An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3) (17 page)

“Thanks,” I say tightly and turn away before he does or says anything else nice. I gulp down the rest of the hot coffee and place the mug in the sink and start to walk toward the staircase leading to the master suite.

“Beautiful.” His voice is soft, but no less forceful for it.

I stop for a moment, but don’t turn around. “I have to get ready,” I say, then resume my ascent.

* * *

Elliot

Goddamn it.

She’s still upset.

I should’ve kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t. The expression on her face was amazing, like she couldn’t believe she was climaxing again. My name tore from her, and it hit me like a drug. Her name tickled my mind, rolled around on my tongue as my muscles melted. And that, more than anything else, made me whisper the name I gave her.

What I didn’t expect was for her to turn away. Or cry.

She was quiet though. I almost didn’t notice. And I hated it that she was shedding tears at all. Sex is supposed to be fun. It isn’t the kind of thing you’re supposed to feel anything more about, but she did, and I want to fix it.

Getting Omega Wealth Management to take her on as a client was my peace offering. She should’ve been thrilled. I even explained the significance—although it was awkward as hell because it sounded like I was bragging or something—but damn. Gavin Lloyd only allowed it because I asked extra nice…and shamelessly leveraged his friendship with Elizabeth’s cousin Mark. I even had to bring Gavin’s pregnant wife and son into the conversation, saying, “Wouldn’t you want to know that the money you set aside for them was in competent hands?”

“I’m more than competent, but I see your point,” he said. “Only this one time, Elliot. I really don’t want to have to take on more clients. I’m trying to cut back, enjoy what I have with my wife and kids.”

He should just retire if enjoying what he has with his family is the goal. The man’s worth over twenty billion. He could spend a million bucks a day till he dies and never run out.

Shaking my head, I go to the master suite. I need a shower after my morning workout. Once everything sinks in, she’ll get over her hurt feelings. Women all do when presented with money.

Annabelle

It feels weird to walk into OWM as a potential client rather than a member of the janitorial staff. I know what the firm is and what it does. I heard people talking about it in the break room. And like Elliot said, it’s probably a big deal to become a client.

Since I don’t want last night to weigh me down forever, I put on a bright sunflower-yellow sheath dress and nude pumps. The hat I wear is jaunty and provides plenty of shade against the brilliant L.A. sun. Elliot is in his usual black button-down shirt and slacks—which must be excruciatingly hot, but never seems to bother him. Today he looks forbidding, like a thundercloud.

The mood rubs off on me, but I do my best to focus on the positive. Elliot is superb in bed, and—except for calling me by another woman’s name during sex—he hasn’t been a complete douche. Things could be worse.

He puts a hand at the small of my back, the courteous but possessive gesture starting to become familiar. He’s so good at acting like a newlywed that I can’t help but wonder if he’s had practice.

The neatly dressed receptionist doesn’t seem to recognize me as she greets me and Elliot. She gives both of us a warm smile.

It makes sense she wouldn’t make the connection, though. Who notices a cleaning lady? Besides even if she thinks I look familiar, she won’t be able to place me, not when I’m sporting a new haircut, an expensive dress and all the rest.

The office we walk into is spacious without being grand. A calming shade of blue accents off-white walls, and the expansive desk is neatly organized. The man behind the desk is surprisingly young, no more than in his early thirties. His gray suit is so dark it’s almost black, and it molds to his lean frame perfectly in the way only custom-made tailoring can. A big smile splits his face as he stands. “Congratulations on your marriage!” The man reaches over and shakes my hand. “I’m Pete Monroe. Nice to meet you.”

I murmur, “A pleasure,” but don’t give him my name. Elliot can call me Gigi all he wants, but I’m not going to introduce myself as Gigi to people we meet as a couple. It feels…wrong.

Elliot guides me to a plushy armchair. Only when I sit down does he take another one just like mine.

“I have all the paperwork,” Pete says. “Your lawyer was very thorough and specific, which makes my job easy.”

“Why I pay him the big bucks,” Elliot says.

