It has been a few months since I’ve seen her, and though I can’t put my finger on it, I can tell she’s had more plastic surgery done. Her face looks unnaturally tight and her eyes are slanted upwards when they never were before. Her lips look fuller than I remember and her tits are definitely fake, but I had already seen all of that. Maybe her nose is different. Fuck if I know--or care. Most of the plastic surgery is subtle enough that I’m sure men fawn all over her, but I can see right through it.
I take my seat, nodding toward her. Julianne’s blonde hair is meticulously curled and bleached dry. She wears a business-formal kind of women’s suit and does this thing with her lips she took up after we divorced, like she’s pressing them together for a kiss, but trying to look thoughtful. To me it has always made her look like a confused fish, though.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask.
She smiles, tilting her head and flashing two rows of perfectly white teeth. “Straight to business, Liam? Why don’t we order a drink first.”
“Let’s just cut to why I’m here. You said you wanted to be involved with Sophie again.”
Julianne’s thin veil of polite manners falters, but she recovers with a smile. “Please. Let’s have a few drinks and an appetizer before we talk about all of that.”
“You mean before we talk about your daughter? And the possibility that you might be ready to stop being a fuck up?” I ask. “No. I think I’d rather talk about that sober. Thanks.”
“Fine,” snaps Julianne, discarding the smiles and show of manners. Her fangs are out now. “I called you here because I need more money.”
“Unbelievable,” I say, pushing my chair back to stand. “This was a waste of fucking time.”
“Wait,” she warns. “You will want to hear me out, Liam.”
I shake my head in disbelief, looking at the woman I once thought I loved. I’m still amazed by how much of a fucking idiot I was, but at least Sophie came out of the train wreck that was our marriage. More money. Of course she wants more money. She took a couple dozen million in the split and instead of doing the smart thing and investing it and living off the interest, she decided to prove to the world she could be a businesswoman. Problem is Julianne never had any training in business or paid any real attention to what I was doing. I guess she thought the time I spent in college and the years I spent learning to do what I do were unnecessary.
Now it looks like her “business” has already burned through all the money she got from me. That, or the ridiculous house she bought is running her dry. I would laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.
“You told me you wanted to spend more time with Sophie to lure me into meeting with you. Give me one good reason not to walk the fuck out of here right now and never look back?”
“Because if you do, I’ll take Sophie from you.”
I scoff. “Yeah, because a judge is going to look real favorably on the mother who has declined her right to be involved with her own daughter for half a decade.”
She raises a taunting eyebrow. “No, but they might look favorably on the poor, intimidated wife of the relentless businessman who threatened to ruin her if she tried to get custody. And they might agree that a single dad who spends months away from home is hardly better for a girl than her own biological mother.”
My fingers dig into my palms and I stare at her, feeling a hot hatred break through the normal numbness I feel toward her. “You’re blackmailing me?”
She shrugs, wearing an infuriatingly smug look on her face. “You can call it whatever you want, honeybuns. It’s simple, though. You give me the money I need, or I get custody of Sophie.”
“Do you even know how to raise a kid? Do you even want her?”
Julianne leans forward, narrowing her eyes. “Every time I think about that little brat I think about you. I can’t look at her without remembering how you fucked me over.”
“Fucked you over?” I ask. “You mean when I divorced you because you made it clear the only thing you ever cared about was the money?”
Julianne doesn’t even bother to deny the truth of it. “It’s simple. I don’t want her. I can’t stand the sight of her. But I can pay for a fucking nanny. All that should matter to you is I’ll do everything in my goddamn power to take her away from you if you don’t give me what I want.”
I stand up, feeling something sick boiling up in my stomach. To think I married this psychopath. “You’re not getting anywhere near her,” I growl, leaning down until I’m inches from her face and can smell the overpowering stench of her perfume. “You won’t lay a hand on her head. Do you understand me? That’s my daughter. If you decide someday to stop being a fucking basket-case, maybe, then maybe I’ll let you see her. Supervised,” I add. “Until then,” I scoff, shaking my head. “Nice try,” I say without looking back as I leave.
I hear her footsteps rushing after me. I push out the front door of the restaurant and do a double take when I see Aubrey hurrying inside. Just as I’m about to say something to her, Julianne catches up with me and slaps me hard across the face. The pop rings out, stinging my ears almost more than my face. She’s not worth it though, so I just head to my car, barely noticing Aubrey, who watches me pass by without a word.
4
Aubrey
My best friend, Donna, sits on my bed at Mr. King’s house, lounging luxuriously in her oversized sweater and leggings, looking more at home in my temporary home than I’ve ever felt. I guess it’s hard to feel at home when you don’t know how long you’ll be welcome. Especially since Mr. King has come back, I’ve felt one wrong word or move away from losing my job. Losing everything.
I called her over to help me pick out an outfit. Mr. King is supposed to take me “sightseeing” tonight, and I have been struggling to pick the right outfit from my miserable wardrobe. “What about this?” I ask, stepping out of my closet and showing her the turquoise strapless dress I’ve had since high school.
Donna makes a gagging face. “Please. Take it off.”
