Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (8 page)

Maribel
peered up at him. “You?” she whispered.  She had always believed that it was
her mother who had secured her the interview through her relationship with Mrs.
Strauss.  She knew her mom had met Mrs. Strauss at the clinic. She had heard Mrs.
Strauss was a life-long Marshall Fields sales clerk who was being forced to
retire due to her chronic illness. Her mother was so relieved when Maribel had
gotten the job.  Part-time work for teenagers usually included slaving behind a
fast food counter, not behind the upscale sales counters of Chicago’s most
beloved department store.  And it paid handsomely—a decent hourly wage plus
sales commission. They both knew with her mother’s savings plus Maribel’s new job
that Maribel would have a chance to make it through high school on her own,
even if her mother couldn’t be there to help her.

 “But
why?  You didn’t know me, and I was just an inexperienced high school student.”

Miles
laughed, as if she had stuck a chord.  “Because my aunt told me to do it.  It
was an easy favor, and my aunt knew it.  At the time, I was trading phone calls
with the CEO of Marshall Fields on a regular basis.  They were selling
themselves to a larger commercial department store chain, and I was brokering
the deal for them to turnover their lease agreement with me to their new commercial
buyers who wanted to remain tenants in the building.  And if there was one
thing, and one thing only, that was constant in my life—it was that you never
said ‘no’ to Phyllis Matilda Strauss.”

Maribel
watched the light shift in Miles’ eyes.  It was the softer, more sensitive side
that he had shown her the night before.

“I
owe my aunt everything.  She’s the one who kept me grounded when I made my
first millions, which quickly snowballed into billions. I was young at the
time—too young to really handle what was happening.  Without her, I would have been
totally consumed by my own narcissism and false sense of sophistication.  I
would have surrounded myself with sycophants who were willing to perpetuate the
myth that I was God—just because I had more money than 99.99% of the population
on earth and I wasn’t afraid to spend it.  But not Phyllis.  Phyllis made me
feel like the immature, inexperienced, twenty-something kid of privilege that I
was.  She saved me—and my soul.  In that way, you remind me of her.  I need
that again in my life.”

He
peered at her—a long, steady gaze that conveyed his private thoughts which
words could not.  There were no longer any barriers between them.  They were
simply two people, sitting at a kitchen table over coffee, contemplating the
circumstances of their mutual connection. 

“Thank
you,” Maribel finally said, finding her voice under a blanket of repressed
emotions.  She rarely spoke of her mother—or of those dark days when she knew
her mother wouldn’t make it and she knew she would be left alone to fend for
herself.  Her father had long since left them, and there was no friend or
relative who knew Maribel better than her own mother.  But now, for the first
time since those difficult years, Maribel didn’t feel completely alone.  With
only his soulful eyes and earnest confession, Miles made her feel like they
were united.  “I don’t know what else to say except—thank you…”

Miles
cut his hand through the air to stop her. “There’s nothing more to say. 
There’s only what not to say—and that’s not to apologize for not wearing the ruby
earrings because I understand.  I remember my aunt telling me all about those studded
cubic zirconia earrings, the ones Mrs. Martinez picked out for her daughter’s
high school graduation gift.  Phyllis was so impressed with how real they
looked.  It stuck in my mind—still sticks in my mind—because it was one of the
last conversations I had with my aunt before she passed.”

Maribel
lowered her eyes and picked at her chipped fingernails. “That was shortly after
I starting working at the department store. I remember that because I remember
how I never had the chance to properly meet your aunt—everyone knew Mrs.
Strauss so well and talked about her so often, especially to me since I was the
one who replaced her.”

“Yes,
and so, when I see you wearing those diamond studs, they remind me of her.  And
they remind me that there are still a few sacred things in life that cannot be
bought or replaced. So instead, when I was there at Tiffany’s the other night,
I made sure I had a Plan B.”

Miles
slid the new gift towards her. 

“Miles,
I can’t. This is all too much.”

