A Bona Fide Gold Digger (24 page)

Downstairs, Milan dressed at a leisurely pace. She collected her watch from the coffee table, took one last glance at the home she’d hoped to share. “I’ll let myself out,” she whispered to herself as she solemnly opened the front door.

She thought about the money she’d paid Gerard…Oh well, she shrugged, accepting the loss. There was plenty more money at home in the trunk, and in Noah’s bank account.

A
t three in the morning the city was asleep. On her way home, deep in thought, Milan drove well below the speed limit. An occasional commercial truck zoomed past as her car crawled along City Avenue. But for the most part, Milan had the road to herself.

She needed to hatch a plan, come up with a believable explanation for her nearly twelve-hour absence. It was foolish to risk Noah’s ire so close to their wedding date. In retrospect, she realized she should have stayed home and kept an eye on him—on her assets. The prize was so close at hand and she’d invested far too much of herself to lose out now.

Suppose he’d keeled over and died while she was out playing the role of submissive? Being a mere fiancée, she wasn’t yet entitled to any portion of Noah’s vast fortune. It would be just her luck to get home and find him dead as a doornail. The thought gave her a shudder and prompted her to press down on the gas.

Instead of running out and wasting her time on a man who obviously didn’t want her, she should have been at home doting on the ol’ fool. As an act of good faith, she could have volunteered to inject herself with a batch of Noah’s useless semen. Making the gesture might have gained his trust and it definitely would have earned her some extra cash. But she’d lost control of her emotions and had gone running to Gerard.

Gerard.
The thought of him hurt her heart. But the time had come to face some hard facts. Sure, her trainer was one of the most handsome men on the planet, and yes, he exuded sensuality. He had turned her out, had whipped her with just the promise of dick. The lifestyle Gerard offered was kinky and sexually arousing, but no matter how docile she was, how well she behaved, her loyalty and obedience would never be enough. Most likely, her collar would have said:
Property of Gerard and Ming.
Gathering the strength to leave Gerard had been a wise decision. It was time to get back to the business of money and marriage.

Finally home, Milan pulled into the long driveway. Believing her eyes were deceiving her, she blinked rapidly to clear her vision and then gawked at the white stretch limousine that blocked the entrance to the garage.
What the hell?
Then it hit her. Her worst fear had been realized. Noah had been secretly conversing over the phone with distant relatives and now his impoverished country cousins had shown up. And they had the audacity to arrive in style. While she was away, they’d pounced upon him and at this very moment were probably forcing a pen into his hand, persuading him to include them in his will.

Livid, Milan was ready to wage war with the interlopers. Unable to maneuver around the long and impressive vehicle, she left her car idling as she stormed over to the driver’s side of the limo. The expensive purr of the limousine’s engine infuriated her. Noah’s relatives had a lot of nerve carousing around with a hired chauffeur. She imagined they were gearing up for the high life they intended to live after they got their grubby fingers on Noah’s money.

She knocked sharply on the tinted window. She could see the shadowy silhouette of the driver who sat behind the wheel. He didn’t turn his head an inch, just looked straight ahead, deliberately ignoring her.

How dare he!
Enraged, Milan pounded on the smoky glass. Finally, the window eased down. “Yes?” The driver’s pudgy face was creased in annoyance.

“Move this
thing
—” She looked disgustedly at the elegant limo as if it were a battered pick-up truck. “You’re blocking me; I’d like to park in
my
garage if you don’t mind.”

“No, dice,” the driver said, shaking his head. “Park over there.” He inclined his head toward an area near the garage.

Milan could feel the heat of rage. She was tired and irritable and close to slapping the rude driver. Weren’t limo drivers required to be courteous and solicitous? Most likely, his boldness reflected the entitled attitude of the people who hired him. Noah’s relatives had a lot of gall instructing the driver to take up half a mile of the driveway. Noah wasn’t even in his grave and already they were behaving as if they had the privilege of running the Brockington estate.

Milan cut off her engine and left her car parked crookedly. With anger boiling over, she hurried to the front door, intending to cuss out Noah’s country cousins. She wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if all her ghetto ways resurfaced and she came to blows with the money-grubbing relatives.

