Enchanted: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #8): A Fake Fiancée Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

“Well, that’s part of what I want to talk to you about.”

  My heart stops. Great, now he’s going to tell Mason. “Please, I need to work. Can we try for lunch—maybe tomorrow will work?”

  He smiles at me. “You look beautiful, and I miss hanging out with you. I don’t want to put any added pressure on you, so I’ll be patient. But you’ll never believe this—I still don’t believe it. Lillian has moved out of the house.”

  “What? What about Dumb and Stupid?”

  “They’re out too. She insisted on the lump sum. Harriett and Henry are working with the auditors and going through the inventory. They’ll pay out her inheritance in a lump sum by the end of the week.”

  “What if she tries to come back?”

  “Harriett is changing the locks. My guess is that she must have some serious debt collectors after her to get the money and run.”

  I know that feeling. “Well, that must be a small relief for you.”

  “Maybe a little. I was thinking of going back in a few weeks. I hope you’ll come with me.” He caresses my arm, and an electric jolt goes right to my core. “We can christen a few of the rooms in the house.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  I smile at him. The idea of being close to him and having more hot and steamy sex sounds amazingly appealing, but I can’t be his beck-and-call girl. “We’ll see.”

  One of his team members call his name from the doorway, letting him know he’s needed. He raises his finger, indicating that he’ll be there in a moment, and them he turns to me and says, “Mason scheduled a business lunch for me tomorrow—I have a new client coming on. I know you want time to work your second job, so I’m putting you down for lunch the day after tomorrow. Make a plan on it.”

  I nod and smile. I’m going to be off-site the day after tomorrow with a client, and I’m determined to not be alone with him again. I can’t trust myself. I can’t do it. My heart hurts. I can’t even be his friend right now. It’s too hard. I close my eyes and will the tears to go away.

  I work through the day and eat at my desk. I’m so grateful the company provides at least two meals a day. It’s after six, and I need to get home if I’m going to get the east coast crowd. The office is almost empty. I see William is meeting with Cameron and Dillon, so I quickly shut my computer down and head out. I detour by the kitchen to see what might work for dinner tonight. There isn’t much. I grab a few pieces of fruit and a few snacks. It isn’t the most nutritious meal, but it’ll have to do for tonight.

  As I head to the elevator, I see William waiting. I’ll change my mind if he asks me out tonight for dinner or for sex. I can’t afford that, so I turn around and take the stairs. I must work tonight.

  Walking home, there is a fine mist falling. It’s dark, cold, and wet. It isn’t a quick walk, but it isn’t too far. I can’t afford a bus pass, and I certainly can’t afford a rideshare. The exercise is good for me since I sat at my desk all day. I’m almost completely caught up from my week away. As I walk home, I run through all the reasons I can’t be William’s mistress. I may not be perfect, but I can’t be the good sex he has on the side. I deserve better than that. But maybe I’m fooling myself. He hasn’t even asked me for that.

  When I walk in the door, I quickly plug my computer in. It’s just after seven, and I’m late. My phone line via my computer rings almost immediately.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  “Hello, Cinnamon. I’m feeling horny tonight.”

  And so my evening goes. Someone knocks at my door just before nine, and I ignore it. If it’s my landlord, I don’t have my rent quite yet. If it’s anyone else, I don’t have time to talk to them. Tomorrow I’ll get my direct deposit, and I’ll be able to pay some of my bills. I’m still behind by over a month, but at least he’ll have some money. My landlord’s patience is running out.

  It’s a night of strange requests, but I just roll with it. Some people have some serious fetishes. I turn the computer off at one and crawl into bed. My throat is sore from so much moaning and talking. Tomorrow will be another day.

  As I cry myself to sleep, I realize I can’t do this much longer. I adore my friends, but it isn’t enough to remain here. I know what I need to do, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

  Chapter twenty-four

  William

  More clues come up with the helicopter crash, and the investigators certain that my dad was not in the crash, but where is he?

