Alpha Billionaire’s Bride, Part Two (BWWM Romance Serial) (3 page)

“There you are,” Ian said. “That was quick.”

“You know Mrs. Best, sir,” Elly said. “She whipped up a
lovely omelet and a few other goodies in a snap.”

“And you sped it right up here, too. Good girl. Thank you.”

Elly mumbled and shuffled her feet. Poor girl couldn’t take
a compliment. He cleared his throat. “So, if you would, I’d like you to make
Jada your priority while she’s here. Sasha and Mrs. Brimgore will probably try
to steal you away, but don’t let them. Tell them I said you are to focus on
Jada whenever she wants you, okay?”

Elly didn’t appear impressed with the idea of standing up to
Sasha and Agatha.

“I’ll tell Nina to call in some extra help to take care of
those two. Is that better?” Ian asked.

She exhaled in relief. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Ian nodded, turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, and Elly, if
Jada’s up to it after she eats, have Deb come and give her a massage. Good.
That’ll be all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ian took a few more steps, then stopped again, turned. “Oh,
and before Jada goes to bed, please find her cat for her.”

“Yes, sir. That’s easy. Ms. Kitty’s in the kitchen.”

“Good. Bring her to Jada’s room before you turn in, please.
That’s all.”

He turned again, walked a ways before realizing he hadn’t
heard Elly open the door to Jada’s room. He raised a hand and called out, “I
really am done now. Get that food to her before it gets cold.”

“Thank you, sir” the young woman said.

He heard her knock lightly on the door and the soft reply of
“Come in.”

He wished he was going back in that room instead of being
forced to suffer more of the Brimgore woman’s company. It was Sullivan’s fault,
every bit of it. He wouldn’t have come out to the lake cabin if Sullivan hadn’t
persuaded him. And he never would have been put in the position of guarding a
woman he’d much rather seduce than protect.

And Brimgore never would have found him out here if Sullivan
hadn’t told her where Ian was.

Ian trudged down the curving staircase to the first floor,
reluctantly heading to the dining room. He could hear the woman already, her
shrill, nasal voice carrying down the hallway and skewering his eardrums like a
pike.

Damn that Sullivan. Ian should fire him—twice.

THE NEXT MORNING, JADA FULFILLED her promise to herself and
had breakfast on her balcony. It was a beautiful morning, some chill still in
the air, with brilliant blue skies and a fair breeze rippling the surface of
the sparkling lake.

Birds chirped and sang to one another through the woods and
across the lake. Someone must have trimmed the path edges already that morning
because the scent of cut grass wafted in the air, blending with tangy pine and
sweet wildflowers.

Jada sipped the delicious, freshly-squeezed orange juice and
wriggled her toes in her warm, furry slippers. A cool gust made her shiver and
she tugged on the lapels of her downy, fuzzy robe.

This had to be the height of decadence, she thought, setting
down the juice and tearing off another piece of the freshly-baked, buttery
croissant. Mrs. Best’s skills were a wonder. The roll practically melted on
Jada’s tongue.

She leaned back in the chair and sighed. It would have been
an ideal morning but for a few unfortunate things. One, Ian was gone, and two,
Jada had made a total ass out of herself the night before.

The instant she’d woken up, she remembered what happened.
Jada couldn’t believe she’d gotten half-drunk and said so many moronic things.
Why, oh why, couldn’t she be a blackout drunk and not recall any of it? Why did
she have to remember every single, excruciating detail?

Whenever she thought about it, even now, outside on the
balcony basking in the splendor of Ian’s estate, her face grew warm and she
became slightly nauseous. She couldn’t recall being more embarrassed. Lesbian
song? Man-sealing harlot? Telling everyone she’d kissed Ian?

She wanted to disappear, melt away.

To make matters worse, she still hadn’t heard from her
sister. Marina always returned Jada’s calls quickly. She was aching to tell
Marina everything that had happened and had texted her several times that
morning. She’d gotten no response.

Now Jada was getting worried. What if something had happened
to Marina? Something bad?

She told herself not to worry, and overcome by the sudden
need to move, she hopped out of her chair and leaned on the balcony’s iron
railing, scanning the wide sweep of natural grounds. She should go for a walk,
she thought. Maybe it would rid her of her antsy nervousness.

Swift movement to her right caught her attention and she
peered down the stone path. She saw someone jogging, someone tall and thin.
Sasha. Oh hell no. Jada wasn’t ready to face her today. She tried to duck backwards,
out of sight, but didn’t do it quickly enough.

“Hey there!” Sasha cried out. “I see you, Mrs. Buckley! Out
enjoying the beautiful weather, are you?”

Jada sighed. Caught. Damn. She leaned back out over the
railing. “Yes, and I see you are, too.”

Sasha’s svelte form drew ever closer. Jada realized
something was running beside her, something small ... and multi-colored. It
couldn’t be.

“Is that my cat?” Jada asked as Sasha pulled up to a stop
under her balcony.

