Forced to Yield: Blackmailing the Billionaire Series - Book 2

by Tasha Fawkes

  “With respect to you, Matt, is Rex qualified for such an important project?” Phillip Henson, one of the oldest members of the board, asks. A few other members nod their agreement. “I’m not saying you’re not capable,” he adds, directing that comment at me. “It’s just I think there are people here who would make a much more obvious choice.”

  “It’s not a decision that is up for negotiation,” Matt says calmly. “And with respect back to you, do we really want obvious when we’re going up against someone like James Denton?”

  “Maybe not, but—”

  “Until Rex gives me a reason to doubt his ability to see this through, he has my full support. And the support of all of you, I hope,” Matt says, cutting Phillip off.

  I stare at Matt. Does he really believe that? I crave his approval much more than I want to admit, and I hate myself for it. I want to show him that there is so much more to me than what he thinks. Just because I don't have any big ambitions of building a career under my grandfather's name, that doesn't make me some dumb shit who doesn't know anything.

  “Okay,” Phillip says with a curt nod. “Then I welcome you to the company, Rex. I’m curious to see what you can do.”

  I smile and give a brisk nod, not trusting myself to say anything. I have one thought running through my mind, over and over again, and I’m pretty sure every single person in that room is thinking the same thing.

  Please don’t let me stuff this up.

  Two

  Shana

  “I get it,” I grumble. “I'm awake.”

  Groaning, I roll over as my alarm continues to sound, wishing it would just shut up. I reach out my hand and fumble for the switch to turn it off, and then I sit up and rub the back of my aching neck. I look around my room, still waking up. Light is just beginning to filter through the blinds, and it’s lighter than it usually is around this time. My eyes fall on the numbers on the clock, and I see why.

  “Shit,” I growl, panic surging through me. I'm late. And not just a little bit late. I'm in danger of turning up late for the first time in my entire working career.

  I power out of bed and head straight to the shower, soaping up my body and then quickly rinsing it off in record time. Jumping out onto the soft bathmat, I wrap a towel around my body and race down to the kitchen to make myself a coffee.

  Skipping caffeine this early in the morning just isn’t an option, but I only let the pot half perk before pouring the black liquid into my travel mug. I leave it sitting on the edge of the counter next to my keys and my briefcase and then race back to my room to get dressed.

  I shouldn’t have stayed up so late.

  The worst thing is, it wasn’t even for anything exciting, like a hot date. No, I was up until three in the morning because I was determined to finish the Mercer contracts today, instead of Monday when I needed them to be done by. It’s just another feeble attempt to get my father’s attention. I knew it wouldn’t matter. It never does. The bad always outweighs the good, and being five minutes late for work will outshine the fifty positive things I’ve done for his company in the past week. I groan and shake my head. Sometimes I hate my life.

  I’m thirty-four, attractive, single and I have a career that most women would die for. I should be happy. On the outside, it would seem like I have it all, but I know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving. I live in my father's shadow, never really fulfilling my full potential because he can’t see what I am capable of. Outside of work, things are even worse.

  I put everything into my career, and it shows. I have no social life to speak of, mainly because I rarely go anywhere that doesn’t relate to work. I’ve been out on the occasional date that my best friend, Ashley, had set me up on, but as soon as they discovered that I had ambition and, god forbid, an actual brain, they went running for the hills. Hell, I haven’t had sex in over a year. Seriously, a year.

  I glance at my reflection in the mirror and frown. Am I really that intimidating? I’m cute and I can hold a conversation, so it must be that. I'm just not playing dumb enough to get myself a guy.

  No. Don’t do that, Shana. Don't dumb yourself down just to please some guy.

  Sighing, I grab my brush and run it through my long dark hair and scoop it up into a hair tie. Sometimes I just wish I could be more like Ash. As if on cue, my phone beeps with a message from her. I glance at my phone and open her text.

  Ash: You’re coming out tonight. No excuses.

  I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, because her timing couldn't be more perfect.

  Me: Fine. I’ll go out with you.

  Ash: Holy shit, really?

  I giggle at her reply. This is the first time I think I've ever agreed to go out with her during the week. I’m usually so snowed down with work that the idea of taking time for myself—even just a few hours—feels like too much. But today is already off to such a bad start that I’m willing to write the whole day off.

  I glance at the clock and curse. Okay, now I'm really late. I grab my things off the counter, along with my coffee and race out the door. Downstairs, I hail a cab, jumping inside when it slows to a stop.

  “Denton Industries on Fourth, please,” I say.

  I stare at my phone as it clicks over to nine thirty. I’m half expecting my father to call, demanding to know where I am. I sit impatiently as the cab slowly moves through traffic. It probably would've been just as fast to walk there. I glance up at the gray sky and wince. No. With my luck, it will start pouring the second I get out.

  After what feels like hours—but in reality, it’s only fifteen minutes—the cab pulls up out the front of work. I thank the driver, tossing a few bills at him as I climb out.

