“Good. Bring her to dinner this week. Friday?”
Dammit. “Oh, I don’t —”
“Grandma!” Callie interrupts, running up to tug on Mom's dress. “Can we make chilli for dinner Friday? I'm gonna help you make chilli!”
I narrow my eyes on this tiny girl. Sneaky little thing. She may be shy, but she’s a mischievous little booger.
My mother wraps an arm around her only grandchild, wearing a toothy grin. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweetie. Doesn't it, Uncle Cannon?” Both of them look at me expectantly. They've backed me into a corner I can't elbow my way out of.
Defeated, I grouse. "Fine."
I've just agreed to bring my reluctant fake fiancée to dinner with my meddling mother, and my sneaky-ass niece will be helping in the kitchen.
God, help me. The women of Crescent Harbor are going to be the death of me.
17
Lexi
Try this,” Jessa chirps. She hands me a plastic hanger holding a knee-length floral dress.
With a frown, I take the dress and hold it up against my body. My eyes scan it doubtfully in the mirror. “It's pretty but it's not...me.”
My little sister twists her lips to the side and slowly nods in agreement. “Yeah, you're right. The 'wholesome homemaker' vibe isn't really your style.” She giggles and ducks back into her closet.
I massage my temples, not sure what I’ve gotten myself into. Nothing in my own wardrobe seemed good enough so I decided to rummage through Jessa’s closet. I figured my sister's trademark demure kindergarten teacher look might be the more appropriate option for tonight. But now that I'm wading through her flamingo-patterned cap-sleeve dresses and vegetable-print drawstring capris, I'm having second thoughts. I lost all hope when she brandished a solar-system-themed collared dress in my face.
Jessa thrives in a world where finger-painting, afternoon naps and juice boxes are all the rage. Her wardrobe reflects that. I look like I'm about to hand out string cheese and read Dr. Seuss books to a group of high-strung preschoolers.
At this point, I’m strongly tempted to re-wear the outfit I wore the other night to the Frosty Pitcher. I know Cannon's eyes fully appreciated that look, but that Coyote Ugly-inspired outfit is a big, big no-no for a fancy pants restaurant like Le Sous-Sol.
The growly billionaire thought it would be a good idea for us to go for dinner together—alone—before meeting his family. It seems smart to learn a little basic info about each other if we’re going to convince the Kingstons that we’re really, truly engaged.
I want to appear classy because Le Sous-Sol is that kind of place, but I realize now that I want something on the sexier side...to impress Cannon.
My brain is broken.
Even when he’s an asshole, I find myself wanting to gain his approval. I care about his opinion of me, and to my utter horror, it has nothing to do with saving my bridal boutique.
This is not good.
“The Kingstons are like Crescent Harbor royalty and I'm about to fake-marry into their family,” I whine to my sister. “I need something classy. Something simple. Elegant.”
What I don’t say is that I need something that doesn’t scream where I came from. I need something that convinces the world that I am on par—or at least hold the potential to be on par—with an upstanding family such as the Kingstons.
I don’t need to voice my insecurities out loud for Jessa to recognize them. She remembers that period in time when we found ourselves surrounded by the rich. We didn't belong. We were out of their league and they never missed an opportunity to remind us of that. I never want to find myself in that space again.
She pokes her head out of the closet. She's wearing a frown. “Since when do you doubt yourself?! Alexia Robson does not doubt herself. You are more than good enough to be in the company of Cannon Kingston. So he’s got money. Who cares? You’re smart, beautiful, and hardworking. He’d be lucky to have you.”
I drop to the edge of Jessa’s bed. This is scarier than I thought. Not only do I have to convince Cannon’s parents that we’re a legitimate couple, I also have to win over a prospective—albeit fake—mother-in-law all while keeping my nagging insecurities in check. These colossal tasks didn’t cross my mind when I agreed to this scheme.
Jessa's muffled voice comes from the back of the closet. "By the way, Dad says he's been trying to reach you. Why haven't you returned his calls?"
