The Billion Dollar Sitter (6 page)

They were both self-made billionaires. They had fallen in love eleven years ago and married the next. Together, they pursued empire building, and put off having a child until just this last year. Even then, she continued being a driven business woman as she swelled with Ty. Tyson and Margaret? They were perfect for one another, with equal ambitions. Mirrors to one another outside appearance. One plane ride, though, snapped her away from Tyson.

Margaret fascinated me. For the simple fact that she and I look alike. Outside a shade of hair color, some makeup, and a billion dollars worth of preening - and maybe her being a bit bustier - I looked at myself fifteen years in the future.

Tyson didn't show his grief. He had to keep his stiff upper lip - crying wasn't acceptable for someone of his status. But not showing it didn't mean he had none. It boils over – and, well, I had suspicions that my resemblance may have set off something in him.

He saw his wife in me. But could he really expect me to replace her? I'm half her age. I didn't share her ambitions, her presence, and I probably didn't share her personality. Even something as simple as tastes in music - and definitely not tastes in food. On Tyson's desk in his study, there's a picture with her face deep smiling in a messy pile of ribs as she and Tyson blended in and went among the common people at a barbecue. By contrast, I'm a vegetarian.

I couldn't replace her. I just couldn't. I'm not Margaret - and I truly fear Tyson will soon cope with his grief, realize that, and note that I'm some horrible mistake made in an irrational mindset. That I may be carrying his child at that point simply complicated things.

It wasn't that I didn't want Tyson. And not just for the billions of dollars. He's handsome and charming, obviously, but he held a kindness and love that I wasn't going to get with just any man. Granted, I didn't have a lot of experience with boys, but I just know I wouldn't get that with some jerk from high school. Plus, the way he fucks me, oh my God, I'm not going to get that just anywhere. I know it.

I paced back into my room. In the corner was a quaint desk, a few hundred years old, but maintained so well that you'd barely be able to tell. I kept a thick stack of papers on top of it. It was why I was here under this roof - the contract. My obliviousness to legalese, and perhaps undiagnosed attention deficit disorder, prevented me from reading it all the way through, and turned my signature into an unknowing agreement to carry his child.

One year. Enough to conceive and deliver said child. I dug deeper into the details, with regular breaks to get my focus together. It could be renewed if both parties - see Tyson and me - agreed that the arrangement was satisfactory and we'd like to continue it after the year was up. It was enough time for a man like him to truly grieve over a tragedy, and realize the mistakes he had made. That he'd have full custody of the child, and I'd be out on my own.

With a million-dollar
s
payment, granted. But one week with him made the money seem so meaningless. I wished this could be for a lifetime. I wanted him in my life more than I wanted any amount of money.

It was perfectly possible that we'd find love some other way - just like the unlikely event of us meeting happened. But a one in a million chance could happen once, one coincidence of good fortune. Twice? Like that would ever happen.

Sulking in my chair, I wanted to cry in advance for what I'd knew I'd lose. But there was no time for that.

"Miss Sky, we are ready for you."

"Right. Thank you." I stood up, and straightened my dress. It was a bit big, like everything I'd worn the past week. I was told I'd grow into them, but they were all Margaret's. I let out a sad laugh at the irony of his assumption that I'd simply grow into replacing his wife.

***

I barely recognized myself. The same mirror I stared into earlier, but everything about me had changed. My hair was tied up in a bun, with some of it stylishly draping over the front. My face was clear as day. My lips were that perfect shade between pink and red, subtle and not overpowering. My dress fit exquisitely, instead of awkwardly hanging off me like the rest of my wardrobe. It shimmered in magnificence, tailored and rushed through just for me. Quite amazing to see, even given my trembling in the high heels that I fought to stay vertical in.

No longer was I the awkward teenaged girl in front of a mirror. Instead I was a beautiful woman, someone who seemed worthy of being at billionaire Tyson Knight's side.

Well, looked the part, anyway. I was still scared totally shitless. This wasn't me - I felt like an actor thrust into playing a part. Like I wasn't supposed to be here, that the highlight of my week shouldn't be that I'm the queen of the ball, but instead that my mom had enough money left over to treat us to Applebee's.

And I didn't even like Applebee's.

Slowly, I staggered my way out, doing my best not to face plant. Accursed things, these heels. I never had worn them before. Even at formal events like weddings and funerals, I was wearing a dress with sneakers. Special footwear for such occasions was never in my mother's budget.

Evening had come and soon people would start pouring into the Knight estate in great numbers. I didn't know what to expect. I heard countless things about rich people. That they're boring, and all they ever do is discuss what's the best way to cheap out the people cleaning your yacht.

There's also the other hand, that they were without morals far beyond ways 0ne would expect. Debauchery. Wild crazy sex parties with people in masks all performing filthy acts in the open for everyone to see.

I caught Tyson standing at the top of his landing, arms crossed, seeing him before he saw me. I sighed a silent sigh of relief that he wasn't wearing some weird mask or something. Because really? Those masks were kinda creepy.

He turned to face me, his eyes meeting my own. In my nervousness, I stumbled forward and would have eaten the floor if I hadn't caught myself on the bannister.

His hand grabbed my wrist, and guided me back to standing. "You look absolutely stunning, Marci." My heart thudded. From anyone else it would have seemed shallow, empty, and like he was just saying it to make me feel better. But Tyson said it like he believed it.

"Uh huh," I said, once again lost in him.

"Come, hold onto my arm. I will be your bannister, my young beauty."

I did so, shaking like a maniac.
Oh my God, Oh my God
, we were side by side, like we were partners. Boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife. Not the Billionaire and his babysitter.

He took me down the stairs slowly, his eyes watching my grace, or lack thereof. Purely patient and unjudging. He was so unbelievably perfect. I didn't deserve him. I turned my face away, hoping he wouldn't catch my pained grimace. I failed.

