RULES OF LOVE (A Navy SEALs Romance) (30 page)

Okay, that sounded dumb. Real Sara Nolles? When did I become the fake Sara? Maybe if I dialed again and just said that I got an invitation by error and wanted to get a return address? That sounded more reasonable and more adult.

I picked up the phone again and punched the number for the millionth time. What if he picked up? Was I ready to talk to him? Rich men frightened me. Maybe all that money and fame rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn't going to call him. I'll just drop by one of their offices on Monday and drop off the card with a note. I could ask him to have someone call me to arrange to pick up the necklace so I made sure it got back to him. I couldn't imagine how expensive the necklace was and how much trouble I could be in if I lost it.

With my decision firmly made, I got out of bed and put on some shorts and a tee. It was still early enough to go for another walk or even run a mile or two. As I laced my sneakers, strapped on my running watch, and cranked up the music on my headphones, I knew I had made a good decision regarding the party.

When I returned from my run, three miles and thirty minutes later, Amy was sitting in my apartment. I swear the way she showed up at my apartment as she pleased, it's hard to imagine she didn't live there.

"Running away from home?" I asked as I opened my door and found her sprawled on my bed flipping through the latest copy of
Fashionette
magazine. "Blueberry pancakes," I murmured as the familiar smell of her delicious pancakes hit my nose. Amy was the cook between the two of us. I always opted for carry-out and didn't think twice about ordering food for every meal. 

"Vanilla blueberry pancakes," she corrected. "You didn't have any sausage or bacon."

"Maybe because I hardly cook," I pointed out. “And maybe because I’m not a big meat person.”

"Maybe you should cook once in a while," she said as she got out of the bed and walked to the tiny kitchen. “And maybe you should buy sausage.”

"Amy, you know I can cook very well. I just choose not to cook,” I reminded her, slightly irritated, which was useless because it really never bothered Amy when I got mad at her.

"Sure you can cook. When was the last time you cooked? Fifth grade?" 

"Third maybe," I said, laughing. "I'll take a quick shower and be right out."

"Hurry up so the food doesn't get too cold!” she yelled as I disappeared in the shower.

"Yes, ma'am!" I called as I closed the bathroom door. In less than ten minutes, I was dressed in sweats and sitting with Amy. 

"So why are you here so early?" I asked between forkfuls of food. 

"We're going shopping," Amy said dryly.

"For what?" I asked. I was really short of money and shopping was not on my list of things to do. “I don’t need anything at the mall right now.”

"What do you mean?” she asked, slightly irritated. “Of course you need to go to the mall.”

“What do I need at the mall?” I asked.

“Your ball gown, idiot! The party is a week away and you have nothing to wear."

"Oh, a dress. Amy, you know I can't go. You know it doesn't make sense. It's sort of crazy and…” But even as I protested, I knew I was fighting a losing battle.

First off, I really did want to go to the ball. I wanted to see how the rich folks lived. And secondly, it had crossed my mind that Mr. Rich may be there. A guy who wore expensive watches, rode in limos, and dropped five hundred dollar tips certainly had to be on the guest list. Even though I hated to admit it, I was curious about him. I wanted to know his name or at least get to know him just a tad bit more.

"We're leaving in ten minutes. My treat. I already arranged for a personal shopper to help us,” Amy said, cutting into my thoughts.

Amy was very good at persuasion, which was why she was taking the LSATs in preparation for law school. I wondered how much more deadly she might get when she actually became a real lawyer.

"But you know I can't afford that with what I earn, even with tips." For a second, I was tempted to tell Amy about Mr. Rich, but she was already doing enough damage to me by coercing me to go to the ball. If she knew about him, she would make me hook up with him after a lesson on how rich men love me and how I would fit in nicely with the elite.

"I told you it was on me. Your food is getting cold." She pointed to the fork that held a piece of pancake that had been making its way to my mouth for over five minutes. “You will go to that ball and you will look fabulous.”

I sighed as I put the pancake in my mouth. Sometimes I truly hated Amy!

NICK

Nick stretched and grabbed his phone, which had been lying next to him. He hadn't heard the phone go off while deep in sleep. Some days, he slept so deeply even an earthquake wouldn't wake him up, a by-product of being overworked most days, which is why he played hard when he wasn’t working hard. But being rich required more than just giving instructions to his staff; he had to be hands-on, which required his time and energy.

His phone was beeping with a missed call. He clicked on the missed call and instantly recognized the number. He had started to dial that number several times but had hesitated, knowing a call would blow his cover. If he called her back, it would be hard to pretend he hadn’t met her. Even though he wanted to get her to the ball, he had to be careful so he didn’t lie to her. Besides, there was something to be said about getting a girl to give him her number herself. It was all part of winning at the wooing game. If he called girls without their permission, the game would be lost. And he never lost.

He looked at her number flashing on his phone screen again and fought the urge to dial her digits. He wasn’t going to call her and that was final.

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out the file he had on her. Some would call him a stalker, a pervert, but in his world where money ruled, he was simply researching someone he was interested in. He opened the file for the millionth time since receiving it from his private investigator and pulled out a picture of her. Her curvy body made him want to know a little bit more about her. That was how he had felt the first time he’d seen her, and that was how he felt now. His private investigator had been quick to scope her out and sent him every bit of information under the sun about her. He re-read a couple of the pages on her –excellent SAT scores, class valedictorian in college, finance grad school student– yes, she was intelligent and sexy with a smart mouth. His type of woman.

