The Dis-Graced: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Beguiling a Billionaire Book 5) Page 3

  At twenty-six, I went from having an award-winning career as a journalist to becoming an industry pariah, and it’s not even for something that I’ve done wrong, but no one cares about my side of the story. Heck, I haven’t even told my side of the story because it’s so far fetched that I know no one will believe it. I have no idea how Brigger Steele ended up in my hotel room because I was supposed to be meeting up with my fiancé, Frank. The love of my life, or at least who I thought was the love of my life.

  Now, he’s…I don’t even know. He won’t return my calls.

  Fuck him.

  Usually, at this time, I’d be getting on my phone, checking emails, pulling up the latest headlines, but that is now something I dread with every fiber of my being as it’s like walking through a landmine of criticism. It’s not just the headlines, but the constant texts and messages I receive. I’ve shut down my social media platforms, but there’s no avoiding my email, and I can’t change my number because I can’t afford to lose any important connections.

  The worst part is now the tabloids have been digging up my old assignments and openly questioning how I was able to land some of my past interviews. The people I’ve worked are denying that they’ve slept with me, thankfully, but they’re not exactly coming to my aid. They’re clearly trying to distance themselves from me and even ones I’ve got along well with are claiming they no longer have any association with me.

  Ouch!

  The one solace my phone actually gives me is the ability to communicate with Steph, the only friend in my circle that hasn’t deserted me. She’s been on assignment in Italy doing a piece on art from the Renaissance era, and, in her own words, doing a stallion roundup, so we haven’t been able to chat.

  Yep, the only friend that hasn’t abandoned me is a horndog. Go figure.

  My phone vibrates, forcing me to interact with it, and I pull it off my nightstand to see an incoming call from Luke, and I scramble to hit the answer button.

  Luke was the first person I called when the story broke, even before Stephanie. It wasn’t so much that we were close, because we’re not, but he’s a smart man with a good head on his shoulders. If anyone could help me weather the storm, it’d be him.

  I was hysterical, for so many reasons. There was the humiliation, then the whole losing the love of my life, and finally, realizing my career was essentially over. It was the first time I’ve ever asked Luke for help in my entire life. He responded exactly how I needed him to, telling me he’d do whatever he could to help me land an assignment. And he followed through on his promise, landing me a project working with Drake Dallanger.

  Take a breath. Put on your mask. Greet him cheerfully.

  Grace: Hey!

  I try to make my voice sound as cheerful as possible to hide my pain. It hasn’t been easy handling the judgment and criticism, but knowing that I’ve disappointed my brother is the worst of this whole situation. Especially after he and Amanda just had their first baby. I feel like I sucked a part of his joy away.

  Of course, my parents just kind of figured that sleeping for assignments was what I did. They seriously think I screwed my way into a career in journalism. I must admit, it’s far easier to bear their disappointment, though I can’t exactly say they’re disappointed.

  Luke: How are you liking the city?

  Grace: Is that some kind of joke? You know Drake has me on lockdown. I haven’t left the apartment in three days, and I’m going stir crazy.

  Luke: Has it been that long? I’m sorry. My days and nights are screwed up with this new crib potato. I should have called sooner.

  Grace: Crib potato? Did you just call my niece a crib potato?

  Luke: ::laughs:: That’s what Amanda and I have been calling her.

  Grace: Why can’t you call her monkey or princess, or any of the other normal pet names people call their children.

  Luke: Well, she just kind of lays there like a lumpy potato.

  Grace: Oh-my-GOD—you guys are obviously sleep deprived. Why don’t you drop her off at my apartment today and catch up on some sleep with Amanda?

  I’m not stupid enough to think that Amanda would ever allow Annabelle to be dropped off with me. She’s a nice enough woman, but she’s from an affluent family, and I can’t help but feel judged in her presence. Besides, she’s probably finalizing a nanny, and soon they’ll both be getting the sleep they need.

  Luke: As much as I’d LOVE to take you up on your generous offer, your presence is needed.

  My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. This is supposed to be good news, but if it is, then why does it feel very, very bad?

  Grace: Great, I’m excited.

  The lie comes out easier than I expect, probably because I don’t want Luke to think I’m unappreciative of his efforts. Still, anyone who knows me would pick up on my distress, and Lucas clearly knows me.

  Luke: You don’t sound excited.

  Grace: Oh, it’s just that I still don’t know what I’m working on.

  Luke: Get dressed. Your patience will be rewarded.

  Chapter 4

  Drake

  “Your ten o’clock canceled,” Edna says as she sets down a stack of newspapers and magazines onto my desk.

  People try to schedule a sit-down with me years in advance, so I’m not used to anyone canceling. Fortunately, I have so much work to do that this is a welcome surprise.

  I drain the rest of my coffee and grab a thick magazine from the top of the stack. It has a picture of Kelcey Kramer on the cover, who I once dated for several months right out of college. We had precious little in common, but it did ignite the tabloids’ interest in me, to my great consternation.

