Dance with the Billionaire (23 page)

I arrive at Mike’s, the scruffy dive bar Nat and I often hang out at, and I’m determined to be on time to meet her this evening. But the moment I step through the door, I see someone
else
sitting in the corner booth that Nat and I usually share.
Dylan
. I freeze in my tracks, looking back towards the exit. I take another glance and he’s lifting himself out of his seat, palms up, urging me to wait.

I sigh, shake my head, then strut over to the table, confronting him, hands on hips.

“At least let me explain, Julia,” he says. “Don’t I deserve
that
at least?”

“You don’t deserve anything,” I snap back, the words visibly wounding him. “Especially since you now appear to be actively
stalking
me. But okay,” I add with a sigh, dropping frustratedly into the seat across the table from his. “You’ve got five minutes before Nat turns up here and kicks your ass.”

A white lie. He still thinks Nat’s my best friend. He doesn’t need to know we’ve not been talking. And if she knew how he’d been behaving, then trust me, she
would
kick his ass.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, leaning in towards me across the table, his big dark eyes so pleading I
almost
believe him. “I panicked. I heard the word ‘boyfriend’ and I freaked out.”

I wince when I hear him say it again, but I remain silent, curious to hear what else he has to say.

“But afterwards,” he continues, “when I’d had time to think about it, I knew that you were right. Boyfriend and girlfriend – that
was
the way our relationship was going. You see, I wasn’t lying when I said that there had been other girls. But I need you to know that there was
nobody
else while I was
with
you, Julia. Do you understand?”

I nod.
Of course. He wouldn’t have had the time anyway, would he? He works so hard and I saw him so much ...

“But it was different with the others, too,” he continues. “It wasn’t like this. I didn’t
do
things for them, like meet their friends or take them to the ballet. And didn’t want to do things for them, just to see them smile. But that’s what I was doing for you, Julia. I guess until now, I’ve always kept my relationships in a small box, do you understand?”

More than you could ever know, Dylan ...

“But I don’t want to do that anymore,” he continues. “I’ve never really allowed anyone fully into my life before. I’ve been so focused on my work, my business. I’m the eldest son and the family business goes back generations. I’ve had to work
so
fucking hard to prove myself. But it’s about more than that. I have other responsibilities now, too. To ... well, to carry on the family name, for example.”

“That’s hardly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” I say with a dismissive shrug.  

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he persists, leaning even closer towards me across the table, like he wants to try and take my hands in his; but I pull my fingers safely out of reach.

“Listen,” he says, his voice lowering. “I’ve been going so fucking crazy these past few weeks without you. I’m so sorry that I had to hurt you, to let you go, before realizing just how much you mean to me ... Please. Let me
date you
. No money this time. No arrangement. Let’s just start again from scratch. From right this second. Because I’m falling for you, Julia. I’m falling for you hard. And I’ll never forgive myself if we don’t at least try to make a real go of this
.
”

Do I believe him?
I don’t know. But I just can’t get hurt like that again ...

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

“Good,” he replies. “Because I’m serious about this. And I want you to take this seriously as well. By the way, the fellowship? Nice touch.”

“What are you
talking
about?” I say, mock innocently.

“The Dylan Campbell Fellowship for the Arts? A grant set up in my name to fund a disadvantaged student through college?”

I smirk. I was never gonna outright tell him about what I did with the five hundred thousand dollars he transferred to me. But I was hoping he would find out about it soon enough.

“Oh, you heard about that, did you?” I say, still wearing my sweetest butter-wouldn’t-melt expression.

“I sure did,” he says. “My mother rang me up to congratulate me. Her and all her philanthropist friends are over the moon about it.”

“Well, I’m glad someone’s happy,” I shoot back.

“
I’m
happy,” he says. “I’m happy you’re actually here, talking to me. Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “I meant it. You should get out of here. Nat’s gonna be here any minute.”

“I don’t think she is,” he says with a sheepish grin.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused.

“I had to make you sit down and listen to me somehow, so I asked her for help.”

“And she
agreed
?!” I say, incredulously.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“I think I will. In fact, I’m gonna do that right now.” 

And before he can utter another word, I get up and leave.

§

“You scheming, interfering
bitch
!” I laugh when I finally meet up with Nat at Home Slice, thirty minutes later. “I’ve missed you so much. Now come here and give me one of those famous hugs I’ve been missing out on these past few weeks!”

