Forced to Forget_Blackmailing the Billionaire Series

by Tasha Fawkes

  “We’ll need Matt’s help to pull it off.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “It never stipulated that the center needs to turn a profit, just the foundation itself needs to.”

  “I'm not following,” I say.

  “If we received a sizeable donation from somewhere and we invested that money in the right way, we might be able to do this.”

  “Okay, so if we need Matt to agree to invest in this to make it happen, then we should be going over there now to ask.”

  We run Angela’s idea past Matt. He stands in his office and considers it thoughtfully, then his face breaks into a smile.

  “It’s sneaky enough that I think it will work. Let me have my lawyer look over the Will and see what he thinks. If he’s good with it, then so am I.”

  I laugh, feeling excited for the first time in weeks.

  “Let me guess, this was your idea,” he says to Angela.

  “Well it sure as hell wasn’t Nates.” She jokes. I narrow my eyes at her and snake my arm around her waist. “I’m not sure whether I should take that as an insult or a compliment.”

  “I think we should celebrate,” she says, smiling at me. She turns to Matt. “You should come out with us too,” she says.

  “No, I'll sit this one out. Char’s not feeling too good, so I was just about to head home anyway.”

  I smile, pretty sure he’s just giving us some time alone together. I lean over and kiss Angela on the cheek as we walk out of the office.

  “It's good to have you back,” I say.

  She smiles at me. “It's good to be back.”

  Chapter 20

  Nate

  Eight months later

  “If you don't hurry up, we’re going to be late,” I say. I glance in the bathroom, my heart racing when I see her. “It’s the bride that supposed to be late, not her bridesmaid.” I tease.

  “Oh, shut up,” Angela says. She gives me a dirty look as she rushes around our apartment, looking for her shoes.

  “These ones?” I ask.

  I hold up the pair of sparkly silver heels that I almost tripped over. She smiles, shrieking when I toss them to her. I’m shocked that she managed to catch them.

  “Can we go now?” I ask her, glancing at my phone. There’s another frantic message from Rex, telling me to get there already. “Thank God we stayed nearby.” I add.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she mutters, stalking toward the door. She swings it open and glares at me. “Happy? We’re leaving. And wipe that look off your face. All you had to do was throw on that suit. I've been up since six this morning getting ready.”

  “I'm happy.” I grin. “But maybe you should’ve thought about getting up at five?”

  I laugh as she curses at me, then I shut the door and follow her out to the car. I can’t take my eyes off the way her ass is swaying in that dress. On second thought, I'm not going to be happy until I can rip that dress off her.

  When we reach her door, I grab her wrist and spin her into my arms pressing my lips against hers. She wriggles out of my grasp and then gets in the car, poking her tongue out at me before slamming the door shut. I shake my head and laugh.

  Yep, things are great between Angela and me.

  Almost a year has passed since I first met her. So much as happened in that time, and in the last few months in particular. I’m looking forward to just being able to step back and breathe.

  I never thought I’d end up with anyone, let alone someone as amazing as her. To be able to live together and run the Harris Foundation and not get sick of being around each other is amazing. Us working together to run the foundation is going really well. She handles the business side of things, which means I can focus on what I love doing, running the center.

  I laugh, still in shock that we actually did it. We’d met the conditions of the Will and turned in a mind-blowing two hundred and twenty one percent profit in twelve months. It had only been confirmed yesterday, so it was still sinking in, but I’ve never felt so proud of myself. And not only did we achieve it, we kept the integrity of our father’s legacy intact. The look on Henry’s face when I pushed our figures across that table…I shake my head. It was priceless. I couldn’t have done any of it without Angela. She made the impossible happen, and I’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

  Now, here we are, after the biggest twenty four hours of my life, about to watch the most outrageous thing of all unfold. Rex is getting married. I chuckle, because it still sounds so funny.

  We’d stayed last night in the hotel at the resort, so the drive down to the Chapel, where the wedding is going to be held is a short one. It's not a big ceremony, with mostly family present and a few friends, which is how they wanted it. Rex didn’t care either way, so he was happy to go along with what Shana wanted.

  We pull into the parking lot and jump out. I take her hand and we quickly walk down to the entrance of the chapel. Matt paces out front. He looks up and sees me, the relief in his face obvious.

  “About fucking time, Rex is being a nightmare. Shana is freaking out…I’m about ready to leave.”

  I put my hands up. “Hey, vent at her. She's the one who held us up because she couldn’t drag herself away from the mirror,” I mutter.

  “I'm sorry,” Angela says, wincing. “I’ll go find Shana and calm her down. You two just handle Rex.”

  I groan, because does anyone really handle Rex?

  I follow Matt inside the chapel and walk down to the front, where Rex is pacing. I take his arm and force him to look at me.

  “Pull yourself together,” I demand. “She’s freaking out because you are. Any minute, she’s going to walk down that aisle and blow your mind. You’re getting married. Enjoy this.”

  He nods, then shakes his shoulders, trying to loosen himself up. He takes a deep breath then mumbles something under his breath about being the man. I bite back a smile and glance at Matt, who is openly laughing. He shakes his head and looks down at his feet when I scowl at him.

