Black Tie Billionaire

by Naima Simone

  “Everyone else being Madison Reus.”

  The accusation punched him in the chest, and he braced himself against the impact. By sheer will he forced himself not to react. But inside...inside he snarled at the mention of her. The woman who’d taught him that love could be bought by the highest bidder. Who’d knowingly betrayed him with the one man he hated. Who’d shown him that placing his heart and trust in a person outside of family was a costly mistake—to his bank account and to his soul.

  He would never repeat that particular mistake.

  “You must have loved her very much to go to such lengths for your revenge,” Shay continued when he remained silent. “That’s what this is all about, right? How dare my brother date the woman you were once engaged to? You’re punishing both of them by flaunting me in their faces?”

  He caught the threads of hurt beneath that calm tone. And in spite of his resolve to maintain his distance, both emotionally and physically, he shifted forward. She didn’t retreat, but instead tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Courageous. He hadn’t been expecting that from her.

  Just like he hadn’t been expecting this inconvenient attraction. Even now, her scent—the fresh, wild lushness of rain right before a storm and roses in bloom—called to him like a siren’s lure, urging him closer, until his hard, solid planes pressed against her soft, sensual curves.

  Though all common sense railed at him not to touch, he ignored it and reached for the thick strands of hair that fell in a sleek glide behind her shoulders. Pinching a lock between his fingers, he lifted it, indulged himself and brushed it over his lips.

  Never breaking his stare, he murmured, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He heard the slight catch of her breath. Noticed the erratic beat of her pulse at the base of her neck. From nerves? Desire? The hardening of his body telegraphed which one it voted for.

  Step back. Remember the plan. Stick to the plan.

  But he stayed. Playing with sin-wrapped-in-bronzed-skin fire.

  “No?” she breathed, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sardonic smile. “Is this the part where I just blindly trust what you say because my lying eyes and lil’ ol’ brain can’t possibly grasp the intricacies involved here?” She scoffed, jerking her head back, and he released her. “Please. I’m patted on the head and patronized every day, so forgive me if I call bullshit.”

  She turned away from him, and he ground his teeth together, his fingers curling into his palms to battle the urge to grab her and bring her back against him. She didn’t understand. This wasn’t about Madison; it was about another woman—his sister. And that bastard who’d abused her heart and shattered her mental state.

  An eye for an eye. A sister for a sister.

  But he couldn’t admit any of that to her. Not when she would no doubt run back and tell Trevor everything.

  “You’re forgetting I know the secret about your job. And I don’t mean that joke of a title at RemingtonNeal. I would be a fool to underestimate you, Shay.”

  She pivoted and something flashed in her hazel eyes, but before he could decipher it, she briefly closed them and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Can we just get this over with?” she asked, weariness coating her voice. “Tell me what you need from me so you won’t burn my brother’s world to the ground.”

  “Like I told you at the restaurant. You and I will pretend to be a couple. A real couple, Shay. Which means convincing everyone that we’re hopelessly in love.” He couldn’t prevent the bitter smile from curving his mouth. “I read that you took several drama classes in college. Time to dust off those old skills and bring them out of retirement. I’ll require you to attend several events and dinners with me, and the same for you. The first time you try to twist out of this arrangement, it’s off, and your brother’s dirty dealings become public.”

  This time he clearly interpreted the emotion turning her gaze more green than brown. Anger. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. But I won’t carry this lie on indefinitely. You have a time limit of six months. That’s all I’ll agree to.”

  Six months would be more than enough time to carry out all he had planned. “Fine.”

  “And at the conclusion, you promise to destroy the report and all copies of it.”

  He nodded again, although he had no intention of doing that. Only a fool would reveal his hand. Did he feel a twinge of guilt for deceiving her? Yes, it didn’t sit well. But he’d meant what he’d told his mother. His number one goal was to prevent Trevor from ever hurting another woman as he’d hurt Olivia. This arrangement with Shay was only one part of his plan.

  “Okay, then.” Shay inhaled a breath and tilted her chin up at a haughty angle, every inch the socialite. “One more thing. I’m not a whore. We might have to pretend affection for each other, but I won’t have sex with you.”

  Irritation flashed inside him, and he took a step toward her before he drew to an abrupt halt. “I can promise you that when I take a woman to my bed, she wants to be there. I don’t give a damn about love, because there’s something much more honest—fucking. There are no lies when a woman is coming for me, and I don’t want one in my bed who doesn’t want to be there. If she can’t give me the truth of her pleasure, then I don’t want her under me. And any man who’s satisfied with just getting a woman between the sheets, without giving a damn about her desire to be there, isn’t a man.”

  Silence plummeted into the room, and that sense of déjà vu hit him again. He’d said something similar to Camille weeks ago when she’d accused him of using his position of power to screw her. He shook his head. He had to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness or distraction around Shay.