I sigh, stripping the dress and turning my back to her to keep rummaging through my closet.
“Still can’t believe you landed a job where you get paid to live in this fucking mansion,” says Donna.
“I’m grateful, but it feels different than you’d think. Like, it’s not my house. You know? I’m a guest. Worse, I guess, I’m an employee.”
Donna make a dismissive sound. “I don’t care what you call yourself. This is your room. You’ve got all this shit to yourself. I mean, come on, what difference does it make if you live here or if you’re working here?”
“The difference is if it’s your house, you don’t lose the bed you sleep in when you get fired.”
Donna looks thoughtful. “Well, do whatever it takes to avoid getting fired. Simple!” she says cheerily.
I smile. “I can always count on you for two things.”
“Oh?” asks Donna. “I’m intrigued. You know my favorite hobby is hearing good things about myself.”
I laugh. “I know I can count on you to be positive, and to be as crude as a sailor.”
“Fucking right!” she cries. “Speaking of crude,” she says slowly. “Have you seen it yet?”
“Seen what?”
“The billion dollar cock. Duh.”
“No, no, no,” I say, waving her suggestion away as if I have any power against it. “I’m not even going to start to go there.”
“Oh come on,” she says. “Mr. Billionaire has been back home for a couple days. That’s plenty of time for any self-respecting maid to get laid. Even a virgin,” she adds.
“Caretaker,” I correct.
“Okay, gardener, maid, plumber, whatever. Point is you should be plumbing his pipes. Trimming his hedges--okay, maybe not that one. He probably keeps the hedges trimmed nice and--”
“Would you…” I say through gritted teeth. “I am not going to plumb his pipes, whatever the hell that means--”
Donna makes a lewd gesture, twisting her hand like she
’s revving a motorcycle next to her mouth while she jabs her tongue against the inside of her cheek, giving the illusion of… yeah.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, I forgot one thing I can always count on you for: the maturity level of a thirteen year old boy.”
Donna puts on a sweet face, resting her chin on steepled fingers and giving me a sugary smile. “Guilty!”
“Can you maybe give me some advice that doesn’t involve having sex with my boss to keep my job?”
“Okay, never use warm water to de-ice your car windows. It could cause them to crack from the rapid expansion.”
“You might be the smartest dumb person I’ve ever met,” I say, laughing.
“And you’re the most sexually deprived woman I know.”
“Is that a fact?” asks a deep voice from just outside my door.
I bulge my eyes at Donna, who points to me and raises her eyebrows so high they might fly off her head. I look down and see the boring white bra and panties I had on. Nothing else.
At the same moment, Mr. King lets himself in the room. He surveys the situation calmly, eyeing me without apology from head to toe and then pursing his lips in approval. “Nice,” he says.
Donna bursts out laughing.
I make a pathetic attempt to cover myself as I waddle back into the closet and slam the door. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” I snap. “Sir,” I add irritably.
“I don’t have a habit of knocking in my own house. No,” he says. From the sound of it, he’s right outside the--
The closet door swings open and he strolls confidently inside, helping himself to one more eyeful of my body as he passes. He looks over my wardrobe and grabs a black dress, holding it up to me and nodding in approval. “Wear this.”
As if he didn’t just walk in on me undressed and take his time admiring the scenery, he strides his way back toward the hallway, pausing briefly at the door. “By the way,” he says. “Keep that underwear on. It’s sexy as hell.”
He closes the door behind him and I look to Donna in disbelief, mouth hanging open. Her eyebrows are still halfway up her forehead.
“You didn’t tell me he was also Mr. Greek God. Holy shit, Aubrey. If you don’t plumb his pipes, I will.”
“Keep your hands off his pipes,” I snap with more emotion than I intend. “I mean--nevermind.”
“He’s right. That dress will look cute. Especially with that sexy underwear beneath it,” she adds, waggling her brows suggestively at me.
“Shut up,” I say, but I can’t stop from grinning as I replay what just happened, even though I know my body isn’t perfect and he had plenty of time to spot the imperfections, he certainly didn’t seem to mind. My giddiness is only temporary though, because reality hits. Fast.
“Hey,” says Donna, sitting up from the bed and giving me a concerned look. “What’s up? You just went from giggling school girl to emo queen in about half a second.”
“Sorry,” I say, flashing a forced smile. “I was just wondering if I’d look as good in this dress as he thinks.”
Donna folds her arms. “Uh huh…”
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’ll just be here whenever you’re ready to stop bullshitting your best friend in the whole world. Your friend who shouldn’t have to remind you that she has always kept your secrets safe and talked you out of all the dumb things you’ve nearly done.”
“Dumb things?” I ask. “I hardly--”
“Remember when you got addicted to Candy Crush? You were trying to convince me it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to hit up your whole friends list on Facebook for extra lives. You spent like a hundred dollars on extra lives, and then you were even going to send that stupid request to Chase Masters. I mean come on.”
I slide the dress on, giving her a sulky glare. “Well. I’ll give you that one. I still don’t think it would’ve been… what was the phrase you used? Socially apocalyptic?”
