The Bad Boy Billionaire's Girl Gone Wild (6 page)

Hey Jane,

Would love to take you out to dinner to celebrate your new book. Saturday night in the city?

Sam (Or should I sign this Benedict?)

Chapter Six

258 West 15th Street

S
ATURDAY NIGHT FOUND
me stumbling around my tiny bedroom wearing one shoe and a grey silk dress unzipped in the back. I was searching for my other black satin heel.

“Ow!” I stubbed my toe on the foot of my bed.

The shoe was still at large when I spied the earrings I meant to wear. Then I realized they didn’t go with the dress, so I took it off and chucked it overhead. It landed on my laptop, which I had left open on my bed, a Word document of the new manuscript I was working on was open on the screen.

Wallflower Gone Wild

By Jane Sparks

“It so happens that there are worse fates than remaining unwed for Lady Penelope’s ball,” Olivia declared. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror she saw that her eyes were bright with anger and her cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed.

Emma (once a wallflower and now a duchess) and Prudence (still London’s Least Likely to Be Caught in a Compromising Position) fell silent, sipped their tea and considered the possibilities of what could possibly be worse than the worst thing in the world.

This novel was about a good girl who realizes she has to break all the rules if she wants to find true love. Her scandalous antics were causing problems for her hero, who was busy building a new, revolutionary machine. Eventually I would write my way to happily ever after, but for now it was all about a girl finally allowing herself to follow her heart, to hell with the rules or what anyone thought.

I pulled my black jersey dress off the hanger and slipped it overhead. The fabric clung to my curves and the ruching along the sides and under the bust emphasized them. The skirt hit just above the knee, the neckline was low.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and picked up the other dress from where it was draped across my laptop. I glanced over and caught a line I had written the other day:

“I have been the perfect lady,” Olivia said slowly, stating the obvious. “We were led to believe that ladylike behavior would be rewarded with good husbands and happily ever after. We were gravely misled.”

I knew I’d made the right choice with Duke. I couldn’t just be his back-up girl or secret lover, and I couldn’t stop living my life so he could live his. That wasn’t fair, or equal, or the kind of love I wanted. And while I couldn’t get him out of my head, and I still craved his body, I knew just the sex wasn’t enough. I wanted true love. The kind of love that makes each person stronger. The kind of love where you can grow together instead of grow apart.

Duke needed me to be a girl I no longer was.

Whereas Sam . . . . I had a date with Sam. And he seemed to like the new me.

I was just putting my phone, wallet, lip gloss and keys into my vintage black sateen clutch when Roxanna knocked on the door and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Do you need me to call with a dire emergency that requires your immediate assistance?”

I laughed and said, “No. I’ll be fine.”

“He’s going to ask you a ton of awkward questions about your book.”

“At which point I will faint so as to avoid answering. Obvs.”

“Is that what you’re wearing?” She eyed me up and down, from the heels, to the dress, to my hair pulled back in a messy bun.

“Was planning on it, why?” I glanced in the mirror—I looked hot. But not like I was trying too hard. Or so I thought.

“It just says ‘ravish me.’ Are you sure that’s the message you want to send to him?”

“Yes.” I exhaled. “I don’t know if I want to follow through, but I want the option.” Was that wrong, I wondered? But then how could it be wrong for a girl to have choices?

“But what about Duke?”

“What about him?”

“He’s still into you.”

“Maybe. But not enough. I think he’s mainly interested in a girl on the side while he works 24/7.”

“You would get something out of it, too. Orgasms.” I blushed. Roxanna continued. “And I bet he’ll provide lots of material for a new book.”

“It’s fiction, not autobiography.” Yet I was shamelessly drawing from my real life experience now. Something a girl just couldn’t make up.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Roxanna said. “Where is Sam taking you for dinner?”

“Balthazar.”

“Interesting choice,” Roxanna remarked, with a mildly approving nod of her head. “Classic New York, but now mainly the domain of out-of-towners and the unimaginative. However, dinner at Balthazar is not just a casual night out.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything you said after ‘classic New York.’”