Pete chuckles, then asks me questions about my comfort level with certain types of strategies, how much risk I want to assume and other things that I’ve never considered before. I don’t even try to pretend I can be the kind of sophisticated, moneyed investor he’s probably used to dealing with.

No, I can’t afford to lose the principal. I’d prefer that my money keep up with inflation, at least. I have a younger sister—fifteen—who’s going to go to college, and it’d be nice if I could help pay for that.

Pete casts a quick glance in Elliot’s direction when I mention Nonny’s college tuition, but then he’s back to his questions. He’s undoubtedly wondering why I’m worrying about it when I can just ask my rich husband.

Someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” Pete calls out.

It opens, and a face I never thought to see again pops into the office.

All the air whooshes out of my lungs, and I struggle to breathe. The blood in my veins chills, leaving me shaking. The room tilts, and I grip the armrests.

A warm hand on my bare arm anchors me. Elliot’s concerned face fills my vision. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just a little, um, dizzy spell.”

His eyes narrow, but I can’t think of a better cover story.

I blink a few times, then cast another glance over my shoulder.

I haven’t imagined it.

Dennis Smith is here. In L.A.

* * *

Elliot

Dizzy, my ass. Something else is up with her.

The intern is visibly pale, but he recovers, comes over and places a packet of paper on Pete’s desk. “The documents you requested.”

“Thanks, Dennis.” Pete turns to her as though he hasn’t noticed anything odd between the intern and my wife. “Have you met Mrs. Reed? They just got married.”

“No, I haven’t.” A slight twitch in Dennis’s hand betrays him as he takes her in. He hides it from Pete’s line of sight, but not from mine.

“Then say hello. Mrs. Reed, this is my intern Dennis Dunn.”

Her head tilts. “Dennis
Dunn?
”

The skin under the intern’s left eye tics.

She stands, her motion abrupt and inelegant. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.” Blindly, she reaches for her purse.

“I’ll show her where it is,” Dennis says, a little too eager.

“That won’t be necessary,” I say. “She knows where it is.”

She turns even paler. I tense, ready to catch her if she faints. The intern’s mouth thins briefly, but he nods with a smile that looks like he’s trying to hide food stuck between his upper incisors.

Dennis opens the door for her, and she stumbles past him, somehow keeping her chin up.

Since I have no intention of letting the man out of my sight, I make a bit of pointless chatter about the market while we wait, making sure to include him in the conversation.

After a few minutes, my wife comes back to the office. Her mouth is set in a vague smile, but she’s still stiff. I signal Pete. He dismisses Dennis, and he slinks away, his gaze on the back of my wife’s head.

Breathing noticeably easier, she finishes answering all the questions Pete asks. She acts pretty well, but I’m attuned enough to her now not to buy the show.

After the meeting’s over, we leave with further congratulations from Pete. I put a hand to the middle of her back and feel an almost imperceptible tremor.

I wait until we’re in an elevator. It’s after lunch, and nobody else is inside with us. “What’s wrong?”

She drops her eyes to my loafers. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you acting odd?”

“I’m just…” She turns her head toward me and gives me a pat smile. “It’s just overwhelming. I didn’t expect to have to find something to do with the money so soon.”

I cock an eyebrow.

“I haven’t thought about what to do with the money at all. It won’t be mine for a year anyway.”

“Do you know that intern?” I ask point-blank.

She steps away from me, but it doesn’t hide the flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s get something straight. I don’t like it when people lie to me.” I lean closer, so our noses are almost touching. “Who is he? Somebody you gave a lap dance to when you were working as a stripper?” That shouldn’t bother me. I know her past, but it makes me want to grind my teeth anyway.

“No!” She recoils. “He’s someone I knew back home. We just didn’t end well.”

I narrow my eyes. “An ex-boyfriend then.”

She sighs. “Yes. An ex. I just never expected to see him again, okay? We all have that one relationship we’d rather forget.”

That hits a bullseye, and this time I look away. Maybe her reaction wasn’t so extreme. I’m not sure if I would’ve been able to maintain even a semblance of calm if I were to see the ex from the one bad relationship I’d rather forget.