  “That’s good. I could use some more time freed up,” I reply back to Edna.

  “Devon is in town and staying a few floors below you,” she says nonchalantly.

  I slam the magazine down onto my desk and exhale a sigh.

  I haven’t seen my brother Devon in two years, and to be honest, I haven’t missed him much. After one too many visits by law enforcement, my mother saw fit to send him away to get him the help that he so desperately needed. What he’s doing here now is beyond me.

  “Does he have a sober coach with him?” I ask, trying my best not to speak too harshly to my aging secretary.

  “Not that he indicated. He mentioned that he was going to stop by the office today.”

  “Jesus Christ—when?”

  “I don’t know, I can forward the voicemail message to you if you’d like.”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s not like he’ll show up before noon, so I have plenty of time to prepare for the bomb to hit.”

  “Very well. Oh, and one more thing, there’s a woman waiting outside your office.”

  “A woman? Must be Grace,” I mutter.

  “She looks rather peculiar if you ask me. I stopped her just before she knocked and told her I had to give you your morning briefing.”

  I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about her. In fact, one of my favorite new daydreams is her leaning over my desk, taking her glasses off, pressing the frame to her lips, and lecturing to me about...God, anything. The weather, sales, Star Trek versus Star Wars.

  “Well, if that’s all you have for me, send her on in.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dallanger.”

  As Edna leaves, I sift through the various newspapers, taking note of the headlines:

  Billionaire Tech Genius Discusses Space Travel

  Warehouse Burns Before Raid

  Fashion Launch Postponed After Fur Scandal

  Dis-Graced Journalist Spotted in New York City

  Dammit!

  A picture of Grace going into the lobby of the apartment I secured for her is plastered on the newspaper. To most, this wouldn’t be a big deal, but for a man like me, it’s quite problematic.

  After being caught in bed with the man she was supposed to be doing a piece on, any association with her would be toxic, leading to all sorts of unsavory questions. The work I plan to do with her, or rather, the docuseries I’m having her do on ALAN, isn’t supposed to be announced until well after it’s complete, fully edited, and ready to deliver. I was banking on the time between now and the project’s release to allow for headlines to die down and people to lose interest, but if word of her movement is already getting out, there’s little doubt that a connection between her and myself will be established if she’s seen entering any of the buildings I own or operate out of.

  And, of course, I have to wonder: Did Grace alert the paparazzi to her whereabouts?

  My office door opens and in steps a woman in a long black dress spanning from her neck to her ankles with what appears to be a white apron over the top of it. What really pushes the outfit over the edge of insanity, though, is the bonnet.

  Why the hell is Edna letting strange people into my office? She’s getting up there in years, but she’s never made this kind of blunder before.

  “Excuse me,” I say rising from my seat, “but I think you might have the wrong office—”

  “No, I think I’m in the right place,” the woman cuts me off.

  I rise from my seat to escort her to Edna’s desk, or security if the situation requires.

  “I must insist that you—”

  Beneath the shadow of her bonnet, I see a pair of thick-framed glasses.

  “Grace, why the hell are you dressed like a Puritan?”

  “Ummm, this is Amish chic. Get it right.”

  My jaw drops and my brow furrows in confusion. “Why the hell are you wearing a twenty-pound black dress in the middle of summer? Why would someone ever wear that?”

  “The last time we met, you expressed concern that I might not be able to act professionally around the upstanding men and women you associate with. As you can see, I have no intention of drawing attention to myself.”

  “Holy Christ, you think an outfit like that isn’t going to attract attention? There’s literally a porn category for everything. This is only going to make men more interested in what you’re hiding beneath that-that—” I gesture to her dress.

  “Hiding beneath what?” she returns with a cocked brow.

  I run my fingers through my hair and decide it would be best just to dive right into work, though I’d much rather be diving into her.

  Down boy!

  “Let’s take a seat, shall we?”

  Grace reclaims her chair from earlier in the week while I busy myself making two cups of coffee.

  As much as I’d love to say I’m immune to Grace’s charms, there’s something about her that makes it hard for me to concentrate when she’s in the room. I can barely work the damn coffee maker, and it’s only a three button process.

  “I signed all the applicable legal documents after our meeting on Tuesday, but no one has so much as given me a hint as to what I’m going to be working on. I assume it’s more than a print piece, and if it is, I’m going to need some equipment.”

  After entirely too much time spent trying to remember the sequence of buttons I need to push in order to get my morning cup of coffee, I wing it, immediately regretting my actions when I’m given just half a cup.

  “Fear not, your questions will be answered shortly,” I call back over my shoulder.

  Don’t let her see you this worked up.

  I cast her a smile, then put another mug under the coffee maker’s nozzle. This time, I remember which buttons to push and in what order, delivering to Grace a perfect cup.

  “Thank you,” she says, sprinkling in some sugar.

