Mr. Hot Grinch (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss Book 3)

by Lindsey Hart

  “But I…”

  “This isn’t your number. It’s mine. And it’s private anyway. They won’t be able to see who’s calling, so just call. You need to hear their voice. You need to just make small talk if you can’t talk about the other stuff.”

  There’s something off about Luke’s expression now, something wary in his tone that I don’t quite understand. Maybe it’s just grief, or maybe he’s thinking about how we don’t always get the chance to tell the people who we love that we love them and how I should take it while I can. If something happened to my mom or dad, and I hadn’t talked to them after leaving the house, I would never forgive myself. Maybe that’s what he’s telling me with the wary glint in his eyes, his lips in a hard line.

  My fingers close over the phone. It’s warm from being in Luke’s pocket. Yeah, it might have been pressed against his butt, but he has a nice butt, and it still makes me shiver when I take it.

  “I’ll just go outside for a few minutes if that’s okay?”

  “That’s fine. Don’t worry. You don’t have to sit here and watch me watching you while you call.”

  He’s attempting to be funny, but there’s something wrong, I can tell. Maybe he had a long day, or maybe he doesn’t know what to do with me when I cry. Some people find tears really uncomfortable, so I make a note to break my rule about not talking about our personal lives and make a plan to ask him what might be wrong when I get back.

  I head out to the backyard. It’s quiet back here since it’s late. The sky is a wash of black overhead, but there aren’t any stars I can see. I wonder if they’re there or if they aren’t out because it’s sometimes hard to tell with the lights from the city. I think it’s cloudy, but I can’t be sure.

  As I perch on the top step of the deck, I have this sense of being super small and insignificant, swallowed up and dwarfed by the sky above. Those stars, when they are out, just look like little pinpricks, but they’re likely huge in the sky. What do I look like to them? Do I even really matter at all?

  Okay, I didn’t come out here to have an existential crisis, so I slide my finger along the bottom of the phone. Luke doesn’t have a password on his phone, which is weird. Don’t most people? Maybe this is also his way of showing me he trusts me. A phone is a personal thing, and I wouldn’t let just anyone touch mine.

  I let my finger rest on the screen until it goes dark. Then I flick it open and do the same thing again. I repeat it a few times before I get frustrated with myself. Just freaking call them already. Luke probably wants his phone back sometime this century.

  I swipe the screen again and go to press the phone icon. I mean to barely look, type in the number, and hit call, all before I can lose my nerve, but stabbing at the screen doesn’t produce good results. The first time, I open some calendar thing right by the phone icon, and the second time, I accidentally open his email. I’m about to exit the app and try again when the title of the third email down the list catches my eye because it’s all in capitals from someone named Ashley Johnson.

  MAX, PLEASE READ. IMPORTANT!!!!

  I know I’m being snoopy, but I click the email. It still hasn’t hit me yet that the first word in the title was a name, but it becomes more than clear when I read the brief email.

  Max,

  We’re seriously behind right now, and I have a bunch of problem areas I need you to go over. No, don’t tell me to pick and choose. You’re the head of things and the one running the show, so you make the decisions. The last time I tried to delegate, it was a disaster. I booked a meeting for you tomorrow afternoon. Please be there, or I’m going to lose my mind. You don’t want me to lose my mind, do you? That would be really bad for you because you’d be down a secretary. So please. Show up.

  Thanks,

  Ashley.

  Her signature is underneath. Why the heck did Luke end up with an email for someone named Max? Where have I heard that name before? And why is my shirt suddenly damp under the armpits?

  I should just close the email and call my parents, but something else comes to mind. Something that just doesn’t make sense. I exit out of the inbox on the phone and scroll down the list into the sent messages. I click one and bring up the first one I find before scrolling down to the end of it, and yes, sure enough, there’s a signature at the bottom of the email.

  Max Stone.

  As in Maxwell Stone.

  As in the Maxwell Stone that my parents wanted me to freaking marry?

  I drop the phone like it’s a tarantula that just fell from the sky in all its hairy, spidery glory. This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make any freaking sense. How did Luke get Max’s phone? Does he know him? Is that even his email? What the heck is going on?

  I’m breathing so shallowly that in just a second, bright spots blur my vision. I blink hard and force myself to inhale and exhale, then do it all over again. Calm. I have to stay calm. I have to go back into the house and ask Luke what the heck is going on because it doesn’t make any sense.

  But then he’ll know I looked at his phone. Then again, who gives a shit if he knows? Get in there and ask him!

  Right, I don’t have a choice. I’m so distracted that I leave the phone where it fell. I don’t even think about it. I gather steam with every step I take, and by the time I’m back in the living room, I plant myself in front of Luke. He’s back to watching sports again, so I block the TV and cross my arms. I don’t try and calm down because there’s no calming down now. I’m so mad that my voice comes out like a shuddery hiss that sounds ghostly and far away, even to me.

  “Who in the ever-loving hell is Max Stone, and why do you have his email on your phone?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Luke

  Doesn’t everyone say your lies will find you out? Well, they’re exactly right.

  I didn’t ever think Feeney would look into my email. I just didn’t think. Maybe this was my subconscious trying to tell me to do the right thing.

