An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3) (13 page)

A long pause. “You’re right.”

“Finally. Some common sense. Look, sis, stop worrying about me. Worry about yourself.”

“Me?”

“You need a husband soon. At least us guys can choose from assistants and strippers. What are you going to do? Gigolos aren’t really your thing.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll think of something.”

“And for god’s sake, don’t do a one-year thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you, and you need somebody who adores you. You deserve a man who launches a thousand ships, razes cities, builds empires in your name…”

She laughs, but the sound lacks humor. “That’s so medieval. How much did you drink?”

“Nah, I’m totally sober.” I’d just hate it if she ends up with a womanizing asshole like me. The odds of that happening area really low so I’m probably worried about nothing. The girl—Gigi—wants my money, desperately so. Elizabeth is beautiful, kind, and most importantly, wealthy. Besides, her mother’s side of the family is filthy rich and über well-connected. They’d never let anything happen to her.

She sighs. “I just wonder if we’re all dancing to Dad’s tune, rushing into marriage with people we would’ve never chosen otherwise. It seems to be working out for Ryder, but I don’t know about you.”

I give a gasp of mock outrage. “Are you saying she isn’t good enough because she’s
a stripper?
”

“No! My gosh, don’t put words into my mouth. There’s nothing wrong with stripping. It’s honest work.”

“Well. That’s very…open-minded of you.”

“I’m not upset about her job history. I’m just not sure if both of you will be happy together for a year.”

“Sis, it’s only a year.”

“It’s three hundred and sixty-five days of your life, Elliot.” Her voice is quiet. “With the wrong person, that can feel like an eternity.”

“Jeez. When did you become so…philosophical?”

“When I realized we’re doing things that we would never do just for the paintings. I wonder if that’s what Grandpa would’ve wanted.”

She has a point. But Grandpa Thomas is gone, and Dad has his portraits… I sigh.

Grandpa was the only one in the family who cared. Dad was too busy with his various wives, and Mom was too distracted with her new husband and the life she was trying to create to ensure that Dad saw how much better off she was without him. That left no time for us, and we were shipped off to Europe for boarding schools.

For the best and the most prestigious education money can buy
, they claimed. But we all knew the truth. It was the easiest and the most PR-positive way to unload us.

We spent almost every holiday with Grandpa, since he lived in Italy at that time. A world-renowned artist, he painted our portraits when we turned eighteen. They were how he saw us…in our youth, at the height of our potential. Every loving brushstroke spoke of his high regard and hopes for us, and I want mine so bad it hurts. It’s the only thing I’ll have of him.

“Don’t you want them?” I ask.

“Of course I do. It’s just…” She takes a moment. “I can’t help but wonder if this is the way to do it.”

“There is no other way, unless Dad keels over before he can change his will.”

Assuming he’s even left the portraits to us in his latest version. He could’ve very well left instructions to have them burned, for no other reason than to spite us. Dad isn’t just an asshole…he’s the entire fucking lower intestine.

A moment passes before she says, “You sure you don’t want me to attend the ceremony?”

“Yes. We’re going to do it the fastest and easiest way. It’s all a formality, nothing special.” I stretch out on the couch. “If I do find the woman of my dreams, I’ll have a grand ceremony and invite you. How about that?”

She lets out a short skeptical puff of air, but still says, “Deal.”

* * *

Annabelle

Despite her promise, Nonny’s still up. Technically she’s in bed, but she’s wide awake, so I consider that breaking the spirit of the promise.

“But it’s not my fault!” she protests. “I was in
Ryder Reed’s Ferrari!
It even smelled like him inside.” A dreamy smile curves her mouth, and she sighs softly.

“And how do you know what Ryder Reed smells like?”

“Because! Who else could it smell like?”

“Some Italian guy named Ferrari?”

She makes a face. “You’re no fun.” Then she suddenly sits up. “So why did Elliot call you Gigi? That’s not your name.”

“It’s a long story.” How can I tell my sister I’m going to pretend to be some woman named Gigi so Elliot can marry me and get his kicks in return for a million dollars?

“I’ve got time,” she insists in that stubborn tone of hers. It reminds me of my younger self…before everything came crashing down and I had to grow up.

