The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  Mr. Jules spent another minute staring at one of the diamonds before sitting up with a sigh. He removed his instruments and jotted something down on a pad of paper before clearing his throat and telling Monica what she had been waiting to hear. “This is only my professional guess at the moment, but I would estimate this… piece of finery… to be worth about…”

  “Yes?’

  “Thirty-thousand dollars.”

  ‘Thirty…” Monica clapped her mouth shut and summoned the propriety she always needed in these situations. She couldn’t tell Mr. Jules the collar was thus far the most expensive patronage gift anyone there received. She couldn’t tell him that it was worth more than the solid gold collar she had with Jackson. She couldn’t even tell him that it had been for her! While Mr. Jules wasn’t the type of man to go blabbing around town about her business, there were some things men didn’t need to know. “Thank you. You sure that’s a good estimate?”

  “In truth, it may be more. I’m assuming all the diamonds have the lowest grade I can confirm. The silver is solid, though. The only thing bringing down the value is the inscription. That’s only if you sold it as is. If you pieced out the diamonds and sold the silver as scrap, you could get a lovely price.”

  “Naturally.” That’s what she would do. Not for the better price, but to also… what? Do the professional thing, since Henry’s name was on that? “Thank you for your help. This definitely helps me make some decisions.”

  Mr. Jules saw himself out, leaving Monica to sit with her silver collar and chain. Thirty-thousand dollars. She knew Henry was loaded, but most patrons – let alone clients – didn’t drop that much money on a gift for one girl. Even Mr. Carlisle, who spoiled Sylvia silly, never went higher than twelve-thousand for a full set of jewelry. These men bled green. That didn’t mean they bled for their paid girlfriends and mistresses.

  The more Monica let herself think about it, the more she heard Henry’s voice echoing in her head. “We’re two halves.” Part of her attraction to the submissive lifestyle was the beautiful binary presented to her. Things were black and white. Roles were clear. She never had to think beyond what she wanted for dinner and what she should wear that day – unless they were chosen for her, of course. She liked it when her Dom picked out a beautiful outfit for her to wear, ordered for her in a restaurant, and told her where they were going. But it only worked if he knew her enough to know she would feel great in that dress, love the meal, and enjoy the sights they saw. Monica was envious of her friends who had such men in their lives.

  “I want to be your patron.” Monica’s nail scratched against the inscription. How had she overlooked the potential inside Henry? When they met, she assumed he was like any other alpha but polite male. That was until he told her what she had really been thinking – that he was Dom through and through.

  Before any man could be accepted as a patron, Monica did some research on him. What he did, where he lived, how he made his millions or billions… Henry Warren was a name she hadn’t heard before. Either he dropped a good amount of his fortune on this collar and chain, or he was a sleeper businessman who controlled the world from behind the scenes. He wasn’t the face of a major company. He wasn’t a famous heir that showed up on Page 6. He was old money, but he knew how to use it. Monica’s last lover was old money as well. And look how that turned out for me.

  Old money men were snobbish and out of touch. New money men were reckless and prone to bad decisions. Monica would never find a good balance.

  Her phone rang.

  The landline on her desk, of course, not her cell phone. Few had access to that. Monica shook her head to clear the cobwebs before snatching up the phone and saying, “You have reached Monica Graham. Speak.”

  Nothing surprised her anymore. Not even hearing Henry’s voice on the other end of the line. “Good to hear you sounding so cheerful today.”

  The collar was cold in her hand. “What can I do for you, Mr. Warren?”

  “Please, Henry.”

  “No, Mr. Warren.”

  The pause was surely not comforting for either of them. “I was wondering if you would do me the honor of dinner, Ms. Graham.” He was going to play her game.

  “Dinner? Why on Earth would I have dinner with you?”

  “I said dinner, not a date. I want to discuss business.”

  “I’m sure you do!”

  “Not that kind of business. Investments.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Henry chuckled, although he must have done it far from his phone for as quiet as it was. “I want to discuss the possibility of investing in your business. Don’t tell me you couldn’t use some extra money in a place like that. You have a lot of expensive clientele to keep happy.”

  “We already have investors.”

  “And you don’t want more?”

  Either her palm was sweaty or Henry Warren was making her phone burn in her hand. “I’m not sure it would be appropriate for us to have dinner.”

  “It would be good for you to come down from your mountain and join me for dinner in the city. I’m in town for a few days.”

  “You don’t live in the city?”

  “No, but I keep a place here. I’m always looking for new ventures to gauge. Come have dinner with me.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t do that. Go into the city, that is.”

  “Fine. I’ll come there.”

  Why was he being so stubborn? Men, men, men! “While I appreciate your vested interest in my business, Mr. Warren, I’m afraid that I am not open to new investors at this time.”

