Wicked Billionaire

by Sawyer Bennett

  Her name is Madison Blackwood, and it looks like they were married roughly five years ago. There aren’t a lot of pictures because they aren’t true celebrities. But it seems they are mostly from black-tie events with other wealthy people or even some celebrities. I don’t see anything from the past two years, though, and that confuses me.

  I’m not sure what this means except, bottom line… Declan lied to me. He kept something significant from me, which makes it even worse since I bared my soul about my own failed marriage. The minute I did that, he had a duty to admit he had an active one.

  I move from Google over to Microsoft Word.

  And I start to type out my letter of resignation.

  CHAPTER 27

  Declan

  The amount of excitement building within me at the prospect of turning the corner within the Blackwood offices and getting a glimpse of Bailey’s face is laughable. It’s been six long days since I’ve seen it in person. While we’ve FaceTimed during my trip, it’s just not the same.

  Bubbling within me is also an intense desire to put my mouth on hers the minute I see her, damn what anyone else may think about it. Bailey and I have kept our relationship under wraps, which is for the good of everyone involved. But right now, I think I’m willing to risk it.

  “Hello Mr. Blackwood,” I hear from somewhere in the center part of the floor, which holds all of the cubicles. One of the secretaries catches my eye.

  I nod. “Hello, Allison.”

  I head down the hall, cubicles to my right and executive offices on the left. The corner of Bailey’s desk comes into view, and my pulse starts throbbing with anticipation.

  It’s like a bucket of ice water dumped on my head when I realize her desk is empty. I frown because there’s nowhere she could be other than possibly the restroom or maybe the kitchen. I mentally shrug, then head into my office, knowing she should be back soon and will find me. I drop my briefcase on one of the guest chairs, take off my jacket, and throw it over the back of the same.

  The first thing I need to do is make reservations for dinner with Bailey tonight. I’m thinking somewhere small and quiet will do the trick. We can relax with a nice bottle of wine, then catch up with each other before I take her back to her house and fuck her brains out.

  As I round the corner of my desk, I see a lone piece of paper that looks oddly out of place. A sense of foreboding prickles at the back of my neck. I reach for the document, holding it up to read.

  It’s dated today.

  Dear Mr. Blackwood,

  Please accept this letter as my notice of resignation with the Blackwood Corporation. I appreciate the opportunity you have given me. I have learned a lot in my tenure with your company.

  Sincerely,

  Bailey Robbins

  PS… I had the pleasure of meeting your wife today.

  With a mixture of shock and repulsion, I stare at the words with Bailey’s signature in blue ink. So few words to call an end to our relationship.

  I’m assailed with a myriad of emotions. Slight guilt she found out about Madison this way.

  Anger she found out about Madison this way because I have no doubt who orchestrated Madison’s visit.

  And absolute despair I may have fucked things up so badly she’ll never forgive me.

  I reach for my phone, scroll through my contacts to a number I rarely call, and tap on it.

  It dials through to my wife, and she answers on the second ring. “Darling… are you back in town?”

  Ignoring the “darling,” and choking back the slight bit of nausea it produces within me. I hold absolutely no affection for Madison Blackwood.

  “Where are you?” My tone is cold and ominous. If she has any smarts, she’ll say she’s on her way to the airport to leave Vegas and never come back.

  Instead, she gives a throaty laugh. “I took a room here at the Blackwood, of course.”

  I don’t even respond, merely disconnect the call. Immediately, I pick up the receiver from the phone on my desk and dial down to the hotel receptionist. A man answers with a cordial, “Yes, Mr. Blackwood… what can I do for you this afternoon?”

  “Give me the room number for Madison Blackwood,” I order.

  I hear some typing on a keyboard before he replies, “1104.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hang up. Before heading out of my office, I nab a folder from one of my credenza drawers. I move through the executive suite to the elevators, then up to the eleventh floor. I’m bristling with anger by the time I knock on her door.

