Love Not Money: An Interracial BWWM Billionaire Romance Read online

  “There has been no wrongdoing.”

  “And that is what it will say.”

  “If you expect me to trash Hanna, you will be disappointed.”

  “I simply want you to tell me the truth.”

  “What about sex?”

  He smiled. “I will donate one-hundred-thousand dollars to HomeU.”

  My face flushes. Shame engulfs me. Nikos Antoniadis just offered to pay me for sex. I promised myself a long time ago I would never put myself in a position to feel this way again. He must see my thoughts in my expression. He steps forward and rests his index finger on my lips.

  I stop breathing. His touch vibrates through me.

  “My timing there was unfortunate,” he says. “I realized by your question that you had moved from flat-out rejection of my proposal to conditional consideration. I only meant to sweeten the deal. But I have never been engaged in negotiations like this. We will share a suite, but I do not expect to share your bed.”

  His touch and his voice gentle me. I step back. It does not matter what his opinion of me is. I have to think of HomeU. “Your settlement offer is that if I spend a weekend with you, pretending to be in love to protect you from husband-hunting females, you will voluntarily dismiss the lawsuit, donate one-hundred-thousand dollars, and enter a quiet title order that the land in both Palm Beach County and Okeechobee County belongs to HomeU.”

  He holds my gaze with his own. “I will pretend that I am in love with you as well. There will be public displays of affection, holding hands, touching, kissing, embracing.”

  “I would need a signed agreement before I could even consider what you’re suggesting.” Am I going to do this? His offer is unorthodox, no question. But it is an opportunity to get everything that is best for HomeU. He does not deny that his lawsuit is a pretext. There is honesty in that. Part of me respects his loyalty to his mother even if I am his target. The weekend even sounds like it could be fun. So long as I do not forget why I am there. A weekend on a private Caribbean island with a billionaire is a definite first. “What happens after the weekend?”

  He smiles and relaxes. “Leaked news of a breakup. The parties request that the media respect their privacy at this time, blah, blah, blah.”

  I study him. He lets me. His gaze is straightforward and open. I do not to believe he is being completely honest. But he seems to understand that I am making up my mind and silence is now his best argument. He could succeed with his unscrupulous lawsuit. It could take long enough for me to discredit the blonde-ombré to allow Antoniadis to crawl through our finances. If he is permitted to do that, there will be questions about the money. I will not lie to the court. Then, I will probably spend years and all HomeU’s funds fighting to keep what is rightfully ours. Even if I win in the end, the damage to HomeU’s reputation and mission will be irreparable.

  Against my will, I am intrigued by his character and the lengths to which he will go to get what he wants. I am not sure yet exactly what he wants. But, whatever it is, he wants it badly enough that he is willing to appear enamored of me in front of his most valued business associates at one of his biggest corporate events. It could be a terrible trap. He could be aiming to embarrass me and disparage Hannah and HomeU in front of those most valued business associates. To trust him is to take a terrifying chance.

  But there is something I want badly, too. When I found the hand-written sex contract between Stavros and Hannah in that Cayman Islands deposit box, I also found a bank statement for three million dollars. Hannah and Stavros’ relationship was consensual. But Nikos Antoniadis could destroy HomeU simply by making known that Hannah Henry, HomeU’s founder and chief executive, had participated in such an arrangement. Such publicity could destroy HomeU’s reputation and mission forever.

  I am determined to bring that money legally into the United States and HomeU. But Nikos Antoniadis cannot be digging through our finances when I do. If I go on this weekend with him, the lawsuit will be over and Nikos Antoniadis will be gone from my life come Monday. I can transfer the money to HomeU’s accounts. The weekend will also give me the chance to show many of HomeU’s former donors that the last remaining Antoniadis had forgiven us. It could be a way to win those donors back.

  “Five-hundred thousand,” I counter. The man is filthy-rich and my clients need new job training facilities. I will take the chance.

  “Two hundred.”

  “Three, quiet title, dismissal, no sex.”