  “You know, Monica, it could be that I want to get to know you.”

  Well! She certainly wasn’t expecting candor like that. “You made that clear when you gave me your idea of a gift.”

  “Have I offended you? Please, tell me if I have.”

  “You haven’t offended me.” More like made my imagination run wild.

  “Then you shouldn’t have any issue with having dinner with me. Tell me when. I’ll bring the drinks.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Monica stared at the collar on her desk. “I want to be your patron.” She imagined her and Henry sitting in a cozy restaurant, the man fawning over her while she in turn fawned over him. “Thursday. Five. If you’re even a minute late, it’s over.”

  Another pause. At this rate he was going to kill her with the waiting. “Thank you for taking another chance on me. By the way…”

  “Yes?”

  He breathed deeply against the phone, that voice, those breaths burrowing into Monica’s ear as she felt a trickle of sweat come down her forehead and down her chest. “Never mind. We can talk about it on Thursday.”

  Monica said the first thing to come to her mind, although she instantly regretted it. “I look forward to it.” No, no, no! What in the world was she doing? Don’t encourage him! Oh, she would encourage him all right. She let a smile cross her face before leaning against her desk and saying with a smile, “I look forward to how you try to seduce me next.”

  Cat, mouse… who was who and which was which? Furthermore, how much longer would Monica be able to resist?

  Chapter 6

  The Wolf’s Den

  The wine was vintage, sweet, and much more delicious than Monica wanted to give Henry credit for. He had spared no expense on the gifts he brought her, beyond the wine. Truffles, exotic flowers, and a transparent light red shawl that glittered in tiny rubies. Since these were given to her publically in the foyer, Monica had no choice but to accept them graciously. The food stuff was put out for their dinner, the flowers sent to the dining table, and the shawl? She handed it to Sylvia and asked her to leave it in the front hallway of the master suite. No way am I wearing it outside to our dinner in his presence.

  “I don’t want you to think I bought it to impress you,” he said, as they walked side by side upstairs and toward a small balcony near the master suite. Monica arranged for a two-person dining table
to be set up, complete with a lantern and a silk tablecloth. It shouldn’t get too dark while they ate, but Monica understood ambiance like her billionaire clients understood the stock market. He’ll think I’m flirting. She was. She was flirting so hard the outcome pointed to Henry bending her over the railing and giving her what they both wanted.

  “I don’t think you did that at all.” Monica opened the door and waited for Henry to step through. Sometimes I get to be a gentlelady. “Because you know I would not be impressed.”

  “In truth, I didn’t buy it. I found it in my sister’s bin of things she wants to get rid of. Asked her if I could give it to someone and she said yes.”

  “How… well, I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “I thought of you when I saw it.” Henry pulled a chair out from the table for Monica to sit in. She accepted, and waited for him to sit adjacent to her, both of their seats offering a view of the sunset as it came for the gardens. “You make me think of the color red. Passionate. Straightforward. Strong.”

  Only one other man had called her strong before. Ethan Cole, my ex. He called her that when she broke down crying in his home shortly after he took her away from that awful prison belonging to Jackson Lyle. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. A weaker woman would have died in there.” “You flatter me, Mr. Warren.”

  “What is your favorite color, anyway?”

  Monica looked right into those bright blue eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know your favorite color?”

  “It used to be black.”

  One of the maids came out with wineglasses and ice water to get them started. She knew what to do. Bring out the bread. Then the vegetable and soup course. Then the main course. Then dessert. If the bread wasn’t out of the kitchen within ten minutes, someone would get fired.

  Henry waited for the maid to go back inside before asking, “Used to be?”

  “Yes. Used to be.” Monica loved the simplicity of the color black. Yet it was strong, resilient, and so useful and loved by millions around the world. Black was the color of “goes with everything.” It represented an innocuous coolness that everyone could relate to.

  It also made her think of darker days now. Days that practically ruined her ability to love what the color black had to offer and why she should embrace them all. These days, she gravitated toward the color white to get her mind off it. White was refreshing and as versatile, in a cheerful sort of way. Except Monica’s room was still black and red. No wonder she felt chills every time she went to bed. Regardless of how much she tried to distance herself from her past, it was always there, waiting for her.

  Henry leaned on his elbows and looked between her and the lamp in the middle of the table. “Black and red go well together.”

  “Those are the colors of my room.”

  Monica knew what hand she played, and she was not disappointed to hear him say, “I should like to see it.”

  “I’m sure you would, Mr. Warren. I’m an impeccable decorator.”

  “As stated by this entire mansion.”

