Bad Duke_An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Emily Bishop

  “I do!” There’s nothing funny about this.

  He takes a quick glance at me then pulls the car over at the side of the tree-lined street. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentle. He pushes some stray curly wisps of hair over my head and looks in my eyes. “Seriously, perfection is overrated. Life’s about fun. Not being perfect. Try to relax a bit. You know, unclench.”

  His eyes do something to me. I laugh at myself, at last. “Maybe relaxing would be a good idea. If I knew how.”

  He pats me on the knee, businesslike, then drives on again. “Watch some mindless TV. Have a shot of something in the cupboard. Maybe masturbate. Don’t even look at a piece of paper this afternoon.”

  That sounds good. I have to admit it. I could go home and soak in a long relaxing bath. Rub my clit in the bath. Turn my phone off. Shove the paperwork in a drawer. Get into some sweats and curl up in front of a comedy movie with a tub of chocolate ice cream and a glass of wine. Sounds like indulgent bliss. “But isn’t that like, wasting time? Just being lazy?”

  He pulls into my street. “No.” He sounds scandalized. “You need a damn rest, that’s what you need. I’m not giving you the choice. I command you to relax. All afternoon. All evening. You can work tomorrow before our flight the day after.”

  I snort a laugh. “OK.”

  He looks at me and smiles as he pulls the BMW up by the curb. “All right, then.”

  I’m relaxed again. I look into his eyes and really feel grateful. “Thanks, Gray.” Then I get out of the car, already planning on lighting my candles next to the tub.

  “You’re welcome.” Then he leans over and looks up at me. “And if you touch yourself, you can call me if you want. That was really hot when you called me last time. Only this time, call me in the middle of the action.”

  Heat shoots up through my pussy. But I’m not going there again. Not now. “I’m turning my phone off.” But I smile. “See you, Gray.”

  He smiles back. A lovely, genuine smile. “See you, Isabella.”

  Chapter 9

  Grayson

  DAY 6

  I’m taking the advice I gave to Isabella for myself today. I wake up to the beeping of my phone. A message. For a quick flash of a moment, I hope it’s her. Don’t be ridiculous, Gray. No, I hope it’s Mr. Fink, confirming our meeting for as soon as we get there. I play the message. It’s not him.

  It’s Elodie. We fucked almost as soon as I landed in Seattle. I picked her up at the airport bar while I was waiting for Eddie to get through customs and worked the charm on her until she came back, giggling and flirting, to my hotel room. The first thing this bed got was a hot fuck. Even I, womanizer alpha extraordinaire, took that as an achievement. Want to hook up again? I’m free tonight. Last time was amazing. Let’s have round two. Her message is so empty. I fling the phone on the bed and feel exhausted. I don’t even want to look at a woman right now.

  Where’s the remote? I find it buried in the covers and put the TV on. I scroll through. Any mindless movie station, please. People blowing up cars or shooting other people would be good, thanks. I’ll stay in here all day and order room service. A burger. Fries. A big salad. A pizza. A bottle of champagne. Cake. I’ll eat it all and charge it to Eddie’s room.

  As soon as I reach over to the hotel phone on the nightstand, my own phone spits its ringtone out. It’s far too loud. I pick it up planning to reject Elodie’s call and turn it off. But it’s not Elodie. It’s Isabella.

  I’m not sure I want to speak to her. But I can’t have her thinking she’s rattled me. I put on my best arrogant, carefree voice. I try to feel like my normal self. “Hello?”

  “That advice of yours doesn’t work.”

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I spent all day doing nothing yesterday, like you advised. Then when I got up this morning, I had double the amount of work to do and double the stress.”

  I don’t doubt that. Her stress pulses out of the phone and through my nerves. “Frankly, whatever, Isabella. Do what you want. No one put a gun to your head and forced you.”

  She’s like a steamroller. “I want to talk business, exact figures. You said fifty million. I want to talk to the dollars and cents. I want a written agreement, signed by you. Before you flit off with my money and say I take life too seriously.”