  I sink into my chair in the boardroom and glance around, my heart racing as I try to catch my breath. If anyone noticed that I was a few—okay, forty-five—minutes late, they didn’t say anything. I could climb onto this table and perform a striptease and nobody would blink an eye. I’m just the boss' daughter, who sits here quietly, keeping her opinions to herself while she makes up the numbers in diversity.

  The truth is, I’m used to feeling invisible. Everyone thinks my father is the only reason I got this job. I’m sure most of them probably don’t even think I’m qualified to be working here, like my five years of college meant nothing. I’m here because I’m loyal and dependable, not because I deserve it. My own father even doesn’t value my opinion, so why would anyone else?

  I'm good at what I do, but there’s no way I'll be taking over from my father when he retires. I’d be kidding myself if I thought otherwise, never mind the fact that I worked my ass off to get where I am. He'd never trust me with such an important role. He wanted a son and what he got was me. I lived with his disappointment my whole life. To him, I’m just a useful vote that he can depend on when he needs it.

  When did earning my father's approval and respect become my lifelong ambition? Maybe the only way to make him notice me is to go to work for a competitor. The idea of being somewhere that my skills are actually recognized sends a shiver through me. God, I can’t even imagine how amazing that would feel. Not that it will ever happen, because I couldn’t do that to my father. Could I?

  I turn my attention back to my father and listen to my him drone on about the same old things. I suppress a groan. I ache to be given the chance to prove myself, to show my father that I can do this. I've got so many ideas that would improve this place, because it’s sinking right under them and they don't even know it.

  As long as my father is in charge, nothing is going to change. I either need to suck it up, or do something and deal with the consequences later.

  At exactly six in the evening, I pack up my briefcase and leave it under my desk. I smile, a flutter of excitement racing through me. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t take any work home with me. But right there, smothering the excitement is the guilt. I shrug it off. I refuse to feel guilty about spending some time for myself. Nobody else here bothers taking work home with them, so wh
y should I? To impress my father? When was the last time he commented on what a great job I did for the company? He takes me for granted, so why should I go out of my way to do more than I need to when he’s not going to acknowledge it anyway? Standing up, I push in my chair, and then walk out.

  I’m determined to enjoy myself tonight. Even if it kills me.

  I jog over to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly. I have less than an hour until Ash gets here, and I still need to get ready. Once inside my apartment, I have a shower that rivals this morning’s as the quickest in history and then pad my way down to my bedroom, where I rummage through my closet, looking for something to wear. It’s an effort to find something that doesn’t scream conservative or work, but I manage to find something that I’m moderately happy with. It’s a knee-length charcoal skirt that I pair with a sheer silk blouse I got on sale a few months ago. I run my fingers through my hair, letting it hang loosely around my shoulders. Just as I finish applying some mascara, Ash knocks on the door. Satisfied, I walk over to the door and yank it open.

  “Hey,” Ash says. She frowns at me. “Why aren’t you ready?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, glancing down.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…you didn’t wear that to work?” Ash’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush as I narrow my eyes at her.

  “No,” I say, hiding a smile. “But I assume this is your way of telling me that you don’t approve?”

  “It’s just not sexy enough,” she replies. “You look like a librarian. And not the slutty kind, either.”

  “Gee thanks,” I mutter.

  Just like that, my confidence has plummeted. Ash grabs my hand and leads me down to my room, with me reluctantly dragging my feet her. What hope do I have if I can’t even get my outfit right?

  “I can fix this,” she assures me. “I just hope you’ve got something for me to work with.”

  I stand there with my hands on my hips, watching her as she works her way through my clothes. I’m starting to give up hope as the ‘no’ items pile up on the floor. She holds up a black chiffon and lace dress, studying it intently.

  “This,” she declares with a swift nod. “Is perfect. It’s totally hot. Did I give you this?” she asks. “It looks familiar.”

  “Yes.” I grin. I was wondering when she was going to remember. “You got it for yourself but decided you didn’t like it.”

  “That’s right.” She nods slowly. “I’m so short, it came down to my ankles almost. You, on the other hand, are perfect for this dress.”

  I take it from her and hold it against me, alarmed at how short it is. After much convincing, I strip down and put the dress on, while Ash zips me up. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, not sure whether I like what I see or hate it.

  “Holy shit, Shana. You look hot,” Ash squeals. “If that doesn’t get you laid tonight, then nothing will.”

  “It’s, uh, a little short, isn’t it?” I say, frowning at my bare thighs. I’m pretty sure if I bend over in this I’ll be flashing my ass. “Are you sure it isn’t a top? And I didn’t realize tonight was about picking up,” I add, narrowing my eyes.

  Ash rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure, there’s no such thing as too short, and every moment should be considered an opportunity to pick up,” she scoffs. “Now let’s go before they cancel our reservation.”

  She takes my hand and drags me out the door before I can second-guess myself.

  “Nice, huh?” Ash says as we walk into the bar.

  I glance around the crowded space, aware that people are staring at me. Not just people, specifically men. Lots of men. Hot men. I flush and tug at the hem of my dress as it rides up my thigh. A hot guy who looks about eighteen winks at me from a few tables over. I panic and stare down at the cocktail menu. Ash giggles at my reaction.

  “Own it, Shana. You’re hot and people notice.”

