The Billionaire's Masquerade

by Laurie Gene

  Of course, Saffron was using her position as Angelica's oldest daughter to get Abby in trouble again. It was like a song on repeat. Abby bent over backward for this family, working late into the night, keeping the house clean, cooking for them even though she had always detested it, simply to keep the peace and out of respect for her father.

  "That is something I wonder as well," Angelica said. She sat on the couch next to Trixie, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap. Her dark eyes never wavered from Abby. "Well? Where were you? We were worried sick to death. I nearly called the cops."

  Abby scoffed, unable to control that emotion. She did manage to keep her eyes from rolling to the back of her head.

  "What?" Angelica placed a hand over her heart as if completely affronted that anyone would even insinuate such a thing. "Do you not think we care about you? You are an integral part of this family. I care for you as though you were my own flesh and blood."

  Abby curled her fingers into tight fists to keep from saying anything offensive. She took a deep breath before releasing it.

  "I wasn't anywhere," Abby said. "The trains were filled up. I had to wait to enter, which pushed me back."

  "I think she's lying," Saffron said.

  "I think so too," Trixie put in.

  "Girls." Angelica's word quieted her two daughters. "Well, Abby? What do you have to say? Are you lying?"

  "I have no reason to lie," Abby said. She flexed her fingers, letting cool air dry the perspiration that started to form on her skin.

  "She might have a new boyfriend," Trixie pointed out.

  Saffron snorted. "Boyfriend?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "Her? She has smudges on her face and grease on her hands even after her showers. There's no way she can attract a member of the opposite sex. He'd look at her like she was one of the homeless on the street."

  Trixie picked up her book and clenched it to her chest, throwing her head back and laughing. Saffron chuckled as well.

  "Now, girls," Angelica said, her lips twitching into an amused smile. "That isn't nice."

  "Maybe not, but it's true," Saffron said with a shrug.

  Abby bit her bottom lip to keep from responding. They could say whatever they needed to say to make themselves feel better. The truth of the matter was, she got a job. Nick Strafford gave her the job simply because Pamela liked her more. Now, all she had to do was save up so she could get out of here as soon as possible—which probably meant in a few years, but it was better than a lifetime of being chained to a place that she could not call home any longer.

  "Abby, darling, I expect you to inform us if you will not be adhering to your nightly duties with your family," Angelica said. "We depend on you, and if you let us down, everything is thrown out, which means our schedules are messed up. Now, I know you are too selfless to consider hurting our schedules, but you have. You have always been there for us. How do you think you can fix your mistake?"

  Abby clenched her jaw so tightly it popped. This was Angelica's superpower. She had this way of wording things that made it seem as though she was kind and understanding, when, really, she was looking for the perfect opportunity to strike.

  When Abby had been younger—especially after her father died and she so desperately wanted to be accepted into the only family she had left—she had fallen for Angelica's manipulations. Abby wanted to please her stepmother. She wanted her stepsisters to like her. As such, she went out of her way to cook and clean, hoping to win them over.

  It was only when she was in middle school and had to start missing out on extracurricular activities because of her chores did she realize that she was being used. She started to question why her stepsisters did nothing around the house, and yet, could attend dances and parties while Abby could not. This followed Abby throughout high school and college. If her father had not set up her college account in Abby's name, she knew Angelica would have drained it dry.

  Equipped with a college degree and a desire to be anywhere but here, Abby wanted freedom. She wanted to break the chains placed around her and finally be her own person.

  And she would.

  She just had to bide her time.

  Angelica was waiting for an answer.

  Abby cleared her throat.

  "I could still cook something," she suggested, her voice dry and cracked.

  "I think that's a wonderful solution," Angelica said. "I think I would like Jambalaya, Abby. Not too spicy though."

  Abby held back another complaint. Jambalaya? That would take at least an hour to make. The last thing she wanted was to stand around the kitchen, cooking something she didn't really like to eat.

  Only a few more years, she thought to herself as she made her way to the kitchen. Only a few more years and you're out.

  Chapter 3: Nick

  Nick was relieved when he stood up from his desk Friday evening—a pinch in the back of his knees—ready to relax to the soothing sounds of ESPN.

  Pamela barged in. She had a look on her face, one that indicated he had forgotten something, and he was not going to be happy when she reminded him what that was.

  "What?" he asked. "You might as well tell me. I'd rather hear it from you than get a lecture about forgetting the anniversary of our first kiss?"

  Pamela shook her head.

  "The first time we held hands in Central Park?"

  Pamela let out a sigh and placed a hand on her jutted hip.

  "The first time we saw Hamilton?"

  "You're just guessing to get a reaction out of me, aren't you?" she asked, her tone flat.

  Nick grinned. "No need to be so droll, Pam," he said. "That can't be good for the baby. What did I forget?"

  "Do you remember the gift Bonnie purchased for the wedding?" Pamela said.

  Nick grabbed his coat from hanging on his chair and slid his arms into it one by one. "How much did it cost her?"

  "About two grand," Pamela said, handing Nick a receipt when he reached where she stood. "But that isn't anything compared to what she's spending on your wedding. Look." She pinched the bridge of her nose, walking through the door and back into the hall.

