The Billionaire's Promise (BDSM Erotic Romance) (His Submissive, Part Eight) (6 page)

"It's got character!"

"Not the word I'd use."

The hostess spun to
face us and when she saw Jacob, her whole demeanor changed from her usual clipped, ‘I’ve got much better things to do’ attitude. “How may I help
you
?”

So apparently she was capable of acknowledging a person’s existence--if that person was male, gorgeous, and significantly overdressed for the cantina fare Lucy’s served.

I ignored the slight and scanned the room until I saw Megan. “Our friend already got us a table.” I breezed past the pouting woman, Jacob at my side and completely oblivious to the fact that he was drawing every female eye in the place.

“Friend?” Jacob repeat
ed, his deep voice edged with wariness. “You didn’t tell me someone would be joining us.”

“She’s very important to me, Jacob--and this meeting is long overdue.”

Whispers hissed around us as the diners realized Jacob wasn’t just a sexy guy in a suit and tie. Megan looked up from the menu, her olive eyes registering us before she gave a wave. Cameras were already flashing by the time I made it to the table and leaned in to hug her before beginning the introductions.

“Megan, this is Jacob.”

She held out her hand, regarding him slowly before quirking her lips into a smile. “I was starting think I wouldn’t meet you until you two walked down the aisle.”

Jacob gave her a hand a hearty shake and from the smile teasing his
lips, I could already tell he liked her. “And what if we decided to elope?”

She didn’t blink. “I would have met you when I boarded your fancy jet on the way to some exotic locale. Leila and I have been plannin
g our fictional weddings since freshman year and while our themes and grooms have changed, we’re always standing by each other’s side.”

Jacob glanced at me, his eyes warm. “Leila’s lucky to have you.”

“I am,” I said, still blushing furiously at the shout-out to PJ clad nights with some Lifetime movie on in the background and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s between us as we talked about how lavish our dream weddings would be. “So we should probably order drinks--”

“I’d love to hear
more about Leila’s dream wedding,” Jacob interjected. “For research purposes.”

I tried to send Megan a silent plea, but she ignored it, tilting her head and drumming her fingertips o
n her chin, lost in thought. “She had a couple of mainstays--married at the beach and married in the country.”

Jacob’ hand found my thigh beneath the table and he stroked the inner seam, making me tingle around his touch. “Beach, huh?” The way his voice strummed the words, I could almost imagine myself on some private oasis, sand beneath my feet as the sea
breeze whipped my dress around me. The sultry heat would glisten on my warm skin as I made my way to him, standing beneath the stars. But that was the only appealing part of my hypothetical ceremony. The rest was the teeth-rottingly sweet musings of a girl who watched way too many romantic movies.

“Ti
ki torches,” Megan continued, recounting my beach fantasy. “A crapton of them, lining the aisle. And the rose petals would decorate the runner and flutter across her massive train--”

“A train?” Jacob said with a look of surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed Leila was a tr
ain kind of bride.”

“That’s because I’m not!” I said
, my cheeks red-hot with embarrassment.

“News to me,” Megan said playfully
, not letting up. “I seemed to remember that was on your must list. Along with a peony tiara and a full veil made of French silk tulle. And no ‘Here comes The Bride’ for Lay,” she added, shaking her head firmly. “She wants a ukulele to pluck out Etta James.”

I’ve never been so happy to see a waiter in all my life. We ordered a round of
drinks and a sampler appetizer, giving me a small reprieve from the walk down Memory Lane.

“So how’s sc
hool been so far this week?” I asked as soon as the waiter turned on his heel and headed to put in our order.

Megan threw me a bone, smiling briefl
y before she followed the detour of the conversation. “School’s great. I got to dust off my Schoolhouse Rock videos and the kids love them.”

