Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (2 page)

It
wasn’t her standard sales pitch.  It was all true.  When Maribel looked up, she
expected to see Braxton-Worth gazing down upon the necklace.  But he wasn’t. 
He was gazing upon her.

“Not
a fan of yellow gold, huh?” he said with smirk.

Of
course, how foolish,
she scolded herself.
  He’s wearing a
thirty-thousand dollar gold watch.
 “Gold settings are always elegant, of
course,” she corrected herself.  “I just mean…with a gorgeous stone like this
one, I think it should be the center of attention.  The cool patina of platinum
best accentuates the ruby’s radiance.”

“I
see…” He was peering at her with a sturdy, composed gaze.  He took up the
necklace into his hands and waited.  “Would you mind?”

Maribel
peered into his confident blue eyes.  She had modeled pieces for her male
customers in the past.  But only the watches and rings—easy pieces to slip on and
off, especially when she sensed there was indecision about whether or not it
truly was the right purchase.  But she had already determined that Miles Braxton-Worth
was a man of decision.  Every word, every glance, every moment of reflective
silence told Maribel that he knew exactly what he wanted even before she
suggested it.  Slowly, she lifted up her long hair and turned to grant him
access to her bare neck; then she felt the cold prick of luxury against her
skin as he draped the stone down her neckline.  She rarely wore necklaces.  They
drew too much attention to her face and cleavage, and as a general rule in her
life, Maribel avoided extra attention. 
Stop blushing, stop blushing, stop,
stop, stop…
she cursed to herself, but the harder she tried to stop the warm
blood from rushing into her cheeks, the faster it tingled down her neck and
shoulders.  She felt his firm fingers wisp against the nape of her neck.  They did
not stumble with the clasp; he was a seasoned pro who clearly had done this a
hundred times before.  But not Maribel; for Maribel, it was her first
time—being adorned with precious gems by a handsome distinguished man.  And
very likely, it would be Maribel’s one and only time.

When
she felt the full weight of the necklace settle onto her skin, Maribel exhaled
and rotated herself to Miles Braxton-Worth.  He was staring at her—not the
necklace, nor the ruby, nor the full view of the piece on a woman—but
her
. 
Their eyes connected with intensity, and Maribel’s cheeks grew hot. She desperately
felt the need to shift his attention away from her and back onto the piece.

“Rubies
symbolize warmth, fire, vitality, and passion,” she commented. “I think she
will be more than happy with your choice.  It’s a lovely gesture.”

Maribel
attempted to turn away, but he seized her hand.

“Thank
you. I’ll take it.”

Maribel
glanced down at his firm grasp.  It was strong, but warm, and it released her
with regret.  She mechanically moved to the register to prepare a gift box and
ring up the sale.  She attempted to remove the necklace herself, but her
fingers fumbled.  She was trembling.  It was hard to give up being the center
of his attention, despite the fact that she knew the whole time he was simply
using her to remind him of another woman.

When
she returned to the counter, she noted the intimacy between them had disappeared. 
Braxton-Worth’s eyes were now steely grey.  He slid his black credit card
across the glass countertop.  He did not wait for her to recite the final
amount.  Everything was back to business.  Maribel understood.  She charged his
card and watched him scroll his sweeping signature across the receipt, then handed
over the petite shopping bag, and watched as he nodded curtly and disappeared
out the revolving doors of the Grand Lobby and into the bleak cold of the winter
night.

Crystal
suddenly rushed over to Maribel. “Oh my God, you just made a sale to Miles
Braxton-Worth.  What did he buy?  How much did it cost?”

Maribel
heard her, but did not respond.  It was the most expensive sale that Maribel
had made all year; her commission would easily be more than she had made all
week.  And yet, she still felt sad—even dejected—deep inside.  She couldn’t
stop thinking about his eyes and the way they had settled upon her, as if she
was truly as unique and special as the necklace.  She watched regretfully as
the revolving doors came to a halt.  Sometimes, it was better to remain
Cinderella, the quiet modest maiden, than to be granted the opportunity to
attend the ball with the Prince and enjoy it—for only a brief fleeting moment.

