“Sim,” I corrected him.
“Excuse me?”
“People who know me well don’t call me Simora. They call me Sim, so if we’re to be engaged, I think it’s only right that you call me that too.”
He shot me a half smirk. “Noted.”
While Mason slept and Adonis was in his meeting, I checked in with the nanny and her references, then decided to do a quick online search on Garrick International to learn more about their CEO, which led me down an unexpected rabbit hole of looking into Adonis, his company, and his last relationship, even though I said it was none of my damn business.
I proceeded over to the black leather couch in the living room and eased down as my eyes scanned the search results. My jaw dropped when I read all about the pregnancy scandal that tore him and his once-famous ex apart. According to the blogs, he was dating Lola Navarro, an up-and-coming actress who’d been in a few movies and TV shows. They met at an industry event in New York and started dating exclusively soon after. A few months after that, she announced online that they were having a baby, only for it to come out four months later that she was for the streets and the baby wasn’t even his.
I must’ve been living under a rock at the time all of that happened, because I didn’t know anything about it. Sure, I’d heard whispers of bullshit here and there around the office about his dealings with women, but he was such a recluse that no one ever really knew if the rumors were true.
Next, my eyes scanned theForbesarticle on Adonis praising the changes he’d implemented at Holland Enterprises over the years that made the company even more money than it had when his father was the CEO. From there, my finger tapped on a hyperlink inside that article that went to another one with theheadline,“Son to Take Over Fortune 500 Company After Death of Slain CEO.”
Every bone in my body turned to ice the second the page loaded. Why? Because underneath the photo of Adonis’s father were three mugshots of the men who’d robbed, attacked, and ultimately killed him. Two of them were killed. But the one that survived? He was Mason’s father, Jadarius Washington.
Fuck.
My son never knew who his father was, and Jadarius didn’t know about him. As far as they were concerned, he was dropped off by the stork, and I’d gotten an abortion. I didn’t see it as a lie. In my head and my heart, Jadarius had been dead to me for years.
In the beginning, shit was sweet. But in the end, it stunk like fresh baby shit. At least that was how our relationship went. Jadarius and I met when I was twenty-one, at a bar where I worked as a waitress. Back then, I was easily charmed by a big tipper and a slick mouth. Plus, he was handsome. Jadarius had deep mocha brown skin with a fresh, wavy fade and a gold chain shining around his neck. He visited me every weekend shift for a month before I finally gave him my number. He pulled out all the stops at first, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that his money was even funnier than mine.
By the time I realized he was into some bullshit, I was already sprung off the dick and thinking I was in love. I made up every excuse in the book, too, telling myself he was going through a rough patch and that things would get better. If he could ball once, he could ball again. All I had to do was hold him down until he came back up. Every time he fucked me good, I believed it too. Jadarius was always on the next come-up or get-rich-quick scheme. We had an on-and-off relationship for two years that got toxic at times, especially with him going in and out of jail, but I always let his ass back in. I was a sucker for love and gooddickand was too young, dumb, and broke to stop myself from giving my heart away to a fucking clown.
The night I told Jadarius I was pregnant was the final straw. We’d already been broken up for a month, and I heard he was already whipping his dick like hibachi for some other dummy with a BBL. He told me he loved me, but not more than he loved his freedom, and to get an abortion—that it wasn’t the right time for a kid. He was onto something big, the next big thing that was going to have him set. Two weeks later, he was being hauled off to prison.
We were over, and I wasn’t about to hold him down through another jail sentence, so I shut it all out. Every news report. Every headline. Everything. I wanted to protect my peace and my pregnancy because I wanted my baby, even if he didn’t. I vowed never to accept a phone call, respond to a letter, look into his case, visit him, or say his name again for the rest of my life. Again, he was dead to me.
But looking at his mugshot made me realize he was very much alive. What if he saw me pictured with Adonis and tried to reach out? What if he found out about Mason? Or worse, what would Adonis do to me if he found out about my connection to Mason’s father? What if I’d just agreed to blow up my own life for fifty thousand dollars?Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I’d already signed my name on the dotted line of the preliminary agreement, and the announcement of our engagement had already gone public. It was too late to turn back.
It’s only seven days. I can handle this. Can’t I?
Two and a half hours later, I was standing in front of a full-length mirror playing dress up, while my son was being entertained by a nanny who probably had more qualifications than most preschool teachers.
“Turn around,” instructed Kimberley, the personal stylist Adonis hired within hours of our café agreement. “Let me see the back.”
I obediently rotated 180 degrees, the deep blue cocktail dress swirling around my knees. It was the seventh outfit I’d tried on, each more expensive than anything I’d ever owned. When Adonis said “makeover,” I expected a trip to the mall, not a full-scale fashion assault with a professional stylist.
“This one works,” Kimberley declared, making a note on her tablet. Her sleek, black bob swung as she nodded in approval. “The color brings out your eyes, and the cut is perfect for your figure.”
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, running my hands over the silky fabric. “But isn’t it a bit . . . much?”
Kimberley shot me a look that made me realize I knew nothing about fashion, let alone the lifestyles of the rich and famous. “You’re engaged to Adonis Holland. Nothing is‘too much’.”
Right. I was engaged to Adonis Holland. The thought still felt strange, even after signing the initial paperwork earlier.
“She’ll take the blue dress, the black evening gown, the red cocktail dress, and the emerald,” Kimberley relayed to her assistant. “And all the day wear we selected. Shoes in everycolor, the red bottoms, and theblue satin pumps with the crystal buckle. All the lingerie sets and the accessories we tagged.”
“Wait,” I interjected. “This feels unnecessary. I don’t need that many clothes for one week.”
Kimberley looked at me like I wasn’t the highest grade of weed in the dispensary. “Mr. Holland provided me with a preliminary copy of your itinerary for the week while you accompany him on business. You’ll need at least three outfits per day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. Sometimes four if there’s a venue change. Plus options.”
“That’s crazy,” I protested. “What am I, a Barbie doll?”
“That’s exactly what you are. Billionaire Fiancée Barbie,” she countered smoothly. “Every Joe Schmo with a camera is going to be trying to snap a picture of you. Do you want people to talk about how you wear the same dress twice? Because they will.”
My expression burned with embarrassment. I’d been wearing the same rotation of work clothes for three years straight, mixing and matching pieces from thrift stores and clearance racks to create the illusion of an assorted wardrobe. The idea of needing twenty-one different outfits for a single week was completely foreign to me.
