10. Just Call Me Belle
10
Just Call Me Belle
ALICE
The thirteenth floor was unusually busy on Monday morning. The smell of burned coffee greeted me with my first step off the elevator. People were bustling, copy machines chugged out daily reports, computer keys clacked at astounding speed, and voices buzzed through the large, open work room. The thing I admired most about the Hart brothers was their dedication to the idea of a team—although they certainly weren’t a part of ours.
Office walls all glowed white to reflect the sunlight that streamed in through oversized windows. Twin staircases led up to the overhang where the executives were tucked behind walls of glass that made the entire space feel like a fishbowl. Sleek modern desks lined down the center, each facing the other so co-workers could pop around their monitors for conversations. They were all electric and could be raised to stand or sit as they worked to accommodate better ergonomics or even exercise balls for those who struggled to focus sitting still. Gorgeous modern artwork splashed color across the walls, keeping with our coastal city. Framed, signed posters of our star football players lined the bathroom hallway in bold emerald green, gold, and black.
All touches I attributed to Oliver’s part in the family business. I’d seen pictures of the outdated eighties decor they’d inherited, and the dingy space was a far cry from the environment I’d walked into a few summers back.
But all of those progressive pieces of company culture did nothing to dull the abrupt cutoff of conversation as I stepped in between the lines of desks and monitors. A hush settled over the desks like a wet blanket tossed over a fire despite my smile. A smile that went rigid under their scrutiny.
Just like that, I was no longer a peer. I was one of them .
I was going to be a Hart. Surely, a handful of them thought I’d slept my way to my position, which was more frustrating than it should have been. And what had been camaraderie two weeks ago—sharing jokes at Greyson’s expense and planning summer concerts together—had been replaced with fear and furtive glances. Great . I hadn’t even thought about the fact that the very few friend-adjacent relationships I had in this city would vanish when I was publicly declared his .
“Morning, Paul,” I greeted as I finally hit his desk at the back of the room outside of the executive’s offices—mine included. He was the first person to both meet my gaze and smile.
“Morning, Alice! How are you, beautiful?” I shrugged, but the attempt at nonchalance wasn’t fooling Paul. He’d been with Greyson for years before I joined the team and had been one of my earliest allies in this overwhelming building. He offered me a sympathetic smile before saying, “Give it time. They’ll get over it the moment some new juicy scandal arises.”
Nodding, I mumbled, “Thanks.”
“Oh. Your betrothed,” he overenunciated the word just for emphasis, a devilish smile curling his slender lips. “He asked me to tell you to see him in his office when you arrived.”
“Thanks, Paul,” I said as I walked past him, holding back the groan that climbed up my chest. Hesitating at the foot of the executive stairs, I realized he wasn’t supposed to be here, but I clamped my teeth shut on the question that almost flew from my mouth because, his fiancé would know why he’d broken his hiatus.
Dammit.
I hadn’t seen him since the limo ride fiasco after the engagement party. Spent the weekend with a too-smug Leighton, who still wanted me to call the whole thing off for the farce it was. A farce coming to a head quicker than I could possibly prepare for. There was no way to have a royal wedding ready in a matter of weeks, but we’d decided a secret intimate elopement with ‘exclusive’ photos offered to Stacy and her paper was just as good. We’d leak secondary images to a second source and stoke the scandal of celebrity obsession for extra diversion.
But that meant this was my last week to walk away before things became infinitely more complicated. Rather than going to my end of the hallway, I walked directly into Greyson’s office. Those hazel greens landed on me the instant I filled the doorway, clutching my bag in one hand and coffee in the other. With a pained sigh, he motioned for me to close the door. All too eager to comply, I slipped into the room, but the heavy click of the latch behind me felt more final than I’d like.
“Morning, Mr. Hart,” I said, sitting when he motioned to the chair across the desk.
“One moment,” he said curtly, tapping away at his keys. While par for the course, it was still maddening, my irritation already rising. Maybe too much history sat between us to pull this off after all. It wasn’t that he’d said anything spectacularly dickish in the car Saturday night—though his refusal to defend me to Reggie spoke volumes—and it wasn’t unusual for him to wrap up a last-minute email after calling me in for a meeting. Yet, the pretense of a relationship—transactional as it may be—made all of the Heartless-isms that much more agitating.