  He nods and smiles, cat to my canary. “Three hundred thousand, quiet title, dismiss the lawsuit, no sex, and I reserve the right to renegotiate that last condition.”

  Chapter Four: Alisha

  I rush around my two-bedroom two-bath Key West-style cottage. I do not know what people wear to events like the Antoniadis annual corporate loyalty appreciation weekend. I buy my suits at Dillard’s and Macy’s and shop most of my other clothes from Marshall’s, Ross and Thred Up. Occasionally, I will splurge and tell Stitch Fix to go ahead and send a box. But I want to be comfortable and confident enough to encourage new donors for HomeU and to allay past donors who might have been offended by the Hannah-Stavros affair. So, I choose to declare my personality by wearing a colorful crocheted linen top with wide-leg pants and strappy low-heel sandals. Then, I overpack my too-big-for-carryon luggage with the clothes that look to me most like rich folks’ resort wear.

  I am packed and ready and anxious and second-guessing my decision to participate in this crazy scheme when I remember to check my mail. My mailbox is attached to the outside of my cottage’s screened porch. I bought the one-thousand square-foot Dade County pinewood cottage in Lake Worth Beach during the financial crash. Just ten miles south of HomeU’s campus in West Palm Beach, Lake Worth Beach is a small beachside community inhabited by less than forty-thousand eccentric and eclectic souls. The city is home to the largest number of cottages in Florida, many of which were built as second and winter homes almost a hundred years ago. Most visitors call my quaint cottage charming. I hope it is welcoming, even if it is not particularly impressive. This weekend, I will be socializing with people who once would have owned my home as a seasonal vacation house.

  I stand on the screened-in porch and stare down at the monthly statement from the Cayman Islands bank. No matter how many times I open these envelopes and see the balance of three million dollars and growing interest, I am stunned. I grew up with my grandmother and mother in a run-down wooden shack on the edge of the Everglades. We often did not have electricity and running water. I never knew who my father was. After my grandmother died, my mother worked just enough odd jobs to keep the wolf from the door. But she would leave for periods of time when I did not know where she was or whether she was coming back. One day she did not come back. The Department of Children and Families tried to find family who would take me. None ever came forward. I have never had the opportunity to go to such a resort as exclusive and luxurious as The Antoniadis Kismet and to see and be around the wealthy privileged people who would be there. I want to do it. I want to see what it is like even if I am only pretending.

  I look up from the statement to see Nikos opening the gate in my white picket fence. He wears a casual button-up jersey shirt and blue jeans and he is knee-weakening gorgeous. It seems impossible to me at this moment that Nikos Antoniadis, this gorgeous billionaire, is walking up my colorful mosaic-tiled garden path with a sexy smile directed entirely at me. He quickens his pace up the three short steps to my porch. I fold the bank statement and slide it into the pocket of my pants. Nikos Antoniadis probably knows all about banks in the Cayman Islands.

  He stands before me with just the slightest hint of uncertainty in the curve of his lip. He takes my hands in his. “While I was driving over, I debated whether you would actually come out of the house. So, I decided I better just come on in.”

  I wonder, with some disbelief, that Nikos might be just a bit nervous too. Perhaps this is not some cruelly clever trick. I ask the universe not to have the outcome of this week
end be something that will hurt me or my company or that I will regret for the rest of my life.

  “I already sent the signed agreement back to Cutter,” I tell him.

  “I know. He still holds my hands. He gazes down at me. “I have wanted to tell you this for some time. You are just so beautiful.”

  “Good grief.” I blush. I am not unused to compliments. But if he is going to be sexy and human and openly attracted to me, I could be in trouble. I know who I am. I am pretty, smart, hard-working, sometimes funny, working-class, trying to move up. I date men who are much the same: men like Elliott Fernich, a HomeU executive, who is attractive, with a solid job, room for career advancement, and personal and professional goals he is willing to work toward. But my life and those of the people in my life are bounded by what we can afford. This man lives at a whole different level and you can look at him and tell.

