Fair Trade For Love: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 3

  “You can’t just keep someone prisoner in your home,” Liam said.

  “Prisoner?” I laughed. “You’re being dramatic, Liam. Sophie will be free to leave whenever she wants to. But if she does so before I say she can, her father will be arrested. It’s that simple.”

  “And how long do you plan to keep her here?” Liam asked.

  “Until her work is done.”

  “When will that be?” Liam asked.

  “When I decide she’s finished.”

  Liam sighed heavily, but I’d already turned away. My desk was covered in documents I needed to sort through. I didn’t have time for any more distractions.

  “Leave me to my work, Liam,” I said. “Please.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Liam said.

  He stood up and let himself out without another word. It wasn’t often that Liam voiced his opinions so freely. After all, he was my butler. There were times, though, when his position in my life became blurred. He sometimes forgot to see me as the man I was and, instead, saw only the boy he helped raise.

  Most of the time, I was happy to take Liam’s advice. He was wise, smarter than most, and my parents had trusted him implicitly. They loved Liam and so did I. Still, this time, I knew he was wrong.

  Rick Newman had proven himself to be a snake. I wasn’t going to let him close enough to try to steal from me again. His daughter could work off the debt Rick now owed me, but once that was done, I was finished with the Newman family. For good.

  4

  Sophie

  After working a double shift on Saturday, I wanted nothing more than to spend all day in my pajamas. Sunday morning arrived with a bright sunrise and blue skies. I threw open my curtains and grinned as the sun warmed my living room. The smile stayed on my face as I made coffee and poured myself a bowl of cereal.

  My entire body was exhausted after the long day of work. No matter how many times I worked doubles, I still couldn’t get used to it. It was like having a hangover without the fun of drinking first. I hated working long shifts, but I loved working at the coffee shop. It kept me close to Kaddy and gave me plenty of money to live on.

  So many people in my life insisted I should do more. Even Kaddy pressured me to leave the café and do something else. But Kaddy was nothing compared to my dad. He was always complaining about my wasted potential, telling me I was going to lose brain cells if I kept making coffee for a living.

  He meant well. He and my mother both always wanted the best for me. What they didn’t realize was that I’d already found it.

  When I graduated with my accounting degree, I knew I didn’t want to work for a corporation. I hated the idea of sitting behind a desk for eight hours a day, five days a week. Just the thought was enough to make my skin crawl. So, when the café job fell into my lap, I was thrilled. Not only could I utilize my accounting degree by helping with the books, but I could also be on my feet all day, moving around and interacting with people. It was the best of both worlds.

  My parents never saw it that way. Even now, after my mother’s death, my dad still pushed me to do more. He swore up and down that I could make endless amounts of money. He tried to entice me with the promise of vacations, adventures, and large houses full of priceless antiques and books.

  For me though, it was never about the money. Sure, there were times when I longed for experiences that only money could buy, when I imagined myself jumping on a plane and jetting off to Rome or Tokyo. I knew that life would make me happy, but I was already happy.

  I had a job I loved, a few really great friends, and a small house that I bought all on my own. There wasn’t much else I could ask for.

  That Sunday, I took my coffee and cereal to the couch. I flipped on the T.V. and tucked my feet under me, ready for a long day of relaxation. Not two minutes later, my phone rang sharply on the coffee table. With a frown, I laid my bowl of cereal down and grabbed the phone. My dad’s number was blinking on the screen.

  “Dad,” I said as I put the phone to my ear. “You’re calling early. What’s up?”

  “Hi, honey,” Dad said. His voice was soft, weak. “Do you have plans today?”

  “No,” I said slowly. “It’s my day off.”

  “That’s good,” Dad said. “Do you think you could come over?”

  “Sure.” I sat up quickly. Something was wrong. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing,” Dad said. “I just want to see you, that’s all.”

  “Okay, well I can come over now,” I said. “I’ll get dressed and then be on my way.”

  “No,” Dad said quickly. “Come over later. Maybe we can have dinner or something.”

  “Sure.” I frowned. “What time?”

  “Let’s say around four?” Dad asked.

  “Okay,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dad?”

  “I’m fine,” he said brightly, trying to convince me with a falsely upbeat tone. “I’ll see you later.”

  “See you then.”

  We hung up, and I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear. Something was really wrong. It wasn’t like my dad to be so vague. Ever since my mother passed, he’d been acting strangely. Distant and sad. I just chalked it up to normal grief, but this felt different.

  It was hard to wait around until four o’clock. After I got off the phone, I finished my breakfast and tried to watch some more T.V. My mind was spinning, though, and soon, I turned the T.V. off and sat back on the couch to think.

  Whatever was going on with my dad, I would find out soon enough. I told myself it wasn’t worth stressing about, but no amount of internal dialogue could convince me. By the time I got dressed to leave, my stomach was tied in an anxious knot.

  I pulled a t-shirt over my head and grabbed my favorite pair of jeans. After I pulled my long hair back into a ponytail, I put on my shoes and hurried back into the living room. Everything inside me told me to hurry. My dad said not to come over until four, and I wanted to respect his wishes, but I couldn’t wait another minute.

