A Bona Fide Gold Digger (10 page)

She couldn’t enjoy his needy desperation. She felt awkward and undignified with her ruffled panties ridiculously wrapped around her ankles. It was difficult to try to strike a deal with one’s pants down and while dressed in a silly costume. So she extracted herself from Noah’s grasp, pulled up her panties, and straightened out the rest of her attire. She smoothed back her hair and continued to vigorously make her sales pitch.

“I know Elise did certain things for you, but were you as pleased with Elise as you are with me?”

“Not at all. Elise and I had a financial arrangement. With you I have so much more. An understanding. An emotional attachment,” he croaked, sounding as if he were near tears again. “I doubt that I’d live much longer if you weren’t brightening my life.”

Approving of his response, Milan gave a tight, satisfied smile, but pressed on. “Have you ever experienced with
anyone
else the kind of forbidden pleasure you’ve shared with me?”

“Never,” he said without hesitation.

“Noah, I want you to marry me.”

“Marry? I—I can’t, Milan. I’m a dying man. What sense would it make for you to be burdened with me?”

Noah Brockington was a very smart and sharp-witted man. For the life of her, Milan couldn’t understand why he was pretending not to understand that it was compensation she was striving for, not a husband to share her life.

“When you said you worshipped me, were you speaking from your heart or merely playing with my emotions?”

“I’m completely sincere,” he insisted. “I truly worship you; my only regret is that I didn’t meet you when I was vibrant and healthy,” he told her, sounding convincing.

Unimpressed, Milan looked away.

“My dear, I can give you all the benefits of a wife,” he said pleadingly.

She stepped back, staring coldly at the hands that reached for her. “Oh, I see. You’re willing to give me all the benefits of a wife. You think I should feel privileged to be your common-law wife,” she said sarcastically.

“You’re making my suggestion sound so…so crude.”

“It is crude, Noah. You’re unwilling to make our union sacred and legal. I’m insulted, Noah. I really am,” she said, shaking her head bitterly. “What is it? Do you view me as some sort of sexual plaything, unworthy to be your spouse?” she spat angrily. Had she not realized that Noah Brockington derived tremendous freakish pleasure from kissing her ass, she may not have had the courage to challenge him.

Milan drifted off in thought. The man had shed tears of joy, he’d actually wept. So, counting on the fact that she was able to fulfill his countless sexual fantasies and that time was not on his side, Milan decided to call his bluff.

Turning her attention back to Noah, she said, “My feelings for you run too deeply to allow you to make a whore of me. Noah, I’m going to pack my bags.” She sighed resolutely and without another word, turned her back to him.

“No!” he shouted, his voice stronger than ever before.

Striding toward the door, she stopped suddenly, twirled around, and said, “Hopefully, you’ll find a more suitable companion. I’ll be leaving your house tonight.”

“Don’t leave! My dear, I’ll marry you; I’ll do whatever you want.”

Beaming, Milan rushed to Noah’s bedside. He lay down and inched to the edge of the bed. His scrawny arms maneuvered Milan around until her butt was directly in his face. He lifted her skirt, hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband of her panties, and tugged them down.

“Sit, my dear,” he offered in a throaty voice, inviting Milan to sit on his face.

And in that uncomfortable position, Milan expressed her urgent financial situation, disclosed her legal troubles, and came clean about her true identity. She also informed him that she preferred Ruth Henry. Greer had to go. Without hesitation, Noah Brockington agreed.

G
etting paddled, having her ass worshipped, and face-sitting was exhausting. Well, she didn’t actually sit on Noah’s face. Afraid she’d crush the frail man’s skull and end up with a murder charge if she placed all her body weight on his face, she’d altered her position and merely squatted over him. And all that squatting had put quite a strain on her quads. Now, she had sore muscles, a wedding to plan, and a million other things to attend to, including getting Noah’s semen-covered crotch cleaned up.

Wearing flip-flops, Milan padded into the kitchen. She was naked beneath a terry cover-up. “I hope that nurse didn’t leave yet,” she told Irma.

Irma looked at her and blinked. “She left right after you told me to let her go home.”

Milan sighed. “I was hoping I’d catch her. Oh well, I guess you’ll have to do it.”