  I remind myself to keep an emotional distance between us. So, I point out a difference between him and me as I withdraw my hands from his and turn into the house. “I was trying to think of what you Palm Beach types might wear and what I had that even remotely measured up.”

  The cottage seems smaller as we enter it.

  “This is lovely,” he says as he looks around. “My house feels like someone paid a lot of money to have it decorated. Which I did. Except for the bedroom.” He gives a sexy-naughty smile that makes my thighs join the conversation. “The bedroom is all me.”

  “Yes, well,” I say and that is the only thought I have. I can feel the blush rising up my face. He grins and turns back to sweep the walls with a look. “This must be one of the original cottages. Is it actual Dade County pine?”

  I nod and we talk briefly of the history of Lake Worth Beach’s cottages. Because he develops luxury resorts in the area, it makes sense he knows about local real estate. I think suddenly there is much about this man I do not know.

  He reaches the sitting room, where pictures of Hannah hang on the wall above a fireplace. He studies the images in silence, looking at each one thoroughly. “How old were you in this one?” He indicates a blown-up strip of three photo booth pictures of me and Hannah making faces at the camera.

  The pictures are from early in our friendship when we first began to realize we each may have finally met someone we could trust. “Sixteen.” I am glad he is seeing pictures of Hannah from when she was younger. I hope it makes him see her as the complicated person she was, rather than the jezebel she has been portrayed to be.

  He points to a colorful cubist painting. “What is this one?”

  “I painted that in an art class.” I smile. “It is my cubist rendering of me and Hannah.”

  He steps in closer to it. “It is in the style of Picasso’s ‘The Kiss.’”

  “Yes,” I say. “Hannah said it was her favorite painting.” The painting is of two figures cut into colorful interlocking geometric shapes. The effect is of two people woven into a single symbiotic sharp-edged character.

  He turns and looks at me. “You and she were very close.”

  “We needed someone to be there for us no matter what. We decided to be that for each other. Hannah learned early that the rules can be different depending on how much money you have. She was tough. She toughened me up. But she was a dreamer, too. She made herself and she made HomeU and all the good it does.”

  I miss Hannah so much I know I will never completely get over her loss.

  Nikos nods and turns back to the painting. “This is a good painting. Maybe one day you will do one of me.”

  I am so grateful for the knock on the front door I almost fly to open it. Elliott Fernich stands on my porch. Elliot is clean cut and handsome, with a low-fade fauxhawk, goatee and in a slim cut suit. He is the Chief Operating Officer for HomeU. He is also my ex-boyfriend.

  His eyes are round with incredulity and he speaks from the porch as soon as I open the door. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Wait here,” I say and close the door in his face. I smile pleasantly at Nikos as if nothing is amiss as I walk to the dining table. I met Elliot two years ago while Hannah was still running HomeU. He is attractive and ambitious and dedicated to the cause of alleviating homelessness. We started dating. But it did not take long before I realized our personal philosophies were not compatible for a long-term relationship. I ended the relationship. After Hannah died and I became HomeU’s CEO, I offered him the job of COO. He accepted that we could not have an interpersonal relationship so long as we were working together.

  As I fetch the copy of the signed contract from the dining table, I slip the Cayman Islands bank statement into the tabletop wood chest I use to store loose items and documents.

  “Is everything okay?” Nikos is following my progress closely.

  “Everything’s fine,” I tell him as I nonchalantly head back to the porch.

  Nikos nods but still watches closely. I step out on to the porch and a seething Elliott. I close the door behind me and hand him the contract. “If this works, I will save us a ton of money and maybe get some of our donors back. Maybe even get some new ones.”

  Elliott scans the contract. “This doesn’t say what you have to do.”

  “Exactly. There will be no record of the acts I’ve agreed to perform.”

  Elliott is aghast. He looks at me like I am some sort of freak he does not recognize. “Agreed to perform?”

