Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) (23 page)

B
illie had seen
beautiful sights before, but this was something else.

This was breathtaking. This was unreal.

This was Sebastian James Cooper in a tux.

“Do I look all right?” he asked, frowning down at himself. He stood on the doorstep holding a bouquet of red tulips, which he held out to her. “I hope you still like these.”

She tried to swallow. Her mouth had gone dry. “I still like these,” she managed to say, taking the tulips and embracing them to her chest.

Her blood-red cocktail dress had a low neckline, and the cellophane wrapper poked into the soft flesh of her exposed cleavage. Ignoring the pain, she smiled at him.

At her request, they had delayed their big date in San Francisco for several weeks. She’d wanted to settle things with Jane, the house, and her job—and save up for the shoes. The dress would be expensive enough, but the shoes were ridiculous, and nothing but a paycheck that reflected her new raise—her job duties were the same, but she’d advanced to the lofty position of Permit Technician II—was going to let her feel responsible enough to buy them.

Being an advanced permit technician wasn’t the dream job of a lifetime, but it felt pretty damn good for right now. Doc was gone, she had her friends, she had bigger career plans on the horizon…

And she had Ian.

With him on her doorstep, she completely forgot about her job, her vintage dress, her designer footwear. She couldn’t stop staring. He was blindingly handsome, ridiculously debonair.

And he was all hers. Grinning, she inhaled the honey scent of the tulips and handed them off to the side where, she seemed to remember, Jane had been standing a moment ago.

“I’ll put them in water,” Jane said, squeezing her arm. “You might want to close your mouth, girl, or a moth will fly in.”

Billie didn’t break her gaze from the masculine vision before her, but she clicked her jaw shut as she stepped outside, teetering on her heels into Ian’s arms. “Bye, Jane.”

“I won’t be staying up. Have fun, kids,” she said, closing the door.

Ian immediately lowered his head and claimed a long, hard kiss. “You look amazing,” he growled, sliding his hand down her spine. It rested on the curve of her bottom, encased in tight satin, stroking back and forth.

She just laughed. She knew this dress gave her killer curves and the hair stylist a few hours ago had earned the fifty percent tip, but this man was the one who was going to stop traffic. Even the richest, prettiest people in San Francisco were going to be impressed.

Grinning with pride, she pulled him with her down the steps to his black Ferrari. “You brought your other girlfriend along,” she said.

“This old thing? Got it on Craigslist.” He opened the door for her, then helped her slide into the padded ocean of tan leather.

She tucked her legs inside and looked up at him, wondering why he was still standing there.

He reached down and slowly stroked his hand over her knee to her thigh, which had been exposed as her dress shifted up to her hips when she sat down, and squeezed. Then he leaned down and moved higher, brushing her panties with his fingertips.

Short of breath, she caught his wrist. “Better not. We’ll never leave.”

Nostrils flaring, he closed his eyes and nodded. “Right.” After a final squeeze, he stood up, closed the door, and climbed in next to her.

They hit the road to San Francisco.

Over the years, she’d been in his fancy car many times, so she focused her full attention on him and all his beauty. It was only March, and the sun had set hours ago, leaving his profile illuminated only by the oncoming cars and city lights. He’d shaved, which brought out his high cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw, but she knew a dark shadow of whiskers would reappear within a few hours.

They fell into a pleasurably intense silence. Being with him over the past few weeks—going to movies and restaurants, hiking the park near the house, and shopping for colorful throw pillows for his black leather couches—had been (almost) as much fun as their hours in bed. He did indeed have a bed in that airplane hangar he called home. A very nice one.

She hadn’t moved in with him officially, but she spent most of her nights at the loft. The twin bed at Grammy’s wasn’t nearly as comfortable, and Jane had plans to convert that bedroom into a rental so she could afford to buy out Billie’s share of the house and keep it for herself. Ian would put up a wall with a separate entrance and put in a little kitchenette. Billie, as a newly minted Permit Technician II, would act as consultant on the city permit process.

“Are you hungry?” Ian asked now, when they were approaching the tolls for the Bay Bridge. “I made reservations for dinner at the restaurant first, but don’t feel obligated to eat if you don’t want to.”

Thinking they were going straight to the lounge for drinks and dancing, she’d shared a bowl of pasta—and a tub of cream cheese—with Jane earlier. “Oh, Ian, I’m sorry, I already—”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m not hungry either. I just wanted us to have the option. The bar has tapas and small plates if you need something.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s there if you want it,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

She smiled at him, curious about the funny tension in his voice. “I won’t.”

