Billionaires and Bad Boys: The Complete 7-Book Box Set

by Nikki Chase

  So I change the subject.

  “How’s Joanne doing right now?” I ask.

  “She actually recovered for a while. She got back to work. She even got married and had a baby.” Zeke pauses. His eyes take on a faraway look. “And then, her husband died and she stopped taking care of herself. She fell ill. When they checked her up at the hospital, they found some cancer cells that had started to grow back.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah.” Zeke takes a deep breath. “It sucks. But she tells me she feels like she’s been given seven extra years to live. It’s annoying how optimistic she is sometimes.”

  “She sounds like a great person,” I say.

  “She is.”

  “Could I see her?”

  Zeke hesitates, pausing for a moment, before he finally says, “Yeah, sure.” Then he adds, “Just don’t say anything about our little agreement.”

  Zeke

  Hospitals always smell so fucking depressing. The cold, fluorescent lighting doesn’t help either. Or the beige linoleum flooring.

  You know what? Everything about hospitals suck.

  And I’m not just talking about aesthetics either. There’s no part of a hospital that’s happy—not even the babies area, whatever that’s called, because babies get sick and die, too.

  Every single room in this building has witnessed human grief and suffering. I’m willing to put money on it.

  I hate that Joanne has to live here and surround herself with all these fucking depressing vibes. But there’s no other choice.

  Just like every other person here, she didn’t choose this. Nobody steps foot into a hospital by choice.

  I glance at Ali, who’s walking beside me. She’s the one who requested to come here to St. Peter’s Hospital and see Joanne, but it would’ve been a lot better if they could meet under different circumstances.

  If there was any hope at all that Joanne could recover, I would’ve pushed this meeting until we could have a nice sit-down dinner someplace fancy. We’d clink our glasses of champagne and chat over some marbled steaks. Maybe we’d even do that while enjoying views of the ocean.

  But the way things are right now, this is the only way for them to meet—with Ali as my fake wife, and Joanne as a terminally sick cancer patient.

  “How long has Joanne been staying here?” Ali asks as we walk down the bright hallway. She looks tense.

  “A few months.”

  “That’s a long time. I hope she gets out soon,” she says.

  “I don’t,” I blurt out, before I realize how bad it must sound. When I look at Ali, she seems horrified by my statement. “Sorry, that came out wrong,” I say. “The doctors have given up. They don’t know what else to do to help her. We’re applying so if she gets out, it’s probably because… It probably won’t be because she’s gotten better.”

  “Sorry,” Ali says softly.

  “We’re trying to get her into this new drug trial. It’s her only alternative right now. But the way the cancer is progressing, we don’t know if it’ll work.”

  “I hope it will,” Ali says as she bites the insides of her mouth.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure she’ll like you.”

  It sounds fake even to my own ears, like a line that everybody says when their partner is about to meet their family.

  But this is not a normal meet-the-family scenario. Nothing about this is normal.

  I reach Joanne’s door. It’s puke-green, with a little square window in it, through which I can peek inside.

  The curtain blocks my view of her bed, but I already called ahead and I know she’s waiting for me.

  But these days, it’s difficult to say if she’d be alert enough for a decent conversation. I hope she is. I hope Ali gets to see at least just a glimpse of Joanne’s personality and doesn’t simply remember her as a person who is sick.

  I don’t know when it happened, but something has shifted.

  This is not just about Joanne anymore. It’s also about Ali. I want to share this part of my life with her.

  She accepted me even when I was just a penniless high-school drop-out with no future. And now, I realize how precious that is.

  From where I’m standing, at the peak, it’s easy to get people on my side. Hell, I have women throwing themselves at me all the time. But I could never know why they’d even bother with me. Most of them don’t even know me.

  But it’s different with Ali. She’s the opposite. She likes me because she knows me, and she doesn’t care about my wealth or my social standing.

  Maybe it’s because she grew up with privilege, and that allowed her to see just how shallow all of it is. I know it has taken me all this wealth to realize how meaningless material things are, if I don’t have anyone to share them with.

  “Ready?” I ask Ali as I grab the door handle.

  “Yeah,” she nods.

  I knock softly on the door and push it open. “Jo,” I call out as I step inside.

  This room smells even worse than the hallway. It’s like someone has spilled a bucket of disinfectants and cough syrup, but instead of cleaning it up, they’ve just spread it all over the linoleum floor.

  “Zeke? Is that you?” Joanne sounds weak, but there’s excitement in her voice. She’s been looking forward to meeting Ali.

  “How are you doing today?” I ask as I walk past the curtain and into her view.

  “Oh, as usual. Could be better, could be worse,” she says with a smile.

  Her face is pale and her cheekbones are way too prominent, now that she’s thinner than she has ever been. But she tries to stay cheerful, even though I can tell it’s getting more and more difficult. The least I can do is let her think she has managed to fool me into thinking she’s fine.

  “Did Sherry already come by with Brody today?” I ask.

