The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  Andrew cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “No, really, he likes me. Go watch. He’ll drop everything he’s doing for little ol’ me.”

  This was kinda fun.

  Andrew cleared his throat, standing stiffly from his desk as he smoothed down the front of his suit. His sandy blond hair was practically plastered to his scalp from too much product. “I will check in with him. You might want to have a seat, though.”

  “Not necessary. He’ll see me within five minutes.”

  What a cute scowl!

  That’s right. Go along, little puppy. Your boss is my sugar daddy and is taking down one of the biggest billionaires in the area with me! He’ll see me even if he’s sitting on his private toilet! God, she hoped not, honestly.

  Andrew disappeared into Vincent’s annex, coming back less than a minute later with red on his face. “He said he’ll see you now,” he mumbled. “Just so you know, he was working on a very important proposal.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he was.” Nala twiddled her fingers as she made a grand show of sauntering into Vincent’s office as if she had the run of the place. Briefly – very briefly – she imagined being Mrs. Lane and pissing all over Andrew’s dreams of showing her up. I’d ask Vincent if he could be transferred to my services. I’d make sure he got paid more to ensure he followed through! Sometimes she could have quite the mean streak.

  Vincent got up from his desk the moment Nala stepped in and shut the door behind her. Oh, hi. The three sides of Vincent Lane – the scruffy PNW hoodie guy, the decked out Aviary man in a suit, and this plain business gentleman – all had different effects on poor Nala. She went from wanting to be his friend, to wanting to be dominated by him, to… well, whatever she felt right now, it was greatly influenced by that dark blue button down and those loose black trousers. I know what’s in there. She averted her eyes.

  “What is it?” Vincent asked, tidying up papers and tablets on his desk. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t come all the way here if it wasn’t serious.”

  Nala pulled the note from her pocket and handed it to him when she had the chance. “I got home from work, and this was delivered to me with impeccable timing. Like the deliveryman knew when I would be home.”

  Vincent read it over as Nala sat on a couch along the edge of the wall. Her heavy tote bag sighed into the seat beside her. She watched for Vincent’s reaction, but all he did was fold the note back up and deposit it into one of his desk drawers. I should’ve made a copy. Wasn’t like things belonged to her anymore once she handed them over to Vincent.

  “So? What do you think it means?”

  He turned toward her, but remained firm against his desk. “I think it means exactly what it says. Someone knows who we are and what we’re about.”

  “They say they’re our friend.”

  “We’ll see about that soon enough.” Vincent’s poignant visage did not instill any confidence in Nala.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Who do you think it is? What do you think they want? They came to me, Vincent. Did you get the same note?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Geez! Okay, so go ahead and stand there, acting like it’s not a big deal. Some weirdo delivered me a message from someone who claims to know who I am. Not a big deal. Right.”

  “Nala,” Vincent said, too calm for the situation. He pushed himself away from his desk and joined her on the couch, his body language in no way inviting. Nala’s tote bag remained between them. “Don’t think I don’t care or won’t look into it, but I’m not sure what to tell you. This person says they’re an ally, but they said it in such a threatening way. They want us to remain cautious. They didn’t tell us anything about themselves, so they have an identity to hide. They went to you because… well, I don’t know that off the top of my head right now.”

  “Because I’m cute, duh.”

  She said it flippantly, but Vincent snorted nonetheless. “Maybe.” His face contoured into a serious look again. He’s good looking when he smiles… but there’s something about Mr. Emo Lane that does me in. Nala truly was a product of her generation, heaven help her.

  “Well, it freaks me out. If they could find out who I am that easily, then so can Crow. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out I’m Tasha’s sister. He must already know your history.”

  Frowns abounded on that couch. “He mentioned it a few times when we were working together. Offered me a ton of condolences and expressed his happiness that I was continuing Desirée’s work. It extremely unnerved me, but I had already decided to get under his good graces so I could pursue answers regarding her death. Then I found out about his club, and… let slip that I was into it. It worked. I was invited to join his club when he had an opening because the last couple moved to another country.”