"Marci, what's bothering you?"

"Nothing. Just really, really nervous." I said.
If you don't point it out, Marci, maybe he won't ever figure it out, and you could live with your fairytale prince forever.

"If you say so. No fears, my young beauty."

We reached the bottom of the stairs in the grand hallway. Large for its typical use,  it just made the journey from point A to point B longer. But the ornate floor, with some beige design inside the tile-work, was designed for what was going to happen tonight. A ball. Not a party or something pedestrian like that. A ball. Like in the fairy tales. Tyson really was my fairytale prince.

Strolling slowly together, one of his many servants approached, a plate full of martinis in front of him. Tyson took one, and sipped it. Surprisingly, my hand grabbed one as well.

"I thought you were too young to drink, Marci?"

"Um. Nervous?" I murmured. I choked it down - it tasted weird, but I heard it's supposed to calm people.

"If you're going to drink like that, it's both your first and your last."

"Uh huh." I chewed the olive, then swallowed it. I didn't know if I was supposed to do that, but it seemed wasteful otherwise.

The doorman opened the double doors. I definitely needed another martini at the sight of the first person arriving, but the martini guy was already too far away.

The new man was amazing. Almost as amazing as Tyson. Possibly as amazing. Just some unbelievable level of amazing. I gripped Tyson's arm tightly, to keep myself from swooning in amazement. Amazing.

So different from Tyson. Tyson was a warm, powerful sort of sexy that dominated people with his presence. This man was something similar but oh, so  different. He was just sex. He had thin dark mustache and soul patch that contrasted with his skin so well. He must have been the same age as Tyson, but he was lankier - not to say he was a stick figure. His sexiness, if his body didn't affirm it enough, had to have been exemplified by the fact he had two women on his arms.

Arm candy of the sweetest variety. They had to have been literal models. A blonde and brunette, they had dresses as fancy as mine, but fuller bodies, bigger breasts, and bigger butts. I felt I was ugly by comparison - I was supposed to be Tyson's answer to that? I was going to fail him and he would to hate me for it.

"Alejandro," Tyson said, nodding, and offering the new man his hand.

"Tyson," Alejandro replied. Their hands met and shook firmly, their eye contact never breaking. It seemed like an eternity, two alphas gazing one another down, each measuring the strength of the other. The handshake broke. Alejandro spoke with a slight accent, but nowhere near enough to make him hard to understand. Clarity, I supposed, was the key to making a good impression. "Condolences on the death of your wife. she died far too young. Are you coping well?"

"Thank you for the sympathies. Yes, Margaret meant so much to me. However, I look to the future." He pulled me forward, and wrapped his arm around my body in a sideways embrace. "This is Marci. She is, " he paused, as his mind looked for a word to call me. My eyes down, waiting for the judgment of his words. "The caretaker for my son." My heart sank. "Perhaps more." My heart lifted.

"Ah," Alejandro's eyes shifted towards me. Tyson's eyes measured me up the first time he saw me - but Alejandro's? Like a predator, scoping out his next meal. But I wouldn't mind being eaten alive by him at all. "Quite the girl you've got there, Tyson. Didn't know Margaret had a daughter. Or perhaps you're just nostalgic?"

"Marci holds some resemblance to her, yes, but there is no relation. How about your women, Alejandro?" Tyson's eyes, however, didn't break from him. The two women proved of no consequence.

"Oh these two? Jill and Sally, I think?" He shrugged.

"Hey that's not my -" Brunette began.

"Words, words. Meaningless words. Come, girls, let's get ourselves comfortable for the rest of the evening's events. I'm sure we will share plenty with Tyson," His eyes shifted to mine. "And his marvelous Marci."

Tyson was quite the strong man, because with the way Alejandro spoke to me, I had no power to stand on my own. Holding me up by my shoulder alone? Quite the feat of strength.

Alejandro and his beauties departed. My eyes followed, then shot back to Tyson.

"I forget you are so young sometimes and can so easily be fooled by his charms. You are mine, Marci. Don't you ever forget that."  He said.

I swallowed. The tone of his voice brought my mind back down from wonder. The idea of being owned so completely by Tyson - it was just as appealing as the thought of being ravished by Alejandro.

There was a blitz and conflict of ideas in my head. If Tyson truly did think of me as more than a womb to fill to counter his grief, could I accept him being the only man I'd ever be intimate with?

Alejandro was hardly the only person to show up. One after another, all sorts of people followed, but none of the others made me stammer and wish I had an IV of liquor attached. Sure, some were good looking, but they were empty, soulless, and completely devoid of the charisma Tyson had. Even worse, most of them were exactly what I pictured when I thought of a billionaire at a ball - old, hairy, gray, and just not people who most young women desired to do things with. Some, of course, were women who had made good in a man's world, competing in the same way the men did.

All of them had arm candy. said the women had their own special brand of vacant man-meat. Some of the men had age appropriate women with them, old guys with matronly ladies right at their sides. Some of them, like Alejandro, had pure arm candy, girls they were likely to have intercourse with but felt nothing for. They were half the man's age, two women hired for the night. One guy even had five with him - pretty much a harem.

"It's all meaningless posturing and chest pounding," Tyson said to me, as we stood in the sea of chatter. One by one they had introduced themselves to us. Each of them had subtext. "Albert there with the five women? It reeks of desperation. If I had any guess at his age he's not doing much without a tiny blue pill." I glanced up at Tyson - he sipped his martini, the same one he started with. He wasn't here to get drunk. He was here to make a point.

The food and booze flowed. No more of the booze flowed my way, Tyson subtly keeping me away from it. Maybe it was for the best. Being slightly woozy didn't particularly help me on the front of standing up straight in heels.