  I grabbed my keys off the coffee table and hurried out to my car. My dad’s house was only a twenty-minute drive down the road, but it felt like an hour before I finally pulled up out front. I hurried through the back door, barely remembering to lock my car as I moved.

  As I glanced at my phone, I realized I was slightly early. I tried to drag my feet as long as possible, but my nerves had gotten the best of me. I walked up to the back door and let myself inside, closing the door loudly behind me so my dad would hear that I’d arrived.

  “Sophie?” Dad called from another room.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” I called back.

  I could hear his hurried footsteps as I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and moved toward the living room.

  My dad still lived in the same house where I grew up. He and my mother bought it when I was just a baby. It was large, much larger than mine, but also humble in decorations. They were never much for useless accessories. Instead, the house was covered in different artifacts they found while traveling together. Some were modern pieces, artwork done by the newest sensations in Italy and France. Others were ancient pieces with unknown origins.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Dad said when I met him in the living room.

  He was coming from down the hall, and I was sure he’d been locked up in his office. I walked quickly to him and let him wrap his arms around me.

  I could feel how frail he’d become every time we hugged. It hadn’t been long since my mother died. Her funeral was just over six months ago, so I knew the grief was still strong. My own sadness often threatened to overwhelm me, and it was that much stronger for my father.

  “How have you been?” Dad asked as we moved farther into the living room.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just worried about you.”

  “Worried about me?” Dad asked with a soft laugh. He sunk into his usual chair while I flopped onto the couch. “Why?”

  “Dad,” I said. “I know something’s wrong.”
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br />   “Nothing’s wrong,” he said too quickly. “I just wanted to see my beautiful daughter.”

  “And I appreciate that,” I said. “But you never call me out of the blue like this. Not unless you have something you want to talk about.”

  “Well, I have a lot I want to talk about,” Dad said with a wave of his hand. “But nothing too pressing.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly.

  I didn’t believe him, but I could tell he wasn’t ready to talk yet. Instead, we sat in the living room for a while. Dad flicked on the T.V., and we both sank into a comfortable routine. It was easy to spend time with my dad. We’d done this exact thing more times than I could count, and yet, my stomach was still tight.

  I knew better than to think he was telling the truth. From the second I picked up the phone that morning, I knew something was wrong.

  “Are you getting hungry?” I asked after about an hour of watching T.V.

  “Sure,” Dad said with a shrug. “What are you in the mood for? I can order something.”

  “Nah,” I said, already standing up. “I’m sure you have something to cook.”

  Dad got up to follow me into the kitchen. I pulled open the fridge and looked inside. He didn’t have much, but I knew I’d find something.

  “You don’t have to cook for me, Sophie.” Dad sat down at the kitchen table and watched while I rifled through his pantry.

  “I don’t mind.” I smiled.

  When my eyes met my father’s, I saw something slide across his face. It wasn’t just sadness, it was deeper than that. He was afraid of something.

  I quickly grabbed some pasta from the pantry and then returned to the fridge. There was a pound of hamburger meat tucked away in the back corner. I checked the expiration date and then set to work, hoping my dad would start talking while I cooked.

  After a few minutes, though, I realized I was hoping in vain.

  “Okay,” I said, finally turning around to face him. “Enough is enough, Dad. You have to tell me what’s going on with you.”

  Dad’s eyes darkened at my words. He fiddled with his thumbs while I stared at him, waiting patiently for him to start talking.

  “I got into some trouble,” he said finally. His voice was low, weaker than I’d ever heard it.

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked nervously.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Dad sat up straighter, but his entire body was trembling. Whatever happened had affected him deeply. I hadn’t seen him this worked up since my mother’s funeral.

  “Dad,” I began, but he cut me off with a look.

  “I did something stupid,” he said. “Something I shouldn’t have. And now, the only way for me to get out of trouble is if you work for someone.”

  “Work for who?” I frowned and walked over to the table. The pasta could wait.

  “His name is Andrew Hopper,” Dad said. “I’m sure you’ve heard me mention his father, George.”

  I nodded and slid into an empty chair. George Hopper owned an antiquities firm. My parents used to talk about him all the time.

  “Well,” Dad said slowly. “I got into some trouble with his son, Andrew. The only way I could get Andrew to relax was by promising you would help him with his financial problems.”

  “How can I do that?” I asked.

  “His accounting department is struggling,” Dad said quickly. “Ever since George died, they’ve had trouble getting everything in order. Andrew really needs someone to come in and sort out the books.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I pushed myself out of my seat and paced around the kitchen. My father was once again pushing me toward a new job, trying to force me into using my accounting degree. When I finally looked back at him, I was livid.

  His eyes locked on mine, and in an instant, he caved in on himself. Tears began to pour down his cheeks. He was shaking worse than ever.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “This was a stupid idea. You shouldn’t have to fix my mistakes. I’m sorry, Sophie. Just forget I said anything.”

  “Dad.”

  “I’ll handle it,” he said. “I’ll handle everything.”

