The alarm goes off, and I slam into consciousness. For a moment, I’m not sure where I am, except that it’s the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in before.
Ever.
I stretch and snuggle in the silk sheets. In my twin bed at home, I can’t stretch out like this. I’m naked on top of the sheets, but they’re soft enough that it feels awesome. My inner thighs are sore as hell, along with my abs. I’ve never experienced this kind of post-sex workout fatigue.
“Ma’am. Your clothing is washed and ready and the car waiting.”
Startled, I twist and stare at the figure of an elderly man with white hair. He’s smiling politely, though he also looks a little curious. I claw at the sheets and drag them up over me, my face warm.
This is so fucking embarrassing! “Um, thanks. I’ll change in a minute,” I manage.
I’ve never had anyone walk in on me naked in my room before.
He offers a small, stiff bow then walks out.
I look around, recalling where I am and why my inner thighs are trembling. I don’t think I can close them completely after last night. My lower belly is sore, too. I had no idea so many muscles were used in sex. I pat my cheeks, not wanting to remember everything he did to me, especially the part about the vibrator. Just thinking about it is making me horny again. He’d been totally right about how great it’d feel.
Why haven’t I ever tried it? Part of me is turned on about what else he has planned.
The other part of me is humiliated. Not only did I have a one-night stand, but also I bared my soul to a stranger, one I knew nothing else about. He knows everything about me, if not from his questions then because he’s exploited my body with the expertise and thoroughness of a gold miner in a cave.
“Shit,” I mutter. I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I agreed to, when I look at the time. “Double shit!”
It’s seven fifteen. I’ve got to be at work at eight.
Tossing off the sheets, I take a speedy shower then yank on my clothing and toss my hair into a quick bun. There’s no time for makeup, but I do find a spare toothbrush sitting out for me in the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth.
Grabbing my purse, I see the note beside it written in tight, neat handwriting as controlled as the man himself is. It contains a phone number.
Natalie- Only five people in the world have my personal cell number. Make sure it stays that way. – EJ
I feel uneasy at his warning, recalling that I’d agreed to turn over my entire life to him for three months. Thus far, it consisted of being fucked senseless. I’m not sure what else he’ll require of me, but if I have to become the personal whore to a billionaire in order to save my family, then I’ll do it.
I take the phone number and tuck it in my purse, my heart beating quickly. I’ve been praying since last night that whatever I’ve agreed to, it doesn’t turn into a nightmare, with me at the mercy of some sort of psychopath with the bankroll to make my life hell if I cross him.
I have no real reason to trust him and every reason to think this is going to end with him breaking his end of the deal. I’m starting to feel nauseated.
“Get a hold of yourself, Natty.” I breathe deeply then leave the room.
The man who saw me naked in bed is waiting at the foot of the stairs with a silver tray. I’m not sure what to say. This has got to be the most awkward moment of my life. He saw the dimples on my ass and the mess my mascara made.
“Mocha and fresh egg white, turkey and Havarti breakfast sandwich,” he says, holding out the tray.
“Oh. Thanks.” I take both and avoid his gaze. The coffee smells heavenly. I’ve never been one for health food, but I don’t want to refuse the sandwich. I’m already late for work and I’d feel bad not accepting something he might’ve made himself.
“I’ll take you down the private elevator to the car.” He sets the tray on a table next to the elegant stairwell and starts walking away.
I follow. “Hey, um, can I ask you a couple questions?” I ask.
“I’m restricted on what I can tell others, ma’am. It’s a condition of my employment.”
Will I be repeating that line anytime soon? “Right. Well, can you tell me your name?”
We reach the elevator, and he faces me, scrutinizing my face, as if no one has ever asked him his name.
I take a bite of the sandwich, not about to start babbling nervously, especially to the man who saw me naked less than an hour before.
“Jamil,” he replies. He hits the down button of the small elevator.
“Nice to meet you, Jamil. I’m Natty. Natalie.” I roll my eyes.
“A pleasure. I’m sure.” By the note in his voice, he’s really not happy to meet me.
