The Billionaire's Past (His Submissive, Part Ten) (3 page)

She gave me a bittersweet smile. “Nowhere
near as amazing as Shelly.”

“Shelly?” I asked, stepping closer to her
bed. “Who’s Shelly?”

She looked at me--no, stared was a better
word. Eyes boring into me, scooping me out to study the bits and
pieces. I had no idea who this Shelly person was but clearly Mia
was trying to decide if she trusted me enough to confide in me.

“You were right,” she said after a minute,
slumping her shoulders. “I was trying to...you know.”

So no to Shelly, but she was admitting she
tried to kill herself. I’d take it.

“What happened?”

She shrugged her shoulders or at least pushed
them upward in a shrugging motion as best she could with the
straps. “I was just tired. Tired of the paparazzi, tired of the
blogs, tired of the YouTube comments. I mean, it got to the point
where I was keeping a tally of all the new dislikes my videos got.
I grew up in this business and I thought I had a thick skin, but I
just...” Her voice cracked and she looked away, trying to tilt her
head away, but not before I saw the tears. "It just seemed like
everyone would be better off without me.”

"That's not true," I said firmly. "You matter
and
no one
would be better off."

My words went right through her. This was
heavy, heavier than someone who studied marketing and communication
could handle.

“You should talk to the nurses or the
therapists. They’re all here to help you.”

“I
am
talking. I’m talking to you.”
She jutted her chin out. “Not some underpaid nurse who’ll run and
tell the first photographer she sees that flashes a wad of cash.
And not some therapist who nods and acts like they understand then
uses me as a punch line at cocktail parties. I don’t trust them but
I...” She left the rest open ended, going from the
take-no-prisoners young woman I met to someone afraid.

And then it hit me. She was trying to say she
trusted me...or at least, she wanted to.

“If you ever wanted to talk, I’m here.” I
said with a smile.

Her eyes brightened. “Really? Even if I don’t
become a Whitmore and Creighton client?”

“Even then," I winked.

The door swung open and I stepped to the
side, expecting a nurse but the overwhelming smell of body spray
and douchebag told me otherwise. The lanky guy from before was
standing in the doorway, clearly gunning for some more dirt to take
to the hungry masses.

Maybe he was good looking once upon a time.
He had the right height, broad shoulders, and what was left of the
generically attractive bone structure with shaggy blond hair. I’d
done my research when we were waiting for news about Mia and I knew
he was twenty five but alcohol and drugs made him look like he was
nearly forty. Any semblance of the guy who came from nothing to be
a movie star was dulled and erased by playing it a little too fast
and loose. It was obvious any monetary support Mia gave him went
nowhere good. And he had the nerve to look at
me
suspiciously.

“Who the hell is she?” he growled, taking a
battle stance.

“She’s my--” Mia paused, her forehead
crinkling as she tried to determine the right word to use. “She’s
my publicist.”

Not the 'friend' I was hoping for, but it was
better than nothing. And it meant that she was at least thinking
about giving Whitmore and Creighton another try.

“Publicist?” he repeated, leering at me in a
way that made me wish I was wearing a turtleneck. When I didn’t
seem shocked by his lurid stare he just moved to her bed, picking
up the ice bucket. “You don’t need a publicist, babe. You know I’m
taking care of you.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” I said with
a frown, moving closer to Mia. “It kinda looked like you were
feeding the fire. Making deals and promises that were less about
Mia’s best interests and more about your own.”

“What I do for Mia has nothing to do with
you,” he snapped, his face reddening. “I think you should
leave.”

I almost laughed at that until I saw Mia’s
face. She was torn, looking back and forth between us like she
didn’t want to choose. Even though I had a feeling she’d go with
Scott and it was the worst possible choice she could make, I didn’t
want to push her. Right now, she didn’t need me to make a scene and
state things she already knew were true deep inside.

So I plastered on a smile and didn’t make her
choose.

“I’m gonna head back to the office." I pulled
out a business card and scribbled my cell on the back. “You call me
anytime, okay?”