  “We’re going to tell people we’ve been interested in each other for a while. Now that we’ve reached a settlement, we’re exploring a personal relationship.”

  “Are you going to share a room?”

  I nodded.

  “He is trying to ruin HomeU. Lee, what are you doing?”

  “I am doing what I think is best for HomeU.” But I wonder if he is right. Am I making a terrible mistake? Have I thought this through? Would anyone else in this situation make the same decision?

  “Sometimes you sound just like her.”

  Coming from Elliott, that is not a compliment. Hannah and I were a lot more alike than Elliott had been comfortable with. Even before Hannah’s death, he and I often disagreed on the methods Hannah used to promote and grow HomeU. His disapproval of Hannah had been one reason I knew a relationship between us was doomed.

  “You realize this makes HomeU look as if we would prostitute ourselves for money?”

  “Hannah would have done it in a heartbeat.”

  “That’s what got us into this mess.” Elliott did not know about the sex contract. He did know about the affair. Everyone knew about the affair. “Everyone will think you are a whore.”

  Elliott’s judgmental attitude had been the main reason I knew a romantic relationship between us would not work. I challenge him. “Do you think Hannah was a whore?”

  The door opens and Nikos stands in the doorway. He focuses on me. “Are you ready to go, Alisha?” He walks over and rests a possessive hand on my waist. “My pilot is waiting.”

  I introduce the two men to each other. They nod in acknowledgement but make no attempt to shake hands. Nikos has the advantage because Elliott’s livelihood depends on the good will and donations of men like Nikos. Offending people like Nikos can cost Elliott his job.

  “Mr. Antoniadis,” Elliott bites out.

  “It’s okay, Fernich,” Nikos says, with just enough condescension to set Elliott’s teeth even more on edge. “I will not abuse Alisha’s trust in any way.”

  “You have to admit this is highly unusual.”

  “Life should be highly unusual.” Nikos looks at me. “Yes?”

  There is something about this man, about the way he looks at me, that makes me more fearless than I might otherwise be. I smile at him and nod. “Yes.”

  He lowers his head and puts his lips on mine. His lips are firm and searching. A low shudder rumbles through him. He teases the bow of my lip, the curve of my mouth, the seam of my lips. I open and touch my tongue to his. Our breaths increase. When our lips part, I am afraid my desire is written on my face. I look awa
y to hide my expression. Elliott is walking away, down my garden path, through my white picket gate.

  Nikos steps back from me and holds my gaze with his. He never even looks for Elliott. “Ready?”

  I do not think he is talking just about the weekend. Nikos Antoniadis presses his advantages.

  Well, so do I. “Yes.”

  Chapter Five: Nikos

  I kissed her at the house because I had only to see the way Fernich looked at her to know he believed he had some claim on her. I settled the matter.

  “I’ve made this flight just me and you,” I say as we walk across the tarmac to my private jet. “That way we can talk.” I slide my fingers between hers and hold her hand. Her palm is soft and her fingers are slender. She does not curve her fingers into mine. But she does not pull her hand away.

  “My island is twenty miles off Florida’s coast, in international waters,” I tell her as we climb the stairs into my Bombardier Global 7500. I am unfamiliar with the apprehension I feel as I watch her look around the interior of the jet. She knows I sued her beloved friend and company. She knows my lawyer manufactured evidence. I brought her here to take advantage of the basic honesty and integrity she demonstrated in court. If I make the right moves and ask the right questions, I will learn how to finally reveal Hannah Henry for the thief that she was. But I also hope to rid myself of this disquieting fascination with Alisha Padgett.

  “I didn’t know private planes could be this big,” she says.

  “From the cockpit divider to the bedroom, this cabin is about fifty feet long,” I tell her. I smile as her eyes widen when I mention the bedroom.

  “Good grief,” she says. Then she asks how far they can travel and whether I ever have to go through airport lines like everyone else. Around the world and no, I answer. I like her straightforward questions and inquisitive mind. I know too many people who are only interested in the cost and what that says to the world.