“I have a very full agenda today; perhaps I should come back at a more convenient time.”
“Stop it,” he ordered, not moving his eyes from the screen that was rapidly filling with little black letters.
“Just communicating the requirements of my day, sir .”
“You know what you’re doing,” he growled, clicking the enter key with theatrical finality. Fingers laced behind his head, he leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over the other. God must have had one hell of a sense of humor if he thought putting the personality of a rattlesnake into a package like that was appropriate. Begrudgingly, my brain hashed out whether or not he was pretty enough to make up for being so callous. The arm porn currently on display beneath a slick button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbow wasn’t helping the logic win out.
Luckily for me, he opened his mouth again, quickly reminding me why he was only as beautiful as a poisonous plant—luring you in with bright colors and silky petals only to send you heaving into the bathroom toilet if you were dumb enough to take a taste. “Where’ve you been?”
“Home.”
“No. I was home.” A lone arched brow accompanied inflectionless anger. “You were not.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk as he clasped his fingers against the marble surface. “We argued about how best to keep up appearances. Do you think running off for forty-eight hours is an appropriate response?”
“Leighton came down with the flu, and I went home to take care of her,” I supplied sardonically.
“I have doctors on staff for that.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t throw money at my problems when I have a heart that can solve them. Besides, Leigh was fine —thanks for asking, by the way—but the media doesn’t need to know that.”
He nodded, lips pursed as he let that sit between us, stewing like a pot of soup about to boil over. “When you agreed to this, I didn’t realize you intended to make it as miserable as possible.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be a territorial caveman, either. I guess we both misjudged the other. Shocker .” I deadpanned as he did the same. It would’ve been funny if it were anyone else.
“You know, I miss the version of you that you lured us in with over the last two years.”
“Of course you do,” I sighed, leaning back and peeling at a bit of orange stuck under my artificial nail. “She had the personality of a desk lamp.”
“Did you ever think I would’ve been more eager to put you in a position of leadership if I’d known you could hold your own?”
“Did you ever think that’s not synonymous with being a dick ?”
That little twitch of his lip brought me way too much satisfaction. In a matter of weeks, I’d shown him the ugliest, meanest sides to me, and he found them entertaining .
“If we’re suddenly in the habit of shooting it straight together, answer me this. Are you in or out? Because I can’t tell.”
“I said I’m in.”
“Words take only a tongue, but commitment requires compounded action over time. Are you all the former, or do you possess the latter to see this through?”
“I said I’m in,” I growled, lifting my chin.
“Then act like it,” he countered, leaning back. “As it is, no one close enough to leak to the press will believe a word of it. What bride runs off after her engagement party? I have staff. Staff who knew your bed was never slept in. Who probably think it’s odd you’re keeping your own rooms, despite my justification that we’re taking a break until we say ‘I do.’”
I opened my mouth—once, twice—but snapped it closed. I knew he was right, even if the idea of climbing into his bed at night made me…simultaneously a bit flushed and nauseated, like I’d caught a nasty stomach virus.
But that didn’t diminish my irritation with him. “I want to be treated as a partner, Greyson, not a subject.”
“And I expect my wife to be in her own bed, especially after a disagreement.”
“Ooh, quick ,” I said sardonically. “ Demand I join you for dinner.”
“The staff will expect it.”
“Just call me Belle,” I muttered, not dropping our locked gazes, which granted me the pleasure of rendering him confused. This time, I couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh, come on, think about it.”
He narrowed his eyes on me. “Did you just liken me to a cursed beast?”
Smirking, I shrugged as if to say ‘obviously.’
“I’d argue, but aside from Cap, I am alone, and we do have a library. If you’d like, I can gift it to you to really cement the picture.”
Aaaand, I was smiling . How the fuck did he do that? When we both blew out a sigh in unison, laughter naturally followed.
“Ollie was right,” he muttered, palming his jaw. “I hate when he’s right.”
“About what?”
“That this would be harder than I anticipated.”
