The Villain by L.J. Shen

“Employee compensation within the oil and gas industry is currently on the rise, and we came up with a great plan to preserve key staffers and encourage potential prospects to apply to Royal Pipelines…”

My mind drifted as my HR director, Keith, delivered what was surely one of the most boring pitches I had ever listened to in my lengthy corporate career.

Across from me, Hunter was on his phone, probably renewing his Pornhub Premium subscription.

Devon sat next to me, dutifully fulfilling his role as the head of my compliance department by scowling at his phone and ignoring the out-of-country calls that kept going through to his answering machine.

The man was going to inherit a dukedom in a few years (if he ever bothered to show his face in England), yet he refused to set foot in England.

I tapped my Montblanc pen on the table, staring out the window.

Three days had passed since Persephone had shown up at my door, accepting my offer.

Three days in which I had time to reflect on the fact that, indeed, a storm had paralyzed most of Boston’s public transportation that day.

Three days in which I’d completely forgotten Minka Gomes existed.

Three days in which I’d imagined Persephone birthing me babies that looked like little replicas of her—with blond curls and cyan eyes and sun-kissed skin—and wasn’t half-disgusted with the prospect.

My phone pinged with an email notification while Keith continued boring the room to death.

I slid my thumb over the screen.

From: [email protected]

To: Cillianfitzpatrick[email protected]

Hiiiiii Mr. Fitzpatrick,

Just wanted to let you know the jeweler was sent to Ms. Gomes’ apartment earlier this morning for the ring measurements, and I have them here with me.

Should I proceed to pick the engagement ring on your behalf, or would you like to take a look after all? Please let me know. ☺

Relatedly, Ms. Diana Smith, the PR director for Royal Pipelines, would love to schedule a brief meeting with you this week concerning the official announcement of your engagement to Ms. Gomes to make things official.

I’m enclosing your weekly schedule. The highlighted slots could be secured for the meeting.

If you need me for anything (and I do mean anything, LOL) else, let me know <3

xoxo

Casey Brandt

Executive Personal Assistant to Cillian Fitzpatrick, CEO of Royal Pipelines.

I glanced up from my phone, frowning at Hunter.

He glared back at me, mouthing fix it from across the board desk.

Maybe I did need to fix this.

My brother was pitifully soft and cared not only about his average-looking wife, but also about her hang-ons.

Then there was Aisling to think about. She had a gentle soul and didn’t deserve to mourn Persephone if the latter was murdered by some street punks.

Then there was Sailor. If Persephone was found chopped into minuscule pieces, floating in Charles River like stale tofu in a miso soup, she could lose the baby.

Choosing to ignore the fact I’d never previously shown signs of conscience, integrity, or consideration to anyone other than my dick, I’d decided to give Persephone one more chance to redeem herself.

This would be my pro bono.

Marrying a girl to save her from sure death.

Flower Girl was going to owe me so much after the solid I was about to give her that she was going to be indebted to me for eternity. That meant I could shape our relationship any way I chose, and what I chose was to see her three times a year, for important holidays, company events, and an annual sex-a-thon (if I was going to pay for her and her future boy toy’s luxury lives, I would make sure he knew who she really belonged to).

My fingers flew over my phone screen.

Cillian: Get my driver ready immediately.

Casey: Mr. Fitzpatrick? Are you texting me?! <3

What was it with people stating the obvious?

Cillian: Heading out of the HR meeting now. If he is not there by the time I exit the building, you’re both fired.

I stormed out of the boardroom without so much as an apology. Keith stopped mid-speech, his mouth slacking. Hunter and Devon exchanged looks.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to marry Minka Gomes.

I didn’t want to marry Persephone Penrose, either, but at least I knew what I was getting out of the bargain. Namely, photogenic children, a doting mother to them, and a wife who would look good on my arm.

All I needed was to keep Persephone at arm’s length and away from me after we tied the knot.

Casey: Your day is booked back-to-back, sir.

Cillian: You mean my day is clear and wide open because you used your three working brain cells to shift things around, which is what I’m PAYING YOU FOR.

Casey: Absolutely, sir. What should I do regarding the engagement ring?

Cillian: Send Ms. Gomes a fat check and an apology note. I will not be marrying her.

Casey: OMG really?

Casey: Sorry, I mean, is the vacancy still open, sir? ;)

Casey: I will make a good wife. I promise. I know how to cook, how to fish, babysat like, a ton of kids in my life. And I also know other things…

I got out of the elevator, my brogues clicking over the marbled lobby. I could see the Escalade waiting at the curb from the floor-to-ceiling window, the subzero blizzard its backdrop.