Do what?
Irma’s widened eyes seemed to ask.

“Mr. Brockington needs attention. He had a little accident. Be a dear, and clean him up before you take his tray upstairs. I’ll make sure you’re compensated on pay day, okay?” Milan pinched off a grape from a fruit basket on the counter and popped it in her mouth.

As Irma well knew, it wasn’t a request. Milan had added nursing assistant to her job description. Mumbling under her breath, Irma trudged upstairs. Milan headed off for the steam room, needing to soak her sore muscles.

Later, while soaking in the Jacuzzi, she called her sister, Sweetie.

“It’s about time somebody heard from you,” Sweetie gushed into the phone. “Me and Mommy were about to call the police and report you as a missing person. Oops! I guess mentioning the po-po ain’t funny.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Milan chuckled sarcastically. “Listen, I have some extremely good news…”

“What’s that noise?”

“Noise? Oh,” Milan blurted, suddenly enlightened. “You hear the bubbles from the Jacuzzi. I’m in the Jacuzzi, soaking,” Milan said, giggling.

“Excuse me! Sounds like you got it goin’ on out there in Radnor. You never got to relax in no Jacuzzi over at Pure Paradise. You mean to tell me those rich people in the suburbs are nice enough to let you chill in their Jacuzzi?”

“Uh huh,” Milan uttered with pride. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“Are you ready for this?”

“I guess.” Sweetie sounded doubtful.

“Drum roll, please.” Milan paused. “I’m getting married,” she shouted, squealing like a teenager.

“Something must be wrong with my phone. You’re getting what?” Sweetie asked, dubiously.

“Married,” Milan repeated, gleefully.

“Hold up! I thought you said you would never get married, but that’s beside the point. You’ve been staying out in Radnor for how long? Five or six days, a week at the most? Who the hell did you find to marry that fast?”

“I’m engaged to marry—well, I don’t have the ring yet. But I’m going to marry the very wealthy Mr. Noah Brockington,” Milan said, enunciating clearly.

“You’re planning on marrying the sick old man you’re supposed to be taking care of?” Sweetie sounded horrified.

“Yes. And although he is sickly, he’s actually not that old. He’s in his forties or fifties—he’s around Mommy’s age. He gives the appearance of being elderly because he’s in such poor health.”

“Well, if he’s so sickly, why the hell…” Sweetie fell silent as the realization hit her. “You ain’t right, Milan. Girl, you know that ain’t right at all. You gonna marry that poor man while he’s lying on his deathbed just so you can pay off your debts?”

“I can do a lot more than pay off some debts with all the money he’s going to leave me. Stop being so judgmental. I’m making his last days complete bliss. Noah Brockington has never been so happy in his life, so why shouldn’t I reap some of the benefits? For all I know, he could be intending to leave his money to some ridiculous charity or to some distant relatives who don’t mean him a bit of good.”

Sweetie sucked her teeth. “Oh, and I guess you have his best interests at heart.”

“I can’t believe you’re criticizing me instead of being happy for me.”

“Why should I be happy over a wedding that’s not based on love? Take me and Quantez, for example—”

Milan sighed.

“Me and Quantez don’t have much,” Sweetie went on. “But we love each other and we both love our kids. I would never trade what we have for all the—”

“Good for you and Quantez,” Milan said, cutting her sister off. “I didn’t call to listen to you pontificate over the joy of poverty and living happily ever after in ghetto heaven.”

“Why are you so damn sarcastic and mean,” Sweetie groused.

“Well, stop lecturing me and help me plan my wedding!”

“And where’s it supposed to take place—at the poor man’s deathbed?”

“No, he can get around with a walker. Sweetie, are you looking at the big picture, here? I’m going to be worth millions. I want a big, elaborate church wedding. I want my nuptials featured in
Philadelphia Magazine
and I want those pompous board members to eat crow when they find out that like the phoenix, I rose from the ashes—they couldn’t keep me down.”

“Aren’t you worried that people might call you a gold digger?”

“People can call me whatever they want; I’ve been called worse. I’m taking advantage of a great opportunity, and that’s called being smart.”

“So, what’s the deal—aren’t you still hiding out from those board members?”