“Oh, is she yours?” Sasha wasn’t even breathing hard. She
smiled down at Ms. Kitty, who promptly sat down and began daintily licking a
paw. “She fell in with me down by the east docks. Didn’t you, Cat?” She
directed the question to the fastidious feline. “That’s right.” She looked back
up at Jada. “I’ve named her Cat.”

“Her name’s Ms. Kitty,” Jada called down.

“Really? That’s not a very good name. Mine’s better. I’ll
call her Cat.” Sasha bent down and patted Ms. Kitty’s head.

“You can’t name her. She’s mine.”

“Meh,” Sasha said with a shrug, “she’s a cat. It’s not like
she’s going to come when you call her anyway, no matter what name you use.”

Jada had to smile. “You’ve got a point. Fine, call her
whatever you want.”

Sasha squinted at the horizon then back at Jada. “I’m going
to make another circuit, probably. You wanna come? We’ll wait at the steps if
you want.”

“No, thanks. I’m not a runner.”

“Okay. Come on then, Cat. Glad someone around here is
interested in fitness. See you around, Mrs. Buckley. Let’s hang out in the
jacuzzi later.”

Sasha waved and jogged off, Ms. Kitty trotting beside her.

Jada watched them go with a bemused expression. She was
growing increasingly certain that someone had switched her anti-social cat for
a look-alike, gregarious impostor.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she snatched it out,
checking the caller. Marina. Finally.

Jada waved her hand in the air as if Marina could see it.
“Where have you been!”

“Hi to you, too,” Marina said, sounding tired.

“I’ve been texting and calling all morning. And you didn’t
call or text me last night, either.” She threw open the door to her bedroom and
stalked inside.

“I’m sorry. It’s been crazy. I’m going to call you back on a
different phone. So don’t worry if you don’t recognize the number. It’s me.
I’ll call you right back.”

Jada’s phone beeped. Marina had ended the call. Jada paced
her room and stared at her cell. When it buzzed, she answered right away.

“Marina?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry about everything.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want you to worry. I’m fine.”

“Tell me what happened,” Jada insisted.

“Well, you’re not going to like this, but ... since the
press couldn’t find you, they’ve been hounding everyone who ever knew you. And
that especially includes me, your sister.”

Jada gasped. “That’s terrible. Are you okay? Where are you?
Are they at your apartment? Did they—”

“I’m fine. I managed to get away. I’m hiding out in a
fleabag motel between the city and Springers Glen.”

“Marina, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Listen,” Jada said, “you probably won’t be safe at a motel
like that. Go to the city and check into a nice place. I’ll pay for it.”

“I’m fine where I am, truly. I just feel bad that I can’t
investigate your marriage license like you wanted. Reporters are swarming all
over Springers Glen right now and they’d catch me for sure if I—”

“No, no. Don’t go back there. Never mind the investigation.
You need to stay safe. And anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind this
fiasco.”

“You are?” Marina sounded shocked.

“Don’t be so surprised. I may not be a reporter like you,
but I can put two and two together.”

“You can? You have?”

Jada rolled her eyes. “I can, and have. I think it was
Agatha Brimgore.”

Silence on the other end of the call.

“Marina? Are you still there?” Jada asked.

Silence for a few more seconds, then Marina answered, “Yeah.
What’s an Agatha Brimgore, exactly?”

“You mean who. She’s Sasha’s publicist. I met both of them
last night.”

“Sasha?”

“Yep. And you won’t believe what she’s like.”

“Tell me everything.”

Jada curled up into a wing-backed chair and tucked her feet
under her. She gave Marina all the gory details of the previous night, spilling
everything except how Jada got embarrassingly tipsy on three glasses of wine.

Marina sounded more worn out than ever when Jada finished
her tale, having reacted powerfully to nearly everything Jada said.

“I can’t believe Sasha wasn’t really dating Ian,” Marina
said.

“I know. And you can’t tell anyone, Marina. Swear you
won’t.”

“I promised I wouldn’t. You want me to prick my finger in a
blood vow or something?”

“Actually, I kind of do. I shouldn’t have told anyone, but I
couldn’t help myself.”

“Hell, Jada, a saint couldn’t have kept that secret. Anyway,
I’m your sister. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Thanks. So what do you think about my theory that Agatha
Brimgore leaked a fake marriage license to the press as a publicity stunt?”

“Um, it’s not a bad theory, I guess.” Marina sounded
uncertain, hesitant. “I’m wondering, though, if she did that, why would she
choose you to marry him? You don’t know her and she doesn’t know you.”

“True,” Jada said. “That’s a hitch in my theory. There are
still a few minor details to work out.”

“Okay, well, anyway ... have you seen Ian today?”

“No. He’s gone. He told me last night he’d be leaving early
for the city.”

“That’s too bad—oh my God.”

“What?”

“I just flipped on the TV and you aren’t going to believe
this. You got a television close? Turn it to the Celebrity Gossip Channel.”

Jada shuddered. “I’m not going to like this, I know it.”

“Turn it on. Now,” Marina insisted.