  When the door opens—Madison stands there looking icily beautiful and smug. I take complete stock of my feelings. Nothing but disgust for her, and it has nothing to do with our marriage falling apart. Rather, it has everything to do with the fact she has done nothing but play games with me for the past two years while I tried to push her to finalize our divorce.

  But, to Madison, this is all a delightful game. She considers my efforts to get her to sign her name on the documents as my way of chasing after her. It soothes her bruised ego to have even that bit of attention from me.

  There is no doubt most men with a heartbeat would consider her to be supermodel gorgeous. But if they ever spent five minutes in her presence, they would know nothing on her insides matches her outsides.

  She beams. “Darling… it’s so good to see you.”

  She takes a step toward me, and I bet she even thinks I’m going to let her kiss me on the cheek. Instead, I thrust the folder that holds a copy of our divorce agreement at her, growling, “Sign the fucking documents, Madison.”

  She drops her gaze to the folder, then looks back up to me with a sly smile. Turning around, she walks into the suite, calling over her shoulder, “Come in and have a drink. We’ll talk about it.”

  I storm in after her. “I don’t want a fucking drink. I want you to sign the divorce papers I’ve been trying to get you to sign for almost two years now.”

  Truth be told, I haven’t tried very hard. Not personally, anyway, because I can’t stand to even talk to the woman. I put this in my attorney’s hands, and they make periodic attempts to get her to comply.

  We had hashed out all the details long ago, and there hadn’t been much argument there. Before I married Madison, it was with the understanding she signed a very tight and ironclad pre-nup agreement. While she stands to get a lot of money from our divorce, it is a mere fraction of what I’m worth. Why she continues to refuse to take the deal is beyond me, but my personal thought is she enjoys wearing the Blackwood name. It gets her certain privileges, and she’s not ready to give it up yet.

  I watch as Madison moves to the wet bar, then pulls the stopper out of a crystal decanter of bourbon. Of course, she was put in one of the top luxury suites at the resort, a definite perk of her still wearing the Blackwood name. She turns and holds the glass out to me, but I shake my head.

  Shrugging her indifference, she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a tiny sip. After swallowing, she says, “I decided I don’t want a divorce. I would like to try to give the marriage another try.”

  Absolutely unfuckingbelievable. Not hiding the acidic tone in my voice, I say, “Tired of jet-setting all over Europe? Thought you might give domesticity a try again? Come on, Madison. You hated marriage to me as much as I did to you. What’s your real game?”

  As if I didn’t think matters could get any worse, movement from my right catches my eye. I turn to find my father sitting near the window in one of the club chairs. He stands, a bourbon already in his hand, and casually presses his other down into his pocket. I am beyond stunned to see him, and I cannot think of a word to say.

  My father’s eyes bore into mine. “You need to give this another shot with Madison. It’s time you provide the next Blackwood heir.”

  I can do nothing but gape. It’s clear my father and Madison are somehow in cahoots, and he put this plan together to blindside me.

  As my mind races, I barely notice Madison walking my way. She puts a hand on my c
hest, leaning in close so my father cannot hear her. “I personally like the idea of giving us another shot. I simply haven’t found another lover as good as you are in the sack, darling.”

  I shove away from Madison, shooting her a glare I hope conveys exactly how fucking crazy I think she is. Looking at my father, I give a slow shake of my head. “This is pretty despicable… even for you, Father. But you both wasted a trip here. I am not now, nor will I ever, consider staying in this marriage.”

  My father’s expression turns thunderous. He’s simply not used to people telling him no. “Even if it means I disinherit you?”

  I know he thinks he has the upper hand with me, but I am not a fool. My worth to this company is apparent. I just sat through two days of board meetings, where most members looked to me rather than my father for guidance and leadership. “I dare you to try it.”

  I have no clue how he even takes what I just said. It is not a bluff, but I have more important things to figure out. I turn on my heel and walk out of the suite, heading straight back up to my office.

