The Billionaire's Cinderella Contract
Author
Michelle Smart
Reads
18,9K
Chapters
16
CHAPTER ONE
MIA CALDWELL GAZED at the nondescript central London building before her then double-checked the address she’d been given. She’d never heard of Club Giroud, but this ordinary, black, slightly shabby front door did not look like the entrance of any club she’d been to before. The address matched, and the app on her phone indicated she was in the right place.
She put her finger to the doorbell, tightened her hold on her handbag and waited, trying hard not to bounce on her toes.
At the end of last night’s performance she’d been in her tiny shared dressing room barely minutes when her normally useless agent had called. She hadn’t spoken to Phil in over a month, so the call had been as unexpected as his news that she’d been invited to audition for the director of a new theatre company intending to tour a show in the south of the country.
The only catch was that the audition was being held first thing the next morning in a private club rather than in a theatre. Oh, and Phil had forgotten to get the name of the theatre company. And the name of the show. Or to ask how much the pay would be.
She really needed to think about getting a new agent.
As she was on the last leg of her current tour and had nothing else lined up there was no way she was turning the audition down. Whatever the pay was, it couldn’t be less than she was currently earning. If she was lucky, and they intended to play bigger theatres, she might earn a little more, hopefully enough to save a little cash. The boiler in her flat kept making ominous noises whenever she turned the hot water on, there was damp coming through the walls, plus there was no way her car would pass its next MOT. Right now, she didn’t have the money to pay for any of these things.
The door opened. A huge man mountain with shoulder-length greasy hair dressed in a too-short and too-tight black suit stood in the threshold and stared at her with no expression whatsoever.
‘Is this Club Giroud?’ Mia asked when the man mountain made no effort to speak.
‘And you are?’
‘Mia Caldwell.’
‘ID?’
That was something else, apart from the venue, that she’d found curious about this audition. The request for her to bring identification.
The man mountain examined her driving licence closely, gave a grunt, passed it back and then stepped aside to admit her with a curt, ‘Follow me.’
She hesitated before stepping into a lobby as dingy and nondescript as the building’s exterior, and followed Mr Man Mountain to a door at the far end. When that door opened...
Her eyes widened and for a moment she stood still, taking it all in. If there was a polar opposite of the dingy, nondescript lobby this was it, but she barely had time to soak in the richly decorated Gothic reception room when Mr Man Mountain grunted at her to continue and she was led through another door into a wide Gothic-inspired corridor. Up a flight of hardwood stairs, they came to another corridor. Some of the doors they passed were open. Mia caught a glimpse of a casino then a little further on a tantalising peep of a bar with a grand piano. Mr Man Mountain finally came to a stop, pushed a door open and indicated for her to enter.
She fixed the sunny smile to her face that now came as naturally to her as breathing and crossed the threshold.
This room was a fraction of the size of the others she’d passed and contained only two dark leather sofas separated by a small table. A man sat reading through a paper file. Their eyes met as the door closed behind her.
Prickles laced her spine at the unabashed scrutiny she found in his stare but, before the prickles could be defined, he rose from his seat and strode to her.
‘Miss Caldwell?’ he clarified, extending his hand. ‘Damián Delgado. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
She held her hand out and found it gripped by the firmest handshake she’d ever been on the receiving end of.
‘Likewise,’ she murmured. Mia rarely found herself flustered but there was something about this man that set all her nerve endings pinging.
He was gorgeous. As tall as Mr Man Mountain but half the width, he had a muscular physique wrapped in a crisp white shirt, navy trousers and a silver striped tie but it was his eyes that really captured her attention. It was like staring into melted obsidian. Thick black hair styled in a classic crew cut framed a chiselled face with a broad yet defined nose and a generous mouth, all of which was enhanced by a trim black goatee beard.
And he smelled amazing.
‘Can I get you refreshment?’
As her throat had suddenly gone dry, she asked for a glass of water.
‘Still or sparkling?’
‘Still.’
He walked to a cabinet. ‘Please take a seat.’