Sliding in the back seat, I barked Persephone’s work address to the driver.

Casey: Never mind. Sorry. That was totally out of order. If you don’t intend to marry Ms. Gomes, should I cancel the PR meeting with Diana?

Cillian: I said I’m not marrying Ms. Gomes. She is not the only woman on the planet.

Casey: Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand. ☹

Cillian: Don’t be afraid. Ignorance is bliss.

The staff at Little Genius Academy recognized me the second I set foot inside. An eager receptionist rushed to help me find my way to Ms. Persy, accompanying me down a corridor full of drawings, art projects, and squeaky toys.

The place smelled like a warm fart and applesauce. It was a dire reminder of the fact that having heirs required raising them first. I supposed I could do the whole remote-dad gig Athair was so good at and limit my communication with my spawns until they were fully formed and didn’t require any ass wiping.

“There it is, Ms. Persy’s class.” The receptionist stopped by the classroom door, swinging the door open for me.

I watched as Flower Girl pranced around a room full of kids. Her hair—honey highlights tangled in bright yellow—was gathered into a Dutch braid, and she wore an ankle-length white dress and flat shoes that looked about a decade old.

She was dirt-poor, in deep shit, and still happy to go to work every day.

Unbelievable.

She held the hands of two shy-looking four-year-olds as the class danced in a circle. Every few seconds, the music would stop, and the kids would freeze in place, a funny expression on their faces, trying not to crack up.

I leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked in my front pockets, and observed. It took her three minutes to notice me. Another two to lift her jaw off the floor, straighten her spine, and turn scarlet.

Our eyes met across the room, and that nagging murmur in my chest happened again.

Get that checked. If you drop dead from a heart attack at forty, you’ll have no one else to blame.

She winced, looking like I physically slapped her.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“Miss Penrose.”

“Veitch,” she corrected, just to spite me.

“Not for long,” I noted dryly. “A word?”

“I know many. My favorite one right now is—leave.”

“You want to hear me out.” I cracked my knuckles. “Now say goodbye to your little friends.”

She looked back and forth between the kids and me, then turned and murmured something to the teacher next to her, and hurried my way, dunking her head down.

“What are you doing here?” She closed the door behind her, whisper-shouting.

I’ve been asking myself the same question since bailing on Keith and his snooze-fest speech.

What the hell was I doing here?

Hunter?

Aisling?

Something about Persephone getting potentially offed by the mafia?

The reasons blurred, but they seemed valid when I sat in the boardroom, considering a future with a woman I didn’t know and didn’t interest me. A woman who wanted an Aspen cabin as if it was the flipping nineties.

“When are you done here?” I demanded.

“Not for another four hours.”

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“Are you crazy? I can barely afford my lunch breaks.” Her eyes widened. “I only take them because I have to by law. I asked the director to stay after school hours to help clean up and get some extra money. I can’t bail.”

The woman was as stubborn as a mule.

And I was about to marry her.

Marry a manageable woman, Athairsaid.

It wasn’t too late to turn around and walk away but having this moron’s death on my conscience made me suspect I had one after all. The thought made me shudder.

No. Not a conscience. You just don’t want a big mess.

“Take the rest of the day off, or you will have no job to return to,” I gritted out, about to turn around and make my way outside before I got secondhand food poisoning from the smell here alone. I paused, examining her closely for the first time.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

Her lower lip was swollen, her cheek was bruised, and under the thick layer of makeup, I could see a prominent shiner circling her left eye.

She looked away, tilting her face down to hide it from me.

“It’s nothing. None of your concern, anyway.”

The loan shark had finished with his threats and moved to actions.

My pulse quickened. I cracked my knuckles. I didn’t understand my reaction to her face. She was clearly alive and in general good health.

But the idea of someone touching her…hitting her…

“You have ten minutes to wrap this up and meet me outside. You should know by now that I do not like to be kept waiting.”

I turned around and sauntered back to the Escalade, already regretting the decision to marry her. There weren’t enough painkillers in the world to save me from the headache Flower Girl had in store for me.

She appeared minutes later, wrapped in a cheap coat with holes in two different places. I opened the back seat door for her. She climbed inside, and I followed.

“Drive around,” I ordered my chauffeur, clicking the remote to raise the partition.

Persephone fumbled with the seat belt, avoiding eye contact.

I stared at the leather headrest in front of me while I spoke. Looking at her face in its current condition made me angry, and I was never angry.