  “Not now. We’ll do it on the plane.”

  “I’m not stepping on that airplane until this is done. I’m coming over now.”

  I sit up. “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. Or the whole deal’s off.”

  I snort. She thinks she’s the one in control? “Fine then, let your business collapse around your feet. See if I care.” I hang up and switch the phone off. I’m getting my damn room service burger, fries, and a pizza, thank you very much. I call my order in and then find exactly what I want on TV—some movie with guys and guns and explosions. I pull the sheet up over me and feel victorious.

  Before I know it, there’s a knock at the door. Yes. Pepperoni pizza and a thick slab of prime Angus burger with cheese, coming right up. I rush out of bed and to the door. But when I open it, it’s not just the room-service man with his food trolley. Isabella’s standing right next to him, wearing her business suit and a scowl.

  Why do I feel so weak? This isn’t like me at all. But I put on my regular self. Imagine that, my regular self has become like a piece of clothing I can take on and put off. How in the hell did that happen? “Come in, Isabella,” I say. It’s a command. “Bring the food in.”

  “Yes, sir.” He pushes the trolley through and takes the silver covers off everything. “Enjoy, sir. Enjoy, madam.”

  “Thank you.” I give him a tip from the stack of small bills I have on the dresser.

  Isabella gives him a distracted, “Thanks,” but she clicks her heel on the wooden floor over and over. Her whole body is tense.

  I’m not going to get caught up in her drama. I take a slice of pizza and sit down on the bed. “Want some?”

  “No, thank you,” she says tightly. She sits on the chair in front of the table and mirror. She thumps her business folder down. “I came to talk business, not eat pizza. I want you to look over all the figures and understand what you’re investing your money into.”

  “I said I’ll give you the fifty million. Draw up a contract if you don’t trust me. But I’m not looking over the papers.” Damn straight I’m not. By the first paragraph, my eyes would be glazing over. There looks to be hundreds of pages.

  She screws up her lips into a little tight ball. “So, you’re telling me you’re willing to give away fifty million dollars of your father’s hard-earned money without even checking where it’s going? I could just be using you to get rich. I could be a total liar. Aren’t you going to even check? Or does your father’s hard work mean that little to you?”

  Hard work is exactly the phrase that springs to mind. Why does she have to make everything such hard work? Why is she so much hard work? I grab another slice of pizza. “You should be happy you’re getting your money.”

  “It’s not just about the money. It’s about the integrity. You should have more.”

  Fury leaps up in me. I stuff pizza in my mouth and stand up. “You’ll stop preaching at me, right now.”

  But she won’t quit. “Values, you know? Ever heard of them, Gray?”

  Something in me flips. “Yeah, I know all about those. Nobody wants to hear about them. Nobody cares. It’s time you woke up from your dream world, Isabella. The world is about money and people’s selfish desires and people wanting to be bigger and more powerful than other people. Not about values, or integrity, or any of that shit. If you want to believe that all that will save your father’s business and save the world, then go ahead. More the fool you are. But I know what I know. Integrity is a waste of time. Nobody wants to hear anyone else’s values. So, you might as well decide what you want in life and do what it takes to get it. Values be damned.”

  “Oh, really?” Her eyebrows shoot up. I thou
ght she’d be broken by that speech. If anything, she looks stronger. “And what do you want, Grayson Fairfax the Second? To sleep with every woman on the planet?”

  “No. I want to get this fake engagement over and done with so I can inherit my money.”

  Her legs are crossed one over the other. Her free high heel swings back and forth with frustration. “And what are you doing to do with that money? Squander it on crap, probably.”

  “It’s none of your damn business what I do with it.” I wrench a slice of pizza from the plate.

  Her leg stops swinging. She sighs. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m only asking… well, because I care.”

  “Stop caring then.” I’m uncomfortable standing there in my boxers. I thrust the pizza back on the plate and go wash my hands in the bathroom. Then I pull on a shirt and long shorts.

