Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (11 page)

He stood there awkwardly, clearly disturbed by my outpouring of emotion and it just made me cry even harder. "You know what? Just forget I said anything." I turned my back to him and snatched up a fistful of tissues, blotting at my leaking eyes. "You should go. There's Rachel's press conference and the junket-"

"No," he cut in, stepping up behind me.

I glanced at him in the mirror for a moment before I looked down. I was embarrassed to have him see me like this. Embarrassed that I let him get close enough to have this effect on me.

"Rachel can do these things with her eyes closed,” he said matter-of-factly.

I rolled my eyes at that, knowing he spoke the truth. I couldn't help but wish that maybe she woke up this morning with a blemish she couldn't hide or some paparazzo caught her tripping or with her finger up her nose. But she'd be stellar, completely on point—especially when she saw the unflattering pictures of me over her morning coffee.

I gripped the edge of the vanity, trying to exorcise her from my mind. When I still couldn't see anything but her smug grin, I just gave up. Even if I hated her guts, I still had a job to do and not even Rachel Laraby could take that away from me...unless I let her.

I straightened my spine and faced Jacob. "I need to get ready for the conference. So do you."

The callous man that had shrugged off my concerns was replaced by one that took both of my hands in his. There were no orders. In fact, he was the one looking to me, trying to show that he would follow my lead.

"Let's just spend the day together. We can go sightseeing."

I faltered. "You would go sightseeing with me?"

He nodded. "Anywhere you want to go."

Yes was on the tip of my tongue. I longed to see
St. Mark's Basilica
and
Teatro La Finice
. "So you and I are gonna play tourist while we feed our client to the scandal hungry press?"

"I'm just trying to make you happy, Leila," he said, looking at me intently. "I'm trying to show you that you mean more to me than some headline."

I couldn't stop the warmth from spreading over me at his confession. It wasn't much by normal standards, but for Jacob Whitmore, it was huge. And as much as a day in the city with him by my side would thrill me, I needed to show I was there to do more than sunbathe and museum hop. I was there to do a job.

I nibbled on my lip then dropped it.
Say it—even if all you want to do is ask him to cart you away on his white horse
.

"If you really want to help me, you'll let me get ready for the conference. We'll support Rachel and make sure it goes off without a hitch."

Disappointment colored his eyes. "You're sure that's what you want?"

I was so far from sure it was ridiculous and had a feeling Rachel was going to be especially vicious, but I forced a smile. "Of course." When he looked ready to knock me over the head and carry me off like some prehistoric caveman, I insisted. "Let me do the job you hired me for."

He scratched his chin, the faint shadow of stubble giving him a warm, lived-in look that made me want to take him back to bed. I let out a sigh of relief when he gave me a curt nod and began pulling on his clothing from the day before.

He paused at the door, giving me one last chance to change my mind. "I guess I'll see you at the venue."

My stomach was in knots, but I pushed away the urge to say the hell with it all. "I'll see you there."

****

T
he ballroom was packed with reporters buzzing like locusts, their eyes locked on the makeshift stage and the celebrities perched behind it. The movie that brought us all to the panel,
You and I
, featured an up and coming actress and even a veteran actor or two but they weren’t even a blimp on the radar. Question after question was directed at Rachel.

"Ms. Laraby, how challenging was the shooting experience so close to your release from Haven Rehabilitation Center?"

Rachel gave the reporter a demure smile. "Shooting a new film is always challenging. Leaving family and friends for an extended period of time, being immersed in the story, falling in love with that journey and hoping the viewer falls in love with it too—it is all extremely stressful." She glanced to her right at one of the actors from the movie. "You remember that contest you did the first weekend of shooting? First person to figure out and remember all the names of the cast and crew?"

I let out an impressed chuckle as the man picked up the baton and she settled back into her seat. She might be a bitch, but she was an expert at this. For the past thirty minutes the press fired one question after another, trying to trip her up, find some chink in her armor they could run with. She'd effectively deflected every single attempt.

