The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  “She does now. We’ve been getting to know each other over the past few hours, working out a deal.”

  “Involving?” My head is starting to ache again. What the hell is this man’s plan, and why did the potential of one personal loan, combined with an easy sale for Pace, Inc., make him react this way?

  “That property in Hamilton Heights. You’re not going to believe it, son. I sold it to her for a wonderful profit. Not as much as we would have made from developing it, but I’m happy to be rid of that lingering issue with the tenants.”

  My mouth drops open. “Are you joking? You’re the one who wanted to move forward with that property. You wanted to force them out early.”

  He chuckles like this is a fun prank between friends. “I did. I really did. And I had that letter drawn up in haste. I was able to stop it from being sent, though. Now it’s not our problem. Aren’t you thrilled?”

  I’m not thrilled. I’m confused. I’m torn. On the one hand, Isabella has what she wanted—but she didn’t need to go to my father for that. She was going to get it all along.

  On the other hand, he was right.

  It dawns on me slowly as my dad goes on about the arrangement, how closing shouldn’t take much time at all, how he’s happy not to be micromanaging this project. How, if I’m going to be influenced by women like her, I may not be ready to step in after all. None of it registers.

  Because she used me.

  I used her, too. I used her for pleasure, but when I fell for her, I stopped playing around.

  She didn’t.

  And now I don’t know which things were true and which were lies. She had the money all along, so what else did she say to get what she wanted?

  He was right.

  Shit.

  It was a game until it wasn’t, and now, suddenly, I’m standing on the other side while it’s revealed that yes, after all, it was a game. It was a waste of time.

  My heart goes cold.

  “I have to go, Dad. We’ll talk about this later.” I hang up, and my phone vibrates in my hand. The elevator is on its way.

  It has to be her.

  Then the doors open.

  37

  Isabella

  After that meeting, I need to sit down with a glass of wine—maybe two—and fit my head around everything that happened.

  Naturally, I was not one to sit down and take the brush-off from that Lowell asshole, but when I called back a third time, Jasper was still out.

  I stewed all day, waiting for my cell phone to ring, but it didn’t. Either it was one long meeting or Jasper was avoiding me—who the hell knew? In the end, the urge to move forward was stronger than the desire to play the part of the cool, collected professional one hundred percent of the time.

  So I went to the Pace, Inc. building. I waited as long as I could.

  My heart was in my throat as I took the elevator up to the floor with the executive offices, a giddy triumph rising in my chest to eclipse the nervousness that had been building all day.

  But Jasper wasn’t the one in the hallway when I stepped through the doors.

  It was empty except for an older man, silver haired, wearing an impeccable suit, and a younger man in a shirt and tie, the shirt looking slightly rumpled. They were standing together, heads bent over a folder. I tried to move past them, but the older man lifted his eyes, a broad, familiar smile on his face.

  I returned the smile. “You must be Mr. Pace.”

  “And you must be Isabella Gabriel.”

  I extended my hand for him to shake, forcing myself not to show any suspicion in my face. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  “Not in person, no.” The senior Mr. Pace leaned in, a twinkle in his eye. “But I’ve read about you in the press. Your business is growing quite quickly, isn’t it?”

  There was an article in Forbes not long ago about Gabriel Luxe, but somehow it surprises me that this man would have any interest in a fashion company. “I have big plans for expansion.”

  He’d chuckled then, as if it were a joke. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Isabella, but my son is downstairs in an investor meeting. Is there anything I can help you with, beyond leaving a message?”

  It was reckless, in retrospect, but I felt ready to burst, ready to implode if I couldn’t take at least a single step toward buying the building. “Actually, there is.”

  “Come on down to my office. Mike, sit in on this, would you?”

  That’s how it started, and by the time I left—well after the time Jasper and I had arranged to meet at his penthouse—I’d signed a preliminary agreement to buy the Hamilton Heights building pending approval from my financer. Bernadette is already in contact with our man at the bank. Full approval should be done by Friday, with a push on the timeline because his wife loves my clothes. I’m willing to give the woman an entirely new wardrobe if that’s what it takes to get this done, so I can move on from this with Jasper and into a life that doesn’t hinge on me being a damsel in distress.

  My heart is in my throat on the elevator ride up to his penthouse. I didn’t text him when I got into the car. I should have, but the last thing I wanted was to explain in tiny text chunks the incredibly bizarre meeting I’d had, even if it did end in triumph.

  He’s probably not going to be thrilled about it, but at the very least, there’s going to be dinner. I won’t mind if we retreat to the bedroom for a while before we eat. That would be more effective than wine at helping me unwind. It’ll be the first time since all this began—can it really be only a few weeks?—that there will be no strings attached.

  My chest goes warm at the thought of it. Now that the hurdle has been jumped, I’m free to figure out what the hell makes me so in love with Jasper.

  I grin, alone in the elevator. I’m in love with Jasper Pace—every arrogant, cocky, relentless, funny, generous, protective inch of him.

  The elevator glides to a stop.

  The doors open.

  The warmth in my chest shatters in a burst of ice.