At the mention of our father, my gut goes tight and I struggle against the mass of guilt trying to push its way to the surface. "Every time I talk to Dad, he asks for money and I'm too much of a damn softie to say 'no' to him. That's why I stopped taking his calls."
Jessa pokes her head through the door to look at me. "Maybe he just wants to check in with you, Lex."
"Fat chance," I grumble under my breath.
My sister tosses another dress at me, smacking me squarely in the face. “Try on this one. I think it’s closer to what you’re after.” It has polka dots and a bow at the neck. Gag.
I scrunch up my nose. "Do you know me at all?"
She rolls her eyes. "Just try it on."
I comply to appease my sister.
"Look, I know that Mom and Dad fucked up when we were kids.” She cocks her head. “But they're still our parents..."
"And I love them. But I refuse to let their irresponsibility drag me down into the ditch because if I'm down in the ditch together with them, then I can't help them or myself. Constantly skimming off the top of my rent money to make loans to Dad is what got me into this mess in the first place. Here I am about to marry myself off to an evil super villain with a questionable moral code just so I can save my business from eviction."
With a sigh, Jessa returns to her wardrobe. I know she doesn't like my position but Mom and Dad had their shot to make something of themselves. They squandered it. Now, it's my turn and I don't need the guilt trip.
I stand in front of her floor-length mirror and she comes up behind me, carefully assessing this option.
“This one won’t do," she concedes. "You look a little bit like a pilgrim about to board the Mayflower." No shit.
Giggling, she dives into her closet again and pulls something out of the very back. “Okay. This is my break-glass-in-case-of-emergency dress but I think it'll look hot on you."
It's short, it's sexy, it's ruby red. And it absolutely steals my breath away.
I grab the shroud of fabric from her hands. When I slide it on, I stand in front of the mirror, absolutely in love with how it flatters my body.
Mother Nature gave me the smallest titties possible—which if you ask me, was a total dick move on her part—but I never let that stop me from owning my body and my sexuality. I come from a world where you work with what you've got. It may not be perfect but this body is mine, dammit. And I’ll claim every inch of it.
I spin to face my sister. "How do I look?"
She whistles under her breath. "Girl, you're gonna have to beat that man off of you with a stick tonight."
I grin, feeling like a woman who belongs on the arm of a devilishly sexy billionaire. "Well, that's the effect I was going for."
18
Cannon
Arms folded across my chest, I perch on the edge of the conference table, and I glare at the corkboard on the wall.
I’m debating just how much energy I'm willing to invest into this revenge plot. Honestly, the whole thing seems less appealing by the day.
Margot and Carl are together. That should be punishment enough for the both of them.
I'm re-considering some of my plans when I hear the elevator doors open. Who the hell could it be?
I ignore it, hoping it’s not my father. I’m not exactly hiding my project here, but the less he knows, the better.
It's definitely not any of the remaining Kingston Realties employees. Dad wouldn't let me fire them so I had to come up with a clever alternative. I sent them all on an extended paid vacation just so I wouldn't have to look at their usel
ess faces every day. None of them deserves vacation perks but on the bright side, at least now, I don't have to worry about Sally trying to sweeten my afternoon coffee with chloroform.
A short tap on the door has me grinding my molars. Christ. Now what? To say the disturbance is unwelcome would be an understatement. I don’t have time for this.
"What?" I call out loudly.
No one responds. But before I can drag myself out of my chair, the conference room door swings open. Alexia stands in the doorway.
My gut contracts, like someone just sucker-punched me. She’s backlit by the bright office lights, creating this angel effect around her. That’s exactly what she looks like. A fallen angel with big blue eyes, unruly brunette hair and a tight red dress hand-selected by the devil.
And all of a sudden, I can't even remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
On instinct, I vault to my feet, bounding toward her. “What are you doing here?”
