101 Nights Box Set: Volume One

by SE Reign

  The press figured it out. Every press contact I’ve ever submitted a release to has emailed, along with a slew of others. Some of the subject lines are in foreign languages. From what I can tell, everyone requesting comments and interviews from the woman they nicknamed Billionaire Bride or American Cinderella.

  “Holy fuck,” I say under my breath.

  “You wanna walk out with me?” Janet asks.

  I close the window fast, heart pounding. Why was it public knowledge so soon? How? Did they have my picture or were they emailing every Natalie Hanover in the universe for a comment in hopes of getting the right one to respond?

  Shit, shit, shit. “Yeah, sure.”

  My hands are shaking as I grip my purse. I turn off my computer and walk to the door with Janet. Just as she’s about to open it, the senior most partner at the firm opens it instead.

  Our jaws both drop. We’ve heard of Mr. Jenkins but never seen him before. He’s a legend, one who doesn’t come out of his office on the top floor, except to greet former politicians and super wealthy clients.

  A distinguished man with silver hair and wise blue eyes, he’s tall and slender. We’re too shocked to speak, but he’s not.

  “Ms. Hanover, if I may have a word with you.”

  He’s going to fire me. What did Elijah do? Call my job and tell them I threatened him?

  I nod and swallow hard, determined not to cry when he fires me but feeling like I really might.

  Janet gives me a questioning look and scurries away. I move back to my desk and perch on the edge, twisting my hands in front of me. Mr. Jenkins enters and closes the door behind him. I’m waiting for him to yell.

  “We have a new client, our highest profile to date. I understand he chose our firm at your recommendation.” He smiles. “Thank you, Ms. Hanover.”

  “I don’t understand,” I manage, thoroughly confused.

  “I just got done meeting with Crown Prince Elijah Micah.”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  “He’s hiring the firm to represent him in a few of his building pursuits,” Mr. Jenkins’ smile grows larger. “To include, renegotiating the contract where your parents live.”

  His words sink in slowly, and I realize Elijah is at least pretending to follow through on his end of the bargain. Not that I trust him. After all, renegotiation sounds like the plan is still a go.

  “He said you’d be shocked by the level of attention you’re getting. I guess neither of you expected your story to break so soon. Elijah hinted at a pending engagement as well and asked if we’d be willing to draw up a pre-nup.” He waits expectantly.

  Pre-nup? We are so not going that far! I feel sick again. “I can’t talk about it,” I tell him honestly. Mainly because I have no fucking clue what’s going on.

  “Completely understand. You’re in a tough spot. I respect that,” he says, and opens the door. “There’s a throng of press out front. You may want to take my private entrance out the back.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Congrats, Natalie.”

  I nod. He leaves, and I cross to the window.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” I almost shout.

  It’s a zoo out front. The entrance and street are packed with press members. I close the curtain and stare at it, anger rising inside me.

  There’s no way I can go to and from work under these circumstances. Is this part of his claim that he’d control every aspect of my life? He gets to pick when to throw me to the wolves out front?

  I dig through my purse to find his number and dial it from my cell.

  “EJ.” His voice sends shivers through me, and I’m embarrassed again about everything we did last night.

  “Hey,” I say. “So … there’s a shit ton of press in front of my office building. Did you do this?”

  “Shit ton,” he repeats. “That one isn’t in my book.”

  Confused by his statement, I hear him writing something down and am about to yell at him to tell me something when he speaks again.

  “I intended to leak it in about two weeks, but someone at the hotel beat me to it,” he says. “Jamil is working on finding out how. In the meantime, it looks like we’re moving up the plan.”

  “Engagement and pre-nup,” I murmur. “For the record, if we have to move up the plan again, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll ever marry you.”

  “You’ll do exactly what I tell you, Natalie.”

  What a dick. I bite my tongue to keep from telling him the deal is off.

  “I know you enjoyed last night. If nothing else, you know I’ll fuck you happy every night,” he adds.

  “That’s not gonna help me with my job!”

  “Oh. You no longer have a job. I told Mr. Jenkins you were quitting today.”

  “What? You don’t get to …” I stop and issue a growl of frustration.

  “Yeah. You know I do, my little farasha,” he answers, then gives a husky chuckle that makes the place between my legs grow warm and wet. “I’ll send you a car to take you home. It’ll be out back. Ten minutes.”

  I hang up on him. My body is fevered from hearing his husky voice, my emotions bubbling. I can almost feel his hands tracing down my body once more, and my breath hitches at the idea I’ll experience him again soon.

  Too soon for me to get my thoughts straight. I’m losing my job and by now probably all my friends who live in the building my dear fiancé is going to demolish.

  I didn’t expect sleeping with him and our deal to have such fast or terrifying results. What else is going to change? How permanent is this craziness?

  Will I be able to go back to my real life, when this is over in three months?

  Stressed out already, I wait a few minutes then leave the building out the back entrance. The car is waiting as promised, and there are no reporters out back. I slide into the Towncar and watch the world as we pull out of the alley and past the throngs of people out front.

  I’m beyond amazed by the amount of people interested in me. I’m a nobody, a plain Jane from a blue-collar family, someone who can barely repay her student loans.