She gave me a nod. “K. And I’ll set up
another meeting as soon as they let me out of here.”

I gave Scott one last glare and exited the
room. I’d gotten Mia to open the door a little and let sunshine in.
Getting rid of toxic friendships would have to wait...for now.

Section 3

“I've never wanted to hurt someone so much in
my life. So I reached over the counter, swiped a pair of scissors
from her pen cup and jabbed the blade into her neck.”

I waited for the horror. For Jacob to look up
at me like I was a woman possessed before his delicious mouth split
into a smile when he realized I was joking. If he was listening,
that would have been his response after I told him what happened at
the hospital. How pissed I was when I went back to the lobby to get
Missy and Nurse Deadwood came down with a case of amnesia, politely
asking us to leave before she called security.

But Jacob wasn't listening.

He brought the rim of the wine glass to his
lips, gave me an absent-minded smile and promptly went back to
pretending he was taking in every word that came out of my
mouth.

“So she’s fine then?”

“She was after I administered mouth to
mouth.”

His brow furrowed as he put the wine glass
down. “What?”

I threw my napkin on top of my barely eaten
dinner, suddenly not so hungry but plenty annoyed. I’d spent the
past thirty minutes telling Jacob about Mia. How I thought she was
ready to make a change. How I wanted to literally murder Scott with
a vase when he had the nerve to say he was looking out for Mia
while he profited from her demise. Right around the time I started
talking about the huge sketch factory the guy was and Jacob’s
replies interchanged with interesting and cool, I realized I was
basically talking to myself.

“Is there a reason you’re ignoring me?” I
crossed my arms tight against my chest. “Especially after you asked
me
how it went?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Leila.” His eyes did a
complete 360 before they settled back on me. “I just have a lot on
my mind. And I asked about the Mia situation because it’s in my
best interest to know.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” he answered coolly. “If the girl is
that far gone, she’s in need of a psychiatrist, not Whitmore and
Creighton.”

I was familiar with the cold, indifferent
tone of the businessman. He was at the head of a multi-billion
dollar enterprise and when it came to business, Jacob Whitmore
wasn’t someone you wanted to trifle with. But using that
mechanical, emotionless approach when it came to a girl nearly
committing suicide, especially given his past? That was too
much.

“So what are you trying to say?” I could feel
my voice rising along with my temperature. “You’d drop Mia because
of what she did?”

“If she proved to be more trouble than she
was worth, absolutely.”

Before I even knew what I was doing the
napkin covering my food was a white ball sailing toward Jacob’s
head.

He swatted it away effortlessly. “Thank
goodness there’s no scissors handy.”

“That’s not funny,” I snapped, feeling the
indignation flare in my cheeks. So maybe he was listening, but now
I was the one wishing there was a mute button. Or maybe
rewind...back to before my fiancé said the jackassiest thing I’d
heard in a while.

“You don’t mean what you said.” I released my
grip on the anger that was choking me and took a few deep breaths,
trying to calm myself before I said it again. “You didn't mean
that.”

I knew Jacob. And when Natasha blurted out
that Mia OD’d, something flashed across his face. I’d been sure it
was sadness but now that he was acting like he hadn't just said we
might toss Mia overboard, I wasn't so sure.

“I don’t see what the issue is, Leila. If the
Rachel Laraby situation has taught us anything--”

I gripped the edge of the table, feeling my
anger rush back with a vengeance. “I know you’re not going to
compare a sick, sad girl to a grown ass woman who isn't happy
unless we're miserable.”

His blue eyes flashed. “I wasn't, actually.
If you’re done, I can finish.”

I did a flourish with my hand. “By all
means.”

His jaw tightened. Even mad as hell the flare
of anger in me was met by one of lust. That look--stern, powerful,
in charge--it was one he wore well. Jacob owned that look...and it
turned my insides into goo. But I could tell he wasn’t about to
throw me over his shoulder and discipline me.

Not yet anyway.

“What I was trying to say is that we can’t
get too close to our clients. It clouds our judgment.”