 “Please…”
he petitioned her, as if her rejection was a personal rejection of him.  “At
least, open the box.  After all, it is still Valentine’s Day weekend,” he winked,
coaxing her to accept it. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Happy
Valentine’s Day
.  She never expected to receive anything
special this weekend, but it was the way that he wanted to please her that felt
like the most unexpected gift of them all. And deep down, Maribel was still
holding back her most vulnerable emotions—in case the fairytale suddenly ended at
the stroke of a tolling clock, and everything reverted back to the way it was
before Friday.

She
pulled the box towards her, untied the white satin ribbon, and lifted open its
lid.  She spotted the mint blue leather pouch, pursed shut.  Maribel drew it
open and slid out the slinky bracelet into her palm—its brilliant double row of
baguette diamonds flashed in the sunlight.

She
quickly stood up and handed it back.  “No, Miles, I can’t… absolutely not.”

“You
must,” he countered, anticipating her every word.   “Your other one is a cheap
knock-off, and you deserve to wear the real thing.”

He
unfastened the clasp and snaked the sparkling link bracelet around her wrist.  She
had seen the price tags of similar diamond bracelets in the windows of the high-end
luxury jewelers.  Almost always, they were mid-five figures or more. “It’s too
much,” she whispered, peering down at its elegance, the weight of its
authenticity pressing heavy on her wrist and heart. 

He
towed her body into his own and wrapped his arms around her waist, nudging her
for a kiss. “A priceless gift for a priceless woman.”

The
sincerity in his voice melted her into his embrace. His strong arms pulled her
forward, and tongued her with such passion that all her feelings of inadequacy dissolved
into burning sensations of desire.  She desired his touch, his tongue, his lips,
his hands—and his uncompromising insistence that she was worthy of more than
she believed was even possible for herself.  He swept his mouth down her neck,
kissing her supple skin and the tender muscle along her collar bone.  She
relaxed into his embrace and yearned for more, but abruptly, he pulled back
with a mischievous smirk.

“Brown
sugar?” He noted the taste in his mouth.

He
had caught a smudge of it along her shoulder where she had accidentally dabbled
the creamed butter and sugar from the mixer.  He placed his lips against her neck
and nibbled it again.  Maribel felt the grit of sugar and the warmth of his
breath against her skin.

Without
warning, Miles whisked her up into his arms and balanced her on the kitchen
countertop.  He reached into the mixer with his finger and streaked another gob
of creamed brown sugar along her neckline.  His lips devoured it, and she cried
out with laughter at the sensation of his mouth sucking the confection off her
skin.  He towed off her leotard shirt and surveyed her bare breasts.  She had
decided on no bra.  He dotted each nipple with more brown sugar, then plunged
lower with his mouth, drawing out a deep tingle between Maribel’s legs with every
wet flick of his tongue.  She ran her fingers through his hair and buried his
head deeper, encouraging each alternating lick and gluttonous suck.  The heavy
weight of the diamond tennis bracelet slipped up and down her wrist, and the
scratch of Miles’ sandpaper stubble brushed against her skin. 

“I
need you,” he exhaled with yearning, “God, I need you more than you know.”

He
grunted and moaned, and whisked her again into his arms with a whirl before
heaving her against the refrigerator, towing down her yoga pants and lace
panties with one swipe of his dominating hand.  His tongue lapped her with
penetrating kisses while he cupped her public bone and fingered her slit.  Maribel
opened her mouth with a silent gasp.  It was so different than anything she had
ever felt—so acute and intense—that her instinct was to fight it.  But the
force of his strength overwhelmed her.  He took her knee into the crux of his
arm and pinned her bare backside against the cool surface of the refrigerator. 

