign. It’s the divorce papers.”

Salazar’s knuckles turned white.

“Need a pen?” Dane asked, ignoring his father’s reaction.

“I don’t need a fucking pen,” Salazar snarled.

“She only wants fifty million, the same amount you’ve given every one of us, including your by-blow.”

“Blaine is your
brother
.”

Dane smiled slightly. “Doesn’t change the fact.”

“She doesn’t deserve it,” Salazar mumbled. “It’s not in the prenup.”

His parents and their damn prenup. “
I
’ll pay her then. Just sign it.”

Salazar threw his glass. Dane didn’t even flinch. The intricately designed crystal sailed by his head, missing him by a couple of inches at the most, and shattered against the wall. “
Shut the hell up!
”

“If you don’t want to sign it, then fight. She’s out there, happy, carefree…and look at you.” Dane curled his lip. “Go screw a pretty young thing or two. They’re a dime a dozen in the city. That’ll cheer you up. It always did.”

“How dare you.” Salazar’s face turned bloodless. His cheeks quivered slightly as he glared at his oldest.

The sight of Salazar being laid so low tightened Dane’s chest, but he couldn’t deny it also tasted like the finest champagne. If Dane had been a better man, he would’ve walked away at this point, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Upset that you can’t use your pawns anymore?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“I know we’ve just been minor pieces in your sick game with Mom.” Dane tilted his head. “But now your pawns are all grown up, and the other side doesn’t want to play anymore. What are you going to do to continue the game?”

Salazar’s mouth parted, his eyes wide.

Dane almost laughed at his father’s utter shock. Did he think Dane was too dumb to figure it out? He’d known it since forever… since the time Ceinlys had put the best clothes on him so he’d “look good for Daddy,” and Salazar had smiled down at him as his gaze slid away from Dane’s and crashed into hers.

“Don’t make me come out here again,” Dane said. “And clean yourself up for Mark’s wedding. You don’t want to embarrass yourself, do you?”

Then he turned, his movements precise, and left his father spluttering.

* * *

The tune from
Danse macabre
by Saint-Saëns blaring from her earphones, Sophia dragged her lone suitcase up the winding road to the Pryce mansion. Her apricot-colored toy poodle Roco trotted in front of her, tail wagging in delight at finally being off the bus. Sweat beaded on her hairline, and her hip and knees hurt from walking the long distance. But she gritted her teeth and kept on moving.

Thankfully the gardener had seen her at the gates and let her through when she’d said she was there to see Mr. Pryce. She’d always hated the fact that she was small and younger-looking than her age, but right now, she was grateful those two attributes had gotten her past the first hurdle in seeing Salazar Pryce.

He had to at least hear her out.

Finally. She reached the door and rang the bell once. She pulled out the earphones with sweat-dampened hands, then swallowed a curse as she almost dropped them before shoving them into her purse.

Desperation and foreboding curdled in her belly like old milk. Despite Betsy’s reassurance via text that Salazar would help, Sophia was fairly certain she’d wasted her last fifty bucks on the bus trip to L.A. She didn’t know the man, and he wasn’t close to her family. He hadn’t even bothered to come to her father’s funeral. Not surprising since her mother had wrecked his sister Geraldine’s marriage.

If Sophia had any other choice, she wouldn’t be here. But she couldn’t go back to Seattle and risk running into George again. In retrospect, she should’ve called the cops even if he was her best friend’s older brother, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly. And now it was probably too late to call and file a formal complaint.

Besides, what would the police do except talk to George? There had been no witnesses, no real physical evidence, other than the injuries she’d inflicted. It would be his word against hers, and he had expensive lawyers, while she probably couldn’t get anyone to return a call.

And she knew how the game would be played. She’d seen how every innocent thing she’d said was scrutinized and blown out of proportion by fans and the media during her competitive years. She’d accepted it as the price of success, but this was different. If she called the cops, George’s lawyers would smear her with a whole new level of aggression. They would be getting
paid
to rip her apart.

It was probably better for her just to stay away from Seattle. She doubted he’d call the cops on her for hitting him since that’d only make them ask
why
she’d done it.

Her only regret was that she’d lost her best friend. She had no idea how to tell Libby the truth, and didn’t want to imagine how she’d react if she knew. Nobody wanted to believe they had a monster in the family.

Sophia inhaled, breathing deeply. She was a fighter—she always got back up. She could survive this, just as she’d survived the death of her dreams. She could survive anything.

Biting her lower lip, she looked around while waiting for someone to answer the door. The mansion was absolutely stunning and so much bigger than any of the giant houses her father had owned. The classic architecture and landscape complete with an aged bronze fountain and perfectly groomed topiaries hinted at old money. The late afternoon sun tinted everything golden, making the place look almost magical, like a castle from a fairy tale.

The only question was… Did it hide a savior or a beast?

The door opened finally, revealing an elderly man in a crisp suit. Rail thin, he had an oddly stiff way of standing, all his joints set at tight angles.

Just be aware that he’s too good-looking and charming for his own good
.

