The Billionaire's Wife (14 page)

Anton Waters. No known family, though he had said that his
parents died in a car crash when he was young in several interviews. He got his
start in real estate, flipping properties like pancakes as the bubble swelled.
Money flowed from his real estate ventures into finance and manufacturing, and
he was known throughout the business world as a man who made no attachments. He
held no trust in others, and others held no trust in him. His only hobby,
apparently, was cooking.

And crazy sex.
Couldn't forget that part.

Anton hung up and turned to me. “Where were we? Oh, yes, living
arrangements.”

“Am I not coming to live with you?” I asked.

“Do you want to?” His green eyes bored into mine, intense in the
dim light inside the car. Outside the sky was gray with late-autumn clouds, and
everything was gloomy. Strange how his eyes burned so brightly, even in this
light.

“I don't know,” I said. “I don't even know where you live.”

“I have a mansion on Central Park West,” he said.

“Of course you do.”

He smiled faintly at that. “But if you would like to live
separately for a while, I have no problems with that, as long as we are
together for the agreed-upon number of nights as stipulated in our prenup.”

I put a hand to my forehead and began to rub little circles over
my nose. “How many was that again?” I asked. “Per week?”

“Three,” he said. “Or ten days in a row per month. Open to
negotiation, of course.”

Of course.
Anton was a very particular man, but for a guy
who was famed for no attachments, he had attached himself to me in a very big
way, without even knowing me.

“I think I'll move in with you,” I said. “But I need a place to
sculpt.”

His eyes widened a bit at my answer—perhaps our first encounter,
when I barged into his office and demanded to know who the hell he thought he
was, trying to arrange a marriage with me, had left a more lasting impression
on him than my current, slightly softer feelings. Nevertheless, he recovered
quickly. “Of course,” he said. “Would you like to keep your apartment as your
studio, or something closer to... home?”

Hmm. Studio in Manhattan, or studio
anywhere else in the
world?
Gee, what a dilemma. I opened my mouth to tell him to move my shit
to an expensive little corner apartment in one of the arty districts, but then
I shut my mouth again. My apartment was
mine.
Did I really want to leave
it behind just because I was technically moving up in the world? “I'll keep my
apartment,” I said after a moment. “I like it there.”

He nodded. “Very well. You can pack up your personal effects if
you wish, or I can arrange to have that done for you.”

“How fast can it be done?”

“By tonight, if you like.”

I like to keep it real, but not
that
real. If I didn't
have to wrap up my shitty mismatched glasses personally, then I'm not going to.
“Yeah, have someone move that stuff,” I told him. “Anyway, what's on the agenda
for today?”

A vague look of regret passed over his face. “I'll be in meetings
and at work all today, but I will be home in time to take you out to dinner
tonight. In the meantime, why don't you take the time to get acquainted with
your new home, and perhaps call your, ahem, new personal assistant?”

Personal assistant? Oh, right! Sadie.
She is going to plotz.
“Great.
Coffee with girlfriend, dinner with, um...” I trailed off. “You,” I finished
awkwardly.

The shutters behind his eyes closed, and I sighed inwardly.
Good
going.

“Husband,” he supplied.

“Husband,” I said. “Sorry, it's all a bit sudden and a little
weird.”

To my surprise, he rubbed a finger against his temple, and his
shoulders relaxed. I hadn't even noticed them tensing. “You are right,” he
said. “This is very sudden for you. I'm sorry.”

I could only nod as the car slowed down, and then we were at
Anton's house.

*

"Jesus shit," Sadie said when I opened the door later
that day, and I have to say I agreed with her assessment. Anton had dropped me
off at the house, telling me to explore to my heart's content, then given me a
quick kiss on the cheek and jetted off to work, leaving me with a battered
suitcase and an overwhelming desire for some McDonald's. I'd called Sadie
immediately and told her where to meet me—with a Filet o' Fish—and set about
exploring.

And holy shit. A mansion on Central Park West. Even in my
father's wildest dreams he couldn't have afforded this place.