When they were finally past the tollbooths and weaving through traffic onto the east span of the bridge, he wiped his hands on his pants and let out a slow breath.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Lorna had come into his office sick with a cold, and she wasn’t the type of person to always cover her sneeze, with or without a please.

“I’m fine. Don’t I seem fine?”

“You’re more than fine.” She reached over and played with the tiny tuft of hair curling over his starched collar.

With his hand on the gearshift, he paused. “It would be better if you didn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather not drive off the bridge.”

She smiled. “Afraid of getting the car wet?”

“Exactly.”

With a final caress of his freshly shaven cheek, she brought her hands back to her lap. “I’ll be good.”

“Only for the next fifteen minutes.”

“Deal.”

The Top of the Mark was a famous high-rise bar downtown. She’d been looking at pictures and reviews online, all about its old-fashioned, romantic luxury, but she’d never been lucky enough to go before. Ian pulled into an enclosed brick driveway, parked to one side, and got out, stroking her knee before he left her. Then Billie watched as he conducted some sort of rich-guy’s negotiation with the uniformed valet parking staff—another man came over, and he shook a few hands—and then he helped her out of the car.

As they walked up the red-carpeted stairs to go inside, she noticed he returned his car keys to his pocket.

“Don’t you give them the keys so they can move it?” she asked.

He glanced at her and smiled. “No.”

She turned and saw the valet guys gathered around the car, their faces serious, conversing amongst themselves like justices at the Supreme Court.

“They like your car,” she said.

“So do I,” he said, escorting her deeper into the hotel. “That’s why I gave them a little extra for leaving it right where it is.”

His “little extra” was probably about ten times what she’d call “small fortune.”

They went through the gold-toned, chandelier-lit lobby to the elevator, and in a few moments they were stepping out onto the nineteenth floor.

Even though it was long past sunset, the stunning view made her suck in her breath. Twenty stories above the peak of Nob Hill, they stood in a glass-walled penthouse with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of twinkling city lights, fog, sea, moon, and stars. A jazz band was playing over near a large dance floor, where a few couples were dancing.

She gripped Ian’s arm and sighed.

“
G
lad you like it
.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Within a few dizzying minutes, they were seated at a window facing east, with downtown San Francisco and the Bay Bridge spreading out below them. And beyond that, Oakland and the hills of the East Bay.

“I thought it would be nice to look in the other direction for a change,” he said, pulling her hand into his.

“I love it,” she said.
I love you
. She hadn’t said it yet, but it was always lingering on her tongue, waiting for a moment that wouldn’t ruin everything.

They each had a martini from the vast menu, gazed into each other’s eyes and, after planning their next hike to Mt. Tam, got up to dance. He’d told her he could, and she wasn’t disappointed: the man had moves.

She wasn’t so bad herself, but she didn’t know much swing, and after two dances, she pulled him off to the side and slowed them down to something she could handle without stepping on his feet for a tenth time.

He held her and they swayed from side to side up in the clouds.

“I want this to be the beginning of something, Billie,” he said softly. “It’s not just because I want to…” Eyebrows rising, he caressed her palm with his thumb.

“Go ahead and say it,” she whispered. “I like sex talk.”

He lowered his voice and spoke softly in her ear. “Not just because I want you,” he said. “Not just because I want you in my bed.”

She shivered. If she wasn’t careful, she’d touch him in an inappropriate way right there on the dance floor. At that moment, his loft in Emeryville, just past his shoulder on the other side of the bay, seemed like the other side of the earth.

“When can we leave?” she asked.

He drew back and looked at her. “You don’t like it here?”

“It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s just that you’re even more great and beautiful.”

“You’re talking about yourself, not me.”

“That would be kind of conceited of me,” she said, “if I’m dancing with a guy and I start saying, ‘I’m great, I’m beautiful.’ Like that shampoo commercial. Or was it makeup?”

He kissed her earlobe. Her neck.

“Seriously,” she whispered, arching against him. “Let’s leave so we can be alone.”

He stopped kissing her, drew back, and frowned at the floor, missing the next few steps of the dance.

She realized she’d said the wrong thing. “Ian?”

He reached up to his eyebrow—paused—and then adjusted his tie. “I had planned—I’d thought—” He stopped himself and smiled. “No, it doesn’t matter. This night is for you. If you want to leave, we’ll leave.”

