Page 11 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Liam

"If you hurt her in any way, you’ll have to deal with me," Zara scowls as she shakes my hand. "Isla’s been through a lot already. Make sure you take care of her."

"Eh?" I narrow my gaze on her. I met Zara Chopra when my friend JJ Kane got the founding members together to introduce us to the concept of his club. And when I had Isla investigated, I knew she and Zara were close friends. But, for once, I have no idea what she’s talking about. And that’s strange, because I thought I knew everything there was to know about my future fake wife. "Care to explain that?"

Zara steps back, then purses her lips. "That’s Isla’s prerogative to tell you or not. Just keep in mind, if you mess with her, you mess with me."

"And me—" Summer says from next to her. She smiles sweetly. "As well as the Seven, who are one of your biggest clients.”

I frown. She’s referring to her husband Sinclair Sterling who’s among the seven billionaires who own 7A investments. They advise some of the biggest brands in the business who, in turn, constitute the bulk of my advertisers.

"Are you threatening me?" I ask lightly.

"Threatening?" She laughs gaily. "Oh, no, I’m just taking care of my friend’s interests."

I tilt my head. "I’m glad Isla has such good friends in her corner." And I mean it. I can appreciate friendship. The kind you could trust enough to keep your secrets.

Of course, I’m not one of those who needs friends. I have myself and my work ethic, and the business I took over from my father and built. A business that will belong to me as soon as I marry and produce an heir. That’s what this entire pretense is for, after all.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies." I incline my head.

“Guess that’s our cue.” With a last scowl at me, Zara heads for the door, followed by Summer, who still has that sweet-yet-lethal smile pasted to her face.

They leave the atrium and I turn and head toward the woman whose back has been turned to me since I walked into the room.

And what a gorgeous back it is. The dress she’s wearing bares the creamy expanse of her back.

It’s cut so low, I can see the dimples on either side at the base of her spine.

The blood thuds in my ears. My pulse thrums at my wrists, at the back of my eyelids, and even in my fucking balls.

I can’t take my gaze off that strip of skin revealed by the 'V' of her plunging neckline.

I reach her, and before I can stop myself, drag my knuckles down her spine.

Goosebumps pepper her skin. She pulls away from me and walks to where her phone is clipped to a tripod rigged with an LED light and a microphone.

"If you’re ready, I thought we could start shooting right away." She switches on the light, fiddles around with the phone, then glances at me over her shoulder.

I take in the gorgeous column of her neck, her upturned nose, that slight tilt to her chin which hints at her stubborn nature. Her skin is dewy, her pink lips are parted. She swallows, and the slim column of her throat moves. A pulse flutters at the base.

Once more, I reach out, and press my thumb to it before I can stop myself. "You are so fucking gorgeous."

She glances at me, stricken, then pulls away.

What the— What did I say? "Isla, I—"

"If we’re going to do this, we need to have ground rules." She puts distance between us.

"Ground rules?" I slide my hands into my pockets.

She nods. "No more touching; no more kissing."

"We need to be intimate for the media to believe us."

"That’s when we’re out and about, but once we’re on our own, you keep your distance. No more" —she waves her hands in the air— "whatever that was."

"And what was that?" I widen my stance.

"I don’t know, and I don’t care. But it’s not happening again." She squares her shoulders. "Promise me, you won’t try to seduce me."

I laugh. "Trust me, when I seduce you, you won’t stand a chance." I wipe the smile off of my face. "It’s not like I want to touch you or kiss you, either. But sometimes—" I drag my fingers through my hair. "I can’t help myself."

"Too bad." She firms her lips. "You need to try harder for me to uphold my side of the bargain."

"Is that an ultimatum?" I ask in a soft voice.

Some of the color fades from her cheeks. "It’s a deal breaker," she murmurs.

I draw myself up to my full height. "Don’t forget, you need this job to salvage your reputation.

Already, the tabloids are buzzing with what you and I were doing together.

They’ve already identified who you are, and rumors about why my wedding planner was canoodling with me instead of my bride are circulating.

As you know, with these kinds of things, you’ll come out of it looking like a wedding wrecker—"

"While you, as the man, will get away with it.”

"—if we don’t handle this properly.” I hold my hands out in front of me. “Hey, I don’t make the rules." I raise a shoulder. So, I’m an asshole. Deal with it. Besides, no one tells me what to do. Not even my future fake wife.

Her jaw hardens. Color flushes her cheeks. Her eyes gleam, and once more, I’m entranced by how vital she is. "You’re an asshole."