“I know you didn’t think so. That’s why you need me here. To keep you in check, girl. So spill it. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I sigh. There really is no keeping anything from Donna. She has known me way too long. And she may have a slight point about saving me from some stupid decisions in the past, whether or not I’ll ever admit that to her. “I just really don’t want to lose this job. What if Mr. King and I hit it off or something? We’ll eventually break up and then I’ll get fired and I’ll lose this.”
“Okay. First of all, Mrs. Pessimistic, you have a call on line one. It’s from me, so don’t you dare let it go to voicemail.”
I roll my eyes. She used to always make me play this stupid game when we were kids, and it’s her old fallback when she thinks I’m about to do something really dumb. I put my hand to my ear, pretending to hold the phone. “Hello?” I say, giving Donna a dry look.
“Hi, this is reality calling. I just wanted to let you know that the whole point of dating a guy is generally to hope that you never break up. Have some faith, sour puss. Also, that guy is super hot, and if you don’t plumb those pipes--”
“Would you stop with the pipe plumbing!” I shout, slamming down the imaginary phone.
She mimics setting down her phone. “Rude. She hung up on me.”
“Donna…” I warn.
“I’m just saying,” she sighs. “You date the guy and hope it works out. Worst case, it doesn’t. Maybe he even fires you, but hey, you get an awesome experience and you get a new job. No biggie.”
“This isn’t just any job,” I say.
“What’s so special about it?”
“His mom,” I say quietly. “Her name is Roxanne. She’s sassy and crude and blunt, but she always leaves my mouth hurting from smiling so much.”
“Hmm. Sassy, crude, blunt. You mean exactly like your mom was?” asks Donna, softening her voice and giving me a sympathetic look.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess being here makes me feel like she’s not so gone. Or something,” I say, feeling tears building in my eyes.
Donna is on her feet hugging me before I realize she has stood. I lean into her, letting the emotion come freely and quietly thinking through what I should do.
“You’ll figure it out, Aub. You always do,” she whispers, patting my hair.
Two hours later, I’m wearing the dress Liam picked for me and making sure Roxanne has everything she needs to get through a night without me. Technically, Roxanne doesn’t need me at all, but I have to make sure she has the things she thinks she needs, or at least the things she wants me to think she needs. Mr. King keeps several people on standby for when I need to leave the house, but when I initially signed my contract, it was made very clear that the expectation is for me to be here as much as humanly possible. I guess going on a date--no, a trip with my boss is an acceptable exception, at least to Liam.
Sophie pouted a little, because she wanted to show me this new YouTuber she found tonight, but she got over it fast enough when I promised to watch later. And Roxanne… Well, she’s oddly invested in the idea of Liam and I hitting it off. She sits on the edge of her bed as I lay out her medicine and a glass of water. “You remember not to take these until you’ve eaten, right?” I ask.
“You know what he likes?” asks Roxanne, grinning mischievously. “He likes a woman who stands up to him. All these floozies he has been with in the past--they just roll over. They are so afraid of losing him they just say whatever they think he wants to hear. That’s not my boy. He wants a woman with character. A woman with principals.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling. “You do know this isn’t a date, right? He’s just showing me around town because I’m new.”
“Right. And you know I’m not old and decrepit, right? I’m just ninety two years old with a lifetime of wrinkles and hair whiter than Crisco.”
I laugh. “Maybe your hair is Crisco. God knows you eat enough of it.”
She pulls at one of her wispy hairs and licks her fingertips. “Most bland Crisco I’ve ever tasted, then. Call i
t what it is, dear. If it looks like a date, smells like a date, and feels like a date, then it’s a damn date.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a nervous tingle run from my stomach to my fingertips. “It’s a date then. So how do I look?” I ask.
She motions for me to come to where she sits at the end of the bed, cupping my cheeks. “You look like the right girl for my boy. The right woman.”
I blush, looking away. “Well, they say the most important part is winning over the in-laws, right?” I can hardly believe myself. One minute I’m certain down to my bones I don’t want another guy in my life and now? Now I’m joking with Roxanne about becoming her daughter-in-law.
“See? Smart, too.”
There’s a knock at the front door, so I kiss Roxanne on the head and leave her, nodding to the caretaker waiting outside as I leave. I hear Roxanne start to lay into the woman as soon as she enters the room, asking her if she never learned to take her shoes off and whether she was born in a barn.
I pad barefoot through the house toward the foyer, where the knocking continues. Whoever is knocking must be impatient as hell, because they are pounding harder and harder with every passing second. I almost just turn to leave because the whole thing is giving me the creeps, except workers are always coming by the house to maintain or clean things up, and I don’t want to have to tell Mr. King I didn’t let a plumber in or something. A plumber, God. Just the thought makes me think of Donna’s stupid pipe plumbing and...
I open the door and my knees nearly give out when I see who it is. My first reaction is to slam the door in his face.
Jake’s hand grips the door, keeping me from shutting it. He wears uncharacteristically nice clothes: a dress shirt with a tie and his hair is combed neatly away from his face. If I didn’t know better--which I do--I’d say he was a respectful college guy, maybe someone who grew up with money. Except I do know better, and I try harder to push the door shut.
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 50