The Billionaire's Counterfeit Girlfriend (18 page)

“You can’t make me!” Her voice was shrill now. “You don’t own this town.”

He took a couple of steps toward her, towering over her and letting the intensity of his determination show through. “There are lots of ways I can force the issue—all legal, all draining and all humiliating for you. It wouldn’t bother me at all to ruin you utterly. You won’t be able to buy a cheeseburger without somebody hassling you. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I got no money,” she whined.

“Guess you’ll have to peddle your ass for gas money, then, huh? But I’m sure it won’t be the first time.”

He turned and left her there, striding away to his car. There had to be a way to fix this with Hilary. But first he needed to figure out exactly what had happened while he hadn’t been watching.

Mark pulled out of Hilary’s driveway, speed-dialing his mother’s number. She was the only one who could’ve turned what had started out as a great day into a total disaster. She wanted Hilary out of the way the most, didn’t she? She’d even talked to Bebe, who was a pure viper.

“Hello dear,” came his mother’s soft voice. “Where are you? I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m in front of Hilary’s home.”

Ceinlys grew quiet. Then she said, “Did she want to leave so soon?”

Mark couldn’t believe how innocent she sounded, like she didn’t have the foggiest idea. “You made her go.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“She left with Dane. I came after her.”

“If she wants to go with Dane, let her. Come back to the party, Mark. Everyone misses you.”

“I don’t care about ‘everyone.’ I care about Hilary. You talked to Bebe, didn’t you? What did you do to Hilary?”

Finally his mother said, “Bebe wanted to talk. She offered information in exchange for money, and she told me everything. It was quite a history that Hilary has. I was scandalized.”

“How can you believe her? She’s a liar.”

“I expect so, a family like that. But Benjamin was able to corroborate everything.”

Mark’s gut grew icy. Benjamin Clark was a damn good PI. But why did Hilary’s past matter? It wasn’t like he was a pristine package himself. “She sold her cousin out.”

“Yes. For fifty dollars.”

“
What?
”

“I know, shocking.”

It wasn’t merely shocking. It was a what-the-fuck.

“Mark, dear, I don’t understand what you expected. They’re that sort of people. No loyalty or sense of duty to their family. Completely self-centered.” Her sigh came low and clear over the line. “It’s better this way…that she leaves before anybody gets hurt.”

Hilary already seems pretty hurt
. “Did you threaten her?”

“Of course not. I merely promised to release the information I was able to gather.”

“Mother!”

“It’s not the same thing, so don’t you
mother
me. And if she hadn’t done anything wrong, she wouldn’t have run off. Did she cling to you? Beg you to shut me up and bail her out?” Ceinlys sounded reasonable and calm, like she’d expect Hilary to behave like that.

“I wish she had,” Mark said. “Then I would know what to do. She won’t even look at me anymore.”

“It’ll hurt a bit, but you’ll get over it soon enough. If Katarina isn’t to your taste, fine. Get yourself some young model or actress. It’ll be therapeutic for you.”

“How can you talk like that? Like they aren’t even people?”

“The only thing that matters to me is my children and their happiness—
your happiness
.” Ceinlys’s voice turned hard. “The rest is irrelevant.”

Mark hit the end button. He couldn’t talk to her anymore without feeling sick. How could she think like that? How could she speak like stomping on others for his happiness was acceptable?

It might be his fault that she thought this. He’d certainly gone through his share of women, discarding them within three months, like it was nothing. He’d sampled one after another like desserts at a buffet. Why would his mother give them any more respect than he did?

He pulled over and pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, swallowing bitter bile. It
was
his fault that his mother thought the women he dated deserved about as much consideration as fruit flies because it wasn’t just her. He’d been such a shallow ass that everyone sounded like they were reading from a shared script when they described his habits. Eliza had been spot-on when she’d threatened to call him Ken. He was about as real and heartfelt as that Barbie accessory.

The last thing Hilary needed was a man so screwed up he wouldn’t know what genuine emotions were like even if they punched him in the gut. What could he possibly give her? Some fun time and laughs and then lots of heartache when he failed to meet her expectations for something true and lasting.

