Dirty Billionaire(19)

I look down one last time at the list in my hand. Pros and cons. Because apparently that’s what you do when faced with a decision like this. Weigh the options.

Get engaged to JC and perpetuate a farce that may end up with me being an even bigger laughingstock in the industry, but keep the record execs happy and my career flowing in the right direction.

My other choice is to sell my body to a man for a generous divorce settlement in the hopes that he has enough power to save me from the wrath that will surely follow from the record label.

I’ll possibly be putting my dream at risk, but I have to believe Tana is right—the man is rich beyond my wildest imagination, and with that money comes incredible power. Will he use it to help me?

The other pro on that side of the column is the amazing sex. But will I be able to have that kind of relationship while keeping myself and my emotions intact? He was so incredibly dominant before, and I can’t imagine he’ll be anything less on a daily basis. But will he understand that the demands on my career come first?

Do I take the safe road? Or do I take the bold one?

“Sixty! Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight!”

My belly flops as the countdown to the New Year begins.

I suck in a deep breath and let it out. And I start to run.





Heart hammering, I lift my hand to knock, but before my knuckles connect with the surface, the door swings open.

And there he is.

Tall and darkly handsome in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and thin black tie. Silver cufflinks pin his French cuffs in place, and a heavy silver watch peeks out from beneath, settling against his thick, tanned wrist. The minute hand on that watch should just be sliding past the mark of the midnight hour. I made it just in time.

I drag my gaze up the length of his tie until I reach his face. Even in my high-heeled boots, he’s still several inches taller than me.

He’s not looking at my face, though; he’s making a leisurely study of the rest of me. Even though I just did the same thing, his gaze sends prickles of heat through me as I wait for him to finish. I count to fifteen before he finally meets my eyes.

His deep brown irises give nothing away, and neither does his expressionless face. A five o’clock shadow darkens his jaw, which makes him even more dangerously gorgeous than I remember.

“On time like a good girl. You just saved yourself a punishment.”

The prickling heat spreads at the approval in his tone, although I think I hear a trace of disappointment at the lack of punishment. The memory of his palm connecting with my rear flashes through my brain, and I fight to keep my composure.

“Come in,” he says before stepping back and holding the door open wide.

Following his command, I walk inside, attempting to hide the strange combination of anticipation and misgiving racing through me.

The door shuts with a decisive thud, and the metallic click of the dead bolt seems to echo in the silence of the room. Or maybe that’s just my wildly overactive imagination, which is replaying everything that happened in this room that night. It’s like the reverse walk of shame, or returning to the scene of a crime.

Stop. Pull it together, Holly.

I walk to the window and stare down nineteen stories toward Central Park. Christmas lights and people are everywhere, celebrating the New Year. And out there in a studio on Times Square, there’s a very unhappy JC and some livid record executives.

I had to shut my phone off hours before, turning it on only to call Tana, and powering it down immediately after. I told them I’d show up if I thought I could live with the decision, but it turns out, I can’t.

And so now I’m here.

I feel him behind me, even though I didn’t hear him cross the room. I tear my gaze away from the lights and turn to face him.

Taking a steadying breath, I say the only thing I can think of. “You sure know how to get a girl’s attention.”

His full lips quirk into a half smile before smoothing back into their expressionless line. Even the serious expression fuels the heat building in my core. I don’t understand this man’s effect on me. It makes no sense.

“I knew it would work.” He holds out a hand. “I’ll take your jacket.”

His deep baritone rumbles through me, and my hands automatically reach for the buttons of my pea coat, even though I should be bristling at his certainty that I’d show. How could he know that? He doesn’t know me.

He waits in silence for me to undo the buttons and hand it over. I focus on his eyes as they flick down to take in my skinny jeans tucked into fringed brown leather boots—my favorite pair and a rare indulgence, which I wore for a boost of confidence—and sheer white top and white cami beneath it. The rhinestones hanging from my ears and circling my wrist are costume jewelry, and this man is clearly used to spending time with women wearing diamonds. I’m obviously underdressed.