  Nick grabbed the door handle so he could follow her out.

  "If you are approving these purchases, ignore me,” she said. “It's my last day with you anyway, so I don't really care. I just knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't say anything."

  "Pamela," Nick drawled, the feel of her full name in his mouth sounding foreign to his ears. Probably because he rarely called her Pamela. "Don't sugarcoat things. Tell me."

  "Your fiancée is spending tens of thousands of dollars on your wedding," Pamela finally said. "If you already know this and agree to it, fine. Ignore me. You usually do anyway. I just thought it was a little bit overboard to spend five grand on place settings."

  Nick snapped his head to Pamela.

  "Five grand?" he choked out.

  "Each," she said.

  Nick clenched his teeth together and sucked in a breath. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he came home angry, but this wasn't the first discussion he had had with Bonnie about spending. Just because he was a billionaire didn't mean he needed to spend like money didn't matter. One of the reasons he retained his fortune was frugal spending habits except on suits and cars. He had a modest home outside the city and took public transportation unless he was either tired or late, refusing to hire a driver and be one of those billionaires.

  "Like I said," Pamela continued as they stepped into the elevator. "Ignore me. Your wedding plans are none of my business."

  - - -

  As much as Nick wanted to ignore Pamela, he could not. Thousands and thousands of dollars on a wedding? He knew this. Of course, he knew this. Bonnie wore lipstick that cost two hundred dollars. She was proud of lipstick that cost two hundred dollars. And yet, as he got on the subway and took a seat, he felt himself get angrier and angrier at the thought.

  By the time he emerged from the underground, he was livid. His face was hot and pinched, his hands curled i
nto hists. Thousands of his dollars going to a wedding he didn't get a say in. Who spent money like that? Was this a warning sign, a red flag that was waving frantically in his face like a merchant ship pleading for mercy from a pirate ship closing in on them?

  Or was this one of those things he needed to accept now? His future-wife liked money. So what? Everyone liked money. He liked money. Why was spending it so wrong—especially on an experience? These were memories being made, important memories his grandchildren were going to ask him when he was retired and sailing to Hawaii on his yacht.

  His house came into view. He shot his hands into his pockets, trying to keep himself restrained. The anger had dissipated with his walking but as he looked at the familiar home, as he saw the silhouette of his model-fiancée walking through the living room, his stomach sunk with dread. He did not want to go in there.

  This was not how he should feel when he entered his own house.

  He shook the thought away. It didn't matter. He could either accept that there were going to be times he didn't want to go home or not. He would rather get this over with and forced himself to move.

  It felt like weights were tied to his ankles.

  When he finally walked inside, he closed the door behind him and started to slide out of his coat. Before, he would announce that he was home. She would come bounding down the stairs and jump into his arms. He would catch her with as much fervor as her jump.

  But now...

  Man up, a voice said in his mind. This is what a relationship is. Work. What you have to decide is whether this work is something worth investing your time and money in.

  Bonnie sauntered into the house, a small smile on her face.

  "Nicky," she said.

  He suppressed a shudder. When had she started calling him that? He never wanted to hear that name ever. Not even his grandmother called him that, and she called him a lot of things because there were times she forgot who she was.

  "Hi, honey." He didn't bother to hide the exhaustion from his voice. "How was your day?"

  "Great." She clapped her hands together. "We got so much done."

  He raised his brow as he hung up his blazer in the walk-in closet. "We?"

  "Me and my girlfriends," Bonnie said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hands itched to grab a drink. "You know Stacey and Rachel and Chloe. They're our bridesmaids. We've been trying to figure out the perfect theme."

  "I didn't realize weddings had themes," Nick said slowly.

  He shuffled from the living room to the kitchen and reached up in his wine storage to grab his aged whiskey. He didn't break this out unless he’d had a particularly rough day at the office. With Pamela leaving, he expected to have many of those. He did not expect to break it out because of stress at home, though.

  Nick wasn't a fool. He understood that with any relationship, there would be times that were hard. There would be times a glass of wine wasn't enough and all the space in the world was still too close. That was why being married to someone had never been on top of his priority list. And now that he was getting married, he still didn't know if it would be worth it.

  Which meant he would be investing a small fortune in liquor.

  Probably not the best beginning of a relationship.

  "Not all weddings have themes," Bonnie said, following him into the kitchen, her heels click-clacking with each step. "But those weddings are unforgettable at best. I want to stand out. I want ours to be different. I want it to be an experience for everyone in attendance."

  "You're planning our wedding, right?" He brought down the whiskey and grabbed a glass. "Not some kind of Broadway show."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Nick." She came to stand next to him and grabbed the glass, switching it for a different one from the cabinet. Apparently, this glass wasn't good enough for whiskey. "A Broadway show takes years to plan. I have months."

  He let out a sigh—he seemed to be sighing a lot lately—and poured the amber liquid into the glass.

  "Here, let me get you some ice with that," Bonnie said.

  "I'm fine," Nick said, "but thanks—"

  "Nonsense." She waved a dismissive hand and pulled out the ice tray from the freezer. "You know Jack Daniels is so much smoother with ice, Nicky. I thought I told you that."

