Bad Enemy (Bad Girls Club Book 4)

by Carmen Falcone

  She finally slumped in the seat across his desk, chin still raised, but less defiance in her eyes. “Listen, maybe we started off the wrong foot. I’m Miguel’s sister, and I only want to help. Even though I don’t agree with what he did, or with the illicit ways you work, for that matter. But I’m willing to do whatever I can to help my brother out of this situation. He’s made bad choices before, but this one tops the cake.”

  Bad choices…

  He grabbed a pen out of his sleek pen holder and played with it. Let it roll between his fingers, while he stared at her. His gut tightened harder, the sign the answer he’d been looking for was getting closer. How could it, though? How could she carry the solution for the conundrum involving his father, his brother and Michelle? “Not you, though. You’ve made good choices. Am I right?”

  She crossed her legs. “Mostly good, yes. You can trust me. Ask anyone. I do everything for my family. I have a group of friends that are like sisters. I work very hard. Nothing has been handed to me.”

  Nothing has been handed to me. He’d heard those words before. From his very own father. Then, realization dawned on him, as palpable as a piece of furniture. His father would love Lara—in the few minutes in her presence, Troy could see that. Lara was drop dead gorgeous, but she was also family oriented, smart, and had gumption. If he could convince his father that he and Lara were together, the whole story about sleeping with Michelle would fall into the background. His brother wouldn’t feel threatened by him, either. “How far are you willing to go to help your brother, Lara?”

  She leaned forward, cocking her head to the side. She had a quality about her, something shamelessly straight-forward. “What do you want?”

  Adrenaline rushed through him, and the words escaped his lips before he thought about them. “Marry me.”

  2

  Lara drew in a breath so sharp her breasts rose in her dress, straining against the fabric. Then, she exhaled and gave a stifled laugh. “Be serious.” Did this guy have no respect for her time or her brother’s life? Why else would he make such a stupid joke in such serious moment?

  “I am.” A small smile curled his lips. She’d expected him to be ruthless and unkind, sure, but she had never expected Troy Gallucci to be this dangerously sexy. If he had been much older, with a pot belly and bald, she’d be less distracted. But his full head of brown hair, the gorgeous blue eyes and what she imagined were washboard abs under his designer label suit told a different story. The kind of story she’d read in bed, late at night. “I need for you to be my wife for about six months.”

  She glanced around his impressive office, searching for cameras. Was this really happening? “I still don’t get it.”

  Troy cocked his head to the side. “You don’t have to get it, just agree with it. Because of some business dealings, I’ll need someone to pretend she’s my wife for a few months. You move in with me, tolerate me in public outings, and I’ll speak to the O’Donnell that was hit and ask him to spare your brother.”

  “Just like that?”

  “No, not just like that—I’m sure they’ll ask for something in return. Probably a property they wanted to own for a while that we bought first. Won’t be cheap.”

  “So why don’t you just offer the property now? I’ll pay for it. And we don’t get married,” she said, wishing she felt the confidence she exuded. She was doing well in her business, and her home was paid off. She even had a generous amount in her retirement savings, but she didn’t have hundreds of thousands of dollars just laying around to pay for some property that wouldn’t even be hers at the end. Still, she’d sacrifice her financial security if she had to.

  “Because I still need a bride.”

  “Why don’t you do it the old-fashioned way? Meet a woman who puts up with your ass, propose, the whole nine yards?” A guy like him had to find someone, right? She sized him up. A woman had to have chill running through her veins not to appreciate his intense blue eyes, the way his tanned skin accented his cheekbones and, as his gaze slid lower, she even appreciated his muscly neck. She’d seen a lot of good-looking men. Dated a few of them. But Troy had a sexy vibe that should come with a roaring siren. A regular warning sign wouldn’t do.

  The amusement in his eyes didn’t touch his lips. “That would take time and effort, two things I can’t spare right now. Besides, our marriage would be simply a formality to get me what I want.”