Five floors and a basement. That's all I can really say about it.
Huge. Wood floors, stained glass, a garden, a terrace, and, high on the fifth
floor, the master bedroom underneath a skylight, painted white, lined with
bookshelves and filled with light, even on this cloudy day. It was sick. Just
sick.

I loved it.

"This is just sick," Sadie said. "I love it."

"That's what I thought!" I told her. "But that's
not the best part. Anton wants me to have a personal assistant, and I told him
I already had one."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You do?"

And I'm the thick one? "You, dummy."

Sadie failed to faint at my feet in gratitude. "What if I
don't want to be your personal assistant?" she said. "What do I look
like, the help?"

I rolled my eyes and pulled her to the back of the ground floor
where the kitchen and breakfast nook stood, looking out onto the garden.
"Don't you get it?" I said. "This is free money. You get hired,
we spend the day hanging out together, you get paid and don't report back to
Anton any of the suspect stuff I do, and we all go home happy."

"What
suspect stuff?"

"Like figuring out what makes him tick," I told her.
"Here, have some coffee. It took me like fifteen minutes to figure out how
to use Anton's crazy coffee maker so you'd better drink some."

Sadie pulled away. "Felicia," she said, which she never
says unless she is trying to be serious with me.
"What
is with you
calling him Anton all of a sudden? And why would he want me to report back to
him?"

I poured her some coffee and shoved it into her hands. "He's
got some control issues. And I think we're on a first name basis now. You know,
since we're married and all."

"Yeah. Which reminds me, you might not want to go on the
internet today."

I blinked. "What?" I hadn't even thought to check my
email yet. My phone was almost out of battery life and I'd left my charger in
my apartment, which was way out of reach now. I'd had to turn it on and write
down Sadie's number and call her from the landline—Landline! How quaint!—in the
living room.

"You're all over it." She sat down at the kitchen
table—a gorgeous wrought iron and glass affair—and sipped her coffee. I stood
in the middle of the kitchen and stared at her.

"What?" I said again.

"Don't worry," she told me. "I hacked into your
Facebook account and made it private, and then I sent a really flattering photo
of you to a couple of celebrity gossip blogs."

My mind was blown. "What?" I said a third time. "I
mean... What?"

Sadie gave me an irritated look. "Well, I didn't want anyone
getting their hands on that photo of you where you're on the beach and wearing
your wet swimsuit under your jeans and it looks like you've wet yourself."

"Yeah..." I said slowly. "And you don't think
you'd be a good personal assistant... why?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't be a good one," she said.
"I'd be great. But I don't come cheap."

I groaned.
"Anyway.
I don't want to talk about the
internet."

"That's probably a good thing."

I bit my lip and sat down across from her. "How bad is
it?"

"It's great," she told me. "Just a bunch of celeb
gossip sites talking about the marriage of the worlds hottest, most eligible
billionaire to some no-name girl. Men think you're hot, and women hate
you."

"What about gay men?"

"I think Perez Hilton likes your hair."

I stared out at the garden from the faceted glass of the window.
"Well, that's something, right?"

"You'd better look fabulous the next time you leave this
house," Sadie told me, "but other than that, yeah, that's not
bad."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. Not that bad."

She took another sip of her coffee. "Now, what's this about
you trying to find out what makes him tick?" she asked me. "I thought
you just wanted to marry him for his money."

"He won't tell me why he wanted an arranged marriage,"
I said. "I mean, he kind of did, but it can't be the whole story."

"So why?"

"He says it was the best way to get a companion."

Sadie barked a laugh. "He should get a dog."

I nodded. "He
should
get a dog. He likes dogs. I read
that in one of his interviews. But you can't fuck a dog."

"Weeeell..." Sadie said.

"Ew!" If we'd been back at my apartment, I would have
thrown a pillow at her, coffee or no coffee. But we were in Anton's immaculate
house. And I didn't have a pillow. "Don't be gross."

"I'm just
saying.
You
said
he had control
issues. Sit. Down. Stay. Seems like it'd be perfect for him."