Fearing she was in danger of swooning over his voice as well as his looks, she sat on the sofa opposite the one he’d been using. But honestly, his voice...it matched his eyes, all dark and rich, and his accent! This was a voice she would gladly have read her a bedtime story.
‘Let us get straight to business,’ he said as he popped the lid of a glass bottle of water. ‘What have you been told about why you’re here?’
For the beat of a moment Mia wondered what he was talking about. And then she realised she’d been on the verge of drooling over this man and pulled herself together sharply. ‘That I’m here to audition for a role...’ She looked more closely at him. At the immaculate way he was turned out, right down to shoes so buffed he could use them as mirrors...
Damián Delgado did not look like any theatre director she’d met before. And nor did his name mean anything to her. There was not a performing arts magazine or blog that Mia didn’t subscribe to. His name should mean something.
Suspicions suddenly zinging through her, she narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know the name of the production.’
‘That’s because there is no production.’
‘Sorry?’
He placed her glass of water on the table and folded himself back on the sofa. ‘The audition was a cover story.’ He inclined towards her, his scrutinising stare unblinking. Unsettling. ‘I need an actress to accompany me for a weekend to my family home in Monte Cleure.’
She drank half her water, unable to tear her gaze from his face even while she tried to take in his words. Mia had never been to Monte Cleure, a tiny principality sandwiched between France and Spain. Widely regarded as one of the wealthiest and most glamorous countries on the planet, only the stinking rich could afford to live there.
‘If you agree to my proposition, I am prepared to pay you two hundred thousand pounds and cover all your expenses.’
Her mouth dropped open. So stunned was she at the astronomical figure quoted, which was ten times the amount she’d earned over the past year, that it took a few seconds for her brain to process it. ‘You want to pay me two hundred thousand pounds?’
He gave a sharp nod of his head.
‘Wow.’ She blew a whistle. ‘That’s a lot of money...’ Fresh suspicions zinged to life. ‘What would I be expected to do for it?’
‘There are aspects to be discussed after we reach agreement but the main thing I will require is for you to act as if you’re in love with me.’
Mia’s twenty-four years on this earth had left her no stranger to shocks but this was in a different league and so unexpected that it was difficult to compute what this man, this stranger, was asking of her. She drained the rest of her water while trying to clear the clutter in her brain. If not for the seriousness of his expression she would be searching the room for hidden cameras. This had to be a wind-up. ‘Sorry if I seem dim, but run that by me again. You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for a weekend with your family?’
‘Si. But in my world we say partner or lover. Never girlfriend.’
That jolted her further. ‘Lover...?’ The minor stupor that had numbed her brain cells vanished. ‘Would I be expected to share a room with you while we’re there?’
His gaze was unflinching. ‘And a bed. My family must believe we are serious about each other.’
Disgust curdled swiftly in her stomach and she rose to her feet. ‘I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m an actress, not an escort.’
‘I know exactly who you are, Miss Caldwell.’ The way his mouth curved at this sent a frisson of ice racing up her spine. ‘It is an actress I need. I will require affection and devotion only when in the presence of others. Behind closed doors things will be strictly platonic.’
She hugged her bag tightly to her stomach and inched her way backwards. ‘I’m not sharing a bed with a stranger who’s twice my size and taking his word that things will be platonic. No way. I’m not for sale. Find someone else.’
He shrugged sardonically and steepled long, tapered fingers. ‘I don’t want someone else, Miss Caldwell. I want you. Do you know who I am?’
Having backed herself to the door, she wrapped her fingers around the handle and gave a brittle smile. ‘Nope. And I don’t care. Goodbye, Mr Delgado.’
‘Before you throw away the opportunity of a lifetime, search it. Search my name. You will find that accepting my proposition will be more than a financial advantage to you. It will give your career the turbo boost it needs too.’
A sudden vision of this man being a wealthy backer of theatre productions made Mia loosen her hold on the door handle. Who was this man?