  Phone in hand before I even hit the elevator, I dial Bailey’s number. As expected, she doesn’t answer. I’m going to assume she is beyond furious and hurt, and she probably doesn’t want to hear my voice.

  Tough shit.

  I do not have time to work around her sensibilities because this shit is getting settled today.

  I immediately send her a quick text. This time, I’m bluffing, but I hope she falls for it. I got your letter of resignation. I accept. You are, however, in possession of Blackwood property. I demand you come to my office and turn in your keys, your security badge, and your computer equipment. I will have release forms for you to sign. I expect you here by five PM.

  I hit send, my gut churning because I know this is going to devastate her even further. Thinking I actually accept the fact she wants to walk out of my life.

  I’m never going to let that happen, but I need to get her here to the Blackwood resort quickly so I can put an end to all this shit and get my life firmly back in hand.

  CHAPTER 28

  Bailey

  Glancing down, I notice my hands are still shaking. I feel like I’m on a death march.

  Why is it that when a woman has the right to be angry at a man and she calls things off, deep down, she hopes she was wrong about him? She has visions in her head of him pulling up in his limo under her window balcony à la Richard Gere in Pretty Woman to make a big public spectacle of his love for her.

  Granted, I’ve been pretty pissed since meeting Madison Blackwood. I don’t quite think I had such romantic notions, but I think part of me expected Declan to try to convince me that I was wrong to give my resignation.

  That I was wrong to give up on him.

  Instead, I got a cold-blooded text telling me in no uncertain terms I was not worth fighting for. The only thing I can conclude is he was genuinely keeping this marriage a secret from me because he never had any intentions of staying with me for the long run. It makes me sick to think that I was played so well, and I didn’t even realize it. That’s twice now I have completely misjudged the situation with a man, and I vow I’m done with love.

  With relationships.

  Hell, I may decide to check into a convent when this is all said and done.

  I almost texted Declan back to tell him to go fuck himself. I had lovely thoughts of me taking the keys, security badge, and iPad, then dumping them in the garbage and daring him to do something about it. But, ultimately, my professional sense prevailed. No matter how ugly things may be between us personally, I want a good recommendation from this company on my resume. If there is one thing I have learned from this it’s that I can do things I did not think I could.

  I am actually worth a lot.

  The elevator stops, and I get off at the executive suite level. Most of the offices have cleared out given it’s five on Friday. I’m happy about this because I don’t know what’s getting ready to happen. I could either walk out of here in tears after making a spectacle of myself, snot running out of my nose, or I may end up braining Declan with a paperweight and facing murder charges.

  At this point, it could go either way.

  Even though I’m not feeling it, I still make myself walk with confidence. I head down the hall with purposeful strides, my shoulders held back in pride. I am not going to let this man destroy me.

  I march right into his office. I’m proud that my heart doesn’t even skip a beat when he turns to face me from his position where he had been staring out the window.

  His eyes follow me as I walk right up to the edge of the desk, then place the key, security badge, and iPad on it.

  I lift my chin. “The items you requested, Mr. Blackwood.”

  A muscle tics in the corner of his jaw. I can tell he’s angry, but I don’t understand why. Surely he knew this would be the consequence for his lies.

  Declan moves quickly around the desk. Before I know what’s happening, he has his hand wrapped around my wrist and he’s practically dragging me out of his office.

  I try to pull away, snarling, “Get your hands off me. I don’t need to be escorted out.”

  “Shut up, Bailey,” he growls. “I’m not escorting you out.”

  I’m stunned by this. I have no clue where he’s taking me or why he would want to prolong this matter.

  I resigned. He accepted.

  And now I’m following him down the hall back to the elevators where he merely propels me in before stepping in behind me. He jabs at a button that takes us to the eleventh floor while I fume in silence. I try once more to take my hand away, but he locks on tight.

  When the elevator doors open, he’s on the march again. Pulling me down a hallway to suite 1104. He raps sharply on the door three times. Suddenly, I feel like I’m getting ready to fall down a rabbit hole.

