Page 148 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Eight months later

Abby

“Oh, hope I’m not interrupting?” I squeeze my fingers around the vase of flowers and peek inside the hospital room.

Zara, holding the newborn in her arms, and Hunter, who’s fresh from his victory at the general election, glance up at me.

I hunch my shoulders and look away, then back at them.

Why do I have to be so diffident? Why can’t I feel half as confident as the woman who fixes me with her unblinking gaze.

Don’t flush now; you didn’t do anything wrong.

You’re only here to update them on the new campaign you’re working on.

Why can’t I find it in me to be courageous?

To hold my own and face the world head on?

The silence lengthens. My cheeks turn fiery.

"I could come back," I begin, but Hunter rises to his feet.

"You’re not interrupting. And actually, I’d be reassured if you’d keep Zara company while I make a few calls." He kisses her forehead, then prowls past me.

"Come on in." Zara, who’s also my boss, gestures to me.

I walk over to the table pushed up against the wall and place my flowers amongst the many bouquets and toys scattered there.

The scent of roses, lilies, and other flowers mesh to form a heady, floral perfume that embraces me.

No hint of antiseptic or any of the smells one would associate with a hospital dare intrude here.

After all, Zara is the wife of the Prime Minister, who also happens to be one of the richest men in the country. "Wow, this room smells like a garden!"

"All the Seven and the Sovranos sent me flowers and gifts for the baby," Zara says in a soft voice.

I lower my chin. "You’re talking about Sinclair Sterling who runs the 7A company with his friends—"

"And the Sovranos." She nods.

I stare. "The Sovranos? As in, the Italian Mafia?" I met Michael Sovrano and some of his brothers at Zara’s wedding. And of course, I noticed their dark good looks. I attributed it to their Italian heritage, but I didn’t connect the dots. "So, they’re part of the—"

"They were a part of the Cosa Nostra." Zara touches a finger to her baby’s forehead, then glances up at me. "But since they found their women and settled down, they’ve gone legit."

Which doesn’t mean anything. They’re probably running their Mafia businesses by proxy, as criminals who like to be viewed as being on the right side of the law like to do.

I should know, after all. It’s the background I come from.

I strive to keep my thoughts from coloring my expression. "So, they have a criminal background?"

"Doesn’t everyone have skeletons in their closet?" She raises a shoulder.

The flush which had receded comes back with a vengeance.

This time, it’s accompanied by the flip-flop of my stomach.

My guts churn. Stop feeling guilty. You have nothing to be afraid of.

And if I’m hiding the fact that my background is closer to that of the Cosa Nostra, then…

Well, I don’t need Zara to find out about it, do I? I glance away, then back at her.

"You’re not good at hiding your thoughts, you know?" She tilts her head.

My cheeks burn, and I lock my fingers together in front of me.

“Oh, so you noticed?” I laugh nervously, and she joins in. "It’s the curse of having such fair skin," I mumble.

"Or a pure mind." She half smiles. "It’s okay to be innocent. In fact, it’s preferable one retains a core of innocence at heart. Just don’t be naive when it comes to making decisions, okay?"

If she only knew of the decisions I made to get here, she wouldn’t think I’m that innocent. Guess I’m a better actress than I gave myself credit for. I bite the inside of my cheek. "Thanks Zara, I really appreciate you taking me under your wing."

"You’ve more than pulled your weight over the past few months on the campaign. Without your efforts, my husband couldn’t have been elected as the Prime Minister." She smiles.

I hunch my shoulders. "Th-thank you so much."

"Raise your chin," she orders.

"Eh?"

"Raise your chin, girl, and accept the praise. Own it like a mother—ducking—fitch." She glances down at the still sleeping baby in her arms, then back at me. "Oopsie."

I can’t stop myself from laughing. I move closer, then study the little bundle in her arms. "He’s sooo small."

She scoffs. "He didn’t feel that small when I pushed him out of my va—a—ah—ina. You know what I mean?"

"Jesus, that’s too much information," a deep voice rumbles.

The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I know who that is. I know that sinful baritone belongs to a man whose soul is as dark as his voice. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

It’s as if I have no control over my body anymore. As if I’m the puppet and he’s the puppeteer to whom I’ve handed over control. I pivot and take in the man lounging in the doorway.

