Beauty and her Billionaire Beast Read online

  We remain in that spot, catching our breaths, silent in our bliss for some time. Thoughts begin to return, as does sanity and logic. I’m sure that we were both right. We shouldn’t have taken things this far, but it’s too late. We’ve created a type of bond that shouldn’t exist between us. The urge is strong to cling onto our connection. I want to turn it into something more than a fling. But I know full well that any second now, Knox will pull out of me, throw his clothes on, and walk away, ending absolutely everything.

  Disappointment and regret crush me before he can even let me go, but I don’t let it show. I walked into this with my eyes open. It’s a fling, a one-time deal, so this emotional crap is ridiculous.

  Knox Steele will never be mine.

  He helps me to my feet, and once we’re dressed and looking more or less respectable again, he kisses my forehead.

  “Ready to go?” Knox whispers.

  I don’t make any attempt to meet his gaze. I don’t want to see the look of finality in those eyes. “Sure. I need to call a cab.”

  “That’s not necessary. My driver will get you home.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask and he nods. “Okay. Thanks. Let me just freshen up a bit first. I’ll meet you near the front entrance in a few minutes.” I hate lying, but I don’t want to endure a car ride.

  “Sounds good, gorgeous. See you there.”

  A clean getaway is the only way.

  6

  Knox

  My forearms rest on the crisp white tablecloth at the front corner of Chez Maurice, Pops’ favorite fine dining restaurant. I examine my watch for the fourth time since I walked in, growing more impatient as each second ticks by. Pops is late for the dinner that he practically twisted my arm to show up for. Ungluing my eyes from my timepiece, I stare out the window, fingers tapping on the tabletop as I look for his limo to pull up. There’s no point trying to text him. He’s old school when it comes to handheld technology. I’d be lucky if Morris Steele takes a phone call. But nobody’s perfect, and when it comes to my grandfather, there’s a lot more good to him than anything else.

  He left his Long Island home of fifty-plus years and moved into my parent’s home to look after me after they died, opting to give me a sense of stability in a familiar place instead of uprooting me and taking me away from everything and everyone I knew. I’ll always be grateful to him for that. What I’m not too fond of is his intense need to control aspects of my life where no grandfather should have a say over. Relationships, for example. I understand his intentions are good, that he only does it out of love, but I draw the line at that level of meddling.

  I clear my throat and drum my fingers against the table. I know it’s rude. I’m just too annoyed to care. Especially as sitting inside some stuffy restaurant waiting for my grandfather to arrive wasn’t my idea.

  As I wait, Isabelle enters my thoughts. It’s been a week since she bailed on me after we hooked up at the engagement party. We haven’t seen or heard from each other since, and I don’t blame her. I’ve done more than my share of walking out after a casual fuck session, and for the first time, it’s on me. Which is a damn shame because what we did blows my mind every fucking time I think about it. My dick twitches anytime I picture her against that door. Her face was aglow with desire, eyes snapped shut, moaning that sweet sound each time I pounded into her. Her perfect little body flushed for me, and was so fucking responsive to my every touch, taste and tease. And her tight cunt, wet and so fucking snug around my dick. Fuck. One time with this woman and if I weren’t a stronger man, I’d be addicted. I guess her running out is my karma.

  “Knox, my boy. It’s good to see you, son.” My grandfather’s gritty yet cheerful voice carries through the air as he approaches me from the side of the restaurant. The softly lit pot lights in the ceiling above reflects of his full head of smoothed back silvery hair and deepens his light blue eyes. He squeezes my shoulder when he makes it to my side. “Have you ordered yet?”

  “Hey Pops. No, I was waiting for you.” We do this every time we meet for a meal. It’s our routine, so he’s well aware that I wouldn’t dare order without him, but it seems like he can’t resist reliving old habits. That’s where we’re similar. We’re creatures of habit, clinging to traditions and actions that remind us of what we lost. Back when my parents were alive, the four of us would eat here every Thursday night. At this very table. Pops and I don’t meet as often as that, but not a month passes without at least one dinner together. I’m just grateful we’ve past the stage where being here without them brought back the good memories as well as the loss.

  He unbuttons his blazer, pulls out the chair opposite me and takes a seat, studying my face more intently than he normally does. “So…how has your week been?” he asks, but before I can answer, one of the servers stops at his side to offer us Pops’ usual brand of whiskey, Glenfiddich Private Vintage Single Malt. On the rocks. He has expensive tastes and the staff here make a point of paying attention to discerning patrons like him. I don’t doubt that as a well-respected entrepreneur, he entertains his clients and associates right here at this same restaurant. Probably at this very table.

  “Where were we?” he asks, taking a generous sip from his glass once the server leaves and promises to return in a few minutes to take our food orders. He places the menu on the table and gives me a pointed look, waiting for me to reply.

  “Catching up on the same old same old,” I tell him. “That’s why we’re here, right? Our usual?”

  “Well, not quite.” The relaxed expression he walked in with leaves his face, replaced by a tighter, more closed-off look.

