The Billionaire’s Desire (His Submissive #9)(9)
Author: Ava Claire

Jacob. I pulled the pillow close and inhaled deep. Catastrophic dinner or not, no one could take away that moment. The first bars of that song hushing the crowd. My heart skyrocketing to my throat. My brain officially on the fritz because it was happening. Eyes locked, souls so in tuned that I just knew, before I took a step toward the stage, what would come next. He was going to ask me that question. The question I knew I’d say yes to before it even left his lips.

And we were gonna get married.

“Married.” I said out loud, the words bouncing off the walls and settling back on me. “Mrs. Leila Whitmore.” Or would I keep my name? Hyphenate? It all seemed to pale in comparison to the greater thing. Marrying him. After the contract, the worries, Rachel Laraby, and Cade Wallace, we’d figured it out and it would be just he and I, just like this. Always.

My arms slackened on the pillow. Just like this? Me snuggling with a pillow? I threw it back on his side of the bed and unrolled myself from the covers. I stretched my arms wide and let out a lazy yawn.

Jacob better have all kinds of coffee…

I froze just outside the door, hearing hushed, nearly muted voices filter up to the second level. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:35. Not the wee hours of the AM, but definitely too early for visitors. I was infinitely closer to a morning person than Jacob was, especially on the weekends. Everyone at the office knew to not even send him an email before 10 am. He spent the first few hours of his day replying to messages, checking out the financials, things that didn’t require human interaction.

But I could hear the disdain in his voice. He wasn’t just interacting. He was arguing with someone.

I hovered at the landing, fingering a hole in my old, worn t-shirt. I felt like I was eavesdropping, even though Jacob had told me a million times that this was our home, what’s his was mine and vice versa. But he had so much. It was easy to forget, to be overwhelmed and feel like I was a visitor.

I heard ‘Leila’ ring out in a female, uncomfortably familiar voice. A voice that was speaking my name like it was a cuss word.

Alicia.

I don’t know if it was the fight end of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in or a desire to look her in the face and tell her I wasn’t going anywhere (again), but my legs were moving down the stairs at lightning speed. They were in the library, Jacob at the fireplace, dangerously close to the fire poker. Alicia was sprawled out in one of the chairs like she owned the place.

Naturally.

Jacob was the first to notice me, his expression softening almost guilty. “Leila…I didn’t know you were up.”

Alicia tossed me a wilting look that she exacerbated with a perfectly disgusted scowl. “Well, at least she bothered to put on a bra this time.”

The annoyed, slightly juvenile part of me wanted to whip it off and toss it in her self-righteous face with a whoop, but I didn’t want to give her the pleasure of the added effort. “Alicia.”

“It’s Mrs. Whitmore,” she corrected, her tone frosty enough to make hell freeze over.

I wished I was better at playing this game, at pretending being around people I hated was easy as pie, but I stalked over to Jacob, knowing every bone in my body was spoiling for a fight. When I stepped up beside him, I realized that he probably wasn’t at the mantle because he was considering something homicidal but because it was the farthest point from Alicia.

Somehow, it still wasn’t nearly far enough. The woman could turn a glare into poison. I felt queasy just being on the receiving end of it.

I took Jacob’s hand and nudged him toward me. I didn’t care about her. I knew the number she’d done on him. The life he’d lived that almost drove him to suicide.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

“Did you just ask my son if he was okay?” she said indignantly. She pursed her lips into a thin, no-nonsense line that matched the two piece charcoal gray suit she wore. “What are you implying? That a mere conversation with me would do him harm?”

I kept my eyes on him, but directed my answer at her. “I’m implying that your negativity isn’t good for anyone. This is a happy time for us.”

“A happy time for you, maybe,” she replied coolly. “Mrs. Jacob Whitmore…as soon as you say ‘I do’ your net worth increases substantially.”

His eyes were pleading. Well, as close as Jacob’s stark blue eyes got to asking for anything. Asking wasn’t even in his dictionary–Jacob commanded. But they were soft and I knew he was telling me to keep my cool. She just wanted a reaction, like all bullies did.

I spun to face her, ignoring my own little voice that told me I was just feeding the fire. “I know your marriage was about money. But that’s not why I’m marrying your son.”

“You’re marrying for love, right?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Right.”

“So there will be a prenuptial agreement.”

Jacob and I both rushed to answer her, each reply on the other side of the coin. He said absolutely not–my answer was missing the whole ‘not’ part.

We exchanged a look and she let out an airy, condescending laugh.

“Engaged, and you haven’t even discussed one of the most important things.”

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Everything happened so fast; being swept into Jacob’s world. Living, loving…being dumped in the lap of luxury had its perks. The jet, the fancy restaurants, the clothing, all the trappings of wealth and prestige. But I’d fallen in love with the man. The strong, confounding, dominant man. I wasn’t expecting some payout on the off chance that our marriage came to an end. I only wanted my fair share, whatever that meant.

I could tell the prenup conversation was far from over, but whatever frustration the topic brought Jacob was hurled at his mother. “I never should have allowed you to come here.”

“You could have denied me access to the elevator. Had me thrown out like you threatened the last time I was here.” Her gray eyes glittered like she had something up her sleeve, one last trick that would change the whole game. “You try to make me the bad guy in all of this–a bad mother. But if that’s so, why did you invite me here?”

I had no words, gaping, waiting for the answer to that question myself. Last night after everyone left, the one thing that brought a smile to my face was a joke he’d made before whisking me up to bed to make me smile for a totally different, R-rated kind of reason.

“You know what the party needed?” he’d said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.