The man I haven’t seen for eight months. So, I counted the days and scanned my phone almost every hour I was awake, hoping to hear from him. And reached for my phone almost every day to text him. I managed to reign myself in. Thank god.

My friends were a welcome distraction. I spent time with Solene whenever she was in town.

I also hung out with Isla and Amelie—who I met through Zara—and I’ve become fast friends with them.

Of course, it helps that Solene moves in the same circles as Isla and Amelie, thanks to her sister Olivia’s connection to the Sovranos and the Seven.

They knew I was involved with Cade, but I didn’t give them the background to our relationship.

Or rather, our non-relationship, as it turned out to be.

My friends, in turn, did their best to distract me, and almost succeeded.

Almost. Except for the night I broke down in front of Solene.

Even then, I couldn’t tell her everything.

She assumed my tears were because I missed Cade, but that was only half-true.

She comforted me, then took me home and put me to bed.

And I survived another day without the twatface—the handsome devil currently watching me with interest. Now, I square my shoulders and finally raise my gaze to his face.

As always, the impact of his beauty is like a truck smashing into my chest. Dark hair that’s cut short at the sides—shorter than when I last saw him—and long on top.

Square jaw, mis-matched eyes so bright they seem to draw every inch of light in the room.

High cheekbones, the makings of a five-o-clock shadow on his chin, even though it’s not even noon.

He straightens, and his shoulders fill the doorway.

Then he prowls toward me, and the rest of the room recedes.

His wide chest is sculpted enough that the grey Henley he’s wearing stretches across his pecs.

His waist is narrow, his powerful thighs straining the worn jeans he’s wearing.

His gaze locks with mine, and as always, it’s as if he’s reaching into my mind and gleaning every dirty fantasy I’ve harbored about him all these months.

Jesus, how I’ve missed him. I trawled his social media feeds, tuned into the cricket matches, and stalked the tabloid gossip columns for any news I could get about him.

I learned a lot about the sport and found out more about the countries whose teams he competed against. I also froze the screen every time there was a close up of him during a match, and again, when it focused on him deep in discussion with his teammates, on and off the field.

So, I began to understand his role as the team captain and the fact that he’s what they called a team player.

The alphahole who was mean to me, before he shared his biggest secrets with me, is very loyal when it comes to defending his team members against the media and against the athletes on the opposing teams gunning for them…

All of which paints a far more complex picture about this guy than I could have imagined.

But it doesn’t tell me much more about the man himself.

If anything, it confused me about who the real Cade 'the King' Kingston is.

Is he the man who bullied me? The man who spanked me and made me orgasm?

The man who confided in me after making tender love to me?

Or the man who put his team-mates before himself on the sports field, regardless of the fact that it could have cost him the opportunity to smash records on the playing field?

Or is he the man who fucks his way through the beds of supermodels and actresses?

Yeah, he appeared in the tabloids at various gala events around the world—each time with a different woman on his arm.

I should hate him for it. And I do. He went from my bed into those of these other women.

I’d been nothing but easy pussy. Perhaps, that’s why he shared himself with me—so he could soften me up enough so I’d open myself to him that last time we made love.

And that was special. It was mind-blowing, the most emotionally moving experience of my life.

Even now, as I think of the connection we shared, of how he handled my body, my pussy clenches, my chest tightens, and my pulse speeds up.

Some of my thoughts must be reflected on my face, for those mismatched eyes of his flash.

His gaze grows heated as he looks me up and down.

He takes a step in my direction when the baby mewls.

Zara shushes the child, but the spell is broken.

He draws himself to his full height, then wipes all expression from his face.

He glances toward his sister, and my muscles sag.

It’s as if I’ve been released from a tractor beam.

He heads toward his sister, and his features form into an uncomfortable expression.

"Didn’t mean to overhear that earlier conversation," he mumbles.

"Nonsense. You’re perfectly aware of how the birthing process takes place," Zara scolds him.

"Yes, but so far, births and anything to do with them have only been a concept, just like the fact you’re a mother now is something I’m still trying to wrap my head around," he drawls.

