ALL THAT HE WANTS (Volume 1 The Billionaire's Seduction) (48 page)

Along the way, I saw an ATM nestled amongst the shops. I still wasn’t comfortable spending all of Connor’s money, so I thought I would replenish it with a little of my own.

It’s still his money,
a snarky little voice whispered in my head.

“Shut up,” I said out loud, then looked around, embarrassed, hoping nobody had heard me. Thankfully nobody had. At least, nobody was looking at me like I was a crazy person babbling to myself.

I popped my card in the ATM slot… entered my code… withdrew $400…

…and gasped when I saw the printed transaction receipt.

He’d already told me.

I
knew
it was there.

But it’s one thing to ‘know’ something, and entirely another to actually
see
it.

Especially when the ‘something’ is fifty grand.

My bank balance was $49,927.73.

Considering that I’d just withdrawn $400, that had meant it had been $50,327.73 just a few seconds before.

$327.73. That’s all I’d had to my name 24 hours ago. Not nearly enough to cover my rent – much less groceries, gas, car insurance, and utilities.

And now… now I had more money than I’d ever had before in my life.

Actually, more money than I’d ever made,
combined,
in my entire life.

It was disorienting.

I actually stumbled over to a bench and sat down. My hand was shaking as I looked at the receipt.

I think, until that moment, the emotional impact of being with someone as rich as Connor hadn’t fully registered.

That sounds goldigger-y and smarmy. Let me try again.

Until that second, I had been living in a fairytale. An X-rated fairytale with some hot
hot
moments, and a few really unhappy ones, too… but it was like a story I was guest-starring in. It was somehow… not real. As though I might wake up any second and discover it was all a wonderful dream, and now it was Monday morning and time to go back to suffering the petty torments of working for Herr Klaus.

Tune in this week for
Fantasy Island,
starring Lily Ross!

But there was one thing in my life that was more Real Life than anything else – and that was Money.

Notice that I didn’t say ‘Important.’ I said ‘Real Life.’

Like the sort of things that beat you over the head and remind you you’re not living in a Hallmark Movie.

Rent. Bills. Being able to eat something other than Top Ramen.

You need Money for Real Life, and there was never enough of it.

Not that I wanted a ton of money. I mean, yeah, you want to give me a winning lottery ticket? Sure, I’ll take it. But I never chased after money, not like ambitious people do. There were other things that were more important to me. Truth, beauty, love, friendship, a sense of greater purpose…

That sounds like it should go on a sappy greeting card.

But if all I was interested in was money, I would have been all over Connor’s original offer of $20,000 like white on rice.

I didn’t take it because I was in love with him. And him offering to pay me for my time? It cheapened that. Made it feel tawdry. Made
me
feel tawdry.

But the Real Life thing about Money was this: I’d struggled with it all my adult life (what little I’d lived so far). Never enough money to do what I wanted. Just barely enough to scrape by. Having to do crappy jobs and work for people I hated just to survive.

Haha – welcome to the human race, right?

Yeah, I know, I know –
Join the club, Lily.

There was a funny joke I heard last week on the radio that went something like this: you say you want a support group for people who hate their jobs? There is one! It’s called ‘Everybody,’ and they hold meetings in bars!

But four days ago I’d met a guy for whom money was like tap water to me: something you just turned on. Took for granted. It was always there, as much as he wanted.

And he’d given me something that, to him, was no more than a glass of water.

But for me, it changed
everything.

And the proof of it was on a little paper slip in my hand.

I cried a little as I sat there looking at it. I felt like I had a lottery ticket in my hand for No More Scraping By. No More Worrying. And the ticket had come up a winner.

I know that sounds stupid – after all, I wasn’t exactly on Easy Street.

But that’s how I felt. Connor’s gift had bought me a year, maybe two if I was careful.

And it might sound as though all I cared about was the money. Trust me, nothing could have been further from the truth.