  “Yes, but he finds out who I am in conjunction with you… he may start to suspect something. Then bam! We’re dead too.”

  “Please don’t act like I don’t know that myself.” Vincent lifted his hand, brushing against the tote bag and accidentally opening the top. He happened to glance at the contents. “Is… is that…”

  Nala sat up with a start, snatching the bag and shoving the disrupted lingerie to the bottom, beneath her wallet, scarf, and extra tampons. “You didn’t see anything. Don’t snoop in a woman’s bag!”

  Vincent’s ability to suppress laughter was nowhere near as good as his marketing skills. Had to be, because he ran a billion-dollar business while being completely unable to control his emotions right now. How often does this guy laugh, anyway? Probably not as much as Nala, and that said something.

  “Those are some serious panties you’re carting around.”

  Caught, Nala opened her bag and pulled out the nearest pair of lacy undies she could find. “You want a pair, Mr. Lane? They would look fantastic on your nicely kempt hair. Oh! Even better! Give a pair to your uptight assistant. At least he’ll have an excuse for having something shoved up his ass.”

  Vincent plucked the panties from her fingers and noted the tag still hanging off them. “Didn’t this place close a week ago?”

  “How would you know? Go shopping for lingerie a lot, do you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “The place used to be on my commute home. Stuck out in my mind.”

  Nala shrugged. “I work at a donation center. Someone brought them because they couldn’t be sold… but we can’t resell them because they’re lingerie, so…”

  “So you… took them…”

  “Well, what do you want from me! Girl’s gotta need fancy panties, right?”

  “Holy shit. You’re gonna wear donated panties for me.”

  “Excuse you! For you?”

  Vincent wasn’t listening. He was swinging the black lace back and forth in front of his nose, guffawing with every muscle in his abdomen. I’ve never seen him laugh like this before. Almost like he was human. Almost like he wasn’t a Portland robot who functioned on passive-aggression and quoting Edgar Allan Poe. Next you’ll tell me he doesn’t smoke pot. Or wear plaid. Or grow a beard. Or dye his armpit hair blue.

  “That’s amazing.” He dropped the underwear back into her tote bag. “You came here with a note… and with a bag full of donated panties to wear to The Aviary…”

  “Yeah, well, never let it be known that my life isn’t super serious all the time.”

  When he finally stopped laughing, Vincent had a flushed face the color of Mars. “After the work day I’ve had today, I really needed that.”

  Nala didn’t ask. She figured she wouldn’t understand anyway.

  She caught Vincent staring at her shirt. At first she thought he was checking out her tits, as they were totally glamorous under a thick blue shirt, but then she realized he was reading the stitching above the side pocket. “I didn’t know you worked for that company.”

  “You don’t know much about me, really.” I don’t know that much about you either. Nala preferred it that way. Fewer emotions.
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  “No, I suppose I don’t. I know what matters.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Why did they have to get so serious so soon? Nala was almost enjoying a side of Vincent she rarely saw. As opposed to the one reaching across the bag to cup her face and turn it toward him.

  “I don’t want you to worry about anything,” he said, on the verge of using the growl that emerged during sex. Ah, fuck. “Don’t worry about this note. Don’t worry about having to get second-hand-but-not-really clothes. I’ll take care of you, Nala. Say the word, and I’ll make sure you get it as soon as I can.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, but it wasn’t in arousal – for once. “I’m PMSing, so you’re going to have to talk slowly… do you mean you’re gonna throw more money at me?”

  Vincent’s grip tightened on her chin. “Is that how you see it?”

  “How else should I see it? You’re not really my boyfriend. I pretend to be your girlfriend for The Aviary. The sex is casual. You pay me so I can be available for The Aviary. Oh, and be presentable. You don’t have to do more than that.”

  Something faltered in his eyes. He didn’t really think I was his girlfriend, did he? “What if I want to do more than that?”