  It’s late, and my phone rings, making me jump. Hoping it’s Quinn asking me to come over, I answer.

  “Hello?”

  I can hear something in the background, but no one speaks.

  “Hello?” Still nothing. “Look, stop calling if you’re not going to talk to me.” Still no response. This is probably the fifth time I got this call, but this time it’s very late.

  This is getting ridiculous. I hate to silence my phone in case Quinn needs me, but when I’ve counted a dozen calls, this is bordering on ridiculous. I text Jim.

  Me: I’ve had over a dozen phone calls and no one answers. Is there anything you can do to trace these?

  Jim: We’re on it. Is it this number they’re calling?

  Me: Yes.

  Jim: If they call again, push *98.

  Me: Okay.

  I wait, and it takes about twenty minutes before my phone rings, and it’s the same thing. I push *98, and then I text Jim.

  Me: Okay, they just called, and I did as you asked.

  Jim: We got it. We’ve also pulled your phone records. It seems to be coming from Philadelphia.

  I sit up straight. Philadelphia. Is Harriett okay?

  Me: Do you know where in Philadelphia?

  Jim: Looks like we can narrow it down to Rittenhouse Square. Do you know that area?

  Me: Yes. My family home is there. My stepmother moved out of the house, but my housekeeper is there. Do I call her and see if she’s okay or do I call the police and have them do a wellness check?

  Jim: Try calling her first.

  I dial the house, and a sleepy Harriett answers the phone.

  “Harriett, I’m so sorry if I’ve woken you. I think I keep getting calls from the house. Is everything okay?”

  “I believe so. Marcus is here with me, and we’re fast asleep.”

  “I’m so sorry I woke you. Do you think Brett or Jason could be in the house prank calling me?”

  “We changed the locks a few days ago. I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “That’s okay. Marcus is walking around the house. The alarm pad is lit up, so I know that’s on.”

  “I have a feeling someone is playing a practical joke on me and has spoofed the location of the house and is calling me and then hanging up.”

  “I’m so sorry, Master William.” I hear her talking to Marcus, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. “Marcus says the house is buttoned up tight.”

  “Thank you, Harriett. Again, I’m sorry I woke you both.”

  “Any time. I’ll do a better search in the daylight and let you know if anything seems out of place.”

  “Goodnight.”

  This is really strange. I text Jim back.

  Me: It’s not my housekeeper. Could the location be spoofed?

  Jim: I’m sure it’s not impossible. We’ll check it out.

  It’s after midnight, and the calls finally seem to end. I can’t sleep. I wish Quinn was here. I see the pile of mail sitting on the table. I sort out the junk mail, and I’m stunned that leaves me with very little left.

  There’s a white envelope without a return address. I almost throw it out without opening it when I notice the canceled stamps. They’re from Tanzania. I examine it carefully. It doesn’t seem out of the ordinary, but it’s strange. I debate opening it, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it anyway.

  Inside is a letter written in my father's handwriting. I read the note.

  My dearest William,

  If you are receiving this, something has ha
ppened to me. I’m worried for my life. I discovered something at the company, and I can’t figure out what or who may be behind it. I’m sending you this key. Everything I know is in safe-deposit box 625 at Market Street Bank on Market Street in San Francisco. Please know that I love you very much. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more.

  I put the letter down. What the hell? It’s late, but I call Jim anyway.

  “Hello, William. Still getting phone calls?”

  “No. Something else has happened.” I pause for a moment, trying to figure out what I want from Jim. “I opened an envelope that was postmarked from Tanzania. Inside was a letter that was in my father’s handwriting, but it isn’t signed, and it includes a key to a safe-deposit box at Market Street Bank on Market Street. I’ve never even heard of Market Street Bank.” I run my hands through my hair. “He lives in Philadelphia and has to my knowledge never come out to visit me. I don’t know when he might have been here in San Francisco. This is really strange.”