  “Not yet. I’m sure she’ll come any time now,” she says, sounding unconvinced herself. Her eyes focuses on a point behind me, and I know she’s looking at Ali. Her smile spreads wider. “Hi, Ali. Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

  “Hi, Joanne,” Ali says. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. We should’ve met before the wedding.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Joanne says, waving a thin hand dismissively. “It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s Zeke’s fault.”

  “Hey,” I protest as I pull out a chair for Ali and place it by the bed.

  “Oh, that’s true,” Ali says, grinning as she agrees with Joanne. She takes her seat, then says, “He never offered to take me to see you. I had to ask him myself, even though he also never told me much about you.”

  “You’d think he’d say something, right?” Joanne says. “He hasn’t said much about you either, Ali. And you fared way better than I ever did. I’ve been asking him to let me see you for ten years, and he hasn’t said yes once.”

  “For ten years?” Ali asks.

  “Don’t you girls have other things to talk about, other than me?” I ask. “Clothes? Hair? Handbags?”

  “No way. This is way more interesting,” Ali says with mischief and excitement in her voice.

  “I’m liking her already,” Joanne says as she gives me a smile. “Yes, Ali, ten years. Can you imagine that?”

  “Wait, so you’ve known about me for ten years?” Ali asks.

  “It’s really not that interesting,” I say.

  “Oh, but it is.” Joanne grins. “Zeke doesn’t talk much about girls. But I remember him mentioning you a few times, and I knew you were special.”

  “And this was ten years ago?” Ali asks again, as if she can’t believe it.

  “Yeah, we shared an apartment at the time. I remember because he’d just gotten a new job and I asked him how his day was. Instead of talking about the work, he started gushing about how pretty the boss’ daughter was, and how he couldn’t get his eyes off her.”

  “I didn’t ‘gush,’” I protest.

  Joanne rolls her eyes. “Okay, he said something l
ike, ‘The job sucks, but the boss’ daughter is some serious piece of eye candy,’” Joanne says in a low voice that’s supposed to mimic mine. “But that counts as gushing by Zeke’s standards. You know how he is.”

  Ali turns to look at me, a small smile on her lips. “Eye candy, huh?”

  “Then he started mentioning how he said hi to you one day, and how you started to chat a little more. And he was always smiling when he was talking about you, so I knew he really liked you. He never spoke that way about anyone else.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Ali says, again turning to me with a pleased smile.

  “So how did the two of you reconnect?” Joanne asks. “Zeke never said anything, until suddenly he told me you guys were getting married.”

  Ali glances at me before she tells the story we’ve agreed on. “Well, I’d been living somewhere else until a few months ago. I moved back into town, and we met again through mutual friends, and the rest is history.”

  It’s technically not a lie. Everything she has just said is true. She’s just leaving out the part about our agreement. If Joanne found out about that, there’d be no point to this whole charade—although I’ll admit I’d still enjoy Ali’s company.

  “Oh, right. I think Zeke told me that you moved away for college,” Joanne says, eyeing me with suspicion. “Then he never mentioned your name again.”

  “Yeah, I moved to Connecticut, and we… Uh, we lost touch with each other. I guess we were too young,” Ali says, with unexpected sadness in her words.

  “But now you’re together again, just like you’re supposed to be. There’s no use thinking about the time you lost. All’s well that ends well, right?” Joanne asks.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Ali says. She smiles, but her dark hazel eyes remain somber.

  “So, you’ve just moved into the apartment, right?” Joanne asks, changing the subject.

  “Yeah,” Ali says.

  “It’s so uncommon these days for couples to wait until after the wedding to move in together. How are you settling in?”

  “Well, I don’t have a lot of stuff, so it was pretty quick and painless. I just moved in yesterday, though, so I’m still getting used to it.”

  “Yeah, Zeke is a bit of a slob,” Joanne says. “He was really annoying to live with. He used to leave dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor.”

  “That’s not a problem anymore, ladies,” I announce proudly. “Because I’ve outsourced all those house chores.”

  “Yeah,” Joanne says. “It’s not fair that he doesn’t have to learn to keep a clean house like normal adults should, but living with him should be way easier for you than it was for me. At least you don’t have to clean up after him.”

  Joanne continues to talk about how she suffered as my roommate, and Ali listens, rapt with attention. They seem to be getting along fine, as long as they’re talking about all the things that are wrong with me.

  After a while, Ali excuses herself to the en-suite bathroom.

  I’ve deliberately chosen a private room for Joanne, so she has this space to herself. She protested at first, knowing how long her stay was going to be, and how expensive it could be. But I insisted, and she relented.

  Now, if I could only get her to relent on one other thing…

  “I like her,” Joanne says.

  “I knew you would.”

  I’ve told Joanne many lies lately, and I feel bad about that. But this one is real.

  I knew Joanne would like Ali. That’s why I knew there was no other person who could be my fake wife but her.

  Lies are more convincing when they’re partially true. The history between Ali and me would go a long way toward making this seem real.

  “This is going to sound crazy,” Joanne says, “but I didn’t think that you two were a real thing. I thought you were just doing it so I’d agree to your request.”

  “You think I’d pretend to get married with someone, just to get you to say yes?” I ask in a sarcastic tone, relieved that she doesn’t realize how close she is to the truth.

