Blackmailed by the Billionaire Brothers: The Complete Series (5 page)

Reflecting on the situation, I
wondered if Warren thought I’d run from the building after he showed me the video.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he reacted to my touch. It felt as
though I had control, even if it was
him
telling me
what to do. But the triumphant expression when he told me, or rather wrote
,
to suck his cock, wasn’t one I’d call smug. It was the
look of someone who’d made a dare.

I’d been staring at the screen
remembering the unguarded expression on Warren’s face when a pad slapped down
by my side. I jumped and turned. My CEO boss set the pen and pad I’d
conveniently forgotten in his office, on my desk.

His cold glare was back as if
nothing had happened. “I made reservations for six-thirty.” A chill ran down my
spine as he scanned me with a detached expression. “We’ll discuss your failure
to follow instructions at that time,” he said.

He
strut
back to his icy domain and shut the door. Prick. Do I meet him at the
restaurant? Do I change and come back?
And my “failure” to
follow instructions?
What kind of a-hole can relax one moment and then
be so composed and blaring ice sickles the next? But he did concede my win.
Total score on sex first, then dinner. I could get used to winning bets like
this.

My cell phone blared in an old
circular-dialing ring tone and I scrambled in my purse. Hitting the receive
button, I said into the speaker, “Hello?”

“
Fabiola
,
it’s your mother.” Leave it to Mrs.
Renzi
to give a
greeting that sounded like an accusation.

“Hi Mom, no I haven’t called my
sister. I promise I will.”

Dead silence
on the line.
It was never good to assume why mom
called. She took it as a personal insult if you robbed her of her nagging
privileges. I’d done just that and I cringed waiting for a scolding.

“And why haven’t you?”

That was it? Shocked I
answered, “I’ve been working.”

“What? You didn’t have time
yesterday? Why don’t…” She continued with the expected tirade. She must be
getting soft in her old age. As usual, I tuned her out holding the phone away
from my ear, until…

“…
your
cousin wants to retire…”

“Wait, what?” I pulled the
phone back to attention.

“Yeah, Phil. He wants to
retire.”

“What about his shop?”

“Well,” Mother’s accent grew
thicker. She’d gotten my attention and knew it. “If you called your
sista
, she would have told
ya
.”

“Mom, why can’t you tell me?”

“Nobody listens to me…”

Yeah, I wonder why. Instead of
telling me herself, she rambled on about how her family treated her like a
second class
citizen.

“Mom…I’m at work, I have to go.
Love you!” Click. Hopefully, it would take her another two minutes to realize
I’d hung up on her. I loved my mother, but listening to her much ado about less
than nothing was enough to make me want to go deaf. My sister would give it to
me straight. I flipped to my favorite contacts and dialed my sister, Rachel.

She answered her phone.
“Hello?”

“
Sisssta
!”
I smiled every time I heard her voice. “How are you?”

I heard a squeal on the other
end. She blared her happiness so loud I pulled my phone away from my ear. “
Woah
,
woah
, Rachel.” We were
always excited to hear from each other but this was a bit over the top. “Calm
down.”

“Fabulous, you’ll never guess!
Phil wants to retire.”

“Yeah, mom told me.”

Another squeal. Then she said,
“He wants to give it over to you!”

Give what? And then it hit me.
His bakery. He wanted to give his bakery to me? My phone slipped from my hand
and it clattered to the floor. I pounced to the ground on my hands and knees
scooping my phone up. “Wait…what are you talking about?”

“Mom heard he was going to
retire and she nagged him to death. He’ll stay on part time till the end of the
lease!”

There was one stipulation. “But
he’s all the way in Brooklyn.”

Chicago was far enough away
from mom that she couldn’t just drop by any o’ time. Mother was the whole point
of moving from Brooklyn. None of her children had lives as long as they stayed
in New York.

The option of having a bakery
but having mom being able to drop by was enough to make me rethink the offer.
“I’d like to call him and talk to him,” I said.

“Fab, this is what you’ve
always wanted, right?”

“Yeah, but…mom.”

“You know that’s just an
excuse.” Her squealing stopped. Rachel understood. She’d moved further away,
going all the way to Oregon. Of course mother complained that all her children
were scattered across the continent but she’d complain if they were under her
roof too.