"She must have been a politician in another life," I murmured, leaning toward Jacob. He gave me a smirk before turning his attention back to the stage.

The press manager cleared her throat behind the podium. She'd been slowly losing every trace of color in her cheeks over the course of the conference until she looked physically ill. She was probably envisioning the chewing out she'd get from the studio for not steering the press back toward the movie.

"U-Uh the last question is from Marguerite Salazar from
El Cine
."

The reporter stood promptly. "My question is for Ms. Laraby."

Of course
. The rest of the cast just wore the same uncomfortable grins. This was the Rachel Laraby Show—but at least it was almost over.

"One of the biggest themes of the movie is that love, however inappropriate, conquers all. Is there anyone in your life now that makes you feel the passion you carried for the antagonist throughout the movie?"

The press chattered excitedly, ready and waiting for the first scoop on the state of Rachel's love life. She'd dated Mark Stone, an action movie star, off and on for three years, but since she'd emerged from rehab she'd kept a pretty tight lid on her romantic inclinations.

My face burned red as Rachel looked right at Jacob. The way she stared at him, the way he began to fidget in his seat; something more happened between the two of them.

And no one knew.

I went rigid, remembering the horror at seeing my pictures earlier that morning and Jacob's shrugs like it just came with the territory. If they were together, the same pictures had to have been taken of her. Incriminating photos. Private moments. But there had never been a set of grainy photos of Jacob and Rachel.

She locked eyes with me and gave me a smile that was a punch to the stomach. The pieces were falling together and the picture they painted was like a glass of water to the face. She wanted to do more than just embarrass me by getting the paparazzi to snap pictures of me. She was testing Jacob—and he failed.

He reached for me, picking up on our silent exchange. "Leila..."

I didn't dare look at him. Not when he said my name in the same low, pleading voice that he'd whispered last night when he shared my bed. I imagined him whispering another name. Her name.

I rose to my feet as the conference ended, ignoring Jacob as I booked it to the stage. The press manager was rounding up the actors for a few publicity shots. I knew my face had to be as red tomato. It was flush in preparation for our exchange, making me tremble so hard that walking was hard. Talking was impossible.

The press manager gave me a hurried smile. "Miss Montgomery! Rachel will be all yours in just a second."

Rachel's emerald eyes glittered. "Nonsense, Britta. Can't you tell Leila is just bursting with something to tell me?" She maneuvered around the frazzled woman, letting out a haughty chuckle. "Leila dear, you look winded. Perhaps you should sit down."

When she reached for my arm I whipped it back. "Don't you dare touch me."

The conversations around us hushed and I didn't need to turn to know reporters were inching toward the edge of the stage where we stood.

Her smile curled up a few more inches but her jaw was tight. "Calm down, sweetheart."

"You think I don't know what you did?" I growled, my heart thumping in my ears. "I know it was you."

"We should have this conversation in the next room," she hissed through her teeth, the grin not faltering. "Unless you want to ruin any chance you'll ever have in this business."

The last thing I wanted was to listen to anything she had to say, but I knew she was right. As much as I wanted to deck her, a brawl with the celebrity client I was tasked with keeping
away
from scandal had bad idea written all over it.

She made a grand gesture. "After you."

Fuming, I preceded her, pushing aside the dark curtains that hid the double doors leading to the neighboring conference room. The room was empty except for a maid with a duster on a ladder, polishing the glittering chandelier. As soon as she saw me, she began to dismount.

“
Mi perdoni, signorina
.” She gestured at the door. “I leave.”

My face softened and I plucked a phrase from my Italian dictionary read the day before. "
Va bene
."

The woman immediately relaxed. She'd probably had to deal with people's attitudes and diva-like celebrity behavior all day. Or even worse, she was probably ignored altogether.

I caught a whiff of Rachel's perfume before I saw her, the musky notes of Chanel invading my nostrils. She strutted right past me, her attention on the maid who stood frozen in place. The emotions on the poor woman’s face where a mixture of star struck awe and terror.