“Duh,” I replied unflinchingly.
“You say that quite casually for someone who also signed on the dotted line.” He palmed his face before muttering, “We don’t even know if this marriage will even be adequate enough to keep the sharks in the water we chummed instead of feasting on the embezzlement story.”
“It will,” I assured, my gut set on that as reality. “The public is enamored with romance. White collar assholes being assholes isn’t really news when they have juicy theories and celebrity pregnancy speculations to sink their teeth into.”
“They’re really sticking to that?”
“Why else would I marry you in a shotgun wedding?” Okay, so my smirk might’ve been a bit devilish. To my eternal amusement, he returned it.
“Okay. So, we’re doing this.”
“We’re doing this.”
“The second photo run prints tomorrow.”
“Rumors of our plans release on Wednesday.”
“The jet leaves at nine am on Thursday.”
“By Saturday night, I will—legally speaking—be your wife.”
A dry chuckle shook his shoulders as he smirked. “I’m going to have a wife.”
“That as hard for you to believe as it is for the rest of us?”
“Thought I’d stay single forever out of spite.” Something heavy and vulnerable slithered through his words and had me shifting in my seat. Before I could follow that up, he added, “I think it’s appropriate to keep public appearances in the office professional, but we need to give the media more to buzz about.”
My stomach did a full backflip. Forcing bravado, I said, “Welcome to the fun part. But Greyson…” When he looked up at me, I dipped my chin and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my office.”
“Right. But you’re not supposed to be here until the investigation is over.”
“My fiancé didn’t have a chance to come home while caretaking for her sister,” he said morosely as he rose from his chair to round his desk, “and I needed to see her.” Greyson leaned against the edge of the marble, his gaze softening as it locked on my face. Gingerly, he tucked my hair behind an ear, lips quirking when I sucked down a breath. Concern pinched his brow as he dropped his eyes to his lap before looking at me, more seriously this time. “And something she said has been eating at me.”
Yikes. Where to start? My harsh reminder about his unplanned retirement from the Navy? Callously listing the facts surrounding the deaths of his father and brother with the care of baseball scores?
Hartless or not, my words unleashed in anger had stuck with me all weekend.
“You overheard my uncle in the groom’s suite?”
Oh. That . When my eyes dropped to my hands, where I was peeling at my cuticle, his hand snapped out to gently grip my chin, lifting my eyes to his stony hazels.
“Nothing he said holds even a grain of merit, Alessandra,” he promised, shaking his head. “Not a word.”
My lips parted and then closed. Twice. What could I say to that? “I don’t expect you to defend me to your family, Greyson. This isn’t real.”
“I’m not sure how much you heard?—”
“Enough,” I cut in.
“But I’m unspeakably sorry you had to hear any of that. The man is vile and bitter and hates that despite his position, he holds no real power in my life beyond being an inescapable, insufferable nuisance. You are only his most recent in a long line of targets he knows will cut me the deepest.”
Jerking my chin from his hold, I argued, “You didn’t seem particularly bothered.”
“Because murder is illegal and therefore highly inadvisable with witnesses,” he stated firmly. I breathed a little laugh, wishing he sounded less sincere. “Plus, gratifying his vitriol with an emotional response only gives him what he wants—proof he can still get under my skin. That he has some ounce of control.”
He slipped from the desk to kneel in front of me, big hands coming to cup my face. How does one breathe with their boss on his knees, holding you captive with pained puppy eyes? You don’t.
“But I’m guessing you were smart enough not to subject yourself to more of his venom and left before you heard me dismiss him. He won’t be receiving the wedding details until after we’re home. You deserve better, Alessandra. I’ll see that you have it.”
“We need the family unified,” I stammered, loathing the waver his words put in my voice. Greyson’s brow pinched with something like pain before he smoothed it over.
“I need my wife to know I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her, least of all my family . I never meant to be the one to rattle you,” he said with a gentle shake of his head. Deftly smoothing my hair behind my ears, he added, “Ashcroft is clever. I enjoy his company on the golf course, but I don’t trust him with you. In retrospect, I can recognize how my actions were perceived. That wasn’t my intention.” When I just nodded, he softened his expression, making sure my gaze was locked on his as he wrapped my fidgeting hands in his, keeping me from peeling my fingers raw. “You are now the most desirable woman in any room—socially as well as physically. Don’t forget that.”