Balthazar

“A
ND THEN REMEMBER
how we caught her spying on us when she nearly fell out of her window?” Sam and I both burst out laughing at the memory of our crotchety and meddlesome old neighbor, Mrs. Baldwin.

“I used to take such care to keep the curtains closed, but now in New York, I don’t even bother. I’ve seen my neighbors and I’m sure they’ve seen me,” I said. We were halfway through our
plateau de fruit de mer
and having a really lovely time when I got a text message. I felt my phone vibrate in my clutch, which I kept on my lap.

Duke Austen:
How is your date going?

I didn’t need to ask how he knew I was on a date—I had checked in on Foursquare out of habit. But I might have, perhaps on purpose, tweeted about my dinner companion.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied. “Just a quick question from Roxanna.” I quickly typed “fabulous!!!!!” and slipped the phone back in my purse.

“I had an interview at NYU today,” Sam said. My heart sort of stopped, not just by what he said, but by the question, warmth and hesitancy in his brown eyes. This wasn’t about NYU or his career prospects at all.

“Really? How did it go?” I took a sip of my cocktail.

“Good. Really good,” he said, smiling. God, he looked handsome when he smiled like that. “I hit it off with the dean, and I have another batch of interviews with other faculty members tomorrow.”

“Are you interviewing any other places?”

“A few. UC Berkeley wants me to come out for a meeting.”

“California?” “But that’s so far!”

Once again, I was faced with the prospect of losing Sam. If he moved to California we would almost never see each other. He’d no longer be just an hour’s drive outside of the city—or just a few blocks away in the village, if he landed the NYU job. Just when I thought I had recovered from losing him, and just when I thought we might have a chance again.

“I know it’s far,” Sam said, “But it’ll be a big opportunity if I get it. And it’ll be a fresh start.”

“What about Kate? How will she feel about you moving across the country?”

“We’re not that serious, Jane.” Sam took my hand in his. I lost myself in his warm brown eyes. My gaze drifted down to his mouth. My memories of his kiss were hazy—and I thought I would never forget. I wondered what it’d be like to kiss him again. Would it be like old times, or new and wonderful and thrilling? I noticed Sam’s eyes drop to my lips, which curved up into a coy smile when I realized we were probably thinking the same thing.

My phone vibrated again, jolting me out of this moment with Sam. When Sam ordered more drinks from the waiter, I took the opportunity to check.

It was a Snapchat from Duke. He was smiling that roguish grin of his. Also, he was shirtless. Also he had written, “Miss Me?” over the picture of his bare chest.

I nearly spit out the last sip of my cocktail.

“Excuse me,” I murmured.

“What is it?”

“Boy drama,” I answered. “Roxanna’s boy drama.” I put my phone back in my purse and set it on the floor so I wouldn’t feel the vibration of another new message. It was so loud in the restaurant there was no way I’d hear it.

But as I sipped my wine and picked at my salad, I realized I couldn’t quite forget it. I kept thinking about that picture of Duke and my mouth went dry. If I were so inclined, I could walk over to his place after dinner and have a night of multiple orgasms and outrageous pleasure. But I was nobody’s girl on the side, and Sam was here, and he was my great love, and the night was ripe with possibilities.

“How did you and Roxanna meet anyway? I don’t think I got the story.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all night, Jane,” Sam said in a low voice. “How about you?”

I started telling the story.

“I had been searching for apartments with a broker, but anything that wasn’t an absolute hovel was too far out of my price range. One day my broker got so frustrated with me that he said I should just look on Craigslist already.”

“You? Meeting a stranger on Craigslist?”

“I know. But I was desperate and Roxanna had posted a really funny ad. The place was small, but clean. And she and I hit it off right away, even though we’re a bit of an odd couple.”

Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe how you’ve changed, Jane. But it’s like you’ve blossomed or something. I’m afraid—”

“What?”

