The Billionaire's Deal: The Complete Story: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (29 page)

Fiona is a wreck. She stays in her room so no one will see her cry. It's an admirable strategy.

I manage to sleep a little.

In the morning, I manage to eat a little breakfast. Drink a little coffee. I manage to get into the black dress I brought for the occasion, just in case.

I even manage to listen to a few eulogies at the funeral. Well, a few words of them.

Meryl was a lovely woman.

A great mother.

She always told me to find what I want, and grab it, because no one else would give it to me. Because that was the only way I'd ever get it.

She really was amazing.

***

A man in a suit taps me on the shoulder. In his fifties at least. Very proper looking.

"Miss Katrina Wilder?" he asks.

I nod.

"You're a named beneficiary of Miss Sterling's will. Can you come with me to the reading?"

"Yeah, sure." My senses catch on slowly. Meryl left me something in her will even though I've only known her a few weeks.

I'm not about to insult her memory by refusing.

I follow the lawyer through the chapel's entrance. There's a small office around the back of the building. Blake and Fiona are already inside. No sign of Trey, thankfully. I really can't stand the guy.

Blake's eyes catch mine. A flutter collects in my belly. It's not the time for nerves.

The lawyer points to a chair. I take a seat.

He shifts behind the desk and pulls out a contract. "Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Crane. You know that your mother left most of her estate to charity."

They nod. Apparently, they know. There are no signs of anger on their face. No signs they find this unfair.

"But there was a last minute change," he says. "To add Miss Wilder as a beneficiary."

Irritation flares in Fiona's eyes, but she doesn't say anything.

"Mrs. Crane, your mother left you the house." He reads a passage from the will. "God knows, Blake isn't going to grace my home with children. Fiona, sweetie, it's yours. Enjoy it with or without your husband."

A tear rolls down her cheek. She turns away so no one can see her. "Thank you, Larry."

The lawyer, Larry, I guess, nods. "Mr. Sterling. I'm afraid Meryl left you nothing of material value. Only the antique chess set."

Fiona laughs but not in a smug way. It's more like she appreciates how much it meant to them. Blake is unreadable, as usual.

"Miss Wilder, well." He makes eye contact with me. There's a kindness in his eyes. But there's an incredulity, too. Larry looks at the will. He starts to read. "To my new friend Katrina Wilder, I leave two hundred thousand dollars. Sweetheart, I hope you'll use that money for your college education, but it's yours. Just go out and grab what you want."

My heart skips a beat.

Two hundred thousand dollars. That can't be right.

"Miss Wilder." The lawyer is staring at me. "Are you going to be okay?"

I must be blushing. I must be beet red. Everyone is staring at me. Well, Fiona, Blake, and the lawyer are staring at me.

Breathing. It's important. Something I need to do. "Can you read that again?"

He begins. "It's two hundred thousand dollars, Katrina."

I nod. Two hundred thousand dollars. All the money I need for college.

Larry continues. "I can go over the details of the charities if you'd like."

"No, thank you." Fiona stands, brushing her perfect black outfit smooth. "I should get to the house for the memorial." She looks at Blake. "Are you coming?"

"I'll meet you there." He waits until Fiona leaves then turns to me. "Are you okay?"

I adjust my dress. "I will be. Are you?"

"I will be." He stands and offers his hand. "Can we talk?"

I take his hand. "Okay."

Blake nods a goodbye to the lawyer and whisks me out of the room.

***

We go to the diner around the corner. It's a greasy spoon place. Vinyl booths. Checked tile floor. Big plates of fried eggs, hash browns, and bacon.

Blake holds the door open for me. He motions to one side of a long, red booth. The next best thing to pulling out a chair. He really is a gentleman.

Somehow, he doesn't look out of place here. Even in his two thousand dollar suit. He nods to the guy behind the counter like they're old friends. That must be some freaking skill—fitting in everywhere you go.

I adjust my dress and cardigan. Both black. Thank God for Blake forcing me to buy all those designer clothes. I'm wearing a nice pair of black pumps instead of those discount pieces of shit that almost broke my ankle. I guess they're responsible for this whole relationship.