“I’ve missed you too,” she says, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing the life out of me. “Mostly? I’ve missed having someone to share the house special with.”

We order the
hugest
pizza – a whole massive pie just for the two of us, smothered with peperoni, spinach and anchovies. And two coke floats. It’s just like old times; I can’t keep the grin off my face.

We don’t even really need to make up. We just fall back into our old, easy conversation.

“There is
one
thing I don’t understand,” I say. “I thought you
hated
Dylan.”

“Oh, believe me, I did,” she grins. “I thought he was an entitled asshole. But then? Well, he kinda donated a
lot
of money to the studio.”

“What?” I say confused, halfway through a sip of coke, almost spraying it onto Nat in the process.

“Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “You know he donated
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars
to the studio? Julia, that’s enough to get the roof repaired
and
keep the under-fives classes funded for the next few years. At least. To be honest, even then, I still thought he was an entitled asshole, just flashing his cash around ... But then, he actually came down to the studio one evening, too. He took time out of his busy schedule to visit us, see what we were about. So we got talking. And you know what? He’s not so bad. Really he isn’t. He’s a nice guy, Julia. And it’s obvious that he’s crazy about you. He asked me for help and who was I to turn him down after all he’d done? So, you’re gonna give him another chance, right?”

“I don’t know,” I say, genuinely confused. “We’re just so ...
different
. And when it ended, he was so fucking cruel. I’m scared of that side of him, Nat. I can’t believe that he’s really changed. He’s a total commitment-phobe. He’s got everything he needs in the world, so he doesn’t need
people
.”

“That’s not true,” says Nat, putting her hand gently over mine. “Everyone needs people. It doesn’t matter how rich they are. And you know what? If anything, maybe being that insanely rich makes you even
more
lonely. And isn’t that something
you
know all about?”

I look at her, confused. “What do you mean?” I say.

“Come on,” she replies, with a
you can’t fool me
expression.

“No, really. What?” I say.

“Okay,” she says  seriously, “if there’s a cute guy at the club, you might give him a kiss at the end of the night. But you
never
take him home. And we always laugh about the hilarious things that guys say and do when they wanna get with us. But you’ve never talked about any guys you’ve been with. You know, like
actual
boyfriends? And ever since Dylan got in touch with me and we really talked, I’ve been thinking about him. But most of all, about you ... And I think I know what it is you’re scared of. Do you know what I’m saying?”

I look up at her. It’s something I’ve been holding onto for so long. I can’t believe that I’m finally letting it go. I should never have underestimated Nat. She was always gonna call me out on this in the end.

“You are so
right,” I say with an embarrassed grin. “It’s because I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve wanted to, sure. But I was just so scared of letting anyone get close to me. Of what might happen if I gave them, you know ...
everything
. So I held onto my virginity for twenty-one years. Are you sure you still wanna be friends with such a prude?”

“Of course I do!” Nat laughs. “I mean, I’ve gotta salute your determination to keep yourself pure ...”

And she says ‘pure’ like it’s a good thing, not something to be ashamed of.

“I was thirteen years old,” she continues. “I don’t think I even knew what I was doing. I was too young. Then when I was fifteen, I got left with a nasty little itch down there. That was
not
fun. So I’ve been careful ever since. I mean, with protection. But I know a lotta girls who haven’t. And they got caught out. Chasing deadbeat dads for child support, or getting a cab alone to the abortion clinic, too ashamed to tell anyone what they were going through. So I
do
understand why you stayed careful for so long. But honestly, Julia? I’ve also had a
lot
of fun too! And I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that, not for the world. And your Dylan is gorgeous. I think you made the right decision when you chose it to be with him.”

“Thank you, Nat,” I say.

She’s right. And I can’t describe just what a huge weight off my shoulders it is to finally tell someone the truth about me.

I always thought it was something to be ashamed of. I thought Nat wouldn’t want to be friends with a
virgin
. But of course, I was wrong.

It’s looking like I’ve been wrong about so many things recently. And the funny thing is, I’m grateful to find that out. I thought I had the world so figured out already, but it turns out I’ve still got
so
much left to learn.

One evening a courier arrives, asking me to sign for yet another crazy enormous bunch of flowers. And just a few hours later,
another
courier arrives, this time asking me to sign for a mystery package – what looks like a dress box.

