The Billionaire's Largesse, Part One (The Billionare's Largesse Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter 5

Mary had never really thought about where billionaires went for dinner. While she was changing and putting on a bit of make-up after the shop closed, she supposed it would be a case of private members’ clubs, or restaurants in incredibly up-market hotels. Either way, there would certainly be a limousine taking them there.

So it was quite a surprise when Spencer had shown up on foot, on the dot of half-five, with a large parcel that he insisted she open later. Leaving the gift on the shop’s counter, he had taken her arm as they left the shop; Spencer still wearing his light grey suit, while Mary was finally getting to put her dress to good use.

They’d walked just a hundred yards down the High Street, until they reached an Indian restaurant. Mary tried not to show her disappointment, but she loved a good curry as much as the next girl, and Spencer had at least booked the best table, overlooking the rest of the restaurant and next to a spectacular aquarium full of colourful exotic fish. It was a modern restaurant, with music playing discretely in the background, and the lights dimmed low. It was busy, but not packed, so there was a buzz of conversation in the air, but there was also enough space around them that they could talk without feeling anyone might overhear them. It wasn’t the Ivy, but Mary suddenly realised it was just about perfect.

As Mary finished glancing at the cocktail menu, she noticed Spencer looking thoughtfully at the little fish drifting around their aquarium. “Do you suppose if I offered them five hundred quid, they’d deep fry them for us?” he asked.

In spite of herself, she felt a little queasy. “They’re beautiful! You couldn’t eat them, surely?”

He laughed. “No, of course not. But I’d be interested to see whether they’d do it anyway.”

They ordered poppadoms and drinks, and the waiter had wandered back into the kitchen before Spencer spoke again. “I’m sorry, Miss Chilvers. In case it’s not obvious, I’ve not been in this position very long. It’s strange, money. I’m very interested in testing the limits of what it can and can’t do.”

“Call me Mary, please Spencer. What do you mean? You’ve not been a billionaire very long?”

“Exactly. Well, I mean it’s not like they give you a certificate when you get your first billion. But it was all very overnight stuff. People who wouldn’t have spared you the time of day last week will suddenly knock other people out for you at your faintest whim. Beautiful women who didn’t look twice a few months ago, suddenly agree to come out to dinner.”

Mary was surprised at how Spencer was opening up to her now they were away from
Between the Covers
, but she wasn’t going to let him patronise her. “Come on, I’m nothing special. If you’re worth a billion, you could take your pick of any supermodel on the planet.”

Spencer gave her a rueful look, then smiled as the waiter brought their drinks and poppadoms. He picked up his pint of Cobra and watched as Mary toyed with the sweet lassi yoghurt drink she’d ordered.

“I did try that,” he admitted, “and it was a bit of a disaster. If you take a model out to dinner, she spends half the evening checking herself in the mirror just over your shoulder, picks at a salad, drinks nothing but hot water with a slice of lemon, and then if you’re very lucky, she comes back to your place and you get to hang on to her hair from behind while she… throws up the dinner that she barely bothered eating.”

“Turned you down, did she?” asked Mary with a wink.

“I turned her down,” Spencer replied, “I prefer to sleep with a
real
woman, not a neurotic bag of bones.”

Mary leaned forward in her seat and took a long, slow suck on the straw in her drink. Spencer’s eyes were all over her ample cleavage and full lips. She found his undisguised attention intimidating, but intoxicating, and she did her best to fight down her instinct to blush.

“So what do you fancy?” she asked, and when he raised an eyebrow, the blush spread over her face in spite of her. “From the menu,” she clarified.

Spencer laughed. “I see. Probably chicken pathia. It’s a nice balance of sweet and sour, and surprisingly hot.”

“I thought prawns were the most traditional pathia dish.”

“Maybe, but I prefer chicken. I like generous portions of thigh and breast.”

Spencer glanced away to try and attract the waiter’s attention and Mary fanned herself with her menu. When he looked back, it was with a questioning glance.

Mary shrugged. “I really don’t know, it all looks great. I’m just sorry there’s no steak on the menu so I can’t ask to get my teeth round something pink, juicy, and well-hung.”

