The Billionaire's Wife Page 11

  My mind was blown. "What?" I said a third time. "I mean... What?"

  Sadie gave me an irritated look. "Well, I didn't want anyone getting their hands on that photo of you where you're on the beach and wearing your wet swimsuit under your jeans and it looks like you've wet yourself."

  "Yeah..." I said slowly. "And you don't think you'd be a good personal assistant... why?"

  "I didn't say I wouldn't be a good one," she said. "I'd be great. But I don't come cheap."

  I groaned. "Anyway. I don't want to talk about the internet."

  "That's probably a good thing."

  I bit my lip and sat down across from her. "How bad is it?"

  "It's great," she told me. "Just a bunch of celeb gossip sites talking about the marriage of the worlds hottest, most eligible billionaire to some no-name girl. Men think you're hot, and women hate you."

  "What about gay men?"

  "I think Perez Hilton likes your hair."

  I stared out at the garden from the faceted glass of the window. "Well, that's something, right?"

  "You'd better look fabulous the next time you leave this house," Sadie told me, "but other than that, yeah, that's not bad."

  I took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. Not that bad."

  She took another sip of her coffee. "Now, what's this about you trying to find out what makes him tick?" she asked me. "I thought you just wanted to marry him for his money."

  "He won't tell me why he wanted an arranged marriage," I said. "I mean, he kind of did, but it can't be the whole story."

  "So why?"

  "He says it was the best way to get a companion."

  Sadie barked a laugh. "He should get a dog."

  I nodded. "He should get a dog. He likes dogs. I read that in one of his interviews. But you can't fuck a dog."

  "Weeeell..." Sadie said.

  "Ew!" If we'd been back at my apartment, I would have thrown a pillow at her, coffee or no coffee. But we were in Anton's immaculate house. And I didn't have a pillow. "Don't be gross."

  "I'm just saying. You said he had control issues. Sit. Down. Stay. Seems like it'd be perfect for him."

  I shot her a glare. "Don't ever tell anyone I said that."

  "Relax." Sadie gave me a smirk. "You pay me well for my silence. And my expertise in the field of Felicia Studies, which I will be charging extra for."

  I groaned. "Fine. You'd better fucking bring that shit, because I have no idea what's going on here."

  She sniffed and took another sip of coffee. "I think I do," she said.

  My attention was suddenly riveted on her. "You do?" I asked eagerly. "Tell me!"

  She put her coffee cup down. "You are totally into this guy," she said.

  I sat back in my chair. I stared at her. Then I started to laugh.

  Sadie looked offended. "What?" she said. "I'm right."

  "No way," I told her, still laughing. "He's just interesting."

  "And hot. You like fucking him, don't you?"

  That quieted me down. "Well, yeah." Frightening glimpses into the bottomless abyss of the psyche aside, the sex was pretty hot. But that was all it was. Anton Waters wanted a wife for a reason, and he'd hung me over a barrel to get me to sign on. I hadn't really had a choice, all his protestations that I could say no notwithstanding, and it stuck in my throat. "But he basically bought me. That's totally not what a good relationship is built on." A sudden pang of doubt struck me. Since when had I ever seen anyone in my life have a good relationship? "Right?"

  Sadie shook her head at me. "Waters isn't the only person around here with control issues," she told me. "You want to figure out some way to get back at him for forcing you into marriage."

  "Duh," I said.

  "But why?" she wanted to know.

  I didn't really have an answer for her. "I guess..." I trailed off. "Maybe because my mom spent so much of her life getting shafted in a bad marriage to a rich asshole who didn't really love her. I didn't want to end up like her, but now I'm just like her."

  Heaving a sigh, Sadie shotgunned the last of her coffee. “You really need to get over your parents, Lis. Your mom could leave any time she wanted to. She's a big girl. She makes her own choices. And so do you.” She shook her head again. “After your mom is all better, you can cut ties with Waters and never have to see him again if you don't want to.”

