Taken by the Billionaire (12 page)

Peter cut himself off to catch his breath. Fury had given way in his face, and a strange mixture of anger and despair had taken its place. I couldn’t tell if he was going to burst into tears or strangle someone.

“And now,” he continued, “as icing on the cake of shit, he tries to steal away the woman—you—that I’m absolutely
mad
about? Of course I hate him for that! It’s just one little bit of hate, though, in a river full of it.”

He rose from his chair and came around behind me, and I craned my neck to look up into his gray eyes. Was he telling me the truth? Was that really what he thought about me?

He leaned down over the back of my chair and whispered in my ear.

“More than just mad about you, Sarah… you drive me wild sometimes, and I don’t even know why. You’re beautiful—sexy as hell to be honest—but that’s not enough of an explanation!”

He suddenly spun my chair around and leaned the chair back as he bent down close to me. His breath was hot against my face as he leaned in close.

“I want you all the time, Sarah. I want to take you, control you, do with you as I please, like last night!” he growled excitedly. “It’s more than that, though… I want you to
want
me to control you. It’s not enough to just do it! That’s what made the elevator so sexy to me… you wanted me to fuck you like an animal, right there, right then!”

“Peter… someone tried to fucking kill me today. Do you really think I’m in the mood to play right now?” I asked, keeping my voice cold and calm. I wanted answers before I lost control of myself. I remembered the elevator—the feelings I felt that night—and I could feel my body starting to wake up at the lust in his voice.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he apologized, and just like that, he was gone. His mask was on again. How he switched back and forth between unbridled desire and clean, corporate professionalism was still a mystery to me.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. I should have known better than to push you after what you’ve been through today.”

“Peter,” I asked quietly. “What did you get me into? I want to know what’s going on.”

As I asked the question, Peter turned away from me. I felt my face flush with anger.

No way. He didn’t get to do this. He didn’t get to shut me out and drag me along for the ride after I’d nearly died
twice
now!

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” I snarled at him, standing up and slamming my fist down on the desk. I winced at the loud bang of my hand against the wood, and I almost immediately felt a wave of guild rise up inside me. Why was I feeling guilty about yelling at him? This was all
his
fault!

As my hand hit the desk, one of the ivory-white squares of paper bounced up and out of its pocket in the lid of the briefcase and landed on top of his neatly-folded clothes. My eyes immediately latched onto it quicker than Peter could react, and I snatched it up as he tried to grab it. He turned away from me, his face turning red, as I scanned over the ornately decorated little square of paper.

“Peter Ibramovic would like to announce,” I began to read aloud, my voice low, soft and quivering with fury as the words fell in line one after the next, “his engagement to Sarah Langdon of Astoria, New York.”

I looked up at him and waited for a response. His shoulders rose and fell dejectedly, and then with a long, deep breath, he turned back to me and plopped down into his black, faux-leather office chair with a resigned look on his face.

“Okay,” he said, sounding sad and defeated. “You ask, I’ll answer. What do you want to know?”

“Jesus Christ, Peter… where the fuck do I even start?” I hissed.

I was never the type of woman to dream about her wedding or how I’d get proposed to, but I at least wanted to know I
was
engaged! What the hell was he trying to do? What game was he playing that he had decided I was engaged to him?

“Start wherever you want, Sarah,” he whispered back to me, not even daring to look me in the eye. Now that I’d caught him doing… whatever it was that he’d been doing… the strong, immovable Corporate Peter had crumbled into dust and left behind a sad, dejected pile.

“Let’s start with the most important questions: Who is trying to kill me, and why?”

A thin-lipped smile flitted across his face before he looked up and answered.

“That… that is the hardest question. Who? I say my brother. My brother would tell you that it’s me, but I say it is Sergei.”

“Why?” I asked, pressing him on. “Why does he want me dead?”

Peter looked down silently at his shoes.

“Answer me,” I hissed.

“The engagement notices,” answered Peter quietly.

My heart skipped a beat and another wave of anger rose up inside me.

“Okay… start explaining,” I hissed at him as his face turned red. “Now!”