  She leaned closer. “Which is?”

  “I can’t tell you,” he said in a low voice that sent shivers down her spine.

  Did he mean that because it’d be safer if she didn’t know? She bit her lower lip. Maybe it was best she didn’t know. Who knew what his type was capable of? A man who had to rent a wife didn’t sound like a caring, nice guy. “Or you’ll have to break my arm?” she asked, finding it impossible not to retort.

  “Oh no. I plan on keeping every delectable part of you right where it belongs,” he said, his gaze traveling down her body and heating her skin.

  She chastised herself for reacting to him. Troy embodied all the wrong decisions about men she’d made in life. His good looks were probably the best thing about him. How else could she describe someone who hired muscle heads to collect money? “Great, so at least we have that goal in common.”

  “Excellent. So I take it as a yes?”

  She rubbed her hands together, thinking. A fake marriage to a nice, caring man could be the recipe for heartbreak. But a guy whose intentions she knew upfront, not so much. “I don’t know… what guarantee do I have you’ll save my brother?”

  “My word. I only tell you what I can do or what you can know. That said, I’m not going to run to the O’Donnells and make this deal today or tomorrow. I need for you to marry me first.”

  Her stomach knotted. What guarantee did she have he wouldn’t screw her in the end? “That’s blackmail.”

  He drummed his fingers on his heavy oak desk. “No. It’s smart negotiating. If I clear it for your brother, what guarantee do I have you won’t back away from our deal?”

  She rolled her eyes. A part of her reminded herself that her brother had screwed up first, so she didn’t have the upper hand. Especially if Troy’s statement that the O’Donnells would go after her or her mother was true. Was it really worth it to leave it to chance? “So I’m supposed to trust you, but you can’t trust me?”

  “You need this more than I do.”

  She tasted bile at the back of her throat. Couldn’t argue with him there. “And you’ll gamble on my brother’s life.”

  “Maybe. But you won’t.”

  Crap. The bastard excelled at negotiating. Hadn’t taken long for him to figure her out and know how desperate she was. I may have helped by rushing in with no concrete plan. “Okay, fine.”

  “Great. Now go home and pack up, beautiful. We’re going to Vegas.”

  “Vegas?”

  “Yes. In and out. We get the marriage out of the way. Your brother is hiding, so next time he calls you, tell him not to return until I’ve talked to Conor O’Donnell. If he needs cash, I can send it to him.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he used to using his debit card to fix everything? “Money isn’t the problem. I have my life and—”

  “Which is why we hop on the private jet, get married and return. Of course you’ll have to move to my place tomorrow so we put up a good act.”

  She quivered. She’d have to move… to his place? “A good act for who?”

  “I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

  Too many secrets. What if this guy did drugs? Getting involved with him might be more dangerous than helping Miguel. What about Mom? She wouldn’t be in Santa Barbara forever. She and Aunt Celia would kill each other if they stayed under the same roof longer than a few weeks. They could only stand each other for so long. “I’m not sure about this…” she said more to herself than to him.

  “You already agreed,” he said. “Lara, I’m sorry you’re in this situation.”

  “Y
es, I bet you’re heartbroken over it,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

  “My solution will be beneficial for both of us. And for your brother most of all. I promise I’ll give you and your family protection, which is what you need right now.”

  Protection. The word squeezed the air from her lungs. She didn’t think she’d need it, but she also never thought she’d be having this conversation with a stranger. Besides, she’d been the one helping out her brother for so long. Making all the decisions. What if, for once, someone else helped them, even if for his own advantage? “All right. I’ll do it.”

  Happy Fucking Birthday, Lara. You just got yourself a husband.

  “Are you ready?” Moira, the wedding organizer, asked. She was a small woman with a big attitude who had sold him a wedding package over the phone. Now, inside the small room where he’d changed into the suit he brought, Troy took a deep breath.

  Marriage.