  I glance up at her as I retrieve my pizza slice. Her eyes have taken on some far-away look. “I guess I’m also asking because I don’t get it. I really don’t. I mean, the thing I want most in the world right now is to protect my father’s legacy. To turn the business around so he can be proud of me. Just like I’m proud of him. But I don’t get why you wouldn’t want to do that for your father, too. It’s like you only care about the money and not that it’s his money.”

  I sit back on the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want pizza?”

  She shakes her head, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

  A silence stretches out between us. I can practically hear her willing me to answer the question in her mind.

  “Maybe my father wasn’t like your father,” I eventually say. “Maybe he’s someone people should forget instead of remember.”

  Isabella frowns. “But he was a duke. He was very successful. He achieved so much. And you were his only child.”

  I shrug and take another bite of pizza. None of it means anything. “You didn’t know him.”

  “I always heard he was a great man.”

  “People talk shit.”

  Her voice is soft. “It sounds like you hate him.”

  “He was an arsehole. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Why?”

  “He just was. Who cares why? Look, I’m not into all these questions, OK?” I didn’t even want her here. I could have stayed cooped up in the room all day. But now it feels like a prison. I have to get out, but I don’t want to see anyone. “I’m going to the park. If you want to come, then come. If you don’t, you’re free to leave.”

  She walks over to the door and crosses her arms. “I’m coming. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  ***

  I haven’t been to a park in so long. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was in greenery at all. The closest I get to nature is the potted plants in the five-star hotel lobby. We have thousands of acres back home. As a child, I used to run about with Eddie in the woods, in the fields. Try to catch fish in the lake and fail miserably. That all changed after I went to boarding school in Seattle. I went home during school breaks but never felt like going outside again. The trees didn’t speak to me anymore. The greenery didn’t mean anything. Even the flowers weren’t beautiful anymore.

  We walk along in silence, Isabella and me.

  Eventually, she says, “Your father hurt you.” Her voice is quiet and gentle, but it feels like a knife stabbing in my chest.

  “Not really.”

  “Then why do you hate him so much?”

  “He was an arsehole. I told you.”

  “I got the asshole part loud and clear,” she says. “But what makes you say that?”

  “Everything.” I look around at the trees and feel the same way I used to when I came home from school. Empty. Filled with a sense that life is never how you want it to be. It’s like my father is still here, even though he’s dead. How will I ever get rid of him?

  We walk on quietly. I look at her. She bites her lip, watching the ground. I know she’s worrying about me. I don’t want her to. But how do I stop it?

  “Didn’t it ever strike you as weird that I came all the way from England to boarding school in Seattle?” I feel a little out-of-body. I never have conversations like this. “When I could have gone to Eton, Harrow, Winchester? There are plenty of boarding schools in England. Better than ours.”

  “You always said it was because you loved America, and you’d gone on a hunger strike until your dad agreed to send you.”

  God. Teen Gray Fairfax was always arrogant and full of shit. I don’t know whether to feel proud of him or sorry for him.

  “I take it that wasn’t true,” she says quietly.

  “My dad sent me as far away as possible,” I spit. “Because he treated my mother like shit and was always making her cry. So, one day, I stood up to him. And he told me I’d regret it for the rest of my life.” I can’t believe I’m even saying this. But it flows out of my mouth like a river. The dam’s burst. “The first thing was to get me as far away as possible from them. So he could continue to cheat and break my mother down until she died. It was cancer. But I know he gave it to her. Somehow. Though all the stress.”

  “Oh no,” she says.

  I look at her, searching for judgment. Does she think I’m weak? Does she think I’m a loser? She looks down. But when she looks up, there’s something strong in her eyes. Something I don’t fully recognize. She reaches up to me, like she’s not quite thinking straight either, and takes my face in her hands. Then she leans in and kisses me. A gentle kiss, her soft lips pressing against mine.