How much does he know about the … arrangement between me and his boss? It’s not a subject I feel comfortable discussing. With anyone, even if I wasn’t forbidden from mentioning it.
The door yawns open. We step into the elevator.
“Is Elijah a good person?” I whisper.
Jamil glances at me then hits the button for the underground parking garage. I don’t think he’s going to answer. He’s staring straight ahead, stiff and proper, the way I expect a servant to a prince to act.
Disappointed, I finger the seam of my to-go coffee cup. I feel guilty. Dirty. Like I’m sneaking out the back door after a one-night stand. I’m also thinking that what I know about EJ isn’t encouraging. What if he played me? Slept with me to keep me from shooting him, then I get home to find the cops waiting?
Or worse? He follows through with his threat to find my family? What if he’s arranged to have everyone evicted even faster than the initial six-month window?
“Mister Micah is not easy to understand.”
I’m surprised when Jamil finally speaks. I’ve already written off any response from him.
“He keeps his word. Always. Whatever jewels or money he promised you for this charade, he’ll pay up.”
Jamil’s disapproving, critical look at me makes me feel worse, like I’m a whore who extorted a good man for the last of his life savings when in truth, I’m pretty certain Elijah is getting the better end of this deal. At least, he’s been in charge of this deal since he set foot in the office and found me there.
“Thanks,” I mumble. My face is hot again. I’m not sure how I’ll explain the situation to my parents. It’s bound to get out that I’m seeing someone. Our community is too small for it not to, and they know me well enough to know something’s up.
The elevator door opens. I always hated the way parking garages smell: like oil and gas. The lighting is dingy, too. A Towncar is waiting for me, and the driver opens the door when I step out.
I’m not sure what to say to Jamil, so I don’t say anything. I’m hoping I don’t see him again, though I guess that’s not likely.
Assuming Elijah is telling the truth about this deal.
I sink into the comfortable backseat and nibble on my sandwich. It tastes fresh and homemade – better than anything I’d have at home. I eat it quickly then sip my coffee as we pull out of the garage into the morning.
“Where am I taking you, ma’am?” the driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview window.
I hesitate then give him the address for work. I keep a spare change of clothes there. I’d rather look a little un-ironed than be late and invite too many questions.
Because right about now, there’s no way I can answer them without crying. I’m a horrible liar, and I have no idea how to explain to my parents where I was last night or why I didn’t get home this morning like I should have. They always check up on me before bed, and I just can’t stand the idea of lying to them.
But I’ll have to. For their sakes, so my disabled father can keep going to his doctor two blocks over and my doting mother can stay home and take care of him.
I get to work two minutes late and slide past the clients in the waiting room to the executive hallway. The attorneys are already in their first meetings of the day, and I go to the office I share with one of the paralegals. She’s already too engaged in her computer to acknowledge me, so I grab my spare suit out of the closet and hurry down the hallway to change.
The only spare makeup I have at work is mascara. I plaster it on and force myself to smile, staring at myself in the mirror.
I look like I spent the night getting fucked hard. I don’t need lipstick. My lips are puffy and reddened from last night, and there’s an unmistakable flush to my cheeks. My hair is staticky from the silk sheets, so I try to smooth it down with water then twist it into a tight bun.
With a deep breath, I leave the bathroom and return to my desk.
Janet, the nerdy girl in the desk next to mine, ignores me. I stare at my desktop, unable to concentrate, not when my thoughts are floating between how guilty I feel for last night and how scared I am that he’s going to renege on our deal. I don’t know what I’d do then. I don’t even know where my gun is, and I start to think he kept it so he could blackmail me, if I came back.
I respond to a few texts from my mom asking me where I’ve been. I feel so bad lying to her, but I do it, because I’m hoping desperately that I didn’t make the stupidest mistake of my life last night.
Janet takes a phone call, her crisp tone pulling me from my miserable thoughts. I force myself to edit a press release one of the attorneys has sent me to send out. It’s a boring job, but it’s steady and pays the bills.
I work hard until noon and eat lunch at my desk, not wanting to leave the office. It’s safe, cozy, quiet and I can think without interruptions or people who expect answers. I don’t feel up to facing anyone after what I did last night.