  Feeney already looks betrayed. Her face is contorted with anger but also with confusion. The hurt is just starting to settle in, and I hate that. I hate this. I hate that I lied to her, and now she needs to know the truth. I hate that I promised her I wouldn’t hurt her, but I did. I hate that I was going to tell her, but I just couldn’t figure out how because I didn’t plan on there being any complications with the hastily devised plan. Once it was thought out, I couldn’t take it back. No, no, I could have. I could have, and I wanted to. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her each and every night she was in my bed, wrapped in my arms, and I came close more than once, but I just couldn’t.

  And now she has to find out like this.

  With rage, betrayal, and all the negative emotions that aren’t going to let her give me a chance to explain.

  Her foot taps, the muscles in her forearms flex, and her jaw ticks—she’s waiting. She’s waiting, and I’m just sitting here like an idiot, still trying to find the words I don’t have.

  “I…Feeney, it was real. All of it. Every moment for me. I didn’t plan that. I didn’t…I didn’t ever use you, and I never wanted to trick you. I just wanted you to get to know me, and then I thought I could explain. I thought we really could come to an agreement, and I thought I was safe. That there was no way we could ever care about each other because I was too far gone, and you were…I didn’t know what you were, but I doubted you’d ever…god.” I reach up and swipe my hand roughly over my face, dragging down my eyelids and burning my fingers over the stubble until the contact makes a sound that might as well be like a clap of thunder between us.

  “What are you talking about?” She gapes at me, and her eyes are wide with horror. She already knows, but she hasn’t accepted it yet.

  “I’m Maxwell Stone. I didn’t just use a different name for you. I mean, I did, but I do it everywhere. I use it to protect me and keep me anonymous. It was Britt’s idea after the publishing house blew up. Things took off, and suddenly, I was all over the place. My name was everywhere. She was pregnant
with Shade at the time, and she didn’t want us raising our child like that, being always in the media. She wanted a regular house, a regular life, and our privacy. She was happy for me, but she wanted that piece no one else should ever have, and I agreed. I mean, not officially on documents, but when I had to sign those, it was kept quiet because breaches of privacy are a serious thing people can be sued for.”

  “I know where I’ve heard that name before,” Feeney gasps out. “A few years ago. My father was ranting about some upstart publisher and publishing house that was stealing business. This kid wasn’t even thirty, and yet he stormed into the industry as if he owned it, giving everyone else a run for their money and publishing bestsellers left and right. My father hated it, and he never really hates anything.”

  “Yes. Yes, he did hate it. He hated me, and we were never friends. And then, out of nowhere, he came to me a few months ago with an idea—a blending of our businesses. A powerhouse that would crush all competitors and make enough money so I wouldn’t ever have to step foot out of the door again. I wanted a gesture of goodwill, and he knew about Brittany. Everyone did. He’d heard from someone that I was going through a string of nannies. He was worried about you because he’d seen how those guys you dated used you and hurt you terribly. He didn’t think you’d ever find someone and be happy because of who you were, and he felt so guilty for it. He thought he’d ruined your life before you even got a chance to live it, so he wanted to know if I would be open to an arrangement. We’d meet and see if we liked each other. Shade needed someone there for him, which is something I want for him like you can’t even imagine. I was only thinking about him, so I agreed. It wasn’t a marriage. I don’t know why your parents said that. It was just…we were supposed to see how we got along and if we could come to an agreement to maybe make things work. Maybe, in time, we’d come to like each other, and maybe one day, we’d even be able to stand each other enough to make it official. I never thought…really, truly, I just wanted someone there for Shade. I wanted to talk to you and explain how I felt. I thought maybe if you knew you’d be looked after and have someone care about you, if not love you, and also maybe if you met Shade…”

  Feeney’s eyes are huge, so large that they look like they’ve been drawn on by a makeup artist. It’s like those aren’t even her real eyes at all, except they are. They’re not only wide, but they’re also burning with fury and shock. “Are you insane? How could you just…just…I’m a human being! I’m a person with feelings!”

  “I know that.”

  “Except you didn’t even stop to think about it. No. You thought I was just some spoiled rich girl with rich girl problems. You might have wanted a type of pseudo mom for Shade, but you didn’t give a shit about me. I don’t know what agreement you thought I could possibly come to with you…”

  “I know. It’s fucked up. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t in a good headspace. I was just totally shut down and out of it. I don’t know. I…god. Your father made it sound like it could work.”

  “Don’t put this on him! How can you think two people can just have an agreement to live in the same house and act like they’re together when they don’t even really like each other? How could you think that after you were married before?! Do you think that’s what would make a good marriage?”

  “I didn’t really think that—”

  “No. You didn’t think.”

  “I didn’t,” I freely confess, trying to diffuse her anger and get her to listen, but I can tell I’m just making things worse. “I didn’t think. I…I don’t know. I didn’t see it ending in marriage. I don’t know what I thought, and anyway, it was a terrible idea. It was just about your parents trying to protect you, and also about Shade. I’d do anything for him. You know that.”