He walks over to stand on the side of the bed opposite me. Which leaves the entire expanse of the bed between us, thank god. His fingers are looped around one pink and one blue balloon, which say, ‘baby boy’ and ‘baby girl,’ respectively.

"Was covering all my bases, since you kept us guessing until the last moment," he explains, then glances down at the baby in her arms. "Wow, you really are a mom."

"And you’re an uncle."

Cade’s face lights up. He thrusts out his chest and pulls back his shoulders. "I can’t wait to teach him how to play cricket."

"Would you like to hold him?" Zara asks.

Cade looks alarmed. "Me?" There’s so much panic in his voice, I have to press my lips together to stop myself from snorting out loud.

"Yes, you." Zara tilts her head.

"Umm. He’s too fragile. Maybe when he’s a little older?" Cade takes a step back to punctuate his words. The balloons flutter above him. "I guess I should tie these…somewhere?" He crosses the room to a chair pushed up by the window and ties them to its back.

"Oh, now I realize what’s wrong,” I exclaim. “The pink balloon says, ‘baby boy,’ and the blue balloon—"

"—says ‘baby girl.’ I’m aware." Cade spins around, then walks back to take his place on the side of the bed opposite me; this time, putting more distance between the bed and himself. Not that I’m complaining. The farther away from me he is, the better.

"Shouldn’t it… I mean… Shouldn’t it be the other way around…

?" I chew on my lower lip, and his gaze lowers to my mouth. His nostrils flare and he looks annoyed. With me? With himself, maybe? He raises his gaze to mine, and my breath catches. There are sparks of something I can only define as…lust? Nah, not possible. He doesn’t find me attractive. Does he?

Zara clears her throat, and Cade snaps out of his reverie.

"Who am I here to visit, hmm?" he drawls

I frown. "You’re coming to visit Zara."

"Who is…?"

"Your sister?" I offer.

"And?"

"Uh, she’s very much a feminist, a strong woman, ah—" I tip up my chin. "I get it now. You were making a statement you knew she’d approve of."

"You’re smarter than you look." He smirks.

I firm my lips. "And you’re not as dumb as you look."

His gaze widens. "Dumb? Did you just call me dumb?"

"You know what they say." I thrust out a hip. "When you have a good-looking face, chances are there’s nothing between the ears."

Cade’s jaw hangs open, then he chuckles. "Very good."

"You talk as if you didn’t think I could hold my own in a conversation," I scoff.

"Oh, I’m sure you can." He raises his shoulder. "If not, my sister wouldn’t have hired you."

"I took her on because Abby showed a lot of potential. In fact—" Zara turns to me. "I see something of me in you."

A warmth suffuses my chest. "You do?"

She nods. "You have the same hunger, the need to prove yourself. That thirst for success that pushes you to try harder, to go that extra mile—"

"Which is why I think you’ll be perfect for the role of my new Communications Manager." Cade steps in smoothly.

Eh, excuse me? Did he just say what I think he did? I jerk my chin in his direction. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I need help managing my social media profiles, as well as my PR, and you heard my sister, you’re among the best on her team. So, I’ve decided you can come work for me.”

No way. He’s offering me a job?

The asshole who shagged me then disappeared from my life; the man who’s been fucking his way through women in different parts of the world is offering me a role on his team?

And why? Because he wants to see me fail and laugh at me, no doubt.

Apparently, raising my expectations that, perhaps, there was a chance for us to explore a relationship, then shattering those hopes by leaving me wasn’t enough.

Guess he wants to destroy what little is left of my confidence, eh?

Of course, it’d mean I’d finally get a chance to see him every day.

And how agonizing would that be? To watch him from up-close as he shags other women?

If I accept this job, I’m setting myself up for failure, or worse…

heartbreak, considering I’m more than half in love with him already.

Or maybe, I’m fully in love with him, going by how my heartbeat hasn’t slowed since I saw him in the doorway.

If I go to work for him, it’s going to be agony.

It’s best to stay as far away from him as possible.

It’s the only way I’m going to hold on to what dignity I have left.

I fold my arms across my chest, mirroring Cade’s earlier body language. "And if I refuse?"