The sex still blows my mind and makes my inner thighs tremble. Several times during the day, I fan myself to try to forget the intensity of his dark gaze, the things he said to me.
If a man doesn’t fuck you like he owns you, find a new one.
My ex certainly never fucked me like he owned me. How is it this man – who seems to have a dark streak I’m not sure I want to know more about – knows how to turn my world inside out?
I can’t get the idea that there’s more to him out of my thoughts, either. The dark streak, yes, but also something else. His talk of abuse and never knowing good people makes me think being a billionaire isn’t all it’s cut out to be.
Yet pitying him is out of the question after he coerced me into bed with him and into this insane, three-month deal.
If he follows through with it. He’s so dark and twisted, though, that I start to doubt he has any concept of honor or dignity, despite what Jamil said in the elevator.
By three o’clock, I’ve convinced myself that I did make a mistake last night. That he’ll never follow through. That he’s right – billionaires don’t make or keep their money by being nice. Stopping a hundred million dollar project that was months away from starting seems too far-fetched.
By four o’clock, I’m dejected and ready to cry.
I should've just shot him. At least if I went to jail, I knew I had the guts to do something instead of being manipulated, thoroughly fucked and tossed on my ass.
“Natty!” Janet yells.
“Jesus, Janet. Why are you shouting?” I snap, looking up from my computer screen.
“I’ve called your name twice.”
“Okay. I’m listening. What?”
“You hear the news?”
“No. I’ve kinda been working,” I say in annoyance. “This shit doesn’t get done itself.”
“I stream it,” Janet motioned to her iPod. “This is kinda funny. You know that billionaire who’s knocking down your parent’s apartment building.”
I groan. How does she know the exact wrong thing to say?
“He’s seeing a woman named Natalie Hanover. Isn’t that neat?”
Shit. I say nothing for a moment then get out of my chair and cross to her computer. “Where are you seeing that?”
“On Drudge report. They’re calling him a hypocrite and a bunch of other stuff.” Janet clicked on the window with the news.
“It’s a major headline?” I ask in disbelief. “Billionaire playboy prince listens to father, gets serious about American girl.”
“Yeah. What are the chances he’s tearing down your house and dating someone with your name?” Janet giggles. She clicks on the article.
I almost sigh. There’s no picture of me. I can still lie my way out of this.
“Yeah, that’s crazy,” I reply. Secretly, I’m hoping this is the only site with the news, and my parents don’t see it. “Well she’s about to be a billionaire’s wife. I’m sure she’s happy.” I return to my desk.
“That explains all the weird phone calls,” Janet says. “You’ve had like, ten people call today from the press asking for you.”
“Seriously?”
“I told them they had the wrong Natalie Hanover.”
“Yeah.” I stare at my computer, afraid to check my email. “I’m gonna wrap up and go home.”
“Me, too.”
Cringing, I click on my email. The hourglass pops up, but there are no new emails. With a sigh, I bend over to grab my purse out of the bottom drawer of my desk. When I straighten, I can’t believe my eyes.
Two hundred new emails? What the hell? I sift through them, and cold shoots through me.
The press figured it out. Every press contact I’ve ever submitted a release to has emailed, along with a slew of others. Some of the subject lines are in foreign languages. From what I can tell, everyone requesting comments and interviews from the woman they nicknamed Billionaire Bride or American Cinderella.
“Holy fuck,” I say under my breath.
“You wanna walk out with me?” Janet asks.
I close the window fast, heart pounding. Why was it public knowledge so soon? How? Did they have my picture or were they emailing every Natalie Hanover in the universe for a comment in hopes of getting the right one to respond?
Shit, shit, shit. “Yeah, sure.”
My hands are shaking as I grip my purse. I turn off my computer and walk to the door with Janet. Just as she’s about to open it, the senior most partner at the firm opens it instead.
Our jaws both drop. We’ve heard of Mr. Jenkins but never seen him before. He’s a legend, one who doesn’t come out of his office on the top floor, except to greet former politicians and super wealthy clients.
