The Billionaire's Trust (His Submissive, Part Eleven) (7 page)

I didn’t buy it.

She sniffed, picking up her shades
and pulling them back on with angry, jerky motions. “You don’t have
to trust me. You just have to know that when I set my mind to do
something, it gets done.”

I let out a snort, finding the
clock. 11AM and the last thing in the world I wanted or needed to
be doing was arguing with Rachel Laraby. “If you want to pretend
like you’re some caring philanthropist over night, knock yourself.
Leave me out of it.”

“But you’re already involved,” she
said, rising slowly. “You were involved the moment he chose
you
.”

I went rigid. I should have known it
would somehow circle back to this. I was still a little confused as
to how she figured setting up a fake organization would lead to
Jacob realizing our relationship was a mistake and rushing into her
arms.

“This should be good,” I scowled,
knowing the smart thing would be to walk away from the craziness
but genuinely curious to see what was going on in her
head.

“I sat down and tried to figure out
what it is, what he could possibly see in you that he wouldn’t have
in me in spades.” She pulled her clutch beneath her arm. “It
couldn’t be your looks. You’re not that funny. So it had to be your
Anne Frank-like optimism and niceness and all that
bullcrap.”

I let out a laugh that really made
everyone in the room lock their attention on us. When she popped
her shades on top of her head to glare at me I had to clap a hand
over my mouth to keep from guffawing.

“You are completely--”

Her eyes shot away from me and her
mouth fell open. When everything else seemed to go completely
silent, I turned around, smiling when I saw Jacob at the door, then
feeling my heart drop when I saw the hurt coursing across his
face.

Rachel moved toward him before I
could react. “Jacob it’s so good to--”

“Leila.” One word and I knew
something happened.

Rachel disappeared and it was just
us. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my mother.” His voice was
raw, every vocal chord, every emotion exposed. “She’s in the
hospital.”

****

If there was ever any question as to
whether Jacob loved his mother, it was put to rest when we
screeched from the Whitmore and Creighton parking
garage.

Under normal circumstances, I would
curtly remind him that  no matter how many zeroes on the price
tag or bells and whistles under the hood, all cars looked the same
wrapped around a pole, but I just clutched my seatbelt in silence.
That kind of comment usually garnered a raised eyebrow and a
comment like, ‘You know this is a Maserati, right?’. I had no idea
what my answer would be today because I'd never seen him this way.
The mask usually shielded his truth away; time and love gave me the
ability to see past it most times but in general, I only saw what
Jacob wanted me to see, just like everyone else.

As we shot over several lanes to a
chorus of honks and Jacob letting out a hail of expletives, my
stomach knotted like someone took my insides and twisted them like
a rag. There was no mask. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotion,
each one more chilling than the last. I saw the snarl of anger and
went through the list of possible suspects. Traffic? It didn't
matter that it was an inanimate thing; his chokehold on the
steering wheel and the string of profanity that would make a
raunchy comedian blush told me that didn't matter.

Was he mad at his mother? That would
be understandable. After all the woman put him through, the way she
controlled him even after all this time was maddening. I bit my
lip, watching the vein in his temple twitch. Or maybe he was mad at
himself. The other emotions usually blurred behind a facade of cool
were tied to the anger. Sorrow. Hurt.

What if he blamed
himself?

"This isn't your fault, Jacob," I
murmured. "It's no one's fault ."

"She had a heart attack, Leila," he
said hollowly. "She's in shape, is OCD about eating and living
healthily so that leaves one other thing: stress."

"But that doesn't mean--"

"The last thing I said to her was
'No amount of mothering now will change the fact that you did a
shit job of it for 28 years.'"

A silence spread throughout the car.
I'd wondered why he went quiet when I joked about cutting her off.
He'd already done it.

He let out a groan of frustration as
the car in front of us wasn't feeling adventurous and opted to not
run the light. He yanked his tie loose then pulled it off
altogether, hurling it over his shoulder.

"I told her the only connection we
had, would ever have, was the fact that she brought me into this
world." His voice lowered, jaw ticking. "I said junkies did the
same thing everyday. It didn't mean she'd earned a place in my
life." He tilted his head in my direction, regret wetting his eyes.
"That can't be the last thing I say to her, Lay. Even after all
she's done."

I cradled his cheek in my hand and
said the only thing I could think of. The only thing I wanted to
believe because the alternative would destroy him.

"It's gonna be alright." The eyes
that slayed me every time were slits of disbelief, so I said it
again. "It's gonna be alright, Jacob."

They softened, then hardened to sea
glass when someone laid on their horn behind us. There was
something dangerous brewing and I told him we were just a few
blocks from the hospital so he didn't jump out of the car and bash
someone's head in. We hit no more lights and the traffic seemed to
thin out almost as if they knew Jacob couldn't take much
more.

The paparazzi were waiting, but
security kept them away from the valet drop off and entrance. Jacob
was all thumbs with his money clip, so I put a steady hand over his
shaking ones. "I'll take care of the valet. Go find out about your
mom."

I watched him dash in the building
then turned to the young valet, her face red with adoration like
she was committing the precious seconds Jacob was right there to
memory. When I cleared my throat, the red darkened as she gave me
an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I just love the
show."

I smiled back and pulled a twenty
from my purse and took the tag. I heard the screech of the
reporters questions, bulbs pulsing like strobe lights. Fact was,
the last thing I wanted to do was go inside and face some terrible
news, but that meant standing out here with them; and if something
happened and I wasn't by Jacob's side, I'd never forgive
myself.