  I stared at him as he cried. He looked so small, so fragile that I knew there was only one thing I could do. After everything, I couldn’t bear to see my dad look so broken. Watching him cry over my mother was hard enough, but I couldn’t fix that for him. I couldn’t make that pain go away. This, though? This, I could fix.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “You can tell Andrew I’ll do it.”

  5

  Andrew

  It was Monday morning, and I found myself standing outside, staring down my driveway. Sophie Newman was due to arrive at nine o’clock. If she was as much as one minute late, I had my phone ready to dial the police. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t show up. Then I would have an excuse to get Rick arrested and see him punished for his attempted theft.

  “Here you are, Mr. Andrew,” Liam said from behind me.

  I turned as he stepped up beside me and handed me a full mug of steaming hot coffee. I nodded my thanks and took a small sip. It burned my tongue and my throat, but I didn’t care. My eyes were still trained on the driveway, just waiting for an unfamiliar car to pull up.

  After a few more sips of coffee, I shook back my long-sleeved shirt and checked my watch. It was two minutes to nine, and still, there was no sign of Sophie. I glared at the driveway again, gulping down my coffee for something to do. With every second that ticked by, my anger became stronger.

  “I’m sure she’ll be here,” Liam said with confidence. “She’s not late yet.”

  “She might as well be,” I snapped. “I said nine o’clock. It’s one minute ‘til.”

  “Then she has one minute to arrive,” Liam said simply. “Besides, if she’s a few minutes late, is that really the end of the world?”

  I didn’t answer. Liam had already made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear. He thought my actions were crazy, ridiculous, and immature. He spent the better part of Sunday berating me to change my mind, insisting I call Rick and apologize for my abhorrent behavior. It never occurred to him that I was the one who was due an apology.

  My free hand itched toward my pocket. I could feel my cellphone pressed against my leg, begging me to pull it out. The police station was already programmed onto the dial screen. All I had to do was press send.

  “It’s nine o’clock,” I said out loud, staring down at my watch. “She’s not here, Liam.”

  “Give her another minute or two,” Liam said calmly. “It can’t hurt.”

  “No,” I snapped. “She and that thief father of hers had their chance.”

  I shoved my hand deep inside my pocket and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the send button just as the unmistakable roar of an engine filled my ears. I jerked my head up to see an unfamiliar car pulling into my driveway.

  The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see inside. I strained my eyes, squinting as whoever was driving came to a stop right in front of my house. I knew it was Sophie before she got out of the car, but I still held onto my phone with a vicelike grip.

  “You can put that away, Mr. Andrew,” Liam said. “She’s here now.”

  The driver’s side door swung open, and a woman stepped out. She was wearing dark sunglasses that covered half her face. Her long, brown hair fell over her shoulders as she bent down to retrieve her bag from inside the car. When she stood back up, she turned to face me. Her lips were pressed tightly together, forming a fiercely thin line.

  As she walked toward me, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. Her hips swayed gently from side to side, drawing my eyes. She was short, like her father, but on her, it was attractive.

  When she reached me, she removed her sunglasses and stuck out her hand.

  “I’m Sophie,” she said simply.

  I blinked. The green of her eyes was captivating, but I shook the thought away quickly. This wasn’t just a beautiful woman. This was the daughter o
f a thief. She was here to work for me, not seduce me.

  “Glad you finally made it,” I said shortly.

  “Am I late?” Sophie asked. She frowned, but I could tell she didn’t really care. Her anger toward me was evident.

  “Almost,” I said. “This is Liam.”

  I gestured beside me. Liam took a small step forward and took Sophie’s hand gently. He smiled at her kindly, and she softened.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Sophie said.

  “You as well, Miss Newman,” Liam said.

  “Please, call me Sophie.”

  Liam nodded and smiled again. He released Sophie’s hand and moved back to my side. Sophie’s warmth toward Liam vanished when she turned her attention back to me. However unhappy I was with her and her father, she was equally as unhappy with me.

  “Where should we get started?” Sophie asked bluntly.

  “We don’t,” I said. “You’ll never work directly with me. Only trusted advisors have that privilege.”

  “How exactly am I supposed to help you then?” Sophie asked.

  “If you need anything from me, you’ll go through Liam,” I said. “Liam will assist with whatever you need. He’ll get you settled into your room and into your role at the company.”

  Sophie eyed me closely as I spoke. She was disgusted by my behavior, but I didn’t care. She was here for one reason: to work.

  “So, I’ll be working for you, but I’ll never speak to you?” Sophie asked boldly. “And you think this a professional way to run a business?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware what your father did,” I said. “His actions prohibit you from questioning the way in which I do anything.”

  “My father was—”

  “Liam,” I said loudly, interrupting her. “Please escort Sophie to her office and answer any questions she may have.”

  Sophie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She opened her mouth to argue, but I was already gone. I turned on my heel and disappeared through the front door. My study was calling to me. Liam could take care of whatever Sophie needed. Now that I knew she had arrived, I could push her existence to the back of my mind and focus on my own work.