  “Don’t.” Nala sank into the couch, crossing her arms and holding her tote bag close. Whatever walls she could build. “Don’t complicate this, Vincent. I’m not your Nightingale right now. I’m Nala. The best you can get with Nala is a tenuous friendship.”

  The look on his face said it all, even though his voice didn’t. “You keep people at a distance, like I do. You’re afraid to open up to anyone out of fear of losing them, like I am.” Great. Like Nala needed a list of reasons they were the same. Don’t make me start falling for you. She was already sexually attracted and available most of the time. The last thing Nala wanted was lovey-dovey emotions on top of that… if she was even capable of such a thing.

  “All right,” he said, although his lips came dangerously close to her throat. “I bought you pizza that one time, but all right.”

  “Oh, nice. Buying me pizza means you get access to my pussy whenever you want, huh? That’s the kind of sugar baby I am, huh?”

  She did not protest when he lightly kissed her skin, his hand snaking beneath her tote bag and rubbing the outside of her thigh. Men. Vincent was getting too comfortable around her. They were having too much sex. Pretty soon he would not only delude himself into thinking they were a couple, but that they had a healthy sex life that went along with his whims. It’s not like that. Nala needed to start drawing some lines, now.

  But it was difficult when her body warmed to his touch and wanted nothing but affection. So few people gave it to her. Vincent may not be her real boyfriend, but he was real, and he was evidently attracted to her enough to want to fuck her every time they saw each other now. Even though he never once asked me about birth control. He assumed. Sometimes Nala thought about sending him a text that said, “I’m on HBC, btw. Thanks for checking before getting cum all over my vag multiple times.” Not that she ever protested – or wanted to, for that matter. “

  “Is it wrong of me?” Vincent finally said, his breath hot against Nala’s ear. “I told you, Nala, you do things to me that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I’m not putting any labels on it. Excuse me if I want to pursue something that makes me feel like a fucking human being, though.”

  Good for him, really. Grief had obviously been hard on Vincent. Nala didn’t have to ask to figure that she was one of the first healthy hookups he’d had in the time since Desirée’s death. But that wasn’t her job. It wasn’t even what she wanted. Vincent needed to find that sort of emotional relief elsewhere. All Nala was good for was the physical kind. That they could share. When it was pertinent.

  It was not pertinent right now.

  “Stop,” she whispered, before her body could come alive in lust and desire. Vincent backed off, hand still hovering over her leg. “It’s not a good idea.”

  Her body protested. Um, of course it’s a good idea! This dude is gonna fuck you if you give him the signal! Hot sex. Eager sex. If Nala wanted, she could turn off her brain, turn off the negative thoughts constantly plaguing her and go to a place where all that mattered was feeling good and getting off.

  If she wasn’t careful, however, she could become addicted. Like some people going through the grieving process became addicted to drink, drugs, and other destructive behavior, Nala could find herself on the path of relying too much on Vincent’s worldly pleasures to help her escape reality. And vice versa. She wasn’t deaf to his comments about how she was the first woman to make him feel sexually alive in a few years. Don’t become addicted to me, and I won’t become addicted to you. She was not Desirée, and that was who Vincent was chasing.

  What was Nala chasing? Don’t go there.

  “I’m sorry.” Vincent backed away, taking his touch with him. Nala hated to admit that she missed him already. This is what I mean, though.

  Vincent got up, returning to his desk, which he leaned against and used to keep himself upright. Someone needed to tell him to stop looking so good, so approachable. Granted, he didn’t look any different. He had a northwest goatee starting, but Nala knew that this man’s facial hair grew at the speed of light – he had probably shaved it that morning. Imagining him standing in front of his sink, shirtless, shaving his overnight stubble was almost too hot to bear.

  I wonder what his stubble would feel like down… Nala shook out her hair and stood as well, hoisting her tote bag onto her shoulder.

  “Do you want to fuck me, Vincent?”

  She stood right before him. He sucked in his breath. “Only if you want me to.”

