Forced to Forget_Blackmailing the Billionaire Series

by Tasha Fawkes

  Chapter 6

  Anthony

  I don’t usually do things like this. I’m not a knight in shining armor. I don't rescue damsels in distress. Hell, I don't even like damsels in distress. I’ve seen men treat women worse than that before. It doesn’t matter how high the cover charge or how elite the clientele, jerks are jerks. And I never get involved because it isn't my business.

  This time? This time feels different. Like I have to do something to help the brunette from across the bar who’s so unlike Trinity. Maybe it’s those wide eyes. Gray, I realize, not blue. They’re so innocent. Sweet.

  Besides, her lips taste like fucking candy. I've never been kissed quite like this before. An odd combination of enthusiasm and hesitation that makes me wonder about her. I remind myself to end the kiss before I forget my reason for kissing her. It would be so easy to take things too far, to get carried away.

  Damn, I'd like to carry her away.

  Her eyes are even wider than before, but I can see it’s because she’s stunned. I don’t blame her. I just hope she doesn't slap me for trying to rescue her. That would be awkward.

  “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day,” I say just loud enough for the dickhead behind her to hear, and with just enough promise in my voice to leave no doubt as to who she is to me.

  She’s mine, buddy. Back off.

  And to my own surprise, I actually like the feeling.

  “Uh, yeah? Me, too?”

  They come out as questions, which almost makes me laugh. At least she’s smart enough to try to play along, even if she’s scrambling to figure out the game. I find myself reluctant to move her away and then say goodbye.

  “Come on. Let’s dance.”

  The music has gotten louder, probably due to the growing crowd, and a few couples are settling in the center of a cleared area I assume is their version of a dance floor. I take her by the hand and don’t wait for her to respond before leading her over there.

  The new song is a slow one. Perfect timing, I think as I slide one arm around her waist and pull her close enough to leave no questions in anybody’s mind. Mine. She’s trembling a little, but her hands rest on my shoulders, and she doesn't step away.

  “What is this?”

  Her voice has a slight quaver to it, and I want to soothe her nerves.

  I lean in on the pretense of needing to whisper in her ear just so I can take a deep breath of what she's wearing. She smells incredible, the sort of scent that fogs my brain and makes me forget I’m trying to be a nice guy. I want to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in. Even with the light as dim as it is, I can make out her pulse jumping in her throat. Something about that vulnerability makes her even more attractive.

  “I felt bad for you out there, with that douche following you around, making a scene. I guess I jumped in before thinking it through. I meant no disrespect.”

  “Thank you for that. You saved me.” She laughs shakily.

  “No problem. There’s only one catch.”

  She stiffens, a wary look coming into her eyes. “What’s that?”

  I don't like that, so I grin and hope that I can put her at ease. “You have to pretend you're my date until he goes away, otherwise he'll know we tricked him.”

  “Oh.” She laughs again, a little more genuinely this time. “Okay. I think I can manage that.”

  She relaxes a little bit, but I can still feel the tension in her. She won’t get too close. Understandable. I did sort of push myself on her, even if it was for a good cause. I need to make her see that I don't mean her any harm.

  “You here alone tonight?” I thought I saw her chatting with a blonde, though I only caught the back of the blonde’s head as she disappeared. Some friend, if she even was a friend. Why would anyone leave this girl alone here? Funny how soon the sharks start to circle when they sense a fish is all alone.

  “No, I'm not. My friend is around here somewhere. She was trying to fix me up.” Even though she tries to turn her face away, I can see the blush coloring her cheeks.

  For some reason, that just makes me want to keep talking to her. To figure her out.

  “Ohh, that’s what this is all about. She was throwing men your way.” Why not me, I wonder. I'm clearly the best catch here. Maybe the friend didn’t see me sitting there alone. Maybe she saw me and assumed I was there with a girl.

  Then I realize the more important question: why do I even care?

  “Yeah. She was trying to, anyway.” The girl frowns. “I wish she hadn’t, and not just because that guy was a jerk, either.”

  “You don’t like being set up like that?”

  “Would you?” she deadpans.

  I chuckle and turn her in a circle, making sure our bodies collide just a little harder than they need to when I pull her back. I wink at her when I do it and hope that it comes off as teasing rather than sleazy.

  Then I answer her question, “I guess not, if it means some douchebag chasing me around the bar, calling me names just because I didn’t fall for him right away.”

  “Eh, it didn’t turn out too badly,” she teases right back. “You’re not a terrible dancer.”

  I’m not a bad kisser, either. I leave that comment unspoken, seeing as how she’s still holding herself at bay. Still, she has a playful smile and a gleam in her eyes, so she’s not totally freaked out.

  “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Jane.” She looks up at me like she expects a reaction.

  All I can think is what a plain name for a gorgeous girl like her. Those thick chestnut waves and beautiful gray eyes. She has a delicate sort of face and a body with just enough curves to keep her from truly being petite.

  After a moment of watching me, she continues, “I guess it’s not very memorable.”

  She sounds almost sad, and I don't understand. Maybe she wishes that her name would be something more. Something elegant or exotic or whatever.

