The Billionaire's Claim_Possession

by Nadia Lee

  I take a steadying breath and smile. I’ll call Dane a “friendlier than expected reptile” from now on.

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth

  Two days pass before Dominic calls. I’m only in town because I delayed my trip…on the off chance that he’d call.

  “Forty-eight hours,” I say, half teasing, half serious.

  “I know,” he says with a soft sigh. “I would’ve called yesterday, but my sister caught me and insisted I had to wait three days.”

  “Three?”

  “One apparently makes you desperate. Four makes you uncaring.”

  “Do people still believe that sort of thing?” Three would have meant I was on a plane to Tuscany.

  “I guess. She told me while rolling her eyes in that superior ‘I know stuff, and you don’t’ way.”

  “What did she think about you calling me after only two days?”

  He makes his voice higher. “‘Nobody calls after two.’”

  I laugh.

  “I would’ve called anyway, but she hid my phone.”

  “Your sister’s a riot.” The timing’s worked out pretty well, too. Dane’s assistant sent over a used green Civic. She said it’s a popular car among college kids who want good gas mileage and reliability.

  “Still, it’s a good thing you decided to call. I wouldn’t have been in town if you’d called tomorrow.” I wouldn’t push back my departure date again for nothing. “I don’t think we had a typical beginning, and whatever ‘relationship rules’ girly rags advocate don’t apply to us… Don’t you think?”

  “Yup.”

  Then Dominic asks me out, wanting to know where I live so he can pick me up.

  Oh.

  That complicates things. I can’t exactly ask him to come get me from Uncle Salazar’s mansion after buying a Civic.

  At some point, I’ll have to tell him. But not right now. I enjoy being with him simply as a regular girl he met during his shift. Too many guys I meet catalogue who I’m connected to, what kind of pull I have with wealthy families, and what I can do for them if they play me right. When I drink, they don’t keep an eye on me to make sure I’m all right. They do it to see when I’ll get intoxicated enough to agree to anything they suggest.

  It’s thrilling to be wanted because a guy just likes me, not for what I can do for him or his family.

  “Why don’t we stay in?” I suggest. “I can bring something.”

  “Staying in’s cool,” he says. “But I’m asking you on the date, so it’s going to be my treat.”

  “All right. I’m flexible.”

  “So what do you like? Chinese? Thai?”

  “Whatever. I’m good with spicy food.”

  “Okay then.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “I’ll bring you your shirt, too.”

  We agree on a time, and I hang up, saving his number to my contact list.

  Our first actual date goes great, with Chinese takeout and cuddling with a romantic comedy movie on TV, and ends predictably with both of us sweaty and panting in bed.

  The second date—which takes place the next day because I delayed my flight again—goes similarly, with me bringing some lasagna Uncle Salazar’s chef made. I’m not totally shameless, so I don’t take credit for it, passing it off as a friend’s mom’s.

  “Marcella?” Dominic asks as I put the lasagna in the oven.

  I choke back a laugh. “Marcella’s mom would rather die than work in a kitchen. And we’re all better off for that.”

  The lasagna’s perfect, but then I’d be shocked if it weren’t. Uncle Salazar doesn’t pay for incompetence.

  As lovely as our first two dates are, Dominic still seems to want to take me “out.” I resist pretty successfully over the next few weeks, except for one time when he suggests a hole-in-the-wall taco joint. He keeps trying to take me to the fancier places in the city, and I don’t want to be spotted by anyone I know. It’ll only lead to awkward questions. And if anybody blabs to Grandma Shirley…

  I suppress a shudder.

  She’s already getting suspicious over the continued delays of my trip to Italy. Not to mention she’s probably plotting a way to force me into doing what she wants—which is move into her mansion.

  After a couple of weeks of clandestine rendezvous with Dominic, she summons me over to brunch at her place. It’s smaller than Uncle Salazar’s, but no less luxurious with polished stone, Italian tiles and citrus trees and a pool that nobody uses.

  She’s already seated at the long table by the time I arrive. She’s impeccable as usual in a hunter-green dress, her hair shining like polished steel and pulled into a bun at the base of her frail neck. Despite her age, her skin is hardly lined and glows with liberal use of makeup, cream and medical technology.

  As the head of the Pryce Family Foundation, she oversees all sorts of charitable causes the family champions. Unfortunately, her reputation is, well…ungracious…although fairly earned. I can’t think of a time when Shirley’s hard gray gaze hasn’t judged.

  And I’m surprised to see her assistant Tolyan behind her. Well, not really an assistant, but you know… He isn’t her boy toy, either.

  His tightly cropped sandy brown hair glinting in the morning sunlight, he stands military straight in a black suit and a crisp white dress shirt, no tie. He’s tall, built like one of those pro wrestlers with the broad shoulders and thick muscles. He moves like a jungle cat, but his pale blue eyes are barren and cold. It’s the kind of gaze Jack the Ripper must’ve had.

  I don’t know his last name, and that has to be the least of what I don’t know about him. He’s always tight-lipped and secretive. I’m not exactly sure what his job is, but everyone calls him Grandma’s personal assistant…so I do, too.