  Jasper is standing in the lobby, and this isn’t the look of a man who might want to playfully spank me. His blue eyes are sharp, cutting, and though he’s wearing shorts and a button-down he looks so poised to explode that a full-body shiver cascades from my head to my toes.

  “Jasper—” I start talking without knowing where I’m going with this to try to heat the silence. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  He smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “I’m not sorry.”

  “You’re not?” I step off the elevator, but there’s such an undercurrent of rage surrounding him that I’m afraid to get any closer. I give him a halfhearted smile, in case this is the setup for—I don’t know, rushing off to the bedroom?—but the expression on his face doesn’t change.

  “Not in the least.” He takes a big breath in, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m relieved, actually. This solves many problems for me.”

  I swallow hard. “What kinds of problems?” I’m keeping my tone soothing and low, because I have no idea what’s going on here. Yes, it was strange as hell that his father met with me and caved to me like that, but I was hoping to get some kind of explanation from Jasper.

  “For one, I don’t need to continue wasting my time on you. Not after today.”

  My mouth drops open. His words register—he couldn’t be clearer—but what the hell? My stomach twists into a painful knot. “What happened?”

  He laughs, the sound bitter and cruel. “Don’t play dumb with me, Isabella. You know exactly what happened.”

  “I really don’t.” Does this have to do with the meeting? The papers are burning a hole through my purse, and I’m desperate to know what all of this means, but it’s clear that I’m not going to get an answer if Jasper is reacting like this. My hand trembles around the purse’s handle. Less than a week ago, he was confessing his love for me, eyes alight with it. And now?

  “Let me refresh your memory. You’re coming here right now from a meeting, are you not?�
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  “Yes.”

  “And who was that meeting with?”

  “Your father.” The ache spreads into my chest, along with a spike of anger. He doesn’t need to be such an asshole. “Why are you acting like this?”

  Jasper raises his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Me? Why am I acting like this?”

  “That’s what I said. Do I need to find you some kind of hearing aid?”

  He laughs again, and somehow, it’s even worse than before. “Oh, good. Try that act on me again.”

  “I’m not acting. I’m frustrated, Jasper, and hurt.”

  “That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

  I shove my rage deep down, grasping for a last shred of calm. “Why don’t you tell me why—”

  “Fuck that,” spits Jasper. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve been using me since the first day we met, like some kind of gold-digging bitch?”

  38

  Jasper

  Isabella’s face has gone white, with bright pink high on her cheeks. When the accusation lands, she sucks in her breath like I stabbed her.

  “A gold-digging bitch.” She throws the words back into my face, and hearing them in her voice—and echoed again and again in my own mind—makes me feel like a monster.

  But backing down doesn’t seem like much of an option. Waves of rage are thundering off of her, and it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I raise my hands in the air again. “Maybe that wasn’t the kindest choice of words.” My voice sounds like someone else’s. “But the general idea applies, don’t you think?”

  She laughs, the sound cutting me to the core. “I’m a gold-digging bitch. What does that make you, Jasper?” She shrugs, looking up at the ceiling like she’s really considering it. “It’s true—you don’t make your money from dating rich women. No. You go around the city like it’s your own personal whore. Everybody should move out of your way if you want to, say, gut a building and throw out all the tenants, right?”

  “If that’s what it takes.” The words are coming out faster than I can stop them. It’s like being on a runaway train. I can’t stop, can’t reverse directions, and the pain boiling in my chest is blinding me to any of the words I could use to talk us both down from the ledge.

  “See? That’s what I thought.” She smiles at me, shaking her head a little. “I knew that about you the moment I walked through your office door. You have a reputation in the city for being a ruthless bastard, and that’s exactly what you are.”

  “It’s taken me a lot further than being a lying—”

  Isabella cuts me off. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your delicate feelings by having enough money to do what I want. It must really gall you to not be the end-all, be-all for a woman.”

  I roll my eyes. “If I gave a shit about impressing women, I wouldn’t stop at the miserable show I gave to you.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You didn’t give me much, that’s true.” Then she takes in a big breath and lets it out again. “This conversation is obviously going nowhere.” She adjusts her bag on her shoulder and turns around, stabbing the button for the elevator with one finger. The doors slide open. Her jaw works. “I’d say I wish you the best, but—” Isabella lets out a short laugh and steps inside.

  I’m lunging for the elevator before I can stop myself, slapping one hand against the doorframe. Isabella doesn’t flinch. She glares at me, and the fury in her eyes, along with a whirlwind of hurt, is a mirror image of the awful feeling taking over my entire chest, my entire body.

  I can’t let her leave without an explanation.

  I can’t.

  It’ll haunt me for the rest of my life, and with every pounding heartbeat, I can feel her shutting down, drawing away from me. It’s sickening. “Why?” I throw the word at her feet. “Why, Isabella?”

  Her mouth twists. The expression shifts between a sneer and a woman trying desperately not to cry, and it breaks my heart. I want to take that last step, take her into my arms, and tell her that this isn’t worth it, that we can figure this shit out, whatever it is, but I’m locked in place.