  “No? What’s up? Is this another one of your ‘It’s time to take on more responsibilities at Steele Industries’ talks?” I ask in a voice as low as his tends to become when he delivers one of his go-to lectures.

  “It is and it’s not, son. Listen, just let me get this all out.”

  “All what out?”

  “Son, I mulled over the best way to share this piece of news, and decided it would be better to talk about it here in public… so that we can both keep a level head and not get too wound up or emotional about it.”

  “Emotional?” I shake my head at his suggestion. Other than rage inside the ring, I’m not the type to wear my heart on my sleeves, not even with Pops, the only family member I have left in this world. “Whatever your news is, you can give it to me straight. You have nothing to worry about,” I reassure him.

  “It’s personal and it involves the business…”

  I narrow my eyes, waiting for him to spill it out. All these pregnant pauses and dropping of hints are only making me more anxious. He never drags things out. My grandfather might be a lot of things, but he’s not one to keep me in suspense. I want him to get straight to the point.

  “What’s going on?” I demand again and fold my arms across my chest.

  Pops sucks in a deep breath and gives me an intense stare. I can’t help but feel that his next words will cut right into my soul.

  “It’s cancer,” he says, his voice as low and calm as if he were announcing what he ate for breakfast. “Stage four. I’ve been fighting the good fight for a while, but my oncologist tells me I may lose before the last round.”

  Cancer, fighting for a while, losing...

  Those words swirl violently around in my mind, not quite making sense. “Wait… what... you...” I stare at him, struggling for words and desperately hoping I heard him wrong. “You…Pops…what are you saying?”

  “I’m dying, Knox. If I’m lucky, I’ll have until the late fall. Give or take.”

  No, no, no. I shake my head and drop my elbows on the table. This can’t be true. There has to be some kind of mistake. He’s my only living relative. He can’t just accept this. I can’t. I won’t.

  “There has to be something we can do. Some treatment or new medicine, something experimental you haven’t tried yet? We’ll get a second opinion. I know a guy who—”

  “Knox,” Pops says gently
yet with enough force to cut me off. “I know this isn’t good news. My doctors have come at this from every possible angle. We’re out of options. There’s nothing more that can be done. Trust me, we’ve tried everything. God knows I tried…the things I endured, just to stick around to be here a while longer…to be here for you… It just isn’t in the cards, son. There’s no way out of this, but then, no one gets out of this life alive. I’m going to die. Well, we’re all going to die. I just have a clearer, more imminent sense of when that’ll happen.”

  “But…” I try to speak but no words will come. The bottom has dropped out from my world. Again. From one second to the next, the foundation on which my life has been built since the age of twelve has just crumbled to shaky sand. My head is floating, the room is spinning, and I have no idea where I am anymore. I can’t think, I can’t speak, I can’t even feel. I’m completely fucking numb.

  “I’m sorry, son.” He reaches an arm across the table and pats my forearm. Neither of us speaks for a long time, and when Pops notices the waiter approaching again for our food order, he shakes his head, turning him away.

  He purses his lips and clears his throat. “Knowing this, I want us to talk about something else. Really talk.”

  It’s beyond me how he can believe I’ll be able to have a conversation after news that has floored me. But maybe by conversation, he means he’ll do the talking. If that’s the case, there’s no telling whether I can hear him out, but I’m willing to try, even if the room is closing in on me and my confused senses lead me to think I’m underwater right now.

  I lift the whiskey to my lips, tilt the glass all the way, and take a gulp as though this serving is only one shot. Then I give him a nod.

  Pops tops up my glass with the bottle the server left us. “I’ve broached this topic on numerous occasions before, son, but given this news about my health, I feel it warrants another concerted attempt. I don’t want to leave you unprepared or alone in this world. If that happens, it means I haven’t done my job right, or honored your parents by helping you to be the man we all believe you have the potential to become. You know where this is going, but I’ll come right out and say it again. It’s time, son. Time to start taking the reins of Steele Industries, time to find someone special, get married and settle down. And the crazy kickbox fighting thing you do wherever it is that you go…it needs to stop.”

  His lips are moving but nothing he’s just said is registering in my brain right now. Still, I know the gist. He may believe it’s fine to follow that massive confession about his life now having an expiration date with his wishes for me to grow up and settle down, but this is not the time or place. “I want to talk about how we fight this, Pops. You can’t give up so easily. Money’s no object. If we put our heads together we can beat this.”

  My grandfather raises one eyebrow and leans back in his chair. “You don’t quite realize how lonely you are, son,” he tells me without so much as acknowledging what I said about fighting this thing. “You aren’t a kid anymore. When I was twenty-nine, I was married, your father was five years old, and me and my brother, God rest his soul, were elbows deep in aviation fluid, building Steele Industries from nothing. I didn’t ask you to grow up at twelve, or nineteen. But now, it’s time. You’re old enough to take on more responsibility, to experience more of what life has to offer. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Find a nice girl, start a family of your own, and really take over the company.”

  “This… this is all insane.”

