The Complete Bad Boy Billionaire Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  Profiting off Elisa.

  I’m not in love with my dead ex-wife. The moment her fire was extinguished, I could feel myself starting to move on, starting to move back into the world. I just thought I’d approach it with a numb, stone-cold heart for the rest of my life.

  Carolyn changed that and then she took advantage of it.

  That’s probably why she talked to me in the first place. That’s probably the only reason why she wanted to sleep with me. Not because she was actually attracted to me, but because she wanted a good lay that came with a great paycheck.

  What a fucking whore.

  Even as I think it, my mind recoils from giving her such a nasty label.

  She was just doing her job, a soft, pathetic voice in the back of my mind argues. She might not have realized how serious things were until it was too late to back out.

  I slam my hands against the elevator wall, my throat closing up, my face turning red. I’m not going to cry over that bitch.

  She’s not a bitch.

  God, isn’t this just fucked up? I want to rage at Carolyn, I want to march back down and yell at her until she’s absolutely clear on what she’s done to me, and even now I know in my shattered heart that I wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

  That’s the bitch about love.

  It keeps you trapped in its claws until it’s too late to do anything.

  The elevator lets me out on my floor and I stab the key into the lock. Three tries and I finally get the door to swing open, slamming it behind me.

  I haven’t been inside for fifteen seconds when I know I have to leave.

  I text Noah.

  He’s the only person I can think of who will be available on such short notice. Thank God I pay good people to be on my staff, or I’d be fucked right now. I’d be drowning myself in alcohol and sorrow, and I’m not going to do that.

  That’s a lie. I might drown myself in alcohol tonight, but I’m not going to do it alone.

  Bring the car around in twenty minutes. Be ready to go out.

  Got it, boss.

  I don’t even send him a snarky reply telling him not to fucking call me that. I just toss my phone onto the bathroom counter and turn on the shower, as hot as it will go.

  Even the heat, which verges on painful, can’t wash away the throbbing in my shoulders, the twisting knife that arcs through my chest with every breath I inhale.

  I stare at the wall while I let the water hit me, jaw clenched, trying not to fucking scream from the frustration and the tension wracking my body.

  It’s fifteen minutes before I can bring myself to get out, yanking the towel off the hanger so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t come out of the wall.

  I have to get myself under control if I’m not going to get us thrown out of someplace tonight.

  I have no idea where the hell we’re going to go, but it’s not going to be here.

  The first clothes in my hands are the ones that go on, and I’m startled when I see myself in the mirror. My face is too red to be healthy.

  Noah’s waiting downstairs, but I take another five minutes and force myself to breathe until I’m a more natural color.

  Nothing is ever going to be natural again without her.

  “Fuck that,” I say to my reflection. “Fuck that.” I can move on. I have no other choice. If Carolyn is gone, I’m going to have to fill the void with something.

  And I’m going to have to start right now.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Carolyn

  Jess takes me to the Bystander, a dive bar she used to frequent back in her college days. The instant we walk in, I know why she chose the place.

  Nobody from our crowd would ever go here.

  The booths are covered in ratty upholstery and the clientele seems to run the gamut from collegiate hipsters to a few rougher types in their thirties. I’m way overdressed.

  I don’t care at all.

  The music is so loud it hurts my ears, but I throw my arms above my head and give a whoop that makes Jessica laugh.

  “We don’t have to stay if you don’t like it,” she shouts over the music.

  “Bar!” I say, pointing emphatically toward the bar. She follows me as I shove through the crowd and right up to the pitted bar top, leaning my elbows against it, making room to either side. There are two bartenders working tonight. It’s a Tuesday, but the place is jam-packed. I shout an order at the bartender for two Long Island iced teas and then grin back at Carolyn, feeling the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

  She frowns.

  “This place is insane,” I shout over the music.

  “What’s wrong?” She has to shout back, but the bartender taps my arm. The drinks are ready. I shove a twenty across the bar at him, take the drinks, and make my way back into the crowd.

  We find a tiny table that’s just large enough for two people to stand at and sip the drinks, Jess swaying a little to the music.

  She looks across the table at me and narrows her eyes, and I give her a big, cheesy smile that does absolutely nothing to mask the fact that my heart is tattered in pieces, splattered all over my apartment.

  “What’s wrong?” she says again.

  I can tell her. I know I can tell her. I just don’t want to start now, here in this crowded dive bar. I was the first to find out about Alec and her new life in Saintland. She can be the first to find out that, yet again, I’ve been dumped, only this time it really is all my fault.

  “Ace broke up with me.” It seems to go silent in the bar as I shout the words at top volume, and I feel my face go red, but then the sound comes crashing in again and I realize that nobody is looking at me.

  Only Jess, who’s biting her lip with a frown that nearly undoes me.

  I choke on the lump in my throat and look down at the surface of the table, which is sticky with spilled drinks and littered with peanut husks. Then Jess’s arm is around my shoulder, pulling me in for a hug. She doesn’t give a shit that we’re in public. She doesn’t give a shit that she’s the Queen of Saintland. She’s still a good friend.