  The maid brought out the bread right on time. Henry insisted on cutting it up and buttering it while Monica watched the sun begin its descent behind a grove of trees. I should be doing that for him. Every time someone did something for her, Monica felt the compulsion to tell them, “No, no! I will do that. Please, let me serve you.” In a more common life she would be happy to work retail and waitressing. Maybe work up to being a maid like one of the workers in her Château. She loved to make other people happy and fulfill their needs. The day she realized she got off on it was a strange, yet liberating one.

  “A part of me is surprised that you agreed to have dinner with me.” Henry left the bread on his plate but didn’t touch it. “I thought for sure that after my faux pas you would want nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s not true.” Monica nibbled the corner of her crust and was grateful that a gentle breeze kicked up and washed away the crumbs. “I rather like you, Mr. Warren. I think you misunderstood the intentions going on.”

  “Oh? And what were those?”

  She glanced at him, coolly, the corner of her mouth teasing her cheek with a smile. “You can’t buy my desire. You have to earn it.”

  The wineglass was at the edge of his lips, It remained there, the white wine still in the glass as he gazed at her over the rim. “And how do I do that?”

  Monica shrugged. “Make me trust you. That’s not an easy thing to do.”

  Henry put the wineglass down and licked his lips. “I bet it wouldn’t be, considering what I know about you.”

  “And what do you know?” The shields were up. Monica scooted back in her chair, ready to be angry at him.

  “I know that you used to be with Jackson Lyle. After you two broke up, he was bought out of his shares at Jackson-Cole. Something happened.”

  “Is that it? You want to know what’s going on in the business world through me? Because I don’t have any insider information. I didn’t know anything going on in his life besides what he wanted to do to me.”

  She feared that Henry would push the issue… maybe ask what he wanted to do to her. Humiliate me. Hurt me. Bruises weren’t supposed to be a part of her lifestyle.

  Henry didn’t say anything. All he did was place his hand next to hers on the table, where her fingers clenched a napkin and ignored the bread waiting to be consumed.

  Monica did not accept his invitation to be touched. That was reserved for a man she could trust – and as attracted as she was to Henry Warren, she didn’t know if she could trust him yet. For all she knew…

  “I’m sorry I brought it up,” he said. “Whatever you went through, it must have been awful. Nobody really likes that guy in the business world. We deal with him because we have to.”

  “We?”

  The hand disappeared. “Why, yes. I won’t say I know him personally, but he does pop up in many of my spheres. I’ve only met him on a handful of occasions. I never guessed he was into that sort of lifestyle.”

  “You mean domination and submission.”

  “It seems to be the sort of life that can easily turn dark. With the wrong person, that is.”

  You have no idea. How could he, as a man? Men held all the power. That’s what Monica liked about the situation, but it didn’t save her from the evil that sometimes burst from it. She wanted a man to control her in the bedroom, to tell her what to do sometimes, to make her life easier… but not to rule that life. That’s what Jackson ended up doing, and she paid for it.

  The maid returned with their soup course. Neither of them picked up their spoons. I’m being a terrible hostess. Making it all about her past, failed relationships… “Enough about me, Mr. Warren. Tell me more about yourself.”

  “I’m terribly boring. My job is boring, my hobbies are boring. My house is boring because I’m too busy to do anything with it.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Mergers. Acquisitions. Buy places. Sell them off. Keep the profits. Time-honored tradition my great-grandfather started a hundred years ago, and now here I am. I may have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I intend to earn the right to keep it.”

  “That’s noble.” Sounded like what Jackson and most men of old money did. Either that or they married rich before telling her that their own fortunes were crumbling. Monica looked like a woman of means, but she would hardly say that she was. If she lost the Château, she would have next to nothing. All the money I personally make goes back into it. Not the best financial planning, but she wanted her business to succeed before worrying about her own future. “At least you keep yourself busy. I’ve known men who rest on their laurels and pretend everything is going to continue the way it always has. Life doesn’t work out that way. It’s good to be prepared and stay busy. What do you do for fun?”

  “I told you, my hobbies are boring too.”

  “I highly doubt that. Th
ere must be something.” Even reading could be an adventure. Assuming Henry had good tastes, of course.

  “Reading is perhaps the only hobby I can regularly indulge in.” Ha! I knew it. Finally, Henry touched his soup, declared it delicious, but still too hot for him to completely eat at the moment. “I’m fluent in French, so I like to read the original works of authors like Proust. Oh, and the Marquis de Sade. I assume you’ve heard of him.”

  Monica’s mouth twitched again. “I have. I’m afraid I don’t think much of him, though.” Of course she knew the word “sadistic” came from that man. She also knew why. Many Doms heralded him as some sort of father of their sexualities, which perturbed Monica, since the Marquis was infamous for coercing his servants. Jackson admired him way too much. She hoped Henry wasn’t the same way.