The rest of the week went off surprisingly smoothly as we coordinated details and kept things business as usual in the office. Home was much the same, and I took his words to heart. I even gave in and started sleeping in his room, but that presented its own challenges, all of which I chose to ignore.
The hidden blessing of his freakishly robotic life was that outside of his in-home staff, not a soul speculated anything out of the norm with us only holding hands in public. On his request, my wardrobe was restocked with boujee clothes that all fit me like gloves, although I absolutely combed through the donation totes until I could fish out my ratty sweats to hide for pajamas. Who the hell wants designer butt floss on under silk nighties? Not this girl, that’s for sure. Though something was empowering about walking into Greyson Hart’s bedroom dressed in the aforementioned silk night things and watching a dark-haired Adonis squirm. But waking up and discovering that your subconscious thirsty-bitch brain had transported you across the thirty-eighth pillow parallel and into the warm embrace of your maddeningly-attractive boss was…less than ideal. After that first night, I opted for my big brothers’ Grizzly Grind sweatshirt, or Paxton’s college jersey in lieu of the delicate unmentionables that had been sourced for me. Besides, us Rhodes were a proud bunch, and like hell was anyone throwing away anything that celebrated our family, especially each other’s achievements. The fact that Rhyett built the best coffee shop on the island and that Pax played pro were highlights for all of us. I might not get to see them regularly and certainly didn’t pop into the family text thread as often as I should’ve, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t just as invested in them as the others were. It was just…a lot to process all the time.
By Thursday night, I was primped professionally, draped in a Grecian-style dress that matched the color of the Caribbean Sea crashing against my ankles, with butterflies in my belly. Most of my siblings weren’t able to cover the distance with basically no notice, but my parents, Leighton, our sister Elora and her husband Broderick, Paxton, and our oldest brother Rhyett, along with his wife, Brexley, and daughter, Quinn, were all due to arrive tomorrow morning, and that had my intestines tying themselves into many, many knots. Lying to staffers and reporters was one thing, but my family would be entirely different.
Mattie and Leighton were building castles with little Beau in the sand while Ollie watched on from a pretty blue lounger, his tattoos peeking out of his open shirt. His preferred photographer and Stacy, the reporter, would be here in a matter of minutes, and we had to paint the picture of the perfect American family.
I felt Greyson approaching before I heard him. The man was like a planet I’d unintentionally begun orbiting when I transferred to his office. That familiar gravitational pull had me turning over a shoulder, the sand squishing beneath my toes and rubbing against the pretty gold jewelry they’d given me in lieu of shoes like some life-size doll.
Fuck. Me.
The man was sinful in a suit, but airy white linen pants and an open, lightweight button-up that exposed his tan torso, his gorgeous, meticulous hair a bit windblown? I could blame the fact that I was ovulating, but the reality was this man was walking sex appeal—all lean lines and a smattering of dark hair over a few stray, speckled scars. Some paradoxical tug of war between hero and the billionaire he was born to be.
But those hazels—now a warm gold-green in the bouncing sunlight of the beach—caught my attention. Maybe it was the intensity. Maybe it was just the fact that they were trained on me with some concocted fire in them. His beeline through the gentle surf led him straight to me, and every scrap of air in my lungs rushed from my ribs as he scooped me into his arms and settled his forehead against mine.
Oh. Dear. God.
He smelled edible , with his breath hot on my face and his warm hands on my bare back, just above where the dress cut across the curve of my ass.
“What are you—” I started to ask, but with my current lack of oxygen, the words weren’t even audible before he unintentionally cut them off by moving one hand to my neck, pushing away the strands sticking to my skin in the summer humidity.
“You can’t tell me that’s not how a bride wants her groom to greet her when she wears a dress like that.”
“Greeted—” I whispered as my heart raced up a dozen flights of stairs, impossible goosebumps winning out against the persistent sun on my skin. Hormones be damned because those fuckers don’t know the difference between healthy chemistry and performance.
