Cruel Billionaire

by Luma Rose

I hit the button for the sixty-eighth floor and turn to face the doors, standing a good foot and a half away from him. Even so, the scent of his cologne mixed with his purely male scent wraps around me, the same one I’ve been searching out in magazine samples to smell again since I danced with him.

  I risk a glance to my side to study his profile. He’s still wearing his suit from work, and the deep blue of the expensive fabric looks exquisite against his skin. His hair is tousled like he’s run his fingers through it many times today, and his suit jacket is open, tie loosened from around his neck.

  In short, he looks like a wet dream come to life, and even though he’s been nothing but an asshole to me since I returned, the hum of sexual desire presses low in my belly for the first time in longer than I care to remember.

  “Stop looking at me,” he snarls.

  Jesus, this man.

  I spin to face him, my laughter seconds away from slipping out. “What exactly is your problem?”

  Garrin steps into me, giving me no choice but to retreat until my back is pressed against the elevator wall. He isn’t touching me, though he’s fractions of an inch from doing so. For some horrible reason, I want to give him an excuse to touch me. To put out this fire inside me that’s still burning for him. Quench the thirst I’ve had since high school. He can’t be the guy I think he is. I don’t fall for assholes.

  When he just stands over me, saying nothing, I come back down to reality. Maybe I should schedule a call with my therapist back in Washington. I clearly have issues.

  “My problem is you.” His warm breath fans over my face while he stares down at me. “You coming back is fucking everything up.”

  “What does that mean? I’ve never done anything to you. How does my return fuck things up for you?” My voice grows louder and more demanding, which in turn makes his eyes more ominous and smoldering.

  He doesn’t say a word, just stares at me with his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

  “What did I ever do to you?” I whisper, and I hate that it comes out like a plea. Like I’m weak and unable to fight back.

  Still he doesn’t respond. Now I’m really irritated. It’s fine if he has a problem with me, but at least tell me what I did. I’m not buying that it has to do with the sex tape scandal and me working on Ford’s campaign.

  The elevator dings and I glance up at the number.

  Sixty-eight.

  “Excuse me.” I motion for him to move, but he doesn’t, so I use my hands to push him back. They hit the hard wall of his chest and I bring them back like I just touched a hot iron. Thankfully he doesn’t fight me or stop me, stepping out of the way.

  I don’t spare him a glance while I stalk out into Ford’s foyer.

  I feel his eyes on me. Calculated and patient like a tiger ready to strike on its prey. I rush inside, leaning against the wall in the living room once I’m out of view and breathing a sigh of relief.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, regaining my equilibrium.

  Garrin wants to play some mind game and pretend I did him wrong? Fine. Let’s play.

  8

  Chapter Eight

  Garrin

  After a quick shower that felt more like a torture chamber until I stopped trying to imagine any other woman besides Isla to beat off to, I head down to the Titans’ Lounge, hoping to catch all the guys. Someone was obviously down there earlier, when I caught Isla coming up to Ford’s place. With all that sexual tension overflowing in the elevator, she’s lucky I didn’t follow her right into Ford’s condo because she might have loved my hands on her for a moment, but regrets would have spawned instantaneously.

  She shouldn’t be wandering around our building unescorted.

  It shouldn’t have felt like a knife in the gut when she pressed the button for Ford’s floor. Ford obviously falsely believes I want Isla—otherwise, why would he bring her here as payback for me stealing his date? Would he really fuck her on the regular just to screw with me?

  My hands clench at my sides.

  “Jesus,” I mutter and push my hands through my hair. Get a fucking grip, Stone.

  When I step off the elevator, everyone’s there except for Ryker.

  “Someone call Ryker and tell him to get his ass down here. We need to talk.” I stalk through the large room over to the bar.

  “Hello to you too,” Asher says from where he’s bent over the pool table, about to take his shot.

  “I’m serious.” I don’t spare them a glance as I continue toward my destination, but I can feel the energy in the room shift.

  “I’m on it,” Lincoln says, and he returns his pool cue to the holder on the wall.

  “Everything okay?” Ford asks, turning the television off.

  “I’m not talking to you.” I reach for a glass from the cupboard and peruse the array of bottles in an attempt to decide which one will make my problems feel the furthest away. Because right now, they feel like a probe about to breach my asshole.

  “What the hell did I do?” Ford asks.

  I glance over my shoulder at him while I reach for a bottle of Glenfiddich. “You’re the one to blame for what I’m about to tell you. If you hadn’t brought her here, this wouldn’t be happening.”

  He frowns but doesn’t bother to ask who I’m referring to. Damn straight the bastard knows.

  By the time I’ve returned the bottle to the shelf and taken a large swig of the amber liquid, Ryker steps off the elevator.

  “What’s the emergency? My firm’s client just got caught with an ounce of cocaine in his car.” He drops himself down on the couch beside Ford.

  His PR firm is the top one in the country. There’s a host of other people in the company who can help get some pampered celebrity or devious politician out of trouble.

  Asher and Lincoln each take a seat.