  He’d never seen himself married, but this would be the best way to solve his problems. If he married, his father would not only get off his back, he’d trust him again. Hell, his brother probably would—maybe even forgive him. And he’d get to go back to manage the family business from Los Angeles and forget about Tulip.

  Six months, he’d assumed, would be enough time to parade Lara around and establish himself as a decent, married man. After that, he could make up some excuses for Lara’s absence during family functions and stretch out this fake marriage ruse for maybe a year. No one would care. His lawyer, who he’d used to draw a quick NDA and pre-nuptial agreement which Lara had signed, was trustworthy.

  “Yes.”

  Moira nodded. “Great. If you follow me, your bride will join us soon.”

  He walked up to the altar and stood next to the priest. Moira put on some cheesy music, and the lights dimmed for a moment, giving the tacky chapel a more intimate feel. He stretched to his full height and focused on the woman strolling from the entrance.

  They could have just signed their names on a piece of paper, but the pictures that Moira—yet again, wearing another hat—snapped of them would be a nice touch to show his family. They might not believe him at first, so he needed every piece of evidence he could get.

  A simple white dress hugged Lara’s curves, and made her bronze skin glow. Her hair cascaded around her face, with loose curls he wanted to run his fingers through. His breath caught in his throat and his heart thundered, even if a part of him clung to the fact this was all for show. He didn’t know much about this woman and shouldn’t get involved with her—other than what was strictly necessary to keep up the farce for however long was needed. Six months, at most.

  A neutral expression masked her face, and he wondered what went through her head.

  Moira whispered something before she made it to the small altar, and a ghost of a smile formed on her lips. Moira snapped a couple of pictures.

  “You look good,” he said when she joined him. Good? She was a lot more than that. Her dark red lips and expressive eyes made him want to pull her to him and kiss her senseless. His throat felt dry and thick, like he hadn’t had a drink of liquid in days. He cleared it, pushing down the lump of frustration.

  She shrugged and looked away, facing the minister.

  He followed suit, telling himself not to stray any glance her way. To be strong and focused. And he kept it going, until the minister told him, “You may kiss the bride.”

  He angled closer to her and saw the surprise in her eyes. Should he just go for the cheek? But what kind of picture would that make? Moira shortened the gap, with her camera in tow, ready for the big moment.

  Make it fast, he told himself. He dipped his head, and she met him halfway. Her lips trembled a bit, and he wondered if she had the same idea—to make it fast. However, as he brushed his lips with hers, fast was the last thing on his mind. A shot of electricity coursed through him, switching on parts of him that should remain dormant when it came to Lara. Her lips were soft, plump, delicious. He wanted to delve his tongue past them, and—

  She slowly disengaged from him, and he blinked, bringing himself to an upright position. They were declared husband and wife and posed in front of some heart shaped background as per Moira’s direction.

  With the marriage certificate in hand, they slid inside the limo that took them to the private airfield, and soon were again boarding the private jet.

  “How do you feel?” she asked after takeoff.

  He sat across from her. He averted his eyes from his laptop and regarded her. She had been fumbling with her cell phone and now drummed her fingers on her lap. “Not much different than before. You?”

  “Same. I guess marrying in Vegas isn’t all that’s cracked up to be.”

  “Since this will probably be my only marriage, I think it did its job,” he said dryly. Another plus for this scheme: he could say he’d tried. His parents always told him he should find the right woman and make a commitment. He could buy a few years after the divorce to keep from any meddling. He’d say he was still heartbroken and eventually they’d stop trying to get him hitched.

  She upped her eyebrow. “You’re very pragmatic.”

  “Thank you.” He returned his attention to his laptop. His fingers flew on the keyboard as he typed an important email.

  “What do you mean, you won’t get married for real?” she asked. “Like, ever?”

  “Probably not. You?” he answered without taking his gaze from the screen.

  “I want to. I mean, I was engaged once,” she said, an edge of uncertainty in her voice.