His father had been right all along. Maybe it would be better if Mark let go of Hilary the way Salazar had with his small-town mistress.

Mark gnawed on his knuckles, staring at the roadside. He had no idea where to go or what to do. He didn’t want to go back to his penthouse, where Hilary’s scent lingered.

Z
, he thought. It was what he always did when he came out of a relationship.
I’ll hit Z
.

The place was open. The only time it closed was Thanksgiving and Christmas. The Fourth of July should’ve been a slow day for the hip club, but it was crowded with people who didn’t have anybody to spend the holiday with.

Sort of like him.

It felt nasty to be forced out of a relationship. Was this how his exes had felt when he’d ended things? He’d always given them expensive breakup presents, but they probably couldn’t make up for the sour caustic feeling in their gut, like the one in his.

He ordered a whiskey and hit it hard. The bartender knew him and started a tab. Mark didn’t even feel a buzz. The curse of his father’s side of the family—everyone could drink like fish. It wasn’t until he had five drinks that he started to get a mild buzz. It dulled the sharpness of the shards digging into his heart, but not by much. Suddenly there was a soft hand on his forearm.

“Mark, is that you?”

He looked up and grinned goofily. “Hey Zhara. What are you doing here? I thought you were in the Bahamas for a shoot.”

“We finished early. So I am back.”

Zhara no-last-name was a model from India. Tall, leggy and with skin the color of deep bronze, she was currently the flavor of the month in the world of fashion. There was something wholesome about her, but her large black eyes held just a hint of mischief that drew people to her. She looked around for an empty seat, and when there wasn’t one, she sat in his lap and laughed. “Just imagine if my father saw a picture of this.”

Mark chuckled. Her father was an ultra-conservative in India and disapproved of his daughter’s career. That was probably why she had to disavow her family name. “You’re a bad girl.”

“I know. I surely deserve a spanking.” In another woman it would have been a blatant come-on, but Zhara was a lesbian…another fact that might send her father into cardiac arrest if it ever came out. “So why are you drinking here alone? Where’s your new girlfriend?”

“She…” Mark scowled into his once again empty glass. “She dumped me.”

Zhara drew back with a look of humorous amazement. “No! Really? But how can… I mean, you
are
Mark Pryce.”

“I guess she’s immune to all that.” More than immune. She was repulsed by so many things about him.

“Are you sure she’s into men? I cannot imagine any red-blooded heterosexual woman not wanting you. You’re gorgeous.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Now you’re trying to flatter me out of the funk.”

“Perhaps I am. Is it working?”

“Not really.”

“Ah.” Her shoulders drooped. “Well, what happened?”

“She doesn’t want me. She thinks I’m the kind of guy who can’t commit, and she thinks I’m going to ruin her life.”

“There is some basis for this,” Zhara said carefully. “I mean… She’s only going to last three months with you.”

“I’ve been watching her for close to a year now. The more I get to know her the more I want her.”

She raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Words I never thought to hear from you. Now I must hear more about this perfect woman.”

“Well…she’s great.” Mark sighed and signaled for another drink. “She’s beautiful, sexy, smart, dedicated, loyal, funny, stubborn, determined… She clawed her way out of a really bad situation—a really shitty childhood—and made something amazing of herself.”

“She sounds incredible. Is she for real?”

“She is. I wouldn’t change a thing about her.”

“Are you in love with her?” Zhara asked, her eyes curious.

The bartender placed a new drink in front of him, and Mark took another long swig of the whiskey. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You sure? It sounds like love to me.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. She thinks I’m a player. My father’s son and all that, and so much more.”

Zhara’s expression softened. “You are your father’s son, but that doesn’t mean you are him.”

“But what if I screw up? What if I make her unhappy or can’t love her the way she deserves to be loved?” He slammed the glass down, sloshing the liquor. “If she changes for the worse because of me…I don’t think I could stomach that.” He didn’t want to do to Hilary what his father had done to his mother.

“My friend, the fact that you’re worried about it at all tells me you won’t spoil this soup. Some people will delude themselves and think they’re hot stuff when they’re really just…idiots. You have seen this?”