"Missus Laraby," Her words were broken and unsure. "I w-was ju-"

"Can't you do whatever it is you're doing some other time?" When the woman gave her a confused look, Rachel let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Do you even speak English?"

I stepped forward, knowing that whether the woman could understand English or not, Rachel's body language needed no translation. "There's no need to be rude to her, Rachel. She was leaving."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel scoffed. "It's her job to be invisible." I watched in shock as she turned back to the maid and broke the words down like she was talking to a child. "You...go...now."

On the verge of the tears, the woman darted from the room, leaving us alone. Well not completely alone. It was me, Rachel, and her enormous ego.

I shook my head with disgust. "Just when I don't think you can sink any lower, you outdo yourself."

She clutched a hand to her heart. "Why thank you, Miss Montgomery."

"It wasn't a compliment," I fired back.

She turned to face me full on. "I beg to differ, sweetie. It implies that you've been thinking about me hard enough that somehow I'm the villain in this story. I, on the other hand, don't lose any sleep on glorified secretaries."

In her form fitting dress, turquoise blue bleeding into slate gray, paired with emerald eyes and sparkling teeth, she reminded me of some reptile-like creature. A snake lying low in the weeds, waiting to strike. But I wasn’t her poor, defenseless prey.

I knitted my eyebrows in faux confusion, twisting a corkscrew curl around my finger. "Huh. For someone that doesn't care about glorified secretaries, you sure went to a lot of trouble to try and embarrass lil’ old me."

"Oh it was no trouble at all," she said flippantly. "Just a little call here, a little text there." She shrugged her shoulders. “You know how it goes.”

"You should watch it, Rachel," I said feeling anger grip my throat. "Jealousy isn't a good color on you."

"Jealous of what?" she said with a snort. "From the picture I saw, who would be jealous of an ass with so much cellulite it could be mistaken for the surface of the moon?"

My nostrils flared and holding my peace became harder by the second. The only thing that kept me from exploding was the refusal to play into her hand. She wanted a reaction.

"I just want to hear you say that it was you."

"What was me?" she said innocently, her false lashes fluttering around her olive eyes.

"The picture, Rachel."

"What picture?" She gave me a look full of contempt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

"What picture indeed."

Just the sound of the deep timbre of Jacob’s voice was enough to send shivers down my spine and almost make me forget the issue at hand. Almost.

Rachel's face broke into the first genuine smile she'd worn all day. "Jacob!”

Before they even got into it, I squeezed from between the two of them. It was hard enough to stomach Rachel, but Rachel making googly eyes and Jacob pretending like nothing went down between them? Nope.

"I'll let you guys play whatever game it is you're playing," I said softly. "I think I've had all the fun I can take for one day." I tossed one last glare at Rachel. With her perfectly made up face and designer dress, she looked just like a mannequin in some department store. Beautiful on the outside—hollow underneath. "You're not worth it."

"Those pictures going live on every gossip blog in the world no doubt will be. Priceless even," Rachel snapped behind me. "I knew brushing shoulders with a photographer or two would come in handy."

My fingers hardened to ice around the door handle. I didn't move. Didn't breathe out of fear it would come off in my hand. I knew she’d done it, but hearing her say it so carelessly was a whole other animal.

"Leila." Jacob was several feet away, but I felt his voice, soothing and firm, trying to keep me from losing it.

My breath caught and I swallowed before I breathed deep and let it go, letting the flow of oxygen stop me from hulking out. "You are one classy broad, Rachel Laraby."

"It must be nice up there on that high horse," Rachel goaded me. "You should have a great view of the curve of your ass."

Breathe, Lay. Just breathe.
I stepped out of the conference room and let the door thud closed behind me.

The small corridor outside the conference room got foggy, tears of frustration clouding my view. I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, clad in a designer blouse and skirt, sharing my bed with one of the hottest, wealthiest men in America, but when my eyes closed I was back at PS 91. I was huddled in the bathroom, crying because I didn't feel as pretty as the other girls because of my wild, untamable curly hair. Because I wasn't as thin.