She
wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he tugged down his athletic pants.  They
both heaved in unison with the first penetration—a mutual release of physical tension
and repressed emotions, signaling that something had changed between them.  She
dug her fingernails into his shoulders, enduring the seething burn of his hard
erection.  He exhaled against her neck and groped her bare backside, then
thrust himself into her a second time—a long heavy plunge that threatened to suffocate
her with his desperate need to consume her.  He covered her mouth with his own and
tongued her with fury.  Between each lapping kiss, they breached for breath,
and accepted the surrender of the other.  Miles pinned Maribel’s back and
backside harder against the refrigerator, lunging himself inside her, building her
up with pulsating waves that no one had ever made her feel—not even herself. 

Miles
pressed up her knees, spread her wider, and jolted himself deeper. 
God,
yesssssssssssssssssssssssss,
she heaved.
 
Maribel was going to
climax, her mind acknowledged her desire to release her every inhibition, but
her body tried hard to deny it. 

“
Pleeeeeeeeeease…
”
Maribel begged—a plea for Miles to liberate the rippling vibrations within her. 
Suddenly, she felt his determined fingers thumbing her clit and massaging her with
forceful strokes while he accelerated his pace.  She quaked and cried out,
unable to control a primal scream that swelled within her.  He secured her body,
steady, and surged simultaneously as she climaxed—a combustion of euphoria that
flushed across her skin and through her head.  Then, it was over as quickly as
it began.  She relaxed as everything faded to black and settled her limp weight
into Miles’ arms, relinquishing every part of her heart and soul to him.

He
kissed her with affection and peered into her eyes.  Nothing needed to be said,
and yet, everything was conveyed through the intimacy of their embrace.  He
lowered her fully onto the floor and helped her gather up her yoga pants and
panties while he gathered up his own pants.  It had been an unexpected release
of nostalgia and emotion, attraction and desire, and now, they both smiled,
fingertips clinging to each other, wondering what more the other would offer. 

Maribel’s
eyes drifted onto the wall clock.  She was the first to pull away.

“Oh
my God,  it’s almost one o’clock?”

Miles
laughed, securing her hand.  “You slept in this morning, Sleeping Beauty.  You
didn’t know?”

“No,”
Maribel fretted, “I thought it was still early.  I have to be at work in
fifteen minutes.  It takes me forty minutes to get there by ‘L’.  Twenty—even
if I called a cab.  I can’t be late.  Thomas, my manager, will kill me.  I’m
the only one who is trusted with keys to the jewelry cases.  When I’m not
there, Thomas has to fill in for me.  I can’t be late, I can’t be late…”

Maribel
pulled away from Miles and haphazardly gathered up fresh clothes and her coat,
unable to compose herself in order to think about what she really needed to do,
and the best way to do it—fast.

“Stop,”
Miles seized her hand again.

“No,
Miles…I can’t… you don’t understand,” she flashed a glare at him, and he
acknowledged it.

“Maribel,
stop—” He glared back and commanded her with firm restraint.  His voice ebbed
lower with calm direction. “My car is outside.  I texted my drivers an hour ago
to drop it off here for me.  I’ll get you there in ten minutes.”

She
peered back at him, annoyed with his nonchalance.

“Okay,
fifteen minutes—max,” he corrected himself.

“How?”
she challenged him, skeptical.

“Speed.”

Chapter Seven

Maribel
flew down Lake Shore Drive in Miles’s red Ferrari, accelerating as fast and
furious as a bullet—a straight shot down the highway lane. The race car whirled
low against the pavement, and cut around the North Beach curve with precision. 
The rushing wind was only a whisper and the Ferrari’s revving engine was only a
muted buzz.  Maribel glanced up at all the skyscrapers dominating the skyline,
whizzing by her in a blur. 
80, 90, 100, 110
… Maribel tried hard not to
look at the speedometer.  It was measuring in kilometers, and she truly had no
idea how how fast they were traveling—and she preferred not to know.  She glanced
over at Miles who shifted into fifth gear and hurled them towards downtown.  He
was completely focused and confident in his ability to blaze past every car on
the highway, and the Ferrari’s tinted windows and smoky leather seats made her
feel like an heiress, entitled to speed above the legal limit because of their
eminence.