"You may call me alphahole."

She flips me the bird, and I bark out a laugh. "Wasn’t expecting that from you."

"Deal with it, jerkass." She all but stamps her foot. "Just… Stay away from me when we don’t have to perform in front of an audience, okay?"

"Are you worried you like my touch entirely too much? You stressed that you’re falling for me? Is that what’s got your panties in a twist?"

"If you must know, my panties are soaked, actually. And yes, that’s exactly why you need to stay away from me." She slaps her hand to her forehead. "Shit, what was I thinking blurting that out? Erase; rewind. Let’s go back to before I said it."

"Let’s not." I close the distance to her, and that’s when the camera beeps.

I glance toward the screen to find it recording.

"Perfect timing." I wrap my arm about her shoulders and draw her close.

She stands stiffly in the circle of my arms and I pull her even closer until her side is plastered to mine.

Until we are joined from torso to hip to thigh.

I slide her in front and notch her head under my chin.

"Isla and I have an announcement to make." I interlace the fingers of my left hand with hers, then hold it up so her ring is visible to the camera. "We’re getting married."

"That went well." I raise a glass of whiskey to my lips.

"You think?" She walks back and forth in front of the kitchen island. "Did you have to just put it out there—that we’re getting married?"

I narrow my gaze. "Wasn’t the intention to inform the press and everyone else by putting it out on social media?”

“Yes, but—” She wrings her fingers together. “Couldn’t you have led up to it in a softer manner?”

I raise a shoulder. “Best not to pussyfoot around these kinds of things. People know when you’re vacillating, and that would have only made us look guilty when we have nothing to hide. It was best to be upfront and let them know our intentions.”

Her phone vibrates, and keeps vibrating, as it has since the post went up on the social media platform. She glances at it, then away.

"Oh, you did a good job of that all right. The straight-speaking groom who’s sorry that it didn’t work out with Lila, but who knew as soon as he set his eyes on me that I was the only one for him."

"It’s the truth."

"The truth." She throws up her hands. "The truth is that I look like a slut, like someone who, while organizing my client’s wedding, fell in love with my client’s husband-to-be."

"It happens." I slide the shot glass of tequila I’ve poured across the counter. "Have a drink."

"I don’t want to have a drink. I think this was a mistake. We shouldn’t have announced it like this."

"So, you’d have rather turned up at the wedding where the press would have realized it was you only when I lifted your veil?"

"Something like that."

Her phone vibrates again. She reaches for it, but I snatch it up and pocket it.

"Hey, give me that."

"It’s not going to help to look at the comments. Let them go crazy. It’s only going to get worse when we finally marry. But it will die down, I promise. Something else will come along, and they’ll shift their attention away."

"How can you be so… blasé?"

"Practice?" I drum my fingers on the counter. "When I first started out in the company that my father founded, everyone compared me to him. They soon realized I was more ambitious, far more ruthless, and didn’t give a fuck about what any of them thought of me."

"That must have made your employees happy."

"Those who didn’t like my style left. The employees who stayed, grew with me.

Some of the naysayers never stopped spreading rumors about me.

But the fuck if I cared. The more I built up the company and added new businesses to the portfolio, the more money I made, the more their voices dropped in pitch, until they were gone, drowned out by the jingle of coins. Metaphorically speaking, that is."

"Is everything about money?" She scrutinizes my features.

"Isn’t everything about money?"

"I know… It’s why I’m here, but that’s only because I don’t have any. What about when you have more than you can ever spend? Life can’t be just about amassing wealth and power and possessions. There has to be something more to it, surely."

"Says the woman who agreed to this arrangement to have access to both."

"No, I just didn’t want you to drive me out of business. It’s not as if you gave me much of a choice." She hunches her shoulders. "Maybe I didn’t think it through completely. I’m not sure it’s worth having my name out there as a wedding-breaker. I’m a wedding planner, not a wedding-destroyer."

"Should have thought about that before you gave my ex-fiancée the advice you did." I smirk.

"Argh!" She plants her hands on her hips. "Don’t you have one iota of empathy in you?"

I pretend to think about it, then respond, "Nope," and shake my head. "Empathy never got me very far in life. On the other hand, ignoring everyone and everything else to focus on my goals? That’s what’s helped me move forward."

"Me, too." She rubs her forehead. "But I’m not sure about anything anymore." She draws in a breath. “You know what that means, right?”

“No, what does it mean?”

She glances about the space, then her gaze alights on my bar at the far end. “It’s time for a drink.”