Billionaire Games

by Maddox, Sylvia

  He’d chased that thought away, though, and instead focused on her as she’d walked out. When she’d looked into the camera in the hallway, he’d felt as if he was looking her in the eye, and he hadn’t been able to stop the stubborn bout of pride that flashed in him.

  Always so poised, that was her MO, and she’d carried it out to perfection as she’d left, spine straight, shoulders back, and her face passive.

  But he’d seen it, knew her too well not to have been able to. That little bit of panic, the surprise, the disbelief. She’d masked them expertly, but Simeon had still known. He had spent far too many years remembering her every expression to have missed it. She’d called his bluff, but she would soon learn that Simeon wasn’t bluffing. And he never, ever lost.

  She’d pushed his hand. Simeon couldn’t have changed his mind, not even if he had wanted to. Not that he wanted to.

  He had to have her. After today, the hard-on that raged in his pants made it impossible for him not to. And there was the added benefit of teaching her that he was no longer a boy to be led around by his nose. She’d come around, and he’d help her get there. And then, finally, he’d be free of her and be able to move on.

  He picked up the phone.

  4

  Claire woke up suddenly, disoriented as she looked wildly around her bedroom.

  And then the memory hit her like a ton of bricks.

  Simeon Hayes.

  He’d come crashing in with his ridiculous demand, and stirred up her life and her long-dormant body. And because of him, she was at home, out of sorts, her head pounding as she had fallen into a fitful nap after an hour of crying instead of being at her desk designing as she should have been.

  She wiped at her face, felt the puffiness of her eyes and then smoothed her hand over her disarrayed hair. As much as she wanted to stay in bed, hide until she had convinced herself that today had been a nightmare, that wasn’t an option.

  So instead she got up and went to the kitchen and began cleaning.

  It was busywork, something to keep her hands occupied as her mind raced, but except for those dark months after Simeon had broken her heart, she didn’t wallow, and she wouldn’t start today. As she worked, washing already-clean dishes, the hum of the running water calming her, she pondered what she’d do next.

  She could easily think things were bleak, but there had to be a way out. Simeon had fired her, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  Yeah, he was powerful, but she was respected, well-known and well-liked in her community, so surely someone would take a chance on her.

  It might take a little while, but he’d forget this silly idea soon enough, and if it took some time, she had her savings. She had always been very frugal, and though she hadn’t asked them for money—not ever—she knew that if it came to it, her parents would be there.

  Thinking of her parents and the idea of asking them for money made her remember those early years and the undercurrent of resentment and tension that had always flowed between Simeon and her parents. They’d thought he was a bad influence and not nearly good enough for their daughter. He’d thought they were snobs, rich people who looked down on others.

  Both of them had been wrong, but Claire had never been too interested in trying to change either of their opinions. She’d been an adult, and had known her own mind, and she’d stupidly thought she could trust the people in her life to get around each other.

  She’d made an error then and Simeon was proving now just how grave that error had been. She’d always told her parents that they should ignore his exterior, what he looked like and where he came from, and get to know the real him. She’d championed him, had almost managed to convince them that he was a good person.

  And then he had unceremoniously dumped her, gone from professing his love one day to disappearing the next with not even the flimsiest excuse. She remembered it now as she had so many times before, his face cold, distant, him completely detached from her in a way that he never had been before. He’d just ended things with no explanation, no chance for her to make it better.

  It had taken days for her to recover, and when she’d finally spoken to her parents, she’d simply told them that things had changed, cooled down. Even now her father’s look of blatant relief was one that haunted her.

  But she’d never told them how much he’d hurt her, and she’d never spoken badly about him. What she couldn’t figure out was why he was back now and why he seemed so hurt.

  She finished mopping the floor, satisfied when it gleamed, and then she put away her supplies. She didn’t understand Simeon, probably never had, and at this moment she had no interest in trying. Instead, she showered and decided she would drop by her parents’ for dinner. At least they were people who would always love her.

  An hour later she pulled up to the eighteenth-century brick house that had been her home for as long as she could remember. She’d seen pictures of when her parents had first bought it. It had been the smallest, crappiest house in the very nice neighborhood. Her parents had transformed the place and practically rebuilt it from the ground up. No room had been left untouched, and every time she came back, she felt a sense of calm and relief and happiness to be home.

  Using the key that she still had, she let herself in and called out, “Mom? Dad?”

  Her mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron as she approached, her smiling face and happy eyes making Claire feel safe and comfortable.

  “Claire! What brings you over, dear?” she asked as she hugged Claire.

  She leaned into her mother’s embrace and held her and then she laughed as she looked down at the top of her mother’s head. Hannah Winsome was one of the few people that Claire could do that with. When she broke the embrace, she wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulder and smiled at her. Though Claire was a little taller and brunette to her mother’s blonde, they had similar curvy shapes, though Claire could only hope she looked as beautiful as her mother did when she reached her sixties.