Her
fantasy of superiority quickly faded when Miles peeled up to the department
store and killed its engine.  She was fifteen minutes late—no one was going to
bow down to her for that.  She gathered up her purse, dress shoes, and coat,
and rushed to push open the car door.

“Don’t—”
Miles caught her hand, “don’t leave like this.”

She
was frazzled and he saw it.  His strong hand calmed her with reassurance.

“I
want to see you again tonight—spend the night with me.  After work.”

“Miles,
I can’t. I don’t have any of my things.”

“We’ll
buy you new ones.”

Maribel
rolled her eyes.  He had answers for everything.

“Please…”
he tipped back against the head rest, and pleaded with desperate eyes.  She
felt the sting between her legs and the warmth of his strong hand.  She
acknowledged her own desire to spend the night with him again, but she wasn’t
certain if she was ready to commit to spending the night with him—in his own bed.

 “Don’t
worry.  I’ll buy some rosebud sheets.  You’ll feel right at home.”

It
was as if he could read her mind.  Maribel smiled. “We can talk about it later.
I have to go now…” but she did not pull away from him; instead, he drew himself
across the stick shift and stole a kiss from her, like he was stealing away her
heart.

“I
finish tonight at nine,” she heard herself say before dashing out of the car
and through the revolving doors of the department store.  She looked back—to
check if anyone she knew had seen her exiting his red Ferrari—but there was no
one.  She shuttled across the Grand Lobby and towards the fine jewelry counter,
where she saw Thomas, waiting for her.

“Youuuuuuuuuuuu’re
laaaaaaaaaaaate,” he sang out, like he was greeting her with praise.

“I
know, I know, I am so sorry” Maribel removed her coat and scarf, and traded her
snow boots for her dress shoes.  She stuffed her belongings under the register’s
cabinet. 

“I
tried to have Crystal fill in for you, but then she asked me what the
difference was between regular gold and white gold, and if white gold was
painted white—and that’s when I said to myself, ‘Hello…Houston…?  We have a
problem.’”

Maribel
smoothed down her skirt and presented herself to Thomas; she was ready for the
day.  “I am really sorry.  But don’t worry.  I’m here and it won’t happen
again.”

“It’s
okay.  I clocked you in ten minutes ago ’cause I knew you’d be here.  And I
won’t write you up, even though you completely dissed me by not coming to my
Valentine’s Day party…. holy crazy hell, that’s some bling, bling you got
there.”

Thomas’s
eyes fell immediately onto Maribel’s tennis bracelet.

“It
was a gift,” she quickly explained, sweeping her long black hair across her
shoulder to cover her ruby pendant necklace.

“From
who?  George Clooney?”

Maribel
rolled her eyes. “To myself.”

Thomas
eyed it again. “Damn, that’s one fine knock-off, girlfriend. Don’t go spreading
the origins of
that
around.  That kind of fake ice can put us out of
business.”

Maribel
covered her wrist.  Thomas knew fine jewelry—possibly even better than she—and
wearing the bracelet was an oversight that she suddenly regretted.

“So,
what did you do with your day off?  I want to know since you avoided me like
the Paparazzi,” Thomas dropped his voice and peered over Maribel’s shoulder, “Holy
sugar snaps, don’t look now, but we’ve got a seriously drool-worthy customer,
coming right towards us.”

Maribel
followed Thomas’ gaze and saw Miles, striding up to the counter.  He was still
wearing his marathon training shirt and matching athletic pants, but his tall
dominating form and confident gait was impossible to miss.

“Hello,
Mr. Braxton-Worth, so nice to see you here.  Welcome to our store.  Can I help
you with anything?”

“No,
thank you,” he said, his eyes settling onto Maribel.  “Just browsing.”

“Of
course, of course.  Well, we’re always happy to help.  Just let us know.”

“Actually,
I think I would like to purchase something…” Miles suddenly said, his gaze
peering down into the jewelry cases. “I’d like to take a look at your women’s luxury
watches?  I have a friend who has a hard time keeping track of time.  She’s
supposed to come to my place for dinner tonight, but she wasn’t sure if she
could get there before…ten?  I thought maybe I’d buy her something—to help with
her punctuality.”