“Absolutely not. Noah’s gathering his attorneys as we speak. Restitution will be paid and that unpleasant situation will be remedied before the close of the day.”

“Lawd! You’re nevah gonna change. Always trying to swindle people and make a fast buck.”

“You sound just like Mom. I’d expect you to be happy for me. Look on the bright side—I’ll never be broke again. And neither will you. You know I’m going to look out for you and your family. I’ll take care of Mom, too.”

“Well, since you’re putting it like that, I guess I can get involved in this disgraceful wedding. Me and Quantez and the kids could use some extra money. How much are you planning on giving us?”

“More than you could imagine. In fact, I’ll put you on my payroll immediately after the wedding. We’ll work out your salary later.”

“Salary? You expect me to work? What do I have to do?” Sweetie sounded frantic. Her voice went to higher pitch, as if the thought of employment was a terrifying consideration.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you. After the wedding, I’m going to open my own day spa. My initial plan was to write a book, but I’ve changed my mind. As you well know, I was the brains behind Pure Paradise. The board didn’t want to pay me what I was worth, so they canned me and made up those fraudulent charges. The nerve of them pretending that my expenses weren’t all work related.”

“Fraudulent? Milan, you were going crazy with that company credit card,” Sweetie reminded. “You even bought that fifteen-hundred-dollar gold-plated vibrator with the company card. Now, how was that work related?”

“It relieved stress. Job-related stress,” Milan exploded. “Compared to all the business I brought to Pure Paradise, all the money I made for that company, those credit card expenditures were just a drop in the bucket. Now, can we get back to the pressing issue of my wedding?”

“Yeah, but, uh…,” Sweetie stammered. “I don’t get it. Since you’re working with all that money, why do you need
me
to help you plan the wedding?

What do I know about
elaborate
weddings? For the type of wedding you’re talking about having, I think you need to hire one of those fancy wedding planners.”

“Sweetie,” Milan said with a long sigh. “I don’t want a stranger handling the most important day of my life. I can do all the planning myself, but I need you to do…” She paused, thoughtfully. “I need you to do the grunt work.”

“I don’t like how that sounds. I’m the oldest sister, so don’t think you’re going to start bossing me around just because—”

“I only meant I’ll do the major planning, but you’ll have to tie up the loose ends, you know, pull it all together. Oh, and before I forget—I need you to give the news to Mom. Make sure you tell her I’m extremely busy and don’t have time to listen to one of her lectures. Tell her, I’m marrying Noah Brockington with or without her blessing.”

“Okay, it’s your life. I’ll make sure Mom gets your message. So…despite getting married and all, I guess you’re still gonna have to invest in batteries for that gold-plated contraption of yours. I can’t imagine a sick older man being worth a damn in the bedroom. Now take Quantez, for instance. Girl, he gives it so good, I couldn’t even imagine—”

“Oh God! Whatever,” Milan shouted in exasperation.

T
he buzz of the intercom woke her with a jolt. The button was on the other side of her bedroom, so she ignored it and placed a pillow over her head. She knew it was only Irma. It seemed the woman enjoyed a twisted sense of power when she awakened Milan at ungodly early hours just to inquire about her breakfast preference. Milan made a mental note to post a set of written rules in the kitchen. Rule number one would be:
Do not disturb Milan until after ten a.m.

The buzzer sounded again.
The nerve of that woman!
Milan jumped out of bed and darted across the floor, then stabbed the intercom button. “What is it?” she asked, curtly.

“Good morning, my dear.” Noah’s raspy voice filled her bedroom. He’d never buzzed her before. She was startled and more than annoyed. The sound of his voice, magnified inside her private bedroom, felt like a terrible invasion of her privacy. They weren’t even married yet and he was already taking liberties.

“Good morning, darling,” Milan responded affectionately. In her mind’s eye, however, she could see another set of rules that she’d post immediately after the wedding. She’d tack the code of behavior at eye level beside Noah’s bedside table, with the number one rule typed in bold, large print!

“Would you be so kind as to sit with me this morning. There are financial matters that must be discussed.”