  “I agree it’s strange. Can you read it to me?”

  After I read it to him, he says, “I guess that means we meet at Market Street Bank in the morning when they open, and we see what’s in the box.”

  “I don’t have the death certificate. I’m not sure they’ll allow me to access the box with only a key.”

  “Let’s see what they say. We can try. The note is very strange. Are you sure it’s in your father’s writing?”

  “Positive. I mean, it could be a counterfeit, but it does look very much like his writing.”

  “It’s a private bank that opens at nine. We can meet there tomorrow morning, that is if you’d like me to go with you.”

  “As crazy as this sounds, I think I’d like a witness with me when I go in and see what’s in the safe-deposit box.”

  “I’m happy to meet you there.”

  I think about it for a few brief moments. This could go sideways in so many ways. “I’ll see you then.”

  I don’t sleep well. Instead, I start to examine everything about my time at home and what I may have missed. When I wake, I realize I can’t meet Quinn today for lunch. Shit. I need to have a conversation with her. It’s early, but I text her anyway.

  Me: I’m so sorry. I can’t meet for lunch today. I’ve had strange calls from the house in Philly, and I got a strange piece of mail from my dad.

  I see the little dots rotating. She’s up early.

  Quinn: No worries. Sorry about your dad. Let me know if I can do anything.

  Me: Dinner tonight?

  Quinn: I need to work. Sorry.

  Me: Please?

  Quinn: I really can’t.

  Me: I miss you.

  And she doesn’t respond.

  After going for a good run, I get dressed and make it to the bank about a half hour early. I’ve walked past here two dozen times and never knew a bank was here. It’s a discrete door, and there’s no signage, but you can tell it’s well secured. I see a Starbucks and head over for a cup of coffee. I’m waiting outside when I see Jim being dropped off by one of his team members.

  “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  We walk over, and I push the call button at the address. “Can I help you?” comes out of the intercom.

  I look at Jim, and he nods. “Hello. My name is William Bettencourt. I have a safe-deposit box for your bank?” I show the camera the key and the door buzzes.

  We walk in. There is a beautiful Asian woman sitting at the desk.

  “Welcome to Market Street Bank. How may I help you?”

  “I have a key to safe-deposit box 625.”

  “May I see your ID please?”

  I hold my breath as I hand her my driver’s license. She clicks a few buttons on her computer, and after a few moments, she says, “Thank you, Mr. Bettencourt. Please follow me.”

  She is thin and quite tall, made taller by her three-inch Manolo Blahniks. She walks me back to a giant safe, and the three of us go into the room with all the safe-deposit boxes. She points to box 625. It’s a large box. I place my key in the lock, and she inserts hers and turns both. She removes the box and places it on the center table before leaving Jim and me alone.

  Opening the box, I’m stunned at what I see. There are several VHS tapes and a stack of papers an inch thick. I glance through them, and I can’t quite make out what they all mean. I start to ask a question, and Jim shakes his head. He opens his bag, and I put everything I can inside. We empty the box and close it up. I lock up the box, and we leave without saying a word.

  As we exit the bank, Jim’s team immediately pulls up, and we get in the car. When I start to say something, Jim holds a finger over his mouth, and I stay quiet. We drive the five blocks to his offices, and I follow him in to a soundproof room.

  We begin looking through the papers. They don’t make a lot of sense. There are affidavits of captains of ships, both men and women, but I can’t make out what the cargo is. One of Jim’s men brings in a device that they wave over the contents of the box, and it goes crazy as it passes over a piece the papers and tapes, indicating that there is a bug hidden somewhere inside.

  “Sorry about that, but I noticed the listening devices in the vault, and I’m not sure what may be here, so I didn’t want to give anything away.”

  I nod.

