Boxed Set: A Possessive Billionaire - Vol. 1-3: His, Body and Soul (3 page)

What a jerk! What an idiot! How could I have thought for a single moment that this arrogant beefcake would be interested in anything but his hairdo? I really have lost my mind. And to think that I was even considering kissing him! I’m going to have seriously pull myself together here. I came to Paris to study, not to flirt with guys and especially not to play the fool for some jaded millionaire. He started messing with my mind the moment I stepped foot into his apartment. First with his deceased father, then with the wine…and for that matter, what does Google have to say about this Château?

No way, it can’t be! But that’s the name he mentioned: Château d'Yquem. Apparently, this white wine, which I thought was too sweet, is considered by connoisseurs to be one of the greatest wines in the world. I must be dreaming! One bottle costs from 200 to several thousand Euro! I understand now why he laughed after seeing me gulp the glass down, like some kind of soda. At the same time, it serves him right! That should teach him to make fun of me.

I can’t calm down after I leave his house. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. He is who he is, but he’s still my landlord. An accommodating landlord who doesn’t make me pay rent…I feel awful. I’ll start looking for a room on Monday. Or maybe I could apologize, just to buy a little time…oh no way, that must be the white wine talking! I can’t believe I was just thinking about apologizing! After being humiliated in such a horrible way! I’m sure he was thinking about making some sort of snide remark from the get-go. And there I was, naively thinking that he wanted to know more about my studies. What an idiot! And his little smirk, when he said that! He was proud of himself, you could tell! I could have slapped him, I think. Reduce my entire life’s work to my choice of wardrobe. First of all, clothes have nothing to do with it. And besides, what did he mean? Dress myself in potato sacks? Why, because I don’t wear Chanel suits to school? Big deal! I don’t know what world he lives in, but I’ve never seen anyone get dressed up to go to the university cafeteria. Except for Manon, of course. But she’s an extraterrestrial. For real! What do I care if he doesn’t like my clothes? After all, I’m worth more than that. I’m not superficial like the women who he usually meets, that’s what it really comes down to…

I’ll sleep on it, I’ll see things more clearly tomorrow.

I don’t want to leave the house. I've bought enough food to stay inside for the entire weekend, but I’ll have to poke my nose outside on Monday. I’ll leave early to make sure I don’t run into him. In the meantime, I better get to work! Finally, a good opportunity to dive into my books. It’s perfect. Except I can’t stop thinking about that humiliating moment…when I’m not dreaming of it. My Parisian life must really be boring if I’m obsessing like this over a fifteen minute conversation.

But it sounds like he's having a party at his house. That night, while doing the dishes, I hear women laughing and the clinks of crystal glassware. The gentleman is hosting a little get-together. He must be entertaining the bimbos with his stories about his badly dressed neighbor. I hate them all. I have a hard time falling asleep with a pillow over my head.

Monday, 5:45 am. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten up this early since I came to Paris. I even wonder if there’s a law prohibiting people from getting up early in the capital, since the city doesn’t seem to wake up until after 9:30 am. A hasty ponytail, my “potato sack” uniform, my books and there I am in the corridor. While frantically digging through my bag looking for my keys, a warm voice greets me.

“Bonjour.”

I turn around, ready to attack whoever is ruining my perfect plan for morning solitude. I can’t. I'm petrified with admiration. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful woman. It’s the type of person I’d like to be when I ‘grow up’. A cross between Rita Hayworth from Gilda and Catherine Zeta-Jones from Intolerable Cruelty. She’s wearing a red evening dress and high heels, yet looks so natural that it makes me doubt for a moment what time it is. She smiles at me kindly.

I’m fascinated by her hair, which falls in sultry curls over her nude shoulders. Voluptuous. That’s what it is, this woman emanates voluptuousness. Sex. She’s leaving my neighbor’s house. We wait for the elevator, side by side. It’s a ridiculous picture. My sneakers and her high heels, my head only reaches the height of her armpits. I would laugh if I wasn’t so mortified and disturbed. After what seemed like an endless descent, she disappears in a split second and leaves a trail of perfume in her wake. I stand dazed on the sidewalk.

“She’s a prostitute!”

Manon announces her final verdict after hearing my description.

“No, she had a really classy vibe to her. Not the type to be a prostitute, in my opinion.”

“You know, there are high-class prostitutes in Paris, you just need to be able to afford them.”

I wonder how she knows about the economics of the sex industry, but I refrain from asking.

“No, really, I don’t think so.”