“Besides, it’s your dream?”
Rachel said.

I didn’t know what to do. Yes,
I wanted my own bakery. Phil’s was established and profitable. Having a
business already going strong had advantages over starting anew. But starting
anew meant any mistakes were mine. Of course being with family was a
plus—even if mother had driven
me and my sister away,
it’d really been for the good of our independence. And then there was Warren’s
blackmail.

What would papa think? Mom
would surely disown me from the family—for about a day. Then I’d never
hear the end of it. Her Brooklyn accent resonated in my head.
Have you met my
dauwghta
?
The one who has sex with her
bauws
at the office?
Yeah, I’d hear that until she went to the grave.
Probably
beyond the grave.

Shaking from my thoughts, I
returned to the conversation with Rachel. “It is my dream, but shouldn’t I
start my own business?”

There was a pause from Rachel,
then
she said, “You don’t want to take over a family
business?”

True it was sacrilege in my
family to let a business close without passing it down, especially when someone
had the talent for such business, but… “I wanted to go to culinary school
first. Wouldn’t it make more sense if I did that?”

“But you’re already a fabulous
baker,” Rachel said. I could hear her smile working in my pet name. “And you
can make it your own by changing the name to
Fabiola’s
Fabulousities
.”

I snorted at the attempt to
name my bakery. She was just trying to get me used to the idea. But it was
working. The place could be called Fabulous for short. “I’d feel more
comfortable talking to Phil.”

“Then call him,” she said. It
was permission. Why I had to go through my mother and sister was more for
family politics than anything. If I
wasn’t
interested,
they’d tell Phil in a tactful way. My family was strange like that. With so
many members and connections it was sometimes hard not to offend someone.
Mediation by those closest to the family members involved was best. But when it
came to brass tax, or formal dealings such as passing over a business, each family
member dealt directly with each other. This was just the preliminary interview.
Next step…call Phil.

There was just one small
problem.
Warren and his extortion.

At the end of the day I decided
I’d leave, change and meet Warren back at the office.
If he
wanted us to take separate cars that was fine.
I didn’t know how all
this worked. It was my first time being blackmailed. Still, looking my best, no
matter the circumstance, was a virtue.

Roy’s
was the type of restaurant that
made you feel out of place if you didn’t dress appropriately, so I wore the
only designer evening gown I owned. Never underestimate the power of a plain
black dress.

The front was a tight “V” cut while
the bottom flared out. My auburn hair curled around my cleavage and waved like
wings when I walked. Black platform shoes gave me six extra inches in height
and still, the top of my head only reached to Warren’s shoulder.

Right on the dot the door to my
boss’ office shut with a metal clink at six-thirty. Warren stood with his hands
in his pants pockets and scanned me with his impassive
that’ll due
expression. He wasn’t fooling me anymore. I’d seen his
eyes burn in lust and watched him come apart while I teased him. Thinking about
his unrestrained explosion threatened to overflow my panties with droplets of
want. How could such an arrangement be so sexy?

I flipped my hair back and
said, “Shall we go? I haven’t had anything
filling
yet today.”

Like a switch his eyes lit up
and Warren became the spitting image of his brother, only with dark hair. His
twitch of a smile flashed. His lips parted as if he would retort, and then the
electricity powering his playful expression shut off. His lips compressed. A stiff
posture depleted the warmth in his non-verbal greeting just a nanosecond ago.
Bi-polar much?

“We’ll take my vehicle,” he
said.

My vehicle
—who says that? Vehicle
indeed. It’s a damn car. “Fine.”

He pulled his hands out of his
pockets and stiffened his back. “You don’t approve?”

I grabbed my purse. “I said
it’s fine.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is it
okay or not?”

Groaning a sigh I said, “It’s
f—” I was going to say fine but the tick in his eye tipped me off. This
man had obviously been abused with that word. Sometimes when a woman said
“fine” it was used as a weapon. A passive aggressive method to not say what was
really going
on.
Remembering my conversation with
Barbara and Dave, I cringed. His wife.
Or rather, ex-wife.
Not that I knew about her but she sounded like the type to use the word “fine”
as a means to deflect speaking up about her own feelings.

“Going with you in your car is
okay,” I said. “Perfectly acceptable.”