Jacob opened his
mouth just as lights from the cameras erupted around us. Even though he’d been smiling and joking with Megan, I could tell he was getting agitated. The restaurants he was accustomed to valued their customer’s privacy and had policies in place to keep the paparazzi and would-be photographers at bay. When the chatter hit a fever pitch, the camera flashes like strobe lights, he whipped his head to the left.

“You gotta be shitting me.”

Me and Megan turned too, surprised by his outburst. While there were some patrons looking in our direction, most of the cameras were trained on the entrance. Rachel was standing at the front, posing for a picture with the hostess. When the camera flashed, she scanned the room, stopping when she saw us, painting on a big smile and waving.

She absolutely, positively wouldn’t. She
couldn’t
.

“Please tell me that isn’t who I think it is,” Megan said slowly.

I couldn't even respond. Not that I needed to. We all knew exactly who it was and why she was gracing us with her presence.

She walked through the restaurant, her fire engine red dress dancing like flames around her. She smiled and waved
like she was on a parade float. Center of attention. All eyes on the Queen.

Wh
en she stepped up to our table, bright eyed and bushy tailed, Jacob didn’t bother with niceties.

“You need to leave, Rachel.”

Her glittering facade didn’t even dim. “Leave? But I just got here.”

Completely ignoring the awkward s
ilence, our waiter hustled over, bringing Rachel a chair with cartoon hearts in his eyes. “If you need anything, anything at all...”

“Gracias,” she drawled, giving him a wink that almost made him faint on the spot.

Rachel picked up a menu from the middle of the table, gingerly tipping it open. “I hope it’s okay that I joined you--”

“I think you know damn well it’s not ok
ay,” Jacob seethed. “Walk away, Rachel.”

She flipped her hair, giving him a lusty look that made me want t
o punch her in the face. “Jakey, we probably shouldn’t air our dirty laundry right now. Not with all these people around to recount every detail to god knows who.”

I hated to admit it,
but she was right. As much as I wanted to drag her out by her hair, it wouldn’t do Whitmore and Creighton any favors.

I found his eyes and mouth
ed ‘we can do this’. He didn’t seem a hundred percent sure of that, but he did relax slightly. But seeing Rachel sitting there, all but whistling with glee that she’d ruined our dinner, I had to draw a breath and take my own advice.

Megan and I made eye contact and I opened my mouth to
say something but decided against it, not wanting another argument. I was so damn tired of expending energy in the Rachel Laraby department.

Megan had no problem picking up the slack.

“Just who do you think you are?” she said, twisting her mouth in disgust.

“I’m Rachel,” she answered simply. She closed the menu and peered at my friend. “I don’t think we’ve me
t.” She leaned out and fingered two strands of Megan’s hair. “Your hair is
gorgeous
.”

Megan wasn’t wooed, sweeping her
hair to the other shoulder and out of Rachel’s grasp. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we don’t want you here. Why don’t you stop embarrassing yourself and go away?”

“
Embarrassing myself?” Rachel snorted.

“That’s right. You and Jacob were together. Now you’re not. Get over it.”

“Straight to the point.” Her smile widened like she was impressed. “Like our Leila here, with a bit more bite.” She tilted her chin in Jacob’s direction. “New assistant? I know Jacob Whitmore couldn’t possibly marry his secretary.  Or is Leila trying to spice things up?” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Between me and you, I always got a very...colorful vibe from her. Caught her checking me out more than once.” She let out an airy chuckle. “But honestly, look at me. Who wouldn’t?”

Megan fell back against the booth
, her eyebrows arched in disbelief. “I thought Leila was exaggerating, but you are one crazy bitch.”

I could see the table a few feet away was staring and a couple of the diners mouthed the word ‘bitch’. I needed to keep this under control or we’d all end up in the gossip column.

I cleared my throat. “She’s my best friend, Rachel. Megan.”

Megan shot me a venomous loo
k and I tried to send one right back that said, ‘not here’.”

“Aww best friends,” Rachel cooed, looking back and forth at us like we were six years old. “That is so adorable.”

