Dance with the Billionaire (17 page)

I’m the first to arrive at the restaurant. It’s called
The Grocery
, and it serves high-end classic American cuisine. I’ve told Dylan to meet me fifteen minutes before Nat gets here, because I need to prep him. I want him on his best behavior, and on top of that I’m going to have to come clean to the fact that I’ve kind of maybe let Nat think that he’s my boyfriend, too.
Boyfriend.
The word makes me cringe. Is he really gonna be cool with that? He made it pretty clear when we first met that he wasn’t a boyfriend kind of guy. But then, didn’t I think that all that romance shit was for losers? But then, that
was
before I lost my virginity on the most romantic night of my life. Anyway,
whatever
Dylan might be feeling about our arrangement, I just need to make it clear to him that if he could make it look like we’re an item -- just for tonight – then he’d really be doing me a massive favor.

I’m getting ready to give him the lowdown, running through what I’m going to say to him in my head, when I look up from my menu to see that he’s heading to my table and ...
Fuck.
He’s not alone. And no, he’s not brought some rich, devastatingly handsome friend for Natalia. It’s much, much worse than that. He’s brought
Isabella
.

She’s trailing a few feet behind him, her face pinched in a sulky bratty pout, and Dylan doesn’t look all that happy either.

I know I’ve got to hide my disappointment, so I put on my sweetest smile as they reach my table, standing up to greet them both as if this is the loveliest surprise I could imagine.

“Isabella!” I say happily. “How nice to see you! What brings you to Manhattan?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Long story,” she says, dropping heavily into her chair then immediately flagging down a waiter. “Bring me a vodka gimlet,” she hisses at him.

Dylan sits down next, and I follow, the three of us falling into an awkward silence for a moment, which he is the first to break.

“How was your day, Julia?” he says, pointedly ignoring Isabella.

She sighs theatrically as I begin to talk, rolling her heavily made up eyes for the second time in as many minutes, obviously pissed that for once she’s not the center of attention.

“I’m going to powder my nose,” she cuts in, pushing herself back onto her insanely large heels, leaving us alone at the table.

What the hell, Dylan?
I want to scream at him.
When was bringing Isabella ever a good idea?!
But I obviously don’t need to. My face says it all.

“I’m so sorry,” he says in a low tone once she’s gone, leaning in towards me, his dark brow knitting. “She turned up at my office less than an hour ago. Apparently, she’s had a screaming row with half the girls in her sorority, and so she needed to escape.”

“Why didn’t she just go back to the house in Newport?” I sigh, wishing it had been the case.

“My mother’s there this week,” he says. “And she doesn’t take too kindly to her antics. But please don’t worry too much. I know what Bella’s like. She’ll just stay one night at mine, get bored, and then she’ll have no doubt made up with her sorority by the morning.”

“So I’m guessing you can’t stay over tonight?” I say, unable to hide my disappointment yet again.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he whispers, moments before she storms back to our table.

As if I’m not even there, she carries on with the story she must have been telling him as they made their way into the restaurant. “But the thing is,” she huffs, “Ashley
is
being a total bitch, because she’s the one who said she didn’t care about him in the first place, so it’s hardly my fault now, is it ...”

I zone out of her monologue, reaching under the table to grab my phone from my clutch.

What I really want to do is call Nat and warn her that Dylan’s psycho sister will be joining us for dinner, but I can’t, not without them overhearing. So a text message will have to do.

Keeping the phone hidden on my lap, I quickly type:

I’m so sorry about the dreadful evening we’re going to have. Will explain later. X

And then, just moments after I press send, I spot Nat making her way to our table.

Damn
, I think.
I should have known.

You see, Nat is always five minutes early, to anything. She definitely won’t have read my text message yet, so she must be wondering what’s going on.

I feel my stomach sink when I see what she’s wearing. She’s got on her best, most expensive little black dress, and she’s sure gonna be disappointed when it becomes apparent that she’s dressed up not for some rich and cute guy friend of Dylan’s, but for a psycho bitch from hell.

And sure enough, she raises a quizzical eyebrow at me and I stand to greet her.

“Hey! Natalia!” I say, giving her a big hug. And as I do so, I whisper into her ear, “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Natalia,” I say, turning to face the table, “this is Dylan. And this is Dylan’s sister, Isabella. She’s visiting from college.”

To my relief, Dylan is the perfect gentleman. He stands to greet Nat warmly, shaking her by the hand and asking if she came far. It just about makes up for Isabella’s total disinterest.

“Hey,” she mumbles beneath her breath before turning her attention back to the screen of her iPhone.

I just hope she’ll spend the rest of the evening glued to it like normal, rather than trying to derail the conversation with more talk about herself. Although a sly glance in her direction tells me that she’s
already
drained her cocktail, which means she’s probably planning on getting completely wasted and causing a scene. Business as usual then.

Once we’re all sitting down, I wrack my brains for light conversation.

“Natalia works at a restaurant downtown,” I begin, giving Nat a smile. “But we met at a local dance studio. She’s a fantastic dancer.”