With her key, she hastily unlocked the front door, but stopped dead still when she heard the voice of a man. He was upstairs yelling at Noah. “I can’t believe you’d do such a dishonest and despicable thing!” shouted the British-sounding voice.

Milan arched a curious brow. That couldn’t be a relative—not with an English accent. It had to be Noah’s best friend from England. What the hell was he doing here, weeks before the wedding?

“What did you expect me to do, wait forever?” Noah responded, his arrogant tone overlaid with a whiny pitch.

Wondering if she should race up the stairs and demand an explanation, Milan stared at the staircase for what seemed like endless moments. There was more than a touch of authority in the Brit’s tone that kept her frozen in place. She needed more information before barging into Noah’s suite, so she decided to listen in silence for a few more minutes.

“I certainly didn’t expect you to throw a temper tantrum and disperse my money as recklessly as you would if you were playing a game of Monopoly.”

At those words, a sharp sense of dread knifed through her. Milan swallowed in apprehension.
Dear Lord! It can’t be true. Please tell me that scumbag did not give me money that didn’t belong to him.
She tasted salty bile that rose up her throat and forced it down. She couldn’t have a total meltdown. Not yet. She had to get to the bottom of this disastrous situation.

I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I didn’t hear the entire exchange; I entered the house mid-conversation…I obviously misinterpreted their words. Yes, that’s what happened, I misunderstood.

Moving with a daring she didn’t possess in her heart, Milan swiftly climbed the stairs and barged into Noah’s bedroom. “What’s going on, Noah?”

“Hello…uh, my dear,” Noah said tensely. “Where have you been? You look terrible. Were you accosted?” He was sitting up in bed, cushioned by his mountain of pillows. His complexion had lost its recent healthy appearance, he was back to his former withered appearance and unhealthy pallor.

Milan took a quick glance in the bureau mirror. She looked a haggard wreck; her hair was tousled as if she’d just rolled out of bed. She attempted to smooth back her hair but gave up; there wasn’t much she could do with her appearance. “No, no. I wasn’t accosted; I was, um…I spent some time with my family. I’m sorry, I should have told you,” she explained with a curious eye fixed on the stranger.

The visitor, a grim-faced, expensively attired white man, sat erect in a chair across from Noah’s bed. He seemed to sneer at Milan. He had aristocratic, handsome features, thick salt-and-pepper-colored hair, and brown eyes. Angry brown eyes that shifted in Milan’s direction. There was tension in the room that stretched Milan’s nerves taut; she wished she had delayed her entrance until the air had cleared. Swallowing the knot of fear in her throat, she asked, “Is something wrong, Noah?”

“No, no. Of course not,” he stammered. “I’d like you to meet Hayden McIntyre, my, uh, dearest friend from London,” Noah said with an uneasy chuckle.

“I’m not your friend; I’m your
employer
from London,” the Brit interjected spitefully.

“His employer? What are you talking about? Noah is an independently wealthy man,” Milan protested, gawking at Noah and waiting for him to chime in and agree with her.

“Allow me to correct myself,” Hayden said and then ceremoniously cleared his throat. “Noah Brockington is my
former
employee. He’s currently unemployed. He’s now a penniless pauper,” Hayden McIntyre said with a ruthless narrowing of his eyes.

A penniless pauper?
The fateful words dropped from the British man’s lips seemed to echo. Milan’s mouth gaped open. “Noah isn’t rich?” Her eyes darted questioningly from Noah to Hayden.

Noah gave Milan a sheepish “
he’s just kidding”
smile.

“Noah doesn’t have a pot to piss in.” Hayden bent over in malicious laughter.

Noah’s smile twitched and then faded. It was replaced with an unhappy expression.

Milan’s temples throbbed. Her heart rate accelerated.

“It appears you’ve been taken for a ride,” Hayden taunted. “And you won’t be getting another red cent of my money,” he said with bitterness.

This wasn’t possible. It was a bad dream. It had to be. She was not a stupid woman. She was far too bright to have endured Noah’s absurdities and perversions only to end up getting stiffed.