They both giggled over that for a moment before she continued. “No, I suppose I’ll just have to go for my usual Tarka Masala.”

“Tarka Masala?”

Mary grinned. “Yes. It’s like a tikka masala… only it’s a little otter!”

Spencer froze, and pursed his lips slightly for a moment, head cocked to one side. Then he grinned, broader than Mary had yet seen him smile. “Brilliant!” he chuckled.

“It’s an old joke,” Mary protested, her heart swelling with pride at having coaxed a genuine reaction from this enigmatic but strangely guarded man.

“Only if you’ve heard it before,” he replied, still chortling. “And a great joke for a bookseller.”

The waiter finally arrived, and Spencer did indeed order the chicken pathia, though he started laughing again when Mary did order a tarka dal as a side dish along with her rogan josh.

“So, you’re really a billionaire?” she asked as they sipped their drinks. She realised it was a lame thing to ask, but they knew so little about each other, really.

Spencer blinked. “I certainly am. But I
am
also the marketing executive, in case you were wondering why I didn’t come clean about running the company earlier. It’s a very small operation. Look.” He took out his smartphone, and tapped an app. On the screen appeared his name, in elegant white script on a black background. Below it was a number. £2,000,356,387.64, to be precise. As Mary took that in, there was a brief flicker and the figure updated to £2,000,256,367.64.

He returned the phone smoothly to his pocket. “My total net worth,” he explained. “That was what I did. I created an app for the super-rich to track all their investments, savings, trust funds, offshore accounts, everything. It boils down all the numbers from all the accounts, and gives you a single figure. Networthing.”

“So you just lost a million pounds?”

“Not lost, spent. The money for something I purchased just left my account. Probably your present.”

Mary smiled weakly at that. “So, an app? You made two billion just from an
app
?”

Spencer looked over at the restaurant kitchen in case their food was coming, and Mary got the impression he was looking for an excuse to change the subject. “It’s complicated. But I sell the app for half a million, with a monthly subscription of £10,000, so… yes. I’ve made quite a chunk of two billion just from an app.”

“That’s crazy! Who’d pay half a million just for a bank statement on their phone?”

Spencer smiled, but it was another of the thin smiles from their first meeting, and he was becoming more and more guarded. “I agree entirely, Mary. It’s insane, and these people have more money than sense. It’s actually very hard to keep track of investment portfolios and all of that, but the truth is they buy it
because
it’s expensive, so they can flash their net worth at each other in private members’ clubs and on golf courses. Having the app is a status symbol in itself. It’s obscene, in its way. But we humble businessmen don’t control the market, I just filled the need for a product.”

Mary sat back, her head spinning. “But that sounds so… easy,” she said. “Like anyone could do it. Like I could do it.”

Spencer relaxed, sensing the conversation was moving on. “But you
do
do it, Mary. You run a successful business, selling books. And you carry on selling books because people need to buy books. You don’t sell books for half a million each, because the market won’t support that, but you keep your costs low, and you keep selling them at a rate you can sustain.”

Their waiter trundled a rickety wooden trolley up to the table, laden with their curries, dishes of pilau rice, and huge fluffy naan breads. As he busied about setting out plates and dishes, the waiter looked between Spencer and Mary, and smiled slightly to himself.

“Well, this is going well,” Spencer said, ladling a healthy dollop of rice on to his plate.

Mary was amused at his sudden confidence. “You think so?”

“Well, yes. I count it as a very good sign that we’ve made it through the starters and as far as the arrival of the main course.”

A forkful of piping hot lentils froze halfway to Mary’s mouth. “What did you say?”

Spencer again looked a little guarded for a moment, but then shrugged. “Yesterday wasn’t the first time we met, Mary. I saw your, well, was that really your last date?”

“You mean,
you
were in that restaurant?”

“As I said, the money is quite a recent development. But yes, I certainly was. And I couldn’t blame you for leaving, dreadful self-obsessed little man that he was.”

Mary swallowed the food, burning her mouth in the process, her head spinning with this new information. Had he been
stalking
her?
Why
?