“But Julia’s way better than I’ll ever be,” Nat replies, giving me a big grin of her own.

“I’ve had a sneak preview,” Dylan adds. “She can certainly move ...”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Nat laughs. “And how about you, Dylan? What do you do?”

“I work in finance,” he says.

“He owns the company,” I correct him.

Maybe this is going to go okay after all ...

“And you, Isabella?” Nat says, turning to face her.

Or maybe not ...

“Huh?” Isabella says after a moment, looking up confused from the screen of her phone. “Did somebody say something?”

“Nat was just asking what you did,” I say quietly.

“I’m at Brown,” she drawls. “Although to be honest? I probably won’t be there much longer.”

“Oh come on,” Dylan says, embarrassed. “I thought you liked it there!”

“It’s boring,” she mumbles, clearly a little drunk from the cocktail (and whatever else she’s had earlier in the evening) totally ignoring Nat and I, keeping her eyes trained on Dylan. “And it’s
hard
. I thought college was supposed to be
fun
. What a crock of shit ...”

“Oh wow!” Nat laughs, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

Here we go ...

I was so worried about what Isabella might say to Nat, that I hadn’t stopped to think about what Nat might say to Isabella. I think we’re in for another dose of Nat’s ‘telling it like it is’ ...

“If I had the opportunity to attend one of the best schools in the world?” she says, incredulously, shaking her head at Isabella. “I’d be there right now, working my
ass
off
. I would most certainly not be half-wasted in some restaurant in New York, complaining to my brother about how
difficult
it was. I’d just be doing it, girl.”

Isabella looks shocked. I wonder if maybe this is the first time anybody’s just told it to her straight in her entire life. It seems entirely possible from her reaction. Her jaw hangs open, and for once this evening, she’s not staring at her phone.

“How fucking
dare you
,” she begins.

But before she can continue, Dylan cuts across her, turning to Nat, his eyes narrowing.

“Excuse me,” he says, “but you don’t know
anything
about my sister’s life. So if I were you, I would keep your opinions to yourself. Okay?”

What the fuck? Why is Dylan standing up for Isabella now? Especially when he knows that Nat is one-hundred percent right ...

I can tell Nat is gearing up to fight back. She’s not gonna take this lying down. I mean, she never takes
anything
lying down. The air in the room is so tense right now you could cut it with a knife.
This could go any way at all
, I think, cringing in my seat, desperately trying to think of something to say or do to diffuse the situation. But the problem is, they’re both kind of in the right at the moment. Someone definitely needs to tell Isabella the truth – I really think she needs some kind of wakeup call. But right here right now, and by a total stranger? I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, either.

And before I can even speak, Nat’s on the attack again.

“Wait a minute, Mr
Bigshot
...” she begins, putting the emphasis on ‘bigshot’ like it’s the worst insult in the world.

But before she can even continue, Isabella seems to recover from the shock. “Yeah right!” she spits, cutting Nat off. “Like I’d take life advice from some basic
waitress
!” And she laughs, slamming her hand hard on the table, as if it’s the funniest joke she’s heard all evening.

Now it’s Nat’s turn to look wounded. I’ve seen her in all sorts of situations – I’ve seen people scream at her, cry at her, try to slap her, but I’ve never, ever seen anyone
laugh
at her before. And it’s obviously too much.

Because silently, calmly, and slowly, she rises to her feet and leaves the table.

“Natalia wait!” I call after her, my heart hammering, but it’s too late, she’s already gone.

§

We somehow manage to have dinner, the three of us, without Nat. Isabella actually seems in good spirits now, despite the horrible scene she just created. I guess something like that must put her in a good mood. And I inwardly resolve to never, ever give her the satisfaction of fighting with her. Mostly though, she’s back on her iPhone, tapping away, her glossy pink fake nails ticking sharply against the glass of the touchscreen, giving Dylan and I a chance to talk at least.

“I want to taste your cunt right now,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes blazing with desire, as if he can see right through my dress.

I feel myself blush. I mean, I want him, too. But how? This is so fucking frustrating. I’ve only just started scratching that itch and now it’s been taken away again. And by
Isabella
no less. But at the same time, I also truly understand for the first time the sweet pleasure of that frustration; what exactly I was
doing
to Dylan by withholding from him, during our first week together. Because it feels like every new second we’re not fucking, the urge inside me doubles ...

“I need you,
tonight
,” he growls, his voice just audible over the steady hum of the restaurant.

“How?” I mouth back, pointing at an oblivious Isabella, still engrossed in her phone.

“Leave it with me,” he says.

And soon enough, the waiter comes and Dylan settles the bill, dropping a platinum AmEx card into the silver dish with carefree ease.

“So, Isabella, where exactly are you staying tonight?” I ask hopefully.

“With Dylan I guess,” she sighs, not even taking her eyes from her phone.

Dammit
, I think.
She could afford a whole fucking suite at the Roosevelt. She’s probably got their number on speed dial. Why the hell does she want to stay with Dylan?