“Your sister is here early,” he calmly announced, entirely oblivious to the fact that his thumb stroking over my pulse point had me ten kinds of flustered. “With her husband. They seem to have shared a ride from the airport with Stacy.”
“Stacy,” I panted. Panted . Like a dog in heat.
“Our reporter,” he reminded me, but every synapse in my brain was occupied by his nose tracing the end of mine and that methodic circle his thumb kept drawing over my carotid artery. My head was a tilt-a-whirl of warring logic and attraction when his next words ghosted over my mouth, “You should probably touch me back, Belle.”
Blinking, it took a solid four pathetic pants for my brain to buffer what he’d just said to me. Belle . Like the beauty to his beast. I was just bursting out laughing, my hands flying to his chest, when a familiar voice cut through the solid wall of water that was Caribbean air.
“Alice!”
“Oh, you’re good,” I admitted breathlessly, turning to face the music. Greyson didn’t take his hands off me, instead leisurely shifting me in his grasp, his hand staying in a possessive hold around my neck as his other palm found its way to my belly, pulling my ass against his groin as my eyes found El and Broderick, hands clasped between them as they descended the beach with cautious eyes. Pulse suddenly a ten-pound hammer, I forced in a breath and looked up at him over my shoulder with what I hoped would pass for adoration.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Thanks for wearing the dress,” he whispered, nuzzling against the side of my face like I wasn’t already on the brink of folding like a damn lawn chair. I couldn’t remember the last time someone held me like that. Hell, I wasn’t sure if anyone had ever held me with the possessive intent of Greyson Hart.
Each hammer of my pulse was a reminder, chanting ‘not real.’ Not real, not real, not real. This was a business arrangement, at best. Like two warring kingdoms, although mine had nothing to offer beyond an adequate face and average body. Belle, trading her freedom for the betterment of her family. Only, I was saving Mattie’s and walking away like a very well-paid sex-less hooker.
Forcing my eyes back to the beach, I slid free from his disconcertingly appealing hold on my body, pulling up my dress to keep it free from the splash zone as I rushed to meet them in the middle.
“Elly,” I breathed, practically collapsing into her open arms as Broderick chuckled knowingly behind her. I’d grown up with Brod in our house—he was best friends with our two oldest brothers—so he was all too acquainted with how close us sisters were, even if we upset each other. “You came!”
“Hey, sissy,” she chirped back, crushing me against her. “Of course.”
“Don’t squish baby,” I protested.
“Baby Allen is well insulated in there,” she laughed back. Still, I pushed her away to examine her still-flat stomach. She was only a few months along, and with this being her first, there was no sign she was incubating a tiny human. Even her skin was still glowing, although maybe that was just humidity.
“You don’t have a single pound of insulation on you,” I argued. It was true. El was a little brick house of honed muscle. Long dark hair and gray-blue eyes, just like mine.
“He might’ve had to make do with organs for cushion, but I promise he’s fine. At least, according to the doctor. Now. How’s his auntie?”
“Spectacularly stunning in blue,” Greyson’s low voice cut through the space as gently as a guillotine, the gooseflesh pebbling across my skin again. Damn hormones. Elora shot him a glare that lesser men would cower beneath, but Broderick—ever the gentleman—stepped in, extending a hand as the warm umber skin around his brown eyes crinkled with his smile.
“That she is,” he agreed as Greyson accepted the gesture of goodwill. “Broderick Allen, nice to meet you in person, Greyson.”
“The pleasure is all mine. You’re the professor?” Impressed with his recall, I smiled between the two of them as my new brother-in-law nodded.
“Guilty as charged. We’re not as boring as we sound, I swear.”
“Debatable,” I teased under my breath, laughing when Elora pinched my side.
“Mr. Hart,” she said cordially, not bothering to reach for him. I pinched her back. With a huff, she reached out a hand and added, “Thank you for hosting us this weekend.”
“My pleasure.”
Expression unflinching, head held tall, and tone dripping with promise, El said, “We’ll see about that.”
