Her Dirty Rival (Insta-Love on the Run Book 2)

by Bella Love-Wins

  Riley’s discovery pretty much proves my point. If the media makes the connection because of her little protest, heads will roll.

  Riley has actually done me a solid.

  She finally reaches over to the breakfast tray and picks up a mini Danish. My guess is that she mistakenly believes she has the upper hand. Taking a breath, I give her a rude awakening just as she takes a sip of black coffee.

  “Have you shared this with anyone?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Miss Riley, I have to ask. Do you realize what you did to undermine your cause by…spending time with me two nights ago?”

  She takes her time to swallow the coffee in her mouth. “I’m not following.”

  “Let me paint you a picture. A young law student befriends a corporate executive who works for a publicly traded company. She receives some crucial information about the company’s operations. The next day, she intentionally passes on said information to the public, which has an immediate adverse effect on share prices in the public company. The authorities are soft on this law student, and no one understands why. That’s right up until the media begins to believe that the drop in share prices is only a temporary tactic for yet another organization to swoop in and end up with enough of the shares to become a voting member. Except there’s one tiny little issue. This second organization is owned by the corporate executive who provided the law student with the damaging information in the first place.”

  A half-smile rises up my face, because although some parts of what I’m telling her is pure bullshit, I’m about to give her exactly what she has just given to me, verbatim.

  “Do you know what that all means, Miss Hampton? Let me spell it out for you. Try collusion, fraud, and conspiracy, to name a few. Oh yes, and that bar exam said law student hopes to sit? Not gonna happen.”

  She coughs up a bit of coffee. Blood drains from her face and neck. She goes from red to ghostly white.

  “What do you want?” she asks again.

  This time I can give her my terms. “It’s pretty simple, really. You and your associates will issue a public apology for your actions, and retract all spoken, written, and inferred allegations.”

  “Will you drop the charges against my friends?”

  “Yes, both criminal and civil. You’ll get that in writing. But I’m not done yet.”

  “What else?”

  “You will turn over all paper and electronic records pertaining to your findings.”

  “Fine.” She finishes her coffee and gets to her feet. There’s some pain in her posture as she rises. “Are those all your terms?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Those terms relate to what you did to my father’s company yesterday. You also need to make amends for trying to play me two nights ago.”

  “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  I grin. My dick and I agree. Victory has never felt so thrilling.

  Chapter 6

  Riley

  I believe I have walked into a trap of my own doing.

  Fuck.

  Now I’m at his mercy.

  I crane my neck up at the ropes as he ties them around my wrists and secures them to the bedposts. I am completely naked right now. Washed clean from my night behind bars in the full-length Jacuzzi tub that Malcolm made me bathe in a while ago. He moves to the foot of the bed. It’s unsettling the way he stands there, just raking his eyes down my body. I wish I could free one arm and slap that smug grin from the arrogant bastard’s face.

  It can’t be later than eleven in the morning. I look around the large bedroom. If the blinds were open, the sun streaming in through the bay windows on these neutral tans and browns could make this space quite bright. The mental distraction is not working. What I need to do is face the facts. I’m supposed to be one of the brightest up and coming legal minds Columbia University has had grace its hallways in years. Yet here I am, with my legs spread wide, about to get my ankles tied to each side of the bed. Because I let some cocky billionaire outsmart me.

  No, he didn’t outsmart me. I fooled myself.

  I’m the one who set this chain of events in motion. My flawed line of thinking compelled me to get down on my knees and up against a wall two nights ago. Every brain cell in my skull is working overtime. Their combined effort is trying to piece together how I can concoct such a scheme and believe it is absolutely brilliant one day, but realize it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever done only two days later. I’m reminded of my twenty-first birthday where some friends and I traveled to Las Vegas. I’ve suddenly unseated that incident. That time, I got shitfaced drunk and woke up married to a male stripper because I thought he said that he worked for Greenpeace when really, he did a stint on the Strip as a half-naked Green Lantern street performer. I had to phone home for annulment money, which was pretty damned embarrassing. Sleeping with Malcolm Alexander and revealing my name the night before I engage in what most people would label as civil eco-environmental disobedience is far worse. It’s humiliating to know that ultimately, I am responsible for everything that’s about to happen to me.

  The sensation of being tied down makes me uneasy. I want to sit up and bolt, but Malcolm takes one sharp look at me, and it’s as though he reads my mind. A second later, his strong hands are on my shoulders, pressing me into the bed.

  “Take a few deep breaths and relax,” he whispers a few inches away from my face. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself on these ropes.”

  “Like you give a shit,” I grumble, but my throat releases a breathy moan after the words.

  My body betrays the lust that is expanding from my core. I want to shake myself out of it. I’m not supposed to enjoy being here against my will. Yet, heat pools between my legs, my nipples are as hard as pebbles, and everywhere his skin touches mine sends me reeling as he ties me to the bed.

