The Billionaire's Trust (His Submissive, Part Eleven) (6 page)

But the look he wore wasn’t the one
he used when he was on the warpath. The look was playful and heart
meltingly sexy. He gripped my hand with a smile.

“Let them talk.”

****

I knew it was gonna be one of those
days before I even walked through the revolving door at the
Whitmore building. One of those days that made you wonder why you
got out of bed in the first place. A kind of day where the stars
align and everything that could possibly go wrong does.

It started off with Jacob letting me
sleep in because I was so tired. This whole thing could have been a
segue into something sexy considering the reason I was so exhausted
had everything to do with nakedness, wetness, and awesomeness.
Instead, I woke up alone, freaking out for a minute and thinking
I’d dreamt up that he was back. Unfortunately, I still jerked awake
an hour past the time I needed to be up to make it to the big
midweek meeting Missy headed up; right when people were getting
used to me being in the trenches and shunning special treatment, I
went and did something I knew I would never get reprimanded
for.

And that was just the
beginning.

After I was late, I had not time to
whip up coffee so I decided to swing by Starbucks on the commute
and after getting the cabbie to wait, realized exactly why I never
did Starbucks on the way to the office. I got dangerously close to
giving the paparazzo who seemed intent on turning the wait into a
photoshoot the middle finger. Instead of anything newsworthy, he
got lots of grimaces, grit teeth, and glares.

Naturally, I only got a sip or two
in before a pothole sent my cup backward, drenching my silk blouse
in my venti quad shot white chocolate mocha. I tried looking on the
bright side, knowing I had some spare shirts in my office and
buttoned my blazer to hide the brunt of the damage--and then I saw
the swarm of paps gathered around the entrance. Before I could get
out a, ‘What the--?’ I heard the drawl of none other than
her
.

Rachel Laraby.

I should have just turned around,
slid back into the cab, and told the driver to take me home, but I
just drew a harried breath and proceeded toward the impromptu
conference, telling myself that maybe in the span since Rachel
Laraby had last made herself known, she’d done some maturing.
Hopefully excelled at a life lesson called Acceptance: Getting Over
Jacob Whitmore and My Unhealthy Obsession With Ruining His
Fiancé.

In fact, I was gonna scoot past all
the flashing bulbs and go straight inside. She wasn’t my client or
my concern anymore. I was two feet away from the entrance when my
name rung out over the clamor.

“Leila, do you have a
minute?”

If it was a pap, I would have
ignored it altogether. I was good at just going about my business
as far as their questions were concerned. If I was at a premiere,
that was one thing, but in general, their questions were along the
lines of rude things like how Jacob was in bed and my thoughts on
the subset of
PR
fans who had a theory that the reason I was
never on the show was because I was only there to answer phones and
look pretty because my fiancé was the CEO of the
company.

I refused to dignify either of those
questions with a response, but since all attention was centered on
me, the lack of an answer or acknowledgement would give them
something new to talk about.

The huddle parted like the Red Sea,
revealing Rachel at the forefront. She looked amazing per usual,
pairing a chic blood red dress with her mahogany locks. Her green
eyes were intensified by gold hoops in her ears and sweeping
strands of gold at her neck. She didn’t even finish her once over,
emerald gaze drinking in my stain before her lips spread a little
wider as a couple of cameras flashed.
Great
.

“I was just talking about the new
program I’m pitching to the board,” she continued. Her feline like
features narrowed with amusement as I frowned.

“What program?”

She raised an eyebrow. “We talked
about this, remember? I mean, it was the product of our
conversation.”

Heads snapped back in my direction.
Nicely played--now the company would look bad if I didn’t go along
with whatever new plot she’d cooked up.

I hated to lie, or give Rachel
Laraby an inch, so I just shifted and cleared my throat.

She seemed disappointed that I
didn’t embarrass myself by saying, ‘Huh?’, but she recovered,
corralling the attention back to her.

“The program is called Reach. I was
inspired when I followed the story of one of Whitmore and
Creighton’s troubled clients, Mia Kent.”

Confusion and wariness took the
backseat in favor of indignation.
This is her play? The
saint?

I couldn’t be the only one that saw
right through that. But as they all faced her with wide eyed
adoration, I knew that she was reaping the rewards of being
America’s Sweetheart. The beautiful, troubled figure that the world
couldn’t help but root for.

“As an actress that has struggled
with addiction, I know all too well how in need Mia truly is.” She
flipped her hair over her shoulder, nodding in my direction. “I’m
just glad I’ll be able to help her and I’m so grateful to Leila for
offering me this opportunity.”

She’s insane. Completely
insane.

The company’s PR executive saved me
from literally melting down, charging through the doors and
informing the photographers that they were trespassing. Monique
Leferve rivaled Jacob in the kicking ass/taking names department
and she moved them back the appropriate amount of feet in record
time.

Her big brown eyes were reduced to
slits when she turned her ire to Rachel. “Ms. Laraby, I was unaware
of any conference scheduled for this morning.”

The list of staff at Whitmore and
Creighton who hadn’t ignored or gossiped about me when I leapt from
aide to personal assistant to CEO was a small one--and Monique’s
name was on it. That being said, we weren’t buddy-buddy either. She
was an older woman and a student of the school of work being work
and personal time and socializing things to be done when you were
off the clock. She had a domineering presence and even Rachel
shrank back a little bit before she rolled her shoulders back and
gave Monique a chilly smile.

“Always a pleasure, Monique.” She
gestured at the area that had just been jam packed with people with
cameras and questions. “It was just a tiny announcement, nothing to
worry yourself with.”