  If they only knew … But they couldn’t. No one can know the truth, or I lose the dangerous game I’m playing with a man who is much more like a wild animal than I expected. Don’t eat me that way.

  My pulse is quickening again as I recall him eating me out last night during our first night together. I have no idea if he’s right about fucking helping us look more like a couple. In my book, sex makes you a couple.

  So does trust, something we’ll never have, no matter how many nights we fuck.

  The car takes me to my old, sagging, cement apartment building, and I’m stunned to see an even larger crowd of press and people outside. I have no idea why – I’m normal. Boring even!

  The car stops, and I hesitate. I’m not much of one for crowds, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to become the center of attention here. After the scene at my office, I can’t imagine they’re here for anyone else.

  The driver gets out and opens my door.

  One person notices, then two. Suddenly, the throng is pressing against me, blocking my path to the building. The driver closes the door and tries to push his way to the front of the car but is shoved back against me by a combination of press and … screaming teen girls in tiaras?

  What the fuck is going on? I don’t have time to figure it out. The noise is overwhelming. Reporters pepper me with questions.

  “Ms. Hanover! Is it true …”

  “… invited to the wedding?”

  “… how you captured the heart of a billionaire playboy who …”

  “Omigod! You’re going to be a princess!” one teen girl shrieks.

  The driver makes it to the front of the car, and I start to push my way to the building. Bulbs are flashing, people shouting questions and microphones and cameras shoved into my face.

  I make it a few feet from the car and am stopped by … someone. I’m not sure who pushes into my path, because there
are like ten people in front of me while a dozen more jostle past me.

  I’m starting to panic. The crowd is fucking insane, and I can’t even manage a no comment or a smile like I see celebrities do on television when swarmed by the press. No, I want to cry and scream at them to get away from me.

  I get another step then trip and smash to the ground, taking a reporter with me. People crowd us, someone else accidentally kicking me in the gut as he trips, pushed by the throng behind him.

  Chaos breaks out. People are pushing and shoving around me. I see their legs and hear the crash of at least one camera as it hits the ground.

  I do the only thing I can think of. I cover my head and pray. Tears fill my eyes. Someone smacks a knee into my cheek, and pain radiates through my head.

  Curled up in a ball, I start sobbing. Two more people fall over me, one sprawling right on top of me. He’s shouting at whoever pushed him … something about dropping his microphone.

  It’s not supposed to be this way!

  I should’ve just shot the bastard! I hear whistles and shouting over a speaker, the sound of a siren.

  Someone pulls the guy on top of me off, and then someone else bends down.

  “Hold on, ma’am. We’ve got you,” a voice tells me.

  A moment later, I’m being picked up and rushed into the apartment building, past four cops, who slam the door behind me.

  The one carrying me sets me down. There’s an EMT present, too, and I manage a deep, shaky breath.

  “That was bad,” one cop tells another. “I never saw anything like that.”

  I want to sob again. Instead, I stand, trembling, as the EMT checks my eyes and lifts my arms carefully. He’s checking for breaks, and I have no fucking clue if anything is broken. Too much adrenaline and fear is in my system.

  “Anything hurt?” he asks, touching the spot on my cheek where someone kneed me.

  I wince. “That does.”

  “Not broken. You’ll have a bruise though.”

  I hate my life.

  “Any pain in your midsection? Headache? Confusion?”

  “No,” I reply.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re okay. Lucky.” He replaces everything in the bag at his feet. “I’ve seen a stampede like that once. Killed three people.”

  More tears brim in my eyes.

  He hands me a cold pack. “Keep that on your cheek. If you notice any sort of sudden headaches, dizzy spells, abdominal pain or back pain, go immediately to the ER. Got it?”

  Unable to speak, I nod and place the cold pack against my cheek.

  “Ma’am, we’re going to assign a temporary police escort for you,” the cops who rescued me say. “At least until we can figure out what to do about this madness.” He motions to the crowd pressed against the front doors.

  Cameras are still flashing, and people wave desperately when I glance their way.

  “Thanks.” I turn my back and flee up the stairs to the second floor, where my apartment is.

  Unlocking my door, I sling my purse across the room, slam the door and sink against one wall, sobbing.

  Next time, I pull the fucking trigger.

  Chapter Six: Elijah

  I’m at a meeting with the city planner I’m manipulating into granting a permit he doesn’t want to give me. He will – everyone always does – but he left the room five minutes before to call the mayor for permission. I’m staring at the television that’s on at one end of the city hall’s large conference room when I see a familiar face, one that shouldn’t be on the screen at all.

  I can’t fucking believe what I’m seeing. It takes me a moment, but I snatch my cell and call Jamil.

  “I want my entire security detail at Natalie’s. Now,” I snap into the phone.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I also want to know who the fuck at the hotel leaked information about her.”

  “Working on that already, sir.”

  “I’m on my way.” The last thing I want to do is leave, but I also recognize this is a great opportunity to play the press a little. What will make my father more pissed than me waltzing in to rescue the American woman I need him to believe I love? If nothing else, the photo op will get me some fantastic press.