Jada went over and climbed onto her massive, canopied bed.
She used the remote to raise the big flatscreen TV from the gleaming wood
cabinet at the bed’s footboard. She found the menu on the TV and selected CGTV.

The title of the program displayed at the top of the screen:
“Ian and Jada, a Story of Secret, Runaway Love.”

Jada wanted to turn the stupid thing off, but she couldn’t
do it. This was worse than a train wreck, with an off-the-charts gawk factor.
“That’s got to be the dumbest—”

“Most amazing thing ever,” Marina finished with glee. “Shh!
They’re telling Ian’s life story.”

Jada shook her head and listened to Ian’s biography, CGTV
style. And CGTV style basically meant repeating every piece of titillating
gossip ever whispered about the billionaire’s sex life. A lengthy chain of
women claimed to have been Ian’s lovers at one time or another. One middle-aged
woman swore she took Ian’s virginity when he was a teenager.

“This is revolting,” Jada said. “This isn’t a biography; it’s
a sideshow of tawdry bimbos.”

“Ha-ha! Exactly. It’s fabulous.”

A crisp knock sounded on Jada’s door and she knew from the
sound that it was Elly. She called for her to come in.

Young Elly stepped inside, looking fresh and neat with her
crisp white apron and bobbed, brown hair. “I came to get your breakfast dishes
if you’re finished.”

“Who’s that?” Marina asked on the phone.

“It’s Elly. I told you about her.” Jada looked at the girl.
“Thanks Elly. I’m finished. Except for the rest of that croissant out there.
Can you bring it to me?”

“Of course.” Elly headed out onto the balcony with a bright
smile.

“Are you making that poor girl fetch your food for you?”
Marina teased.

“I am. You’d be surprised how quickly you adjust to the good
life. You ought to see Ms. Kitty.”

“Hell no. It’d probably kill me. I’m already nearly dead
from jealousy.”

“Right now, Ms. Kitty’s out jogging with Sasha.”

“I’m dying. Seriously. I’m keeling over from one of those
busted brain vein thingies. I hope you’re happy.”

Jada grinned. “Oh, here’s Elly with my buttery, flaky
croissant. Thank you so much.”

“I love croissants,” Marina whined. “I’m stuck in a crummy
fleabag motel eating stale potato chips from a vending machine, and you’re
eating fresh-baked pastries while your stupid cat is hanging with a supermodel.
It’s not fair.”

“Yeah well, look at the TV. They’re getting ready to start
in on me and I’ve got a feeling you won’t be jealous much longer.” Dread rose
up in Jada’s stomach. She set the croissant aside.

Elly stood beside the bed and eyed the TV. “Is that program
about you, Miss Jada?”

“Right now it is,” Jada answered.

“Can I watch?” Elly asked.

Jada scooted over in the bed and patted the spot she’d
vacated. “Have a seat. But don’t believe a word you’re getting ready to hear.”

“I know how it is. They’re always making up stories about
Mr. Ian.” She perched on the edge of the bed.

On the TV, one of the more popular hosts at CGTV, Piper
Sandy, narrated the show in an aggressively chipper tone.

“Jada Howarth grew up in the quaint hamlet of Springers
Glen,” Piper pronounced as the screen filled with a panning image of the town
square. “It’s the kind of place with lots of precious bed and breakfasts, and
where everyone knows your name when you go to the local farmer’s market.”

Jada snorted. “What nonsense. It’s not that small.”

“It’s pretty small,” Marina said in her ear.

“The population is over 10,000. I don’t know all 10,000
people, do you?”

“No, but ... whatever,” Marina said.

At the same time, Elly said, “I only know you, Miss Jada.”

“Sorry,” Jada said to Elly. “I was talking to Marina. She’s
my sister. On the phone.” She held out her cell.

“Oh, your sister? Tell her I said hi.”

“Elly says hi, Marina.”

“Tell her I said hi back.”

“Hi back, Elly.”

The picture on the screen changed to a cringe-worthy school
photo of Jada in second grade when she’d recently lost one of her front teeth
and would only go to school if her mother let her wear a huge, feathery pom-pom
on the top of her head.

“Jada was an eccentric child, who attended school at this
picturesque little building,” Piper crooned, the screen changing to a small
school that Jada had never seen before. It looked like a one room schoolhouse
from the nineteenth century.

Jada snorted. “What a crock.”

Elly shot her an uncertain glance while Marina shushed her.

A tiny, wrinkled elderly woman with a snow white bun on top
of her head appeared on the screen. Jada didn’t recognize the woman until she
read the caption: “Stella Crocker, retired kindergarten teacher.”

“It’s Mrs. Crocker!” Jada and Miranda called out in unison.

“She looks so old,” Miranda said.

Jada goggled. “She must be a hundred and fifty. She was
ancient back then.”

“Oh yes, I remember Jada well,” Mrs. Crocker said in her
crackly, fragile voice. “She was a very good girl. Always washed her hands
after she used the bathroom and never ate the glue sticks. I knew she’d turn
out fine. Her younger sister was another matter. That one was trouble from the
git-go. She ate glue sticks like they were sweet pickles.”