The Billionaire's Challenge (5 page)

Promptly,
at five o'clock, he arrived with a smile that suggested Friday night
never happened at all. I briefly wondered if I had been brought back
in time to relive the day over again—given a second chance.

“
Did
you like the flowers I sent?” Garret asked.

“
Yes,
they're lovely. Thank you.”

“
Shall
we.” He opened the door, biding I follow.

Today's
car was a yellow Toyota Spyder, equally sporty to the Porsche but not
quite as expensive. The seats were black leather and had already been
warmed by the afternoon sun. He must have driven here with the top
down.

“
I
have a surprise for you,” Garret told me as he pulled out of
the parking lot.

“
I
don't like surprises,” I admitted. It was the truth. My happy
shocked face wasn't very pleasing to the eye. Even my ex-husband had
been disappointed on the day he had proposed to me. Then again, it
was a horribly difficult time in my life dealing with pressing family
issues, so all happiness had been drained out of me beforehand.

“
Well,
you're just no fun then, are you?” he teased playfully.

“
I
think we should talk about what happened the other night,” I
suggested after several minutes of silence.

“
We
will, but not right now.”

He
seemed to want to silence me, and so I remained quiet until we got
back to the mansion and he ushered me in. Once inside, Garret led me
to his expansive living room, seating me on a burgundy love seat that
was a bit too soft for my liking. As soon as my ass hit the seat, it
felt like I sunk into the cushion about a foot deep.

“
Water?”
Garret offered, and I nodded, sending him to the kitchen to retrieve
two bottles of water.

It
gave me a bit of time to check out the décor. All the seating
was matching burgundy, accented with mahogany tables. The rich
brownish red color contrasted beautifully against the white carpet.
On the walls were paintings of abstract art, the kind I was used to
seeing at my doctor's office. It had always amazed me how people
could paint blotchy squares on canvas and actually make money from
it. Most of the paintings looked like the work of five-year olds.
While I appreciated art in general, abstract definitely wasn't one of
my favorite types.

As
I heard footsteps draw near, I realized that there was more than one
pair. I turned to see a professional looking woman walking with
Garret. She was tall and slender with a red pencil skirt and white
blouse. His mother, perhaps. Instantly, I stood for introductions.

“
Mia,
this is Mrs. Iserman. She's my psychologist,” he said.

A
shrink?! My face immediately reddened with anger. Did he really think
I was that fucked up?

“
What
a surprise,” I said, extending my hand politely to Mrs.
Iserman, though I wasn't able to hide the dryness from my tone. “I
appreciate the gesture, but this isn't necessary.”

“
This
isn't for you. It's for me,” Garret replied matter of
factually.

His
response shocked me, and I felt embarrassed for thinking he had
called her over just for me.

“
I
thought you might be interested in sitting in on a session. I'm not
perfect either, you know.” Garret gestured for me to take a
seat.

What
a strange guy. There had to be some catch to this. It couldn't
possibly just be an exaggerated gesture to show me his flaws. Then
again, I had never really thought that he had any.

“
What
would you like to discuss today?” Mrs. Iserman asked, taking a
seat in the arm chair across from us.

“
Well,
we've discussed my relationship issues in the past,” he began.
“And I think that I finally found someone I would be interested
in being in a relationship with, so I thought now would be a good
time to bring them up again.”

My
heart froze. Could he really be talking about me? If this was some
ploy to get in my pants, it was the best devised one I had ever seen.

“
And
this is the young woman whom you're interested in a relationships
with?” Mrs. Iserman asked.

“
Yes,
which is why I thought it was important for her to be here.”
Garret turned to me. “If you're not interested in me, please
let me know now. I know you've been reluctant to trust me, but I
thought that might be because you have baggage of your own. If you're
interested in me, I'm willing to help you with your problems if you
can bear with me through mine.”

It
sounded almost like a marriage proposal. My mind was swimming with
disbelief and apprehension. Did I want him? Yes. But what woman
didn't? And how could he possibly know he wanted to be with me? We
had only gone out twice before. It wasn't enough time to make such a
decision.

“
I
am interested in you,” I replied slowly, trying to keep the
butterflies from fluttering out of my stomach.

“
Good.”
An ear to ear grin spread across Garret's face, and he turned back to
the psychologist with new-found resolve.

“
How
did the two of you meet?” she asked curiously.

“
At
a charity function,” he replied, and then they went back and
forth over the details.

Garret
talked about deep seeded trust issues he had in regard to women lying
to him. He said he didn't think he would have to worry about that
with me, and that he could tell I genuinely appreciated all the
things he did for me—things most other women seemed to expect
of him. The truth was that I was still lost in the midst of what was
going on, confused and refusing to believe what was actually
happening. Landing a guy like this was a one in a million
opportunity, and the longer I sat there listening to him raining
praises on me, the more I thought it was a dream that I would soon
wake from, alone in my empty apartment. But then he began talking
about how I shied away from his touch . . . and how I had called
myself fat, and I realized that the session wasn't just about him.

“
It
sounds like you have some self-esteem issues, Miss Harrison,”
Mrs. Iserman directed her attention to me.

“
Who
doesn't?” I replied, suddenly nervous.

“
Do
you not think you're a beautiful woman?” She diverted my
question.