A distinguished man with silver hair and wise blue eyes, he’s tall and slender. We’re too shocked to speak, but he’s not.
“Ms. Hanover, if I may have a word with you.”
He’s going to fire me. What did Elijah do? Call my job and tell them I threatened him?
I nod and swallow hard, determined not to cry when he fires me but feeling like I really might.
Janet gives me a questioning look and scurries away. I move back to my desk and perch on the edge, twisting my hands in front of me. Mr. Jenkins enters and closes the door behind him. I’m waiting for him to yell.
“We have a new client, our highest profile to date. I understand he chose our firm at your recommendation.” He smiles. “Thank you, Ms. Hanover.”
“I don’t understand,” I manage, thoroughly confused.
“I just got done meeting with Crown Prince Elijah Micah.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“He’s hiring the firm to represent him in a few of his building pursuits,” Mr. Jenkins’ smile grows larger. “To include, renegotiating the contract where your parents live.”
His words sink in slowly, and I realize Elijah is at least pretending to follow through on his end of the bargain. Not that I trust him. After all, renegotiation sounds like the plan is still a go.
“He said you’d be shocked by the level of attention you’re getting. I guess neither of you expected your story to break so soon. Elijah hinted at a pending engagement as well and asked if we’d be willing to draw up a pre-nup.” He waits expectantly.
Pre-nup? We are so not going that far! I feel sick again. “I can’t talk about it,” I tell him honestly. Mainly because I have no fucking clue what’s going on.
“Completely understand. You’re in a tough spot. I respect that,” he says, and opens the door. “There’s a throng of press out front. You may want to take my private entrance out the back.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Congrats, Natalie.”
I nod. He leaves, and I cross to the window.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I almost shout.
It’s a zoo out front. The entrance and street are packed with press members. I close the curtain and stare at it, anger rising inside me.
There’s no way I can go to and from work under these circumstances. Is this part of his claim that he’d control every aspect of my life? He gets to pick when to throw me to the wolves out front?
I dig through my purse to find his number and dial it from my cell.
“EJ.” His voice sends shivers through me, and I’m embarrassed again about everything we did last night.
“Hey,” I say. “So … there’s a shit ton of press in front of my office building. Did you do this?”
“Shit ton,” he repeats. “That one isn’t in my book.”
Confused by his statement, I hear him writing something down and am about to yell at him to tell me something when he speaks again.
“I intended to leak it in about two weeks, but someone at the hotel beat me to it,” he says. “Jamil is working on finding out how. In the meantime, it looks like we’re moving up the plan.”
“Engagement and pre-nup,” I murmur. “For the record, if we have to move up the plan again, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll ever marry you.”
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you, Natalie.”
What a dick. I bite my tongue to keep from telling him the deal is off.
“I know you enjoyed last night. If nothing else, you know I’ll fuck you happy every night,” he adds.
“That’s not gonna help me with my job!”
“Oh. You no longer have a job. I told Mr. Jenkins you were quitting today.”
“What? You don’t get to …” I stop and issue a growl of frustration.
“Yeah. You know I do, my little farasha,” he answers, then gives a husky chuckle that makes the place between my legs grow warm and wet. “I’ll send you a car to take you home. It’ll be out back. Ten minutes.”
I hang up on him. My body is fevered from hearing his husky voice, my emotions bubbling. I can almost feel his hands tracing down my body once more, and my breath hitches at the idea I’ll experience him again soon.
Too soon for me to get my thoughts straight. I’m losing my job and by now probably all my friends who live in the building my dear fiancé is going to demolish.
I didn’t expect sleeping with him and our deal to have such fast or terrifying results. What else is going to change? How permanent is this craziness?
Will I be able to go back to my real life, when this is over in three months?
Stressed out already, I wait a few minutes then leave the building out the back entrance. The car is waiting as promised, and there are no reporters out back. I slide into the Towncar and watch the world as we pull out of the alley and past the throngs of people out front.
I’m beyond amazed by the amount of people interested in me. I’m a nobody, a plain Jane from a blue-collar family, someone who can barely repay her student loans.