No…
Maribel
protested with her eyes.  Miles smiled back with his own.  He had absolutely no
intention of stopping.

“Of
course, of course,” Thomas glided over to the appropriate case, keyed open the
door, and lifted out several designer watches with leather bracelets and
rose-gold face plates.

“This
one,” Miles said, ignoring Thomas’ suggestions and tapping the glass to
punctuate the most expensive watch in the case.

 “Perfect
choice, Mr. Braxton-Worth.  Clearly, you have spectacular taste.”  Thomas
pulled out the platinum bracelet watch and rested it on the countertop like a
fragile museum relic. “Delicate round mother-of-pearl face with scratch resistant
sapphire crystal, double row of diamonds framing its border, and diamond dot
accents for each numeral,” Thomas recited the sales pitch like a programmed
robot. “Swiss two-hand quartz movement, and last but not least, diamonds detailing
every other link along the watchband.”

“I’d
like to see it on,”

No
…
Maribel mouthed to him.  Miles ignored her.

“Just
to be sure,” he insisted.

“Of
course,” Thomas acquiesced and turned to Maribel, draping it around her bare
wrist without her consent.  She felt the sleek texture of smooth platinum glide
around her arm, and its glistening diamonds caught the light in Miles’ eyes.

“Perfect,
I’ll take it.”

“Perfect,”
Thomas sang out and turned towards Maribel.

Oh
my God
,
oh my God
, he mouthed to her.  Thomas
wasn’t used to making a five-figure sale in less than a minute.  But if there
was one thing consistent about Miles Braxton-Worth, it was his taste for
luxury.

“Maribel
will ring it right up for you,” Thomas said, sweeping Maribel towards the
register.

“Please
charge it to my rolling account.”

“Of
course,” Thomas replied, all smiles.

Maribel
paused.  “I’ve never charged a rolling account before,” she whispered,
uncertain.

 “Box
and bag,” he directed Maribel, “I’ll do the rest.” Thomas dialed in the proper
key code into the register.  Then, he whisked back to the counter with the
receipt and handed off the purchase. “Here you are, Mr. Braxton-Worth.  She
must be one very special woman.”

Miles’
hand swept his bold signature across the receipt, his eyes falling upon
Maribel.

“She
is one incredibly special woman.  Someone who I have had the pleasure of
watching for years, but only recently have been given the opportunity to get to
know better.  And the way she makes me feel—the way I feel when I look into her
eyes—is more priceless to me than any piece of jewelry that I could possibly
buy for her.”

Maribel
stared at him.  The intensity of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice made
her feel like they were alone again—just the two of them—indulging in a
connection that neither one of them truly understood, and yet, they knew they
couldn’t deny.

“Well,
pah….leeeeease
let us know if we can be of further assistance.”

“I
certainly will, Thomas,” Miles nodded, noting his nametag.  Thomas and Maribel
watched him stride away towards the revolving doors and exited without glancing
back.

“Oh
my God, we are splitting that commission, girlfriend!” Thomas cried out,
fanning himself with the receipt, as if he might faint.

 “I’ve
never charged a purchase to a rolling account before.”

“It’s
a privilege reserved for only our most exclusive customers,” Thomas clarified. He
handed off the receipt to Maribel and circled out from the counter. “
Phew
…after
that, I’m not sure I can just settle for selling cashmere scarves.”

Thomas
whisked himself away towards the accessory department and shouted out across
the Grand Lobby. “Roberta, Roberta…you are
never
going to believe who I
just sold a luxury women’s watch to…”

Maribel
looked down at the receipt.  She recognized Miles’ handwriting below his
familiar signature. 
Miss you already.
Will meet you for your lunch
break.  See you soon
.

Maribel
smiled.  Not only was he impossibly handsome, seductive, sensitive and
sentimental; he was also impossibly determined—determined to have her, all to
himself.