  “Contrary to popular opinion, I do. Please, stop fighting against these bindings. You’re not going anywhere for a while. You may as well relax.”

  “I should grin and bear it, huh?” I ask.

  “More like moan and enjoy it to the point where you scream my name, gingersnap.”

  He slowly glides the back of his hand down my cheek. I should be pulling away, giving him hell, and resisting. I’m not, though. He’s done something to my will, and my body is so weak, I can’t resist the physical contact. The anger rises in me and makes it worse, heating my cheeks as it adds to my irritation.

  “I’m not going to enjoy this,” I breathe out the mantra, hoping it will wake up my subconscious and make it so. I glare up at him, wishing to God that my eyes are as resolute as my words. “I won’t.”

  “You sure about that?” he asks, eyes wide.

  “I’m telling you that I w—” I start off speaking, but my sentence morphs into a moan as his hand wanders down my neck and comes to rest at the top of my breasts.

  “Come again? I don’t think I got what you were about to say.”

  “Fuck you,” I manage to say, but even as I utter the words, my torso is inching upward to help his fingers make contact with my nipples.

  He nods his head at me. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

  My breath catches as Malcolm leans forward. His mouth closes in on mine. He laces his fingers through my hair, and just as I think he’ll kiss me, his head dips down and captures my nipple between his teeth. The wet, heated touch is so unexpected that I arch my back to feed him more of my breast. I’m loving his touch and hating myself for needing more. My body trembles with need. I’m appalled that such minor contact can send such powerful waves of heat through me.

  Without releasing my nipple, he stares up at me, deep blue eyes even darker than they were a few minutes ago. His hand slides down my stomach, stopping at my mound. He sucks my nipple into his mouth, using his tongue to circle around the edge as his fingers match the movement at my center. His deft fingers travel up along my folds, flicking my clit, back down and starting all over again. I have zero
control of my hips as they buck and lift off the bed in response. I don’t even try to bite back the whimpers leaving the back of my throat.

  He presses two fingers past my folds. The jolt of pleasure damn near blinds me. I roll my hips to feel him deeper inside. With no warning, he removes his fingers and lifts off of my nipple. His fingers that were just inside me rise to his lips. He breathes in my scent and licks his fingers, taunting me.

  “You’re sweeter than the last time,” he says, getting to his feet. “Must be revenge.”

  Malcolm is only gone for a few moments, and returns with a blindfold, which he places over my eyes. The heat of his hands and his silent breath tickle my skin as he whispers that he plans to stretch out every moment.

  The weight of his hand presses down into the mattress. All I hear next is, “I’ll be back in a while.”

  Chapter 7

  Malcolm

  I left her tied up to give her some time to think. And to torment her a bit. Mostly, I left to clear my head. There’s no way I’m allowing the next thirty-six hours become the last time I have Riley. I can’t begin to explain this addiction. All I know is I have to have her.

  It’s a ridiculous idea at a time like this. My father wants to mitigate the damage, and send a message at the same time. The legal team, well, they get paid very well to keep us looking squeaky clean, even if that involves bullying and heavy-handed behavior. The accountants wish they could turn back time, and erase the stupidest tax filing they have ever made public. The public relations team wants this tied up in a nice face-saving bow before Christmas in two days.

  Bringing down Riley is the easiest solution to all their problems.

  They need her to apologize with authentic-sounding contrition. As soon as she does that, they plan to discredit her by dragging her through the mud by making her family history as public as possible without incriminating our company. They won’t stop until she’s completely out of the picture. No one will want to see her hanging off my arm, or anywhere near me or Alexander Industries after the memory of this protest blows over.

  Too bad they won’t get anything they want this time.

  Speed-dialing my father before I lose my nerve, I walk into the study down the hall and lock the door behind me.

  “What’s your update, son?” My father asks, getting right to it. “Hang on. Dustin is here with me. I’ll put you on speakerphone.”

  “We need to meet in person,” I tell them both. “I have a solution, but you won’t like it.”

  “That doesn’t sound good, Malcolm. Where are you right now? We’re on our way across town.”

  “At the clubhouse.”

  “I know it’s close to Christmas, but it’s still a work day, son.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m working, Dad. Trust me.”

  I use the term ‘working’ loosely, but my father knows me well enough. Or at least he believes he does. In this case, working refers to the amount of energy I’ll use up as I fuck Riley hard.

  I get back to the point. “Can you swing by? I’ll come out to your car. It’ll save you time. Ten minutes is all I need.”

  Dad tells his driver to come my way. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Come on outside now, so we don’t have to phone each other a second time.”

  He hangs up. Having to argue my case to both Dad and Dustin at the same time will be tough, but the truth is, they know what’s at stake. They’re waiting for me by the time I get outside.

  “What do you have for us?” Dad asks without so much as a greeting. He gets this way when he’s under stress. The pleasantries and decorum go out the window, only to be replaced by gruffness and a laser-focused mind.