  I gulp back a sob, but I can’t force out any more words. There’s no way I can explain to her what happened—not here.

  I just want to have a good time.

  I just want….

  “Let’s dance,” Jess says into my ear, rubbing her hand up and down my arm. “Come on.”

  She releases me and goes back around the table to gulp down a good half of her drink, then winks at me. I can’t help but smile back and follow suit, and we abandon the half-empty drinks and head for the dance floor.

  They had more alcohol than I thought because I already feel tipsy, and suddenly the music seems warm and fun, like everything’s going to be okay.

  In the crowd I catch a glimpse of a man with blond hair and a cut jaw, wearing a red shirt. My stomach turns over and plummets straight to the floor. I spin around, running into Jess in my panic to get out.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “What—” She peers over my shoulder. “What are you doing? Who did you see?”

  “Ace!” I cry, whipping my head back around.

  “Where?” Jess’s forehead wrinkles while she searches the people on the dance floor for his face. “I don’t see him, Care.”

  The guy in the red shirt reappears, and I see in a jarring instant that it’s not him. It doesn’t look like him at all.

  I shake my head a little, covering my eyes with my hand.

  “Maybe I should just go home.”

  “No,” Jess says firmly, hooking her arm through mine. “We’re out. I’m leaving for Saintland in a few days, and I want to have a good time with my best friend.”

  She hauls me out onto the dance floor again, and when I stand there, stock-still, she takes my hands in hers and tugs them until I’m swaying with the music.

  My heart is a gaping wound in my chest, and every breath is agony, but it’s not long before I lose myself in the beat, following Jess’s lead.

&nbs
p; “More drinks!” she cries after a few minutes and disappears to the bar, leaving me in the swirling mass of bodies on the dance floor.

  I don’t care.

  What’s to care about?

  The most important thing in my life is over, so I might as well dance.

  I throw myself into it, happily accepting the shot she brings and throwing it back. She’s gone for another moment, putting the shot glasses somewhere, I assume, and then we’re drunk and dancing.

  The men start to circle not long after, and I find myself with my hands on their shoulders, my hands sliding down abs that don’t hold a candle to Ace’s. The hours melt away in a blur of music and dancing and drinks presented to me by handsome stranger after handsome stranger. At one point I find myself with my mouth pressed against another man’s and laughing, laughing while I do it.

  Because it’s not Ace.

  It’s not as good as Ace, and nobody ever will be.

  Ever, ever, ever.

  Chapter Forty

  Ace

  Wednesday I go through the motions at my father’s office like a robot, unable to force a smile onto my face. Nobody notices. Or, if they do, they don’t say anything because I’m the boss’s son.

  That’s one perk to being filthy rich and related to the man in charge. Nobody questions it if you’re suddenly a numb, soulless husk of a person, just going through the motions.

  I want this to be over.

  I want this drowning, suffering feeling to end so I can move on with my life.

  Move on to what?

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know what’s worth it.

  I’ll always have enough money to do whatever I please. I made sure of that long ago, and I assure myself of that every day when I check my investments, make small adjustments, put money here, transfer money there.

  That’s not going to be an issue.

  But when it comes to women….

  Is it worth it?

  Carolyn’s face floats up in front of my mind a hundred times throughout the day, and each time it takes my breath away.

  I haven’t heard from her since yesterday. I don’t want to hear from her.

  That’s not true.

  I want to hear from her more than anything, but I’ll be damned if I let myself get sucked back in with her.

  I won’t.

  I leave the office at five o’clock and walk out without saying anything to anyone. People duck into offices to stay out of my way, which I consider a silver lining. It’s not like I’ve necessarily been rude. I haven’t been anything at all. They must sense that the time isn’t right to have an encounter with Ace Kingsley.

  As I slide into the backseat of the Bentley, my phone buzzes, and I automatically swipe across the front to see who the message is from.

  Too late, I realize that I’m half-hoping it’s from Carolyn.

  I roll my eyes at my own fucking stupidity.

  The message is from Eli Pierce.

  My first instinct is to ignore it.

  You free tomorrow?

  Depends.

  On what?

  Where you’re going

  I take it the Swan is out?

  He’s very perceptive.

  Not in the mood.

  There’s another dining club I know. Less exclusive. Dinner and drinks?

  You lonely, Pierce?

  My wife is the best woman in the world.

  Message received. What time?

  7:00. I’ll drive.

  By which he means his driver will drive. That’s fine with me.

  OK

  Plans.

  At least I have plans.

  Noah lets me out in front of the building, and I scan the lobby for any sign of Carolyn. I don’t want to take the risk of running into her.

  “She’s not there, boss.”

  I don’t know how Noah knows about any of this—maybe he doesn’t, and he just knows me better than I thought—but I can’t even bring myself to scoff at the assistance.

  “Thanks.”

  I get out of the car and cross quickly to the doors, pulling one open with a swift yank and moving into the lobby. I don’t want to look like I’m running from someone—because I definitely fucking am—but I also don’t want to see her.