He looked a little concerned. “I’m sorry, I can see I’ve alarmed you. I’m not a stalker, but the truth is I was impressed you by that night, and I saw you around town by chance not long afterwards, coming into the shop. And as I really was looking for somewhere a bit different for the new app launch… You’re an amazing woman, Mary, and I hope to be worthy of you.”

“You’re joking,” Mary said, but she could see that he wasn’t. And she dropped her fork as suddenly she felt Spencer’s trousered leg slip against her bare ankle under the restaurant table.

“Are you sure about this?” she said, sounding a note of caution even as she slipped one foot out from its shoe and ran her bare toes up Spencer’s calf. “I’m not one of your supermodel conquests. I’m a
big
girl, Spencer, can you handle me?”

She felt Spencer’s hand on her knee, stroking her thigh gently through the thin fabric of her dress. His fingers were cold, and she felt them grow warmer from the heat of her body. “I want to do more than just handle you, Mary, believe me. I -”

“Is everything all right with your meal? Any more drinks?” the waiter had appeared at Mary’s elbow, killing the mood like a bucket of cold water.
Perhaps for the best
, thought Mary.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Mary gasped, strangely short of breath.

The waiter nodded and began to move away. Then he looked around, lowered his voice, and whispered. “If you book next time, we will find you a table with a longer tablecloth.”

Both Spencer and Mary frowned, then looked down. With rising embarrassment they realised the table’s cloth barely extended over the edges. They looked beyond their table, where every other diner in the restaurant was staring smilingly at Spencer and Mary’s entwined legs.

Chapter 6

Later, Spencer and Mary left the restaurant to general amusement, winks and thumbs up gestures from the other diners, and even their waiter.

They strolled Richmond’s quiet little back streets, apparently not heading in any particular direction, but both knowing that sooner or later they’d come across the moonlit river. Her mouth still tingling with fragrant spices, with a handsome man by her side, Mary felt alive for the first time in weeks. But she had to know something.

She turned to Spencer, who was already looking at her, and opened her mouth.

Before she could say anything, he jumped in. “
The Eyre Affair,
by Jasper Fforde. But I’m still looking for something to beat it.”

Mary laughed. She had of course been about to ask what his favourite book was, and he’d read her mind. Was that scary, or was it a good sign that they were so well-attuned to each other? “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s not a test or anything, I promise it was just conversational, and, well, books are my thing. So,
The Eyre Affair
?”

“A brave woman loves books so much she rewrites a classic, from
inside
the story itself. It’s genius, but utterly bonkers. I laughed a lot,” he shrugged. “It’s probably not an answer to impress anyone with, but I despise people who try to use their reading habits as some sort of social weapon.”

They wandered past Richmond Theatre’s stage door, a handful of autograph hunters waiting in forlorn hope for whichever ageing
Doctor Who
actor was playing in a crime drama that week. Mary dimly recognised one middle-aged man as one of her customers and shot him a smile, but she was suddenly worrying that Spencer thought she was some sort of literary snob.

“I don’t judge people on their reading habits or anything, but our tastes can say a lot about us. I love
Pride and Prejudice
, but I’m not a snob - I know it’s because I’m just a bit old-fashioned and incurably romantic.”

Spencer laughed easily. “Relax, I wouldn’t have dated a Rand disciple either - I already mentioned how much you impressed me that night.”

“So we’re dating now?”

“We have been holding hands for the last half mile, I took that as a good sign to be honest.”

Mary jumped as she realised that they were indeed holding hands, and couldn’t remember for the life of her when that happened. She wasn’t complaining though, Spencer’s hand was warm and smooth, and held hers in a light grip that still hinted at great strength in those supply fingers.

She squeezed his hand gently, running her fingers over the fine hairs on his wrist. “You’re doing well, Spencer. This is much further than an Austen reader would normally go on a first date.”

“I shall endeavour to remain a gentleman.”

They walked together around Richmond Green, skirting around the scattered drinkers standing outside the various pubs that bordered the green’s cricket pitches and lawns.

Within a few minutes they were standing on the river bank overlooking the Thames, with Richmond Bridge lit up to their left, and a small armada of little boats drifting up and down before them.

They drank in the sight for a moment. “We get so busy working, we forget how beautiful the world around us really can be,” Mary said.