  I come right out with everything I’ve managed to arrange, except for the thirty six hours of kinky misbehavior at Riley’s expense. So far, they like what they hear. I add, “We’re hiring Riley Hampton.”

  They both stare at me as though I grew a second head in the last three seconds.

  “Come again?”

  I clarify my statement by explaining that I would like the legal team to invite Riley to article under one of the senior partners. They are lukewarm on the idea when I remind them that if she has managed to figure out the connection between our firm and the two energy companies, we could have her apply her research skills to other internal items. What sells them is the idea that we keep friends close and enemies closer. Our employees sign an ironclad nondisclosure agreement. She won’t ever be able to go public.

  Soon, Dad is on board and now Dustin carries on as if it was his idea. It’s perfect. Dad invites me to lunch with them. The topic of our midday discussion is tied to a bed inside the clubhouse, so I ask for a raincheck and return inside.

  I believe I have met my match in Riley Hampton.

  She is the side of me that I had to send into hiding back when I was eight years old. That was the year I learned about the legacy of the Alexander name. Up until then, I had no idea we were insanely wealthy, powerful or evil. Back then, in southwest Texas, my parents lived in the suburbs and even sent me to public school. A kid in my class brought a local newspaper to school one day. The headline read, ‘Oil Giants of Alexander Industries Arrives: Malevolence Hits Home’. He told the class that it was about my great grandfather’s offshore oil rig explorations. I didn’t even know we had oil interests. I was eight. The kid repeated some choice words his father must have blurted out, and I distinctly remember my teacher telling the kid that it wasn’t polite to say mean things about classmates, even in this case where it was completely true.

  I wanted to prove them all wrong. I needed to show them that my family wasn’t the same one portrayed as evil environmental murderers whose oil spills covered wildlife in oil leaks, and destroyed natural habitats. The memory of standing in front of my class is clear as day. I announced that I would take a signed petition home to my father. The request was for Alexander Industries to stop its offshore operations and look at better, cleaner forms of energy production. It was signed by everyone in the class, including my teacher, and I naively gave my word that my father would take care of everything.

  I went home that day, and in addition to asking my mother if the article was true, I showed her the petition. She made me wait for Dad to get home. He decided it would be the dinner topic for the night. My father confirmed that we were old money, operating a set of businesses in a highly regulated cutthroat industry, and that I’d spend the rest of my life being hated for both facts. After dinner, he took me into the backyard and used his cigarette lighter to set the petition on fire. That was what he thought about finding cleaner forms of energy.

  His parting advice before my bedtime was that I needed to toughen up. I toughened up, all right. Dad did not expect me to take his advice literally, but I did. Again, I was eight. I came home the next day with a note that confirmed the teacher’s earlier phone call to my mother, that I was suspended for beating the crap out of that kid with the newspaper. My mother finally put to rest the idealistic dream of raising me as a normal kid. That was the year they finally moved from Texas to New York. I was enrolled in private schools, forever to be surrounded by my wealthy peers.

  Except, the experience stuck with me. It was one of those defining moments in a child’s life. I did not want to step into that legacy the way my father and grandfather had done. To this day, no one in my family or Alexander Industries realizes that I am still that kid with the petition. I may have graduated from an Ivy League school with a degree in business, but every optional course that I completed relates to environmental and conservation sciences.

  Back when I finished college, my father told me I could do whatever I wanted. Working for the family business was optional. He would say that ownership and control were two very different things, and I didn’t need to have a position at Alexander Industries to benefit from the privileges of a controlling interest. I paid attention to every word my father ever took the time to share with me. Not to follow in his footsteps, but rather, to inject myself into Alexa
nder Industries and toe the line. When the time is right, the kid with the petition will have his day as CEO and chairman of the board.

  That kid is lying in wait.

  Riley Hampton is that kid’s other half. Hiring her to work for the company benefits me in so many ways, I feel like a bit of a megalomaniac to know that all the pieces of the puzzle fit together so well. I should be thanking her for thrusting herself into my field of vision two nights ago, and demanding that I remember her name. It’s fate, and karma, and kismet all rolled up into one big, satisfying coincidence.

  I can’t quite make this revelation to her just yet. She still has to pay for making it personal.

  Or maybe it’s a reward for us both.

  Chapter 8

  Riley

  Malcolm returns to the bedroom in what feels like hours later. I’m naked, cold and horny as hell. The loss of my vision and my inability to move play tricks on my awareness. I may have dozed off too, given that I was too terrified to close my eyes in my jail cell last night.

  These blindfolds let in just enough light for me to discern shapes and shadows nearby. My hearing and sense of smell are also intensified. I don’t have to guess where he is in the room, and when he walks over to the bed and lowers his head to mine, I can tell his breathing is different.

  “What took you so long?” I ask, not even caring how weak I must sound to him.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he says, and begins to undress.

  I want the blindfold off so I can at least see what I’m dealing with. Sure, I went down on him the other night, but I would like to take in the entire head to toe package that is Malcolm Alexander.