  Before she could speak, her father came in. “Claire, honey, so great to see you. What’s up?” he asked. Then he leaned down for a hug of his own and kissed her on the top of the head the way he had since she was a child.

  “Not much, just wanted to see you guys,” Claire said.

  Both her parents looked at each other and then back to her, knowing expressions on their faces.

  “What happened?” they said almost simultaneously.

  “What makes you think something happened?” she replied.

  “Come now, dear. You can’t pull the wool over your parents’ eyes. Now tell us about it,” her mother said.

  “I”—Claire swallowed and tried to choke back the tears that threatened to clog her throat—“I lost my job today,” Claire said.

  “What! What happened?” her dad asked.

  “There was a difference of opinion, and my services are no longer necessary,” she said.

  Her father’s expression went thunderous. “Do I need to call Paul?” he said incredulously. Her father knew the owner. Correction, her father had known the former owner, something that Claire hadn’t been aware of until after she’d taken the job.

  “No. Not necessary,” Claire said, shaking her head vehemently.

  She didn’t add that it wouldn’t do anything anyway. Paul was in no position to make decisions anymore, and she wanted to keep her father out of this as much as she could.

  “Well, that’s terrible, honey, but you know there’s a place for you at the company if you want it,” her father said.

  Claire didn’t miss the little spark of optimism in his eyes, but she decided to pay it no mind.

  “I’ll figure something out. But don’t let me be a downer. I just wanted to have some dinner with you guys, take my mind off things. I’ll figure something out,” she said.

  “We know you will, honey,” her mom said. “Come set the table. We’re having pot roast tonight,” Hannah said, her voice rising to a singsongy pitch
. Her mother really was fond of her pot roast.

  By the end of dinner, Claire felt almost good. Being with her parents, cocooned in the warmth and love that she had known her entire life, strengthened her resolve.

  Whatever Simeon was up to, and whatever he might have planned, she could handle it. She could. She’d find a way to take care of herself no matter what Simeon might decide to do.

  Claire stood and began gathering the dinner dishes. It had always been this way; her mom cooked and Claire and her dad took care of the dishes, and Claire was looking forward to the fun that was a part of that special time with her dad. He’d tell her about his latest project and everything would be just as it always had been.

  The shrill ring of her father’s cell phone cut through the happy glow in the kitchen, and Claire felt a pit of dread in her stomach where before there had been only warm feelings.

  It’s nothing, she said to herself. It was rare but not unheard of for her father to get calls in the evening. She was just being jumpy, allowing Simeon to get to her, something she had to stop this very second.

  “Let me get that,” her father said. “Then I’ll help with the dishes.”

  “Don’t drag your feet,” Claire said, looking at her father knowingly.

  He laid his hand over his heart. “Would I do such a thing?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

  “Yep. Now hurry,” Claire replied.

  Her father laughed and then retrieved his phone and lifted it to his ear.

  “Charles Winsome here,” he said as he headed through the living room and toward his home office.

  “Let me get rid of this apron. I’ll be back, dear,” her mother said.

  Claire nodded and then went to the sink, thinking of the difference a few hours could make. With each second that passed she felt more like herself, and Simeon became less and less of a worry, and she was sure she’d be okay.

  “What!”

  He father’s screeched exclamation had Claire turning and immediately sent alarm spiking through her. After she quickly wiped her hands dry, she hurried out of the kitchen and across the living room to her father’s home office. When she entered, she found him seated behind his big desk. His face was ashen and he sat rigidly, his jaw slack.

  “Well, then, who do I need to talk to?” he snapped, the slackness of his jaw gone and his face now animated with anger.

  “Dad?” she said.

  He met her eyes and Claire saw the worry that clouded them. Then he lifted his finger, urging her to wait.

  “You know the office is closed at this hour, but you can bet your ass I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” her father said.

  He angrily pushed the End button and then slammed his phone on his desk, a rare outburst of emotion from her usually jovial father.

  “Dad?” she repeated.

  He stood and gave her a watery smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, honey.”

  “Is everything okay?” Claire asked, her voice trembling as the pit in her stomach deepened.

  “It’s fine, honey,” Charles said as he rounded the desk and patted her shoulder.

  His attempts to comfort her only had her that much more worried.

  “What was the call about?” she said.

  Charles scowled but then began to smile again, waving dismissively at the phone on his desk.

  “Idiots. They are doing some kind of ‘review’ on my license. They said they put some kind of hold on it because of this review it’s under,” he said scornfully.

  Claire’s lungs squeezed so tight she thought she might faint. Even though she knew the answer, she couldn’t help but ask the question.

  “Has this…has this happened before?” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I’ve never heard of that kind of thing before,” he said.

  Then, seeming to notice the worry Claire knew was on her face, he patted her shoulder again. “It’s nothing, Claire,” he said.

  “But…?” Claire asked.