“Of course. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Financial matters!
The words were music to her ears. She would have preferred to sweep into his suite wearing haute couture, but she realized she could persuade her future husband to strike a more generous bargain if she were wearing her naughty schoolgirl set.

When she arrived, Noah was sitting in the darkened room, hankie sticking out of his pajama top pocket, and the curtains were drawn as usual. He wore reading glasses and read by the light from the bedside lamp. Why didn’t he just open the damn drapes? She really hated his suite of rooms. But not for long. In six months or less, the nuisance of a man would be dead and gone, and she’d have the stuffy old master bedroom suite completely renovated to suit her contemporary tastes.

Smiling, satisfied, she pulled up a chair and crossed her leg, bouncing it, expecting to entice him with her anklet socks.

Noah ignored her schoolgirl garb. He flipped through a stack of pages that looked as thick as a ream of paper. “My attorney, good fellow that he is, drafted a prenuptial agreement and dropped it off this morning at dawn. It’s pretty standard, my dear,” he said coolly. “With a few clauses, of course.” Noah Brockington was clearly in a strictly business mode. “You may review the document at your leisure, but allow me to brief you on the highlights.”

Milan nodded vaguely. She didn’t feel comfortable when Noah was in control.

He pulled the hanky from the breast pocket of his pajama top and coughed into the white cotton. Irritated, Milan sucked in a breath.
Why don’t you use freakin’ tissues instead of those germy pieces of cloth?

“I took care of your financial predicament; your former employer has been paid with a cashier’s check. Nine thousand of the money you owed had already been deducted from your banking account.”

Damn!
She could have used that money. It seemed illegal for the bank to just extract her funds.
Oh well…

“And for the record, no formal charges were ever made against you.”

Relief washed over Milan. She smiled appreciatively. She even forgave Noah for pulling out his nasty handkerchief. In light of the fact that her name was cleared and she was no longer a hunted fugitive, Milan considered cutting her losses and taking the few thousands she had socked away and clearing out of the Brockington estate.

But her good common sense and driving need for material possessions kept her feet planted firmly in place. The worst was over. Noah Brockington’s deranged mind couldn’t possibly conceive an act more despicable than what they’d already done. She invested too much of herself to simply walk away. Yes, she was in for the long haul—or the short, depending how one viewed a life span of six months.

For Milan, six months seemed an incredibly long time to look at Noah’s gaunt face. But then again, who knew? Perhaps he’d become violently ill midway, like in the next couple of months or so. So ill, in fact, perhaps he’d collapse into a coma and never ever bother her again.

However, the thought of a comatose Noah was just a fleeting fantasy. The sound of him clearing his throat was an irritating reminder that he was for the moment very much alive.

“My dear, you drifted off in thought. This matter is very important. It’s imperative that you pay close attention.”

She didn’t have to take orders from him, she was free to leave, but on the other hand, she’d be a fool to walk away from his millions. So, she looked deeply into his eyes and gave him her undivided attention.

“As you know, I never married, and to my knowledge,” he said with an annoying chuckle, “I have no heirs.” Then he shook his head. “No heirs,” he repeated, this time regretfully. “It’s obscene for a man to have lived for forty-six years and not have a son to carry on his name.”

Badly shaken, Milan swallowed, her mouth suddenly quite dry. She didn’t like the direction of the conversation. Was Noah suggesting what she suspected he was suggesting? Surely the shriveled-up fool didn’t have the gall to think he could generate healthy sperm in an adequate amount necessary to produce a child? And even if he could, which she seriously doubted, considering how sick he was, he had to be out of his mind if he thought she’d allow him to deposit said sperm inside her precious body.

Bearing a child had never entered her mind, and giving birth to a child sired by
him
was entirely out of the question. It was too revolting to even consider, so she stubbornly refused to allow her wandering mind to envision the vile and monstrous progeny of a dying man.

Noah yawned. “I’ve had too much activity,” he said apologetically. “Look over the papers, my dear. We’ll discuss our arrangement after lunch. I should be awake and feeling more chipper by then,” he assured her with a loathsome wink. It took every bit of sheer will and concentration for her to refrain from barfing in his face.