  “Yeah. Insane, huh?” Joanne asks. “Maybe all that medication has messed with my brain after all.”

  I smile as I put my hand on Joanne’s shoulder. She feels warm. Alive—but only barely.

  I’d love to be one of those positive people who says that miracles can happen, but I’m a realist.

  I know we don’t have much more time, and I know I need her to agree to my plan before she goes. Or I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

  “You’re completely smitten with her,” Joanne says. “It’s adorable. And she loves you, too. I can see it in her eyes, and the way she talks about you.”

  I trust Joanne’s judgment of people, but I’m doubtful about this one.

  I’ve always loved Ali; she’s one of the handful of people I actually care about. And I know she’s at least fond of me.

  But love? Ali has never uttered the word, not even back when we were younger.

  I stay quiet. It would be fucking weird for a husband to act surprised to find out that his wife is in love with him.

  “I feel a lot better now about leaving you, because you won’t be on your own,” Joanne says.

  “I’m a big boy, Jo. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know. It’s not like you’re going to die without me. But I’m talking about your emotional state. You don’t really open up to anybody. You don’t have any close friends.” Joanne smiles. “I’m just glad Ali’s going to be there for you.”

  “Are you going to re-think your decision, then?” I ask, holding my breath as Joanne pauses to think.

  “Maybe,” she finally says.

  Ali

  “How bad is Joanne’s condition, Zeke?” I ask when we walk down the hallway of the hospital, only a few steps outside her room.

  We don’t have much planned for the evening, and there’s still some time until the end of the visiting hours. But Joanne seemed weaker and weaker the longer we stayed, so we left when she said she wanted to go to sleep.

  “Pretty bad,” Zeke says, looking distracted.

  “You said the doctors don’t know what else to do. Have they stopped treatment?”

  “Yeah. Right now she’s only getting medication to help her cope with the pain and the symptoms.”

  So it’s as bad as I thought. I try to phrase the next question carefully. “Did they say… Did they tell you what’s going to happen now?”

  “They gave her one year at the maximum, if that’s what you mean. And that was last month,” Zeke says, still looking ahead like he’s thinking of something else as we walk out into the parking lot.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I shudder from the slight chill in the night air.

  Joanne seems lovely. No wonder Zeke is so attached to her. It must’ve been so lonely for him to grow up without a real family, and I’m sure Joanne must’ve been a big source of comfort for him.

  Now that my parents are gone, I know what it feels like to be on my own. Seth has been playing the role of a family to me, and I know I’d do anything for him if he were to get sick. Because if I lost him, it would just be me, all alone, against the world.

  The car beeps when Zeke presses the key fob to open the doors. I glance at him as we take our seats inside the black sedan.

  What does it feel like? I wonder.

  I imagine myself in Zeke’s position, replacing Joanne with Seth.

  My heart clenches at the thought of seeing Seth in the hospital, lying weak and thin on the same bed, day after day. I’d hate leaving him after every visit, knowing it could be the last time I ever see him, knowing that I could get the bad news at any time.

  And then it hits me.

  At any given moment, Zeke could receive a call from the hospital, telling him the bad news.

  That’s why he always picks up his phone calls when it’s Joanne calling, or the hospital. Even if he’s in the middle of something—something like…being in bed with me.

  I shoul
d give Seth a call one of these days. It has been a while since we last spoke, and I shouldn’t take him for granted.

  It’s silent in the car. We’re both busy with our own thoughts, but maybe it’s time to start a conversation. I feel disconnected from Zeke and I miss him, even though we’ve been together the whole night and he’s right by my side.

  “Have I met Joanne before, Zeke? I saw her full name on the door and it sounded familiar in my head,” I say.

  “Well, you met her at the wedding. Maybe you saw her name on the guest list? I remember you going through the list because you were worried about inviting someone you know.” Zeke chuckles at the memory.

  I smile, glad the atmosphere has lightened up. “Yeah, but I mean before that.”

  “Like, when I was still working for your dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nope. I’m sure of it,” Zeke says. “Although…” Zeke pauses to think, then he adds, “Maybe it sounds familiar because of her last name, Whitley. Her husband used to lead the security team for your dad.”

  “Oh, Trevor Whitley?” I ask. My heart starts to race as goosebumps appear all over my arms.

  It can’t be…

  Oh god, I hope it’s not him.

  “Yeah. Trevor Whitley,” Zeke answers casually, unaware that he has just made my blood run cold.

  Shit.

  I thought my whole ordeal was over. I thought I wouldn’t have anything to do with that anymore, now that my captor is gone.

  But maybe that was naïve of me. I should’ve known that a sin that big would follow me for the rest of my life.

  “How did he die?” I ask, as if I didn’t already know the answer.

  “I don’t know if you want to hear this, Ali,” Zeke says, quickly glancing at me with kindness in his eyes, kindness that I don’t deserve.

  “I do.”

  I think my hunch is right. I know how Trevor Whitley died.

  But I have no idea how it actually played out. I don’t know any of the details.

  I should. Because it was my fault that he died.

  And I shouldn’t be spared the details. I should burn the details to my memory and replay them in my head at night.