Dance with the Billionaire (38 page)

That was something Greg would never do …

What a damn mess.

I gazed forlornly at my reflection in the night black window, as the subway rocketed me back towards Brooklyn and my hopelessly tiny apartment, and my kind clueless boyfriend who didn’t even suspect anything was wrong.

If I really thought about it, there were other things too: we hardly spent any time together. Even though my schedule was more flexible now, Greg still didn’t seem interested in spending much time with me, preferring to spend long hours in the library, poring over the reading list for the MBA he dreamed of studying but couldn’t afford. He always said he was focusing on our future but he never seemed to be willing to give me an afternoon right now.

And although he never said it, I knew he hated New York. He hadn’t made a single friend here, and was always talking about the beautiful ranch house we’d be able to afford in the country somewhere, if only we’d get out of this place. He’d even begun to refuse to go to all those amazing restaurants he used to read about, saying they were full of snobs.

And then there was the sex. Or lack of it. Greg had never had the greatest libido, but these days I could tell he was just going through the motions. The things I saw Blake doing that night, well I knew Greg would never even think of doing them, finding them kinky, weird, gross even ...

I knew it was wrong of me, pitting Greg and Blake against each other in my head like this, and it make me feel like such a total bitch, so I forced myself to think about something else: the networking event.

Am I really gonna go?

It wasn’t like Greg was busy. Sundays were his night off, and of course this was the big break he needed. I knew how smart he was, and as soon as he got into a room full of well-connected, influential people, I was sure someone was bound to notice him.

I owed it to him. We had to go. 

As I exited the subway, I stopped by the nearest ATM, slipping my card into the machine and tapping in my PIN, ready to take out $50. But I stopped in my tracks when I clocked the balance on screen.

No.

This can’t be right.

I read back the figure again, and again, and again. I’d obviously just been paid, and it was triple the amount I’d suggested to Blake’s assistant.

This was his work – no doubt. He’d done this on purpose. Another power game. Another attempt to mess with my head. And as I stared at the obscenely large new balance of my bank account, I didn’t feel any of the joy or excitement I’d expected to feel, back when I’d fantasized about becoming a powerful, successful woman with the bank account to match.

Instead I felt like a puppet, a plaything ...

Does he really expect me to flutter my eyelashes and thank him profusely, the next time I see him?

Because he could forget that.

But what I could do, though, was enjoy the money. This was enough to pay for Greg’s MBA, get us out of that tiny apartment. Hell, we could even get out of Brooklyn – move to Manhattan, right in the city ...

But then it hit me.

How exactly was I going explain our newfound wealth to Greg? He was such an old fashioned guy. He was always talking about how he was going take care of me. He didn’t have to say anything, but I could tell it stung already that my job with Marianne paid way more than his hourly rate at the bar.

And if I was putting him through school, too? Being the breadwinner?

I don’t think his masculinity could handle it. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Jessica, glad you’re here!” Blake said loudly, as if he wanted the whole room to hear. “I want you to meet my partner, Alex Wiltshire.”

And as he whisked me across the private function suite of The 212, I felt his hand come to rest gently on the small of my back, his touch separated only by the silk of my dress. All my anger at his mind games, all my resolve not to think about him in that way, simply melted away. Because once you found yourself in a room with Blake Matthews, it was dangerously easy to fall back under his spell.

“Great dress,” he murmured in my ear.

I couldn’t help but grin with pleasure. I felt like he was showing me off, like he was actually proud of me. 

My eyes darted once more towards Greg, hoping he wasn’t getting jealous or suspicious, but no, he looked like he was having a great time, chatting away happily to some elderly business mogul that Blake had introduced him to.

Obviously I’d been nervous about Greg and Blake finally meeting, but it had happened so quickly, not much more than a ‘hello’ and a handshake, yet I had this weird feeling that they were still sizing each other up from across the room.

I’m just going to have to do my best to keep them apart.

“Jessica, meet my right-hand man, Alex Wiltshire,” Blake said, gesturing me towards a silver-haired older gent in a sharp dark grey suit.

“Ah, so this is the Jessica we’ve heard so much about …” he said, his face breaking out in a warm smile, his accent transatlantic. I’m not one for older guys, and this guy was probably older than my dad, but I had to admit that he was rather handsome in a certain kind of a way.

“Alex is the brains behind the operation,” Blake explained, playfully.

“Nonsense,” Wiltshire replied. “Don’t listen to him! My position on the board is simply an advisory one. You wouldn’t expect it, but dear old Blake here loves to do himself down. Don’t you, boy?”

“Something like that,” Blake shrugged with a grin.