* * * *

It
was nine fifteen when Maribel finally clocked out of her shift at the
department store.  There were only a few other girls on the floor: Crystal was
folding and re-folding the sweaters.  Samantha was re-stocking the cosmetic
testers.  Roberta was re-organizing the shoe displays. When the final lingering
customers finished their purchases and exited the store, Thomas, the assistant
store manager, locked the revolving doors and killed the instrumental shopping
music.

 “Happy
Valentine’s Day weekend, girls,” Thomas called out with sing-song glee.  “Kick
off those heels and let’s zip through closing so we can get the hell outta
here.” 

“My
thoughts exactly,” Roberta cried out.

“Amen
and hallelujah,” Crystal rejoined. 

Suddenly,
the signature boom-boom-boom base of one of Thomas’s many favorite hip hop
artists filled the Grand Lobby.  The girls smarted off with sassy expressions
of relief, threw up their hands, and grooved to the beat.  Thomas uncorked a
contraband bottle of champagne.  Everyone screamed with delight.  Soon, they
would be home, relaxing for the night, until they had to return tomorrow
afternoon and do it all over again.  But for now, there was only hip hop, free
liquor, and freewheeling jubilation.

Maribel
smiled to herself and carefully locked up all her jewelry cases.  She tapped
her ladybug slippers to the heavy
boom-boom-boom
of the music, and
accepted a paper daisy cup filled with champagne. Thomas pulled Crystal away
from the sweaters, and together, they danced and mouthed the rap song’s swear
words to the stores security cameras.  They tried to wrangle in Maribel, but she
escaped behind her register.  She sipped from her champagne, and watched her
co-workers living it up in the Grand Lobby of the department store, and smiled. 
Perhaps it wasn’t so bad,
after all,
she thought,
not being a
princess invited to the ball
.

Chapter Two

When
Maribel left the department store, it was almost ten o’clock.  She walked out
with Thomas and Crystal, and they all screamed when a gust of wind chilled them
to the bone.  Maribel bundled herself up in her black wool coat, earmuffs, scarf,
and snow boots. 

“Girlfriend,
you gotta let Crystal help you find something more stylish than those
thangs
.”

Thomas
always made fun of her earmuffs, but Maribel didn’t care.  They protected her
ears from the biting Chicago wind and kept her long hair out of her face.

“Better
than hat head,” Maribel sassed, tossing a glance over to Crystal.

“Don’t
you know it,” Thomas agreed. 

“Bi-aaaaatches,”
Crystal countered, adjusting her rabbit fur cap and matching gloves.

 “You
takin’ the train?” Thomas asked Maribel.

“Yes.”

“Wanna
a ride?”

“No.”

“Damn,
girl, why can’t you be as independent as Maribel,” Thomas suddenly chided
Crystal.

“Because
I’m a moocher,” Crystal confirmed.  “And I’m wearing heels.”

Crystal
compared her stilettos to Maribel’s snow boots.  It was a valid point.

“Wanna
come over tomorrow, Maribel?” Thomas offered.  “Patrick and I are having a V-day
parteeeee.  He’s making the red Jello punchbowl spiked with a whole lot of
orgasmic berry Schnapps.”

Maribel
smiled, “Maybe.”

Everyone
knew Maribel preferred to spend her free days—home and alone.  She simply had
been alone for so many years that she forgot what it was like
not
to be
alone. 

“No,
I want to hear a ‘yes’ outta you.  Don’t go spending tomorrow night alone. It’s
Valentine’s Day, for heaven’s sake.  I’ll even let you make out with me, if you
don’t find someone better at the party…”

“
Ouuuuuwwww
….!”
both Maribel and Crystal squealed.

“I’ll
close my eyes and pretend you’re Matt Damon,” Maribel joked.