  I take a seat, not bothering to add cream or sugar to my cup because there’s no way in hell I’m drinking whatever ungodly concoction I’ve created.

  “So, there’s been a security lapse,” I start in. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

  She looks up from her cup, blinking at me as though I were crazy. “What are you talking about?”

  “Over there, on my desk,” I point to the stack of magazines and newspapers, “there’s a picture of you going into your apartment building on Monday after you arrived in New York City.”

  She purses her lips and glares at me critically. “Are you suggesting I told people that I’m in the city and where I’d be staying? I’ve literally spent three days holed up in my new apartment because I’ve been told not to leave my room. I even had to have my new dress Amazoned to me.” Grace gestures to her body. “I’m not about to waste this opportunity.”

  My gaze never leaves hers, but I allow silence to speak for me.

  Grace rises from her seat, her face contouring from shock to fury. “I can’t believe this!”

  Without thinking, I say, “You can’t believe I think you’d try to get yourself a bit of press? I mean, we both know what you’re willing to do to get ahead.”

  “Fuck you, Drake Dallanger. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says with a voice full of anguish.

  A sinking feeling hits my gut like a brick with sharp nails poking out the side.

  “I’m done here!” She turns to leave, and I can’t say I blame her. She didn’t deserve that, but God, the way she looks when she gets mad has my head spinning and my cock impossibly hard.

  I let her get halfway to the exit before saying. “And where are you going?”

  She pivots back around at neck-breaking speed. “Back to my hotel so I can pack.”

  “And after that?”

  “You think I have no other options?”

  “I think you have very few.”

  “Well, what does it matter to you anyway. Just let me go.”

  “I have another proposition.”

  “Don’t even bother, unless it entails me never having to see you again.”

  “Actually, you’d be seeing considerably more of me.”

  She cocks a brow. Clearly, I have her interest.

  “I hope you forgive my forwardness regarding your situation. With your current scandal, it would be wise to keep my affiliation with you quiet until the time is right. That time will not be for at least another year, maybe two.”

  “I was aware this was going to be a long project.”

  “Previously, we were going to shoot it, and you’d go back to your apartment to edit. We’d do reshoots, addressing additional questions and issues that pop up, and you’d go back and edit some more before finally packaging it for sale and distribution. Halfway through the edits is when we’d start approaching networks to gauge their interest. It’d be an easy sell.”

  “And now?” she says, closing the distance between us and reclaiming her seat.

  “Now, you hand over your phone, and you move into my apartment.”

  She sits back in her chair, jaw dropping.

  “Do we have a deal?” I ask.

  “Are you flippin’ mad?” she snaps.

  “Flipping? I thought you were more inclined towards fucking.”

  Her mouth gapes again.

  “Not me, of course. You made that perfectly clear during our last communication. I’m merely referring to your choice of words.”

  “You asshole mother fucker!”

  “Mother fucker or mother flipper?”

  “The fact that you would seek so much control over a woman—”

  “A woman who is on the front page of several tabloids and quite a few reputable newspapers. This right here,” I gesture between the two of us, “could ruin me, so you might want to be a little more grateful. I’m not trying to ‘control’ you. I’m trying to gain control of the situation and create an environment where we can work together, and that includes you giving me the ability to make sure what is said between us, stays between us.”

  That shuts her up.

  For a moment, I regret my words as I see that her eyes are filling with tears. I take a napkin from the sugar caddy and hand it to her.

  “I’m sorry, Grace, but it has to be this way. Your every interaction with the project will be monitored. We’ll start on it immediately, and hopefully, it won’t take long to wrap up. I will give you a cellphone you can use, but if you are to have access to my apartment, I cannot allow you to keep your current one.”

  She closes her mouth and opens it to speak again, but no words come out.

  “Are you confused? I thought journalists were good at putting the pieces together. Maybe I’m hiring the wrong person for the job.”

  Her brow furrows, and after several more attempts at speaking, she finally says, “But, why?”

  “Why the arrangement? The mistrust?”

  “No, I get it. I really do. But why are you even hiring me if you have to go through all this?”

  “Truthfully, at first, it was for Luke. He’s a good guy, and I hated seeing him distraught. Now, I don’t know. I guess I feel bad.”

  “You feel bad?”

  “Luke was always a brother to me, from the moment I met him. You, well, I never treated you like a sister, though maybe I should have.”

  “So…in exchange for me giving up my freedom for some months, I get the scoop and your endorsement?”

  “Something like that,” I say gently. “You’ll be given a laptop to use, a cell phone, I’ve even taken the liberty of purchasing you a new wardrobe.”

  “I have clothes, thank you very much.”

  “I know, think of it as a perk. Would you like to see the project?”

  “Yes.“

  “ALA—”

  The door to my office opens, and Devon comes rushing in.

  Jesus Christ, why the hell is he here?

  As soon as he spots us, he barrels towards me, arms open for an embrace. Devon has always been the warmest, most jovial of my parents’ four sons.

  He’s also been the most troubled.