“No, you don’t. You have school tomorrow.”

She pouts. “Fine. Then how come you never told me you’re dating Ryder Reed’s half-brother?”

I roll my eyes, but at least this is something I can answer without lying. “It never came up, and I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t
know?
”

“Do you ask boys in your class if they’re related to somebody famous when you first meet them?”

Nonny’s mouth purses.

“Right. And Elliot didn’t volunteer the information. So…”

“Well I’d sure volunteer the information! I’m going to tattoo
I’m related to Ryder Reed
on my chest after you marry Elliot.”

“Agh! No!”

“Why not?”

“My gosh, Nonny. You’re too young for that. Besides, what if…uh…Ryder loses all his hair prematurely? You still going to be okay with the tattoo?”

“The men in his family don’t really go bald. I checked.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “There will be no talk about tattooing in this household until you’re at least eighteen.” I give her my sternest look. “I’m serious.”

She huffs. “Fine.”

“And Nonny… Don’t breathe a word about Elliot—or Ryder—to anyone.”

“But—”

“Please.”

Her stubborn look says she won’t give in so easily.

I wrack my brain for something, and finally say, “Talking about good things too early can jinx them.”

She frowns. “You think so?”

“Yes. That’s why you don’t even think about it until it’s a done deal. It would be really bad if you didn’t get to meet Ryder Reed because you talked too soon.”

“No way! A jinx? That’s just a silly superstition.”

I shrug. “Fine. Jinx it. It’s only your chance to meet
the
Ryder Reed…”

“Oh my god, that’s so evil!”

I hide my smile. She wouldn’t talk even if a thousand flying monkeys came after her. “Now go to sleep. I’m going to take a shower.”

She sticks her tongue out, but drops back on the mattress and pulls the sheet up. “By the way, a bunch of boxes came for you. I put them in your section of the closet.”

They must be from the store Josephine and I went to. “Did you see what they were?” I ask.

“No. They’re all sealed.” Nonny turns. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Normally she’d show more interest, but I guess she’s too distracted by the whole Ryder Reed thing to care.

I go to the bathroom to get out of my clothes and wash away the slickness between my legs. It’s been driving me crazy, reminding me of the shameless way I responded to Elliot at the restaurant.

My skin’s still prickling, and the warm water only serves to sensitize me. I do my best to keep my touch quick and clinical, but when I clean the slipperiness between my thighs, I can’t help but hiss.

Need thickens. I want him to touch me again. I want to know if what I experienced at the restaurant was a fluke—some kind of delusion fueled by nerves and the illicitness of our location—or if it’s something more than that. Something…real.

It would be a shame if it turns out to be a one-time thing. But a part of me also dreads that it might be a special chemistry we have. That it might be…him.

A man who won’t even call me by my own name.

Annabelle

The second I put my breakfast bowl into the dishwasher, I get a text. It isn’t from a number I recognize, but I immediately know who sent it.

Call your boss and tell him you quit
.
Don’t bother going in
.
I’m sending a car
.

I scowl. So now he’s got my phone number, too. How like him to know everything. Well, not everything. There are things about me that no amount of digging will unearth.

I have plans
. I don’t, but I’m annoyed enough to fib.

Cancel
.
Movers are going to be there soon
,
so get dressed before they show up and pack everything
.
Marriage ceremony is at one thirty
.

The urge to fight ebbs. Of course. The agreement. The dinner last night. Everything we’re doing is about that one year of temporary marriage where I give him sex and he gives me money at the end.

I rub my belly. I’m peckish, but decide not to raid the pantry for cereal. We don’t have much left, and I want to save it for Nonny. I’ll just have an early lunch.

I walk into my closet and see the boxes from last night. The whole Ryder Reed thing really must’ve distracted her, since she hasn’t asked thousands of questions or tried to get me to open them all so she can look. They fill more than my section of the closet. They spill over to Nonny’s as well.

My lips thin. Elliot isn’t just tossing money at me. He’s also buying me things to make sure I don’t embarrass him in public. I rub the spot between my eyebrows. Ever since Mom and Dad died, my life has become slightly surreal. Nobody would believe me if I told them.