She eyes me skeptically, looking more guarded and unsure than ever. “We have dinner plans, don’t we?” Her hesitant gaze shifts past my shoulder into the room.
"Oh, yeah...Um, dinner. Of course."
Dinner was my idea. The purpose of the meeting is to come up with a game plan to convince my mother that we're head-over-heels, can't-wait-another-minute-to-get-married in love. The men in my family already see through me, but I need to step up my game if this scheme is going to work on mom.
"So, dinner..." I’m staring at Alexia's legs. I can't help but lick my lips. I want this woman spread out on my plate.
Slowly, my eyes travel back up to her face. A slight smirk curves her mouth at my stupefied reaction.
Lexi tries stepping through the doorway and that's when I recall the war room I've created around me. I snap back to my senses, slyly using my body to block her entrance. She narrows her eyes and pouts her crimson painted lips. I want to suck on them.
"Cannon? You there?" My lawyer's voice fills my head.
That's when I remember my phone is pressed to my ear. Hell. “Frank, I'll have to call you back.” I hit the red button to end the call.
Lexi uses my distraction to her advantage, ducking under my arm. She slips into the room, hips swinging, little red dress suctioned to her sexy frame.
Focus, idiot.
Her eyes immediately fly to the corkboard on the wall. Her jaw drops open in fascination. Or concern. Or suspicion. One of those. “Whoa! What are you planning? An assassination or something?”
I tilt my head to the side and stare at the back of her skull. “Can we just concentrate on the issue at hand? Going to dinner? Our reservation is for seven.” I round the conference table, grabbing my jacket and briefcase. She ignores my request and my hand that’s gesturing her toward the door.
Her eyes are wide. She's waving an arm at the corkboard. “Um, Cannon, this is the kind of shit that gets a girl subpoenaed. Or worse...If I’m about to get tackled by the FBI in the deli section of the grocery store, I think I have a right to know what I’m looking at here.”
Annoyed, I growl at her. “I’m not planning an assassination.”
She nails me to the wall with her demanding stare. “Okay…then, what is it?” This woman will not just let it go. But then again, this is Lexi Robson. I wouldn't expect anything less from her.
I give it to her straight, my voice as absent as a cloudy weather forecast. “I walked in on my business partner banging my girlfriend. I’m figuring out what to do about it.”
I dare to meet her eyes. I witness the shock swirling in those bright blue orbs, the compassion that swoops right in. It's like I can see right through her and I swear, this woman can see right through me. She holds a direct line to my soul.
Fuck this. There’s too much tenderness in the room. If I’m not careful, she'll puncture my hard, ruthless facade. And right now, that’s all I’ve got.
I end the moment, spitting out an impatient growl. “Are you done with the questions? Because I’d like to get this dinner over with.”
The compassion snaps right off her face. Annoyance moves in to replace it. “Wow. I’m marrying the most romantic man in northern Illinois,” she quips, stalking out of the conference room ahead of me.
I shake my head, closing the office door and trailing her to the elevator. She’s such a sassy thing. But she doesn’t intimidate me. If anything, she’s a challenge. A girl like Alexia needs a real man. A boy wouldn’t be able to handle her.
When the elevator doors slide open, I gesture for her to walk inside first. She gives me a surprised look.
I can’t stop my eyes from wandering over her slim, fit body again. She catches me staring. I grin. "I may not be romantic, but baby, I'm a gentleman."
19
Lexi
Cannon brushes a spot of dust from his car door. He gives the vehicle an amorous look that makes me roll my eyes. The man is insufferable.
He catches me in the act and his lips curve into a boyish grin. I hate the fluttery feeling that moves through my belly.
His hand firmly encases mine as we stroll into the restaurant. I try to ignore the way my body feels with Cannon Kingston so close to me. I have to remind myself that it's all for show—a faux display of affection—to convince the people of Crescent Harbor that our 'love' is real. But combine this tingly warm feeling in my belly with Cannon's shocking admission that he walked in on his girlfriend in bed with another man? My head is a frigging mess.