  Pulling up the news on my cell, I glance at my assistant, who waits outside the room.

  “Reschedule for tomorrow,” I order. “Call the car around.”

  She nods and quickly obeys. By the time I reach the first floor lobby, the car will be waiting. My people are good like that – or they get fired.

  I hop into the elevator, frowning fiercely at the news I see on my small screen.

  Billionaire Bride mobbed, injured. Live coverage!

  Cinderella story unfolds! Screams at least two more headlines.

  I see Natalie get out of the car. Seconds later, she disappears beneath the throng of people. My breath catches, and I stare, stricken by the scene.

  Her safety is my concern. At least, for three months. Jamil called me the moment he discovered that the information about her identity was leaked, but I had no idea this would be the result. I’m feeling more unsettled than I should, given her relative lack of importance in my life. She’s a temporary fixture. Nothing permanent. Nothing that should give me a second thought.

  In hindsight, I probably should’ve known better than to assume the news about her wouldn’t leak so soon. Every woman I’m linked to with allegations of being serious ends up swarmed by paparazzi. They all know how to handle the press, though, and it’s now clear to me that Natalie doesn’t.

  She’s also not the same kind of woman I usually date. I’m expected to go out with wealthy women, other bluebloods, or celebrities.

  A commoner, however, is sensational, and it hits me that this is the true appeal of her. My father will hate it, but she’ll skyrocket to the top of every newscast, headline and online website obsessed with royalty in the world. Overnight, she’ll become bigger than everyone else out there. That kind of press, I can’t buy, and my father can’t ignore. This kind of press will raise the Kingdom’s profile, something he’ll choose to embrace over my American fiancé.

  My plan is getting more brilliant by the second!

  Assuming she survives the mobs.

  “Fucking shit,” I mutter and shove the phone in my pocket.

  Hurrying out of city hall, I get into my car and give my driver the address to the Tenley project. I’ve been with too many one-night stands to care about this one after only one night, with the exception that she needs to be alive for me to make my father’s deadline.

  And well … I’ve been thinking about her today, more than I expected. I don’t like the idea. At All.

  I can’t help but feel a little concerned, though, at what shape she’ll be in after this. Pissed, if I know anything about her. One reporter says she was treated by paramedics, and I’m hoping it’s nothing that’ll prevent sex.

  I need my sex. I’m making the first ever effort in my life to be monogamous for three solid months. If I fail on day two because my lover got beat up by the press, I’m going to sue the shit out of everyone in town.

  My security detail is there when I arrive. They’ve already cut a path through the insane crowd to the front door, where four cops are checking the identifications of any residents trying to get in. My two biggest bodyguards come to the car and open the door.

  Accustomed to the high level of interest in everything I do, I offer a quick smile and wave at the crowd, pausing for them to take pictures. Starting forward, I ignore every question lobbed at me and stride to the front door. I stopped caring about trying to please the press years ago. They get one photo op with me – and any questions must be submitted to my press secretary for my next official press conference.

  The cops don’t bother checking my identification but open the door.

  This place needs to be torn down. I look around quickly and decide that I don’t give a shit what I told her – this place is coming down one way or another. The lobby floorin
g is clearly from the seventies, and it smells.

  “Second floor,” I say to the bodyguard with me, not bothering to look at him.

  They never let me take elevators, so I stand at the foot of the stairwell while he does a quick sweep to the second floor. When it’s safe, he speaks to the second bodyguard beside me, who ushers me forward.

  The second floor doesn’t look much better than the first. She should be thanking me for getting her out of here for three months.

  I knock on her door.

  No answer.

  I imagine she’s ignoring everyone, but lack of response is usually a sign of trouble in my world. Like a woman appearing in your study with a gun or a stalker cornering you at the gym.

  Stepping aside, I motion for the bodyguard to do his thing. He whips out a lock picking set and within seconds, the door is opened.

  “Natalie?” I call.

  The bodyguard starts forward.

  I don’t hear anything that alarms me, so I stop him. “She has a thing for guns,” I explain. “Not sure a stranger fares a chance in her place.”

  I move into her apartment and close the door behind me. Her flat is clean and simply decorated. I don’t pay much attention to her world, knowing our deal places her in mine. At least there’s no seventies flooring in here.

  “Natalie?”

  “Yeah.” By the choked note in her voice, I know why she’s not coming out.

  “You armed?”

  “I wish.”

  I say nothing but follow the sound of her voice. She’s in the corner of her bedroom, a cold pack pressed to her cheek. The room is cramped with a four-poster bed and dresser. The blinds are down, rendering it darker here than anywhere else in the apartment.

  Her eyes are red rimmed and anger burns within their blue depths. I’d almost forgotten how captivating the color of her eyes is. Her features are flushed, her lips roughened in a way that arouses me on sight. I can almost smell her, the womanly musk that drove me wild last night, second only to her honeyed flavor. I don’t remember many of the women I sleep with, but I’d recall a night with her, even if it had been only one. It’s not normal for me to spend the day obsessing about one particular woman’s pussy – especially when I have my pick of any woman in the entire world – but I realize that I had been thinking of her juicy cunt and blue eyes since I left her this morning.