There was something endearing about the friendly way the two men sparred, with Blake adopting the boyish innocent role, that reminded me of a father and son. It was another new side to Blake, one I was enjoying seeing, an innocent kindness and, yes, that reassuring warmth I saw so rarely.

I cast another quick glance across the room at Greg, so enthusiastic yet so out-of-place in his cheap Target suit jacket and bartending slacks, and I felt a twinge of sadness.

 “So Jessica, when are you going to turn your expert skills to some of the more outdated hotels in our portfolio then?” Wiltshire continued.

Is he joking?

“Well, I don’t know,” I stuttered. “I mean, I’d love to but, I mean, of course I would, if you really mean it?” My head was swimming, and my words were a garbled rush, escaping my mouth two at a time.

The two men laughed at my enthusiastic outpouring.

“Hey, I can’t spare her just yet!” Blake chimed, “I want to get my apartment finished first.”

“So where did you find her, anyway?” Wiltshire asked.

“I poached her,” Blake said, and I felt my skin break out in a cold sweat. “From Marianne Martinelli.”

I quickly shot a panicked look at Greg.

Why haven’t I thought about this until now?

Why didn’t I think about the very real possibility of Blake telling Greg that I worked for him now?

 After all, it’s not like Blake knows it’s a secret.

I just need to make sure that doesn’t happen, and fast …

“I’m really sorry, Mr Wiltshire” I cut in, “but I just need to have a private word with Blake about something. We’ll be right back …”

Blake gave me a puzzled look, but followed me across the room, right out through the door that led to the little alcove by the bathrooms, nestled away out of sight from the main function room.

Once we were safely on our own, I turned back to Blake, surprised to find him so near to me, surprised to see that, yes, he was moving in even closer, backing me right up against the wall, closing up the few inches of space between us until my head was spinning from the heady scent of his cologne and the fact that his full sensual lips were only inches from mine.

I could feel my heart pounding as I realized what was happening.

He’s mistaken my actions ...

He’s misread my obvious need to get him alone ...

I opened my mouth to speak, but all that escaped it was a breathy gasp as I felt his fingers firmly cup my buttock, his leg slipping between mine, my skirt sliding upwards as, for some reason, I allowed it all to happen, even finding myself parting my legs a little so that his thigh would slide even further between mine.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he whispered, his words just hot breath, his lips tantalizingly close to mine. “At the party, it was you …”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied quietly, hearing the obvious trembling nervous excitement in my voice, feeling his muscular thigh brushing softly against my yearning, throbbing sex.

“It was you,” Blake repeated, his leg now slipping away, but something else taking its place.

His fingers.

I could feel his touch travelling upwards, tracing a soft line up the tingling flesh of my inner thigh, headed right towards the flimsy cotton of my panties.

“You who watched me from the shadows …”

His hand moved further upwards.

“You who watched me jacking my cock …”

His touch traced further still, until his fingers lightly flitted over my throbbing mound then began to actually slip inside my panties. I knew I should stop him, but instead I remained frozen in place.

“You who slipped her hand into her panties and began playing with herself as she watched me …”

I felt his finger slowly begin to work my clit, sending a deep shiver through me.

“I watched you come that night, Jessica,” he continued, working me in a slow rhythmic motion, “and now I want to watch you come again.”

I closed my eyes as I felt myself actually begin to ride his hand, grinding myself against him, feeling his expert touch coaxing fresh shivers of pleasure from my trembling body with each subtle motion it made, my lips brushing lightly against his in an almost-kiss, his fingers plunging so beautifully into my warm, willing wetness …

You can’t do this.

Not now, not here ...

I froze, realizing, reaching down and yanking his hand away from me, suddenly overcome with a horrible nauseous guilt.

“No,” I murmured. “No, stop. Not like this.”

“You sure you want me to stop?” Blake said, still in that same slow suggestive tone as before, raising his fingers between us, both of us registering just how much they sparkled with my juices in the dim lighting.

“Please,” I murmured, “Please.”

Oh, this is all turning into such a stupid mess …

And when Blake began to finally realize what was happening, watching my bottom lip begin to tremble as the hot sting of tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, his face quickly changed, from that of animal lust to genuine concern.

“Jessica, wait …” he said, as I turned and fled, into the safety of the ladies’ restrooms. “Jesus Christ,” I heard him mutter to himself, just before the heavy door swung shut.

I locked myself away in the farthest stall, sat down on the lid, rested my head in my hands, and then burst into tears.

§

I don’t know how long I’d been in the bathroom for when I finally dragged myself back to my feet and fixed my makeup in the large ornate sink above the faucets. But when I headed back into the function room, I could tell immediately that something had changed.