“What if I was holding you back all those years?”

Our entrees arrived just then, sparing me from having to reply. I’d never thought of us like that. After he left, I assumed I was a dead weight he had cast off. But if Sam had proposed that night instead of breaking up with me, we wouldn’t be here. He’d been working at Montclair and I’d be back in Milford, planning a wedding and when I’d get pregnant. Romance novels would be books stashed under my bed, not books I wrote and published.

After dinner, I slipped off to the ladies room. As I waited in line in the darkened vestibule outside the restrooms, I gave in and checked my phone.

There was another Snapchat from Duke. I opened it up only to see a picture of him, without his shirt. This time he gave the camera the sort of smoldering look that made girls swoon. Over the picture he wrote: I miss you.

I gazed at it for five, four, three, two, one seconds before it was gone.

I texted him back.

Jane Sparks:
You tease.

Duke Austen:
What are you wearing?

I awkwardly took a selfie with Snapchat and added some text: “See Jane Date.” I gave him just five seconds to look at it and just a few seconds after that I got a reply.

Duke Austen:
You look hot in that dress. But you’ll look hotter in my bed with that dress on the floor.

Jane Sparks:
I’m on a date. With someone else.

Duke Austen:
So come over after.

He was persistent, that rogue. He knew what he wanted and he pursued it. And I knew if I went over there I’d have a night like no other. With shaky hands, I typed my reply.

Jane Sparks:
We’ll see.

Duke Austen:
Let’s see if I can tempt you.

Another Snapchat came through, but I tucked my phone in my bag without looking at it. OK, then I took my phone out and looked. I mean, really. Another pic of Duke that made me all hot and bothered. And then, in six seconds it was gone.

“Is everything alright?” Sam asked when I returned to the table.

“Of course! Why?”

“You’re flushed.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said with an awkward laugh. It was the Ashbrooke Effect or the Austen Effect or whatever you wanted to call it. My freaking phone pinged again. There was no way I was looking—Sam had ordered profiteroles for dessert and another round of drinks and I was here, with Sam
. Love of my life. Right?

But I was all too aware of another guy, waiting for me—if I wanted—just a few blocks uptown.

“I think if I get an offer from NYU I’ll take it,” Sam said.

“Oh, wow,” I replied. “It would be amazing if you did.”

We would get back together then. I just knew it. Then we would get married. We would have babies, lots of books and a couch from Pottery barn—none of which would fit in a Manhattan apartment, so we’d have to move to New Jersey.

Suddenly, my dream life wasn’t my dream life anymore.

“So we haven’t talked about your book yet,” Sam said. “I was up all night reading it, Jane. I couldn’t put it down.”

“I never thought you were the romance novel type.”

“I didn’t think I was either. But Jane . . . . It was good. But what really gripped me was the story of Emma and Benedict.”

Emma was my heroine. Benedict was the man she loved and expected to marry and who never quite came through. She would have done anything for him—she did do anything for him. And in the end?

He wasn’t who she wanted after all.

“It’s just fiction, Sam.” I tried to laugh it off. It was so cathartic to write it—talking about it with the man in question was not something I was prepared to do.

“I’m a professor of English Literature, Jane. Nothing is just fiction.”

Talking about my book with a character based on my ex-boyfriend who was a literature major was something I desperately wanted to avoid. There just wasn’t enough wine in the world for that.

“Listen to you, finally finding validity and literary merit in a bodice ripper. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t tell the faculty at the places you’re applying to.”

“Jane, I just felt so stuck on the same old path,” Sam said earnestly. “We’d been together so long, and had plans to be together forever. It just seemed like more of the same. But everything is different now. Except that I still want you, especially this new version of you. Jane 2.0. Maybe this break was what we both needed.”

It was everything I’d ever wanted to hear. I had hoped for this. Prayed for it. Faked an engagement with another guy in the hopes it would lead me around to this moment where Sam wanted me back. But all I could think about the text messages from Duke. He was so close I could walk to his place in heels.