Page 33 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

“Because Nico’s a boring old sod who likes those kinds of parties,” I say, but even I can hear the defensiveness in my tone.

“Thanks for that,” Nico says on a laugh.

Matt presses his lips together and nods, as though my comment proves him correct, even though he still hasn’t fucking said exactly what he thinks.

“Hold on, what exactly are you implying?” I ask him.

“He thinks she’s using you,” Nico states.

That wave of pain crashes back like the incoming tide, wearing me down.

She is using me, and I fucking offered. That’s the whole point of this fake dating scenario, but knowing that Matt and Nico think that’s what’s going on when they have no idea the relationship is fake is so uncomfortable that all I can do is mutter, “What?”

“Whenever I went out with Erica, I always knew it was for show,” Nico says. “That’s her thing. Maintaining the public image.”

I clench my fists, wishing I had a bottle of scotch on hand so I could down the whole fucking thing. “Yeah, maybe with you it was for show. But that’s not what this is,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Why would you think that?”

“There was that sudden flurry of press about her leaked audition tapes. How unsexy she is”—Matt winces and throws me an apologetic glance before he continues—“and that she’d never be able to pull off a role in a film like Taming the Beast .

Then, out of the blue, she’s all over you on social media, announcing that you’re dating…

She’s not a woman who does anything by accident. ”

“That’s true,” Nico adds. “She’s one hell of a business woman.”

I want to step in and say it’s really her mother driving the entire business, but Matt chimes in before I can.

“Exactly. Did she trip and hit her head or something? Or go on an Ayahuasca retreat and not come down from the high? Her being with you… It’s completely out of character.”

All I can hear in my head is Erica’s constant refrain of ‘ this is all fake ’.

And I can already see the expressions on Matt and Nico’s faces if I admit it.

“What is this, an intervention? You didn’t hear me telling either of you that Kate and Aries would never take you seriously. Why can’t you do me the same favour?”

“That’s not what we’re saying—” Nico begins, but I cut him off.

“Really? Because that’s what I’m hearing.

That Erica would have to have sustained brain damage or be under the influence of some mind-altering substance to be dating me.

It’s exactly what you’re saying.” I stand, my temples pounding with the onset of a headache.

I can’t take much more today. My balls are blue, my bank balance has taken a hit, and Nico and Matt still treating me like the joker in the fucking pack is the final straw .

“You know what? This is really none of your fucking business. Get out of my office.”

They share a look and retreat together from the room. When the door closes, paranoia hits me. They’re talking about me . Actually, fuck it, they’re probably not even doing that. That’s probably the whole bloody conversation over and they’ll go back to more important things.

I take a deep breath, trying to push all of it out of my mind. Does it matter if Erica’s using me? I offered. Does it matter that she’d never date me for real ?

I can’t think about it now. By way of distraction, I grab the box containing the phone Nico dropped off. It’s already been set up. Ready to go.

There’s already a message on it, but my stomach drops when I see who it’s from. Dad .

I open it to find a series of images, screenshots from social media or tabloid websites, showing me smashing the photographer’s camera last week.

Tucking my watch into his front pocket. There’s even one of Erica leaning over me on the grass on Hampstead Heath when I licked the hand she cupped over my mouth.

Seeing it brings back the memory of the salty taste of her skin, and heat rushes me.

I flick through more images. They’re not from social media.

They’ve been taken on a professional camera.

He has people watching me. I fucking knew it .

One final image comes through. This one is from social media: the one from the photo shoot, where Erica’s on my lap, head thrown back, looking as though she’s having an epic, life-altering orgasm.

After the photos is one single message.

Dad: I said discreet.

I type a quick response, sending it before I can hold back.

Me: Fuck you.

Instantly, one of the fake images of me with the underage girl comes through. I nearly drop my phone at the shock of seeing it again. I delete it and call my father, holding the phone to my ear as it rings.

“Sebastian,” Dad croons when he answers.

“Did you have someone steal my wallet? Erica’s stuff too?”

He clears his throat. “I thought you needed a reminder that I can take you down in person and online. Anywhere, anytime.”

A hot ball of rage simmers in my chest. “What the fuck do you want?”

“You know what I want. I want you to behave. I want you to agree to this marriage. I want you to get down on one fucking knee and propose to Diana Marchetti.”

“No. I don’t care if you take every fucking penny I have—”

“I’ll take more than money, Sebastian.” My phone buzzes and more of those incriminating images come through, each one worse than the last. I feel sick looking at them, the taste of bile hitting the back of my throat.

“You’re the worst father in the world.”

Silence. “I’m a businessman first, a father last.”

I drop my head into my hand, the pounding in my temples ratcheting up tenfold. That heartless fucking bastard.

“You have four months,” Dad confirms. “Give me your word that you will marry Diana. If you don’t agree, I will release these photos. Tonight.”

Tonight?

I’ve seen charges like this take men down. Destroy lives. And I know he’d do it to get his way. Ruthless .

My mind spins, Erica’s name racing through it over and over. I can’t hold on to logic as the panic whirls in my system. Dad’s words from our meeting rush in, booming through my thoughts, crushing everything else, washing her name away, eroding it like the flow of a rampaging river over rock.

It’s not as if you’d be leaving anyone behind; I know you don’t give a shit about any of those women, and I doubt they care about you either.

Not really. Not on any level that counts.

Trust me, I know what that’s like. The hollow, empty feeling inside.

Never really caring and wondering why not.

At least this way, you’ll have a woman who’ll stick around for longer than a couple of weeks.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe no one will ever give a fuck about me.

Not really. Not on any deep level. But Erica has just announced us as a couple on social media.

If I say no to Dad, and he does release these images, Erica gets taken down by association.

This will hurt her chances of achieving what she wants, and there’s no way that can happen.

If we stick to her time frame and end things by Nico and Kate’s wedding, then I’ll be clear for a month before this marriage to Diana is announced and Erica will be fine.

She’ll have moved on. Not that there’s anything to move from.

Ours will just be another flash in the pan celebrity relationship.

Yesterday’s news . Searing pain rips through me at the thought, but I suppress the fuck out of that sensation.

“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll do it. But back the fuck off and let me do whatever the hell I want for these final months.”

“And then you’ll marry Diana?”

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“Good boy. I knew you’d see sense.”

“You sick bastar—”

“Are you involved with that woman? In the photos? Erica Lefroy?” The interruption cuts off my flow. Erica has no place in this conversation.

“That’s none of your business.”

Dad’s slow breathing gusts down the line for a few rounds. “Fine. But don’t fall for her at the last hurdle. I’d hate to see you go down the aisle with a broken heart.”