Wicked Game: a Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (6 page)

Damien rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“Yes, that.  Point is, Dad doesn’t like the way it looks.  Keeping it private is what’s expected.  It’s polite.  Genteel, or whatever.  It’s the fact that I’ve been public that’s the problem.”

“Oh, great,” I seethed.  “It’s fine to cheat on your wife, just don’t do it in public where it can come back to bite you.  Glad to know he had such a great code of ethics.”

Damien shrugged.  “You know my dad, Cleo.  We both know he was shit person.  Problem is, he’s a shit person with total control over his company.  And in order to inherit that company, well, I have to play his game.  I’ve got to follow his rules.  And one of Dad’s rules was that I have to get married within....”  He glanced at the calendar on the wall.  “Six months.”

Oh God.

I was starting to see where this was going.

And it wasn’t good.

“Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say,” I moaned.

“Dad said that it was time I start thinking of settling down.”

“No.”

“He thinks, in order to prove myself capable of building a company, I’ve got to build a family first.  Starting with making an honest man out of myself.”

“Please, God, no.”

“And to do that, I’ve got to get a blushing bride.”

“Damien, I swear to God.”

“Congrats on being that blushing bride, Cleo,” he said, grinning ear to ear.  That cocky look was back in his eyes, and I could practically feel his smug poking me in the forehead.  Teasing me.  “Trust me, you’ll love it.  I’ll be the best husband you could ask for.  Dependable, loyal, great at taking out the trash when it’s my turn.”

Loyal.  Right.

I guess both Blackwood men had a problem with short memory.

“Not to mention my expertise when it comes to the wedding night,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.  Ellison snorted from his seat beside me.

“Please stop talking,” I moaned.  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’ve always been so overdramatic, Cleo.”

“Yes!” I snarled, throwing my hands up.  “My rich psychopath stepbrother sends a calling card out of the blue, bribes me to attend my ex-stepfather’s funeral, and then randomly announces to every tabloid in the country that we’re getting married.  Without asking me.  At all.  You’re right, that’s totally fine, and I’m completely overreacting.”

“Glad we agree!” he said, clapping his hands together.  “Now let’s get to the nitty gritty legal stuff.”

“
Damien
.”

“Sign this,” he said, pushing a thick contract toward me, “and it should cover most of it.  You’ll need to make a certain number of public appearances with me, we’ll need to make wedding plans, and … hm, we’ll have to officially announce the engagement at some point.  How about at that charity gala next month?  Yes, that’ll do perfectly—”

“Why me?” I groaned.  “Since you’re not going to be reasonable about this, just answer that.  You’ve got actresses and models following you around like lost puppies, but you ask your stepsister of all people to be your fake bride.  Why?”

Damien lost his smile.  For the first time, he seemed uncomfortable.  

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck almost nervously.

“You know….  Lots of reasons.”

“Like?”

“Well, you want nothing to do with me, for one,” he said, thoughtfully.  “Any other woman, and I’d never get her to leave me alone.  They’d want me for my money, or my notoriety, or just the chance to fuck someone famous.  You, on the other hand, can’t wait to divorce me.  And we’re not even married yet.”  

True.

“And it will be far more believable for the lawyers and company board if I married you,” he said, nodding to himself.  “If I was randomly engaged to some actress, no one would believe it.  But you?”  His gaze fell on me, and it sent electric shivers up my spine.  “We have history, Cleo, whether you like it or not.  People will believe it if I marry you.”

History.

That was one way to put it.

“And why the hell did you think I’d ever agree to this?” I asked, crossing my arms.  “How about that?  Did you just assume I’d be totally happy to be your little mail order bride?”

“I’ll pay you.”

“There isn’t enough money in the world.”

He snorted.  “Cleo, you hate my guts, and you still agreed to come home with me for five thousand.  I can offer you enough to make five thousand seem like pocket change.”

“I really doubt it.”

He pulled a pen out from his coat and snatched a piece of blank paper from among the stack on the table.  He pushed both toward me with a knowing grin.  

“Write a number.”

I frowned.  

I scribbled down an insane figure, then slid it back toward him.

He glanced down.  

“Fine.”

Seriously?  

Damien was either ballsy or stupid.

Probably both.

“Maybe I should have written another zero.”

“Write as many zeroes as you want, Cleo.  Like it or not, we both need this.  I need Dad’s business, and you need money, and neither of us can get those without this little game.  Pretend to be my wife for six or so months, and we both get what we need.  Easy peasy.”

Fake marriage, with my billionaire ex-stepbrother, splashed across every news channel and magazine in the world.  To fool my evil ex-stepdad’s lawyers.  

Easy peasy.  

Right.  

“You’re really not letting me get out of this one, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said, grinning.

“What if I say no?”

“Then you’ll have a hell of a time dodging the paparazzi and news crews who will be following you for the rest of your life.  You know, the ones desperate to get the scoop on the mysterious woman who seduced famous playboy Damien Blackwood and then broke his heart?  Of course, with that many zeroes,” he said, nodding at the paper, “and the help of your dear old ex-husband, that wouldn’t be a problem.  Not if we went through with this little act, including the sad but inevitable divorce.”