  It’s the first time I’ve kissed in years. I don’t kiss the women I conquer. Never. I always pull away. But I don’t pull away now. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I sink into it. She pushes her body close to mine, and I feel her warmth. Her tongue pushes gently into my mouth. The kiss is tender. New. Heaven. She’s actually taking me to heaven.

  Chapter 10

  Isabella

  DAY 7

  Sitting in the packed airplane, this is the first time it feels real. All the drama and emotional ups and downs between Gray and I are going to pay off soon. Real soon. The coach seat is uncomfortable, and I don’t have enough leg room, but who cares? The next time I catch a flight, I’ll have fifty million in my business bank account. I’ll be on track to my new life. I’ll bring my father’s business back to its former glory, no, to greater glory. He’ll look down on me from heaven and smile.

  Then, one day, I’ll meet Mr. Right, Mr. Perfect, in one of our department stores. An actual human rights lawyer, maybe. Or an investigative journalist who always does the right thing. Or maybe just a good, solid, hardworking man who wants a family. He’ll sweep me off my feet. He’ll say all the right things. He’ll make me feel safe and wanted and lovely. I’ll never have to worry about him being a loose cannon. He’ll never be arrogant.

  “We’re together, all right?” Gray whispers to me. “Anyone we see, they have to think we’re really engaged. I’m good at pretending. I want to see how good you are.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. I feel relaxed. My Kindle’s on my lap.

  He turns up his lip at it. “You’re going to read books the whole time?” he says, like it’s preposterous.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say. “I have a nice little stock here. Some business books, some fiction. Before I know it, the flight will be over.” It’s a ten-hour flight, but I have plenty to keep me going.

  “I wish Eddie was here,” Gray grumbles. “We drink the whole plane out of stock, piss ourselves laughing at comedy films, and flirt outrageously with all the air hostesses.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s got himself his Seattle bad girl and is having a whale of a time,” I say. “So, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  People still file down the aisles with their bags, looking for their seats. We were the first on the plane. Gray charms his way everywhere, and the airport personnel on the ground—pretty women, of course—put him at the front of the line. I was invisible to them, only as important as a piece of luggage tagging behind him. It made me
mad, but I’m over it now. Why should I care what these people think of me?

  “Oh!” An old man catches his feet on someone else’s bag that’s poking out into the aisle. He falls forward onto his bag, then grabs the aisle seat in the row in front of us to right himself. “Ow! My back!” He grabs his back with his gnarled hand, wincing.

  His elderly wife turns. “Robert, are you all right?”

  “I’m OK, I’m OK,” the elderly man says. But when he reaches down for his luggage, he winces again.

  Gray shoots out of his seat. “Sir, let me help you with your bags. Madam, I can take yours, too. Where are you sitting?”

  “That’s kind of you,” the woman says. “We’re in row twenty-four. Seats A and B.”

  “All right,” Gray says. He lifts their cases up with ease, though they had been struggling and bowing under the weight. “I’ll stow them in the overhead compartments. Is there anything you need in them for the flight?”

  “Oh, no, thank you, son,” the lady says and pats her handbag. “I have it all here.”

  Gray takes off down the aisle, saying, “So you’re going to London. What are you planning to do there?”

  Their voices are lost in the low chatter of the passengers and the hum of the engine. I shake my head. Did Gray seriously just do that? I thought he’d be the type of person to turn his head away and say it’s not his problem. In school, he might even have been the one who pushed the old man down in the first place. But as I take a glance back, he’s still there chatting with them. He closes the overhead lockers and gives them a winning smile. I wonder what he wants from them. Is he going to ask them for money or something? I could see him doing this for a pretty girl, in exchange for her number, and later, a night of passion, but what is he trying to gain here?

  I decide to mind my own business and get lost in a story. When he comes back, he smiles at me, flushed with pleasure. “Hey,” he says, obviously expecting me to say something.

  “Hey. I’m reading right now. Let’s talk later.”