  Grandma is eating eggs Benedict, and the chef offers me the same. I know better than to ask for something else—Grandma doesn’t like it when I don’t go along with the menu, and I’m already on her shit list.

  I pour a cup of strong coffee and stir in cream and extra sugar. I’ll need it to deal with what’s to come.

  “I understand you’ve pushed back your trip again,” Grandma Shirley says, her voice as cool as a block of marble.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought whatever you had to do in Italy was too important to consider staying L.A. like I wanted you to.”

  “It is.” I do my best to keep my answers short. Long, involved responses give too many bullets for Grandma to choose from.

  Her gaze turns even harder. She loathes not being someone’s first choice. “Why the delay then?”

  “It’s only for a few weeks, Grandma.” I put a soft emphasis on “Grandma” and smile the sweetest smile I can manage.

  “Did Thomas change his mind?”

  “No.” My paternal grandfather Thomas is an artist and one of a few people Grandma can’t control—and therefore disapproves of. He’s seen my work and decided to help me become a painter like him.

  “The family foundation is your legacy. It needs you,” she says as the chef brings out my breakfast.

  “Thank you,” I say, more to the chef than to Grandma. “The foundation is great, but I’m sure it’ll be fine without me. Besides, I will be leaving for Italy soon.” No way I’m staying in L.A. to do whatever Grandma has in mind. She didn’t insist on any of my brothers or male cousins taking over the family foundation, just the girls in the family. It’s totally sexist in the first place, and anyway, I want to be in charge of my own destiny.

  What about Dominic?

  I take a quick sip of the coffee to wet my suddenly dry mouth. I’ll have to figure something out. Maybe we can work something long distance, then he can join me in Europe. His sister Kristen is only sixteen, but she’s a year ahead in school. She can study at a university in Europe. There are plenty of great ones there. I’ll even have her tuition paid.

  “You should eat your breakfast,” Grandma says.

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  Her eye
brow twitches ever so slightly. “Elizabeth…we may be Pryces, but we can’t always do what we want.”

  “But we can strive to have a life we want, can’t we? Everyone has that right.”

  She smiles, her thin lips curving just so. “Youthful optimism. I approve. A Pryce should be at least that ambitious.”

  Sudden shivers ripple along my spine. I stand up. “I forgot I have an appointment. I have to go.”

  “I hope the appointment was worth delaying your trip, sweetheart.”

  My throat tight and unable to muster a farewell, I leave.

  Is it me, or did Grandma sound vaguely threatening?

  Chapter Nine

  Dominic

  I dice a bunch of fresh veggies for semi-homemade pasta sauce. Liza once again wants to stay in.

  It bothers me a little that she’s such a hermit. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s embarrassed to be seen with me, but that isn’t it. She’s come by my bar a few times to surprise me, and I did manage to drag her out for tacos once.

  I’m probably overthinking this.

  Besides, I’m okay with what she wants. If she said, “Let’s have a date in Siberia,” I’d find a way to make it happen.

  And staying in has some advantages. We can do takeout or cook together. She isn’t the best cook, but I’m pretty decent as long as I follow Mom’s recipes. Liza loves to sing in the kitchen, which never fails to put a smile on my face. She has an amazing voice, hitting each note pitch perfect.

  I check frequently to see if she wants to go out someplace fancy where I can spoil her, but she always says no…and means it. Says our dates aren’t about splurging on expensive things but being with each other.

  And sex. Lots and lots of hot sex, the best kind of sex.

  It isn’t the best sex ever because Liza is particularly kinky—she isn’t. It isn’t because she’s overly adventurous—she isn’t. It’s her mind and soul that get to me. Our nights aren’t just filled with fucking—in between, we can talk about any and everything. The only thing we don’t go into is her family. She seems uncomfortable whenever the topic comes up.

  “My dad… He has his own company,” she volunteered one time after I told her my parents died in a hit-and-run two years ago.

  “What kind?”

  “Not sure. I never paid attention. We aren’t really that close—he’s busy a lot. Mom was his first wife, and things didn’t end nicely.”

  “Sucks. Sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s okay. I think she’s happier without him, doing”—a whisper-soft sigh—“stuff.”

  “What does she do?”

  Liza hesitated, then finally said, “She’s a stay-at-home mom, although technically maybe not since all us kids are grown up now.” She forced a smile. “Like I said, we aren’t typical.”

  Obviously not. Her family life sounds like it bites. Hell, she said her mom doesn’t want her to eat carbs, which is a shitty thing for a parent to tell a child. Liza also avoids talking about her brothers. Maybe they’re assholes like her mom. Everyone has something they don’t want to talk about, and I don’t dig, not wanting to ruin our moments together by dredging up bad memories.

  Instead I draw Liza into my family of two. She and Kristen hit it off. Kristen seems to love having someone to talk to, her eyes full of mischief. There’re probably things she doesn’t want to tell me since I’m a guy, even though I’m family.

  That crazy split-second pull I felt for Liza is morphing into something deeper every day—something that makes my heart nearly burst with fullness every time I think of her. Which is a lot. Like, every minute.

