Alpha Billionaire's Bride - Part 2

Chapter One

THE HEAD OF SECURITY AT Ian Buckley’s lake property, Lydia Pepper, spoke rapidly into the small radio mic clipped to her shoulder holster. “Gate 1, Chief here. Gate 1, entry confirmed. Escort guests to main house. Come back.”

A clear voice answered in the affirmative.

“I’ll wait for them outside, Sir,” Lydia said, and with Ian’s returning nod, she swiftly left the dining room.

Jada tossed back another draught of wine. She wondered if she’d look like a wimp if she pled a headache and escaped to her room before Sasha arrived.

Ian glared at his empty wine glass. “I want to know how the hell she found out I’m here.”

Jada was disgusted that he could be so callous about sneaking around behind his supermodel girlfriend’s back. He should be ashamed. “That’s not right. Sasha is your fiancée and you should treat her with respect.”

“What?” Ian asked. “Oh, I’m not talking about her. She can be a pain in the ass sometimes, sure, but did you hear what Lydia said? Agatha Brimgore is with her. That, and I use the term loosely, woman is on my property.” He shuddered.

“Agatha who?”

“Sasha’s publicist. Terrible woman.” He slapped a hand on the tablecloth. “I bet it was Sullivan. He’s probably off chuckling right now about foisting her off onto me. It would be like him. I’m going to fire him this time. He’s gone too far.”

“I can’t believe you’re behaving this way. He probably told her because she was distraught. I would be if I were her. Have you even spoken to her since everything happened?”

“She texted me all morning, and I answered as best I could. You don’t know how she is. You can’t imagine how annoying, how ... I’m getting Lydia back in here and telling her I’ve changed my mind. I want the gates sealed, permanently if necessary, before that woman gets one step closer.”

Jada wasn’t sure if he was talking about Sasha or the Brimgore person, but either way, she didn’t like what she was hearing. Someone needed to call this guy on his crap. “Let them in. Explain what happened, that it was a mistake. Confess everything and do what’s right.”

“I’ve got nothing to confess,” he said. “I didn’t create this publicity nightmare. But if you want them here, Jada, fine. They can come in. And when you see what you’ve unleashed on us, simply say the word and I’ll send that woman packing.”

Ian refilled his wine glass and swigged down half of it in one go. He offered the bottle to Jada. “Top you off?”

“No thank you,” she said primly.

“You’ll wish you had.”

Jada eyed the remaining wine in her glass, speculating about its potency. She wished she had her phone so she could call Marina. However, Jada wouldn’t leave the dining room for anything. Not now. Not even to get her phone. She had too much pride, and she’d face Sasha’s wrath, or whatever it was that was coming. Unlike Ian, Jada knew she had something to be ashamed of, and it involved allowing another woman’s man to kiss her that afternoon. She’d almost let him do more.

She scowled at the thought. Oh, God. What if she’d let him do more? It was too disgusting to contemplate.

Ian leaned forward, stared hard at her. “I don’t care about Sasha.”

Jada raised her chin and looked down her nose at him. “That’s painfully apparent.”

“No, I mean, as a girlfriend. As a person, I think highly of her.”

“You’re joking.”

He cocked his head. “Why would I joke about that?”

Jada blew out a loud breath. “I can’t believe you’re making me say this. You kissed me today, remember? I guess you’re used to kissing any random woman who comes along and threatening to have sex with her on a smelly fishing dock. You can’t do that sort of thing AND respect your girlfriend. Or fiancée. Whatever she is.”

“Really? I had no idea. You’ve opened my eyes tonight. I’ve got a new take on life in general.”

“And now you have the nerve to be sarcastic. If I weren’t a lady, I’d—”

Ian leaned forward, his bright blue eyes sparkling. “But you are a lady, Jada. And you’re all lit up and looking more beautiful than ever.”

“I-I—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish.

A feminine voice called out behind her, outrage dripping from every syllable. “What the hell is going on in here!”

Jada swiveled in her seat, faced the doorway.

It was Sasha. From where Jada sat, gawping upward, Sasha towered over everything in the room, appearing to be at least seven feet tall, and her legs seemed longer than Jada was tall, neither of which could actually be true, but it sure looked that way.

The supermodel resembled a magnificent, overgrown fairy princess, even dressed down as she was in knee-length, faded cutoff jeans, a billowy white shirt unbuttoned halfway down her fashion-appropriate small bosom, and a pair of flat, beaded flip-flops.

She was outrageously beautiful and from what Jada could tell, wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup on her exquisite face. Her lashes were naturally long and curly, her skin satiny peach flawlessness, her lips puffy pink and bow-shaped. Jada could have spent days enumerating Sasha’s physical perfections.