The main thing was, a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I was thankful to Connor for so much – for the passionate nights, for the feelings he inspired in me, for the affection he gave me, for the way he touched me, for the sights and experiences I would have never had if it hadn’t been for him.

For making me fall in love.

And for the hope that maybe, just maybe,
he
might be falling in love with me, too.

But at that moment, I was thankful that he had given me something else:

Time.

Freedom.

The chance to not have to worry.

And I hadn’t had to sell my soul – or my feelings for him – to do it.

So I sat there and cried a little, and felt that my world had suddenly changed.

But it wasn’t a dream this time.

It was reality, and the slip of paper in my hand proved it.

Okay, mope time over.

After I had my little freak-out over an ATM receipt, I decided I was going to celebrate.

Not, like, celebrate the way Connor did, with sixteen-course meals and surf-n-turf room service.

Just lunch. A nice lunch and a glass of wine. I’m a sensible girl (usually), and contemplating a year of financial freedom had made me want to keep it.

Mmm… maybe
two
glasses of wine.

I found a nice little restaurant by the crazy indoor canal that ran through the Venetian’s shopping area. It was late enough after the lunch crowd that there was plenty of seating, so they put me by the wrought-iron railing so I could watch the gondolas go by. Guys wearing white-and-black-striped shirts with little red scarves pushed the boats along with poles. Meanwhile, the people inside the gondolas filmed the whole thing with their iPhones. Or smooched. Or filmed themselves with their iPhones as they smooched.

It looked like fun. I wondered if Connor would do something so ‘Vegas-y.’

Probably not. He’d say,
Let’s just fly to Venice and do it for real.

Which would be great, but not really what I was after. What I
really
wanted to do was see him squirm. I figured I could bring it up and then make fun of him for being a snob when he recoiled.

But there was a chance he might say ‘yes.’ And that would make life super-difficult for Johnny. The poor guy would probably be jumping out of his skin the whole time…
if
Connor even let him on the boat.

On the other hand, we’d had the whole ‘Normal Day,’ and he’d ridden the ferris wheel at Santa Monica Pier, so maybe he actually
would
go for –

“Hello there,” someone said off to my left.

A woman’s voice – low and husky, kind of like Lauren Bacall’s when she was twenty years old and in black-and-white movies.

I turned around, expecting to see a waitress.

She wasn’t a waitress.

She
was,
however, one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. Face-to-face, or even in a movie or the pages of a magazine. She had skin like porcelain, cheekbones like a model’s, eyes the color of emeralds, and a perfectly sculpted nose and lips. Her golden blonde hair was swept up into a kind of updo or chignon that showed off her long, elegant neck. Every strand was immaculately in place.

She was wearing a really nice business suit – white silk blouse, grey pencil skirt, expensive tailored jacket. Everything was either tight enough, high enough, or low enough to show off an amazing figure, loooong legs, and a tiny little waist.

Her makeup was minimal, as was her jewelry. Tiny diamond earrings, matched by a small diamond pendant on a slim gold necklace. A couple of rings set with diamonds and rubies – though none on her left ring finger.

She was probably in her late 20’s, though I was guessing that really because she was so
tall.
Compared to me, anyway. She didn’t have a wrinkle on her face – no laugh lines, no smile lines… just smooth, perfect skin.

She was beautiful in an elegant, prim, proper way, with style, taste, and grace to boot.

In short, she looked like Cinderella went off and got a Fortune 500 top executive job.

And then attended some sort of convention in Vegas, I guess.

I hated her for a second for being so beautiful, then reprimanded myself.

“Hi,” I answered.

“I’m so sorry to bother you… but can you tell me, where did you get that dress?” she asked.

Grace Kelly with Lauren Bacall’s voice. Damn.

I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she was asking me about my dress. It probably cost at least a grand less than her ensemble – and while I
liked
what I was wearing, hers was pretty damn top-notch.

“Ann Taylor,” I answered.

“It’s so cute. You have good taste.”

Oh… well…

My hater-ation went down several notches, and my friendliness quotient went up. Wine and flattery, greatest social lubricants in the world.