“I sent him an engagement notice several weeks ago, and one to Anneke too,” confessed Peter. “I wanted to—“

“Why in God’s name would you do that?” I interrupted, my mind reeling in incredulity. He’d never even
asked
me! What kind of egotistical madman did you have to be to just assume someone would marry you?

“I’m telling you why! Let me finish,” he interrupted right back. “I did it because of my mother’s will. If one of us is married but not the other, the final inheritance gives ninety percent to the married one so that he can support his wife.”

“You released a fake engagement announcement just to screw your brother out of his inheritance?”

It seemed like a disgusting, reprehensible bit of trickery to me, and it didn’t even seem like it would work! How did he plan to fool anyone when the wedding bells failed to ring and the date kept getting pushed back? How did he think he would fool anyone without even telling me to act the part?

That was the worst part to me, I realized. He hadn’t even asked me! How long had he been planning to bring me to Croatia? He said he’d sent the notice
weeks
ago! Our little romance wasn’t even on the radar back then! I’d still dreamed about it, yes, but nothing was even close to happening!

That’s why Anneke asked you those insulting questions!
I suddenly realized. She’d received an engagement notice! I’d blown Peter’s cover—to Anneke at least—from the moment I met her, telling her that I was just his employee!

“No! Nothing like that at all!” he said, looking up at me aghast. “I don’t care about his inheritance; I did it to protect my mother! Alex caught Sergei putting something into her drink in the kitchen about a month ago, and of
course
he immediately dropped it in the sink when Alex came in.”

“Hard to test it for poison if it’s down the drain, huh?” I said, raising one eyebrow.

“Exactly,” answered Peter, nodding his head in agreement.

“So anyway,” he continued, “I sent the engagement notice because now, if he murders my mother, he is all but cut out of the will. It buys me time to catch him off-guard—to prove he’s really a miserable snake—before he strikes again!”

I stared at him long and hard, and this time I didn’t even need the rational side of my brain to chime in to see the problem.

I believed him; his story made sense in the same way that a badly written thriller made sense, and I certainly felt like I was stuck in one these days. However, he’d missed a very important problem with his plan: it turned
me
into a lightning rod for Sergei’s wrath.

He stared back at me, his eyes wide and—as far as I could judge, at least—honest. Either Peter was the most convincing actor ever, or his ridiculous plan was actually true. Either he was lying to me—in which case he probably had tried to kill me—or he wasn’t and had actually risked my life to protect his mother.

I liked a man who was good to his mother, but everything had its limits.

Getting me killed?
Way
past those limits.

“Peter,” I started, just barely able to keep my voice from quivering in anger, “I am going to my room, and I am going to bed. There is no engagement, never has been, never will be, and if anyone asks, I’ll tell them exactly that.”

“But—“

“Take care of your own goddamned mother,” I hissed, turning away from him. “I’m going home to New York tomorrow, and you and your entire insane family can get the fuck out of my life!”

“Sarah, don’t go. Wait!”

I didn’t listen to him; I was already heading to the door. The door slammed shut behind me, and it felt like the hallway stretched on forever as I ran toward my room. The corridor grew more and more blurry until I finally made it into my room, locked the door, and burst into tears.

****

The sun was streaming in the window when I woke up in the morning, and it made a bright, warm circle in the middle of my blanket. My head hurt. How long had I slept? I’d cried myself to sleep last night; I knew that much.

The old brass alarm clock ticked away on the bedside table. Eight-fifteen. I’d slept for at least twelve hours. I climbed out of bed groggily, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and then immediately noticed the envelope sticking out from underneath the door.

My feet pattered across the cold, tile floor as I ran to the door, opened the envelope, and pulled out the letter inside it.

Dear Sarah,

I’m so sorry for what happened last night and for what I’ve dragged you into. Whether you believe me or not, I swear it was never my intention to hurt you or to put you in harm’s way.

I took the liberty of purchasing your plane ticket home. You wanted to go back last night, and if you have not changed your mind, it is yours. Check inside the envelope for the ticket and for your first paycheck at your new rate. I promised you a better salary, and I stand by my promises.