“It bothers you that your billionaire uses prostitutes, doesn’t it?”

“He can do what he wants, I don’t care! It’s just that I don’t think that’s his type and I really didn’t get that kind of impression from her.”

“In any case, he must have screwed this Rita, right?”

“You can be so vulgar! But whatever, sure, I can’t see why he wouldn’t have.”

“Ah, he gets bored, the pig! On Friday, he does this knee thing. On Saturday, he has a party and on Sunday, he spends the night with Rita the crypto-prostitute…”

“Honestly I think I was the one who pressed my knee against his…”

“There you go!”

“But I had been drinking!”

“One glass! Are you kidding me? You like this guy!”

“Yeah, I liked him! Until he made fun of me and gave me a reality check. Which I thank him for. I could have wasted my time on him.”

“Sometimes you really seem repressed! Even if this guy is a bit of a jerk, it wouldn’t do you any harm to get laid…” She stops herself suddenly and looks at me with a curious expression.

“Sorry, I always forget you’re American. But don’t tell me you’re a virgin?” She said the word ‘virgin’ as if she was saying ‘coprophagous’, with a mixture of surprise and a hint of disgust. I reassure her that it’s not the case.

“No, it’s just that I’m not feeling this Delmonte, let’s talk about something else.”

Luckily Mathieu arrives, which puts an end to this annoying conversation.

While Mathieu tells us about his fascinating seminar on pre-Socratic philosophy, I daydream about my sex life. No, despite how seriously I took my studies during high school, I’m not a virgin. I started getting interested in sex when I was about 17 years old. Everyone was talking about it. Some girls at school thought it was the gateway to depravation and the way to ruin your life. Others were absolutely committed to doing it before they got to college. Personally, I wasn’t sure. As I usually did, I asked my father for advice. “Sleep with a boy? Sure, of course you can, if you want to. Just make sure you use protection.”

I soon decided to find out more for myself. I told my plan to a childhood friend who agreed to experiment with me. After two attempts, one painful, the other annoying, we decided that we knew enough. Then I poured all of my passion into something I knew would be more relevant, meaning my studies. No, I’m not a virgin. But I'm not that experienced, either.

I’m not at all against the idea of 'getting laid', as Manon said, it’s just that I didn’t think the opportunity comes along every 5 minutes.

And then, I must admit that until recently, I never truly desired any man in particular. But that’s all ancient history.

I push open the heavy door of the building at 8:00 pm. No luck, Delmonte is getting into the elevator and holds the door for me. I have no choice but to join him. This space never seemed so cramped before. I stare at my feet.

“Are you still upset, Emma?”

I grumble in lieu of a response.

“You really are touchy! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to offend you, I was joking. I thought that there was something between us, but I must have been mistaken…”

The door opens, I sidle into my room after croaking out an inaudible ‘bonsoir’.

‘Something between us’? What did that mean? He must have noticed I was upset and tried to make fun of me again. Or else maybe he truly was attracted to me? In any case, he said he was sorry, at least that’s something. That means that he’s not going to throw me out onto the street. It also means that he cares about my feelings. At least, I think so. If I had the courage, I’d ask him. But that would probably give him a good opportunity to make fun of me again…Manon was right: I’m too repressed. After all, what do I have to lose if I go ask him? Would I look ridiculous? At the point where I’m at right now…I decide what I’m going to do. I’ll take a shower to get my courage up and then go knock on his door. I’m not going to beat around the bush and I’m going to ask him what’s going on between us. After all, we’re both adults.

“Oh, Emma! I didn’t know you were planning on stopping by…”

“Yes, I kind of decided on a whim…I just wanted to be a friendly neighbor,” I say, nearly choking.

“If I had known…”

“It must be a bad time, you have guests…”

“Yes, we’re having a business meeting, sorry.”

“Oh well, maybe another…?”

He doesn’t let me finish my sentence. With a confident movement, he grabs me by the waist and holds me against him. His lips press against mine, almost brutally. I lose my bearings. While he holds me firmly against him, I feel his tongue slide into my mouth and meet my tongue. I don’t want this to ever end. His hand runs along my back, down my jeans. My entire body is alert, waiting for his next movement, his next bold move. I feel his penis through the fabric of his pants, I squeeze my muscles tighter. I’m ready for anything.

“Charles, is everything alright?” I forgot that he wasn’t alone, it feels like a cold shower. “Yes, yes, Natacha, I’m coming.” He lithely breaks away from me and acts as if nothing happened. I, however, am all shook up. I’m out of breath, I feel like I’m completely naked and I am probably bright red.

