The Stranger

1. Spencer

Chapter 1

Spencer

F uck. The loud incessant shrill of my phone jolts me out of a deep sleep. Begrudgingly cracking one eye open, I groan into my pillow when I glance at the clock on the bedside table and see it’s only 5:15 am. It’s a Sunday, and the only day I get to sleep in. Who the fuck would be ringing me at this time of morning?

I blindly reach for my phone, unsure whether to answer it or throw it across the goddamn room. If this is one of my employees, someone is about to lose their job.

Without even bothering to look at who it is, I bring it to my ear and answer the call with an abrupt, “What!”

I hear an audible gasp through the line, which is followed by, “Don’t you dare what me, young man.”

My mother.

I am thirty-two years old, but that knowledge never stops her from occasionally berating me like a small child.

I blow out a long breath. “Someone better be dead, Mother. It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

This time she huffs. “What I just saw online has my poor heart racing and my chest feeling tight. I’m so distraught I’m going to need to take a Valium once this conversation has ended.”

“Mother,” I growl, narrowing my eyes. Eloise Prescott has always been a touch on the dramatic side. “Enough with the theatrics. I can guarantee you are not having a heart attack. Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour? You know this is my only day off.”

“After the relationship status you were tagged in on Facebook, no less, I very well could be,” she replies.

I abruptly sit up. Has something happened I’m not aware of? Or have I fallen victim to the gossip mill once again? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made the headlines of some trashy tabloid for my philandering—as my mother refers to it—ways.

“What relationship status?”

“That my firstborn son—my only child—is in a committed relationship. She’s beautiful and I’m very happy for you both … thrilled actually, but imagine my surprise at finding out this way. I’m your mother, Spencer. I should’ve been told before the rest of the world.”

I was right. Fuck my life.

“Mother, you know as well as I do never to believe what is printed in the media. They’ll say anything to sell a story.”

“What about when it comes directly from the woman you’re seeing?”

“What?”

I sharply pull the phone away from my ear and stab my finger against the screen to open the Facebook app, and my irritation morphs into anger the moment I see it. It was posted by a woman by the name of Delilah St. James. It clearly states, “In a Relationship with Spencer Prescott” .

Who the fuck is Delilah St. James, and why is she spreading such vicious lies?

“Mother, I’ll call you back,” I bark, then hang up without waiting for a reply.

I click on Delilah St. James’s profile picture and use my forefinger and thumb to expand her image so I can get a closer look. She doesn’t look familiar at all, but has that rare kind of beauty … one that’s hard to forget. She’s gorgeous, and just my type, with her thick, long blonde hair, a radiant smile, and the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

The problem is I’ve been so busy running my empire that I haven’t dated in months.

I exit out of the picture and scroll down her page to see she regularly posts and gets likes and comments, so I doubt it’s a fake profile, but you can never tell these days. Scammers are ripe on social media and getting more brazen by the day. It’s why I hate these platforms. That, and the fact I’m a private person.

The ones who post every facet of their lives online, including what they ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, annoy the hell out of me. Who wants to see that?

What I do in my own time—and who I do it with—is nobody else’s business but my own. I only have this account because my PR team said it would make me more personable.

It’s a load of bullshit if you ask me. I can be very personable when I want to be. I only went along with their suggestion because there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my company.

I move back to the top of Delilah’s page, and my finger hovers over the message tab. Do I really want to go there? I should let my assistant, Simone, or my PR team sort this out … it’s what I pay them for, after all. Alternatively, I could call my lawyer and have him do it for me, but against my better judgement, I press the button and open Messenger.

My fingers are flying over the screen before I even realise what I’m doing.

Me: Do I know you?

I sit there staring down at my phone for the longest time.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath. I have better things to do … like sleep. I’ll worry about this mess later.

As I go to exit the app, I see three small dots appear. They just as quickly go away and then reappear once again.

Is this woman struggling to formulate a response? It’s an easy fucking question. A few more minutes pass, and my annoyance grows as I impatiently wait to read what she has to say. Is she writing a damn novel?

A growl rumbles in the back of my throat when her response finally comes through. It’s one word. It took her five minutes to type one syllable.

Delilah: Yikes.

Is she kidding? She posts something like this and all she can say is yikes?

Me: It’s a yes or no answer, Miss St. James if that’s even your real name. Or are you a phony who’s trying to scam me?

Delilah: I would never!!!!

