The Billionaire’s Passion (His Submissive #3)(5)
Author: Ava Claire

I let out an impressed chuckle as the man picked up the baton and she settled back into her seat. She might be a bitch, but she was an expert at this. For the past thirty minutes the press fired one question after another, trying to trip her up, find some chink in her armor they could run with. She’d effectively deflected every single attempt.

"She must have been a politician in another life," I murmured, leaning over toward Jacob. He gave me a smirk before turning his attention back to the stage.

The press manager cleared her throat behind the podium. She’d been slowly losing every trace of color in her cheeks over the course of the conference until she looked physically ill. She was probably envisioning the chewing out she’d get from the studio for not steering the press back toward the movie.

"U-Uh the last question is from Marguerite Salazar from El Cine."

The reporter stood promptly. "My question is for Ms. Laraby."

Of course. The rest of the cast just sighed. This was the Rachel Laraby show–but at least it was almost over.

"One of the biggest themes of the movie is that love, however inappropriate, conquers all. Is there anyone in your life now that makes you feel the passion you carried for the antagonist throughout the movie?"

The press chattered excitedly, ready and waiting for the first scoop on the state of Rachel’s love life. She’d dated Mark Stone, an action movie star off and on for three years, but since she’d emerged from rehab this last time, she’d kept a pretty tight lid on it.

My face burned red as she glanced at Jacob. The way she looked at him, the way he began to fidget in his seat; something more happened between the two of them.

And no one knew.

I went rigid, remembering the horror at seeing my pictures earlier that morning and Jacob’s shrugs like it just came with the territory. If they were together, the same pictures had to have been taken of her. Incriminating photos. Private moments. But there had never been a set of grainy photos of Jacob and Rachel.

She locked eyes with me and gave me a smile that was a punch to the stomach. The pieces were falling together and the picture they painted was like a glass of water to the face. She wanted to do more than just embarrass me by getting the paparazzi to snap pictures of me. She was testing Jacob–and he failed.

He reached for me then, picking up on our silent exchange. "Leila."

I didn’t dare look at him. Not when he said my name in the same low, pleading voice that he’d whispered last night when he shared my bed. Because then I imagined him whispering another name. Her name.

I rose to my feet as the conference ended, ignoring Jacob as I booked it to the stage. The press manager was rounding up the actors for a few publicity shots. I knew my face had to be as red tomato. It was flush in preparation for our exchange, making me tremble so hard that walking was hard. Talking was impossible.

The press manager gave me a hurried smile. "Miss Montgomery! Rachel will be all yours in just a second."

Rachel’s emerald eyes glittered. "Nonsense, Britta. Can’t you tell Leila is just bursting with something to tell me?" She maneuvered around the frazzled woman, letting out a haughty chuckle. "Leila dear, you look winded. Perhaps you should sit down."

When she reached for my arm I whipped it back. "Don’t you dare touch me."

I felt the room quiet around us and I didn’t need to turn to feel the reporters inching toward the edge of the stage where I stood.

Her smile curled up a few more inches but her jaw was tight. "Calm down, sweetheart."

"You think I don’t know what you did?" I growled, my heart thumping in my ears. "I know it was you."

"We should have this conversation in the next room," she hissed through her teeth, the grin not faltering. "Unless you want to ruin any chance you’ll ever have in this business."

The last thing I wanted was to listen to anything she had to say, but I knew she was right. As much as I wanted to deck her, a brawl with the celebrity client I was tasked with keeping away from scandal had bad idea written all over it.

She made a grand gesture. "After you."

Fuming, I preceded her, pushing aside the dark curtains that hid the double doors leading to the neighboring conference room. The room was empty except for a maid with a duster on a ladder, polishing the glittering chandelier. As soon as she saw me, she began to dismount.

“Mi perdoni, signorina.” She gestured at the door. “I leave.”

My face softened and I plucked a phrase from my Italian dictionary read the day before. "Va bene."

The woman immediately relaxed. She’d probably had to deal with people’s attitudes and diva-like celebrity behavior all day. Or even worse, ignored altogether.

I caught a whiff of Rachel’s perfume before I saw her, the musky notes of Chanel invading my nostrils. She strutted right past me, her attention on the maid who stood frozen in place. The emotions on the poor woman’s face where a mixture of starstruck and terror.

"Missus Laraby," Her words were broken and unsure. "I w-was ju-"

"Can’t you do whatever it is you’re doing some other time?" When the woman gave her a confused look, Rachel let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Do you even speak English?"

I stepped forward, knowing that whether the woman could understand English or not, Rachel’s body language needed no translation. "There’s no need to be rude to her, Rachel. She was leaving."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Rachel scoffed. "It’s her job to be invisible." I watched in shock as she turned back to the maid and broke the words down like she was talking to a child. "You…go…now."

On the verge of the tears, the woman darted from the room, leaving us alone. Well not completely alone. It was me, Rachel, and her enormous ego.

I shook my head with disgust. "Just when I don’t think you can sink any lower, you outdo yourself."

She clutched a hand to her heart. "Why thank you, Miss Montgomery."

"It wasn’t a compliment." I fired back.

She turned to face me full on. "I beg to differ, sweetie. It implies that you’ve been thinking about me hard enough that somehow I’m the villain in this story. I, on the other hand, don’t lose any sleep on glorified secretaries."

In her form fitting dress, turquoise blue bleeding into slate gray then pewter, eyes slints of emerald and teeth sparkling, she reminded me of some reptile-like creature. A snake lying low in the weeds, waiting to strike. But I wasn’t her poor defenseless prey.

I knitted my eyebrows in faux confusion, twisting a corkscrew curl around my finger. "Huh. For someone that doesn’t care about glorified secretaries, you sure went to a lot of trouble to try and embarrass lil’ old me."