“
Prrrrr
…
although I much prefer the tall and dark Ben Affleck type,” Crystal added.

“I’m
just sayin’,” Thomas defended his offer, “don’t go choosing to be all by
yourself when you don’t have to be.”

Maribel
waited to see if Crystal would mention her interaction with Miles Braxton-Worth
to Thomas.  But it had already been forgotten, and she decided not to bring it
up, as if Maribel could preserve her memory of it better without talking about
it. 

“What
about me, Thomas?” Crystal whined.  “Do I get to come?”

“Excuse
me, honey bunny?  You’re working tomorrow night.  Didn’t you look at the
schedule?”

“Well,
that doesn’t mean I can’t come after?”

“And
what…?  Bring that Frank-Sinatra-karaoke-lovin’ manwhore again?”

“Hey,
I’ll have you know that I’ve got an even better manwhore now,” Crystal said
with pride.  “And he sings Boy George flawlessly.”

“Tempting,”
Thomas considered, then turned back to Maribel. “Seriously, think about it. 
Ta-ta…”

Thomas
and Crystal waved her goodbye as they parted in opposite directions.  Maribel
approached the street corner and heard the cheery “Happy Valentine’s Day” greeting
of a homeless man.  He had carved out a cardboard heart and draped it around
his neck in front of his worn coat.  She peered into her wallet.  She had three
dollars, and she needed two for the train ride home.  She handed him her last
dollar, guilty she didn’t have more cash to offer him.  He nodded with
appreciation and wished her a safe night as she crossed under the “L” tracks
and into the dark streets.

Yes,
it had already turned out to be a pleasant start to her Valentine’s Day weekend
,
Maribel thought, as she mounted the steps of the elevated train station, and
indulged in the memory of her interaction with Miles Braxton-Worth.

* * * *

Maribel
trudged up the staircase, three flights to her studio apartment.  She wondered
if her used books—ordered last week from her favorite online retailer—were
waiting for her outside her door.

The
apartment door across the hallway suddenly swung open. “Late, late, late… Little
Miss Maribel Martinez,” Emma Jean cried out.

“Oh,
did I worry you?”

“Yes,”
Emma Jean said with serious concern. “Work work, work, that’s all you ever do.”

“That’s
because I don’t have a fabulous Sugar Daddy like you do to pay my way.”

“Carl? 
Oh, he’s history.  Never liked his moustache, anyway.  Working on securing me a
new one.  When are you going to work on that for yourself?”

“Tomorrow,”
Maribel sighed with hardy sarcasm. “I have the day off.  And it is Valentine’s
Day.  Hey, did you pick up a package for me?  I was hoping it would come
today.”

“Books?”

Maribel
perked up. “Yes?”

“Nada,”
Emma Jean shot her down. 

Maribel
frowned, exhausted and disappointed.  The only thing Maribel truly looked
forward to all day was curling up in bed with her new used books.

“Well,
good night, Emma Jean,” Maribel sighed, unlocking her apartment door and
flicking on the lights. ‘Thanks for staying up and worrying about me.”

“Come
over, tomorrow, sweet pea,” Emma Jean’s voice chased after her.  “The whole
building is going to celebrate like we’re
Melrose Place
.  Sort of an
official Valentine’s Day bash.  We’re wearing name tags and role playing our
favorite characters.  Eddie from the second floor is going to be bad boy biker,
Jake.  Raul is going to be Matt, the token gay.  And I’m going to be that devious
doctor, Michael Mancini.”

“That
sounds dangerous.”

“Damn
straight.  You can be my sweet innocent neighbor, Alison Parker.  I know it’s
such
a stretch for you.”

“Is
she the one who Heather Locklear was always trying to sabotage?”

Emma
Jean winked.  “I knew you were a closet
Melrose Place
fan.  Party starts
at eight.  There’s going to be free wine, deviled eggs, and several eligible
divorcées
. 
Don’t
sit around all day, reading books.  We’re allowed to be alone and lonely all
year-round, sweetheart—just not on Valentine’s Day.”