“We will live in separate houses. I’ll remain in my estate, and you’ll live down the road. There’s a new construction on Commonwealth Avenue. A four-bedroom, thirty-five-hundred-square-foot condo. I asked my realtor to secure you the penthouse for a rental. You can discuss your permanent residence with her and tailor it to your preference.”

She whipped her head in my periphery, staring at me in shock.

“What?”

“I said, there’s a new estate on Commonwealth Ave—”

“I heard what you said.” Her brows knitted. “I thought you wanted to marry someone else.”

“Want is a big word. I decided to settle for you since the other woman is not on the brink of extinction.” Unbuttoning my pea coat, I crossed my legs and lit a cigar, stinking up the entire back seat. The hail pounding on the tinted windows meant she had to sit in the small, confined space and breathe in my poison.

A good exercise for our future.

If she refused me again, I was going to drive us across the Canadian border and pay someone to marry us just to spite her. Never in my life had a woman made me feel edgy, but this assertive little shi…female had somehow managed just that.

She folded her arms, smiling triumphantly. “She said no, didn’t she? Couldn’t stomach being your wife.”

I puffed a cloud of smoke directly in her face, not gracing her nonsense with an answer.

“Smart girl.” She ignored the screen of smoke skulking between us.

“Judging by the state of your face, turning me down is not a luxury you can afford.”

She stared at me with her California sky eyes. Her complexion was so smooth and dewy that the need to sink my teeth into the side of her throat just to tarnish its perfection made my fingers twitch.

“Can I try your cigar?” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“I’m offering you a twenty-million-dollar condo, and you are asking me about a cigar?” I shot her a sidelong glance.

“Paxton never let me try them. He said cigars are manly.” She licked her lips, her eyes on the thick brown roll of tobacco.

Paxton was an idiot. For more reasons than I could count.

Reluctantly, I passed her the cigar. She clasped her pink lips around it, her heavy-lidded eyes blinking back at me. She inhaled, almost coughing out a lung, and passed it back to me, waving her hand around. I didn’t take it, still preoccupied by the way her lips wrapped around the thing. This was an entirely new side of me—a fourteen-year-old one, presumably—I wasn’t eager to explore.

“It tastes like burning feet.”

“You’re not supposed to inhale.” A wry blade of amusement colored my tone. “Nor are you supposed to lick burning feet. Now suck on it like it’s a dick, not a joint.”

She cocked her head sideways, squinting at me in amusement.

“Sounds like an audition.”

“Don’t flirt,” I warned. “It’s not your affection I’m after.”

My desire normally wasn’t directed at a specific woman or individual. Rather, it was a prickly sensation I needed to squash. The women I’d used were merely vessels.

I was not accustomed to gravitating toward a specific human being.

Frankly, I didn’t know if I was capable of desiring a woman. If I were, I had no doubt it came with side effects I wasn’t going to like.

Persephone tried again, puffing on the cigar gently, then handed it back to me. The tips of our fingers brushed. A zing of electricity shot up my spine in a sensation I could only describe as both horrible and pleasant.

I wanted to kiss her and throw her out of the car, preferably at the same time.

Fortunately for my legal department, I did neither.

“What else would our marriage entail?” She lowered her lashes, licking her lower lip.

“You will be available to me for social gatherings, volunteer at my charity of choice, and play your part as a dutiful wife.”

“Hmm.” She relaxed into the seat, cherishing the luxurious leather like a spoiled cat. “Anything more?”

“You will have to sign an airtight NDA and a draconic pre-nuptial agreement. But as long as you’re my wife, you’ll be provided for. Generously so.”

“What if you decide to divorce me for someone else?”

I can barely come to terms with one marriage. Two would be a stretch.

“I wouldn’t let that worry keep you up at night,” I said tersely. “I don’t have feelings, Flower Girl, which means I can’t give them to you nor can I take them from you. I will not develop any toward anyone else.”

“Other than our heirs,” she said the last word in a terrible English accent, peppering it with air quotes.

I suspected my neutrality toward people would extend to my future children. But telling her that seemed counterproductive to putting a baby in her.

“Naturally.” I moved on to the other topic on our agenda. “As previously mentioned, sex is not a part of the bargain. I will satisfy my sexual needs elsewhere. The encounters will be discreet and confidential, but they will happen, and I expect no fits of drama from your end.”

For all my faults—and hell knew there were many—increased sexual appetite wasn’t one of them. Twice a month was enough to keep me sated.

She scrunched her nose. “You mean you’ll still go to hookers?”

“They prefer to be called sex workers these days.”

