The Billionaire's Forever (2 page)

The door swung open and I got ready to tell Lindy off, but it was Jacob standing there, handsome face pulled into a scowl.

He came in, his voice tight with anger. "Mother, why is a wedding planner outside your hotel room?"

I sighed with relief. Thank god. He was going to end this whole mess.

"I thought you agreed no wedding planning until we got you settled in."

My heart plummeted.
Just a stay of execution, then
.

He started admonishing her for the alcohol she was gingerly sipping, but I tuned the conversation out. I didn't care that it was 11am. I maneuvered around them and pulled out the vodka. The clear liquid sloshed into the glass and I brought the rim to my lips, still trying to figure out how to say this, especially with Jacob in the room. How to tell her thanks but no thanks, even though she practically said this was her life's goal. On her freaking deathbed.

"You were literally in the hospital half an hour ago," Jacob growled, taking her glass away. "Booze, visitors, stress..." He trailed off and I looked over at him. He was genuinely pissed. Not because she'd disobeyed him.

He was afraid. Worried.

He loved her and was terrified she'd end up back in the hospital.

I took another sip. I wanted to believe that Alicia changed, that she was gonna try. For Jacob's sake. For her own sake--because Rachel Laraby was a walking, talking billboard for how hate can devour a soul and make a beautiful person a monster.

This wedding meant so much to Alicia. She was barely home and was already working to make sure everything was perfect.

I just didn't have it in me to break her heart.

Me, not wanting to hurt a woman who'd hurt me so effortlessly. It would have been funny if it wasn't so sad. If it didn't mean sacrificing
my
dreams.

****

Mia Kent walked into the ladies room and I barely recognized her. The soft lines of her face were the same, along with wide blue eyes that glared at my slack-jawed expression.

The bleach blond length with one side brutally short was now a dark, chocolate brown. A single plait weaved down her shoulder and the shorter side was smooth, the symmetrical nature of the haircut camouflaged. Except for a peach bronze on her cheeks and a glossy sheen on her lips, Mia wore no makeup. Instead of some hipster number that showed too much skin, she wore a black romper paired with a cropped denim jacket and animal print flats.

"Mia,” I breathed, staring at her with awe, “You look amazing!"

Her annoyance faded into a hesitant smile. "I do?" She fingered the dark locks gingerly. "This is as close to my natural color I've been in a long time."

I was so used to the blond that it was a shock to the system, but the rich color accentuated her features, intensifying her electric blue eyes. "The color is beautiful, the outfit is casual, yet sophisticated--" I paused, the slight smile on my lips broadening. "I'm impressed."

"And you--" She stopped. Her eyes slowly took me in, decidedly less awestruck. "Uh..."

'Uh' was right. Sure, I was wearing all the right pieces--a cobalt blue blouse, a cream colored skirt and nude heels--but it all looked kinda meh because the rest of me was pretty lackluster. My hair rioted against all attempts at taming it, determined to do nothing except frizz, so I piled it on top of my head. All the hairspray and gel in the world couldn't smooth my flyaway curls, so it looked like I'd taken a section of hair at the crown of my head and tried for a ponytail while the rest just did its own thing.

A lack of sleep meant I had bags beneath my eyes and my complexion was splotchy and irritated. Mia looked ready for a new chapter--I looked like a beat up edition
far
past its prime.

She stepped up beside me, taking the foundation from my hand. "Long night?"

"Something like that." I answered. Considering her signature look was drag queen chic, I should have been a little more apprehensive when she took the sponge and went to work. I decided to just go with it.
At this point, you're so low you can't go anywhere else but up.

"Does this have to do with Jacob's mom?" she asked cautiously.

The cowardly answer was yes. Alicia had pretty much disregarded Jacob's pleas and kicked the planning into overdrive. From this moment until the wedding, there would be no such thing as free time.

Jacob was so preoccupied with making sure she didn't do anything to strenuous that it was pretty much all Alicia Whitmore, all the time.

But the fact remained that the reason I tossed and turned all night was the same reason I'd tossed and turned ever since Alicia decided to become Mother-in-Law of the Year. I was pissed at myself for not speaking up. Not asserting myself. As easy a target as Jacob’s overzealous mother was, she was a symptom, not the disease.

I wasn't gonna unload on Mia. Not when she'd come here with her A-game. “It’s cool. I’m just tired.”

She didn’t push it, shrugging a shoulder as she finished, standing back. Since she wasn't cringing, I took it as a good sign, but still hesitantly turned back to the mirror.

I had to give credit where it's due--she'd worked some kind of magic on my face. My eyes still told the truth of the hour or so of sleep I'd gotten, but the bags had been camouflaged. My cheeks were perky and smooth instead of droopy and blah. I didn't even protest when she stepped toward me and started tugging my hair band from its futile position, freeing my curls to bounce past my shoulders. I was about to look like an eighties rock star, but I figured it couldn't be much worse than what I looked like before. She pulled a clip from her pocketbook and spun me around to face the sink. She twisted two bunches and brought them around to the center of my head and secured them. The contrast between the controlled twists and my wiry curls worked. It was the perfect style to compliment my light makeup and soften the fierce lines of my outfit.

"Mia..." I didn't know what else to say besides that. I just couldn't believe she'd done what took an army of stylists an hour to pull off in five minutes. And there was another, not so nice reason I was so shocked.