  “Why what?” Isabella’s voice is a whisper stretched to its breaking point.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “Why did you act like such an unholy prick?” Isabella’s eyes are bright with tears—there’s no mistaking them now—but she doesn’t let a single one fall. “It wasn’t my idea to start this—whatever this fucked-up arrangement is. You’re the one who threw it on the table, and I know you did it to screw with me.”

  “Maybe in that moment.” I hate the desperation in my voice, hate the wild hope that’s rising in my chest. If we can get past this, if we can talk—

  “So you admit it. You admit that you’ve been playing with me this entire time.”

  “Isabella, you wanted to negotiate.” I can see her now, leaning toward me, eyes glowing with possibility while she hinted and insinuated, an electric tension humming through the air between us. Yes, I fucking wanted her, and she wanted me. “I never expected you to—” I work to unclench my jaw. “I never thought you’d take me up on that outrageous deal. And when you did—”

  “I signed up for this? Is that what you’re saying?” She shifts her weight, standing tall. “Yeah, Jasper, I did. I took your deal, and I did it to show you that you’re not in control of everything, even if you think you are. I did it knowing that one day I’d be back on top and I could show you how utterly useless—” She stops, shaking her head. “You can be pissed at me all you want, but you used me as much as I used you. That’s what happens when you treat people like shit. Eventually, it comes back around.”

  “At least you got what you wanted.” I sound fucking pathetic, and loathing rears up in my chest, adding a terrible layer to everything else.

  “Tell me one thing.” Isabella’s voice goes soft, though it still has a sharp edge. “How far were you going to take this, in the end?”

  The elevator door tries to close, and I push it back with my hand. “How far? Not as far as you were, obviously.”

  She laughs. “Buying a building from your company is going farther than telling a woman you love her? To fuck with her?”

  I’m so furious, so heartbroken, that my teeth are locked against one another. It takes all the effort I have to speak. “That was real. If you can’t see that—”

  “It’s not a matter of what I see.” A single tear slides down Isabella’s cheek, and she wipes it away with a furious flick of her hand. “Even if you’re suddenly telling the truth, I have no reason to believe you. And I’m sure—” Another bitter laugh. “I’m sure you feel exactly the same about me. We played the game, Jasper. We both fucking played the game, and maybe we both lost. But I can’t do this anymore.” She takes a long, deep breath. “Now, could you step back? I’m trying to leave.”

  39

  Isabella

  The blast of heat from the blow dryer takes me by surprise, even though I’m the one who aimed it at my own hair.

  Everything seems like a horrible surprise lately.

  I get myself back together—at least enough to do my hair—and aim the dryer back at my roots. Ten minutes later, I’m staring at it again like it’s some kind of foreign object. What was I even doing?

  Right. My hair. My hair is dry.

  It’s a small miracle that I make it to the office fully dressed and presentable enough that nobody in the lobby gives me a second look. On the elevator on the way up, I close my eyes, steeling myself for another day without him.

  What happened? It must be the thousandth time I’ve had the thought since Tuesday, and probably more. Three days and all I can do is dissect that conversation, which went wildly off the rails almost from the moment it started.

  Should I have stayed?

  Did I do the right thing by leaving?

  My mind swings between the two options on a moment-by-moment basis. It’s a torturous circle. When I’ve decided that leaving was the right thing to do, I’m knocked back into indeci
sion by the fact that my entire body aches for Jasper. My entire soul aches for him, and that’s something I never thought would enter my mind.

  I sure as hell didn’t expect for everything to come crashing down when I got on that elevator.

  Even now, getting on any elevator sends my stomach plummeting to the floor, which makes no sense.

  I brace myself when it glides to a stop at Gabriel Luxe’s floor.

  “What are you so scared of?” I whisper it in the empty space. It doesn’t help.

  The doors open.

  Bernadette is standing by the main reception desk, beaming.

  I can’t wrap my mind around it. What is she smiling about? What on earth is she happy about? What could anyone have to be happy about, now that I’m so shattered?

  A wild laugh bubbles up in my chest. Self-centered much, Isa? The rest of the world is moving on. I’m stuck in this rut, and I’m going to get out of it, starting right now.

  “Do you—” The words stick in my throat, and I force a smile onto my face. “Do you have something to celebrate this morning, Bernadette?”

  “We both do.” She gives me a meaningful look. “You’re going to want to make a couple of calls once I tell you the news.”

  Her words filter in like they’re coming from the surface and I’m underwater. “Calls?”

  “To your mom, for one thing.”

  Am I pregnant? It’s an absurd thought, that Bernadette might know before I do, but I have no earthly idea what she’s talking about. None whatsoever. I blink at Bernadette, doing my best impression of a woman who knows what the hell is going on.

  Bernadette can’t keep it in anymore. “It’s a go on the Hamilton Heights building, Isa. I got the news a few minutes ago. The purchase is going forward. I need to send over a few pieces from the inventory for his wife.” She winks at me, then lets out a laugh that I try unsuccessfully to echo. “I know it’s early, but I’ve got mimosas in my office. Let’s celebrate!”