The first box I pull out contains a green sheath dress. The compartment underneath contains a pair of nude peep-toe slingbacks, a leather purse and matching earrings and necklace that complement the outfit. A part of me wonders if Josephine sent a white dress for the wedding, but I shake my head. Who cares? I’m just going to put on the green dress and forget about it. It’s not going to be a “white dress and flowers” kind of ceremony anyway.

I put on all the things from the box and apply some light makeup. One high ponytail later, I’m finished. Besides, even if I wanted to do something fancy, I can’t. The doorbell’s ringing.

I run down and look through the peephole. A group of men in gray uniforms is on the other side. “ACE Relocation Services,” one of them calls out with the kind of deep-voiced authority that TV FBI agents use. The name tag on his chest is emblazoned with the yellow company logo.

I open the door in a hurry, not wanting to disturb Caroline. She doesn’t go to bed until late, and she can generally sleep through almost anything, but a group of large men packing stuff is another matter.

“This way please,” I say, showing them toward the bedroom Nonny and I share.

“How about the furniture?” the guy who called out the company name says, his dark stubbled chin jerking at the couch and coffee table.

I shake my head. “Those stay.” They’re Caroline’s. The only things I own are in my room. I show him the closet. “Everything on this side should be labeled ‘Nonny’s closet’ and the stuff here should be ‘Annabelle’s closet.’ You can dump all the toiletries into one box though.”

He nods, then gets the men working.

I hover for a while, then slink away. These guys are pros, and they don’t need me around. I go to the pantry. Maybe I should have that leftover cereal after all. Elliot’s penthouse is probably well-stocked with food.

My roommate’s door opens with a loud bang, and Caroline storms out. A cheap satin robe wraps around her long, lithe body. A red flush stains her face, a pillow indentation on her left cheek. The lack of sleeps sharpens the annoyance in her gaze.

“What the hell is going on?” she says, her voice husky but still shrill. “Can’t you just keep shit down so I can get some sleep?”

“Sorry. I didn’t expect them to come this early.” I didn’t know they’d come at all, but I don’t mention that.

As she absorbs the scene, her eyes narrow. “Wait. Are you moving out?”

“Yes.”

She takes in my outfit—the impeccable cut and fine material. I put my left hand behind me before she can notice the engagement ring.

“Ohhh…someone found herself a sugar daddy. There’s no way you can afford that getup cleaning bathrooms.”

“I met someone, yeah.” I shift my weight, suddenly uncomfortable. Caroline is the one who unwittingly put me in Elliot’s path again, not that I want to discuss the particulars of my encounter with him.

“Who?” She crosses her arms, tilting her head. When I don’t answer quick enough, she snorts out loud. “No fucking way. Is this the guy you jumped out of the cake for?”

I flinch. How did she guess so easily?

“What the
fuck
. I don’t believe this.” She sneers. “And you were acting all outraged, you fucking hypocrite. Just how many times did you suck him off?”

My face heats. That was the first thing Elliot wanted me to do. It’s uncanny how well she knows—or guesses—what happened.

“I should’ve known something was up when he asked me about you.”

“What?”

“Fucking slut,” she hisses. “You aren’t going to leave me high and dry. You owe me.”

“I’ll pay my portion of the rent until you find a new roommate.” I never meant to leave her in a lurch. She can’t afford the apartment on her own.

“I think you owe me more than that. If my parents hadn’t come to town…”

I gape at her. Does she think she could’ve had Elliot if she was the one jumping out of the cake? That she would be the one moving in with him as her “sugar daddy”?

On the other hand, given his propensity for going to strip clubs and ordering prostitutes for his birthday celebration, maybe he and Caroline have met for sex. The idea of it eats me like dripping acid, and I hate myself for feeling anything about him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I bite out.

“Oh yes I do. And to think I actually felt
sorry
for you. Ugh. And you were going to backstab me all along.”

“I already said I’ll pay my half of the rent. You aren’t going to lose anything.”

“Only because I woke up and got in your face about it. You were planning to leave without saying a word.” She takes a couple of steps until I can smell her morning breath. I cringe, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Don’t piss me off, Annabelle. I’m not going to let this go. Nobody fucks with me. Wonder what your sister’ll say if she finds out?”