  “It really is nothing, honey. But they shut down every job I’m working on, and we can’t restart work until this is cleared up.”

  Claire understood the implications of that. No work meant no jobs were getting done. No jobs meant her father’s company lost thousands of dollars every day until the work restarted, and even more than the money, his reputation suffered. Charles Winsome has built his business on being punctual and reliable, and any delay would cut right to the heart of his business and people’s trust of him.

  “Did they say why?” Claire asked, her voice growing even smaller.

  “No.” Her father shook his head. “But I’m going to the city tomorrow to get it worked out. It’s nothing to worry about,” her father said, but Claire could see the reassurance was only for her benefit.

  Her stomach sank even farther, something she didn’t think was possible. She knew exactly who was behind this.

  She knew exactly what she would have to do to fix it.

  “Don’t worry about your old dad, honey. I’ll get it fixed,” her dad said, smiling more strongly this time.

  She loved her father, respected him, but she also knew there was nothing he could do. Not if Simeon didn’t want him to.

  “Okay. Let me know if I can help,” she said, trying to sound buoyant and failing miserably.

  Her father smiled and kissed her on the head again, but when he looked away she could see his worry.

  She hugged him good-bye and then went to do the same to her mother.

  The day had yet again turned. From shock at seeing Simeon again, to even more shock when he’d stated his terms. Then the pain of losing her job, the joy of being with her family, the pain of knowing that the people she loved most would suffer because of her.

  Her emotions were a whirlwind, but most present of them all was the rock-solid certainty that she’d have to give herself to Simeon.

  And her sinking suspicion that she would enjoy it.

  5

  When Claire turned into the driveway of her three-bedroom house situated on a corner lot, she wasn’t really surprised to see the black SUV with dark-tinted windows taking up her entire driveway. She parked in front of her house and then got out, not looking when the door opened, nor when the man who emerged from the vehicle came to stand behind her.

  Instead she unlocked the door, flipped on her porch light, and dropped her keys. Then she kicked off her shoes as she always did, and then, finally, when she was as at home as she thought she could be, she turned to face him.

  The triumphant gleam in his eye was something he didn’t even bother to hide.

  “I take it Mr. Winsome has gotten my message?”

  “They shut down all his projects. Are you happy now, Simeon?” she asked, her voice low and angry.

  “That was just temporary, something to remind you, in case you forgot after this morning that I am a man of my word. And it’s only a taste of what’s to come. Unless, of course, you hold up your end of the bargain.”

  She shook her head, trying to deny that what he said was true, trying even harder to pretend she didn’t want it be. Deep down, she’d known it would come to this, and as she looked at Simeon now, she knew he had too. People had often missed the beautiful brain behind his bruising demeanor and brutish size, but as she watched him and the cold calculation in his eyes, she was reminded it was still as razor-sharp as ever.

  He’d considered all the angles, had arranged things just like this so that he would know she didn’t have a choice. She looked at him, saw that cold glint in his eye, and again hated herself for her reaction to him.

  She also hated him for doing this to her, for forcing her hand. She would have ignored her body, pretended she didn’t want him with everything she had, but she wouldn’t let her parents suffer.

  And Simeon knew that, because she had told him many, many times how much they meant to her, had told him that she would do anything for them.

  Now he was putting her words to the test.
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  “Outline the terms,” she said, unable to hide the defeated note in her voice but praying more than anything that he’d missed the faint trace of desire that had animated her words.

  He hadn’t. His coldly victorious smile proved as much.

  “You know I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll indulge you, just this once,” he said.

  “Explain the terms, without the theatrics,” she said, voice firmer this time.

  “You belong to me, to do with what I please, for six weeks. Then you can go back to your regular little life, continuing to forget I ever existed, and I’ll do the same. That’s the bargain,” he said.

  Continue?

  He thought that she didn’t think of him, think of them, but he was wrong. She thought of him far too often, and had thought of this reunion far too often, not that she could admit that now.

  She met his eyes again but then looked lower, let her gaze caress his broad shoulders and equally broad chest. Then she looked to his hands, her nipples pulling tight as she wondered how they would feel on her. Were they soft now, the hands of a man who had enough money and resources to never have to lift a finger? Or would they be rough, scrape against her skin with enough friction to set her off like a rocket?

  Dampness pooled between her thighs, and in an instant, the drum of desire began pounding between them, going from nothing to insistent in the blink of an eye. She met Simeon’s eyes again, and then it occurred to her that this was an opportunity.

  She wanted to move on. She was nearing thirty with no prospects in sight. And all because of him.

  She’d constructed an image of him, one that was only barely tarnished by the awful way he had discarded her, and she’d clung to it, used it as the measure to which no other man could compare.

  But she was older now, wiser, and even if her body still craved him, she could keep her mind from him, detach herself from whatever game Simeon might want to play. And at the same time, she could be with him again, get him out of her system, and free herself from his hold once and for all.