“What are you doing here?” Jacob bit off impatiently.

“I was doing a little shopping down on 55th when my assistant told me that he had a juicy tip. Apparently Jacob Whitmore was at some taco place on 30th.”

And she dropped everything to come and stir up drama? Lucky us.

“I was in the
mood for something festive, so I decided I’d surprise yall.”

“How thoughtful,” I said through clenched teeth.

“That’s what I thought,” she winked. “I’m just hoping it was a pleasant surprise.”

About as
pleasant as a mouth full of nails.

The waiter came back and Rachel ordered a dish so full of substitutions that she was better off creating her own menu item, recipe and all.

The rest of us picked at our appetizer and downed our drinks, hoping our lack of entree would inspire her to go away and if not, we’d be so buzzed that we didn’t care.

Rachel grinned around her straw before taking a hearty sip. “Thanks so much for having me
, guys. What are we up to after dinner?”

“That’s it.
” Megan shook her head vigorously, her locks singeing the air as she swished it back and forth. “I’m not gonna sit here and act like this isn’t bizarre. And I’m certainly not gonna play nice with the psycho woman that’s intent on ruining you, Leila.”

“Megan--”

“I get it. Appearances. You are clearly better at it than me and I can’t do it.”

Jacob pulled out his
wallet and dropped a hundred and slid out behind her without another word. I moved out to join the procession, but Rachel shot out her leg, blocking me in.

“You think this is over?
That Alicia Whitmore is all I have up my sleeve?” Her face was hot with animosity. “You think I’ll let you have him?”

I leaned in. “It’s been over. Now move your leg.”

“I’m going to be your shadow. Wherever you go, I go.” She gave me a withering glare. “Watch your back.”

I
vaulted from the booth, almost wishing she hadn’t moved so I could plow through her.  Flashes followed us out the door and we parted ways with Megan, promising that our next dinner would be drama free.

“I had fun until she walked in
,” Jacob sighed heavily, opening the car door.

“Me too,”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at me strangely. “Why are you apologizing?”

I reached out and closed the door. I was apologizing because I knew Rachel would never apologize for what she’d done. And I had a sinking feeling she was just getting started. Rachel was a lost cause—but I could still fix things with his mother.

It was no secret that Jacob thought I was wasting time trying to talk it out with his mother. When she pulled open the door and looked at me like I was walking plague, I almost tucked tail and ran. There was a part of me that told me no good would come from it. I’d open up and try and explain why her proposition hurt and she’d answer with a shrug and a resounding ‘so’. Or worse--she’d call security.

Her eyes took me in with disdain. “I’m assuming you don’t moonlight as a maid,” she said. “Though it that get up...”

I didn’t get offended. I was sure she had much worse up her sleeve. “No, I’m not the maid.”

“Then why did you come here?
” she frowned. “Did Jacob send you?”

“No,” I replied. “I
n fact, he told me coming here would be pointless.”

“And still you came.” It wasn’t surprise or admiration at my pluck--it was something else. Almost like...curiosity. Still, she wasn’t putting out the welcome mat. “Tell me why I should let you in and not call down to the front desk. I mean, my son pays well, but not well enough for you to be in this building without a nametag and janitor’s cart.”

She was right. I’d been speechless when I stepped into Jacob’s building downtown for the first time, but after I’d convinced the doorman I had business at the Clinton Hotel and stepped inside, I’d almost reached for my wallet, sure I’d have to pay something just for breathing the  air. With towering marble columns and what I was sure was original framed artwork and sculptures, the place exuded old money. I’d stuck out like a sore thumb and caught the attention of the manager immediately. He’d breezed over, a tight ‘what the hell are you doing here’ smile plastered on his face. He was geared up and ready to kick me out before I tainted the place until I told him I was a nanny, there to interview with Alicia Whitmore. He obviously only heard the ‘help’ part and zoned out the rest because anyone that met the woman knew she didn’t do children.