Maribel
heard Emma Jean’s door slam shut.  She sighed with relief.  Finally, after a
long, long, long week, she could slip into the solitude of her own cozy studio
apartment, peel off her work clothes, rest her blistered feet, and ignore the
rest of the world for an entire day.  It was nice that she had friends who had
invited her over, but it was also nice that she could disappear into her own little
blissful haven of peace and not be bothered by anyone or anything.

Buuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
.

Her
buzzer rang out like a hornet in a tin can.  It felt like a shot through her
heart.  It was Friday night. 
Who on earth could be buzzing her door bell at
this time in the evening?
  Clearly, they had the wrong apartment.  Suddenly,
she was inflated with unrealistic hope.  She forced herself out of bed and
peered down through her window at the front door.  Maybe it was her package of used
books, and they had been delivered to her after all.  Her heart raced when she
saw the white van parked along the curb with its familiar
Express Delivery
logo.  She quickly pressed the intercom button and called into its speaker.

“Yes?”

“Express
Delivery for a Miss… Maribel Martin?”

“Martinez?
Yes, please… I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Maribel
rushed to throw on her fleece jacket, pajamas, and slippers.  She shuttled down
the staircase and ran into the delivery man as he bounded up to meet her.

“Here
you go,” he said, passing over a silver gift box, wrapped with a silk red ribbon.

“Oh,”
Maribel said with confusion.  “Are you sure this is for me?”

The
driver referenced his delivery slip.  “Maribel Martinez, 4892 Paulina St?”

“Yes…but…?”

“Then,
it’s definitely for you.  Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The
delivery man shuttled back down the stairs.

“Wait!”
Maribel called after him. “Let me at least get you a few dollars for tip.” 
Then, she remembered she was completely out of cash.

“No
worries,” he replied, jetting down to the foyer.  “It’s already been taken care
of.”

Maribel
slowly started back up the stairs.  She expected to see Emma Jean throw open
her door again and interrogate her about the package.  But the hallway was quiet. 
It was late on Friday night.  Everyone was either out-on-the-town or huddled up
watching TV in their own private seclusion.  Maribel entered her studio, closed
the doors, and placed the silver gift box onto her kitchenette table.  For a
brief moment, she admired its elegance before tugging on the silk red bow and
lifting up the lid.  There, resting in a bed of pink tissue paper was a silver
ornamental jewelry box and a small pink calling card.  It read:

A
less conventional gift for a less conventional woman
. 
See you tomorrow for brunch.  Will pick you up at ten. Miles.

It
was his sweeping handwriting.  Maribel recognized it immediately.  It matched
the confidence and flare of his signature on the credit card receipt.  Her hands
suddenly trembled as she creaked open the hinges of the ornamental case.  The
ruby pendant necklace glinted up at her with the flare of fire and ice. 
Maribel swept up the necklace into her hands and rushed in front of  her
bathroom mirror.  She searched for how to undo its clasp before draping it
around her neck.  The diagonal crack in her mirror disjointed the reflection of
Maribel’s neckline, but still, she could see the full view of the ruby pendant and
feel the weight of its eminence resting against her bare skin.

Oh
my god, oh my god, oh my god. 
Maribel could barely
breathe.  She had wanted the necklace—more than she cared to admit it.  The
commission was certainly nice, and for that reason alone, she resisted the urge
to yearn for more.  But while packaging up the gift for Miles Braxton-Worth,
she had felt a deep, uncontrollable pang of envy for the mysterious woman who
was special enough in his eyes to receive it.  Without truly knowing why,
Maribel suddenly had wished to be
that
woman.  During the train ride
home, she had fantasized that there had been more to their connection than just
superficial attraction, and she yearned to believe that he felt it, too.  Now,
it was no longer a hopeful fantasy; it was a certainty—Miles Braxton-Worth had
noticed her; he had believed that she was someone special; and he had bought
her the most expensive necklace in the jewelry case—just to prove it.