“
Well,
I don't think I'm ugly.” I thought about it. When I was in my
late teens, I had been a real knockout, thin and beautiful. Then I
had met my ex-husband, got married, got comfortable, and let my body
go to crap. Once the divorce was finalized, I decided to live for
myself—and only for myself. Men no longer mattered. All I cared
about was being happy, and that meant doing whatever I wanted and
eating whatever I wanted. By the time I thought I might want to date
again, it was too late. My body had swelled up to the point that no
amount of exercise seemed to get the weight back off, so I gave up,
surrendering to a life of solitude. I decided to go ahead and explain
all of this to both of them. The worst thing it could do was scare
Garret away. And if that was going to happen then I would rather it
happen from the get go when I wasn't too attached.

I
averted his eyes as I told my sob story, though I could feel him
watching me, seeing my weakness and vulnerability. Mrs. Iserman
looked at me deadpan, nodding and mhming until I was finished. I
suppose that was her job, to not look affected by anything we were
saying. Still, it was a bit annoying.

“
You
can work out with me if you want?” Garret suggested, and I did
my best to see it as him being helpful rather than an insult to my
weight.

“
So,
this has affected your sex life?” Mrs. Iserman asked, ignoring
Garret completely.

“
Yes,”
I admitted. “I hate being touched.”

“
How
do you feel about that?” She turned her attention back to
Garret finally.

“
I'm
willing to work with it. I think we could heal each other.” He
smiled warmly at me.

His
trust issues seemed like child's play compared to my weight issues,
though both had kept us from having committed relationships. Perhaps
both problems were equally rooted inside of us. Maybe we really did
need each other.

The
session seemed to end on a positive note, with both of us agreeing to
try to work on our issues individually while also helping each other.
I expected her to give us some kind of homework. Every other shrink I
had been to gave out exercises to help people overcome their
problems.

“
I
think it would be best if we varied our sessions,” she
suggested as we walked her towards the door. “I'd like to see
you both individually every other week, and then a session together
once a month.”

“
Alright,”
Garret agreed, absent care of my thoughts on the matter. While it did
cross my mind to object, I could really use the sessions. My
self-confidence issues had driven me into practically being a hermit.
And if I was going to date the richest man in the entire city, then I
would need to get over them pretty quickly.

When
Mrs. Iserman was out the door, Garret pressed his back against it
with a deep sigh, “So, what do you think?”

“
You're
going through an awful lot of trouble just to get in my pants,”
I teased.

“
Is
it working?” he raised an uncertain eyebrow.

“
I
don't know. Let's find out.” I stepped up to him, standing on
my tip toes to reach his lips. Garret's eyes were closed before my
mouth had even touched his, which I found extremely adorable. I
relaxed into the kiss as he draped his arms around my hips. His kiss
was warm and soft, full of passion and lacking the desperate lust
that I thought I'd feel from him. It was a comforting thought that he
seemed willing to take things at my pace.

“
Shall
we?” Garret asked as I pulled away, extending his hand for me
to take it. My fingers slipped into his, and he guided me down the
hallway to his bedroom. With each step, my heart rate accelerated
until it was thundering before the entrance to his room.

Nervousness
welled up inside of me to the point that I was nauseous, and I was
once again unsure if I could go through with what I knew he wanted to
do in there. Trying not to seem too reluctant, I stepped into his
bedroom, my eyes gazing past him to the California King bed that sat
square in the middle of the room like a sacrificial alter. I'm not
sure why it intimidated me so much. Perhaps because I knew I would be
expected to bare everything to him once upon it. Never before had a
bed looked so inviting, yet so threatening at the same time.

Garret
cradled my face in his hands, leaning in for another kiss. His lips
were much more urgent this time, parting mine to explore. The taste
of him was intoxicating, and I found myself relaxing despite all my
fears.

Garret's
hands fell to my hips and then slid up my waist, taking my shirt with
them, and I instantly felt the need to pull away, to hide my chubby
body. He gave me a concerned look, and I realized that my expression
must have appeared terrified. My thoughts of self-disgust were too
strong to allow him to touch me.

“
Mia,”
he whispered softly, taking a step forward. “You look beautiful
to me. Don't be ashamed of your body.”

“
That's
easy for you to say,” I tried to keep the venom from my tone,
my natural instinct to drive him away. “You're . . . perfect.”

“
No,
I'm not.” Garret shook his head and then grabbed his t-shirt at
the hem, pulling it over his head. My eyes first landed on the
rippling muscles of his stomach, and I felt something down below
clench deliciously just from the sight of him. But then my eyes rose
to Garret's chest, where I saw multiple tiny white scars. There must
have been at least fifty of them. I looked at the scars curiously,
stepping forward to run my fingers across them. Some ran parallel.
Others crisscrossed. There was no mistaking the fact that they were
man-made.

“
My
body isn't perfect either.” He put a fingertip under my chin,
drawing my gaze back up to his deep-blue eyes. Before his mouth had
even reached mine again I was lost in them, cherishing this secret he
had just shared with me. I didn't care about the scars. His body was
beautiful to me—perfect. And I understood that Garret probably
felt the same way about me.

As
much as I wanted to not resist when he reached for my shirt again, my
nagging self-consciousness reared its ugly head, refusing to believe
what I knew to be true, that he genuinely didn't care about my
weight. I pulled away, this time ashamed.