Damián saw the curiosity and indecision cloud her beautiful features. ‘Search my name,’ he repeated. He’d not gone to all this trouble finding the perfect candidate only for her to dismiss it out of hand. Time was running out. In less than three weeks, the family business he’d spent his adult life working for and which should already be under his control would be taken from him and his reputation destroyed. The business itself would likely be destroyed too. If he had any chance of stopping this happening, he needed Mia’s agreement and he needed it today. He’d been certain the mention of two hundred thousand pounds would be enough to entice her into further discussion.
Mia Caldwell, formerly known as Mia Clarke, had struggled for work since graduating from drama school three years ago. Her main source of income was with a provincial theatre company touring the UK’s smaller towns, her dry spells supplemented by working in a coffee shop. To say she was hungry for her big break would be an understatement.
Slowly, she reached into the cheapest and shabbiest handbag he’d ever seen. She pulled out a phone then settled bright blue eyes on him. ‘How do you spell your name?’
He recited it then settled back to watch her scroll through the overload of information his name would bring. Her back pressed against the door, she read quickly, eyes flickering from the screen to him, disbelief and amazement blazing from them.
For the role he required, Damián had done his homework. He’d set his lawyer the task of compiling a shortlist of beautiful, hungry London-based actresses—he didn’t want to have to worry about language problems—looking for their big break, with one extra requirement added. He’d been presented with the portfolio of four actresses who met the criteria. With her honey-blonde hair and sparkling, intelligent bright blue eyes, Mia Caldwell had captured his attention immediately. There was something about the look of her that would fit in the world he inhabited. To satisfy himself of her acting abilities and to have a believable first encounter, he’d attended a performance of My Fair Lady at the tiniest theatre he’d ever been in, fully expecting an evening of boredom. Instead, he’d found himself captivated. Mia had lit up the stage and utterly convinced as a cockney flower girl. She’d been funny, vulnerable, charming and could sing like an angel. Damián had known before the interval that he’d found his own real-life Eliza Doolittle.
He hadn’t expected to find her more attractive and captivating in real life. The photographs in her portfolio didn’t do her justice. A classical oval face framed beautiful almond-shaped eyes, a straight nose and a wide, generous mouth. Add to that a lithe figure, currently hidden beneath a loose knee-length shirt dress, and she would look at home on a catwalk. If she had a couple of extra inches of height that was. On stage, she’d appeared magnified. Up close, she was far more waif-like.
The intelligence he’d detected in her photographs shone through in person too. There were people in Damián’s world blessed with wealth and looks at the expense of brain cells. Mia was blessed with looks and brain cells without the wealth. Exactly as he required. The job he required of her was far more than being an adornment on his arm.
‘I have your attention?’ he asked after she’d spent a couple of minutes scrolling through the information on him.
When her bright blue eyes met his again there was a dazed sheen in them. She blinked the sheen away and nodded.
Of course he had her attention now that she was aware of his wealth and power. No doubt that clever, if suspicious, brain was already imagining the boost being photographed on his arm would give her career.
‘Good. Now sit down and let us finish this discussion.’
Phone clutched in her hand, she obeyed.
Assured he had her full attention, he rested his elbows on his thighs. ‘Listen carefully. The weekend after next, Celeste—my mother—is hosting her annual summer party. Hundreds of the world’s richest and most important people attend but immediate family visit for the whole weekend. You and I will arrive there on the Friday and then leave and go our separate ways on the Sunday. We will need to go on a few public dates, and I will require you to be available for the whole of next week. That will give us the time we need to be seen together and get to know each other well enough to make our story believable and for me to fill you in on everything I require.’
‘What else do you require of me other than to act as if I’m madly in love with you?’
‘That is something I will divulge when we have made an agreement.’
Her eyes narrowed with fresh suspicion. ‘Would the role involve doing anything illegal?’
And now they came to the extra ‘something’ he required of the actress he’d selected for the role.
‘Nothing illegal but your criminal record proves you have the lack of scruples I require.’
Her face drained of colour so quickly it was like someone had pulled a plug on her blood.
‘How do you know about that?’ she croaked.
‘Your criminal record?’
Her head barely moved in a nod.
‘I have the means to discover anything.’
Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened then closed but no sound came out.
‘Your secret is safe with me, Miss Caldwell,’ he assured her. Damián cared nothing for her past, other than what it made her as a person. For this role, he needed someone with a distinct lack of morals.
She gave no response, sat staring at him as if a ghost had suddenly appeared before her.
With a sharp tut, he reiterated all she stood to gain by taking the role. ‘Celeste’s party is a high society event. The press swarm all over it. Being photographed on my arm is guaranteed to raise your profile. The money I’m prepared to pay you is far more than you would get for selling any story about me but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, I’ve had a non-disclosure agreement prepared along with the contract of terms for your services. My family business depends on secrecy. Our discretion is what sets us apart from other financial institutions. You will be privy to information the press would pay a fortune to hear.’
Still she gave no response. He didn’t think she’d blinked once since he’d mentioned her criminal record. Irritated, aware of time pressing, he tapped the table. ‘All the cards are on the table, so are you with me or not? I’m afraid I require an immediate answer. If the answer is no then leave and that will be the end of the matter. I haven’t revealed any sensitive information to you and I have no wish to ruin you through petty spite.’
It was Damián’s last ten words that pulled Mia out of the heated fog she’d fallen into. Everything else he’d said from the moment he’d revealed he knew of her criminal conviction had been white noise in her head. His mouth had moved but the whooshing in her ears had deafened her to the words.
Her belly churned, her brain awhirl, consequences flashing before her eyes.
‘I have no wish to ruin you with petty spite...’ Dear God, he was threatening her.
She wanted to cover her ears and squeeze her eyes shut and then wake up far from this nightmare she’d unwittingly walked into.
Don’t panic. Stay calm. Don’t panic.
Don’t panic? This man couldn’t ruin her. The acting world wouldn’t care about her past; she would escape professionally unscathed, but emotionally... Any attempt to ruin her could easily destroy the two people she loved most in the world. Ghosts from the past would be resurrected. Everything she’d tried to protect her family from could blow up all over again.
She should have listened to her instincts and walked away when she had the chance but she’d foolishly searched Damián’s name and what she’d found had blown her away. The man made Croesus look poor. Curiosity at why a man like Damián Delgado would want to pay her a ton of money to pretend to be his girlfriend had been the reason she’d sat back down to listen. Stupid, foolish curiosity.
She’d listened to him explain how the weekend with his family would unfold, all the while intending to make her excuses and leave when he’d finished.
Mia wasn’t an actress for the fame or the money and never had been. This was not the kind of career boost she needed and definitely not the boost she wanted. She didn’t want the spotlight. The consequences were just too big for her to risk: the main reason she plied her trade in provincial theatres rather than seeking bigger stages. But the theatre was her love. She’d found it when her world had caved in and it had saved her from her grief. On the stage she’d found a new home. Acting was all she knew how to do. All she hoped was to one day make a regular income from it.
The chance to walk away from Damián Delgado had gone and she hadn’t even known it. This gorgeous man she’d been in danger of swooning over...
‘When do you need an answer?’ she asked, desperately trying to buy herself time: time to think, to plan, to escape...
‘I need an answer now, Miss Caldwell. Our contract and non-disclosure agreement are ready for signing. Sign or leave. Embrace a better future for yourself or continue to sink into nothing.’
His obsidian eyes held hers, his handsome face a tightly controlled mask.
How could anyone be so emotionless while making such threats?
Thirty minutes ago, Damián Delgado’s name had meant nothing to her. She’d walked into this building unaware she was about to be propositioned by one of the world’s richest and most powerful men. He must have gone to enormous lengths to discover her conviction. She’d still been a minor during the court case, her name forbidden by law from being published.
His eyes dipped to his watch and then back to her again. ‘Time is ticking, Miss Caldwell. Give me your answer or...’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll sign it,’ she said in a panicked flurry. If the only way to guarantee his silence was to agree to his proposition then she had to take it. And then pray the spotlight didn’t find her and that all the ghosts from her past stayed where they belonged. She didn’t want to think of the repercussions if they didn’t.