His shoulders lowered an inch.
It was like part of an iceberg chipped off from the source. He was still on
guard, but he wasn’t as nervous. That was a bit of a revelation. Was he afraid
of me? No. He was the one with the power.

As he walked me to the
elevators he never invaded my personal bubble. He motioned me in, like a
gentleman,
then
stood a good distance with his eyes
forward during the ride down. I thought he might make a move in the elevator
but he remained the cool, in control boss I always knew.

He led me to the underground
parking to his car. The
vehicle
happened to be a green Aston Martin. He was right. His ride deserved more
respect than calling it a car.

Warren opened the passenger
side door and I slipped in the seat feeling the snug grip and comfortable lean
of the
back rest
. Warren rounded the Aston Martin and
folded himself into the driver’s side. He turned his eyes to mine and said,
“You look lovely, by the way.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Not
fabulous?”

He acknowledged the play on my
nickname with a smirk, started the engine and drove. Every so often, he
clenched his jaw like he wanted to say something but didn’t. This man, whoever
he was, couldn’t be my boss. My boss spoke his mind, blurted out rude insults,
and generally had no filter when it came to manners or speech. It was if he was
trying to impress me. Which was ridiculous. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it
because I didn’t know this person.

“Can I have the verbally
imprudent guy that used extortion to get me to sleep with him back?”

Warren flicked his eyes to me
and then
back
at the road. He blinked rapidly and
said, “What would you like me to say?”

“What is it you wanted to say
before?”

Silence. Then he said, “I’ve
forgotten.”

“Bullshit.”

That got his lips to curve, if
only for a moment. “You seem bold as ever.”

“Yeah, we’re alike in that
department.”

“Do you think I won’t go
through it? You think I won’t upload that video to the world?”

That startled me, but I wasn’t
going to back down. Submitting would utterly destroy my crazy redhead image. “I
think that if you wanted to fuck me than you should’ve just asked.”

He gripped the steering wheel
at the ten and two positions. He took driving so seriously. Actually, Warren
took everything seriously. Yet he was so cavalier with his words. Except for
tonight.

He drove the rest of the way in
silence and I didn’t say anything more. When we arrived, the valet opened my
door and we went inside. The cute hostess looked up our reservation and led us
to our table.
Roy’s
had an open air
feel with a touch of luxury without being extravagant. My boss kept a
respectful distance away from me, not touching or showing any signs of doing
anything inappropriate. How dull. The fierce jungle cat inside of Warren was
stowed safely inside.
Too bad.
Not that I wanted him
to attack me on the table, but I thought this blackmailing me for sex would be more…exciting.
This was like a date.

We sat in a high back booth,
giving us the illusion of privacy. Tables out on the floor had an audience view
of those in the booths. The seats were leather, the room was spacious but I’d
never been seated in a booth before. That’s because I was
a
nobody
. The round stalls were reserved for spectacles. I guess the CEO
of a major company counted as a spectacle. Usually movie stars, politicians or
famous people sat in these seats.
 

“So, tell me,” he said. “What is
the real reason why you don’t want to go to accounting?”

Geez. When was he going to get
it? “There is no secret motive. There is no hidden agenda.”

“There has to be a reason. You
went to great lengths to prevent from being transferred, even though you’d be
great at it.”

How many times could I say the
same thing in a different way? “I just really, really don’t like numbers.
Haven’t you ever done something you wish you’d never done?”

“Even so…” He pulled back and
his eyes roamed my face. “Don’t you think threatening to quit is a bit too
drastic?”

Wow. Ellis was right. They
wanted to retain me as an employee. “Is
me
leaving a
threat?”

A crisp suit-wearing waiter
popped over to our table. “Hello Mr.
Trost
, I’m Paul,
I’ll be your server tonight.”

Wow, Paul the waiter knew
Warren by name. Did he come here a lot? Or was my boss really that well known?
Well, duh. Probably. We were seated in the special booths of the elite.

“Thank you Paul, I’ll have a
single malt.” Warren turned to me.

“House red wine,” I said. What
the hell—I wasn’t driving.

Paul left and Warren stiffened
in his seat. “Do you plan on seeing my brother again?”

“Do you want me to see him
again?”

His jaw clenched and he
uttered, “Do as you like. You’re free time is yours.”

I snorted. “Like now?”