Broderick cleared his throat as Ollie, Leigh, Mattie, and Beau sidled up beside us. Grinning at a curious-looking Mattie, he asked, “Who’s this sweetheart?”
Somehow, Greyson not only survived the next forty-eight hours of relentless inquisition but managed to win over my family. Well—Brod, Pax, Rhyett, Brex, and baby Quinny.
Elora could give Elsa a run for her money with her ice queen routine. She might back my decisions, but under no uncertain terms would she be showing Greyson anything but the wrath he’d face if this ended poorly.
I loved her all the more for it. That unyielding loyalty.
Growing up, it was always my four towering, big brothers that warded off dates, but in reality, they all should’ve been afraid of El and Leighton. However, even Leigh wasn’t immune to the relentless charm of the Hart brothers despite her valiant effort.
I blamed Mattie and her adoration for them.
But between gifts in their rooms, a menu to accommodate Brexley and Quinn’s new dietary restrictions, and a bar stocked with my father’s favorites, Greyson expertly whittled away at the image of Hartless and started to carve a new picture in their minds in the blink of an eye.
By Saturday afternoon, my six-four daddy had unshed tears in his gray eyes as he handed me over to my groom with our feet planted in the scalding sand, and if I was unmistaken, both Paxton and Rhyett were dabbing at their eyes as we exchanged our vows. The laptop live stream stared back at us with nine screens—eight of my blood siblings, plus Max. Their love for me somehow warmed my chest while guilt clawed into my belly.
But the moment Greyson turned on me with a sun-kissed smile, stretching his cheeks and wrinkling the skin beside those warm green eyes, sent my world rocking. He played his part too well as he finished the ceremony with his expertly written vows, a slight shake to his hands where they held the paper. Mine had been handed to me Thursday night—no doubt a gift from his speech writer.
“Hello, Mrs. Hart ,” he whispered huskily after the minister pronounced us husband and wife. As that rasp worked over my skin, my body forgot. Forgot it was a role as he stroked a big palm down the side of my face to the frantic click of camera shutters, whoops and cheers of my mother, Leigh and Mattie, and the applause of the guys.
“Hello.” I smiled back as he pulled my body to his. Nobody could ever accuse Greyson of not knowing exactly how to handle a woman. Just his touch on my waist sent my nerves soaring. Brilliant bastard .
With his adoring fiancé mask firmly in place, he tucked my hair behind my ears, slowly cupping my face with his big hands before bringing his lips to mine.
It started slow.
Hesitant.
All too aware of the audience witnessing our first kiss. Damn, I should’ve thought of that. Should’ve thought to practice in case we sucked at this. But Greyson didn’t need practice. No, the man claimed me right there under the sun on an island bearing his last name.
But as my heart raced and heat blossomed in my belly, I pulled the air from his lips and filled my lungs with his scent.
Before I realized it, my hands were on his exposed skin, nearly clawing at the buttons still holding the fabric together. Relishing in the tickle of his chest hair against the pads of my fingers. God, I loved chest hair.
Greyson’s hands slid through my long tresses, knotting my hair around a fist as he angled my chin up for him. Years of pent-up frustration channeled through to this moment—a war between wills, a clash of lips, tongues, and teeth.
Tender turned demanding.
Pretense turned feral as he pressed my lips apart, and I opened for him, melting under the southern sun and urgency of his mouth against mine. If the company was his kingdom, this was his battleground. A king on a conquest. Judging by the possession in his hold, I was the prize.
It’s said that we do everything…like we do everything , and while Greyson’s initial movements were as calm and calculated as his ability to conquer any boardroom, they gave way to something… primal .
He wrapped an arm around my back, locking me to him as our family applauded with two claps to each soft growl of the ocean. The hand on my neck angled up to grip my jaw possessively, angling me just so. His tongue plundered all sense from my brain as he took what he needed from me, returning more fervor than I could’ve asked for.
Much too soon, he robbed me of that tantalizing demand when Paxton barked, “Get a room!” to a small chorus of laughter and Oliver’s slightly less boisterous, “Seriously.”
But he only pulled back far enough to catch his breath as I saw something I never imagined in Greyson Hart’s eyes: panic .