I flipped a mess of brown curls over my
shoulder haughtily. “How interesting. Correct me if I'm wrong, but
I'm pretty sure you told me that my ability to connect and
empathize with Mia Kent made me uniquely qualified to work on her
case.”

“Don’t do that,” he said brusquely, throwing
his own napkin over his plate. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not trying to patronize you, Jacob.” I
leaned forward, reaching for his hand. “You’re stressed out because
of work, right? That’s why you’re talking crazy?”

“No, crazy is what Mia Kent is.” He snatched
his hand away, face storming with fury. Not anger, not annoyance.
No--this was something he’d been holding onto. Something that had
been eating at him.

I fell back in my chair, not sure what to do
with that statement. It was more than inappropriate. It was
downright cruel.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. His words took
me back to the hospital. I could still see Mia’s eyes. Wide.
Piercing. But her hands shook beneath her restraints. She was
terrified.

I’d never attempted suicide, but I knew what
it was like to be tired of your life. Going to school day after day
and dealing with girls that picked me apart--my weight, my hair,
hell, my very existence. Feeling like my mother didn’t understand.
Couldn’t really because her idea of making me feel better was
reciting the old ‘stick and stones’ mantra. I wouldn't wish that
loneliness on anybody. And it wasn’t something to joke about or
trivialize by calling Mia crazy.

He dropped his gaze to the tablecloth then
closed his eyes like he couldn’t believe he’d gone there
either.

“I’m sorry.”

It was a start. When he looked at me, I saw
the words plain as day and the remorse was real. I gave him a small
nod, but I wasn't gonna just let it go.

“Why would you even say that, Jacob? That’s
not like you.” It was the Jacob Whitmore people expected. Coldly
handsome. Flippant. Obnoxious. He’s freaking gorgeous so somehow,
it works. But that wasn’t the real Jacob. Sure, the domineering,
air going out when he came in the room thing was incredibly sexy,
but I knew that he was kind. And generous. So this was something
else.

He picked up his glass and threw it back.

“It’s just been a long day," he said after
polishing off the rest of the wine. "I know what I said was out of
line and I apologize.”

He picked up his napkin and dabbed at his
mouth. When he discarded it, I saw the familiar hunger in his gaze.
“Let’s go to bed.”

There was a part of me that wanted nothing
more than to have loud, kinky, after-argument sex with him, but
there was a bigger part that knew something else was going on
here.

I didn’t budge. “What’s going on, Jacob?”

One side of his mouth curved deliciously
upward. “I’m gonna take you to bed, love. Tie you to it maybe.”

That wasn’t even fair. A need of my own was
building and I blurted out my concern before it won. “We need to
talk about what you said. Something is going on with you.”

The smile evaporated. “You’re not gonna drop
this, are you?”

I shook my head slowly. “We’re partners,
remember? We have to talk about things. The hard stuff, the
uncomfortable stuff. Not just the things that come easy.”

He gave me a guarded look. Even though I felt
like I knew him so well, there were still moments when I felt like
he was good at hiding his emotions.

Too good.

He could tell me I was imagining things. That
it was all in my head. And I had no proof otherwise. What would I
do if he started hammering home the ‘so tired’ excuse? I couldn’t
make him tell me.

But I had hope. That we’d been through enough
that he knew he could tell me anything, no matter how horrible or
difficult and we’d work through it together.

He pulled his tie loose and ran a hand
through his dark hair before letting out a sigh. “I hate that I’m
letting it affect me. I wish I could just turn it off.”

“Turn what off?”

“My mother.”

Oh god. If Alicia Whitmore was involved, I
knew it was horrible. I reached for his hand again and this time,
he didn't pull away.

“You know most of the story. How my father
was barely around. And when he was, he was always distracted.

My mother tried a variety of things." He
counted them out on his fingers. “Redecorating the house. Hiring a
master chef to cook his favorite meals. Taking cooking lessons.
Changing her hair. Changing her clothes. Shooing me out of the
house for....” Jacob trailed off with a shudder.

Yeahhh...no matter how old you get the idea
of your parents getting it on is still a little weird.