I haven’t had the best luck with dating, but even I haven’t had it that bad. Cheating is one thing. But catching them in the act? No one should have to go through that.
Not even assholes like Cannon.
Maybe...maybe Mr. Billions isn't the cold, heartless man he pretends to be. Maybe his hard exterior is just a mask he wears to protect himself from the pain he’s experienced? What if there’s more under that tough shell?
Candle light flickers all around the room. Soft music twinkles in the air mingling with the hushed conversations of the patrons. The maitre d' seats us and we order drinks. I steal peeks at Cannon across the table, trying to visually peel back his layers and solve the sexy enigma sitting across from me. I want to be right about him. I do. Because then I won't have to hate my body for reacting so viscerally to this man.
As soon as we order dinner, and the waiter retrieves our menus, Cannon reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a slick black folder. Wordlessly, he hands it to me. Could this be the paperwork that gives everyone their businesses back? Is it a dossier on his life story, so we can get to know each other better?
No. Of course not. Because this is Cannon Kingston we’re talking about. Asshole extraordinaire.
“A nondisclosure agreement?” Reality. Check.
“Yes, I had my lawyer prepare the NDA yesterday. Typically, I would have obtained your signature before our negotiations commenced. But I think we can both agree that these circumstances aren't typical.” He speaks in a sterile, distant tone. He’s going to have to work on that if he wants to convince anyone we’re crazy in love. He stretches an expensive-looking pen across the table to me. “I need you to sign tonight. Preferably before we share anymore confidential information.”
I ignore the damn pen. “Well, I prefer to read documentation before signing my life away. Considering this fifteen-page treaty here, signing isn't going to happen tonight," I state, sitting up a little taller. "Plus I need to have my lawyer review it.”
I don’t have a lawyer. I usually get my legal advice from Google Esquire, but Mr. Billions doesn’t need to know that.
His tone drops menacingly. "This is urgent, Alexia."
“Also, I highly doubt there's anything too private in learning about each other’s favorite color,” I add dryly.
I can’t believe I actually entertained the notion that Cannon’s douchey behavior is just a coverup. His asshole nature is more consistent than my menstrual cycle. Clearly, I need to stop underestimating this guy.
His gorgeous face pinches for the briefest
moment—I don’t think he likes someone standing up to him—but then he sighs. “Fair enough. I definitely don't appreciate the delay, but seeking legal counsel is reasonable. And that way you won't be able to contest the terms of the agreement later on.”
I can’t help but laugh at his formalness. Even when he’s being nice, he still has a stick up his ass.
Glaring, Cannon reaches back into his briefcase. “Good lord. What else do I have to sign?” I throw my hands in the air.
He seems put out. “Nothing. I just had my assistant compile a list of dating questions for us to review, so we can get to know the most important information about each other. Y'know, ensure this insta-marriage will be plausible to other people.”
“Right.” I would have loved to be a fly on the wall as he explained what he needed from his assistant.
After the server drops off our meals at the table, and we’ve taken a few quiet bites, he focuses on the dating questions. He holds the sheet in front of him. “Ready?”
I shrug. “Go for it.” I shift my attention to my plate and dig into my Nicoise salad again. Oh my gosh. This is obscenely delicious. My taste buds are freaking out right now.
“What’s something you want to learn or wish you were better at?” he reads before meeting my gaze. Okay, not a bad question.
“Yo-yoing.” I take another bite and moan from behind my palm, a little self-conscious to be making sex noises in this fancy French restaurant.
He tilts his handsome head at me, annoyed. “Yo-yoing? This isn’t going to work if you can’t be serious,” he declares in that bossy voice of his.
“I am serious. One hundred percent. I’m awful at yo-yoing, and it’s always something I wanted to learn. The last time I tried to yo-yo, the string got all tangled around my arm. I had three feet of string wrapped around me so tight, Jessa had to cut it off.”
Mister Billions: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 1) Page 10