Mom—love you. In memory of James Shaw. Chapter One Brianna Wyatt stared at the arrogant, red-faced man sitting across from her and snorted. She should have known better than to get into the limo with him. She let her eyes fall to a speck on the red-carpeted floor.
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Mom—love you. In memory of James Shaw. Chapter One Brianna Wyatt stared at the arrogant, red-faced man sitting across from her and snorted. She should have known better than to get into the limo with him. She let her eyes fall to a speck on the red-carpeted floor. Did he suppose she was going to become the next Virgin Mary? She glanced up and sobered at the serious look on his face. Straightening in her seat, she stiffened her spine and her resolve, vowing not to let him get away with shunning the two children he already had.
He is your heir. Andrew Wyatt was more than aware of the son he had, but chose to ignore. She hated him for that. In his eyes, females were worthless except for bearing their husbands males to further the family line and take over the business.
Even more so when their mother abandoned them. Brianna had been just ten years old at the time, her brother, six months. Her father threw a hand in the air. That boy will never be able to do anything I need him to. Brianna seethed as she glared at him from beneath her lashes. Damn him to hell.
Her breath wheezed out of her lungs, a symptom of an impending asthma attack, as the delusional man sat across from her like a king on his throne. A creak of leather as her father relaxed back into his seat refocused her attention. The redness of his jowls was gone now and a feral smile split his lips. What had he done?
Brianna barely refrained from laughing out loud and thought about what she knew about Cole Masters. He was in the top echelon of St. He may even be the top. He owned and lived on a prime piece of real estate which overlooked the Missouri River.
The mansion itself had been scrutinized more than once for its architectural brilliance, having been designed by somebody famous, and had just recently been featured on the cover of a magazine.
As for the man himself, she had seen him many times in the media. He was a handsome, much coveted bachelor who regularly dated beautiful, sexy women. Women who fawned over him, batting their eyelashes and cooing like imbeciles.
Women who had far more experience than Brianna could ever hope to have. He was also rumored to have extravagant and shocking sexual tastes that ran from bondage to sharing.
No, the gazillionaire would never agree to be a sperm donor. Still, the mere thought of a man like Cole mastering her body and stroking her into oblivion made her stomach muscles clench.
She crossed her legs in an effort to stave off the moisture pooling between her thighs, cringing when her now tight nipples sent an electric tingle throughout her body as they rubbed against the soft cotton fabric of her bra.
He could not be serious. This was the twenty-first century. Fathers did not give their daughters away to the highest bidder anymore. And daughters did not go willingly. Cole Masters would laugh himself unconscious the second she walked through the door. Brianna would never measure up to his standard of women. She was five foot six and sometimes clumsy, not tall and graceful.
She pulled her mouse-brown hair into a ponytail everyday and never let it fall in a cascading waterfall down her back. Her eyes were blue. Not cerulean, not Caribbean, not even sky. Just blue. She guessed her body was curvy and plump in all the right places, but no diet in the world would ever make her look svelte. Her father sat taller and straightened his impeccable tie, indicating he was through talking to her. He pressed on the button which allowed communication with the driver. Must you always dress like a slob?
Brianna lurched forward in her seat, strangling herself on the seatbelt in the process. Brianna paled, the blood rushing from her brain and threatening to cause her to faint. Her father sat back again. He inspected his immaculately manicured nails as he spoke. Do not think to undermine my intelligence. Cole comes from a very long line of males. I trust his sperm to do the right thing. It stopped just a breath away from her face. His lip curled into a snarl. He planned to pass her baby off as his son!
She truly was just a vessel. You have forty-five minutes to do so. She stared out the window of the limo and thought wildly about how to get out of the mess she was in. I made certain of that earlier today. Brianna jerked away from his touch and squeezed against the door, fresh tears falling with his snort of amusement. She could do this. For Scottie, she would do this horrible thing. No one seems to know much about her. No one I talked to could tell me anything about Lydia Wyatt.
I got the same story over and over. Apparently it was rare to see Lydia in public, but impressions were she was depressed. Some blue hair told me it might have been over a miscarriage. Anyway, one day she was there, the next day she was gone. Wyatt told everybody she went away to get help, but if she did, she never came back. Our boy likes to sleep around. A lot. I found four other kids, all girls, from different mothers, which he pays for on the side.
Handsomely, I might add. Who knows how many more are out there. I got a hard-on looking at her. The scary thing was, if Tyler got hard, then Cole would too.
I told you, Freddy received this letter by courier late Friday evening. I opened it when I saw it sitting out on the desk. So what? To find these things out. Talking to Tyler was sometimes like talking to a two-year old. Tell me again what the letter says. Tyler had been in his car then, probably staking out another one of his deadbeat dads. The man owned a multi-million dollar security company providing services for very well-off businesses and people, yet Tyler grew softhearted for any woman who needed help with her kids.
Cole would wave him away, not needing to remind his best friend to keep in touch. Cole laughed. Andrew Wyatt, I guess. He tried to speak again, but his friend was laughing so hard Cole simply shook his head and hung up the phone.
A sharp knock on the door alerted him that his most honored guest was probably about to be announced. Make the bastard sweat for a few minutes, then show him in, will you?
His smile faded as his eyes dropped to the contract on the desk in front of him. Andrew Wyatt was actually trying to pawn his daughter off to be bred by some stranger like an animal.
He read the words again for about the fiftieth time, fighting both the nausea and the excitement warring inside him. On the other, it made him sick to think a father had absolutely no morals where his daughter was concerned.
Blackmailed by Annmarie Mckenna
She should have known better than to get into the limo with him. She let her eyes fall to a speck on the red-carpeted floor. Did he suppose she was going to become the next Virgin Mary? She glanced up and sobered at the serious look on his face.
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