But the pompous tilt to Hayden’s chin, the scornful glint in his eyes, told her that she had indeed been duped. Anxiety welled up inside her. The overpowering sense of dread sharpened to the point of physical pain. She clutched her chest and sagged against one of the pillars in the vast bedroom.

“How could you do this to me, Noah?” she asked in a raspy voice.

“I—I was trying to hurt Hayden.”

“Well, it worked. You hurt me deeply,” Hayden responded.

“Hurt him? Why?” Milan wanted to know. “And what does your hurting him have to do with, um, your finances?” she stammered, unable to concentrate because her mind kept replaying the words,
Noah doesn’t have a pot to piss in.

“Put yourself in my place,” Noah appealed to Hayden, looking anguished. “What would you have done if you were made to wait as long as you’ve had me waiting?”

“I left you with several million dollars in cash for your comfort and to prove my intentions—” He stopped talking, took a deep breath. “That was money my wife didn’t know about and couldn’t touch if she involved me in a bitter divorce.” Hayden sighed loudly. “But my good intentions weren’t enough, were they, Noah?” he continued, shaking his head regretfully. “Every time I called, all you did was whine and complain about your health.”

Something really strange was going on here. Something more than an employer/employee relationship. And that something didn’t bode well for Milan. A new sense of dread crept up the back of her neck. Thoughts flitted to the secret phone calls she’d overheard. She’d thought Noah had been having clandestine telephone conversations with distant relatives—bemoaning his fate, but he had actually been talking with Hayden McIntyre.

From his bed, Noah groaned. “Hayden! Try to understand—”

Hayden held up a hand. “There’s nothing to understand. You betrayed me. You violated my trust,” Hayden accused. “I allowed you to live in the lap of luxury, provided you with credit cards, a personal cook, and household staff…” Hayden uttered a disdainful sound. “Now I see you with clearer vision. I see you as you really are—you’re nothing more than a servant.
My
manservant.”

Noah gasped. “How could you throw that in my face…after all we’ve meant to each other.” His demeanor and vocal delivery were suddenly quite feminine, Milan noted with an arched brow.

“I was foolish to expect a domestic to behave as a gentleman.” Hayden smiled sardonically. Weeping, Noah pulled a handkerchief from his pajama pocket and covered his face.

Milan’s mouth went dry. She could actually feel her heart plunging into her stomach. Noah wasn’t even employed in a dignified position. He was a servant.
A manservant!
Being a manservant sounded worse than being a butler, for Chrissakes!

“What’s he talking about, Noah? Do you work for this man? Are you his servant?”

Noah uncovered his face. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her and there was something in his pathetic face that made the answer all too clear. She was engaged to marry a pauper. Milan was shocked speechless. She could have kicked herself for ignoring the warning signs.

How could she have been so gullible to believe this fool—this manservant—was a wealthy person? No wonder she couldn’t find any information about the Brockington family when she searched online. He probably came from a long line of freakin’ sharecroppers. Employed as a manservant, Noah was probably considered the family’s success story!

“You bastard!” she shouted at Noah. “I should sue you for false representation.”

“It serves you right, you gold-digging little trollop!” Hayden spat, standing up combatively as if prepared to get physical with Milan. “That ring you’re wearing is a family heirloom.” He glared at Noah. “I can’t believe you gave her my Aunt Gwyneth’s ring!”

Milan gawked at the hideous ring and then jerked her head in Noah’s direction. “Does my ring belong to his aunt?” she asked, knowing the answer.

A troubling thought in the back of her mind demanded attention. She grimaced in discomfort and replayed Noah and Hayden’s conversation in her mind. As the fuzz cleared, their emotional exchange finally became obvious: Noah had been a kept man. He and Hayden McIntyre were involved in a homosexual relationship.
Oh God!

Noah nodded. “Yes,” he sobbed. “The ring belongs to Hayden.” He cried openly, tears streaming down his cheeks. Milan detested him; she’d never despised a human being more than she despised Noah. His emotional display was so gay. And revolting. She had nothing against homosexuals but she certainly didn’t appreciate being duped into a twisted sexual relationship with a man who presented himself as straight. A red flag should have waved like crazy the very first time he requested anal penetration. But blinded by greed, she’d ignored it. Now she was left to deal with circumstances that she refused to even ponder at the moment.