Back in her bedroom, Milan angrily shed the silly schoolgirl outfit and slipped into a comfortable pair of low-slung jeans. She buzzed Irma and shouted into the intercom, “My room hasn’t been tidied, my bed hasn’t been made, and there’s no sign of my breakfast. Is there a problem, Irma?”

Except for the sound of Irma’s perpetual heavy breathing, there was silence. Irma apparently thought it best to count to ten before responding. “You usually don’t wake up this early, so how was I supposed to know you were waiting for breakfast,” she said, panting and sounding defensive.

“Well, now you know. After you’re finished cooking, set the table. Oh! By the way, you sound as if you’ve just run a marathon, Irma. You really need to do something about your weight.”

Irma ignored the insult. “You want to eat in the formal dining room? You’re kidding.”

“I kid you not, and stop questioning me. You’re totally aware of my position in this household, so stop overstepping your boundaries.”

There was more labored breathing. “How many should I set the table for?” Irma asked, wearily.

“Set it for one. And refer to me as Ms. Walden.”

Silence.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

Milan really wanted to hear Irma call her Ms. Walden. Noah had just chipped away at her self-respect by catching her off guard and hitting her with a freakin’ prenup. Before she looked over the prenuptial agreement—the legalese that threatened to rock her world—she needed a quick fix, an ego boost. She needed some respect, dammit.

“After you’ve finished your chores, I want you to run a few errands for me.”

“Alrighty,” Irma said good-naturedly, refusing to address Milan in the manner she’d requested.

After clicking Irma off the intercom, Milan scooped up the schoolgirl uniform and stuffed it in the back of the closet, inside a small, discreet alcove with a door, which she kept padlocked. Nosy Irma didn’t need to know her secrets.

Milan sat at the dining table in the finely appointed room. The utensils were carefully positioned, plates, cups, saucers, and cloth napkins all in their proper place. The centerpiece, a vibrant bouquet of two-toned roses set in a glass bowl, was a dazzling treat to behold. Milan was impressed. Irma, full of surprises, apparently really knew her stuff. But not well enough to cater Milan’s wedding, she thought haughtily.

For her wedding, only an award-winning catering service would do. She had an idea of the service she’d use, but wanted to check other options before she made a commitment. And thinking of making wedding plans put a knot in her stomach. Her mind flashed to the prenup that she was afraid to read, which was stacked neatly and locked inside the alcove.

“Oh, you startled me. Good morning, Ms. Walden,” Ruth Henry, the nurse, greeted.
Ms. Walden!
Oooh, she loved the sound of it. Irma must have put a bug in the nurse’s ear. Shrewd ol’ Irma knew how to get on Milan’s good side. Having the nurse address her properly was fine and dandy, but Milan still wanted to hear Irma say it.

Milan noticed the leather-bound volume in Ruth Henry’s hand. The nurse, she’d recently noticed, spent more time in the library than she did in her patient’s room, which was another matter Milan would have to address after she’d read the prenup and had gotten her bearings.

“I was on my way up to read to Mr. Brockington,” the nurse said, holding up the book. “Do you think he’ll enjoy Emily Bronte?”

She wanted to say,
For all I care, you can take that book and shove it
. But instead she smiled and said, “I’m sure he’ll love it.” The nurse nodded, her eyes even twinkled as she floated away clutching the book as if it were an elusive lover. What a nut! The woman was clearly a bibliophile. Milan wondered if there were support groups for the disorder.

After the meal Irma prepared, which was once again surprisingly elegant and upscale—an omelet cooked with herbs, tomatoes, spinach, and goat cheese; accompanied by a French baguette with strawberry preserves; fresh ground coffee; and yogurt parfait—Milan groaned when she pushed back her chair and thought of the unpleasant task of plowing through pages of legal jargon. But if she expected to continue enjoying sumptuous meals and being treated like a queen, it would behoove her to pull out the pesky document and start reading.

Hopefully, she’d been influenced by an overactive imagination. Surely Noah didn’t expect her to become pregnant with his child. It was such a preposterous thought, Milan laughingly chided herself for being overly paranoid. Noah had been venting when he openly expressed regret over squandering his youth, but now he was eager to look ahead, grateful for the short time he had to spend with his young and lovely future wife.

Satisfied with her deductions, Milan smiled contentedly and rose from the table.