“Come with me, I was away for too long, I’m going to introduce you…” What a great idea! In my state…I don’t have time to protest as he rushes me into the living room. A moment later, I feel like I’m hallucinating. There are two identical statuesque blondes sitting on the red chaise lounge. At first I think they’re naked, but then I realize they’re wearing tiny, flesh-colored dresses. They both pose in exactly the same way, with their legs crossed, a glass of champagne in hand. Two pairs of ice blue eyes look me up and down.

“Emma, please meet Natacha and Katia Petrovska. Emma Maugham, my friend and neighbor.”

I’m able to articulate a feeble ‘bonsoir’. I can’t breathe, I need to get out of here, I need to escape.

“Sorry, I need to get going,” I say, leaving.

“Emma…as you like. See you soon.”

I don’t wait for him to walk me back to the door, I retrace my steps like a zombie. Now I’m sitting in front of a bowl of soup and I can’t get over it. How did we go from humiliating mockery to this torrid kiss, a kiss that still makes my body shiver? And who were those twins on the chaise longue? Was that really a business meeting? It’s true that I still don’t know what he does…but it seems dirty to me. What type of business meeting do you show up to, half-naked with your twin sister? Manon’s voice echoes ironically in my head. At this point, I can’t really see another explanation…Then why did he decide to introduce me? Did he want me to join in? I immediately banish the idea from my head. It’s too much. Get laid, sure. Tolerating this kind of perversion, though, is beyond my capabilities. I’ll let him know this the next time I see him. In the meantime, a cold shower will really do me some good.

I’m sitting on the chaise lounge, wearing nothing but a flesh-colored slip. Charles, sitting next to me, hands me a glass of champagne while looking into my eyes. We toast. He caresses my knee with his other hand. His fingers glide over my burning skin, tormenting me. He suddenly stops and pushes down the straps of my dress in a brusque movement. The dress disappears, I’m naked, still sitting with my legs crossed, holding my glass of champagne. He resumes caressing my knee, now more insistent. This time, his fingers travel further up my thigh. I look at them, fascinated. I want to uncross my legs but I can’t move. And then…I wake up.

I don’t want to go over to his house again, I’ll leave our next encounter entirely up to chance. Until then, I’m going to try to live normally. After all, nothing really happened. A meager kiss in the hallway, it’s not really something to make such a big deal over…If my life wasn’t so empty, I’d barely remember it.

And here’s exactly the opportunity I need to take my mind off of it. A party at Manon’s house. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet a guy closer to my age with normal values?

Manon apparently had the same idea and as soon as I enter, she introduces me to a guy named Olivier from her class in medieval linguistics. He’s a charmer. Nice curly brown hair, big light green dreamy eyes, a scruffy look…exactly my type. We have a few drinks, we chat. I get the feeling things are going well. I put my hand on his…and he promptly takes it off. He’s just getting out of a rough relationship, he tells me. My mistake. It’s been a week since I started getting interested in men and I’m already getting my first taste of rejection. I feel even more humiliated although, as he reassures me, he thinks I’m ‘really great’.

Manon and Mathieu start playing hits from the 80’s. They forgot about me, I don’t blame them. I quietly take my leave, the last train awaits.

At this time of night, I don’t think I’m going to meet anyone in the hallway.

“Bonsoir.”

It’s Rita. I mean, the lady I’ve nicknamed Rita. This time, she’s wearing a black pants suit. She is still beautiful, but less sexy. And what’s more, she’s leaving. I tell her good evening and continue looking through my bag.

“Emma, is that your name?”

How does she know my name? Were they all talking about me? I stand up straight to look at her. She holds out her hand, a sincere smile on her lips.

“Elisabeth, pleased to meet you. Since we see each other so often, we might as well be friendly, don’t you think?”

“Yes. You live here?”

She seems shocked by my question.

“Oh no, not at all! Charles and I are old friends. We work together, too…”

“Then you’re not his girlfriend?”

“Oh my god, no! Charles, a girlfriend?”

The idea seems so bizzare to her that she bursts out laughing.

“Sorry, but I saw you the other day…and what I wanted to say…”

“As I said, we’re just old friends,” she says to put an end to the conversation, before disappearing into the elevator.

‘Old friends.’ What does that mean? That they sleep together every now and then? How often? Are there rules for this kind of thing? Does she only say this because they don’t live together? I get the feeling that everything about my neighbor is complicated…