The Billionaire’s Past (His Submissive #10)(5)
Author: Ava Claire

“What happened?”

She shrugged her shoulders or at least pushed them upward in a shrugging motion as best she could with the straps. “I was just tired. Tired of the paparazzi, tired of the blogs, tired of the YouTube comments. I mean, it got to the point where I was keeping a tally of all the new dislikes my videos got. I grew up in this business and I thought I had a thick skin, but I just…” Her voice cracked and she looked away, trying to tilt her head away, but not before I saw the tears. "It just seemed like everyone would be better off without me.”

"That’s not true," I said firmly. "You matter and no one would be better off."

My words went right through her. This was heavy, heavier than someone who studied marketing and communication could handle.

“You should talk to the nurses or the therapists. They’re all here to help you.”

“I am talking. I’m talking to you.” She jutted her chin out. “Not some underpaid nurse who’ll run and tell the first photographer she sees that flashes a wad of cash. And not some therapist who nods and acts like they understand then uses me as a punch line at cocktail parties. I don’t trust them but I…” She left the rest open ended, going from the take-no-prisoners young woman I met to someone afraid.

And then it hit me. She was trying to say she trusted me…or at least, she wanted to.

“If you ever wanted to talk, I’m here.” I said with a smile.

Her eyes brightened. “Really? Even if I don’t become a Whitmore and Creighton client?”

“Even then," I winked.

The door swung open and I stepped to the side, expecting a nurse but the overwhelming smell of body spray and douchebag told me otherwise. The lanky guy from before was standing in the doorway, clearly gunning for some more dirt to take to the hungry masses.

Maybe he was good looking once upon a time. He had the right height, broad shoulders, and what was left of the generically attractive bone structure with shaggy blond hair. I’d done my research when we were waiting for news about Mia and I knew he was twenty five but alcohol and drugs made him look like he was nearly forty. Any semblance of the guy who came from nothing to be a movie star was dulled and erased by playing it a little too fast and loose. It was obvious any monetary support Mia gave him went nowhere good. And he had the nerve to look at me suspiciously.

“Who the hell is she?” he growled, taking a battle stance.

“She’s my–” Mia paused, her forehead crinkling as she tried to determine the right word to use. “She’s my publicist.”

Not the ‘friend’ I was hoping for, but it was better than nothing. And it meant that she was at least thinking about giving Whitmore and Creighton another try.

“Publicist?” he repeated, leering at me in a way that made me wish I was wearing a turtleneck. When I didn’t seem shocked by his lurid stare he just moved to her bed, picking up the ice bucket. “You don’t need a publicist, babe. You know I’m taking care of you.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” I said with a frown, moving closer to Mia. “It kinda looked like you were feeding the fire. Making deals and promises that were less about Mia’s best interests and more about your own.”

“What I do for Mia has nothing to do with you,” he snapped, his face reddening. “I think you should leave.”

I almost laughed at that until I saw Mia’s face. She was torn, looking back and forth between us like she didn’t want to choose. Even though I had a feeling she’d go with Scott and it was the worst possible choice she could make, I didn’t want to push her. Right now, she didn’t need me to make a scene and state things she already knew were true deep inside.

So I plastered on a smile and didn’t make her choose.

“I’m gonna head back to the office." I pulled out a business card and scribbled my cell on the back. “You call me anytime, okay?”

She gave me a nod. “K. And I’ll set up another meeting as soon as they let me out of here.”

I gave Scott one last glare and exited the room. I’d gotten Mia to open the door a little and let sunshine in. Getting rid of toxic friendships would have to wait…for now.

Section 3

“I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so much in my life. So I reached over the counter, swiped a pair of scissors from her pen cup and jabbed the blade into her neck.”

I waited for the horror. For Jacob to look up at me like I was a woman possessed before his delicious mouth split into a smile when he realized I was joking. If he was listening, that would have been his response after I told him what happened at the hospital. How pissed I was when I went back to the lobby to get Missy and Nurse Deadwood came down with a case of amnesia, politely asking us to leave before she called security.

But Jacob wasn’t listening.

He brought the rim of the wine glass to his lips, gave me an absent-minded smile and promptly went back to pretending he was taking in every word that came out of my mouth.

“So she’s fine then?”

“She was after I administered mouth to mouth.”

His brow furrowed as he put the wine glass down. “What?”

I threw my napkin on top of my barely eaten dinner, suddenly not so hungry but plenty annoyed. I’d spent the past thirty minutes telling Jacob about Mia. How I thought she was ready to make a change. How I wanted to literally murder Scott with a vase when he had the nerve to say he was looking out for Mia while he profited from her demise. Right around the time I started talking about the huge sketch factory the guy was and Jacob’s replies interchanged with interesting and cool, I realized I was basically talking to myself.

“Is there a reason you’re ignoring me?” I crossed my arms tight against my chest. “Especially after you asked me how it went?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Leila.” His eyes did a complete 360 before they settled back on me. “I just have a lot on my mind. And I asked about the Mia situation because it’s in my best interest to know.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” he answered coolly. “If the girl is that far gone, she’s in need of a psychiatrist, not Whitmore and Creighton.”

I was familiar with the cold, indifferent tone of the businessman. He was at the head of a multi-billion dollar enterprise and when it came to business, Jacob Whitmore wasn’t someone you wanted to trifle with. But using that mechanical, emotionless approach when it came to a girl nearly committing suicide, especially given his past? That was too much.