Escorting the Billionaire (The Escort Collection 1)

“No. I’m not.” I shook my head. “I’m not going to do that, Mrs. Preston, even though that’s not what you want to hear.”

She grabbed my wrist painfully. “You listen to me. I told you before—I know you have feelings for my son. You need to do what’s right for him. Don’t be selfish, Audrey. Don’t ruin his life by dragging him down with you.”

“Just because I’m not wealthy like you doesn’t make me a bad person,” I said. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

“Being poor doesn’t make you a bad person,” Mrs. Preston said. “Being a hooker does.”

I felt as if she’d punched me in the gut. Inside, I was reeling. Outside, I tried to appear unruffled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. “Are you feeling well?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Celia let go of my wrist and I rubbed it; she had a surprisingly strong grip. She studied my face. “I know all about you and your little friend in there,” she said, motioning toward Jenny. “Don’t look so surprised, Audrey—you’re not the first whore I’ve had to keep away from my sons.”

“What?” I asked, my voice coming out small.

“Once I realized that my son was going to fight to keep you, I did some investigating. Rather, I hired someone to do some investigating. When you have money, position, and means, you can do things like that, dear. I’m sure you wouldn’t know. And I found out all about you. The fact that you’re not an orphan, and you’re not a student. I also found out about your mother and your brother. I saw the low-class neighborhood where you really live. I know all the little secrets you’ve been keeping,” she said.

“My secrets are none of your business,” I said. My voice sounded

faraway to my own ears and I felt sick, remembering the limousine that had slowly driven down my street the morning after the wedding.

Celia sniffed in disapproval. “I disagree. You have to understand something.” She looked at me levelly, her unnaturally smooth face a mask of superiority and disdain. “You could ruin my son’s life. Just by being with him. Have you considered that he might hate me enough to do this to me? That he might pick you just to spite me—do you understand that, dear? Do you understand that isn’t the same thing as love?”

“This isn’t about you. That’s not why he’s with me,” I said quickly. “James isn’t spiteful. He’s a good person.”

“See?” Mrs. Preston said triumphantly. “You do love him—I knew it. That’s a good motivator, Audrey. If you love someone, you should do the right thing for them. You are not the right thing for my son. He can’t have anything to do with you going forward. Do you understand?”

“What if he doesn’t care?” I asked. I sounded defiant but inside, I was crumbling. “What if he says what I am doesn’t matter to him?”

Celia Preston paused just long enough to look at me with disdain. “Do you realize that if you have children, they will be like royalty in this country? Everyone will know about them—where they go to school, what kind of activities they enjoy. That their mother was a prostitute. Do you think that’s what they deserve? Their lives ruined because you were too selfish to walk away? Do you think I want my son living like that? Married to a whore?”

I fought back my tears. I wouldn’t let her know she was wounding me. That she was winning.

“I know underneath it all, you’re a decent girl,” she said, watching me. “You’re ashamed of yourself. And you should be, Audrey. You’re infected with poverty and filth. So don’t ruin the man you love. Part of loving is knowing when to let go.”

“Who did you ever love?” I asked hoarsely, my voice barely coming out.

Celia snorted. “I love my sons, Audrey. I love James and Todd both. And I want what’s best for them. And that’s not you, dear. I think you know that,” she said and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve made arrangements for you to fly back first thing in the morning. And I’m still going to give you some money, like I promised.”

“What if I say no?” I asked.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Too many things could go wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“Use your imagination,” Celia said wickedly. “I know I will.”

* * *

“What the hell happened back there?” James asked, looking at me in alarm. I must have been as white as a ghost.

“Jenny was upset,” I said.

“And my mother?”

I could feel her eyes on me from across the table. “She just wanted to check in.”

Dinner was already on the table, and I picked at my food listlessly. Holy Christ, Celia Preston had just scared me. Her thinly veiled threat had left my heart hammering in my chest, wondering what lengths she would go to keep me from her son.

I thought about that for a second. And then I dropped my fork on the table.