Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(69)

“If I find out you even touched my daughter,” he says in a low, threatening hiss. “I’ll nail your fucking ass to the wall so hard you’ll be taking the rest of your meals through a straw. You’re not, and will never be, good enough for her.”

I exhale.

Knew that was coming.

And I wouldn’t care, if I didn’t know that this man means more to Lizzy than anyone in the whole world.

I frown at him. “You’re right. I’m not. I don’t care what you do to me. Just—if things don’t go the way you want them to, blame me. Don’t take it out on your daughter. All she’s ever wanted to do is make you look good.”

He blinks, surprised. He might have just expected me to nod along, as I get the feeling most people do around him. He strong-arms everyone into silence, I’ll bet. But he’s not going to do that to me.

He nods. “Fair enough. It doesn’t give me pleasure to come down on Lizzy. I assure you that won’t be the case with you.”

Bring it, old man, I think, stepping out of the car.

The meeting with the people at Saks goes well. Mr. Banks turns on his charm and is actually smiling and jovial with these clients. But every time he looks at me when no one else is paying attention, I get a threatening, icy stare. I do my best to put it off, but it’s like navigating a minefield. I find myself wishing again and again that I had Lizzy by my side. That I could touch her, hold her, go back to her apartment with her and celebrate another win.

But I fucking can’t. Not now.

At the end of the evening, I finish my Macallan and my cigar at the bar with Mr. Banks and the rest of the clients. When we say goodbye to the clients, Mr. Banks claps me on the back and says, “Good show, boy. Keep it up. Let’s go home.”

I shake my head. “I think I’ll just stay here a little longer.”

“All right,” he says. “Remember, we’re golfing tomorrow with some buyers from Neiman Marcus.”

Golfing. Shit. Golfing?

I should be in a panic. But I’ve been on high alert all evening, and I don’t think things can get much worse. I can’t have Lizzy, so I’m fucked any way you slice it. “Looking forward to it.”

He leaves.

I summon the bartender.

“Another Macallan?”

I shake my head. “Give me a tequila,” I mutter to him. “The cheapest shit you got.”

“Sir?”

I’m not a sir. I’m a fucking fraud, and her father knows it.

“Just pour the fucking drink,” I mutter.

I need to get shit faced, as soon as possible.

Lizzy

It’s been a week since I last saw James.

Well, in person.

He’s everywhere now. On every city bus billboard that I see. On TV, in all of the special appearances we scheduled for him, and even in some new ones that I didn’t even know about. In newspapers. When I walk down the street, if a man has his hair or his build, I think it’s him. But it’s never him.

And he never texts me anymore either.

After I found out my father knew about us and he left my apartment, I wished I hadn’t said what I had.

But I had to. We had to put the brakes on. All of our futures hang in the balance.

James is the picture of class. He is sophisticated, smart, sexy . . . everything a woman wants. I saw a news story where women were just throwing themselves at him. One woman actually fainted in his path, she was so enthralled.

Even if he isn’t real, he sure looks it. My creation has outclassed me.

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to get out and face the day.

This is for the best. Banks LTD has never done better, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? When I gave my father the latest update on how well all of the marketing featuring James was coming together, he actually stopped me and said, “Good job, Lizzy.”

I’d been waiting all my life to hear those words.

But for some reason, when I heard them, they bounced right off me, like I was wearing a suit of armor.

I barely cared.

How stupid am I? To have gone and gotten myself so wrapped up in a man that I can barely get out of bed? He’s just street rat Jimmy Rowan, a nobody. He’d be nothing if it weren’t for me. So I guess the joke is on them.

Ha ha. I can’t stop laughing. Really.

I roll over in bed and see that the clock says it’s noon. I should be in the office, but I can’t bring myself to think about work right now. I stumble out of bed and go to the kitchen, where I grab a bag of potato chips, the closest thing I have to junk food in the house. Then I go back to bed, feeding myself handful after handful.

The phone rings. I look to see that it’s Jeanine as I reach for another handful and realize the bag is empty. Darn it.

I answer. “Hello?”

“What is going on with you?” she asks me. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, tumbling back out of bed to see what else I can scrounge up in my kitchen. “Been busy.”

“I can tell. James is a sensation! I can’t believe all the amazing press he’s getting. Your father must be so happy with you! And you must be thrilled too. He almost passes for a real gentleman.”

“He is. He’s fooled everyone.” Even me.