  “That’s not a real answer.” Nala opened her free hand, drawing lines around his thighs before cupping his half-erect cock. Vincent gripped the desk, startled, but saying nothing. He hardened in her grip. “I’m asking if you want to fuck me. Every time you see me? Every time you think of me? Do you imagine ripping off my clothes and driving yourself into me until you come?”

  Vincent chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. All that renewed energy had to go somewhere.

  “Do you wanna fuck me in your office? You wanna show your sugar baby what’s what?”

  His lips parted enough to speak. “No comment.”

  “Hmph.” Nala tightened her grip, feeling his cock come to life as all the blood in his body rushed there. “You said you were gonna take care of me, though. I know that doesn’t come for free.” She toyed with his zipper, gauging his non-reactions. “Face it. You want to see me get down on my knees and suck your cock.”

  Vincent narrowed his eyes. “Of course I fucking do.”

  Nala glanced at the bulge appearing in his dark pants. I did that. I’m kind of awesome. “Well, you don’t get to. Because I’m not Nightingale right now, so you don’t get to boss me around until I give in to my own temptations. Nala Nazarov doesn’t play that game.”

  She could practically hear the next eye roll happening in the back of Vincent’s head. Whatever. When she removed her hand from his crotch, she diverted to his back pocket, plucking his wallet and flipping it open to his small wad of cash. A five was sufficient to help her get home, since her ticket was already expired.

  “I’ve gotta go. Call me when you hear something. I’ll try not to make too many shady friends out there.”

  Nala left, bidding no further adieus as she tossed the wallet on the desk and bypassed Andrew glaring at her. She rode the elevator down to the ground floor, now full of businessmen and women starting their commutes home. The transit mall along the street outside was fuller than usual, comprised of eco-friendly businesspeople and the service staff that helped operate the surrounding buildings. Nala tucked herself beneath a glass enclosure as a drizzle began to fall on the already darkening streets.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She almost didn’t read Vincent’s text, because she wasn’t in the mood for him to change her mind about things. I must remain resolut
e. Usually that was easy for her… and then she thought about the way the man controlled and fucked her. Remain resolute!

  Since the bus was still another ten minutes away, however, Nala pulled out the phone and saw that it was a mere image attachment. A single line accompanied it.

  “No matter what name you go by, you will always be her.”

  It was the picture he took the other night, at the end of their bondage demonstration. Nala stared, at first in confusion, and then in wonder.

  The ropes twirled together, blending in, blending out, criss-crossing in an intricate design that represented an angel’s wings.

  No, not an angel’s. A bird’s.

  Nala knelt on the stage, head bowed and long, dark hair cascading like a veil on either side of her face. Her arms held out above her head, attached to the wings preparing to take off in flight. To attack. To run.

  Anyone else modeling, and she would say it was very beautiful, and that was it. Being her? The Nightingale? There was a sinister air in the way the wings began to flap. Her bowed head made her look injured, but determined. Grief and a thirst for revenge comingling in the most dangerous way possible.

  It was her. It was Nala. It was the Nightingale.

  Tears attacked the edges of her eyes. Nala turned against the wall, hiding her emotions from the people standing around her. He really is an artist. Was he? Had Vincent captured her essence? Had he tamed an angry woman with a thirst for blood? Or was she a willing canvas, waiting to be exploited by the first man to show a genuine interest?

  “I’m going to do it,” she muttered into the back of her hand. “I’m going to take that son of a bitch down.” Xavier Crow had been in awe of this image. Awe? Fright? “I’m going to need him, though.” Vincent was her means. Her means to revenge, her means to justice… her means to freedom.

  Her eyes were dry by the time the bus pulled up and a dozen people got off and on. Nala clutched her phone in her hand, purchasing a new ticket before sitting next to a woman with sleepy eyes and perfume as strong as the wind kicking up outside.

  “You’ll help me, right?” Her thumb lingered above the send button before smashing it.