I thank him, then take the package back up the flight of stairs to my apartment.

And as I set the dress box down on the bed, preparing to open it, I think the same thing I’ve been thinking constantly this past week or so:

Have I made the right decision by giving Dylan Campbell a second chance?

When I finally agreed to go out on a ‘date’ with him – a real, honest-to-God
date
, with no kind of contract or agreement – he’d sounded so excited, I just knew I’d have to go through with it.

And now here I am, working myself up to open this box.

I take a final deep breath, then gingerly pull it open to reveal ...

Okay, wow.

It’s the most beautiful strappy gold sparkling dress, short to show off my legs, and slashed at the neck, cut in a daring V. And I know I shouldn’t be excited about something like this – I mean, after all, he just
bought
it, right? – but even so, I know that he
chose
it too, chose it because he knew how good it would look on me.

And when I try it on, I have to agree that he was right.

It really suits my dancer’s figure. I don’t have too much cleavage so the low neck doesn’t look too slutty, and as I bend to check out my ass in the mirror, I have to admit that that looks pretty good too.

There might not be much room to dance in this apartment, but even so, I put on some Beyoncé and shimmy around the room in excitement.   

About an hour later a car arrives, and when the driver steps out to open the back door for me, I’m half expecting to see Dylan lounging there on the backseat. But instead, it’s empty. I climb inside, the driver slams the door closed, then gets back behind the wheel and starts the engine. I lean forward and tap on the dark glass that separates him from the back part of the limo, wanting to ask him where exactly we’re headed. But if he hears me, he ignores me.

So I just sit back on the plush leather, kind of frustrated and annoyed, but a little part of me enjoying the mystery and suspense, too.

This better be good, Dylan Campbell ...

§

“So? How was it?”

I know he’s referring to the salted-caramel dessert (which was
gorgeous
, by the way), but I can’t help thinking back on the whole date. First of all, the car pulled up outside Eleven Madison Park. This was somewhere even
I
had heard of. According to
NY Goss
, it’s one of the best restaurants in the whole freaking
world
, never mind the city. It’s the kind of place that’s packed with A-listers every single night. The waiting list is supposed to be practically a year long, and as we were escorted inside– the staff all falling over themselves to help us, to bring us any little thing we could possibly desire – I wondered what strings Dylan had pulled to get us in here.

The room was stunning. It was done all 1920’s style – like something out of the movie
Titanic
. The ceiling was so high they could’ve fit a whole other floor of the restaurant above our heads. And the waiters were so polite and discreet, they were practically invisible. But it was like they were telepathic or something. Because as soon as you finished your wine, your glass was topped up. As soon as you’d finished your food, your plate was quickly whisked away.

I’d been expecting the usual: appetizer, entrée, dessert, accompanied by a good bottle of wine and maybe an espresso to finish. But this was the ‘tasting menu’, and course after course was brought to our table – so many tiny plates, each featuring exquisite arrangements of food, some of them so beautiful I wanted to frame them and put them on the wall of my apartment, never mind
eat
them.

And things I’d never seen before: a salad decorated with beautiful, edible flowers, and
everything
just tasted amazing. The roasted duck. The carrot tartar (I still don’t know what that really was, but my God it was delicious!). And four courses of Long Island seafood, including scallops with pistachio! I thought pistachio was for fancy ice cream, not for seafood. I’ve clearly got a
lot
to learn about food ...

A place like this? I mean
holy crap
. I know this is supposed to be somewhere I’d only dreamed about going. And sure, it’s somewhere I’ve seen in the magazines – all those pictures of celebrities leaving with their beautiful dates in their glamorous dresses. And I know that right now I’m supposed to feel like the luckiest girl in the world to actually
be
here, sitting in the middle of all this wealth and splendor. But the truth is, this is so far removed from my everyday life and even from all of the things I really want most of all, that I’ve never actually dreamed about coming somewhere like this ... So, to answer Dylan’s question: how
was
it?

I sigh.

“It was okay,” I say quietly.

“Just
okay
?” Dylan replies, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Just
okay?!
”

I shake my head and collect my thoughts.