  “What’s this about?” Lincoln asks.

  “Before you start”—Asher holds up a hand—“do I need a drink?”

  When does he not need a drink these days?

  I pin him with a stare, and he shrugs, leaning back in his seat and digging his hand into his faded jeans, producing a metal tin detailed with delicate scrolling on the outside. He opens it up and pulls out a joint, then a lighter from his other pocket, and lights it up.

  When he exhales and realizes we’re all waiting for him, he smugly says, “Okay, I’m ready.”

  I roll my eyes. “My father came to see me today.”

  “And what? Dick the Prick was actually a prick?” Asher laughs, taking a haul off the joint before passing it to Lincoln.

  “Yeah, I called you all here on a Tuesday to let you know that Richard Stone is still an asshole. Jesus. All the booze and drugs really have fried your brain.”

  Asher scowls but keeps his mouth shut.

  “He came to see me about Isla.”

  Ford’s brows shoot up to his forehead. “What interest does he have in her?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” I say.

  Lincoln holds the joint out to me, and I take it from him, bringing it to my mouth and inhaling. The potent scent meets my nose, and I exhale the smoke. The tension in my body loosens.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Ryker asks.

  I shake my head and take another drag before passing it on to Ford. He puts his hand up, so I hand it off to Ryker. Ford must really be taking this candidacy seriously if he’s not smoking pot.

  “He came in asking what my relationship with her was, and after I informed him I don’t have one, he told me I better have her eating out of the palm of my hand by week’s end.” I highjack the joint before Ryker can pass it on.

  Everyone absorbs what I said, no doubt trying to figure out my dad’s angle. We all have fucked-up fathers and growing up under their ridiculous commands should make this easy to unpuzzle. I sit down on the couch and sip my scotch.

  “I don’t get it,” Ryker finally says.

  “I asked him what his endgame was, and he told me I didn’t need to know right now. Then when I refuse
d to do what he wanted, he brought up prom night.” All sets of four eyes stare at me unblinking. Now they understand why I dragged them all down here. “Exactly. Whatever he wants, he wants it bad enough to use the best leverage he has over me to get it. He’s going to call in his favor.”

  “Fuck.” Ford pushes up off the couch and paces in front of us.

  “Fuck is right. And you’re the one who brought this to my doorstep.”

  Without warning, Ford spins and barrels toward me. I let my glass fall to the floor to get my hands up before he reaches me. I stand, gripping his T-shirt and walking him backward.

  “This is not my fault!” he yells, his face red, eyes wide with a maddened look in them. He tries to shrug off my hands, but I grip his T-shirt harder.

  “I see the Hulk has come out to play. It’s been a few years. How you doing, buddy?” I say.

  Ford’s apple didn’t fall far from his dad’s hot-temper tree.

  He takes a swing at me, but I duck, putting him against the wall. He’s so predictable when he loses his shit.

  Asher and Lincoln each grab one of my shoulders, and I release Ford. When Ford comes at me again, the two grab his arms and subdue him while he hurls profanities at me, trying to wrench himself from their grip.

  “Calm down,” Lincoln says.

  After a minute, Ford does settle down, but he doesn’t join us on the couch. Instead, he bends at his waist, heaving for a breath by the bar.

  “You good?” Asher asks.

  Ford nods.

  “Like I was saying, you brought her back here. If Isla weren’t here in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this position. Now we have to figure out what my dad wants so that we can get ahead of his plan.”

  “I can do some digging,” Lincoln says. “See what I can unearth on what she’s been doing since she was away—look into her financials, her parents.”

  I nod.

  “She just finished law school, hasn’t taken the bar yet,” Ford says.

  “That’s what she told you,” Ryker says. “Who knows whether it’s the truth or not? It’s not as if any of us kept up with her after her sex tape with Asher was released.”

  My teeth gnash together at the mention of the sex tape.

  “See what you can find,” I say to Lincoln. “In the meantime, what should I do about my dad?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You need to do as he told you. Play nice with her.” Ryker’s right, but I’d been hoping to hear something else.

  “What’s your problem with her anyway? I thought you two used to be friends back in high school?” Asher asks.

  “Who said I had a problem with her?”

  “Your face at the party last week. You looked like she just took a shit in your Maybach,” he says, lighting up another joint.

  “I’m surprised you even remember there was a party last week.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  Asher grins. “I can handle myself. It’s all up here.” He taps his temple.

  “I don’t have a problem with her. I just think someone with her reputation isn’t good for Ford’s campaign.”

  Ford looks at me as if he knows better, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s done enough damage. It’s not like we all sat around and talked about who we liked back in high school like Harper and her friends did.

  “Good. Then it won’t be a problem for you to do what your dad says until we can get one step in front of him,” Lincoln says. “The last thing we need is him calling in that favor.”

  He’s right. Because if that happens, it won’t matter what Dick the Prick wants me to do—I’ll have to do it no matter how abhorrent, vile, or illegal it is. A deal is a deal in the Stone family.