He pulled out his phone again and checked his messages, but she apparently hadn’t left one for him. He knew what she wanted to talk about. She obviously had no idea who he was and being invited to an exclusive ball, to her, must have seemed like an error. He guessed she was probably going to refuse the invitation and would most likely return the necklace. But he didn't want that. He wanted her to come. And he wanted to make her comfortable, hence his hesitation in sending a dress to wear for the event like he normally would for his female guest. He could pretty much guess her size, but that could freak her out.

He had already made the mistake of personalizing the invitation card and the gift box card, which was most likely freaking her out. He couldn't risk a situation where she became so uncomfortable she simply did not show up. He truly wanted to be in her presence again, but within his own controlled environment. It was much easier to make a woman his when he was in control.

He flipped through the pages of the file and another picture of her fell to the floor. He picked it up. It was his favorite. She had been out on a morning run. He could see her curves - her breasts held tightly but spilling from within what he assumed was her sports bra, and her firm ass rounded against the shorts she wore. Her legs caught in the running motion seemed all muscle. She was wearing an arm band and had ear phones on. She seemed oblivious to the world - so innocent and pure.

He continued flipping through the file, a little slower than he did the files of the people who worked directly under him. Damn, she had applied for a job in his company a few years ago, but his staff had been assholes and declined application for employment. If he weren't being subtle, he would have fired the employee who hadn’t given her a chance to be an asset to his company. He flipped through a couple more pages. Nothing in there was new to him; he had perused it a few hundred times. But one thing that unsettled him was that she had spent eight weeks as an intern with his company and he had never set eyes on her. He had been gallivanting around Europe with his girlfriend, Amanda, who had readily left him when she found someone a tad bit richer than him.

He looked at his phone again, debating whether to call her back. He wasn't really sure what to say to her. If he spoke to her, he would be forced to answer questions that could clue her in to who he was. He decided the best thing to do was ignore any calls she made to that number, letting them all go to the voicemail. Giving her the number was already a mistake he regretted, but if he hadn't put a number on the invitation she might not have taken the invitation seriously. He sighed, got up from his bed, and walked to the window.

Acres of green, lush land lay in front of him. He wasn’t sure how many acres of land he truly owned. He had simply purchased all the land around where he wanted to build his home and erected what some would call an expensive house on it. He had a tennis court, a swimming pool, a golf course, but most importantly, acres of forest. He needed the wooded land for those moments when he wanted to be with nature but couldn't get away to his private island. During those times, he normally gave most of his staff the day off, and locked down his property. The beauty of having money is that he could do whatever he pleased, and when he needed privacy, he could have his whole estate to himself, and maybe in Sara’s company, if he played his cards right.

Today, though, the peace surrounding him was not as tranquil as usual. To be honest, since he’d met Sara, he woke up every day with a feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on. This day was no different. In fact, the feeling had been getting worse since he’d sent that invitation to her. He had personally written and mailed it to make sure it didn't get lost. He couldn't even remember the last time he wrote something by hand. Normally, his personal assistant took care of things like that – things like responding to his girlfriends’ emails, or sending gifts, flowers, and cards. He gave his secretary a budget, and she'd pick out the gifts and send them to the women. He trusted her judgment and the women always seemed to like their gifts, so it was a win-win for everyone.

Nick paced his room for a few minutes, fighting the urge to call Sara and confess. On days like this he wanted to lock down his property for utmost privacy, but he couldn't because his younger sister, Zia, who worked with him, would arrive at any moment to go over the final plans for the ball.

SARA

I unwillingly followed Amy as she stopped in every dress store in the mall. Three hours into our shopping experience, and I had yet to find something that looked like what I would wear to an exclusive ball. Or rather, most of what I would want to wear was super expensive, and the cheaper dresses just looked plain cheap after looking at the expensive dresses. Amy was more than eager to whip out her credit card to pay for any dress I wanted since I planned to spend my tip money on rent, but I couldn’t let her spend so much on me. I pretended I didn’t care for the really nice dresses.

“Heck, Sara. I didn’t know you were this hard to please!” Amy complained as she sat on a bench in the food court of the mall. “I’m exhausted.”

“I haven’t seen anything we can afford…I mean, I like,” I told her as I sat next to her.

“Sara, I know you well. You are never picky about anything. Why now?” she sighed, her exhaustion in her voice.

I started to tell her the truth but thought better of it. How could I tell her that I had spent the last few nights dreaming about the billionaire I met at the deli, getting hot and bothered by thoughts of him and what I could do to him if we ever got together? How could I tell her that I was planning a future with a man I didn’t know instead of researching Nick Saunders to find out more about him before showing up at his ball?

“Can you please find a dress you like so we can look for shoes?” Amy begged.

“I’m trying. But I want to look really nice,” I whined. “And it has to be at a reasonable price.”

“By nice you mean sexy?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” I said. “Doesn’t really have to be sexy, but sexy would be nice.”

“I knew it! You do want to meet Nick Saunders! You slut.”

“Shh…keep your voice down, Amy,” I said as I spied a woman with three kids walking quickly past us. “People can hear you and it’s not like he’s a nobody.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“I bet you do,” I smiled at Amy.

“So do you want to see his picture?” she volunteered as she pulled out her phone and started surfing the web.

“That is not a good idea,” I said. What I wanted to say was that I was terrified to see what he looked like. The likelihood that I would back out of the ball was higher if I saw Nick Saunders. I could imagine him all high and mighty with intimidating eyes. I was not going to go through with the stupid plan of gatecrashing a party if I saw what he looked like.