“I mean, it was
amazing
...” I begin. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this. It sounds so ungrateful after all the thought he’s put into tonight, all the money he must have spent and connections he must have used just to get us these seats. But I also know that if we’ve got a shot at this, if we’ve got any chance of making it, I’ve gotta be honest. I’ve gotta be me. We’ve got to do it
right
this time. “It was amazing, Dylan. I mean it. But this isn’t what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, his thick brow knitting in confusion.

“Exactly,” I reply. “You don’t understand me. You don’t understand that I don’t want fancy restaurants and the world’s most expensive wines. That doesn’t impress me ... That’s not who I am.”

He’s quiet for a moment, processing what I say. Then he nods, his eyes filling with compassion and understanding.

“I think I get it,” he says, reaching his hand across the table for mine.

It will be the first time he’s touched me since that night – the night he shattered my heart completely. I steel myself for his touch, wondering if I should just pull my hand from the table and into the safety of my lap. But instead I leave it there, feeling the heat of his fingers as they enclose my own, even just that briefest touch of skin sending shockwaves right the way through me.

“I mean it, Julia,” he says softly, keeping his eyes trained on mine. “I’m sorry.”

And this time, I think I just about believe him.

§

Dylan stays a gentleman in the limo on the drive back to my apartment. He doesn’t try to make any moves, even though I can sense that he’d like nothing more than to tear this dress from my body right now.

“You’re
sure
you don’t want to come back to mine?” he asks, darting a hopeful glance my way.

“I’m sure,” I reply softly.

When the car pulls up outside the steps to my crappy, run-down apartment building, I have to laugh to myself, knowing just how out of place a gleaming black stretch limo must look in this neighborhood.

The driver opens my door and I step outside into the cool night air. And of course Dylan steps out too, obviously still trying his luck.

“So,” he murmurs, taking a step towards me, “I’m guessing a coffee at your new place is out of the question, too?”

“‘Fraid so,” I sigh, even though I can feel my body responding now despite myself.

Fuck. It’s like any time I’m
near
Dylan Campbell, I want him.

Stay strong, Julia.

“Thank you for tonight,” I say, truthfully.

He takes another step towards me, so close now that I can feel the desire radiating from him, so close that I can feel my own body crying out for him too, my nipples hardening, the warm ache growing between my legs.

Stay strong ...

But then he kisses me – a soft, gentle kiss that has me melting. And I kiss him back too, despite myself, shivering as I feel his hands move over my body, pulling me closer towards him, shivering again as I feel the sheer hardness of his cock pressing against my belly through my dress. I pull away, unable to trust myself.

“That’s
all
you’re getting, I’m afraid,” I say, taking a deep breath and a step back away from him again, fixing my hair and pushing my back up straight.

“I need you so fucking badly right now,” he growls, melting my resolve.

I take a breath, knowing I need to give him more. Knowing that he deserves the truth at least ...

“Listen,” I say. “There’s something else I need to tell you. I was a virgin when I met you because I was
afraid
, okay? Afraid of what might happen if I had sex. Afraid of ending up like my mom – still a teenager and having to marry a man she didn’t love because she’d gotten herself knocked up. And then I met you. And it was too much for me to resist. You opened my eyes to how good it can be, Dylan. To how wonderful something like that can feel. And I’m grateful for that, I really am. I was closing myself up to so much good before. But you know what I’ve learnt? I’ve learnt that sex doesn’t come without responsibility either. And it’s
not
just about whether or not you get yourself pregnant. So I’m gonna wait, again, until I’m sure.”

He nods solemnly, and this time I know I’ve made myself perfectly clear.

“Well, can I see you again? For another date?” he says. “Are you free tomorrow night? There’s the most amazing opera on at the Met. I just know you’d love it. I can send a car and ...”

“No, no, no, I interrupt. “No more cars. No more amazing places. Don’t get me wrong. Tonight was great and all. But my feet are killing me in these shoes. And all these sequins are kind of digging into me, too. At heart, I really am just a jeans-and-sneakers kind of girl.”

“So? What
do
you suggest?” he says, obviously happy that I’ve not completely blown him off.

“There’s this really fun bar near here,” I offer. “Parkside Lounge. We can drink some beer and shoot some pool. How about it?”

“Sounds great,” he says genuinely.

I lean in to him, placing one final kiss on his lips, before quickly pulling away again, turning and running into my apartment before my resolve crumbles completely and I invite him upstairs.