  It’s not a name like Trinity. Why am I thinking about her again? I don't want to think about my ex. Not when Jane is proving so interesting. She's not throwing herself at me, not giggling or flirting, and maybe that’s why I want so much for her to open up. Because she isn't playing games. She’s intelligent, beautiful, and she enticed me at first glance from across the bar. I want to know more.

  She looks to her right, and I see recognition spark in her eyes. My first reaction is to assume that asshole is watching us, and I’m ready to turn and fight if it comes to that. Only it isn’t him. I recognize the blonde who’s staring at us with her jaw on the floor.

  It hits me. Shit.

  “Is that the girl you’re here with?” I turn to Jane, who nods. “Are you kidding? Talk about a small world. She works for me—at my company, I mean. Chloe. How do you know her?”

  She blinks, unrecognizable emotions playing across her face. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  She pulls herself away from me, just a little, and her face wears a tired smile. “You don’t remember me? Guess I didn’t make much of an impression after all. Maybe if I was still wearing my mocha.”

  Her mocha? My brain whirs a mile a minute...until I realize what she’s saying, and it all comes together. Impossible. But now that I know, I can't deny it.

  “You?” I ask in disbelief.

  Chapter 7

  Jane

  Well, this has been one of the most surreal nights of my life. I went from wanting to make a good impression on my boss to kissing and dancing with him—while he had no idea who I was.

  I’m not sure how I feel about being so forgettable, but it makes sense. He’s used to women far different from me. I’m just the poor girl he rescued from a creep. It goes to show how little our ill-fated encounter affected him.

  He takes a step back, releasing me for the first time since we hit the dance floor. “Jane. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you right away.”

  His words are smooth, but there's something on his face that tells me he's backpeda
ling.

  “Well, we didn’t technically meet this morning, did we? You were in a bit of a hurry.” I know I shouldn’t remind him of how rude he was, but I can’t help myself. He inadvertently leveled the playing field when he all but stuck his tongue down my throat, and I can’t pass up the chance to have a little fun with him.

  “I was rude.”

  “Maybe a little,” I relent, “but you just made up for it, so I guess we’re even.”

  He smiles at me, his eyes dancing. “Thanks.”

  And now it's uncomfortable. What do I do? He’s not a normal guy. He’s my boss. It’s not like I can sit down and have a drink with him, not even if I now know he’s a good dancer and an even better kisser. Just the briefest thought of that kiss makes my pulse pound dangerously hard, and I know I need to go before I embarrass myself even more.

  “I think I should go now,” I manage to mumble over the blood rushing through my ears. Between that and the music, I can barely hear myself think.

  “What? You’re going so soon?”

  I nod. “I want to be fresh tomorrow morning. You know. For work.”

  He winces even though I don't mean anything negative by it. “Right. That.” Suddenly, his eyes light up. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “At least let me see you home. Did you take a cab?”

  I don't understand why he's being so nice right now, not when he wasn't this morning. Should he take the easy out now that he knows who I am?

  I offer him another one. “Yes, but I was planning on walking. It’s a pretty good distance.” Somehow, the idea of sitting in the back of a cab with him is even more panic-inducing than anything else that’s happened. If I tell him I’m walking, he’ll back off. No one wants to walk that far in the dead of a New York winter, no matter how mild it's been.

  Lesson One: Do not assume anything about Anthony James.

  “I’m always up for a good walk. Can I walk with you?” When I hesitate, trying desperately to think of something else to put him off, he adds, “You shouldn’t walk alone at night, especially in New York City. Didn’t anybody ever tell you that?”

  He has a point, especially considering where I live. I’ve just backed myself into a corner. If I tell him I’m taking a cab now, I’ll look like a fool. And there's no way in hell I'm telling him that I didn't think of it being dangerous because I've never had anyone checking up on me like that.

  I have a feeling Anthony isn't going to take no for an answer.

  “Okay.” I wave to Chloe to let her know I’m leaving, and the look on her face tells me I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when we see each other in the morning.

  Wonderful.

  I wonder if I could try for a job in DC or Philadelphia. Or Seattle.

  As soon as I step outside, I regret telling him I’d walk. I button my coat up to my throat and wind my scarf around my neck. He turns up the collar of his coat, which of course only makes him look more dashing. Like he needs any help.

  We walk in silence for more than a block and it's a surprisingly companionable silence, not uncomfortable at all.

  And that's a lie.

  He smiles at me like he’d rather do nothing else than walk in near-freezing temperatures next to a virtual stranger he'd been kissing less than an hour ago. The question of what he’s going to want from me when we reach my building bounces around my skull like a ping pong ball. What should I do? I have no experience with this sort of thing.

  Inevitably, I start babbling to break the silence. “I’m looking forward to learning more about the company.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah?”

  Maybe this is my chance to show him what a go-getter I am. Maybe this is a golden opportunity. I can erase that terrible first impression from this morning and get off to a better start.

  “Sure,” I reply, more eager than ever. “I mean, for instance, I overheard a bunch of people talking about Chambersmith this morning and how they’re looking for a new advertising team. It’s a pretty big deal, right?”