I hope you can forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.

Love, Peter.

“Love?” I whispered, staring at the letter. My eyes started to water, but I pushed back my emotions and shook my head. Too little, too late.

I wanted to believe it, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Even if he
hadn’t
set me up to be murdered in the place of his mother, I probably wouldn’t have believed it.

He can deal with his own problems. I’m going home.

I grabbed the rest of the contents of the envelope, unfolded them, and my jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the check. I’d never seen five digits in a single paycheck before. It’d really hurt to lose that kind of money, I thought.

It’ll hurt more to get killed, though
, countered the rational side of my brain, winning the argument as usual.

I had to agree with it, especially after the poisoning attempt at the Akademija. The check was nice and I’d certainly deposit it at the first opportunity, but money did me no good if I was dead. I’d find some way to pay the bills until I could get back on my feet. I had enough friends back home, knew enough people at work outside the office, that I’d find
something
.

I hurriedly changed into a pair of jeans and a hunter green turtleneck that the maid, Katrina, had so graciously given me, folded my pajamas and laid them neatly on the end table, and then I headed for the door.

“Miss Langdon?” called out the butler, Alex, in a thick Russian accent as I came down the stairs. I turned to greet him.

“Hi. Good morning,” I said as cheerfully as I could.

“I… well, Peter say for me to send you to airport,” he said, choking up as if he was upset. “Car for you out front. You are going?”

The elderly butler seemed disappointed that I was leaving, and I felt a quick pang of regret bounce around inside me. I was being ridiculous, I thought. I’d barely talked to him at all since arriving here, but I still felt as if I was abandoning him.

“Yes, I’m going back to New York. Maybe I’ll be back in a week or two,” I lied, and I leaned in to hug him.

“You take good care, Miss Langdon. I see you soon,” He said quietly, squeezed tightly, and then pointed to the open front door. Outside, a gleaming black sedan with tinted windows waited to take me to the airport.

I waved goodbye to him, got into the car, and as the door swung shut, I took my last look at the Ibramovic estate.

The adventure was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

****

Peter had gone all out trying to make up for multiple murder attempts. First class airfare, access to the VIP waiting lounge, and even a note on the ticket for the airline to arrange for a car to meet me at JFK. I was in seat 1E, the same seat I’d had when Peter and I first flew out here. I remembered that seat fondly; it was the same seat where, thanks to reclining seats, I’d not only joined the mile-high club, but done it almost six times over. Thirty-thousand feet was a tough club to beat.

As I sat down and stretched out my legs, the ever-smiling flight attendant came by with my glass of champagne. I could really get used to this, I thought. Was this how people as rich as Peter lost sight of the real world and got lost in their money? Were they all so pampered by this kind of treatment—by being the center of the universe—that they forgot about everyone else? Was that why he could so easily put me in harm’s way, just to protect his own interests? Maybe I really was meaningless to him.

I suddenly wanted to cry again. I’d hoped that I really meant something to Peter, but I hadn’t. Anneke was right after all; I was just a momentary plaything, completely unsuited to be a love-interest to her son. Even worse, I was only there as a bullet shield!

“Right this way, Miss Ibramovic,” says the flight attendant from somewhere up front, and my ears perked up. Did I really hear that? Did she say ‘Miss Ibramovic?’

At that moment, Anneke Ibramovic toddled into the first class cabin with Peter holding her by the arm. He helped his mother into her seat directly across from me. My jaw hung nearly to the floor as she waved to me and Peter looked up at me with a wide grin on his face.

“Didn’t expect to see me quite this soon, did you?” he said.

“To a safe flight back to New York,” he exclaimed happily, winking at me, and he held up a glass of champagne as a toast.

"H
ello, Anneke."

"Fancy seeing you here," signed back the old, deaf woman.

Her sharp blue eyes pierced through me as if she was drilling down deep inside me and hunting for secrets, and then she flashed a knowing smile to me. Whatever it was she thought I knew, I was pretty sure I didn’t actually want to know it. I wanted to be out of her company, out of her life, and—most importantly—for Peter to be out of my life.