Still, the sense of unease refuses to leave. I wrap a hand around her waist and pull her closer.

Her body stiffens.

I rake my teeth over my lower lip. A sudden urge to make her as pliable as she was last night beats through me. I want her eyes glazed with a painful hunger only I can sate. My free hand wraps around the bar behind me as I stare at the mirrored doors. Her gaze is fixed somewhere beyond our reflections. Josephine did well to pick out the dress. It emphasizes the hourglass figure, the body that begs to be thoroughly fucked. Anna—

Gigi
, I remind myself. The name still feels unfamiliar in my mind, and it takes me a fraction of a second to orient myself before using it.

I know she wants me to call her by her real name. If I were a better man I would. But I’m not.

And I will never call her Annabelle.

Annabelle

I’m grateful for the reprieve of the silent drive to Elliot’s home. His physical proximity, my fitful sleep last night and the unexpected encounter with Dennis churn my emotions. My nerves are shot from tension, my pulse erratic.

One minute at a time.

I can’t let events overwhelm me, push me until I’m out of control. Outwardly, I’m a married woman with a husband to lean on. The reality is I’m more alone than ever before. Nobody’s going to support me if I falter.

Elliot’s hand is loose and careless as it rests on the steering wheel. He’s acting entirely too casual and chill. If I was just slightly less in tune with his mood, I probably wouldn’t catch it, but I can feel the tension winding around him. And the crooked grin on his face holds a brittle edge.

I tighten my grip on my purse. I should’ve known he wouldn’t buy my explanation about Dennis.

I still don’t know what to do about my ex. It’s one thing if we’d just happened to run into each other. It’s something else for him to be at a firm that’s managing my money. I don’t think he’ll do anything unethical. On the other hand, we’re both still hurt and angry and resentful of each other, and Dennis apparently had to leave Lincoln City just like me and Nonny.

My phone pings with a new text. I fish it out of my purse to take a peek.

My phone doesn’t recognize the number, but I know immediately who sent it.

We have to talk
.

I keep my expression carefully neutral, but the last thing I want to do is “talk”. Dennis and I have a history far too ugly and violent for something so innocuous. Isn’t that why he changed his last name to Dunn?

I’m about to tuck the phone back in my purse, but then it hits me.
He has my number
. It had to have come from the client file…which undoubtedly means he knows how to reach me in other ways. I don’t want him showing up in the neighborhood, especially when Nonny’s around. She’s never talked about our parents’ deaths, and I hope with all my heart that her mind’s blocked out the event…even though a part of me suspects she remembers everything. She was thirteen at the time, old enough to know exactly what was going on.

I would do anything to protect her from reliving that trauma.

No time today
, I type.
I don’t know what my schedule’s going to be like in the next few days
. I hit send.

Make time
.

I scowl, then turn my head so Elliot won’t notice my expression.
We’ve just married
,
so it’s hectic
.
I’ll send you a time when I’m free as soon as I know
.

“Who’s that?” Elliot asks in a deceptively mild voice.

Sudden guilt knots in my belly, like I got caught cheating or something. “Nonny. She’s wondering what’s for dinner,” I say, wincing inwardly at how bad that lie is. She’s never texted me about dinner before.

Elliot shrugs. “She can have whatever she wants.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Another text:
Don’t tell your husband about me
.

I grip the phone so hard, I’m afraid I might crack the screen. He has no idea what’s really going on between me and Elliot, and he’s probably worried about Elliot doing something to negatively affect his tenure at the firm.
Don’t worry
, I reply, then create a new text for Nonny.
Elliot says you can have anything you want for dinner
.
What are you in the mood for?

She doesn’t respond. I check the time. She has five more minutes before a break.

Finally a text comes.
Veggie pizza
.
No mushrooms
. I frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“She wants a veggie pizza, no mushrooms.”

“We can do that. I like pizza.”

“You…do?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t like pizza? Although I prefer mine with pepperoni.”

“But that’s so…
normal
,” I blurt out. “I thought you’d eat, I don’t know, caviar pizza or something.”