  “I don't want to,” I said. Of course I don't.

  Do I?

  I bit my lip and thought of the incredible sex we'd had in the limo, mere minutes after tying the knot. I thought of Anton's face in the dressing room after I'd surprised him and turned the tables, sucking his cock and leaving him with that lost, abandoned look. There was more to him. And I wanted to know what it was, because...

  ...Oh my god. Did I really want to get to know him better? Not just to have something to hold over his head? Why did I want to have something to hold over his head, anyway? Were we in some kind of competition? To blackmail him when I was done with him? To get money? To... what?

  I resented him for making me marry him, didn't I? I hated that rich shithead, that arrogant jerk who was in cahoots with my jackass father, the guy who thought he could buy me, the kind of guy who thought everything in the world was for sale and his for the asking... right?

  The guy who said he'd listen to you. The guy who makes you come so hard you have an out-of-body experience. The vulnerable guy under all that calm Buddha bullshit. That's the guy you hate, right?

  I pressed my hands to my face and tried to think, but my thoughts were suddenly a jumble, confused and tangled—

  The front door burst open and I jumped halfway out of my skin. “Shit!” I leaped out of my chair and raced to the foyer just in time to see two burly, handsome men dragging my personal effects—far too shabby for this beautiful house—up the front steps.

  “What's this?” Sadie said from behind me.

  “My stuff,” I told her. “I'm moving in.”

  She snorted. “You got it bad.”

  “Shut up,” I told her. “And once they're done you have to help me find something to wear for dinner tonight. I don't want to end up on Perez Hilton looking like something the cat dragged in.”

  “I'm only human,” Sadie said.

  “Shut up.”

  *

  I had the movers install my stuff in an extra bedroom for now. Together, Sadie and I picked out a dress for me, a little black affair that Sadie said was classic, and then we went hunting for baby pictures of Anton. Or old school yearbooks, or high school love letters... anything really.

  What we got was exactly dick-all. Anton's house was clean of anything that might implicate a past. The only thing I found of interest was the grand piano in the fourth-floor parlor, covered in dust and complicated sheet music, and the bookshelves in the master bedroom, lined with an eclectic mix of volumes so diverse that I first suspected he had simply ordered the most visually pleasing arrangement arrayed against the white shelves. Most of the volumes were well-worn, however, and I found his hand writing in several of them: the Illiad, a copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions, and a book called Waiting for the Barbarians all had his distinct, spiky print scrawled over the pages, though the notes made little sense to me. A well-thumbed copy of The Thornbirds rested atop the Illiad, as though recently read.

  Other than that, it was a beautiful house that seemed to be perfectly set up for a real estate showing, except for the fact that the basement was locked. Probably for the best. If Anton did have a sex dungeon, I was certain he wouldn't want Sadie to know about it.

  Sadie did not share this opinion. “Ugh,” she said, tugging on the handle to the basement door. “This guy is weird. And creepy. Who doesn't have personal touches in their house? And why is this door locked? This is like that fucked up fairytale where the girl marries this dude and he's got all the mangled bodies of his other wives locked behind a door and he's all, 'don't check out this door!' like a douche.”

  “Bluebeard,” I said. “Or maybe the
Robber Bridegroom.”

  “Whatever.” She gave the door a kick of disgust. “It's getting close to seven. You should probably get ready.”

  “Right,” I said. I'd been avoiding thinking about it. Was I going to be the target of hidden cameras tonight? And what was I going to talk to Anton about? And was I actually interested in him? The thought was too uncomfortable to even examine, so I'd shoved it down after Sadie had suggested it, but like a dead body it kept bobbing to the surface. Dinner was suddenly seeming like a really bad idea.

  To my surprise, Sadie put an awkward hand on my shoulder. “Come on, it's not going to be that bad,” she said. “What's the worst that could happen?”

  “He chops me up and puts me in the basement with his other wives?”

  She smiled. “Relax. You're probably more fun alive than dead.”

