Romance: Two Nights with the Billionaire (2 page)

Chapter 3

“What do you mean you’re not coming home tonight?” I hate the slight whine that’s been inching into my tone these last few weeks.

“I’m sorry, Jennifer,” Joshua says, sounding distracted.

“You have to come. We haven’t done anything together for so long and I was looking forward to actually spending some time with you.”

“We spend lots of time together, Jennifer,” he defends himself. “But I lead a busy life. Work is crazy at the moment but the work will slow down soon.”

“I would like to see you when you have clothes on…” I mumble.

“You know I wanted to join you for that garden party tomorrow, but I’ll be out of town till Sunday.”

I have to grit back an angry retort. “Then I won’t go either. Maybe I could come join you?”

“It’ll be boring as hell for you here,” he says, and I have to clench my teeth when I hear a familiar deep female laugh somewhere in the background. “Besides, you have to go to the party. It’s Grace’s birthday.”

“But... Grace is your friend. They’re all your friends. I don’t really know any of these people. I’d feel awkward and alone without you there.”

“Oh come on, Jennifer,” he snaps. “You’re a big girl now. I’m sure you can handle a simple garden party without needing me to hold your hand. Introduce yourself to people and mingle with them. If you tell them that I’m your partner, they’ll have plenty of time for you.”

The laugh in the background sounds again and it stings almost as much as his words.

“I am a successful woman by myself,” I snap back.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

“The problem is that I don’t know these people, Joshua. And I don’t really like them either.”

“Come on, Jennifer. Be nice.”

“There is only so much talking about the latest polo match that I can take.”

“Then talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… talk about girl stuff, like shopping and jewelry.”

It makes me angry when Joshua reverts back to his sexist talk.

I have tried very hard to show Joshua that women are as powerful, smart, and business savvy as men. For the most part, he listens and learns.

But occasionally, he has a relapse.

“You wouldn’t know what to talk about because you don’t really know these people either.”

The other end of the line goes quiet.

It is true.

Joshua lost contact with most of his childhood friends as he was building his wealth. He replaced them by socializing in circles where business networking was more important than friendships. Most of his friends are wealthy business associates who were born into families with money.

“I have to go,” he says briskly and hangs up before I can say anything further.

What the hell?

How hard is it to understand that it’s uncomfortable for me to show up at a birthday party for Joshua’s friend, without Joshua?

It wasn’t that I didn’t know his friends very well – I barely knew them
at all
!

Because of his work schedule, we nearly never went out together and had maybe attended two or three of his friend’s parties in the two years we’d been together.

I put the phone down and grab my purse.

I was heading out to go dress shopping for tomorrow when he called so I continued out the door and down to the sports car he’d bought me for my birthday last year.

As I sit on the still new-smelling upholstery and adjust the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection.

I look tired.

My eyes have slight bags under them and my complexion is pale.

Even when I wasn’t looking washed out, I would never look glamorous like his friend Grace or his new secretary, Natasha.

Was that the reason why we never went out?

Maybe he just preferred to have Natasha on his arm.

She’s young, perky and fun – everything that you lose as the years tick past.

And everything I am jealous of now that I’m older.

Natasha travels with Joshua on most of his business travels and attends to every need… Well, I hope not
every
need.

I met Natasha after he first employed her… and I almost had to be restrained.

I’m sure that her natural state is flirty and cheeky, but she could have at least toned it down with Joshua when I was around. She adored him and he laughed with her.

The way I used to laugh with him…

She certainly looks the part of the billionaire’s girlfriend more than I ever would.

Chapter 4

An hour later I tentatively walk into the classiest boutique dress store in the city.

As I was driving I decided that I was being too hard on myself. I remembered that day I had my first interview with Joshua, but more importantly I remember how I felt looking in the mirror: like I was looking at a stranger.

Not only did I look totally glamorous that day, but I caught the eye and the full attention of Joshua.

I remember how he pursued me so passionately, every fiber of his being attuned to the task of acquiring first my body in his bed, then all of me in his life.

How can I possibly doubt how much I mean to him?

Maybe I’d just slipped from his radar for the moment. But this is my chance to prove not only to him, but also to myself, that I can be the woman he wants and needs at his side.