Oh no.

Anything but that.

There was Blake, talking to Greg, and even from the other end of the room I could tell that there was a weird vibe between them — Blake had his back to me, but Greg sought me out the very moment I set foot in the room. His eyes were black and narrow and cold in a way I don’t think I’d ever seen them before, as he slowly nodded at whatever Blake was saying.

The sense of dread increased with each step closer I took, and by the time I finally reached them, I felt just about ready to die.

“Oh, great to see you two getting along!” I said, as innocently as I could. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, Blake here,” Greg said, his teeth gritted, his voice shaking with controlled rage, “was just telling me about how happy he was that he’d poached you from Marianne. So, when the fuck were you going tell me?”

“Greg, I’m sorry,” I began. “If you’d just let me explain. It all happened so fast …”

“Actually, you know what, Jessica?” he cut in. “I don’t want to hear it. Not right now. I think I’d better leave you alone with your new boss.”

His voice was shaking with anger, and I shot Blake a venomous look, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault. After all, it’s not like I’d actually told him I was keeping secrets from my boyfriend, had I?

“Greg, please! Wait!” I cried, as I watched him push past Blake, knocking his shoulder as he barged towards the exit.

“Look,” Blake said, turning to me, “if I said something wrong just then, I really didn’t mean to.”

“Forget it,” I snapped, my own voice now shaking with rage.

“And about before,” he continued.

“What did I just say?” I hissed, turning to chase Greg out through the function room, heading frantically for the exit, not even bothering to collect my coat, my only focus now on finding Greg and apologizing properly, on fixing this whole sorry mess somehow.

The cold air hit me like a punch in the face. There was a fine rain falling too, and it quickly soaked through the silk of my dress as I dashed out onto the sidewalk, looking frantically left then right, no clue whether he’d gone in search of a cab, or to drown his sorrows at a bar somewhere, or decided to walk as far as he could home to blow off some steam.

Knowing Greg, it would probably be the latter, so I turned and began to race, quickly as I could in the direction of our apartment.

I turned a corner and there, right at the other end of the street, I saw him, walking sadly away, his shoulders slumped as if in defeat. I felt my heart reach out to him — this man who meant so much to me, who’s loved me so long and so completely, who still means whole fucking world to me, who had been my first lover, my soul mate, my everything, and who I’d hurt so very much … 

“Greg, wait!” I called, chasing towards him, feeling the cold drizzle of rain against my skin, hearing the echoey click of my heels ricocheting around the otherwise empty street.

But he showed no sign of stopping, even quickening his pace, storming away from me, forcing me to run in an attempt to catch up with him, risking a twisted ankle or worse in these stupidly impractical heels.

As I ran I cried out again, “Greg, please!’ and maybe it was this that finally caused him to stop and turn, his face twisted in such a hurt, angry grimace it caught me a little by surprise.

His eyes looked red and sore, too, as if he’d actually been crying.

“Greg, I’m sorry,” I panted, trying my hardest to catch my breath, unsure whether to move in close or keep my distance.

“I thought I knew you,” he spat.

“You do,” I urged, meaning it with all my heart. “You do know me, more than anyone.”

“So how come that smarmy bastard knew something I didn’t? And I thought he was supposed to be old and boring and ugly … Do you think I’m stupid, Jessica? He looks like a fucking movie star!”

I shook my head, desperate for Greg to understand just how much I cared for him, how this was all just a silly white lie that had gotten quickly out of hand, and was not at all about hurting him …

But I just didn’t know where in the world to begin.

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded, feeling the tears welling up once more. “I just knew that this was how you’d act if you found out …”

“You know what?” he cried. “I’m done. With this. With all of this. See you later.”

He turned and began to stomp off.

“Please! Don’t!” I sobbed, falling to my knees on the pavement, not even caring if I ruined this stupid six-hundred dollar dress. “Just don’t do this. Please. Not like this ...”

I was surprised that my words had any effect but they did. He actually stopped and turned around, walking back to me, taking his place before me once more. I could feel the hot tears now sliding down my cheeks, the cold drizzle landing on my skin, my chest rising and falling, my dress soaked right through, as I picked myself back up.

His face was screwed up with emotion, his mouth curled in a snarl, his hands balled into hard, angry fists.

“What do you mean, ‘done’?” I asked again, quieter.

“I don’t want to say anything I regret …” Greg replied.

“Say it,” I urged.

“Well, I’m not sure I …”

He looked away, down the wet empty street behind us.

“I’m not sure I wanna be with you any more.”