Page 25 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Eighteen

Seraphina

Before I even step out of my car in the parking lot of Poison Girl, I do the responsible thing.

I check my bank balance.

There’s a pending deposit. I close my eyes and sigh, thanking the gods of payroll.

My first check from Blackwell Enterprises is dangling in cyberspace like a carrot I can’t quite reach yet.

But with the money I still have and the promise of more to come, I have enough to splurge on the seven-dollar wine tonight.

As I make my way to the patio, I grin.

I’m living in the lap of luxury. Then I laugh at that idea. But the truth is, I even have enough to split a pizza if Lila and Tasha are hungry. Tonight I don’t have to watch others eat while my tummy grumbles.

Poison Girl is already buzzing.

A tangle of string lights swings in the faint breeze, casting warm gold across mismatched chairs and scuffed wooden tables. There’s the scent of spilled beer, grilling burgers, and someone’s peach vape cloud. Montrose in all its messy, unapologetic glory.

I don’t see either of my friends yet, so I search out one of the few empty tables. I slide into the seat and let the stress bleed out of my spine one vertebra at a time.

God, do I need this break.

Being with Xavier is always…a lot.

But right now it feels more intense than it ever has.

Saturday evening was pure magic, from the sexy way he’d made me come undone, then stayed the night and took me to breakfast the next morning.

Even though I didn’t want it to matter to me as much as it did, the things he did to me were the stuff of dreams. He treats me like a princess in public and worships me when we’re alone.

All of Sunday, while we were apart, I’d wanted to pinch myself to be sure it was real.

And yet, the man who returned to my apartment a few hours later wasn’t the same as the one who’d taken me to brunch.

He smiled when he came to pick me up for dinner, but there’d been a broodiness about him. And when he refreshed my wine, I noticed his knuckles were bruised.

Scowling, I’d asked him about it. He said something about needing to burn off energy after running into Lane Marchand and learning the man had submitted his own bid for Lockhart, putting even more pressure on Blackwell. On us.

He admitted that some of the board members had been making comments about the picture with Bianca.

I’d said nothing.

He assured me nothing had happened. And with as intense and honest as his eyes were, I believed him.

But…

I’d held back a secret of my own.

A recruiter reached out to me through the professional job board that I’m on. Even though I was disgraced, I’d kept the profile active, just in case. She’d asked if I had any interest in interviewing with the Marchand Group, adding that they were prepared to make a generous offer.

Loyal to Xavier, I fired back a polite refusal.

He’d lose his shit and fire me if he had a single hint that I’d talked to another company, especially a rival.

But holding back the information made me a little uneasy.

Fortunately we’ve been so damn busy since then, spending every minute going through the financials, talking about our bid, wondering if we need to increase it.

For me, the bigger problem is, the closer we get to the board meeting a week from Monday, the more I am uncertain of the entire deal. As I told him from the beginning, something isn’t right. I just need more time to figure it out.

Jolting me from my thoughts—thankfully—Tasha strides in like she owns the place. Damn. I’ve only met her a few times, and I’m not prepared for the nonwork version of Tasha.

Her lipstick is fire-engine red and her outfit’s equal parts chic and combat ready. She scans the crowd like she’s casing it for a high-profile arrest, then zeroes in on me.

“Girl.” She plops into the seat across from me, “I am dying . I could eat a pizza the size of a small child. And I need something cold to drink, stat. It’s been a hell of a week.”

There’s a lot of that going around. “We’re in luck. I have room in my budget to chip in on some food.”

Tasha grins back. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Grinning, I flag down one of our regular servers.

“Rosé?” he asks when he makes it over to us.

“Actually I’m splurging on the chard tonight.”

“Livin’ large. What happened? Did you win the lotto? Rob a bank?”

“Something like that.” I respond in my own teasing way. “But I still want your house wine. You, know, the one on the happy-hour menu.” No matter what happens in future, I’ll never forget the feeling of not having enough money to pay my bills.

I order a drink for Lila as well. Then Tasha tells him to surprise her with something fruity and wonderful.

He eyes her as if he’d like to surprise her with something more as well.

“I think we’ll get extra good service tonight.”

We both laugh.

A few minutes later, Lila arrives, looking unfairly good for someone who’s allegedly “between toner cycles.” She waves, drops into the remaining chair, and eyes us both over her sunglasses. “Ladies.”

Our drinks arrive—two chardonnays and whatever concoction Tasha ordered. Suspiciously it’s the same color as a traffic cone. Then we order a mushroom and truffle oil pizza to share, and suddenly it feels like the world is a little less brutal.

Being with friends, laughing, drinking makes me forget everything that’s going on at work.

Until Tasha drops a bomb.

“Okay, so. Hypothetical. What if I told you I’m trying to get a job working with Lane Marchand?”

I choke on my wine. Marchand? Xavier’s nemesis? Why does his name keep coming up?

Lila’s eyebrows fly up.

Reeling, I look at her. “Like the Lane Marchand?” There can’t be two of them, can there?

“Yeah.” Tasha shrugs. “I feel like I’m kind of stuck where I am.

I love being a property acquisition specialist, but I want more, you know?

To sell things. And he’s building out a whole innovation hub downtown.

I’ve been following it since the announcement.

The guy’s a viper, but he gets shit done. ”

Lila blinks slowly. “He also nearly got curb-stomped at the farmer’s market last month. People hate him. Talk about someone whose image needs rehabbing.” She shrugs. “Not that I’d take on a project like that.”