  I try to relax while Ash gets our drinks, but I feel like I have a spotlight on me. A guy smiles at me. I smile back, but it’s forced, and then focus on my phone and don’t look up again.

  Jesus Christ, Shana. And you wonder why it’s been over a year?

  I’ve shut down a golden opportunity to hook up with someone before it even began. The worst part is I know that after a few minutes of small talk, we could’ve been making out in a dark corner somewhere, or heading back to my place, but I just can’t do it. I don't know how to act or what to say. I'm so inexperienced and out of practice when it comes to that kind of thing. Ash sits back down and slides my wine in front of me. She glances over at the guy and then back at me.

  “Uh, you do realize he's totally checking you out?”

  I shrug, embarrassed. “I smiled at him,” I say defensively.

  “And?” She shakes her head, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I know this is hard for you, babe, but you have to put yourself out there.” She sighs and studies me closely. “What's wrong with you today?”

  “Nothing, I'm just clearly out of practice.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean in general. You’re even more defensive than usual. And you actually agreed to come out with me, which is so not you. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine,” I say. “I'm just having a bad day. I have no life because I work my ass off, which gets me nowhere. But I can’t move on while there is even a tiny ray of hope that, one day, Dad will realize just how much I do for him.”

  Ash eyes me sympathetically. “You know that's not likely to happen,” she says softly.

  “I know.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I wanted to forget about work tonight, not spend the whole night moaning about it.” I take a deep breath and smile, determined to redirect the conversation to her. “So what's up with you?” I ask. “Are we still on a different guy every night kind of thing?” I tease.

  Ash flushes. “Actually, it's just one guy at the moment.”

  “One?” I repeat with a smile. I don’t think I’ve ever known Ash to focus only on one guy. She’s the queen of keeping her options open. “Tell me about him then.”

  “Well, we’ve been seeing each other for about three weeks now—”

  “And you’re only now getting around to telling me?” I cut in.

  “You know how I get,” she replies defensively. “I like him, Shana. I was expecting to psych myself out and stuff it all up, but he’s persistent.”

  “What does he do?” I ask.

  “He’s a vet.” She frowns. “He's got three Alsatians.”

  “You’re allergic to dogs,” I remind her with a giggle.

  “He doesn’t need to know that,” she says, dismissively.

  “You think he's not going to find out eventually?” I say with a grin.

  I wish I could be there to see her eyes begin to water and that uncontrollable sneezing start the moment she sees his three giant dogs. I watch as Ash texts on her phone for the tenth time during our conversation.

  “Alsatian guy?” I guess, raising my eyebrows. She flushes and tucks her phone away.

  “Sorry.” She winces. “He's asking me to come over to his place.”

  “You can go if you want,” I say with a grin, relieved to have an excuse to go home.

  “Are you sure?” she asks with a frown.

  “I’m tired and I have to be up early, so yes. Go,” I encourage her. “Just let me know what happens when you start reacting to his dogs.”

  Her eyes widen, and I laugh. I can’t believe she hadn’t considered that when agreeing to go to his place.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her as she furiously taps out a text.

  “Inviting him over to my place.” She grins. “Problem averted.”

  Back at home, I climb into bed and pull the covers up around my neck. Letting loose and being a normal person was great in theory, but I hate being the focus of other people. I know that I need to force myself out of my comfort zone because I’ve spent so long hiding myself away, but it’s easier said than done. And on top of that, I feel guilty about not spending
the evening going over the final copy of the contracts for a case my father is working on.

  Why? He’s not going to notice or care.

  I close my eyes, hoping sleep will come, just like I do most nights. And just like every other night, I can’t switch my mind off. Hours later, I’m still lying there, tired and exhausted.

  But most of all, I’m depressed, because all I can do is think about how empty my life is.

  Three

  Rex

  I’m a new man.

  Well, at least, I'm trying to be one. I stand at the front of the office, impatiently waiting for Matt to arrive. I zip up my jacket and glance around and frown. If I was planning on making a good impression, I probably should've thought about getting a key first, because all I’ve managed to do is freeze my ass off for half an hour.

  “About fucking time,” I mutter to myself when I spot him walking down the sidewalk in my direction, a coffee in his hand.

  I straighten up and take a deep breath, trying my hardest not to look annoyed. He’s so busy looking at his phone that he hasn’t even noticed that I’m standing right there. Finally, he looks up and does a double take, as if the sight of me here is that unbelievable. A smile moves across his lips. I frown, not sure what he’s finding so amusing.

  “Wow,” he murmurs, his eyes sparkling. “You’re actually here on time. I’m impressed. No big night last night, then?” he teases. “Oh wait, let me guess. You haven't slept yet, have you?”

  “I've slept as much as I needed to,” I retort, not bothering to correct him that I wasn’t just on time, I was fucking early. “And unlike you, I can handle work and play. It’s called stamina.”

  Matt chuckles. “No offence, but you're not something I usually associate with stamina, Rex.”

  I glare at him, refusing to let that comment get under my skin. I reach over and snatch the coffee cup from his hands, drinking down the rest of its contents.