“Why?”

“I imagine because hooker has a degrading connotation and implies both criminal and immortal activity. Though I do not engage in deep conversation with the women I hire to suck my cock.”

“No, why do you hire escorts? You can have any woman you want.”

“And I can have any woman I want because of my bank account. Which brings us to square one—why not pay for the service and skip the dinner and chitchat?”

“What’s wrong with dinner and chitchat?” she pressed.

“They require socializing, and I am firmly against the concept.”

“What made you the way you are?”

“The way I am?” I snarled.

“Cold. Ruthless. Jaded.” Her eyes roamed my face as though the answer was written plainly on it.

“A mixture of crushing expectations, a bad year, and lackluster upbringing.”

Everything about my life had been designed to keep me on the straight and narrow. That was the only way for me to run the empire I’d been born to lead. I came into this world with a certain disadvantage, knowing my family frowned upon weaknesses. I had to fight the way I was created to survive and took it day by day.

Her gaze clung to mine. “I don’t buy your story.”

“Lucky for me, I’m not James Patterson.”

“Will we be sharing joint custody of our poor children?”

“We could,” I answered evenly, “if you don’t mind them growing up with nannies half the time. I’ll be busy running Royal Pipelines and expanding the Fitzpatrick empire.”

Real estate. Commercial banking. Private equity. I wanted to take over the world.

“Let me get this straight.” She rubbed at her forehead, frowning. “You want to have kids, but you don’t want to take care of them or make them with your wife?”

“You seem to be figuring it out well all by yourself.” I puffed on my cigar. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Well, then I suggest you drop me off right here, go back to Minka, and pick up where you both left off.”

Right herewas the middle of the highway. Although throwing her out was tempting, it was a headline I was less than eager to explain.

“I can’t raise children,” I said evenly.

“You will not be a deadbeat dad. You will take care of them half the time. And I mean really spend time with them. Change diapers, take them to T-ball practices, and reenact their favorite Disney movies. With full-blown costumes.”

T-ball? Disney? Flower Girl was clearly planning on raising a state university educated dental hygienist, not the next CEO of Royal Pipelines. Luckily, I would be there to steer my spawns in the right direction.

“Sure,” I quipped. “I’ll do all of that nonsense.”

Twice a year since they’ll be in Evon and other European institutions year-round.

She munched on the tip of her hair, which I found surprisingly not disgusting. “I have other conditions, too. I’ll be able to keep my job and move around unrestricted. You will not be putting any surveillance or security on me. I want to live a normal life.”

“You won’t need to work a day in your life.”

The girl was slower than an airport Wi-Fi.

“So?” She looked at me strangely as though she wasn’t following the conversation. That was fine. Between my Mensa member IQ and her beauty, our kids wouldn’t be a complete waste of oxygen. “I don’t work because I have to.” She narrowed her eyes. “I work because I love what I do.”

That word again.

“Fine. Keep your job.”

“What about security?”

“No security.” That would be a waste of my precious resources.

“One more thing—as long as other men are off-limits, so are other women.” She raised a finger in the air.

“This is not how it works.” I put out my cigar, losing patience. I’d negotiated putting three hundred-foot deep holes in the belly of planet Earth in less time than it took me to close a deal with this woman. “You’re the one at my mercy. I make the rules.”

“Am I?” She blinked at me innocently. “Because, correct me if I’m wrong, but you seemed to have told me you have another wife lined up, and a nice, long list of potential candidates if she doesn’t work out. Yet here you are with me. For a reason I can’t fathom, we want each other. Let’s not pretend otherwise, Kill.”

Kill.

Only my friends called me that. All two of them.

“The only reason I prefer you to Minka is because if you die, the women in my life would be upset, and the one thing I dislike more than humans are distressed humans.”

“I don’t care what excuse you give yourself for marrying me,” she said plainly. “If we get married, we’ll be equal. At least, you’ll pretend we are.”

I popped my knuckles in succession.

She was pissing me off. That was a feeling, and I didn’t do those.

“Let me put this plainly.” I smiled politely. “I’m not going to stay celibate for months or even weeks.”

“You won’t have to. You’ll have a wife.”

She was so red at this point, I wondered if she was going to combust in my back seat. That would be a hassle to clean from the brand-new Escalade. Not to mention tricky to explain.

“No.” I felt my muscles tightening under my suit.

“No, what?”

“I won’t sleep with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you don’t attract me,” I deadpanned.