Me: Still not an answer. And you would never what?

Delilah: Scam somebody. What type of person do you think I am?

Me: I have no idea what type of person you are because I don’t know you! Hence why I’m perplexed that you would think we’re a couple. And isn’t that exactly what you are doing? Advertising to the world that you are in a committed relationship when you clearly are not. In my eyes, that could be classed as a scam … at the very least, misleading and dishonest.

Delilah: Ugh.

Me: Ugh? Is that even a word?

Delilah: Of course it is.

Me: What is the definition then?

Delilah: It is basically an annoyed grunting sound that someone makes in the back of their throat when others (namely you) are being annoying!!!!

A smirk tugs at my lips because I like her sass. She copies and pastes something to further validate her claim.

Delilah: Britannica Dictionary definition of UGH. informal—used to show that you are annoyed, disgusted, or upset about something.

Me: Isn’t it me who should be annoyed, disgusted or upset? After all, I’m the person who’s being implicated in a fake relationship.

Delilah: I know and I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess. *Sigh. I’ll take it down, my bad for choosing someone so testy to be my temporary fake boyfriend.

Despite my irritation by this situation, I find myself smiling at the adorable sigh she added to her reply.

Me: Can I ask why you are looking for a fake boyfriend? You’re not exactly ugly.

Delilah: Wow, thanks. Maybe this is why you’re single, Mr Prescott. Your compliments need some work.

I bark out a laugh.

Me: I’m single by choice, Miss St. James.

Delilah: Well, I’m not. I’m single because my fiancé is a lowdown, dirty, cheating piece of shit!!!

Me: I’m sorry to hear that.

Delilah: Tell me about it.

Me: If you want my opinion on the matter, it sounds like you are better off without him. Be grateful you dodged that bullet before you two walked down the aisle.

Delilah: We were supposed to get married yesterday, but instead he’s now sitting on a tropical island, basking in the sunshine, drinking cocktails on the beach and enjoying our honeymoon with my sister. Would it be nasty of me to say I hope a shark eats him?

Her sister? Fucking hell. Now this is all making sense.

Me: I’m sorry, Delilah. That was an awful thing for them to do to you. And no to the shark, he deserves it. I hope his death is a painful and prolonged one.

My hardened heart goes out to her. I can only imagine how she’s feeling. My mother was broken when my father traded her in for a woman less than half his age, but I got retribution for her after the divorce by taking over his company. But this is Delilah’s sister … her flesh and blood. That is a betrayal on a whole other level.

Delilah: *Sigh. Thank you for your kind words. You sound sweet. No wonder my sister is secretly in love with you. Again, I apologise profusely. I’ll take my status down immediately.

Me: Do I know your sister?

Delilah: She did a two-month internship with your company. She’s been swooning over you ever since. She even has a picture of you cut out from a magazine in a frame beside her bed. Pathetic right? She’s foolishly hoping to get a full-time position with Prescott Enterprises after she graduates from college. Knowing her, the way I do, I’m sure she plans on seducing you.

Me: Isn’t she dating your ex?

Delilah: That wouldn’t stand in her way. I know little about you, but the fact that you have a job would be a major step up from Kayne. He’s a broke college student who’s never worked a day in his life.

He sounds like a real catch.

Me: Regardless, she’d be wasting her time; I don’t fraternise with my staff. Ever.

I’m nothing like my old man.

Delilah: She’d still give it her best shot. Nothing stands in the way of something Abigail St. James wants … even her sister’s fiancé. She’s ruthless.

Me: I’ll make a note of her name and give it to HR so that never happens.

Delilah: Deep inside the depths of my soul, a small part of me is glad to hear that. Does that make me a terrible sister?

Me: I think what your sister has done to you trumps that, so don’t feel bad.

Delilah: I only chose you to spite her … petty, I know. It was wrong of me to get you involved and use you as a pawn in my game, Mr Prescott.

Me: The only reason?

Delilah: No offence, but you’re not my type.

Although that comment should bruise my ego, I’m not offended at all. I like that she said it. Her honesty is refreshing.

Me: You know what, Delilah, leave the status up.

My reply is impulsive, but this woman deserves some kind of retribution for what those two did to her.

Delilah: Really?

Me: Yes, really. What can it hurt?

Call it a sleep-hazed reaction, or just plain stupidity, but I had a sinking feeling that I was going to live to regret those words.