He nodded.

“But they are not the people who care and want to do the right thing and worry about making mistakes. I think you’ll make this paragon of womanhood very happy. You just have to convince her to take a chance on you if she’s that skittish. But I have a feeling she will. What woman could resist you if you put your mind to it?”

He laughed. Somehow, Zhara’s faith in him was pumping his confidence back up to its normal level. And she was right of course. He should take a chance. “You’re so damn good for my ego.” He hugged her.

Hugging him back, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “What are platonic friends for?”

* * *

Tossing his keys in a metal bowl he’d bought at an art auction a while back, Iain rolled his shoulders. It had been one long and less than successful family gathering. At least the cousins had stuck around even if Dane and Mark had bailed. Their mother had looked stony the entire time, and Iain was pretty sure it had something to do with Mark’s date. Mom should’ve let them be. Mark’s love life was his own, and he was old enough to know who he wanted to date.

Iain popped a beer can and sat back on his couch. It was late…but not too late to go out for a little clubbing. He clicked on the TV for an exciting round of channel surfing while he decided. Some music show was displaying a scantily dressed singer wriggling like her ass was on fire. Unfortunately, the wriggle was off beat.

His phone rang, and he picked it up. An unknown number. Huh.

“Iain Pryce,” he answered.

“Iain, thank god,” came a familiar voice. “It’s Zhara.”

“Hey. I had no idea you were in town. I would’ve made plans to hang out with you instead of watching a really bad singer trying to be a cheap stripper on TV.”

“Can you come to Z?” She sounded harried and somewhat frazzled.

He frowned. “You there right now?”

“Yes, with a very drunk Mark. I don’t think he can walk.”

“I…too…walk!” came his younger brother’s slurred voice.

Ah, jeez
. “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes.”

By the time he got there, Mark was slumped at the counter with Zhara watching him with her arms crossed. She looked stunning, like some exotic Indian goddess incarnate. Of course if he told her that, she’d laugh at him, which made her fun to hang out with. “What the hell?” Iain asked. “Mark never drinks more than he can handle.”

“Apparently there is a woman he’s in love with.” She shook her head, and her loose brown-black curls bounced around her shoulders. “Can you believe it? Mark Pryce, finally fallen.”

Iain shrugged. “It’s about time I guess.”

“You are still single.”

“I’m old and set in my ways.” Iain poked his brother. “Yo. Can you get up?”

Mark didn’t move. “’
Course
.”

“Guess that’s a no.” Iain paid Mark’s tab, then cleared a small space around the stool, bent down and carefully eased his brother into a fireman’s carry. Mark made a vague sound of protest, but didn’t resist.

Iain carried him out to the parking lot and dumped him in the passenger seat of his car. “Thanks for watching out for him, Zhara.”

“No worries. Ring me sometime when you get a chance. We should hang out.”

“Yeah, we should.” He watched her disappear back into the club and felt a lopsided smile tug at his mouth. What a woman. Of course she wouldn’t have been good enough for their mother either. Ceinlys seemed determined to marry them off to heiresses from only the most impeccable families…as if they needed the money. Besides, marrying within a few select families could have unintended consequences. Look at what had happened to the European royals.

He drove to Mark’s penthouse and fished the keys out of his younger brother’s pocket. He dragged Mark toward the master bedroom, but his brother stirred and said, very clearly, “No.”

“What do you mean, no? You need to get some sleep.”

Mark gestured at the couch.

“You’ll be more comfortable in bed.”

“Couch.”

Shrugging, Iain dumped his brother where he wanted. “You gonna be okay by yourself?”

“Ung,” Mark grunted, his face half-buried in sofa cushions.

“That really inspires confidence.” Iain went to the bar and poured himself a finger of Laphroaig. His younger brother had really good stuff. Why hadn’t he just stayed home and raided his own bar?

“Gimme.” Mark extended a hand.

“Are you kidding? You’re already too drunk.”

Mark flexed his fingers.

“I feel like a bad influence.” Iain handed Mark a glass of water. “There. If you finish that, I’ll give you more.”

Mark drank all of it and extended the hand again.