  My stomach twists when the door opens to Madison Blackwood. At first, she has a triumphant look when she sees Declan, but when she takes me in, her expression turns sour.

  “How dare you bring her here,” Madison declares, looking pinched and offended.

  “Oh, stuff it, Madison,” Declan barks, then pushes past her while dragging me along with him. I’m so stunned by what’s going on that I don’t try to pull away or run in the opposite direction.

  Weakly following him inside, I go absolutely dizzy when I see Declan’s father.

  “What is going on, Declan?” I murmur as my gaze goes back and forth between Alexander Blackwood and Declan’s wife.

  Declan doesn’t release his hold on me, but turns to give me a chastising look. “Oh, now you call me Declan? Just moments ago, it was Mr. Blackwood.”

  The fact he would dare taunt me in the midst of what is now a tense and awkward situation infuriates me. “Moments ago, I was trying to salvage a good recommendation. But now, I just think you’re an asshole, so I don’t mind calling you Declan. Or wait, maybe it’s Dicklan.”

  To my chagrin, Declan’s lips actually twitch as if he’s getting ready to laugh. That’s cut short by Madison demanding in a shrill voice, “What is going on, Declan? It is in poor taste to bring your mistress to my suite.”

  Declan spins on Madison, gritting out, “She is not my mistress.”

  “Oh, really?” Madison taunts. “Because last I heard, you are bound by marital vows. When you sleep with another person, it is called having a mistress.”

  At this point, I actually become concerned about Declan’s health and well-being. His face turns a blistering shade of red, and a vein pops out in his forehead. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out with a mighty gust from his mouth. His hold on my wrist loosens. He slides his hand down to lace his fingers with mine. Locking his eyes with mine, he gives my hand a squeeze.

  With his other hand pointing at Madison, he calmly says, “That is my wife, Madison Blackwood. We’ve been separated for two years, and I have been trying hard to get her to sign fucking divorce papers in that timeframe. I didn’t tell you about i
t because, frankly, she was not worth the time.”

  Madison’s sharp inhale of breath catches my attention, and I spare her a brief glance. This is cut short by Declan squeezing my hand again, which brings my attention back. “Unlike you, Bailey, I was not hurt when she and I separated. The marriage was a mistake to begin with, and I only did it because I was receiving immense pressure from my family. Madison cheated on me, but I didn’t even care. It was almost a relief. I wasn’t devastated the way you were in your marriage, so it didn’t seem necessary to tell you about something in my life that had virtually no meaning other than her being a pain in my ass because she won’t sign the final documents.”

  “That is unbelievably rude,” Madison exclaims.

  Declan doesn’t even look over at her, and I don’t dare look away from him because there’s something in his tone that has caught my attention.

  “My marriage was rotten, Bailey. But it did not make me relationship averse. The only reason I avoided committed relationships was that my job was always the most important. I loved what I did, and I like to keep things casual with women. So my marriage to Madison was never any great trauma I had to get over. I hope you believe me when I say I rarely think about her. Other than to reach out to my attorneys periodically to find out where they stand in getting her to sign these documents, she doesn’t cross my mind. Was it a mistake not to tell you this? I see now it was. However, I never intentionally hid this from you. She just wasn’t important enough to share.”

  I’m not going to lie. His words have me rocking back on my heels. Of all the things I thought he might say about being married to someone, it never occurred to me that she would be so inconsequential it just wasn’t important. I mean, it is important, but it isn’t to him. She means that little to him.

  But things are still weird, and I need some explanation. So I ask, “Why is your father here?”

  Declan shoots a short glare at his dad before giving me his regard. “My father is here to pressure me into giving Madison another shot. It appears when I brought you to dinner, I concerned my family. It seems—and I don’t have proof of this—they may have hatched a plan to work in concert with my hopefully soon-to-be ex-wife in hopes I will turn my attention away from you.”