Who would have thought shoes could change your life so dramatically? Especially shitty ones.

"Is that the Winter Formal dress you mentioned?" he asks, his eyes still on mine.

God damn, the man has quite the memory.

"Yeah," I say.

"You were right. I do like it." He glances at my cleavage—mostly covered by a black camisole. "Though I'd like it better without the under shirt." He raises an eyebrow and cocks a half smile.

Damn dress. Damn camisole. The way he's looking at me makes me feel exposed. But it's not my breasts that are exposed. It's something else. Something I can't cover quite so easily.

I play with my silverware, unwrapping it from its paper napkin. "It's a funeral not a party."

"Meryl would have wanted it to feel like a party," he says.

The guy behind the counter, well, in front of our table now, interrupts us. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee," Blake says. "And the tilapia special." He looks at me. "Best tilapia anywhere."

The guy nods as if to say
damn straight
.

"I'm sold." I hand the guy my menu. "And an iced tea."

"You got it." The guy makes eye contact with Blake. "I'm so sorry about Meryl."

"Thank you," Blake says.

"She was a great woman."

"She was," Blake says.

The guy walks away, shaking his head like he can't stand how unfair life is. Get in line, buddy.

I fold my napkin into a triangle. "She was a great woman."

Blake smiles. Really smiles. Figures the guy picks his mother's funeral to break out the cheer. No, it's not that kind of expression. It's like the memory of Meryl makes him happy.

It makes me happy, too. It hurts like hell that she's gone. It's been three years since my parents died, and that still hurts.

But there's more than just pain. There are so many great memories. For the last three years, I've been pushing both aside. I can't do that anymore. I need to feel it, all of it, even if it hurts as much as it feels good.

Blake's fingers brush my palm. "You okay?"

"I will be." I pull my hands into my lap. "I'm sorry you lost her."

"Me too."

He drifts into thought about something. About his mom, probably. I play with the hem of my dress to keep my attention here. This might be the last time I ever see Blake. I'm going to remember it.

"Stay with me tonight," he says. "I'm going back to the penthouse after the memorial."

He says it so evenly. No clue of his intentions in his voice. There's something on his face. In his eyes. A hint of vulnerability.

I hold his gaze. It's like he's looking deep inside me. Usually, that makes me feel off center. Picked apart. But not today. It feels okay. It feels right.

It feels like he really sees me. Kat. Not super girlfriend, but the girl under the makeup and the highlights and the fancy clothes.

I stare back, trying to find the man under the expensive suit and the expression of steel. There are hints of it. He's hurting, and not just over his mom.

For once, I recognize his expression. He's lonely.

I take a deep breath, weighing my options. "I'll be okay."

His façade cracks. It's the smallest crack, but it's all over his face.

He looks to the table for a moment. "I know you will. But I want you there."

"Oh." My heart races. He must mean for sex or something like that. He couldn't mean that his affection for me would actually comfort him at a time like that.

"I don't want to be alone." He bites his lip, shakes his head, brings his gaze to meet mine. "Fuck that. I'd rather be alone than with anyone else." He presses his palm against the table. "I want to be with you tonight."

Oh my. I take a deep breath, trying not to give any of my feelings away. "You mean for—" I swallow hard. No sense in being shy now. "—sex? or for something else?"

"Whatever you want." He presses his lips together. "As long as I can spend tonight with you."

Tonight. Ugly little word, isn't it? So close to what I want to hear.

I adjust my dress. Something to keep my mind occupied for a moment. I should hold strong to the whole breaking up with him thing. Even if we weren't technically together.

But he's hurting so much. His mom died a few days ago. This must be a special circumstance. I can make an exception.

Truth be told, I want the comfort, too. I want to be around him, too.

"Okay," I say.

He lets out a tiny little sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"But it doesn't mean anything. We're not together."

He nods. His expression stays soft.