  “But you need to understand one thing, Shay, and come to terms with it.” He moved forward again, lowering his head so their mouths were inches apart. So close he glimpsed the golden striations in her eyes and inhaled the heady scent of Scotch on her breath. “I’m not the other men you might have had dancing to your tune. For the next six months, you’re mine. And while you might not be in my bed,” he murmured, brushing the back of his finger over a sculpted cheekbone, “you’ll act like you are. Which means you’ll pretend to desire my touch, my hands on you. You’ll behave as if you crave what I, and only I, can give you. Pleasure. Passion. A hunger so deep you don’t know how you ever existed without me to take care of it for you. So, moonbeam, even if you loathe me, those beautiful eyes better convince everyone that I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

  She wrenched away from him, stumbling backward, her panting audible testimony to the arousal that stained her cheeks and glinted in her eyes.

  Fuck.

  Need gripped his stomach, grinding and squeezing like a vise. He’d overplayed his hand. His aim had been to teach her a lesson, and he’d ended up the student with his knuckles rapped.

  “Don’t call me that,” she ordered hoarsely. He frowned, at first not grasping what she meant. Then it hit him. Moonbeam.

  Where had that come from? Why had he called her that name?

  “Pet names, like we’re something we’re clearly not, aren’t part of this, either.” She tugged her shoulders back, and that delicate but stubborn chin went up again. “And for the record. I belong to me. Not my brother. Not RemingtonNeal. And definitely not you.”

  Shay spun around. Snatching up her coat, which he’d laid over the back of the foyer chair when they’d entered the penthouse, she strode out of his home.

  He stood there, staring at the closed door, and a small smile played on his lips.

  Whether she realized it or not, she’d just issued a challenge.

  Accepted.

  And he more than looked forward to winning.

  Ten

  Shay grimaced at the vibration of her cell phone in her back pocket as she served up an order of green papaya salad
and tom yum to another hungry customer standing outside Bridgette’s food truck. Her best friend’s delicious Thai cuisine made hers one of the more popular trucks stationed at Hyde Park during the lunch hour.

  Bridgette was a wonderful chef, and when she’d proposed starting a food truck business, Shay had insisted on investing. The love of food and cooking were just a couple things the two of them bonded over. And because they were such good friends, when Bridgette had called this morning, frantic because she’d been down a person, Shay had been more than willing to jump in and help. It hadn’t been the first time she’d volunteered, and if Bridgette needed her, it wouldn’t be the last. Just another reason Trevor resented her “lowbrow” relationship with Bridgette.

  Good thing that she’d never told him about cooking and serving on her food truck.

  Another insistent buzz of her cell, and she sighed. She knew who was calling her.

  Gideon.

  He’d left a message about joining him for lunch about a half hour after Bridgette’s panicked call. She’d shot a text off to him, letting him know meeting wouldn’t be possible. But had he accepted that? Hell no. Well, that fell under the category of His Problem.

  Yes, she’d agreed to attend events with him, but she’d also meant it when she told him he didn’t own her. She was more than willing to accompany him to dinners, lunches, parties, whatever. But she also needed notice, and not just a couple hours. She had a life and refused to hand it over to him.

  She was already an indentured servant to the Neal name and reputation. He wouldn’t become another master.

  You’re mine.

  Those two words had played over and over in her head like a rabid hamster in a wheel. It’d been two days since she’d left his penthouse, and she hadn’t been able to erase the declaration from her mind.

  Or deny the spark of desire that had erupted into a conflagration inside her. Her thighs had clenched at the dark, sensual note so dominant in his voice. And in that moment, she swore she could feel the heavy, thrilling possession of his body taking hers, filling hers.

  Claiming hers.

  God, it wasn’t fair. Not the words he uttered to her. Not the out-of-control reaction of her body to his.

  She didn’t have to pretend to know his touch. No, she had intimate knowledge of it.

  Which was why she’d reacted so strongly—and unwisely—to the “moonbeam” he’d so carelessly tossed at her. That endearment had been special to her, meant for her alone. But it hadn’t been. God only knew how many women he’d said it to.

  She wasn’t special.

  And damn, that had hurt. More than it should’ve.

  Another buzz, and she gritted her teeth. Probably a threatening message this time. The tenacity that had made him so successful as a businessman was working the hell out of her nerves.

  Six months. She just had to hold on for six months. Then she would be free. From both this “agreement” with Gideon and from under the yoke of the Neal name.

  Gideon didn’t know the significance of her time limit. In that time, she would turn twenty-six and be in control of the trust funds from her mother and maternal grandmother. With that came financial independence. She wouldn’t need her paychecks from RemingtonNeal to help finance Leida Investments. With the money from her trust funds, she would have more than enough capital, and while she wouldn’t totally be able to escape the assumptions because of her last name, she would no longer be under the restrictions and expectations of her brother and her family reputation.

  From birth, she’d been under a man’s thumb: her father’s, her brother’s and now Gideon’s.

  In just six months, she would be liberated from them all.

  “Here you go, babe.” Bridgette handed her an order of pad thai, disrupting her thoughts of emancipation. “That’s number 66.”

  “Thanks.” Shay accepted it, bagged it and carried it to the window. “Here you go.” She passed the food to the customer with a smile and turned to the next person in line. “Hi, how can I—”

  Oh hell.

  Gideon.