That’s saying a lot, since she’s the go-to PR whisperer for both local stars and their desperate imitators.

“Man has no redeeming qualities.”

“He is passionate.” Tasha lifts her glass.

“Greedy,” Lila counters, no fan of billionaires, even though she has a few who are clients. She doesn’t mind taking their cash and donating it to causes she supports.

“Rumor has it, he’s trying to poach you, Seraphina. Is that true?”

My stomach bottoms out. Where the hell did that information come from?

“What?” Lila’s voice goes high-pitched. “Are you serious?”

Both of my friends look at me.

“I got an inquiry from a recruiter.”

“Does Blackheart know?”

“No.” I shake my head. “And I said no immediately.”

“You’d better have.” Lila blows out a breath. “He’d lose his goddamn mind.”

Tasha laughs. “He’s not exactly Mr. Balanced Energy, is he?”

I feel as if someone pulled the rug out from under me. “Where did you hear that?”

Tasha takes a sip. “I’m in the industry. Anytime there’s something big happening in the real estate market, gossip starts flying. Half the time, the rumors aren’t true. And this Lockhart deal has everyone talking.”

“She’s right.” Lila sits back as if she’s holding court. “Even I’ve been hearing about it.”

“There was the whole scandal with Bianca Lockhart.”

“Someone doesn’t want the deal to go through,” Lila guesses.

Marchand, no doubt. The man who wants to poach me, the billionaire viper Tasha wants to work for.

“Speaking of gossip…” Lila gives me a sideways look. “How’s it going with your dark prince?”

I swirl my wine, stalling for time. The last time she’d seen him had been at dinner, right here. Of course she has questions. “Good.”

“That didn’t sound confident.”

“This…” What to say? “Work is stressful.”

“Getting deals across the finish line can be murder,” Tasha agrees.

Lila nods.

“And Sunday night…” I really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Their gazes lock on me like twin laser beams.

I shake my head, unsure how to even explain it.

Back at my place, we’d made love, but it had been so different from the night before.

He was restraining himself, but his actions were rougher than usual, as if he were trying to exorcise some demon.

And not just what Marchand had said to him.

It was as if there was something deeper, darker, and he wouldn’t tell me what it was.

As if something inside him was breaking.

Then, before he left, he took me hard, and held me tight, as if he was afraid of losing me.

“Sera?”

Lila brings me back to the present. No longer wanting to talk about it, I shake my head and settle for, “He’s a lot.“

Neither of them speaks for a beat.

“You okay?” Tasha asks.

The pizza arrives, mercifully interrupting the heavy moment. Lila squeals when she sees the truffle oil shimmer.

“You splurged on this?” She lifts her glass. “Here’s to actual food and no more five-dollar wine from now on!”

I grin. “I checked my balance. Payday’s pending. I’m living a little.”

“Damn straight.” She clinks my glass.

Tasha eyes me. “You settling into the new place? Everything okay there?

Of course she’d be curious. She was the one who found my apartment for me. “I love it. It’s mine. I have working AC. I sleep. I don’t wake up sweaty and cursing the universe. It’s—” I sigh. “It’s a place I can relax. And the coffee maker? Oh my God.”

“You like it?”

“I had to have Xavier show me how to work it. But I may never grab a cup from a shop again. I’m now officially spoiled.”

“You deserve all of that,” Lila says. “And you should have had it all along.”

Another dig at Xavier, despite the way he’d pitched in and taken her to dinner. My friend is loyal, no doubt. And even though she’s no longer overtly hostile, I’m not sure she’ll ever totally forgive him.

We eat, we talk, we laugh too loud. By the time the check comes, I’m full and pink-cheeked and more relaxed than I’ve been in days.

We stand to leave, and Lila lingers behind, catching my elbow as Tasha heads for the sidewalk.

“You know I love you,” she starts, her voice low.

“Always a terrifying way to begin.”

She smiles, then sobers. “Just…be careful. He’s still Blackheart. You forget that when he’s soft-spoken and shirtless and dazzling you with limos and fancy dinners.”

That’s not what’s happening here. The wine buzz turns bittersweet. So why can’t I wave off her warning and forget it?

Instead her words echo in my mind, getting louder each time they repeat.

She hugs me. “Call me. Anytime. I’ll be there for you.”

I say thanks because it’s expected, then head to my car. As I’m sliding behind the wheel, my phone lights up.

Xavier.

My heart does a slow, traitorous somersault.

He’s calling outside of work hours, which means everything is fine. It’s stress and lack of sleep that’s making me think that he’s put some distance between us.

His voice is velvet in my ear. “Are you home safe?”

“Actually heading there now.”

A beat. “Did you drink?”

“One glass of chardonnay. Nothing more.”

“I don’t like you driving tired. You should have let Vionna take you.”

This isn’t the first time he’s made that argument. “Honestly everything’s okay. Just full of pizza and little tired.”

When I stop for a light, the interior of the car gets very quiet.

“I need you to remember something.”

I swallow. “What?”

Low, urgent command laces his tone. “Your orgasms belong to me.”

Heat flashes through me like a spark to kindling.

“Do you understand, my good girl?”

I exhale, shaky. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good. Now drive safely. Call me when you get there.”

“Oh?”

“You’re going to masturbate for me.”

I squeal. “On the phone?”

“No.” He pauses for a long, meaningful beat. “On video. I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. And you’re going to follow every one of my dirty orders, and I’m going to watch you do it. Any questions?”