I stepped inside and muttered, ‘You
gotta be kidding me’ as soon as I saw Nurse Deadwood's brutal face.
Jacob wasn't in the lobby so I assumed he'd put the fear of god in
the woman. I didn't have that kind of presence and I sure as hell
didn't have a wad of cash to bribe her with. I took a deep breath,
banishing the defeatist attitude.
You're getting through that
door, Leila. One way or another.

I marched to the desk, replacing the
nurse's squirrelly eyes with Rachel's big ones, making what came
next easier.

"You're going to let me through that
door," I said firmly. "And not because I write you a check. I'm
family. That's my fiancé and future mother-in-law back there. I
belong with them."

It was out. I stood my ground and
waited for her to tell me to promptly turn my butt around and exit
before she called security. Instead, she held out a name tag, hand
trembling. "Mr. Whitmore is waiting for you."

I frowned slightly before raising my
chin. "Good." I strut into the secure area seeing, Jacob at the end
of the hall. He held up a finger and came toward me. I must have
still been smiling like I'd slain a dragon or pulled a sword out of
a stone because he gave me a weird look.

"Everything okay?"

I shook off my grin, but I could
still hear it in my voice. "Yeah, it's just that
nurse--"

"Deadwood?" His eyes narrowed. "I
know she fleeced you and Missy. She should thank whatever deity she
believes in that she still has a job." His voice blazed. "Did she
give you any problems?"

I shook my head slowly, still
stunned. If she was on Jacob's shit list, I actually felt sorry for
her. I gestured at the nurse who was at the end of the hall,
waiting patiently. "How's your mom?"

He sliced a hand through his hair,
the stern look in his eyes fading into annoyance. "Doctor's in now.
No visitors until he says so."

As we made our way back to where the
nurse was waiting I realized it was more than just patience
rounding her stance. It was the confidence of someone that was
desensitized to celebrity. Under different circumstances, she
might've been as star-struck as the valet. She had an average
build, dirty blond hair and tired green eyes. The kind of woman
that worked hard and swapped the tabloids from the checkout rack to
escape her life before heading home to rambunctious kids. None of
those glittering lights mattered here. Within these walls, she was
in charge.

Jacob wasn't nearly as accepting of
that as I was.

"This is ridiculous,” he growled.
“If she's awake and alert as you claim, why can't I see
her?"

"Because she's in the ICU," the
nurse answered simply. "As soon as Dr. Schaub comes out--" She
turned to the back as the doors clicked open and an older man in
scrubs shuffled into our area. "Here he--"

Neither one of us waited for
introductions, breezing over to the doctor, dread sinking in at his
melancholy expression.

Jacob was a force, not wasting a
moment. "I want to see my mother."

The doctor's weary gray eyes scanned
Jacob's face. "Mr. Whitmore, your mother cannot handle a high
degree of stress."

"Look--" Jacob stopped, taking a
deep breath and calming himself. "I just want her to see me and
know I'm here."

The doctor gave him a look that made
me wonder if he did some tabloid reading himself. “If I let you in
to see her, nothing should be brought up that could upset
her."

"Understood."

He gave him a final look over then
nodded. "Follow me." When I took a step in that direction he
stopped. "I'm sorry, family only while she's in intensive
care."

I saw Jacob gear up for a fight, so
I just took a step back, hands up and non-combative. "It's alright.
I'll be right out here." He didn't look ready to drop it, so I
added, "It's alright. Go be with your mother."

I stood there, watching his taut
back fade as he stepped into the ICU ward.

****

Leaving the hospital was like
leaving a piece of me behind. I'd waited in the waiting room,
sipping terrible coffee and watching terrible daytime shows about
paternity tests and small claims court cases for what seemed like
ages until the nurse who refused to let us go back sauntered over
and delivered a message. Apparently Alicia was okay and I could go
back to the office. For a brief moment, I wanted to send one back
and say I'd wait out there for him, as long as it took, but pride
and a sinking suspicion that she wouldn't deliver it anyway made me
get up and exit. There was a car waiting and I barely had time to
pout before I was being deposited in front of the Whitmore and
Creighton building like a piece of luggage.

I knew that was overreacting. He
wanted time alone with his mother. It was understandable. He
deserved it. But I couldn't help but take offense to the fact that
it was so easy to dismiss me. Why couldn't he deliver the message
himself?

His mother had a heart
attack
, I chided myself. It makes sense that she's his focus
right now. The little reminder didn't help my mood so I decided to
focus on my heavy workload instead. As much as I dreaded a guilt
trip from Missy, I had to get a recap of the meeting I'd missed. I
made it to the floor and thanked god no one was waiting for the
elevator before zipping up to the top floor instead. I was delaying
 the inevitable, but I was sure whatever Missy needed to say
could be said after I had a minute to catch my breath.

I was hoping Natasha would be at
lunch, but I saw her perched behind her desk, bright eyes on her
computer screen until she saw me and her demeanor went from
professional to Stick Up My Butt.

"Somebody's been popular today," she
frowned. "I started wondering if I was Jacob's secretary or
yours."

"Good afternoon," I said with the
biggest smile I could stand. She wanted a confrontation and as much
as I wanted to yell and scream, I wouldn't give her the
satisfaction. "I take it you left the messages in my
office?"

She glared at me from behind her
bangs. New haircut. Something short in the front and long and
flowing in the back that would have softened anyone else but with
her perma-frown and ice colored eyes, she looked fiercer than
usual.

"Like I said, I am Mr. Whitmore's
secretary," she said haughtily. "You do have a visitor waiting in
your office even though I informed her that God alone knew when you
would be arriving."

As much as I wanted to snap back, I
knew I needed to save that for the person waiting in my
office.