  “Okay, let’s look at what we have.” Jim picks up a phone. “Can you bring in a television and a VHS player.” He listens for a few moments. “I know VHS is old, but that is what we have. I believe we have both in the storeroom in the basement.” He hangs up and shrugs at me. “VHS isn’t exactly cutting edge.”

  I chuckle. “Hopefully it still works.”

  “It will slow us down, but we have other options if it doesn’t.”

  There are pictures of young women in their early teens, if that, of all nationalities. I can’t make heads or tails of this. “Do you know what this is all about?”

  “Unfortunately, I think I do. We need to see the tapes, and we probably need to call the FBI and possibly get you and your father an attorney.”

  I’m dumbfounded. “What does all this mean? What do you see? These are VHS tapes, could they be old?”

  “Possibly, but believe it or not, some people will use VHS for these kinds of films since they can’t be shared easily.”

  “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  “I think your father uncovered a sex trafficking ring.”

  Chapter twenty-five

  Quinn

  “Miss Faraday, you are almost ninety-days past due with your rent. I need you to become current in three days, or I will begin eviction proceedings.”

  I disconnect from the voice mail message. Shit. The tears fall, and they fall hard. Why is it that I’ve done everything right and it’s still not good enough? I got good grades in school. I work hard, and I don’t steal. I’m honest, and I try to treat others like I want to be treated. Why do I have the shittiest luck? I look to the heaven’s and yell out, “What did I ever do to deserve all this?”

  I have to be to work in a half hour. The voice mail from my landlord came in while I was working out. I haven’t showered, and I need to get to work. My mind is racing. My school loans are due. I can forgo them again, but with the principal at almost two hundred thousand dollars, missing a payment is like adding four more. I’ll never dig myself out of this debt. I feel completely defeated. Slowly, I make my way to the shower and get dressed in my typical uniform—black pants, a black turtle neck, and black boots. Throwing my hair up into a messy bun, I set out for the walk to work. As I walk, I work through all my options. I can ask for an advance on my bonus, but that would require approval by all the partners, and that is just too embarrassing, and there’s a good chance they’d say no. As I see it, I need to come up with fifty thousand dollars in less than three days to cover my rent and bring all my bills current.

  When I arrive, it’s still early, but I see Mason sitting in his office. I wave to him. He motions me into h
is office. “William told me what happened in Philadelphia.” I brace for the added bad news. “I’m glad you’re okay. The partners and I truly value your contribution. In your paycheck yesterday you should’ve seen a 10 percent raise.”

  I’m shocked. I didn’t even look at my bank balance. It’s all too depressing. Ten percent is a big raise, but I quickly realize it won’t dig me out of my troubles. “Thank you, I’m so grateful. It means a lot to me to be recognized for my hard work.”

  “I believe you know this, although it isn’t common knowledge, Emerson is pregnant. It’s going to be busy while she’s out on her maternity leave.”

  I paint a smile on my face that I don’t feel. “I understand. I’m happy to help and pitch in.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  I’ve been dismissed. I stand to leave.

  “One more thing. I’m really happy for you and William.”

  “Umm. Thank you?” I’m not sure what William has told him, but we’re not anything more than friends. I smile and leave. I’m fuming. My personal life is exactly that. It’s personal.

  I see William arriving, and I march right into his office.

  He smiles. “Good morning, sunshine. I’ve been missing you. Sorry about lunch today—”

  I want to yell. I want to scream. Through clenched teeth, I say, “How dare you tell Mason we’re dating?”

  He blanches. “Well, err….”

  “We are not dating. In fact, if you hadn’t blackmailed me into going with you to Philadelphia, we wouldn’t have ever seen each other naked. And let me assure you, you never will again.” I’m on a roll. “I learned this morning that because I went with you, I will most likely be evicted from my apartment. I owe the world money, and you thought by telling the managing partner that we’re fucking that it would make you look like a hero.” I’m fighting back the tears. “After all I did for you, I can’t believe you’d out me to Mason.”