With my words, the
speaks-his-mind
boss I’d managed to pull
out instantly clammed up. His manner snapped behind a cool shield. Damn.
Me and my big mouth.
Just when I was
getting somewhere.

“If you don’t wish to be here,
we can leave.” He started sliding out of the booth.

I grabbed him. “No.” I’d earned
this dinner and I was going to have it.

He pinned me with his eyes and
his anger scorched my heart. Behind the fiery glance was a spark of pain.
More specifically, rejection.
“Make up your damn mind,” He
growled.

What was with the hot and cold?
“I didn’t say I wanted to leave.”

Warren let out a sigh of
frustration and scooted back towards me.

Our waiter returned with a
scotch and red wine. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your order,” Paul said.

My boss gave Paul a warm smile.
“Thank you.”

And just as fast as he set the
drinks down Paul was gone.

“You know what your problem
is?” I said.

He
tsked
.
“What?”

“You try to please people too
much.”

He laughed but he didn’t sound
amused. “How’s that?”

I smiled. “You’re trying to do
what it is you think others want you to do.” Did that make sense? Not by much.
He might not understand what he was doing.

He lifted a wry eyebrow. “You
think I’m trying to please people by reading their minds, is that it?”

“Yes.” I said in total
seriousness.

Warren unrolled his napkin and
set it in his lap. “Where do you get that from?”

“Just now, you were going to
leave because you
thought
I wanted to
leave.” I let that sink in and said, “You were trying to read my mind. Do me a
favor. Listen to what I say.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
He took a swallow of scotch and continued, “You say you want me to listen, but
what you really want is for me to read between the lines.”

Damaged goods. Definitely. My
heart ached for him.

“Which is why I don’t accept
your reasons for staying away from accounting,” he said.

“Fine,” I narrowed my eyes at
him. “You want to know why?”

He scowled back at me.

The waiter slipped in at the
ready. “Are you and your guest ready to order?”

We snapped to attention.
Warren’s features softened and he nodded to our attendant. “Yes,” he said.

It was the opposite reaction I
thought a
high powered
CEO would give to a waiter. The
dichotomy between the two was vast and yet my boss treated him as well as a
good acquaintance. Not only that, but Warren was expecting an important answer
from me. It was reason enough for him to bark at any interruptions, yet I
watched Warren attentively give the waiter our order and say “thank you” before
Paul left.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

Warren shrugged. “Not really,
why?”

“Because you were really nice
to him.” I said. “Were you ever a waiter?” I couldn’t imagine it, but perhaps
he knew how hard it was to wait on people.

He shook his head. “No.”

Huh. I’d had some experience
working my cousin’s bakery for a summer when I was young, so I understood how
some people treated those they thought were below them. Those that treated you
with respect when you were waiting on them
was
rare.

He turned to me with an
expectant stare. I felt like a sitting duck. He remained intense and focused
solely on me. My mind went blank and he waited in silence. He cleared his
throat. “So Ms.
Renzi
, why don’t you want to be in
accounting?”

Damn. He’d taken control of the
conversation again. He wasn’t going to let it go. Might as well start from the
beginning. “My family is big on education so at my mother’s request I went to
college. I wanted to go to a vocational school. It didn’t happen.”

The accusing expression on his
face turned to interest.

“I happen to be really good at
accounting,” I said. “But I never wanted to be an accountant.”

“What do you want to be?”

Normally I’d shout out I want
to be a baker, but with Warren I was shy about my dream. “I’d like to own my
own bakery,” I mumbled to my hands. “Go ahead, laugh. Everyone else does.”

Silence. I kept my head down
and fiddled with the napkin and silverware.

“Do you have a business plan?”
Warren said.

I looked up. He wasn’t even
smiling. If anything he blocked off any emotion on his face. The fact that he
took my dream seriously bolstered my confidence.

“Yeah,” I said. “An old one. It
was the model for my business class.”

There was a long moment where
he seemed to be evaluating me. Warren leaned in and took possession of my
mouth. His lips claimed my body and his tongue branded my heart. The keening
animal kissing me fought to shed his civility. Warren ravaged my mouth, in
front of the entire restaurant.

My hands pushed him back and we
separated. Breathless I tried to scoot back away from him. His eyes had gone
wild,
his hands reached for my waist and pulled me closer.