If they only knew … But they couldn’t. No one can know the truth, or I lose the dangerous game I’m playing with a man who is much more like a wild animal than I expected. Don’t eat me that way.
My pulse is quickening again as I recall him eating me out last night during our first night together. I have no idea if he’s right about fucking helping us look more like a couple. In my book, sex makes you a couple.
So does trust, something we’ll never have, no matter how many nights we fuck.
The car takes me to my old, sagging, cement apartment building, and I’m stunned to see an even larger crowd of press and people outside. I have no idea why – I’m normal. Boring even!
The car stops, and I hesitate. I’m not much of one for crowds, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to become the center of attention here. After the scene at my office, I can’t imagine they’re here for anyone else.
The driver gets out and opens my door.
One person notices, then two. Suddenly, the throng is pressing against me, blocking my path to the building. The driver closes the door and tries to push his way to the front of the car but is shoved back against me by a combination of press and … screaming teen girls in tiaras?
What the fuck is going on? I don’t have time to figure it out. The noise is overwhelming. Reporters pepper me with questions.
“Ms. Hanover! Is it true …”
“… invited to the wedding?”
“… how you captured the heart of a billionaire playboy who …”
“Omigod! You’re going to be a princess!” one teen girl shrieks.
The driver makes it to the front of the car, and I start to push my way to the building. Bulbs are flashing, people shouting questions and microphones and cameras shoved into my face.
I make it a few feet from the car and am stopped by … someone. I’m not sure who pushes into my path, because there are like ten people in front of me while a dozen more jostle past me.
I’m starting to panic. The crowd is fucking insane, and I can’t even manage a no comment or a smile like I see celebrities do on television when swarmed by the press. No, I want to cry and scream at them to get away from me.
I get another step then trip and smash to the ground, taking a reporter with me. People crowd us, someone else accidentally kicking me in the gut as he trips, pushed by the throng behind him.
Chaos breaks out. People are pushing and shoving around me. I see their legs and hear the crash of at least one camera as it hits the ground.
I do the only thing I can think of. I cover my head and pray. Tears fill my eyes. Someone smacks a knee into my cheek, and pain radiates through my head.
Curled up in a ball, I start sobbing. Two more people fall over me, one sprawling right on top of me. He’s shouting at whoever pushed him … something about dropping his microphone.
It’s not supposed to be this way!
I should’ve just shot the bastard! I hear whistles and shouting over a speaker, the sound of a siren.
Someone pulls the guy on top of me off, and then someone else bends down.
“Hold on, ma’am. We’ve got you,” a voice tells me.
A moment later, I’m being picked up and rushed into the apartment building, past four cops, who slam the door behind me.
The one carrying me sets me down. There’s an EMT present, too, and I manage a deep, shaky breath.
“That was bad,” one cop tells another. “I never saw anything like that.”
I want to sob again. Instead, I stand, trembling, as the EMT checks my eyes and lifts my arms carefully. He’s checking for breaks, and I have no fucking clue if anything is broken. Too much adrenaline and fear is in my system.
“Anything hurt?” he asks, touching the spot on my cheek where someone kneed me.
I wince. “That does.”
“Not broken. You’ll have a bruise though.”
I hate my life.
“Any pain in your midsection? Headache? Confusion?”
“No,” I reply.
“I’m pretty sure you’re okay. Lucky.” He replaces everything in the bag at his feet. “I’ve seen a stampede like that once. Killed three people.”
More tears brim in my eyes.
He hands me a cold pack. “Keep that on your cheek. If you notice any sort of sudden headaches, dizzy spells, abdominal pain or back pain, go immediately to the ER. Got it?”
Unable to speak, I nod and place the cold pack against my cheek.
“Ma’am, we’re going to assign a temporary police escort for you,” the cops who rescued me say. “At least until we can figure out what to do about this madness.” He motions to the crowd pressed against the front doors.
Cameras are still flashing, and people wave desperately when I glance their way.
“Thanks.” I turn my back and flee up the stairs to the second floor, where my apartment is.
Unlocking my door, I sling my purse across the room, slam the door and sink against one wall, sobbing.
Next time, I pull the fucking trigger.