  She now fidgeted with the fashion magazine on the console next to her, flipping the pages without looking at them. Maybe she was a bit overwhelmed. Made sense. He barely knew her.

  She’d gotten married, which, though a rational decision, was the epitome of emotional for most people. Asking her a question or two to distract her from reality wouldn’t hurt, would it? “What happened with your ex-fiancé?”

  “Oh. He broke up with me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  Her answer only piqued his curiosity. “Tell me,” he demanded, looking at her square in the eye.

  Her throat worked, visibly. “Why would I tell you something I haven’t even told my best friends or mom?”

  He canted his head. “Because I’m not your best friend. I won’t be in your life for a long time, and I won’t judge you.” He shouldn’t be convincing her to open up. Not to him anyway, when he didn’t intend on reciprocating. But one look into her eyes, and common sense got lost in the rich brown irises.

  “He called me a bad lay,” she said in a low voice.

  What kind of sleazeball would say that to a woman? A twinge of irritation clenched his gut. “Bullshit,” he said quickly.

  A shade of red stained her cheeks. “Nope. I wish it was.”

  “He asked you to marry him, and then broke up with you because of sex,” he said. “He got cold feet.” No man would have asked her in marriage if they didn’t have chemistry to begin with. Her ex was a coward, at best. A strand of anger ran through him, and he fisted his fingers into a ball.

  “Maybe,” she said. “I guess before him, I only had a few boyfriends and thought sex was something I had to do.”

  “The fact you admit that is impressive,” he said. He tilted his head to the side, interested in what else she had to say. Most people didn’t admit their weakness in the beginning of a relationship, even a fake one. “But why? You’re an attractive young woman. Why shouldn’t you enjoy sex?”

  “I don’t know… I walked in on my parents having sex once, when I was a teen. That probably ruined me for life,” she said, making a funny face. “Seriously though, I don’t know… growing up, all my friends at the time were so excited about sex, I didn’t want to be the one who couldn’t come. And nowadays I can come, just mostly on my own.”

  He shifted in his seat, restless. He’d never shared such an honest conversation with someone he’d j
ust met. Especially about such intimate issues. His body temperature increased, and he reached for his water, then took a long sip. What he really needed was to pour it all over his face to keep focus. And change the subject. Change the subject now. “So you never talked about this with anyone?” he asked, finding it impossible to listen to his common sense.

  “Nah. At first I was embarrassed, then I was branded as the sexy Brazilian girl… which made it much easier than actually being one,” she said with nonchalance, but he detected a note of sadness hiding in her voice.

  His heart squeezed in his chest. The tip of his fingers tingled to touch her, to comfort her in a way. Her eyes flew to his, and he wasn’t sure if she challenged him to respond or stay quiet on the subject. He could volunteer to test her sexual expertise, but such an idea would only complicate things further. Besides, since she had been sexualized by partners and stereotypes. He doubted that suggestion would do anything to make her feel valued.

  “What’s on your mind? Was it too much to unpack?” she asked.

  “I hate to say this, but I can’t help. I don’t know much about talking about sex.” Just about doing it, he added to himself. “But my point circles back to that stupid former fiancé. He wasn’t the man for you. If he were, he’d make you forget about any insecurities in that area.” He cleared his throat, and forced his gaze back to the laptop. “Now if you excuse me, I have some work to do.”

  3

  “You did what?” Nikki said out loud, her eyebrows reaching her hairline. Lara shushed her. That morning, two days after the quick Vegas wedding, she was in her office at work when her friend had brought her lunch, a delicious veggie burger.

  “I haven’t told my assistant yet,” Lara said, glancing at the open door leading to the rest of the office.

  Nikki closed it behind her and then slumped in the seat in front of her. “Well, you should. I mean, this is some big news. Who is this guy? Were you drunk?” Nikki leaned closer, pushing her salad to the side. “Was this a bet or something?”