I glared at him.

“I hate you.”

“I know, wifey.”

“Excuse me while I vomit.”

“
Ahem
,” Ellison coughed.  

I transferred my glare to him, and he jumped a little  in his seat.  That was satisfying—I was glad I could still terrify a man when I needed to.  Though it didn’t seem to work too well on Damien.  

I hated that we were each other’s kryptonite.  

He would never be intimidated by me, and I would never swoon for him.  

Maybe that’s why we could never get away from each other.

“Well,” Ellison said, adjusting his tie nervously under my hateful glare.  “I really think we should get started.  We don’t have much time, not if we want to get your things moved out and into the house before your eviction.”

God’s sake.  They knew about the eviction, too.

Which meant they knew how bad I needed this money.

“I hate you, Damien Blackwood,” I groaned as I signed my name at the bottom of the page.  Damien beamed.  Ellison thumbed through the contract, ensuring that everything was in order for me to sell my soul.  My eyes sank closed, desperately trying to calm me as the weight of what I had just done set in.  Dear God, I was an idiot.  

But I was an idiot who needed money.  

“I really do hate you, you know,” I said.

He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

“Love you too, wifey.  Now let’s get started.”
 

Ugh, Dad.

If only you could see me now.

I fell back on the massive four poster bed in my new guest room with a huff, a deafening
poof
of fluffy pillow and silky blankets boxing my ear as I sank into them.  My laptop sat on the ornate cherry wood desk in the corner, and cartons of Dad’s old Greek and Latin books were shoved beside it.  A massive, sleek TV hung on the red damask wall, but I had been too afraid to turn it on.  Tabloids were bad enough; the last thing I needed to top this day off was to see my face plastered across the evening news.

Damien’s men had grabbed the last of my things from the apartment for me, saving me from the embarrassment of facing the cameras again.  With a bit of luck, I could probably hide in this mansion forever.  

At least I’d never have to see Eileen again.

Though Damien wasn’t much of an improvement.

A sharp knock at the door warned me that the few minutes of peace I’d snatched were about to be ripped away from me.  I groaned into the pillow.

“What?”

“Normal people usually say ‘come in,’ Cleo,” Damien said, pressing the door open with his toe.  He leaned against the doorframe with an easy smile, his arms crossed so the tight muscles in his arms stood out.  “Though you never were a normal girl, were you?”

“What do you want, Damien?”

I sat up, rubbing my temples.  Being around him was giving me a permanent migraine.  He frowned as I adjusted the itchy dress around me and combed some fingers through my hair.

“You should change,” he said, nodding to the skirt I wrenched down past my knees.  The last thing I wanted was to encourage him with a peep show.  “That thing can’t be uncomfortable.  Even if it makes me want to bend you over that bed like you deserve.”

“Can we not do this?  Can we skip the sexual tension and get to the part where we accept that we can’t stand each other?”

“Oh don’t worry,” he said, rolling his eyes.  He gave me that crooked grin.  “I’ll be good.  For now.  Anyway, when I do bend you over the bed, I’ll have you begging for it first.”

“The only thing I’m begging from you is for you to give me my money and leave me the hell alone.”

“Can’t do, wifey.  We’ve got a wedding to plan.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Sorry, I’m not God.  But close.”

Ugh, I forgot how insufferably cocky that bastard was.  I fell back onto the bed with another huge
poof
of blankets swallowing me.  Damien strode across the room and perched at the edge of my bed, flipping through a tiny black leather day planner.  

“We’re set to attend a gala next month, and that will be our first appearance together.  We’ll have to get all lovey dovey, up close and personal—but that won’t be too hard for me.”

“Appearance?”

“We’re public figures, Cleo.  We need to play the part.  And part of the part is being seen together—especially where there are cameras.  This gala will be the perfect place to do that.”

“I hate being seen.”

“You shouldn’t.  I told you, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Ugh, I hated when he said that.  Not just because it was the same old Damien Blackwood I knew so many years ago, flattering and manipulating every girl into thinking she was his one and only.  Or at least so I heard.

But because it still did things to me, even though I knew it shouldn’t.  His fingers traced my collarbone lightly, and a shiver rolled down my back.  

I slapped him away.

“Fine.  What else.”

“We need to rehearse our backstory too,” he said, nodding at the planner.  “Most of our publicity people will handle that for us, but we still need to make sure to act it out right.  We’re long lost lovers who fell in love in high school, were viciously torn away by our parents’ divorce, but then reconnected years later and fell for each other again.  We’ll have to do lots of kissing, groping, and some steamy looks at each other from across the room.  You’ll have to practice your ‘fuck me’ eyes for me.  Think you can handle that, Sis?”

Sis.  Gross.

I gave him eyes.  They were more ‘fuck you’ than ‘fuck me,’ but I think he got it.

“And what about our divorce?” I asked, crossing my arms.  “Any plan for that?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

So no plan.  Great.

“And you still expect me to be totally okay with this?”

Damien shrugged.  “Not really.  But like I said, we both need this.  Besides, have you seen the way they’re talking about you?  The public loves you.”