  “Chambersmith? Yeah, I guess.”

  He guesses. They’re only one of the biggest stationery and office supply producers in the country, and they’re looking for his company to revive their image. How can he be so blasé about it? Then again, as the CEO's son, maybe he's the sort of person who's used to having everyone else do things and not having to think about how they get done.

  Still, I keep going. “It must be hard for them, the digital age. Not as many people writing things out, nobody sending letters anymore.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m losing him. Dammit. I have to make my point, and it has to be a good one.

  I start scrambling, words pouring from my mouth. “I see commercials for them sometimes, and I think they’re going about things the wrong way. Their approach is the same as always. Yes, we know their name, we know they have a strong reputation. They don’t need to keep hitting us over the head with that. Instead, if it were up to me, I would make sure they acknowledged the digital age and how it’s affected all of us, but also how some things never change. If anything, some people are starting to swing back to more traditional means. Like how traditional books are making a comeback after everyone said ebooks would kill them off. Bullet journaling is huge right now, for instance. There will always be people who prefer to write things out. There’s something soothing about that. The same goes for getting a handwritten message in the mail. It’s like, I don’t know, reconnecting to something that’s been lost. Besides, anybody who’s ever gotten a card in the mail knows the feeling of gratitude that somebody took the time to handwrite a message. Finding that card or letter, years later, maybe even after the person who wrote it is gone?” I shiver, and not just from the cold. “I mean, that’s huge. You can actually touch the paper, feel the impression from the pen against it. And you know that loved one, whoever they were, made that impression. Much more impactful than finding an email. Imagine finding a birthday card from a beloved grandparent and running your fingers over it. Imagine a commercial with somebody doing just that. I mean, jeez. I’d cry if I watched it. And I’d probably sit down and write a letter, frankly.”

  I’m pretty impressed with myself. In fact, I can see the entire commercial in my head. For someone who has no family, the idea of one tugs my heartstrings like nothing else.

  If Anthony’s impressed, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even respond. I wonder if he’s listening to me at all. Well. At least it carried us through most of the walk. We’re only another block shy of my building by the time I finish speaking, so at least I don't have to feel like an idiot for long. Hopefully, tomorrow he'll forget about this whole day.

  “This is me.”

  We stop in front of my front door, and Anthony’s handsome face is a blank mask. Shit. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve walked and not said a word. He probably thinks I’m some scrambling upstart, trying to use our time together to my advantage...then again, isn’t that exactly who I am and what I tried to do?

  Can't I do any of this right?

  He takes the slightest step closer to me. Shit. My heart drops. That’s all he’s interested in. He doesn’t want to hear my ideas. He only wants to kiss me. Probably more. I feel like a rabbit in a snare, and my mind rushes around wildly for a way to get out of the situation. Meanwhile, his eyes meet mine. Wow. They’re beautiful. He’s beautiful.

  I stick out my hand before those eyes of his undo me and I get myself into even more hot water. “Thanks so much for everything tonight. You saved my butt.”

  Oh, sweet Lord. What a stupid thing to say.

  Something flashes in his eyes, and he looks down at the hand I’ve thrust in his direction. The corners of his mouth curve up into what looks like a wry smile. Then he laughs softly. Still, he takes my hand in his much larger one—his engulfs mine—and I remember the warmth of his hands on my back when we danced.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could save, uh, your butt.” He laughs again, but
his laugh isn’t unfriendly, and his eyes twinkle. Then he turns and hails a cab. Magically, one pulls right up in front of him. I’ve never been so lucky.

  I don’t realize until I’m already halfway up the stairs to my floor that he held the cab back until I was safe inside the building. I don't want to think about what that means. All I want to do is take a shower and curl up in bed.

  And hope that tomorrow's going to be better.

  Chapter 8

  Anthony

  I can’t forget her laugh.

  I can tell myself all I want that she’s my assistant and it’s a bad idea to even think about her. I can tell myself she’s so naïve, it freaked her out when all I did was take a step toward her when we stood in front of her building last night. Like she thought I was going to invite myself up or something.

  I’m still unsure what my intentions were. I only know that she’s the most innocent, interesting person and I liked being with her tonight. Aside from Tyler, I can't think of the last person I've genuinely enjoyed being with. It sure as hell wasn't Trinity. And even Tyler is getting on my nerves.

  Dammit! I can’t get that laugh out of my head, even with my father staring me down from the chair behind his desk. He’s been pissed before, but this definitely takes the cake.

  “Are you listening to anything I’m saying to you?” Dad’s face is an interesting shade of purple. I’m torn between wanting to warn him against giving himself a stroke and wanting to avoid the sensation of getting thrown out his office window.

  I decide to keep my warning to myself.

  “Of course. I hang on your every word.” Still, I can’t help but be a sarcastic jerk. It’s just who I am.

  Purple deepens to indigo and I’m pretty sure Dad’s about to explode. “If that’s the truth, then why can’t you keep yourself from making a fool out of me at every turn?”

  “I don’t think it’s that serious, Uncle.”