  Her eyes widened as she stared at his cold, harsh expression. “What are you doing here?” she asked, and in spite of the “you don’t own me” speech she’d just delivered to herself, apprehension quivered through her at the anger glittering in his gaze.

  “Wasting my time hunting you down, apparently,” he ground out. “You’re already reneging on our arrangement, and it hasn’t even been two days. I warned you about thinking I would dance—”

  “Hey, man, order and move on. Some of us have to get back to work,” someone yelled from in back of Gideon. And when several more grumbles of agreement followed, Gideon whipped his head around. Immediately, the mumbling ceased.

  Good Lord. That was some superpower.

  He returned his attention to her and in spite of his glare, she hiked her chin up. “I’m helping a friend out. She needed me today.”

  His gaze narrowed further, and he growled, “Open the door.”

  Before she could reply, he stalked off and disappeared. But seconds later, a hard rap at the side door echoed in the truck. From the grill, Bridgette tossed her a “what the hell?” look, and, bemused, Shay shrugged and unlocked it.

  The door jerked open, and Gideon strode through it. His big body and intense presence seemed to shrink the interior to that of a toy truck.

  Bridgette stared at him, openmouthed and struck silent. Which wasn’t an easy feat. With sharp movements, he jerked off his coat and suit jacket and hung them on a wall hook. Then he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and pinned both her and Bridgette with that dark glare.

  “Well?” he snapped. “Where do you need me?”

  Need him? What was happening?

  Bridgette recovered first. “Can you cook?” At his abrupt nod, she handed him a knife. “You get an order of cashew chicken going, and I’ll get the green curry.”

  Without a word, he crossed to the sink, washed his hands, then accepted the utensil and started chopping fresh vegetables and chicken like a pro. Bridgette again shot her a look, but Shay shrugged, still stunned and confused.

  “You have customers waiting,” Gideon reminded her, without turning around.

  Now the man had eyes on the back of his head as well as cooking skills?

  Again...what the hell?

  Shaking her head, she returned to the window and the ever-growing line outside. For the next couple hours, the three of them worked like a well-oiled machine. Shay still couldn’t quite grasp that Gideon Knight was there in the cramped quarters of a food truck, cooking Thai entrées like a professional.

  She tried to imagine Trevor jumping in and helping out and couldn’t. The image refused to solidify, because her brother would never have done it. Not many men of her acquaintance would’ve bothered getting their hands dirty. But then again, two hours ago she wouldn’t have been able to picture Gideon getting his hands dirty, either. And especially not for her.

  As Bridgette closed the serving window and hung the Closed sign, questions crowded into Shay’s head. But before she could ask them, he turned, tugging down his sleeves and rebuttoning the cuffs.

  “I’ll be by to pick you up at seven tonight for a dinner party. This time, be there and ready,” Gideon ordered, thrusting his arms into his jacket, then his coat, his tone warning her not to argue. And for once, she heeded it. “And don’t keep me waiting.”

  With a brisk nod at Bridgette, he stalked out the door, leaving a weighty silence behind.

  Bridgette was the first to break it.

  “What in the hell just happened?” she yelled, voicing the same question that had been plaguing Shay since Gideon’s sudden appearance.

  And her answer was the same.

  Damned if she knew.

  * * *

  Hours later, Shay stood in the foyer and stared at the f
ront door as the ring of the doorbell echoed through her house.

  Seven o’clock. Right on the dot.

  Her pulse raced, and the roar of it filled her head, deafening her. Nerves. They waged war inside her, turning her belly into a churned-up battlefield. Any sane woman would be anxious about entering a charade and perpetrating a fraud on everyone she knew and cared about.

  But she would be lying to herself if she attributed the lion’s share of the nerves to their arrangement. No, that honor belonged to the man himself.

  Who was Gideon Knight?

  The attentive, protective and devastatingly sensual stranger from the night of the blackout? The aloof billionaire and brilliant CEO of a global tech company? The ruthless, revenge-driven ex-fiancé? The man who barged into a food truck, rolled up his sleeves and selflessly helped serve the Chicago masses?

  Which one was real? And why did they all fascinate her?

  Exhaling a breath, she rubbed her damp palms down her thighs. No fascination. Or curiosity. Both were hazardous and would only lead to a slippery, dangerous slope. One where she could convince herself that the tender, generous man was the true one, and the one who held her brother’s future over her head was the aberration.

  What had been one of her mother’s favorite sayings? “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.” Well, Gideon had shown her he would go to any lengths, no matter how merciless, to achieve what he wanted. Even if it meant using and hurting other people in the process. She needed to believe this truth.

  And accept it.

  The doorbell rang again, and it unglued her feet, propelling her forward. She unlocked and opened the door, revealing her date for the evening. No, correction—the man she was madly in love with for the next six months.

  Gideon stared down at her, his black eyes slowly traversing the curls and waves she’d opted for tonight, down the black cocktail dress with its sheer side cutouts and sleeves, to the stilettos that added four inches to her height. When his eyes met hers again, she barely caught herself before taking a step back from the heat there. It practically seared her skin.