  “So, you would have used me and excused it because he’s a good kid, and he needs someone? What the actual fuck, Luke? Luke. Pfft, no. That’s not even your name. Your name is some rich person's name. Maxwell. I don’t blame you for changing it because it’s a dumb sounding name. You must be…you must…” Feeney’s hand flies to her forehead. “Oh my god. You’re rich too. You have tons of money, don’t you? You…this house, this suburb…it’s all just a cover—”

  “Not a cover. I didn’t want to live that life. I didn’t—”

  “It does matter! You’re…you’re lying! You’ve been lying to me this whole time! What am I even doing here? No! My parents! My parents called you after I left the house, and then they called Sam too. They must have! You had all of this arranged. I thought I was going to a safe place, and I thought my best friend was calling in a favor, that I was working and doing something I could be proud of, supporting myself. And then…and then us! I thought you cared! You…how could you sleep with me? Just as what? A trial period to see if you could stand it before you told me? As a way to get me hooked? As a way to keep me with you? Oh my fucking god, were you trying to really keep me with you?”

  “No! What does that even mean?”

  “I’m on the pill, idiot. It would never have happened.”

  “I know. You said that the first time we…and no. I was never trying to keep you with me. This wasn’t…this wasn’t supposed to happen. I just wanted us to get to know each other without the pressure because you wouldn’t even listen to your parents. They were trying to explain, I guess.”

  “Well, they did a shit job of it.” Feeney’s not losing steam. She’s still just as angry, and her whole body’s rigid with it, her cheeks a bright, vibrant pink, her mouth an angry, flat line.

  “They might have, but that’s why they called me, and we made up a plan in about five minutes. We thought this would be best. You wouldn’t know who I was, so you wouldn’t be spoiled by it or bitter about it from the start. I wanted you to get to know Shade, and I thought, if you were terrible, I’d call it off. I did want to tell you, long before now. I just…I never meant…I didn’t think I’d start feeling something for you.”

  Feeney’s nostrils flare, and she rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Chicken nuggets. Fuck. All the swears in the whole freaking world! I could use any and all of them, and they’d all apply. How could you be so horrible?! You didn’t think to tell me that night when we were talking? That night right before we…when we…you should have said something!”

  “I know! I know I should have! I just didn’t know how to. I know I should have told you the truth, and I’ve tried!”

  “But what? You were afraid our little arrangement would be over? You can have anyone, Luke. Anyone will sleep with you if that’s all you want.”

  “That’s not all I want!”

  “No? You said so yourself that you didn’t want anything from me. It was supposed to be about Shade.”

  “I didn’t want anything from you! And it was about Shade! It still is! I just…I never thought I could…that I could care again…”

  “And certainly not for me. I don’t believe you really do. I can’t believe you because people who care about each other don’t lie to each other. They don’t secretly plot with someone else’s family members and friends. Do you have any idea how messed up that is? Now it seems I can’t trust anyone!”

  “That’s not true. You can trust me. You can. Feeney, I—”

  “No. Stop it!” She puts up her hand in a visual gesture just in case I don’t get the hint by the terrible rage, fury, and anguish slicing through her tone.

  It hurts to look at her. Her whole face is now pink, but it’s her eyes that I can’t meet. Every single emotion is there—her pain, her hurt, her anger, her sadness, her disappointment. I can literally feel everything we shared slipping away—all the things we couldn’t put into words are never going to be said, all because I messed this up. Badly. Even listening to myself, I see no justification in what I did. What was I even thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t—my dad’s right. I am an idiot and everything that word entails, which is putting it kindly. I wasn’t thinking, and I never thought about Feeney until it was too late. I
didn’t give a shit if the merger didn’t happen, but I really did care about Shade, about him having someone there, and about trying to rebuild our lives. I thought some kind of agreement was the best way because I never thought I’d be able to be with someone again, at least in the normal way people are with other people. I didn’t think I had the capacity for it.

  But Feeney proved to me that I did, and she proved it in a shockingly short amount of time. She set me straight, set me right, set me everything.

  And still, I didn’t tell her.

  I can’t say it was just because I didn’t want to lose her. It might be true, and it does make me sound like a selfish bastard, which yes, that might be true too. It also makes me seem like an ignorant ignoramus, and yes, I’m probably both of those, but I really didn’t want Shade to lose her. Truly. I was trying to protect my son, but it sounds like an excuse, even in my own mind, so I don’t say it.

  I don’t say anything else, except the one thing Feeney deserves to hear.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right about all of it. I should never have done it, considered it, or even listened to and entertained the idea. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t come up with it. I was still wrong. I was thinking about Shade, but that doesn’t make it right either. I don’t know what the hell was the matter with me or why I couldn’t use my head. It was selfish, it was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “How about I’m sorry I plotted against you? Or I’m sorry I decided to trade you in so I can merge with your father’s company? I’m sorry I didn’t even see you as a person but just thought of you as an inanimate thing without feelings. I’m sorry I was in the market to get my son a mom without actually having to put in any work myself. I’m sorry I was shut down, self-absorbed, and an egomaniac asshole. I’m sorry I am the most diabolical shit of a liar on the whole entire planet. I’m sorry I used your body and fucked with your feelings and emotions to try and manipulate you into—”