  “Not helpful!” I told her as, behind us, the vestibule door opened and Anton Waters stepped inside.

  Silence fell over us as we all stared at each other, and I realized, after a moment, that Anton and Sadie had never met and that I was the one who should be introducing them. “Oh!” I said. “Uh. Anton, this is my friend—and personal assistant—Sadie MacElroy. Sadie, this is Anton Waters, my... husband.”

  God, that still felt awkward to say.

  Anton stepped forward, extending a hand and a smile. “I'm glad to meet you, Miss MacElroy. Let me give you my personal assistant's number and you two can talk compensation.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Sadie said. “I'm talking to you. Tomorrow. At your office.”

  Anton paused, but recovered quickly. “Very well.” He reached into his impeccable suit jacket, extracted a business card, and handed it to her. “Call first thing in the morning and we'll work you in.”

  “Good.” She plucked the card from his fingers and extended her hand. They shook, and then she turned back to me and gave me a hug.

  “See you tomorrow, Lis,” she said.

  “Hurgle,” I said, too mortified to respond properly. She ignored me and swept through the gallery, turning once to give Anton the I've-got-my-eye-on-you gesture, which, thankfully, his back was turned for. Then she bolted out the front door and was gone, and we were alone again.

  Anton stared at the hand she had shaken. “I think she sprained one of my fingers,” he said. “I may regret hiring her.”

  “I won't,” I said, “and since she's my assistant, I'm the one that matters.” It came out far more vitriolic than I meant for it to.

  He turned to me in surprise. “Have I done something to offend you, Felicia?” he asked.

  I pressed a hand to my forehead and forced myself to relax. “No,” I said after a moment. “No, I'm sorry, I'm just on edge. Sadie said I'm all over the internet, and we're going out tonight, and... I don't know. I don't know what to talk about with you. We haven't even been on a date and we're... married.”

  He tilted his head. “Yes,” he said, “we are. Is that what is bothering you?”

  Lots of things were bothering me. “Where are your baby pictures?” I blurted.

  He stared at me.

  Good, I thought. Very smooth, Felicia. That won't tip him off that you know about his basement full of severed limbs at all.

  “I'm sorry?” he said.

  Well, I might as well go whole hog. I waved my arms, indicating his house. “What's with this place?” I said. “Where are all the pictures? Where are the... I don't know, the overdue library books and the stray receipts from the grocery store and the junk drawer with little bits of lint and a pair of broken scissors in it? Do you even live here?”

  To my relief, Anton didn't look angry that I'd been snooping around—although I suppose, technically, he had invited me to do so by telling me to make myself at home. Instead he looked amused. “Well,” he said. “I suppose I live at the office more than I do here.” He glanced around himself as though taking in his own house for the first time. “Perhaps it is a bit spare on the personal touches.”

  I blinked. I hadn't expected him to say that. “And the baby pictures?” I said.

  “Who keeps baby pictures of themselves around?” he asked me.

  I stomped my foot. “You know what I mean,” I said. “Where are pictures of your family? And friends? You have family and friends, right?”

  For a long moment he regarded me intently. “I see,” he said at last. “We're at this portion of the program now, are we?”

  I stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  He stood very still. “You said you wanted to know more about me. That's fair enough. Unlike you, I don't have a blog that you can check.” I knew I should have deleted that thing. “But I want things from you in return.”

  Licking my lips, I forced myself to look him in the eye. “I never thought it would be otherwise.”

  He glanced at the door behind me. “Have you been trying to get into the basement?” he wondered.

  “I thought you might have a sex dungeon down there.”

  That caught him off guard, and he laughed. I noticed that when he laughed, he always looked shocked, as though I had somehow inspired something foreign and strange in him. Visibly choking it down, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, there's no sex dungeon here.”