“I’m the head of the press and
public relations department at Whitmore and Creighton,” Monique
replied, matching Rachel’s cool tone. “That means anything that
involves the press, Whitmore and Creighton, and our clients is
absolutely
my concern.” The brown eyes that usually gave me
a warm smile were anything but friendly when she got me in her
sights. “You should have run this by me first, Ms.
Montgomery.”

I shook my head emphatically. “This
was my first time hearing about any of this.” There were no other
ears within listening distance so I had no problem chunking Rachel
beneath the bus.

Rachel’s eyes flashed, not going
down without a fight. “Hold on one second--”

“Inside,” Monique hissed, leading
us inside the building. Once we were through the door, I wanted to
put as many floors between me and Rachel as possible, but I knew
this conversation wasn’t over, so I followed Monique to the coffee
shop on the first floor.

There were only a few employees near
the back, typing furiously on laptops and a barista stocking the
sugars on the island near the door. My mouth watered as the smell
of brewing coffee hit me like a punch to the gut. Since the only
way to get caffeine five minutes ago would have been sucking on my
blouse, I’d consigned to just grabbing something after I checked in
with Jacob. I opened my mouth to say I’d be right back, but snapped
it shut when I saw Monique hadn’t brought us in here to bond over a
cup of coffee.

Rachel completely missed the
memo.

“I’ll take a triple soy latte, as
dry as possible,” she said, sauntering over to a table with a sigh
liked she’d just done something terribly exhausting.

Monique didn’t even flinch. “Tell me
about the program.”

Rachel shrugged a bare shoulder.
“It’s all on the website. Ask Leila.”

“What?” I said shrilly, shaking my
head again and dodging the darts Monique hurled my way. “I have no
idea what’s going on--”

“Leila, this isn’t the time for
modesty,” Rachel said, pulling her shades from the top of her head
and placing them on the table. “Reach was a fantastic idea and is
going to garner so much positive capital with the
public.”

The tight line of Monique’s jaw
relaxed slightly, like she hadn’t thought about it from that angle.
She walked over to the table where Rachel sat and pulled out a
chair, lowering herself slowly. Still suspicious, but
listening.

I caught Rachel’s eye over Monique’s
head and mouthed, “What the fuck!” but her smirk told me that I was
along for the ride, whether I wanted to be or not. I forced a smile
when Monique whipped around to me, gesturing at the seat beside
her.

“So tell me more about this
program.”

Rachel looked at me and when I
croaked, she filled in the blanks. “We’re still working out the
kinks, but it’s an outreach program, dedicated to helping troubled
youth and young adults. When I started following Mia Kent’s story
and tragic suicide attempt, I saw so much of myself in her. This
business can be amazing and terrible and I know if I would have had
a veteran actress who’d been there and could steer me in the right
direction, maybe I wouldn’t have made some of the mistakes that
still haunt me to this day.”

So now she was Mother Theresa. This
would have been all well and good if not for the fact that she’d
completely made up my involvement in this operation. Monique was
nodding, probably imagining all the goodwill the company could
garner with an organization like this, but I knew that if Rachel
Laraby was involved, there had to be some sort of ulterior
motive.

Rachel swept her hair over her
shoulder, drawing a breath and releasing it slowly. “That being
said, I knew that Leila had a personal relationship with Mia and
would be best suited for approaching her and asking her to be a
part of this process. I fully intended to discuss this with Mia
first, but the press heard the rumblings of it and found me as I
was on my way to schedule it with Leila.”

“I didn’t have anything with you on
the books--” I began.

“Right,” Rachel interjected. “Which
is why I came in bright and early, hoping to talk to you first
thing, but Natasha informed me you weren’t in. I was on my way out
of the building when I was cornered.”

So now the on-the-fly press
conference my fault because I was running late
.

Monique’s lips pursed together as
she looked over at me. “In the future, I want anything that
involves the Whitmore and Creighton brand run by me
first.”

I wanted to protest, to tell her
that Rachel was lying, plotting, but she was already up, making her
way out of the coffee shop.

Leaving me alone with
her
.

Rachel picked at her nails
dismissively. “Could you be a dear and grab a coffee for me? I’ve
been so busy getting our organization up and running--”

“Our
organization?” I said
incredulously. “The fictitious organization I didn’t even know
existed until ten minutes ago?”

“That’s right,” she said coolly.
“With your caring and giving nature, I figured you’d be elated that
I involved you.”

“I’m not elated about anything that
involves our names being uttered in the same breath,” I said
brusquely. I jerked my chair back, drawing the eye of the two staff
members and not really caring. “I don’t know what you have planned,
but I’m going to talk to Monique and tell her that it has nothing
to do with me. And if you do anything to Mia--”

Rachel let out a haughty chuckle.
“Just what do you expect me to do to her, Leila?”

“I don’t know,” I answered
truthfully, standing to my feet. “And that’s what worries
me.”

“It’s a non-profit, not a criminal
organization.” She rolled her eyes. “And what I said to Monique was
the truth.”

“Oh really? All that BS about how
we decided to start it together?”

“Well not that part obviously,” she
said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “The part about wanting to
help someone not make the same mistakes I did.”

“Right.”

“I’m being serious!”

“And honest?” I scoffed. “Sorry,
but I don’t trust you, Rachel.”

She almost looked insulted by that
statement, her glossy lips creased with hurt. How could she be
though? She’d been out to get me ever since she learned Jacob and I
had a relationship that was anything but professional. She’d set me
up, shamed me, done everything she could to try and break us up.
None of that matched up with her supposed kind-hearted
nature.