  “I understand it might seem that way to you now.” His overly patient tone isn’t helping. “But you must see why I want this for you. You deserve the best, your own little piece of happiness.” He leans in closer as if he’s about to whisper a secret to me. “As it stands today, you’re fixing to only get the crumbs in my will, boy. Your unwillingness to transition to full on adulthood, it doesn’t give me peace of mind.”

  “I can’t rely on anyone or anything to make me happy. Not a woman, not a business I have absolutely no passion for, and certainly not the money and assets of your will.”

  He reaches for his whiskey and his knuckles go white around the glass. “You’re not thinking straight. You millennials tend to have a problem, the way you refuse to put a value on starting off with an easier life. You think I want you to scrimp and sacrifice the way I had to? Because I’ll tell you right now, you won’t enjoy that life. Look, everything I have, everything I’ve built, I want you to have it. There’s a but coming, though. And that is, I don’t want you to squander it or neglect it to the point where you’re starting over from the bottom of the barrel five years from now. And as for finding someone special, don’t fool yourself. You might think being a loner is good for you, but no one knows more than I do that you’ll be happier, more driven, more alive with someone by your side.”

  “This is not the time,” I bark. “You know that, right?”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me,” he snaps back. “Not here. I get it. This isn’t what you expected, but work with me here.”

  “Sorry, I just... I need a minute.”

  I push my chair back and walk out the front doors for some air to clear my head and think this through. He wants me to process the worst news of my adult life on a dime and move onto his favorite topics, but I don’t know how to start processing it all.

  My grandfather is dying.

  He’s about to leave me all alone in this crap world.

  And he opts for his pocket lecture, How to Fix Knox 101?

  It’s not that simple.

  “Knox?” The soft sound of Isabelle’s voice pierces through my thoughts, forcing me back to the present reality.

  I begin to turn toward the sound, relieved to know there’s a chance I’ll find some comfort in my old friend’s face. I have no right to expect her to be there for me. Not after I let ten years pass without so much as a text or phone call. And then there’s that night last week. Maybe I made it that much worse between us by fucking her. Maybe I didn’t. I’m not sure, as I haven’t taken the time to try to contact her since then. But then again, neither has she. I have no idea what she thinks of me, but from the concern in her tone just now, I’m almost sure she’ll be the friend I need now.

  “I’m so glad you’re here Isabelle. I need to…” I mutter before our eyes meet, and my body stiffens when I realize she’s not alone. She’s with her father, Senator Joseph Harrison. Her mother, Tandy, is also with her, so I abruptly stop myself from continuing, and continue with, “Oh, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. It’s great to see you again.”

  Isabelle’s cheeks flush a bright red and she shifts uncomfortably as I shake hands with her father. No doubt, seeing me is a reminder of what we did in that closet. Or maybe she feels bad for running out. Personally, I’m over it. I don’t need or want to think about sex at a time like this. I just want my best friend back. If she’ll have me.

  “I’m about to head inside,” I say to wrap up the pleasantries. “Pops is waiting inside.”

  “Oh, here at Chez Maurice?” Joseph asks and smiles, seemingly oblivious to all the tension flowing between his daughter and me “I shouldn’t be surprised. We have reservations here tonight as well. We should all catch up over dessert or coffee later.”

  Small talk? Not a great idea. Pops is dying.

  I want to tell him another time would be better, but the Senator is a persistent man. If he so chooses, he’ll inject himself into our somber dinner with no problem. Pulling the door open, I motion for Isabelle and her family to enter ahead of me, and we follow Joseph as he heads over to Pops’ and my table.

  Isabelle slows down halfway there and turns to me. “I’m sorry… about last week,” she whispers for just me to hear. “And sorry about tonight, for dad. You know how he is.”

  “It’s fine. Pops will be glad to see him.”

  There’s an awkwardness between us that wasn’t there before. A discomfort that makes our conversation seem forced. It’s because we crossed the line. As mu
ch as I enjoyed it, I should never have gone that far.

  “We should probably join them,” I tell her, hating the tense, formal tone of my own voice.

  Isabelle nods. “Yes, of course,” she says, and continues toward our table.

  I’ve really fucked up.

  7

  Isabelle

  This must be what hell is like.

  I’m sure of it.

  Ten years passed and I didn’t see Knox’s face. Not even one time.

  I let my guard down, let him fuck me one time—just once, and since that night after I bolted, I see him everywhere. Every. Damn. Place.

  It’s been a week and this is the fourth time I’ve laid eyes on him. Each of the last three times, I managed to dodge being seen. Like over lunch on Saturday when he sat outside a bistro near his condo, having coffee with Foster. That time, I was out for a run, so I quickly crossed the street and doubled back, taking a different route to avoid him. Then three days ago, on my way into the office, I saw him jump out of his limo to head into Steele Industries’ corporate head office. I turned up an alleyway to ensure we wouldn’t cross paths. And last night, well at least last night I was on a local bus when I saw him walking outside his condo.

  It’s hell. A nightmare. Torture.

  I think that’s why I bit the bullet just now when I caught sight of him outside the very same restaurant where my father made dinner reservations. Maybe if I face the music, face him head on, then the Gods of bad decisions will allow me to redeem myself so that I can finally stop seeing him everywhere I go.