  "I just prefer—"

  "Why don't you trust me?" she asked.

  "You think I don't trust you?" he asked. He clutched his drink so she couldn't rip it away from him and knocked back more than he expected to. "You're planning my wedding."

  "Our wedding," Bonnie corrected. "Not yours. Not mine. Ours."

  "Really?" The whiskey rushed to his head. He didn't remember being such a lightweight before. "Because it sounds like it's your wedding. And Stacey's. And Rachel's. And whoever else's wedding. You haven't asked me for my opinion on any of it. You plan things and buy things and reserve things without even asking what I like. You haven't even asked what I like! And you try and correct me about it being our wedding? You have some nerve."

  Her mouth dropped. "I have—Nick, I think you've had one too many," she said. "That's why you cut me off, isn't it? You were drinking with that assistant of yours, probably talking about what a bitch you think I am."

  "Yup, you're right, as usual." He moved from the sink counter and headed into the living room. There was nothing that looked more comfortable than his recliner and a loud sports game. He did not want to hear Bonnie speak any longer. He wanted to enjoy his whiskey and fall asleep in front of the television. "I'm drinking with my pregnant assistant."

  "I forgot—"

  "You got her a crib, Bonnie, don't you remember? Or are you spending so much money, it's hard for you to keep track?"

  "That's not fair," she said, following him into the living room. He had no idea how she was able to stomp after him in those high heels without falling down, but he had to admit that he was impressed.

  "Why?" he asked. "Why isn't it fair? Do you know what's not fair? You. Spending my money."

  "Our money," she corrected, throwing her arms out. Her long, dark hair fell over her shoulder. She really was stunning, even when she was angry. That wasn't fair either. "It's our money. What's yours is mine, right?"

  "Bon, we aren't even married yet," he said with a snort and took a long sip of the amber liquid. "It's my money. And honestly, I don't care one way or the other if you spend it. It's fine. But at the very least, include me in the financial decisions. It honestly feels like you have no respect for me."

  Bonnie scoffed.

  "I'm being serious," he said, setting his drink down in the recliner cup holder and looking up at her with wide eyes. He hadn't realized why he was so conflicted, why there was so much turmoil, but as the words came out without him trying to control them, he realized the truth of the matter. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. I'm supposed to be your partner and yet you won't even hear what I have to say. You don't take my opinion seriously."

  "But sometimes you're wrong, Nick—"

  "It doesn't matter," he interjected. "Let me be wrong. An opinion isn't a fact, Bon. We're allowed to disagree and still support each other. It's like, I don't get why five hundred dollars should go to one pair of shoes. I don't. You can explain your reasoning for me, but I won't agree that that's worth it. However, I acknowledge that you're passionate about it and I support you. But I don't agree. You should be able to do the same for me."

  There was a long moment of lingering silence between them. Finally, Bonnie shook her head.

  "I don't know, Nicky," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think I can support something when it's clearly wrong."

  Nick didn't bother correcting her. If she didn't want to understand, he couldn't force her to.

  Chapter 4: Abby

  Abby's hands still smelled like shrimp and sausage the next day, which meant a long shower was in order. She didn't want the scent of seafood on her person when she would be training the next couple of days.

  When she finished washi
ng up, she dressed herself up in business casual attire and slipped out of the penthouse just after eight. Her family wouldn't wake until nine, so she didn't have to explain where she was going.

  On her way to the subway, her phone began to ring. She stopped on the stairway to answer. The last thing she wanted was a dropped call, especially considering it could very well be from Pamela.

  It wasn't.

  It was from her best friend, Liv.

  "Hello?" she greeted.

  "You free Saturday?"

  Abby's lips tugged up. Liv never spoke more than she thought was necessary. No small talk, no sucking up. Abby respected her for it. She wished she could be as confident as Liv was, especially when it came to standing up for herself to her family. Instead, she hung out with Liv as much as possible, hoping Liv's personality would somehow rub off on Abby and she could return home, kick out her family, and enjoy her penthouse. That hadn't happened yet, but Abby was still hoping.

  "Why?" Abby asked, leaning against the railing. She tried to stay out of the foot traffic going to the underground and coming up to the street. "You got a job for me?"

  "Wedding, Saturday, just out of the city," Liv said. Abby could hear the clacking of her friend's keyboard. She liked to write in her free time. Abby had no idea how she was able to do so when she was talking on the phone, but Liv was one of those rare people who could multitask without missing a beat. "Wealthy people. My mom got a huge, nonrefundable deposit, but the guest list is insane. Thought you might want the extra money. We could use the help."

  "I'm in," Abby said. "I could definitely use the money. Thanks for thinking of me."

  "Always." Liv hung up.

  Abby grinned, sliding her phone back into her purse. If she continued to pick up odd jobs as well as her work with Nick Strafford, she would be out of that penthouse in no time.

  - - -

  The next couple of days went surprisingly quick for Abby. She didn't see Nick Strafford again except glimpses in his office. There was such a short amount of time to learn everything that Pamela gave Abby her number and told her to call her at any point.