"Here ya' go." The waiter drops off our drinks. "Sugar's at the end of the table." He turns back and he's gone.

I take a long sip of my iced tea. What a pleasant distraction from this conversation, from wondering what the hell Blake's request means. There's no sense in trying to figure out his intentions. Blake may be softening. He may have affection for me. But that's not a relationship, and it's not enough.

I'm going to be with someone who is madly, passionately in love with me. Not just someone who finds me pleasant company.

Blake stirs his coffee even though he's drinking it black. He takes a small sip, his eyes focused on me. My face flushes. Great, back to feeling undone by his stare. And I thought I was making progress.

Fine. I'll tell him about the promise I made to Meryl. That should free me of any last hints of deception.

One more sip. For good luck. I pull my cardigan closed, but it does nothing to cover my chest. Damn V-neck.

I meet Blake's gaze. "I promised Meryl something that first morning."

"Did you offer or did she ask?"

"She asked."

"Of course she did." A laugh escapes his lips. He shakes his head like he can't believe how ridiculous she was. "You don't have to honor it."

"You don't know what it is."

"Still."

"I want to." Deep breath. "I promised her to give you another chance. One date."

Something flashes on his face. Concern. He shifts back slightly. Wraps his fingers around his coffee. "I hope this doesn't count."

I shake my head. "Would be awfully tacky to do it the day of her funeral."

"She would have liked that."

"She would have liked it if I married you without a prenup, divorced you, and got half your shit."

He laughs again. A big laugh where his lips curl into a smile. He throws his head back. Slaps his hands against his thighs.

Oh, that laugh. Still the best thing I ever heard.

"No," Blake says. "She would have loved it."

"Did you tell her about our deal?"

"You did."

My chest tightens. How the hell does he know that?

"It's okay," he says. "In the end, it was for the best. She died thinking someone cared about me. That's what I wanted."

"Right. Of course." I bury my attention in my iced tea. Cared. I cared about him. If that's the story he wants to tell himself, fine. "What exactly did you tell her?"

He makes eye contact. "That I cared about you and wanted you to be happy."

There's that word again. Cared. God, what an ugly word. So much worse than tonight. So much worse than any other word in the English language.

"Tomorrow," he says. "For our date. We can start in the morning." He watches me closely. "If your schedule permits."

"Tomorrow is fine." I'll get to see how much he cares about me. It's a struggle, but I manage not to roll my eyes or bite my tongue.

The waiter drops off our dinners, and Blake shifts the conversation to my college applications. My portfolio is finished. I've sent off three applications, but I still have another three to go.

And, now, because of Meryl, I can pick the best school that accepts me, even if it costs a fortune.

All without Blake's money.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Blake's apartment feels so different than it did last time. I'm struck with the strange sensation that this is the last time I'll ever see it. That this is the last time I'll really see him.

One chance. That's all I promised, and that's all I'm offering. Any more would be agonizing.

"There are clothes in the spare room if you'd like to change," he says. "They're yours."

More clothes Ashleigh picked out. The whole dresser in the sex room is filled with them. They are technically mine, though I can't imagine asking to take them with me. I might as well write
this is the last time we're going to see each other
in big letters on the windows.

"I'm okay for now," I say.

"You hungry?"

"A little."

He fixes something in the kitchen. I wander around the sparse living room. This one, huge room must be a thousand square feet. God, this place must cost a fortune. It's an awful lot to give up for a little thing like love, but there isn’t a hint of doubt in my mind. Gorgeous apartments are nothing compared to that perfect, safe feeling of someone's arms around you.

Damn, look at me, waxing poetic. My gaze darts to the bookshelf. Must be something here to hold my attention. I scan a row of science fiction books. I'm not well versed in the subject, but I recognize a few names: Isaac Asimov, Douglass Adams, Ray Bradbury.

The second shelf is different. It's packed with graphic novels straight off a best of list:
Blankets, Fun House, Smile, Blue is the Warmest Color.

Blake's attention is devoted to pouring drinks. There's something different about him today. Almost something open.

He turns to me. "Those are for you."