  Rex fidgets, shifting from foot to foot, until he glances up and sees Shana standing at the entrance of the Chapel. She stands next to Charlene and Angela, and as beautiful as Shana looks, I can’t take my eyes off Angela. He freezes and watches her as Charlene and then Angela, walk down the aisle. The he shifts his gaze to Shana.

  Angela stands next to me, I smile at her and then I watch as Shana joins Rex in front of us. The look in his eyes is nearly enough for me to tear up. As much as we've had our differences over the years, I'm glad he's happy and I know Shana is amazing for him.

  After the ceremony, we attend their small reception down by the lake.

  I drink my champagne under a tree near the water, a feeling of contentment sweeping through me. I look around and smile. Everyone is laughing and joking. It’s the happiest I’ve seen my family in a long time. But I guess we’ve had grandfather hanging over our heads for so long that we forgot how to live.

  I shake my head. It's hard to believe how close we all are now, even after everything that's happened. Grandfather tried with everything he had to tear us apart, but all he really managed to do was knit us more tightly together.

  Even my mother looks happier than I think I’ve ever seen her. I laugh as I watch her twirl Shana around as they dance. She's probably had a few too many drinks, but so what? She's enjoying herself. I glance at Matt as he wraps his arm around Charlene. Then he reaches down to caress her growing stomach. She’s nearly nine months pregnant with their second child. I haven't seen either of them looking as happy as they do right now.

  As happy and relieved as I am this whole thing with grandfather is over, my mood is underlined with sadness. My father would have loved this. Today has really hit home just how much I miss him. I look up as Angela sits down next to me. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes full of concern. “You’re missing out on all the fun.”

  I shrug “I'm fine. I'm just thinking.”

/>   “About what?” she asks.

  “Mainly Dad,” I admit. “He’d have never have believed that Rex actually got hitched. Or more to the point, that someone was willing to hitch him,” he says with a smile.

  “He’d be proud of you. You went against your grandfather again and you won. Not just anything, either. You fought for your Dad’s memory. That’s amazing and so special.”

  “I could’ve only done it with your help,” I say, slipping my hand in hers. “Honestly, Angie, I can't thank you enough.”

  “But it’s not even that he’d be most proud of,” she argues. “It’s the fact that you realized his dream, the one thing he wanted you to do, you did it and you did it for him. That's what he'd be proud of.”

  I smile at her and blink back tears, a lump forming in my throat.

  She’s right, but the only thing I care about is that my father's legacy will live on.

  Together, The Harris Foundation and The Harris Corporation, will ensure Tim Harris is never forgotten. Everyone had a hand in saving his legacy. Matt, Rex, and I and our three lovely partners.

  And in a weird, twisted way, so did our grandfather.

  I hope you enjoyed Forced to Forget. Turn the page to read The Playboy’s Secret Virgin.

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  The Playboy’s Secret Virgin

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Jane

  “Taxi!”

  I tuck a long strand of chestnut brown hair behind my ear with one hand as I fight to flag down a cab with the other. Just my luck that there aren’t any Ubers available when I decided to splurge on a ride to my new job so I won't arrive all flushed. I wave my arms to get the attention of one of the many passing cabs, but it’s no use. After only a few months in the city, I haven’t yet learned the art of making a cabbie notice me.

  “I guess it’s the subway,” I mutter to myself and try not to curse. There’s still plenty of time. I’ll even get there early.

  Nothing can get me down today. Sure, it’s Monday, and the faces of the people I pass on the way to the station reflect their total lack of excitement over starting another week. But I’m not starting just another week. I feel like announcing to everybody that this is my first day of work at a job that isn't retail. Maybe they’ll wish me luck. Then I catch the eye of a lady with a stroller, and she shoots me a dirty look before hurrying off. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t bother.

  My first day working at one of the fastest growing ad agencies in Manhattan. I still can’t believe my luck. I only went to the job fair because I had nothing to lose. I was hardly making anything in my first job out of college, and to say I was bored working as a mail room clerk would be a drastic understatement. I figured since I had good grades in school and a decent resumé—an advertising major, strong references, knowledge of graphic arts, expertise with design programs like Photoshop—that I had a pretty good shot, and I was right. The HR representative from James Enterprises called three days later to offer me the position as assistant to Anthony James, the son of the founder.

  Anthony James. I’m sure panties dissolve at the mention of his name all the time. I’ve heard a thing or two about him, but nothing concrete. He’s sort of a bad boy, but aren’t most rich kids who never have to work for a thing in their lives? They grow up too fast and get into trouble. I guess that’s his story, but I don’t exactly pay attention to the social pages. I have better things to do than follow a rich boy’s antics.

  Still, I can’t walk into the job with any preconceived notions of who he is. I have a bad habit of doing that, letting my imagination spin out of control, and generally in the worst way possible. One of my foster moms used to tell me I’d have an ulcer before I turn twenty-five. Four more years to go before that happens but have my fingers crossed that she'll be wrong.

