The Billionaire Game 3(12)

“Thanks, Prince Charming,” I snapped, and then sighed. “The store’s a success. I shouldn’t be complaining.”

“The store’s a success because you’ve been working fourteen-hour days.”

I started. “How did you know…”

“I call Nicole every once in awhile,” he admitted. “When you’re out to lunch. She keeps me in the loop—she doesn’t know you’re mad at me.”

“Oh, she knows,” I muttered. “She’s just a smart girl. She also knows what side her bread is buttered on. I take it you know about the fashion show then?”

“Evangeline’s already called me,” he said briskly, standing and starting to pace with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve been drawing up some lists of things to do: I have an in with several advertising outlets that we should be able to exploit on short notice—it may still be possible to get a TV spot, I’m having my receptionist Candi schedule appointments with several connections in the fashion industry to talk up our line, get our names out there, get them familiar with our product—”

Our line, our names, our product? Had he heard one goddamn word I’d just said?

“That won’t be necessary,” I interrupted, my heart already racing at the thought of how much time his proposed plans would mean we would have to spend together. What if being around him made me do something stupid, like kiss him or forgive him or admit to human weaknesses like having actual romantic feelings for manipulative playboy assholes? That would be a disaster. “I meant what I said. This—us—being around you—it’s a distraction, and I can’t afford distractions. If you’re staying, then I want you to be a silent partner. Silent as the goddamn grave, Asher. No phone calls, no face-to-face meetings, no fancy picnics on your yacht. If you have suggestions on the business aspect of things, you may convey them to me in writing, or have my assistant take down a memo, or maybe even send a text message or an email, but only if it’s completely professional in tone and...”

I was babbling, my mouth trying to outrun my feelings as I watched hurt and anger and loss flash through Asher’s startlingly verdant eyes, as I tried to remind myself that I couldn’t trust a single thing I saw there. I stood to leave, proud of the steadiness of my stance even though inside I was feeling about as steady as a drunk man on a tightrope.

Asher stood too; his eyes flashing. The storm of emotions swirling through them had settled on just one feeling: anger. “How can you just walk away like that?”

“With my legs,” I retorted. “Or have you spent so much time in your spaceship you’ve forgotten how to do that?”

Asher threw his hands in the air. “Why won’t you listen to a damn thing I say?”

I had turned to go, but at that I whirled around, a rant blooming on my lips: because if I listen to one more thing you say then my heart will be stretched so thin that the tiniest jostle will break it, and I can’t bear that, not again, not after I cared about you so much and you hurt me so badly. Oh Asher, I cared about you so much and I didn’t even know till right this second, why did you have to ruin everything, oh God Asher I think I loved you, I think I still love y—

But before I could say anything out loud, a dark glint came into his eyes.

“Fine. Maybe you’ll listen to this,” he almost growled, his voice descending a full octave in a way that made my nipples tighten against my will.

He strode towards me and grabbed my arms, pushing me up against the frosted glass wall, his strong body covering mine. His hips pressed urgently into me as his hot mouth claimed mine, and I melted into his embrace, my lips parting automatically as his tongue thrust inside. A thousand memories swept me up as his hands held me fast and he kissed me with more passion than I had ever felt before. I sighed into his mouth, and when I looked up I saw triumph flash in his eyes—

And that broke the spell.

Asher liked games. Asher liked to win.

Asher had only ever liked me as a means to win a game, and I was done playing.

I wrenched away from him. “Goodbye, Asher,” I said, my voice shaking, and oh, I wished I knew for certain if it was with lust or with loss or with rage. “I sincerely hope that I won’t be hearing from you again.”

I stormed down the hall and into the elevator before he could see the tears burning in my eyes, and then coursing down my cheeks.





FIVE




Another day, another charity auction, this one to pay the legal fees of lawyers for political prisoners in a country whose name I couldn’t have pronounced even before I downed three flutes of champagne bottled centuries before I was born, their combined cost a number so high I was going to have to drink more just to keep it from floating in front of my eyes, haunting my dreams.