I shot her a glare. "Don't ever tell
anyone
I said
that."

"Relax." Sadie gave me a smirk. "You pay me well
for my silence.
And
my expertise in the field of Felicia Studies, which
I
will
be charging extra for."

I groaned. "Fine. You'd better fucking bring that shit,
because I have no idea what's going on here."

She sniffed and took another sip of coffee. "I think
I
do,"
she said.

My attention was suddenly riveted on her. "You do?" I
asked eagerly. "Tell me!"

She put her coffee cup down. "You are totally into this
guy," she said.

I sat back in my chair. I stared at her. Then I started to laugh.

Sadie looked offended. "What?" she said. "I'm
right."

"No way," I told her, still laughing. "He's just interesting."

"And hot. You like fucking him, don't you?"

That quieted me down. "Well, yeah." Frightening
glimpses into the bottomless abyss of the psyche aside, the sex
was
pretty hot. But that was all it was. Anton Waters wanted a wife for a reason,
and he'd hung me over a barrel to get me to sign on. I hadn't really had a
choice, all his protestations that I could say
no
notwithstanding, and
it stuck in my throat. "But he basically bought me. That's totally not
what a good relationship is built on." A sudden pang of doubt struck me.
Since when had I ever seen anyone in my life have a good relationship?
"Right?"

Sadie shook her head at me. "Waters isn't the only person
around here with control issues," she told me. "You want to figure
out some way to get back at him for forcing you into marriage."

"Duh," I said.

"But
why?"
she wanted to know.

I didn't really have an answer for her. "I guess..." I
trailed off. "Maybe because my mom spent so much of her life getting
shafted in a bad marriage to a rich asshole who didn't really love her. I
didn't want to end up like her, but now I'm
just
like her."

Heaving a sigh, Sadie shotgunned the last of her coffee. “You
really need to get over your parents, Lis. Your mom could leave any time she
wanted to. She's a big girl. She makes her own choices. And so do you.” She
shook her head again. “After your mom is all better, you can cut ties with
Waters and never have to see him again if you don't want to.”

“I
don't
want to,” I said.
Of course I don't.

Do I?

I bit my lip and thought of the incredible sex we'd had in the
limo, mere minutes after tying the knot. I thought of Anton's face in the
dressing room after I'd surprised him and turned the tables, sucking his cock
and leaving him with that lost, abandoned look. There was more to him. And I
wanted to know what it was, because...

...Oh my god. Did I really want to get to know him better? Not
just to have something to hold over his head? Why
did
I want to have
something to hold over his head, anyway? Were we in some kind of competition?
To blackmail him when I was done with him? To get money? To... what?

I resented him for making me marry him, didn't I? I hated that
rich shithead, that arrogant jerk who was in cahoots with my jackass father,
the guy who thought he could buy me, the kind of guy who thought everything in
the world was for sale and his for the asking... right?

The guy who said he'd listen to you. The guy who makes you
come so hard you have an out-of-body experience. The vulnerable guy under all
that calm Buddha bullshit. That's the guy you hate, right?

I pressed my hands to my face and tried to think, but my thoughts
were suddenly a jumble, confused and tangled—

The front door burst open and I jumped halfway out of my skin.
“Shit!” I leaped out of my chair and raced to the foyer just in time to see two
burly, handsome men dragging my personal effects—far too shabby for this
beautiful house—up the front steps.

“What's this?” Sadie said from behind me.

“My stuff,” I told her. “I'm moving in.”

She snorted. “You got it
bad.”

“Shut up,” I told her. “And once they're done you have to help me
find something to wear for dinner tonight. I don't want to end up on Perez
Hilton looking like something the cat dragged in.”

“I'm only human,” Sadie said.

“Shut
up.”

*

I had the movers install my stuff in an extra bedroom for now.
Together, Sadie and I picked out a dress for me, a little black affair that
Sadie said was classic, and then we went hunting for baby pictures of Anton. Or
old school yearbooks, or high school love letters... anything really.