  9

  Chapter Nine

  Isla

  After the run-in with Garrin on Tuesday night, I was happy to get a text from Everly Brookes wanting to catch up. Everly and I used to be best friends back at Forest View Academy, but I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I left.

  I have no idea what she’s been doing with her life, but since I’m here for the foreseeable future, it’d be nice to reconnect with someone who’s presumably happy to have me back. So we made plans to meet up at Coppersmith’s, a restaurant that specializes in a variety of steaks, for dinner and drinks.

  I’m already seated at our table when she arrives, standing in the front of the room, glancing around the restaurant. I wave to grab her attention, and when she spots me, a large smile transforms her face and she rushes over. I pop up out of my seat, a huge smile on my face as well. At least one person from high school besides Ford is happy to see me.

  “You look phenomenal! I can’t believe you’re back!” She envelops me in a big hug, which I return wholeheartedly. She squeezes me for a minute, and when she lets me go, I lean back to take her in.

  Everly still looks like a porcelain doll. I remember being jealous of her in high school because while the rest of us were dealing with the usual teenage skin problems, hers was always perfection. Her hair rests at her chin and is no longer a medium brown but a white-blonde color that seems to set off her blue eyes and pert nose.

  “Look at you! Perfection as always,” I say, meaning every word.

  She waves me off. “You always were too sweet for your own good.”

  The host appears by our side. “May I take your coat from you?” he asks.

  “Of course. Sorry, I was in such a hurry to see my friend that I skipped past the coat check.” She grins widely at me, and I remember suddenly how fun she always was. Everly could turn even the most mundane days into a good time.

  She removes her camel-colored coat to reveal a pair of tight leather pants and a fitted sheer black blouse that shows off a beautifully detailed tank bra beneath.

  “Jeez, you look like you just glided in off the runway and I look like a politician’s wife.” I sit down.

  “You don’t look like any politician’s wife I’ve ever seen.” She passes her coat to the host and thanks him, then sits down opposite me. “It would make sense, though, what with you working on Ford Masterson’s campaign.” Her perfectly arched eyebrows rise in question.

  “How did you know about that?” I reach for my water glass.

  “Please. You can’t keep anything a secret in this town.” She smiles and it’s so genuine that tears prick my eyes.

  With everything going on with my dad and having to face my past by returning here, I can’t believe how comforting it is to be in the company of my old friend.

  A crease forms between her eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Now I’m waving her off. “Nothing. It’s just good to see you again. I missed you.” Even if I didn’t realize how much until this moment.

  She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I missed you too. You left town so fast after everything happened… I wanted to reach out to you, but you didn’t say goodbye, so I figured…”

  “Can I start you ladies off with a drink?” the waiter interrupts.

  “Sure, I’ll have your house red,” I say.

  Everly takes her hand back to reach for the drink menu, then seems to think better of it. “You know what? I’ll have the same as her. Thanks.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll be right back.”

  “What were you going to say?” I ask.

  “Just that I wanted to reach out to you a bunch of times over the years, but I always stopped myself because I thought you must have been mad at me for that night.”

  I frown. “Why would I have been mad at you?”

  “I’m the one who encouraged you to sleep with Asher. If I hadn’t, the sex tape never would have happened.”

  My shoulders slump. Has she been blaming herself all these years?

  I always thought that I was the only one who was affected by what happened, but I realize now that by avoiding facing this for so many years, I may have been stopping other people from healing as well.

  “Everly, I never blamed you for what happened. I was the one who chose to slee
p with Asher. The only one to blame is the person who filmed us and released the tape.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  She looks like she’s been waiting to hear me say that for years.

  “Yes, I mean it.” I reach over and grab her hand.

  A large breath leaves her lungs. “Oh, thank God. I was nervous to meet you here tonight, but when you smiled at me when I came in, I got so excited thinking you had forgiven me after so much time had passed.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” I squeeze her hand and then release it.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. I never got to tell you that.”

  “Thank you. I’m finally at the point where I can deal with it.”

  The waiter appears again with two glasses of red wine. After taking a quick look at the menu he takes our orders and leaves.

  “So, what are you doing back? I assume you’re staying since you took a job working for Ford?” she asks.

  I sip my wine.

  I haven’t told anyone about my father’s illness. My parents are notoriously private, so I wouldn’t say anything to most people, but I need to confide in someone. It’s been difficult handling this without anyone to lean on. Plus, Everly understands family secrecy.

  “My dad is sick, but we’re not telling anyone.” I suck back the tears and straighten my back. “He was diagnosed with lung cancer last month and is undergoing treatment. I’m here to help him get healthy again.”

  Everly’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I know how close you are with your dad. How is your mom handling it?”

  “She seems to prefer to pretend everything is normal. Doesn’t talk about it much, still carries on with all her charity work. It’s almost as if she thinks if she ignores it, it’ll just take care of itself.” I take another healthy sip from my glass.

  The concern in Everly’s eyes is overwhelming, and I know I’ve done the right thing by telling her. “Maybe she just can’t handle it emotionally.”

  “That’s a big part of it.”