As I think that, I feel myself standing taller and I stride through the doors of the boutique.

My confidence is short-lived.

I’m immediately greeted by a sour-faced twenty-year-old. She doesn’t look much older than fifteen, though she must be older if she works here. Her voice certainly sounds older. Her short blond hair is cut in a stylish, slightly-longer-at-the-front style. Her makeup is immaculate, as are her sky blue painted nails.

“Good morning,” she says. No smile. “Can I help you?”

Sometimes I wonder if these exclusive boutiques want to actually sell anything. The owners are just so rich they don’t need to actually work, so they open a shop to allow them a place to be nasty and rude for the fun of it.

Not deterred, I smile brightly. “No, not just yet. I’m looking for a dress for a garden party, but I like to browse.”

“Hmm,” she says in reply.

She looks me up and down.

It’s not a quick once-over, or even the skilled inquiry of a professional. This is a slow dragging of her gaze, from my face down to my comfortable slip-on flats.

And then she frowns.

She actually frowns.

I have no idea how to respond to that so I smile even brighter till my cheeks hurt, and start moving amongst the spacious racks.

I can feel her at my back, her disapproval like a living thing picking at my clothes, my hair, and my shoes. Damn it, I should be used to this by now!

I pick out a black slight-weight dress covered in what looks like hibiscus blooms. I usually don’t like patterns or images on my clothes, but the flowers aren’t too big or small, and both clashed and complemented the black.

A low back and tastefully cut front and it looks like it might drop to about mid-thigh. It’s beautiful and perfect, and I told my
supervisor
so with a genuine smile.

“This is just what I was looking for,” I say without even looking at the price. Maybe that will impress her.

It doesn’t.

I tell her my size and she makes a sound that might be a stifled laugh. Now she smiles, but it’s not a nice smile.

It’s the kind of smile I remember all too well from high school.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding anything but. “We don’t have that size.”

Then she takes the dress and holds it up so I can see, as though she thinks I’m stupid and needs to demonstrate.

“This is the
largest
we have.” But still she holds it up as though somehow I might just want to try it on anyway.

It’s too small.

It’s clearly too small.

I’ve never been super skinny and nobody would ever call me willowy or even particularly graceful, but I’ve never considered myself big either. I have curves but I am not fat.

I am a woman.

I am a normal, natural woman with hips and breasts.

That’s what I want to shout at her.

But with the way she looks at me, her lips twisting as she gives me another slow once-over, I feel like a blimp.

I should say something.

I should demand to see a manager or make a comment about spending my money elsewhere. It’s not her fault that this shop only stocks clothes for skeletons and bobbleheads, but she doesn’t have to take so much glee in humiliating the normal-sized women among us.

But I don’t do anything.

I simply smile, turn, and walk out.

It’s not till I’m out on the street that my lower lip starts to tremble and I feel tears escaping from my stinging eyes.

Sucking in a sob, I quickly walk around the corner and out of sight of both the shop and other passersby. Still sniffling, I pull out my phone and call the one person I can count on.

Chapter 5

Twenty minutes and two triple-choc muffins later, Nicole walks into the coffee shop where she’s told me to wait.

I just needed to hear her voice - I didn’t expect her to drop everything and come running. But watching her walk through the doors, her blond hair glowing like a halo around her smiling face, is the best thing ever.

She looks a lot like the woman in the shop, actually. Immaculate hair and nails and makeup.

But where the shop girl had been cool and snooty and even a little nasty, Nicole smiles and it radiates warmth and love. Her wide eyes glow with honesty and kindness and – and life. This is the reason she’s so successful.

How could anyone not love her?

My earlier sadness drops away and I smile brightly, letting a little squeal as I jump to my feet to embrace her. She’s still wearing the same perfume.

It’s so familiar.

It smells like home.

“Hey girl,” she says as we take our seats at the table. “I did something totally naughty on my way here.”

Her wicked grin makes me laugh. “You didn’t have to drop everything just for me. I’m okay now.”

And it’s true.

“It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, at least face to face, but you’re still my best friend.” She waves to the waiter and orders two more coffees before continuing. “You call, I come running. You’d do the same for me.”

“Thank you for coming. It’s so good to see you.”