“Thank you – but, I mean, what
you’re
wearing is beautiful.”

She waved her hand through the air like she was batting away the compliment, and her expression said,
Oh, YOU know how it is
.

“Have to get dolled up for business.” Then she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “But your boyfriend is a lucky man.”

My first reaction was to say, ‘Oh, he’s not really my boyfriend.’

My second reaction was to think,
It kind of sucks he’s not my boyfriend.

And my third reaction – which would have probably been my first, if not for the wine – was,
Wow, this is a weird conversation.

First Cinderella comes over and compliments me… and now she’s talking about my ‘boyfriend’…

Is she just seeing if I HAVE a boyfriend?

Why would she do that?

Holy shit, is Grace Kelly/Lauren Bacall HITTING on me?!

“Um… well… we – he and I – just started dating…”

“But you’re here together?”

I frowned a little, even as I kept a smile on my face. Chatty Kathy here was seriously weirding me out.

Is she still hitting on me? What the hell?

She smiled when I didn’t answer, as though to put me at ease. “Best part of the relationship… when everything is romantic.”

“Yeah… it’s great…”

I probably looked like a girl in a horror movie when she realizes the proprietor of the spooky old inn isn’t exactly right in the head.

“Why isn’t he here?” she asked.

“Um… he’s working…?”
Not that it’s any business of yours?

“Ah. Be sure to wear that for him later – he’ll love it.”

“I… uh… yeah, I plan on it.”

“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Have a great day – and thanks for the information.” She smiled. “About the dress.”

“You’re welcome.”

She fluttered her fingers like
Ta ta,
and glided off effortlessly on her four-inch,
super
-cute pumps.

Wow. THAT was weird.

It’s not every day that Kate Upton comes up and tells you you have a nice bod. Or Miranda Kerr says you’re cute.

And might be trying to get into your pants.

Flattering, I suppose… but the vibe was strange. Sort of inappropriate and slightly creepy.

But my second glass of Riesling put a nice glow on the memory a few minutes later.

And then I forgot all about it.

After I finished lunch, I stopped by the casino for the hell of it. If you go to Vegas and don’t gamble, what’s the point?

(Besides the sex, fancy dinners, and surreal car trips out to the desert, I mean.)

I bet on a few hands of blackjack, and then when I was losing too badly, I switched to slots. That was not a good choice, as I could
not
figure most of them out. There’s your old-school ones, yes, where you’re trying to line up ‘Bars’ and Lucky 7’s and fruit and whatnot – but I’m talking about the flashy new ones, with strange Egyptian or ‘Under The Sea’ themes, or where you can line things up in a zig-zag line. You have to have a genius-level IQ to know what’s going on with some of them. I stared at them for a few minutes, trying to decipher what I was supposed to accomplish, and just ended up feeling like an ADD kid without my Adderall, eyes darting from one flashing light to another. So I went back over to one of the old-school ones and promptly lost $20 in about 5 minutes.

That was it. $100 was my limit. $80 on blackjack, $20 on slots, we out. Even with 50 grand in the bank, losing a hundred dollars was painful.

I was leaving the casino and pondering my next move when I got a call from Connor. I checked the time on my cell: a little after 3PM.

“Hey.”

“Where you at?”
he said, trying to sound as ‘street’ as possible.

It was the first thing I’d witnessed that he just couldn’t quite pull off.

It was goofy and adorable.

“‘Where you at’? What, have you been hanging out with Macklemore?”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“Eminem, then.”

“Okay, I know who that is. Isn’t that what the kids say these days when they’re making a booty call? ‘Where you at?’”

I actually froze in the lobby of the Venetian, blushed, and hid my face with one hand as I whispered into the phone, “Oh my GOD tell me you are not still in the meeting with the governor of Nevada…”

“No, no. Just a state senator.”

“Connor – ”

“He doesn’t mind – he’s giving me the thumbs-up right now – ”