She gave me a knowing smile. "Surprised the magazine’s favorite ‘How
Not
to do Your Makeup’ target can show restraint?"

I bit my lip peevishly.
Guilty as charged
. "It really looks amazing, Mia." I turned back to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I kept finding some new contour that accentuated my cheekbones or made some feature really pop.

"If this acting thing doesn't work out, I think you have a bright future as a makeup artist." I'd said it jokingly, but my smile dropped as soon as I saw her crestfallen face. I wheeled to face her, hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Her blue eyes hardened to ice. "You don't have to make fun of me. I know it's not that great."

I gaped at her. I was no comedian, but I thought it was relatively clear that I'd been joking--and definitely not with malicious intent.

"I wasn't making fun of you," I said firmly, making sure she caught how serious I was. "It's really gorgeous. You're very talented."

She didn't seem too convinced, which gave me pause. Mia was fairly confident, but at that moment she didn’t look too sure of anything. She looked cornered, like she wanted to run and hide.

How did a girl with so much talent wilt before my very eyes?

I frowned, remembering her shaky relationship with her family. That was the only thing that made sense. I'd clearly unearthed some scar, a deep hurt where someone she’d cared about killed her creative spirit. They took something she was passionate about and told her she wasn't anything extraordinary.

She shrugged out of my grip, the sight of her pulling on a mask chilling. I was used to the sting of frustration as I watched Jacob hide away his vulnerability, but not Mia. It left a dull ache in my chest.

"We should get down to the conference room." She held open the door, flashing me a mischievous smile that blurred the dark moment we’d just shared. "We don't want to leave Rachel waiting."

I rolled my eyes at the sound of that name. Even with reinforcements I wasn't looking forward to being in the same room as Rachel Laraby.

When I first started dating Jacob, I thought my life was becoming closer to something out of the movies. If my new life was a movie and I was the heroine and Jacob was the hero, Rachel would undoubtedly be the villain. There was no escaping her jealous clutches and I felt like now that our wedding had a date and wasn't some far off thing, she’d amped up her efforts to win him back.

She’d been purely evil since we met. Literally laughing at the idea that Jacob could be attracted to me. Forcing me to be a pawn in her game to break us up. Lying to Jacob's mother about my intentions. No one would fault me for holding a grudge after all she’d put me through. And it should have been easy-peasy to match her jerkiness, blow for blow, and still have plenty of animosity left, but I couldn’t sink to her level.

Obviously, my politeness wasn't working either.

But I still couldn't make myself be brutal. I knew what it was like to lose Jacob and even though it was only a few days, it felt like a lifetime. I couldn't breathe without him. I couldn't
be
without him. Her sense of loss monsooned mine because there she was, thinking she meant something to him, loving him, then finding out it was all a lie. I wouldn't want to believe it either. I'd fight tooth and nail for him too.

But I'd reached the end of my rope. She'd done too much--and now she was bringing Mia in the middle of it.

Enough was enough.

I followed Mia into the elevator, readying the game plan. "So, I'll open by thanking everyone for attending and then go right into clarifying this whole thing. I’ll discuss how noble the mission of Reach is, but make it crystal clear that at this time--"

"I think we should just go with it."

The elevator stopped on our floor and I froze, confused. "What?"

Mia was moving like a girl on a mission. Like she wasn’t going completely off-script. "She wants to do good, right?” she said over her shoulder. “Sweep in and save the day? Fix me? I say we let her."

My heels clicked on the floor as I rushed to catch up with her. "That's not what we agreed on, Mia." Nor what I told Rachel to expect. Surprisingly, she didn't fight me on it when I told her we were putting a stop to this whole Reach lie. Probably because she knew I'd be the bad guy and she'd come off looking like roses.

Mia wasn't slowing. "I have a plan. You just have to trust me."

I could see the press filtering into the room and my stomach knotted. "The room is going to be packed with reporters, Mia. You've gotta give me more than that."

"It's better if I didn't. Plausible deniability and all of that."

My eyes bulged as I huffed and puffed. ‘Plausible deniability’? What was she going to do, take her out? "You’re not making me feel better here."

She slowed a little, letting me catch my breath before flashing me a reassuring grin. "It'll be okay, Leila. Rachel's a bully--and I know how to handle bullies."

Something in her voice reminded me of the past. The sad girl in the bathroom. The girl that couldn’t believe that it would ever get better. I wanted to hug Mia--but that was quickly replaced with the desire to tackle her when she continued down the hall, catching Monique's eye.

There'd be no stopping her now.

I took a few more breaths, trying to make the lie Mia said so confidently stick. The lie that this train wasn't off the rails. That it would all work out. I plastered a smile on my face and forced myself forward, shaking Monique's hand and following Mia through the door.

Flashes erupted and when I looked past the sparkling lights I saw Rachel was already on stage. She'd pulled her hair back into a low bun and wore a perfectly respectable bone colored sheath dress with blush colored pearls. She gave me a toothy grin and I knew her well enough to know that she was already gloating.

I joined her onstage, shaking her hand for the camera even though I really wanted to wring her neck.

"It's so lovely to see you." Rachel gestured at the seat beside her. “I saved a seat for you.”

I narrowed my eyes, but held onto my smile for dear life as I lowered myself onto the chair.

Monique strode to the podium, her rich, baritone voice silencing the excited chatter. She cleared her throat and smoothed the front of her crisp suit.