But what made Sasha most like a fairy princess was the spiraling blonde hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders. It had a depth of color that could only be bought in the finest salons. The sparkling strands of gold curls framed cut-glass chee

kbones and tickled her protruding collarbone.

Put Sasha in a ball gown dancing with a handsome man in a tux, and it’d be happily ever after, the premium edition.

Sasha’s brilliant green eyes glowed at Jada before she swept her gaze to Ian. “I said, what the hell is going on in here!”

“And hi to you,” Ian said blandly. “Not much is going on. Before you so rudely interrupted, I was having dinner with my wife.”

Jada jerked toward Ian. He didn’t just say that, did he? He winked. She swiveled back toward Sasha, no idea what to say to smooth over the debacle. On impulse, she shoved her chair backward and stood. “I think I should leave you two alone.”

Sasha studied Jada from head to toe. “Sit down, little wifey. I like the looks of her, Ian. Very nice. I suppose, since she’s so hot, we can share her.”

Ian snorted.

Jada gasped. These people weren’t normal. What was this? Eyes Wide Shut, the sequel?

Sasha laughed heartily. “Oh, hahaha! If you could see your face. Hilarious!” She strolled into the room, hand outstretched to Jada, like she was going to touch Jada, and perhaps not in a friendly way.

Jada reared backward, bumping against the table’s edge.

Sasha laughed harder and peered beyond Jada. “Is that one of Mrs. Best’s arugula salads? Does it have her kick-ass dressing?”

“Yep,” Ian said.

Sasha batted her long eyelashes at Jada. “Are you going to eat that? It looks like you haven’t touched it. I’d steal Ian’s, but he’s a hog and his is mostly gone.”

Jada nodded and slipped to one side so Sasha could grab the plate of salad.

Sasha eyed the food greedily, holding the plate up to her nose and sniffing it on her way to the chair beside Jada. She flopped down. “Hope you don’t mind, but I took your fork, too.” She dug into the salad, cramming a huge bite into her mouth and chewing lustily with a blissful expression on her angelic face.

“Sit down, Jada,” Ian said. “You’re standing too close to the ravenous she-wolf. She might accidentally take a bite out of you.”

Jada tried to look cool and collected, but knew she was failing miserably. And whose fault was that, anyway? She pursed her mouth and sat down. “This isn’t funny.”

Sasha reached over and grabbed a roll from the bread basket, dragging the butter along with it. She slathered an astonishing amount of the creamy stuff on the crunchy roll and tore off a big hunk with her pearly white teeth. She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly through her nose, and muttered with her mouth full. “So good. So good.”

“I’d explain all of this to you, Jada” Ian said, “but I doubt I’d get far since that woman is coming. I can’t believe you brought her here, Sasha.”

Sasha shrugged and shoved another mouthful of salad into her chipmunked cheeks.

A female voice with a profound nasal twang sounded out in the hallway beyond the partially-open door. “Where is he? I know he’s here. Damn that girl, running off as usual. I told her to wait, but she doesn’t listen to me. Ever!”

Jada recognized the voice that responded to the woman. It was Mr. Forest, the caretaker and estate manager.

“Please, ma’am,” he said, “if you’ll wait here I’ll announce your arrival then escort—”

“You can’t fool me. I see which room has the lights on. I bet they’re right—”

The dining room door swung open all the way. “—here!” the woman concluded. “I knew it. Case solved. Ian Buckley did it, in the dining room with a candlestick!”

Jada tried to take the woman in, but it was something of a task. She was middle-aged, and tall and thin, like Sasha, but with little of Sasha’s elegance. She was a walking advertisement for 1960’s retro. Her grey and black-streaked hair was piled high on her head in a towering beehive hairdo. Her lashes were too long and too thick to be anything other than false. Her makeup was over the top, with extended eyeliner, heavy eyeshadow and bright orange lipstick.

She wore a geometric-patterned shift dress with dense hosiery over her skinny legs and clunky-heeled shoes on her long feet. Everything clashed, hair, makeup, clothing, shoes and purse. She was a hair-raising symphony of disharmony.

Jada assumed this was the unwished-for Agatha Brimgore.

Agatha peered over the rims of the tortoiseshell eyeglasses perched on the end of her nose. “You can’t get away from me, Mr. Ian Buckley. I’ll always sniff out a welsher. And you’re a welsher!”

Ian didn’t look at the woman, instead staring straight ahead at the French doors leading outside. Jada was certain he was contemplating making a run for it. He waved a hand in the air. “Nice to see you, too, Agatha. Always a pleasure.”

Agatha stalked into the room, eyeballing Jada with suspicion as she passed. She settled into the chair across the table from Jada, kitty-corner to Ian. “Don’t offer me a seat, or pull out my chair, Mr. Buckley. I’m a liberated woman and can make myself comfortable. And it’s a good thing since you, sir, are no gentleman!”