  I noted that he didn't say there wasn't a sex dungeon at all, but I let that lie for now. “So what's down there?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing of import.” Stepping forward, he put his hands on my arms, wrapping them in the warmth of his palms. A shiver raced across my skin at the contact.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you would like a glass of wine? And we can talk?”

  Yes, I thought. God, yes. Anything to take the edge off. But out loud all I could do was say, “That sounds great.”

  He gestured toward the kitchen. I slipped past him and the heat radiating from his body made my mouth go dry. He was like an overclocked machine. A sex machine.

  Man, I should have been a poet.

  In the kitchen, Anton opened the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of white wine. I stood awkwardly by the sink as he popped the cork and poured out two glasses. Handing me one, he lifted it in a little salute. I did the same and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

  Anton watched me. “I don't mean to make you nervous,” he said at last.

  “You don't,” I said automatically. Which was a total lie and he knew it, so I just shrugged. “You kind of terrify me more than make me nervous.”

  He raised his brows. “Do I? Why is that?”

  “Oh... you know...” I said.

  He shook his head.

  I sighed and swallowed the rest of my wine, letting its bitterness curl over my tongue while I tried to form a complete thought. Without asking, Anton poured me another glass.

  “That,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You're a business guy. You make me nervous because you act like you own me.” As I said it, I realized it was true. For the same reason I hated men like my father, Anton's intensity, his possessiveness, made me on edge, for more reasons than one. His touch branded me, but a brand is not a fence. On one level, being his was attractive, delicious, overwhelmingly submissive. On another, I couldn't help but feel he was slowly ensnaring me in a web, building a cage around me from which I could not escape.

  Sadie told me to get over my parents, but how could I when I was suddenly in the same situation?

  “I don't mean to act that way,” Anton said, cutting through my thoughts. “You are my wife. It is my pleasure to pour a glass of wine for you.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but I'm your wife despite the fact that we didn't go through the whole getting-to-know-you phase. That's... that's kind of important, I think.”

  He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “I hate that phase,” he said at last. “It seems to me to have been prudent to skip it.”

  He was really unbelievable. “Well, it can be awkward at times, I guess,” I conceded, “but it's really fun.”

  “Is it?”

  I gulped more wine.
“Falling in love? Yeah. It's fun.”

  Anton shook his head. “No. I don't want to fall in love. That's not...” He appeared to search for the right word. “That's not compatible with my continued happiness. Too messy. Too much can go wrong. Like I said, cleaner this way.”

  I stared at him. “Wow,” I said at last. “And I thought I had issues.”

  He cocked a brow at me and took another sip of wine. “You do,” he said. “I've read your blog, remember?”

  “Yeah, but you just said you want a wife without the messy part of loving her. You need a fucking therapist to help you with that, not an arranged marriage.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But Felicia, why would I need a fucking therapist?” he asked me. “I already know how to fuck.”

  That caught me off guard and I laughed, nearly spilling a mouthful of wine down my shirt. I stared at him in amazement. “I didn't know you knew how to joke,” I said. “Oh, whoops, we're getting to know each other now. That's not good.”

  His lashes fluttered as he leaned against the counter and took another sip of wine. “It's fine,” he said. “For now.”

  “How gracious of you.” I cast about for something to say, then finally hit on the perfect conversation starter. “So how was work?”

  “Full of headaches and triumphs,” he said. “Working on the takeover of your father's company, actually.”

  I had almost forgotten that was happening. In my mind, marrying Anton meant only that my mother got medical attention. Thinking about my father getting a second chance in life made me want to throw up, but I didn't dare. The wine I was drinking probably cost as much as a new iPhone and it would be a terrible waste to send it back down the drain before I'd absorbed its precious alcohol.

  “Oh,” I said. “Good.”

  “You don't sound too thrilled that your family is avoiding total financial ruin the likes of which has not been seen since 2008.”

  I shrugged. “If you'd grown up with my dad, you wouldn't care much what happened to him, either.”

  “I still don't,” he said. “I just thought you might.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “Learning something about me. That's dangerous.”