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We arrive at Liam’s apartment, a penthouse with a view over London that’s unrivaled, with a lot of chrome and steel, clean lines and sharp angles, and glass. There’s lots of glass—from the tables to the shelves, to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the atrium where we’ve been led.
After placing my handbag on a side table, I set up my selfie ring light and get my phone ready for us to film.
Now, I glance out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and wonder, again, what the hell I’m getting myself into.
"You look great." Zara squeezes my arm. "Now remember, you need to make the audience your bitch. They are dying to hear from you. They love you. They can’t wait to find out what your big news is about."
"They’ll have to find me first, considering my social media posts haven’t been particularly successful in the past.” I scoff.
"Oh, they’ll find you all right. You put out the word, and they’ll come running. You’re incredible. Your perspective is unique. All you have to do is call, and they’ll come running to you."
"Wow, that’s some positive reinforcement you have right there."
"You bet, sister. Now go out there and grab reality by its balls, and make it rearrange itself for you. To suit your needs. Your thoughts. What you want. All that exists is you and this moment, and you’re going to own it like the boss you are." She holds her hand in the air. "High-five for strong women."
Summer and I laugh and slap her hand.
"Go get 'em." She winks.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. A current runs up my back. A current of revulsion. That’s all it is. That’s the only reason I know he’s in the room. That’s why my internal signaling mechanism is going haywire—because I can’t stand to be in the same space as him. Yep, that’s exactly what it is.
"Isla." His voice rumbles over my skin and seems to arrow straight to my core. My thighs clench. How is it possible that, with that one word, he seems to imply that he wants to bend me over that pristine cream chaise in the corner, pull up my dress, tear off my panties and bury himself between my legs? Because I have a fanciful imagination, is how.
Zara and Summer look past me, then at each other. A silent message passes between them. Zara leans forward and kisses my cheek, "Our earlier conversation? Don’t, for one second, think I’m not coming back to it.”
Summer kisses my other cheek, then the two brush past me. I hear them exchange greetings with Liam. I can’t hear the words, but I hear the low hum of Zara’s voice as she speaks to Liam.
11
Liam
"If you hurt her in any way, you’ll have to deal with me," Zara scowls as she shakes my hand. "Isla’s been through a lot already. Make sure you take care of her."
"Eh?" I narrow my gaze on her. I met Zara Chopra when my friend JJ Kane got the founding members together to introduce us to the concept of his club. And when I had Isla investigated, I knew she and Zara were close friends. But, for once, I have no idea what she’s talking about. And that’s strange, because I thought I knew everything there was to know about my future fake wife. "Care to explain that?"
Zara steps back, then purses her lips. "That’s Isla’s prerogative to tell you or not. Just keep in mind, if you mess with her, you mess with me."
"And me—" Summer says from next to her. She smiles sweetly. "As well as the Seven, who are one of your biggest clients.”
I frown. She’s referring to her husband Sinclair Sterling who’s among the seven billionaires who own 7A investments.They advise some of the biggest brands in the business who, in turn, constitute the bulk of my advertisers.
"Are you threatening me?" I ask lightly.
"Threatening?" She laughs gaily. "Oh, no, I’m just taking care of my friend’s interests."
I tilt my head. "I’m glad Isla has such good friends in her corner." And I mean it. I can appreciate friendship. The kind you could trust enough to keep your secrets.
Of course, I’m not one of those who needs friends. I have myself and my work ethic, and the business I took over from my father and built. A business that will belong to me as soon as I marry and produce an heir. That’s what this entire pretense is for, after all.
"Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies." I incline my head.
“Guess that’s our cue.” With a last scowl at me, Zara heads for the door, followed by Summer, who still has that sweet-yet-lethal smile pasted to her face. They leave the atrium and I turn and head toward the woman whose back has been turned to me since I walked into the room. And what a gorgeous back it is. The dress she’s wearing bares the creamy expanse of her back. It’s cut so low, I can see the dimples on either side at the base of her spine.
The blood thuds in my ears. My pulse thrums at my wrists, at the back of my eyelids, and even in my fucking balls. I can’t take my gaze off that strip of skin revealed by the 'V' of her plunging neckline. I reach her, and before I can stop myself, drag my knuckles down her spine. Goosebumps pepper her skin. She pulls away from me and walks to where her phone is clipped to a tripod rigged with an LED light and a microphone.
"If you’re ready, I thought we could start shooting right away." She switches on the light, fiddles around with the phone, then glances at me over her shoulder.
I take in the gorgeous column of her neck, her upturned nose, that slight tilt to her chin which hints at her stubborn nature. Her skin is dewy, her pink lips are parted. She swallows, and the slim column of her throat moves. A pulse flutters at the base.