  I’m not letting myself down that road with my new boss. I’ll give him a chance so long as he’s signing my checks. I’ve never had a job that pays as much as this one—my last job barely paid enough for me to afford my shoebox of an apartment. Then again, that’s the way life goes in New York. Pay through the nose for a closet-sized apartment and just be grateful for the chance to live in one of the biggest, most incredible cities in the world.

  I sigh as I step onto the subway car and immediately pitch forward when a big, burly guy in a Mets sweatshirt slams into me from behind. No apology, no anything. Go figure. I grab onto one of the metal poles and fix my gaze somewhere off in the distance, the way everybody does when they’re on the subway. Don’t look directly at anybody, just sort of gaze out at nothing. Eye contact might be misconstrued as an invitation to chat, and this isn't like back home where most people already know everyone else and it's rude to not want to have a three-hour conversation about the weather. Talk to the wrong person here and it can lead to trouble.

  Big city life has many rules to remember, and I still have trouble keeping it all straight even after living here for almost eight months. Manhattan is not far away from where I grew up in rural northeastern Pennsylvania. Less than two hours by car, but it might as well be the other side of the planet. Maybe on another planet entirely.

  The frantic energy, the honking horns, the constant activity like bees in a hive. The people, everywhere, packing the streets and sidewalks. And the way they somehow manage to ignore everybody else around them! The first time I saw a group of people crossing the street on a red light without even looking to see if cars were coming, I screamed. The craziest part? Nobody looked around to see what I was screaming about.

  I’m okay with the noise, at least. That’s one thing I had to get used to at an early age, living with up to four or five other foster kids at a time. I’m already a pro at ignoring noise filtering through thin walls, so living in a crowded apartment building and hearing everybody else’s business is no big deal.

  Neither is living in a small space. I never had a bedroom of my own until I moved out of the college dorm—my entire life, I’ve had to share. Living in a shoebox is actually a step up. So what if the bathroom is really just a tiny walled-off section of the apartment, which is really just a single room with a sink and small stove? I learned early on that “studio apartment” means “we took a single room and now pretend a person can live there comfortably.” I’ve also learned how much food I can fit in a very tiny fridge.

  I catch sight of my reflection in one of the grimy train windows. The waves I took so long to curl this morning are still looking good, spilling over my shoulders and onto my chest. I’m wearing a long black Chanel coat I could never have afforded anywhere other than at the consignment shop where I found it. The gray suit and light pink blouse are new—I don’t know how the office runs, what the dress code is, but there’s no way to go wrong in a suit. I can always dress down if I need to. Besides, the pink brings out color in my cheeks and makes my gray eyes sparkle. I figure I can use all the help I can get to make Anthony like me.

  Speaking of people liking me, Mr. Mets Sweatshirt is nudging me a little more than he needs to be. We’re not even shaking back and forth, yet he keeps making contact. I let it go for a stop or two, but when he flat-out rubs up against me, I turn to him.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask in a clear, loud voice, looking him straight in the eye.

  He shrinks back, cheeks staining red. “No.”

  “It’s just that you seem to be having trouble keeping your balance.”

  “No, I’m good.” He looks down at the floor. I roll my eyes and go back to staring out the window. That’s the thing about most creeps. Once you stare them down, they back off.

  I suppose growing up where I did have its advantages when it comes to dealing with creeps.

  The train lurches to a stop at my station, and I manage to elbow my way out the door and hurry up to the sidewalk. After a quick look around to orient myself, I head over to the nearest Starbucks. A little kissing up never hurt anybody,
I tell myself as I wait in line. What does he like, this Anthony James? I try to picture him in my head, based on the few pictures I remember seeing. Tall, with a strong-featured face. Square jaw, deep-set blue eyes, dark hair wore swept back from his forehead. I saw him once in a picture from a cycling race, and he had a body to kill for. Broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. He'd be at home on a billboard advertising underwear. I’d look at that billboard. I’d stare at it all day.

  Shut it down. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. The last thing I need to do is get all googly-eyed over my boss. I won’t be that pathetic.

  “I’ll have a venti non-fat mocha…an iced venti soy latte...” I rattle off the names of four drinks, four being the most I can feasibly carry in one of those cardboard carrier things. Eight-thirty. Thirty minutes until I have to report to the office, and it’s only a block away. Things are looking good.

  Until I wait twenty minutes for my drinks. I didn’t take that into consideration before stopping in. I nearly run the rest of the way to the office in my brand-new shoes, and I can just about hear blisters popping up on my feet along the way. Between that and the way I zigzag through other pedestrians—why are there so many?—I’m a total flustered mess by the time I reach the tall glass doors of the building James Enterprises calls home.

  I can’t get my ID card to work when I swipe it over the sensor by the door no matter how many times I try. There’s no way to get inside.

  Unbelievable. I try to catch the eye of the receptionist, sitting behind a desk along the marble wall. Just my luck there isn’t anybody coming in or out while I’m standing there feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.

  When she sees me, she buzzes me in. I open the heavy door and hurry through the lobby with a sheepish grin. “Thank you,” I breathe. “You’re a lifesaver. It’s my first day working for Mr. James, and I don’t want to be late.”