Jada winced. Ian didn’t so much as blink.

“Have you met my wife?” he asked. “This is Jada Howarth, my wife. Jada, this is Agatha Brimgore, Sasha’s publicist and bane of any sensible person’s existence.”

Jada opened her mouth to speak, but Agatha cut her off.

“Introductions aren’t necessary,” Agatha said. “Everyone in the free world knows the man-stealing harlot who made a jilted fool of my most important client and who has turned a valuable ally into a welsher.”

Ian picked up the wine bottle and gestured at Jada’s goblet. “Changed your mind yet about topping off your glass?”

Jada was trying to digest the “man-stealing harlot” remark. “Yes, thank you. Fill it up.”

Ian topped her off then upended the bottle over his own glass, watching with regret as the final drops splashed down without filling his glass more than half full.

“I do hope you’ll send a servant for more of that,” Agatha said. “It’s rude not to offer libation to your other guests.”

“Jada isn’t my guest,” Ian said. “She’s my wife.”

Agatha sniffed loudly. “I can’t believe you keep rubbing that in. Salt in a wound. Salt in a wound, I say! Isn’t it enough that you’ve made a laughingstock out of our beloved Sasha? We could sue, you know. Breach of promise. It’s a thing, I assure you.”

Her threat finally caused Ian to look at her, and his expression was far from pleasant. “It is not ‘a thing.’ And we had a casual agreement, no contracts,” Ian said. “Besides, I’ve told you again and again that I didn’t marry anyone. This whole debacle is probably the result of a clerical error.”

Agatha tapped a tapered, shiny blue fingernail on the table. “Breach of promise is serious. I say you engineered the whole situation in an attempt to—”

“You’d better think carefully before you finish that sentence.” Ian’s fierce scowl should have scorched the older woman. “I’ll put up with a lot of your nonsense, but you’re pushing it too far. Sasha, call her off before this gets ugly.”

Agatha sputtered as Sasha swallowed and glanced up from Jada’s plate.

“Ian didn’t cause this situation,” Sasha said, her tone bored. “I’ve told you that a million times. Why would he? What does he have to gain from it?” She looked at Jada. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jada said, swallowing down another healthy drink. She was more confused than ever about what was going on, and began to appreciate the value of the wine beyond its excellent flavor. She was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. How many glasses of wine had she had tonight? Was this the fourth? Fifth? She couldn’t remember. She touched her nose. Yep, a little numb.

There was a flurry of movement at the door. Mrs. Best bustled into the room, leading Elly who carried a tray with two plates on it, dinner’s next course.

“Is that really you, Sasha?” Mrs. Best asked, a wide smile stretching her face. “It is! I’m so happy you’re here. Have you eaten?”

&nb

sp; Sasha hopped up and dashed over to the short, middle-aged woman. She wrapped her long, thin arms around the plump woman’s waist and squeezed, lifting Mrs. Best up off the floor several inches.

Mrs. Best trilled and wrapped her own arms around Sasha’s gaunt shoulders. “Oh you! Stop that. Heehee! You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Never,” Sasha said, releasing the cook. “I’ve missed you so much. Seriously, when are you going to leave this dumb man who strands you out in the country? Come work for me and I’ll show you the world. I get around, you know. Imagine us in Paris, Milan, Tokyo. We’ll eat our way through every fashion capital in the world.”

To Jada’s astonishment, Mrs. Best batted at Sasha’s arm in a flirtatious way. “Oh you. Are you hungry? Never mind. I know you are. I’ll have something ready in a few minutes.” She leaned out to the side, looking past Sasha to Agatha. Mrs. Best’s geniality instantly morphed into distant disapproval. “And I suppose you’ll want something to eat, as well?”

Agatha was unperturbed by Mrs. Best’s alteration. “Yes, I would. I’m a little peckish and think a nice—”

“I’ll whip you up something,” Mrs. Best interrupted. And Jada could have sworn she mumbled under her breath, “peckish,” and rolled her eyes.

Mrs. Best’s sunny smile returned as she switched her attention back to Sasha. “I’ll be right back with something yummy for you, dear.”

Mrs. Best turned to leave and Sasha landed a few playful swats on the cook’s well-padded behind.

“You’ve already got something yummy there,” Sasha quipped.

Jada half-choked on her wine. Ian sighed. Agatha made a face ugly enough to crack a mirror.

But Mrs. Best? She giggled like a school girl and shook her rump all the way to the hall.

“You’ve got to stop trying to steal my staff,” Ian said. “And it’d be nice if you didn’t sexually harass them, either.”

Sasha shrugged. “I gotta be me.”

“You most certainly do not!” Agatha sent her a chilling look. “Especially not when ...” she made a tiny motion with her head toward Elly, who was still serving Jada and Ian, “... not when understaff is around.”