Her mother’s texted advice came back to Sophia, and she squinted a bit. Betsy could be accused of a lot of things, but having low standards wasn’t one of them. Not that the man in front of her was ugly or anything, but he was extremely…average.

He looked at Roco, gamboling around her feet, then at her. She couldn’t read anything in his placid face. “Yes?”

She swallowed. “Mr. Pryce?”

The man’s forehead creased. “Mr. Pryce…?”

“Mr. Salazar Pryce.”

“He’s not receiving any visitors.”

She blinked. “You aren’t…?”

“I’m the butler.”

Oh wow. She’d never seen a butler in real life. “I’m Sophia Reed. Could you just ask if he’d see me please? My mom, Betsy Reed, called yesterday.” Or at least that was what she had promised to do.

The man ran his gaze over her from head to toe. She knew she looked presentable in her favorite white blouse and gray pencil skirt paired with pink ballet flats; she’d checked after she’d gotten off the bus.

She straightened to ensure she looked as tall as possible. She was barely five four, the perfect candidate for a little help from the shoes department. But heels hurt her hip too much.

“Please wait a moment,” the man said and disappeared.

She let out a soft breath. She needed to project the proper confidence. Nobody wanted to be around the downtrodden.

The butler reappeared. “This way, miss.”

She started to drag her suitcase along, but he waved a hand. “Leave it in the foyer, please. I’ll have it looked after.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You needn’t be so formal, miss. Call me Al. Regrettably, your dog should remain here. Animals aren’t allowed in the study.”

“Sorry, boy,” she whispered at Roco, leashing him to the suitcase. She didn’t like leaving him behind—it felt like he was the only one she had left—but she had no choice if she wanted a roof over their heads.

Al led her up the winding stairs, his head held high. She followed him, doing her best not to wince or drag her feet as her hip and knees ached. They only bothered her when she overdid it, and the hike from the bus stop had definitely done that.

The inside of the Pryce mansion was just as stunning as the outside with gorgeous portraits—done with actual paint—on the paper-covered walls. Everything was gleaming marble, hardwood and plushy rugs. Chandeliers dripped with fat crystals hung from the ceiling, and Sophia couldn’t help but admire the beautiful home. The display of wealth should’ve been gaudy, but there was just enough restraint to keep it classy somehow.

Al stopped in the middle of the hall and opened a door to his right. “Miss Sophia Reed, sir.”

“Thanks, Al,” came a soft voice.

She went inside; the door closed with a loud click behind her. Al had disappeared, leaving her alone with Salazar Pryce.

His dark hair was slicked back, damp from a recent shower. Silver streaked his temples, and he watched her with polite curiosity.

Her mother hadn’t exaggerated at all. He had to be at least sixty, but he was still extremely handsome. His skin was even and smooth except for some small lines around his eyes and mouth, and his blue gaze was steady and sharp.

Something about his appearance tickled her memory. He seemed familiar somehow, but she had to be imagining things. She’d never met him before.

He adjusted his starch-stiffened collar and flashed her a quick grin. “Sophia Reed, huh? Nice to finally meet you in person. How are you?”

“Good, thanks.”

“Please, sit down.” He waved at an empty chair.

She sat with her knees pressed together. This was it.

“What can I do for you?”

“Um, well…” Her cheeks grew hot, and she found that she didn’t know how to broach the subject. How much had Betsy told him?

He laughed. “Shall I help you out? I’m sure Rick could’ve left his estate in better financial health. Is that why you’re here?”

She parted her mouth, then shut it. What was there to say?

“Have I embarrassed you, dear? If so, I apologize.” He spread his hands. “But why else would a distant relative—are we even considered relatives?—show up on my doorstep a few months after her father’s death?”

If only the ground would open up and swallow her whole… “Didn’t my mom call?”

“She might have. But I haven’t been answering any calls for the last several days.”

She cringed. Most likely he was just trying to be kind, and her mother as usual had forgotten. Sophia had never been a priority for Betsy. “I’m sorry, but… I need some help getting back on my feet.”

“Help, huh?” Salazar rested his chin on one hand. “Are you here to proposition me?”

The question sucker punched her, leaving her gaping at him. Finally she said, “
Excuse me?
”

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question. A lot of women have tried…” he gave her a gleaming, good-humored smile, “…most of them not as pretty as you.”

She clenched her hands as humiliation coursed through her. She should’ve known better than to listen to her mother’s advice. Hoping Salazar wouldn’t try to force himself on her with his butler in the house, she got up stiffly. “Sorry for wasting both of our time. I’m not at all interested.”

He waved her back into the chair. “Sit down, for christssake. I’m not going to grab you. Jeez. I do have some standards, and I never had anything against your father. He’s not the one who hurt my sister.” He gestured at the chair again. “Please.” He waited until she perched gingerly back on the edge of her seat. “Of course I’ll help. After all, you’re family. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

She studied him, looking for any clues of sarcasm or insincerity. The talk of “family” rang hollow when he hadn’t bothered to come to her father’s funeral. On the other hand, he had offered to help. “Thank you.”

“Least I can do. You have a place to stay in the city?”