She takes my hand and gives me a squeeze. “So what do you want me to confess first? My naughty deed or my nasty deed?”

“Naughty?” I ask, tentative.

“I got that bitch fired. Called her boss, introduced myself and made it clear that I found her attitude and behavior abhorrent and told her boss that I could not possibly keep my thoughts to myself.” She laughs and we wait while the waiter serves our coffees. “The owner was so desperate, he practically begged me to let him fire her.”

My hand slaps over my mouth and I immediately feel guilty.

What if the girl needed that job?

What if she was a single mother or couldn’t pay her rent now?

“Oh no you don’t,” Nicole scolded me, seeing my thoughts like they’re written on my forehead. “People who need their jobs care about customer service.”

A well-dressed older lady at the table next to us coughs and throws us a disapproving look.

We both stifle a laugh and Nicole lowers her voice.

“She made you cry, Jen, and she did it because she’s mean. She will never learn how to be an actual human being until she learns how to behave like a decent person. Maybe in her next job she’ll put her inner bitch away at work and treat people with the respect they deserve.”

Nicole’s right, and I can’t help feeling a little thrill of delight at the nasty woman getting fired.

But it still makes me feel bad.

“What’s the nasty deed?” I ask, remembering what Nicole had said.

She grins even wider and takes a self-satisfied sip of her coffee. “I visited the boutique and would you believe it, the girl recognized me!”

“Oh…”

“That’s what she said!” she gushes in mock surprise. Nicole is one of New York’s leading high fashion models right now. “She said, ‘Oh my gosh! Nicole, it is such an honor to meet you. Blah, blah, blah.’” She makes her hands like a yapping mouth by her ear. “She hugged me so hard I thought my ribs might crack. So I smiled and then I held up my phone and put it on speaker.” She leans closer. “Her boss fired her, right there, in front of me and the security guard walked her out.”

My hand covers my mouth again and I know I should feel sorry for the girl, but another mad little giggle trickles out.

“So, are we going to go dress shopping or what?” She swallows the last of her coffee just as I do the same and we set out to find me a dress.

We spend the rest of the afternoon shopping and catching up.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive or smiled and laughed so much. With her help, I shop with confidence and find the perfect dress: a million times nicer than the one in the skeleton boutique.

It’s a gorgeous retro fifties-style with a wide skirt that drops to my knees and sleeveless bodice, cut square and showing just enough cleavage to remind everyone that I’m a woman. The dress is white and covered in shell-pink rose blooms, and the whole ensemble is finished with a wide, sheer sash of lush grass green.

Perfect.

And a size smaller than I thought I was.

We decide to keep the ball rolling and grab an early dinner before Nicole has to go. As we stroll, bags in hand, she throws me a concerned look.

“You’re thinner than you used to be.”

“I noticed,” I say, holding up my bag holding the dress.

“You know you’re not fat, right?” she says. “And you never were before either.”

“I know,” I reply and frown at the look of concern on her face. “I swear I haven’t stopped eating in the last few months. It’s the housekeeper.”

Nicole grimaces. “Is she a bad cook?”

“No! An awesome cook but mainly healthy stuff, lots of veggies and salads.”

We walk in silence for a bit before Nicole stops me and asks, “Jen, are you happy?”

“What?” I question in surprise.

“Are you happy?” she repeats. “I know you well, Jen. I know that look on your face. I mean, I know we can’t all be happy all the time, but are you happy generally, overall?”

I frown and it shocks me to realize that I don’t know how to answer.

Am I happy?

I think about the way I feel in Joshua’s arms, his mouth so urgent and passionate on mine, the pleasure he extends to every inch of my body when we’re making love.

I realize that those moments have been the only moments over the last few months when I’ve felt even close to happy.

Surely there must be more, I must be forgetting… something.

“Of course I’m happy,” I say in defense of my life, without really believing it.

Nicole nods to me. She doesn’t believe me.

“I’m an incredibly wealthy woman with more money than I would have even been able to imagine less than four years ago. I have a big house, a fast car, horses, endless clothes, and countless shoes. I can spend money all day and not have to worry about it.  I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Is that enough?” Nicole presses.

“It should be.”

“But is it?”

Damn it, Nicole.

What is with the questions?

“With all that I have, how could I not be happy?”