“No, forget what I said. I was being”—impatient, horny, selfish—“silly. I totally want to stay. There’s a chocolate martini. I can’t miss out on that.”

“We could come back tomorrow night. Or in the morning for brunch.”

That sounded good. But no, he’d arranged this date and of course wanted to see it through. “I don’t want to come back. It has to be now or it wouldn’t be the same.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Of course I’m not.”

He smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and escorted her back to their table, where a triangle of chocolate layer cake sat on a plate.

“Did you order that?” she asked.

“It’s for you,” he said.

She sat down, smiling shyly at him, and took a bite. The taste of rich chocolate exploded in her mouth. She moaned and wiggled.

He smiled. “Thought you’d like that.”

Their waiter arrived then with a bottle of champagne, which he prepared with panache.

“We’ll also have a chocolatini,” Ian told him after he’d poured the glasses. “And the check.”

“I told you we don’t have to leave,” she said. “We can dance again. You’re a great dancer.”

But Ian didn’t respond. He had his hand in his coat pocket and was staring at the table with a queasy look on his face.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She understood immediately. “You forgot your wallet, didn’t you? Don’t worry. I have a credit card that should have enough room on it to cover it.” Hopefully.

His eyes met hers just as he pulled a velvet box out of his pocket.

While her heart hammered against her ribs, he set the box on the table.

“I—I really care about you, Billie. I have for a long time, although I was too stupid to realize it until recently.”

She dropped the fork, catapulting a chunk of chocolate against the side of her water glass. But—but—it was too soon. Sure she’d had little daydreams, but this—this—they’d only been together a month.

He was watching her carefully. Hands still on the box, he slowly cracked it open. “Don’t worry, it’s just a necklace.”

And it was. A very thin gold chain, twisted in a loop several times over, much too big to fit on any woman’s finger, no matter how curvy she was.

Different emotions waged a war inside her. Relief, annoyance, amusement, disappointment, love.

Mostly there was love.

All right, mostly there was disappointment. But love was mixed in there too.

She had to clear her throat. “It’s beautiful,” she said, reaching for it.

“You like it?”

“Of course I like it.” She took the box in her left palm and withdrew the delicate chain. “I love it.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He gave his head a brisk nod, then reached into his pocket again. “First I got you this, but Jane said you weren’t ready.”

He set another box on the table.

The air caught in her chest.

His voice deepened. “I think you are.”

B
illie gripped the table
, her heart pounding. Little prickles began tingling all over her body. The chocolate cake felt like a cable car in her stomach, heavy and rumbling.

“I love you, Billie,” he said.

Oh my God. She’d thought maybe he would eventually, but this—now—

She stared at the box. “What is it?” Her voice was raspy.

“Open it.”

Hand trembling, she set down the necklace in the first box and gazed at the other one. That box, too small for a necklace, was black velvet with gold trim.

She was shaking too badly to open it. If she picked it up, she’d drop it and those drunk girls at the next table were going to see it and laugh. It might roll a few tables away. Everyone would get involved. People would take pictures and post them next to the porno they’d shot through the windows of his loft in Emeryville. There would be a scene.

“I’m sorry.” He began to reach forward. “I guess Jane was right.”

Lunging just in time, she got her hand over it before he did. “Wrong,” she said. “Let’s get that straight right now. Jane is never right.”

His lips curved faintly at the corners. “Is that so?” he asked softly.

“That is so. That is very so.” She was still shaking, but she was highly motivated to stop him from backing out. It was her responsibility to reassure him that her feelings were definitely in the commitment department. To open the box right now and accept whatever was inside would be an act of kindness.

She was big like that.

Holding her breath, she popped it open.

Through the liquid pooling in her eyes, she saw something round and shiny with a rock on it.

“I love you, Billie,” he said again.

This time she opened her heart to him, dropped the attitude and the joking and the fear, and said, “I love you, Ian.”

The band started up again, filling the lounge with the rapid sounds of instrumental jazz, drowning out whatever else they might say. But that was just fine. Their eyes were saying everything.

Leaning over the table, he pulled the ring out of the box, took her hand in his, and slipped the platinum band over her finger.

“Will you marry me?” he mouthed.

Butterflies were in full flight in her gut. She pressed her free hand to her stomach, blinked away another surge of tears, and nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Hell, yeah.

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath that made her feel like a million bucks. A thousand feet tall.

“Let’s go home,” he said, rising and bringing her to her feet with him.

Unsteadily, she hooked her arm through his and began walking to the elevator, weightless and happy and on top of the world.