  If I see her, there’s no telling what I’ll do.

  There’s no telling what future harm I might end up doing to myself.

  I can’t take that risk.

  I can never take that risk again.

  My heart is in my throat when I punch the button to call the elevator. What if she’s coming down right now, and when the doors slide open, I see her face? What if, when I see her face, I’m so furious that I spit out some cutting comment right here in the lobby, in front of the doorman and whoever else might walk in?

  Worse, what if I’m so captivated by her beauty, by the kindness that radiates off of her wherever she goes, that I fall right back under her spell, never to emerge again? What then?

  Would that be the worst thing in the world? The thought bubbles up before I can stop it.

  Yes, I think, but I’m not convinced.

  My heart is beating so hard that I put a hand to my chest, then expend all the rest of my energy putting it back down to my side. The last thing I need is for anyone here to think I’m having a fucking heart attack and make a scene.

  The doors slide open….

  To reveal Mrs. Hensley, the woman who was outside that night, asking about her husband.

  “Well, hello!” she cries gaily as she exits the elevator with a slow shuffle. I put my hand on the doors to keep them from sliding shut too early, and she beams up at me.

  “You are too handsome, young man.” She wags a finger in my direction as if I’ve done something awful, which I have. But she follows it up with a grin. “Where’s your lady friend, Carolyn? You two are so gorgeous together.”

  She’s fucking right, and I hate it. I shake my head, my lips curving upward just slightly. “Not here.”

  Mrs. Hensley didn’t care much for the answer to her question because she’s already making her way over to the doorman. “Lovely,” she says, maybe to me, maybe to nobody. “Lovely.”

  I step into the elevator and the doors slide closed, and once again, I have to stop myself from sagging against the walls.

  Yes, accepting Eli’s invitation was the right thing. I’m going to have to accept even more invitations if I don’t want this apartment to become a gilded prison like the Four Seasons.

  The nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers again. It’s always going to be a prison without Carolyn.

  The elevator moves upward and I try to ignore the thought, but it repeats itself like a drumbeat until I want to press my hands against my ears, anything to make it stop.

  It’ll take more than that to stop this.

  It’ll take everything I have.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Carolyn

  I wake up the next morning with a head weighted down with the after effects of last night’s drinking and a dry mouth, tacky from all the sugary alcohol.

  “Shit,” I say into my pillow.

  What time is it?

  What day is it?

  It’s an effort just to reach for the phone on my bedside table.

  It is eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, and I am a wreck.

  Looking at my phone makes me dizzy, and I collapse back onto the pillow, the phone on my chest.

  Jesus Christ. What did we do last night?

  I remember drinks. I remember dancing. So much dancing….

  And I remember my lips pressed against a man’s. Not Ace’s. Someone else’s.

  I remember laughing hard because they were nothing, the kiss meant nothing, it felt like nothing compared to the electric connection I feel with Ace.

  Like I’ll never feel again.

  My stomach flips over, but I’m not convinced that it’s all from the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed last night.

  Not
hing makes you sicker than guilt.

  Another wave of nausea washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, willing it to go away.

  There’s no way in hell I can sell anything at the boutique today. A woman who looks vaguely green and is unsteady on her feet will not a good saleswoman make. Especially not next to all the lovely clothes we’ve managed to restock since the theft.

  I write out a text to Natalie—she’s the one who’s on this morning, I’m sure of it—telling her I won’t be in today or tomorrow. Then I follow it up with another text.

  If you just want to close down the store and take a couple days off, that’s fine too.

  I just don’t care.

  I just don’t care about the store right now.

  I care about Natalie, and Sara, and making sure they get a paycheck, but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it right now.

  Maybe by Monday I’ll feel better.

  With my phone on my chest, I drift back into a restless sleep. At one point, I think I hear a knock on the bedroom door and my heart leaps—Ace?—but when I jerk upright and listen, there’s nothing but ringing silence.

  Shit.

  It’s awful.

  My phone vibrates in my lap, making me jump. It’s a text message.

  I turn the screen to face up with shaking hands.

  It’s from Jess.

  Make yourself decent, woman. I’m coming over in forty minutes.

  No….

  Yes.

  Really, I’m too hungover

  No excuses. See you in 38!

  Damn it.

  I drop my face into my hands. If I get out of bed right now, I might be sick. If I wait any longer, I’ll never get up.

  I put my legs over the side of the bed gingerly, taking several minutes to ease my toes to the carpet.

  So far, so good.

  It takes twenty minutes just to get into the shower and wash my hair, so I’m scrambling—albeit in slow motion—when there’s an actual knock on the door.

  “Coming!” I shout and pull a Nike hoodie over my head. Yoga pants are all I’m going to be able to handle today.

  I shuffle to the door and pull it open.

  Jess stands in the hallway, looking like a queen, as usual. She must have cut herself off way earlier last night, or else she’s better at holding her liquor. Either way, she looks pristine whereas I look like a troll.