I was no longer pissed off. I was sweating now, too. Why couldn’t I stick to my Minka plan? Persephone was my idea of hell. I couldn’t treat her with the same brashness I handled Sailor and Emmabelle because she was an innocent little thing like my sister, yet I had to remind her who was calling all the shots.

“How, pray tell, do you mean to impregnate me, if you don’t want to have sex with me?” She scowled, looking frustratingly adorable while doing so. “You are familiar with how babies come to be, right? Because none of the versions include a cabbage.”

I began scrolling through my phone, answering emails.

“I know how babies are made, Persephone. That’s why I bought a stork,” I said gravely.

She looked shocked for a second, before letting out a giggle. It was a cute giggle, too. Soft and throaty. If I had a heart—it would squeeze.

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Kill.”

“I didn’t know you were so hard-pressed to get laid,” I volleyed back, still typing an email to Keith, aka Lord of the Sleep. “To answer your question, we’ll use IVF. You’ll be knocked up in no time, and we won’t have to know each other biblically.”

“What’s wrong with the Bible?” She eyed me.

“False advertisement.” I smirked sardonically. “God doesn’t exist.”

Physically wounded from my last comment, Persephone coiled in her side of the back seat. Apparently, she drew the line at God.

“I really ought to hate you.”

“Don’t bother. Hate is just love with fear and jealousy thrown into the mix.”

“Why me? Why not my sister?” She squared her shoulders, clutching onto the remainder of her defiance with bleeding fingernails.

Because she’s probably seen more dick than a train station urinal.

I’d broken many people in my life to know what they looked like a second before submitting.

Persephone was fully bent and on the verge of snapping.

Once broken, she’d be easy to reassemble to fit my lifestyle and needs.

“Because she possesses virtually all of the traits I despise in a person—from being eccentric, entitled, bigmouthed, and opinionated to simply being alive.”

“Yet you always ogle her.” The quietness in her voice left no room for doubt. Persephone didn’t like it when I looked at her sister.

“I looked at her because I didn’t want to look at you,” I grumbled.

“Why didn’t you want to look at me?”

Because you make my pulse beat faster, and that could ruin everything I’ve ever worked for.

I tossed my phone aside. What was I thinking, marrying this woman?

What was I thinking, putting my silly, unexplainable weakness in my path?

“Does it matter why I couldn’t look at you? I’m looking at you now, and I’ve come to terms with what I see. Speaking of your sister, she would have taken no longer than five minutes of negotiations and a quickie to convince. Yet you’re the one I chose.”

Flower Girl’s face twisted in abhorrence because she knew I was right. Emmabelle displayed the moral compass of a fortune cookie. On paper, she was a better match for my brash personality. In practice, however, Persephone was the one who kept my mind reeling.

“We’re done here. Email me your ring measurements.” I pressed the button to roll down the partition.

She held up a palm. “Two more conditions before I accept.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to advise her to take these conditions and shove them inside her pert little ass. But even I acknowledged that she was about to sign off her entire life to one of America’s most hated men. If she wanted a nice Hermès bag and new pair of tits as a wedding gift, I could accommodate that.

“Shoot.”

“One—I want us to conceive our children the old-fashioned way. I know you think it’s pitiful and pathetic of me, but I don’t care. I don’t want to go through IVF treatments. I don’t want to take someone else’s place in my quest for a baby before I tried the natural way. I know I’m not your taste, but if I come this far for you, it is only fair that you will…”

“Come inside you,” I finished for her. “Got it.”

I loathed the idea of sleeping with Persephone. The very concept of touching her made my skin crawl. Not because I didn’t find her attractive. The opposite was true. Ultimately, though, between impregnating her and having her killed, I preferred the former. Marginally.

“Your funeral,” I drawled. “I’m a notoriously selfish man, in bed and out of it. What’s the other condition?”

“No escorts until I conceive. You can’t hop in and out of my bed and still visit your European girlfriends.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she mimicked my dry, indifferent tone. “When you need satisfaction, you will come to me. We’ll service each other until I fall pregnant.”

Her pink cheeks implied she was mortified by the situation, but she said those things anyway, which I couldn’t help but appreciate.

We were still driving around. I looked down at my Rolex and realized we’d been going back and forth for two and a half hours.

Where did the time go, and how on earth could I claim it back?

I turned to look at her again. Her face was twice its usual size, cut and bruised.

I knew the little idiot was going to walk away from this deal if I said no.

She did it before and would not hesitate to do it again.

A lamb marching straight into Colin Byrne’s arms for slaughter.

“You drive a hard bargain. Welcome to the dark side, Persephone. Leave your heart at the door.”

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