  While cuddling on the couch after a dinner of pasta and ice cream, Liza tells me she wants to be an artist. At my request, she shows me some sketches she has in her huge tote bag. The subjects vary—fruits, trees, buildings, people on the streets. Each work captures the essence of the subjects with just pencil or charcoal, showcasing her talent and craft.

  “These are amazing,” I say.

  “Thanks.” She sighs. “But I’m nowhere near where I need to be.”

  “Nowhere near?” I arch an eyebrow. “Let’s not be too modest.”

  “No, really. Art is super, super competitive. Most painters don’t become famous until after they die.” She shrugs. “But I have a backup plan, just in case.”

  “What?”

  “Be an interpreter for the UN. I can speak Italian, French, Spanish, German and Japanese.

  Whoa. “Six languages?”

  “Well, five, really. My Japanese isn’t totally fluent.”

  “Hell. If you can do more than order sushi, that’s still six.”

  She blushes a little, which is cute. “I wanted to watch anime without subtitles, so I learned it. I can’t read anything, though. But I want to travel first.” As she speaks, her eyes sparkle with excitement. I can see one thought after another fleeting through those beautiful winter-gray depths. She shifts, moving closer. “How about you?”

  I tell her about my future plans. How I’ve been saving and investing. How I’m betting that the market’s going to implode pretty soon. “Banks are loaning big money to people who can’t afford to pay it back. It can’t end well.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. You interested in the market too?”

  “Not really.” She clears her throat. “Overheard my family talking about it a few times.”

  “I did some house flipping too since banks were willing to lend me the money I needed.” I still can’t believe they were that loose with the money. “But when it’s getting too crazy, you know it’s time to get out.”

  Her eyes grow soft. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  My chest puffs up with pride, especially since a lot of people I know think I’m insane to short now.

  Under her gaze, my desire for success sharpens. Until I met her, my plan was mostly just to have a good life for myself and Kristen. My grandfather on my mother’s side has some money from a construction business, but given how much the old guy hated Dad, I don’t expect a penny from him. And frankly, I prefer it that way. I refuse to grovel to a man who thought my dad was beneath Mom for something as meaningless as the size of his bank account.

  But that doesn’t mean I intend to live in this little duplex forever, or tie myself to a cubicle so I can become a soulless wage slave in return for a mediocre standard of living…provided I don’t lose my job.

  With Liza thrown into my life, I crave the kind of success that’ll allow me to give her whatever she wants—travel, pretty things, beautiful experiences. She deserves everything, and I want to be the one to provide it for her.

  Suddenly, she asks, “Have you thought about interning at an investment company?”

  “Not really. I don’t want to move to New York.”

  “There are offices in L.A.”

  There is one I’m interested in, but…

  “I know you’re holding back.”

  I laugh. “I can’t hide anything from you.” I give her a quick kiss. “I’m interested in Omega Wealth Management.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes grow big and round for a moment. “Makes sense. If you’re going to be working for someone, it might as well be one of the best, and Gavin’s, like, top five in the world.”

  “Gavin?” I arch an eyebrow.

  She jerks, flushing hard, then clears her throat. “Gavin Lloyd. You know, the founder of OWM.”

  “You on first-name basis with the guy?”

  “Well, you know…kind of. I, uh, met him a few times. At a café near his office. He always gives his first name when he orders his morning coffee.” She smiles, then hurriedly adds, “He seems really nice. You should apply.”

  “They don’t take undergraduate interns.”

  “Try anyway?” she says. “You never know. Besides, I heard his company pays its interns well.”

  I read that in a magazine article too. He believes in paying people for the work they perform.

  “Please?” She flutt
ers her eyelashes, giving me that puppy face.

  I laugh. She had me at “try anyway.” “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Awesome.” She grins.

  My mind says I’m missing something small but important, warns I needed to figure out what that is…this instant. But she shifts, straddling me and cradling my cock in the sweet spot between her legs. “Now, for good luck…”

  She catches my face between her palms and kisses me. I open my mouth, licking at her tongue.

  And I can’t understand why I should stop to find out what that small thing is.

  Chapter Ten

  Dominic

  Sixty-seven minutes. That’s how long my sister’s been staring at nothing, even though she has a math textbook spread out on the dining table.

  “Earth to Kristen,” I say dryly, waving a hand in front of her eyes.

  She starts, then looks up. “What?”

  “I asked you if you wanted the leftover pasta for dinner three times now.”

  “Oh.” She sighs, then glances at the TV, which is currently turned off. She kicks her backpack halfheartedly, then sighs again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Yeah, right. She’s been sighing ever since she came back from school. A subtle teen, she is not. “You’re a terrible liar. Come on.”

  “Diego asked me to the prom.”

  I’m about to say, “That’s great,” then catch myself. Maybe she doesn’t like Diego. Or he’s a creep. So instead, I say, “And…?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to go.”

  What the hell kind of response is that? “Why not?” If Diego’s a pervy asshole, I’m going to do something brotherly and protective. Like beat the shit out of him until he’ll never even think of asking her out again.

  “Nothing.” Kristen sighs again.

  Just then Liza walks in, her step bouncy. She looks delicious in a bright purple sundress and heels. We’ve been together for three months, and she now spends more time at my place than hers.