“I’m very conscious about the beauty around me right now,” Spencer replied, turning to look at her.

Mary laughed. “I’m not beautiful, you need to invest some of your millions in some contact lenses.” She smiled at him, to show she was joking.

And that was when he slid an arm around her waist and kissed her.

His lips tingled against hers when they touched, a mixture of curry spices and raw electric passion. Mary was shocked for a moment, but then surrendered herself to the kiss, leaning into the billionaire’s embrace.

Spencer’s lips moved against hers, and his other hand rested against the back of her head, where he ran his fingers through her long dark hair. He was so gentle, so sweet in his earnest attention to every detail of the kiss, that it was all Mary could do to stop herself grabbing his tight little arse with both hands. This strange but wonderful man seemed to know everything about Mary, but she was pretty sure he’d be shocked to know the filthy thoughts that were surging through her mind as she pictured him back in the shop’s storeroom, flinging the dress aside and caressing her full, naked body.

Determined to show how right this felt, Mary kissed back harder, swirling her tongue against his lips. He responded readily as her tongue slipped into his mouth and they tasted each other as she put both hands up to his face and pressed her chest against him. They were both breathing in short gasps now, losing themselves to their urgent need for each other.

Mary groaned with delight as the hand round her waist slowly but inexorably slid down to her hips. Spencer cupped her left buttock in his hand and squeezed it playfully. In that moment, she would have let him take her right there by the river, and she thrilled to feel a bulge hardening in his trousers as she pressed against him.

Finally, they came up for air, and Mary clung to Spencer while they got their breath back. She’d been right about his slim but powerful frame, she could feel muscles bunching in his back and shoulders under his suit jacket. In five minutes they could be back at
Between the Covers
, where she could explore every inch of him, at length.

But then she was in for a shock. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Spencer said, “but a first kiss is the perfect end to a first date, don’t you think?”

Mary looked up into his soulful brown eyes, pushing a strand of hair from her own face. “I thought this date was just beginning?”

He shook his head, taking both her hands in one of his (but still not letting go of her bum, she realised with a thrill in spite of her disappointment). “I promised myself I wouldn’t get carried away. I want… I want to enjoy this. And I want to enjoy
you
, Mary. But not until we get to know each other a bit better.”

Mary stepped back with a sigh. “I suppose it’s my daft fault for mentioning I’m a bit old-fashioned.”

But Spencer was still smiling. “Perhaps we’re both a bit old-fashioned. Or perhaps I’m testing myself to see how long I can resist you. But there’s one last thing I’d like to do tonight.”

He led Mary to the water’s edge, next to a pontoon where a few barges and boats were moored. He carried on talking as they walked. “I know you’ve been wondering if a curry and a walk by the river is the best a billionaire can offer on a night out.”

“No, I -”

“Of course you have, it’s only natural. But may I present to you…
Mary Chilvers
?”

With that, he jumped down to the pontoon, and gestured to a small yacht. It was sleek and white, with a wooden interior, and even the rails around the curved deck were swept forward to give the impression of speed and efficiency. “This is a brand new
Elan Power 30
. There is a bottle of very good champagne in the on-board fridge, and a pretty clear stretch of water to bomb down as far as Putney. Do you want to give her a spin?”

Mary climbed down in wonder, staring agog at the beautiful hardtop boat. “How did you know?”

“Yachting magazines scattered all over your back office, it wasn’t a huge stretch. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

With that, he pressed a small bunch of keys into Mary’s hand. She climbed up the gangplank in a state of shock, her eyes welling up with tears. She’d had to - it had broken her heart - she’d had to sell her parents’ old boat after they’d passed away, in order to afford to buy the freehold for
Between the Covers.
She’d always regretted it, deep down, and she’d always hoped, one day, that she might make it back on to the water.

Spencer strolled on to the boat behind her, nodding with approval at the deck, cockpit and galley kitchen. “There are two cabins below deck, that offer a lot of… possibilities, once you’ve got your sea legs back,” he told her with a sly wink. “But right now, why don’t you take the wheel, while I weigh anchor?”

He left her on the deck, still gazing around in wonder, and went to free the boat from its moorings.

Mary was lost in wonderment. Yesterday morning she’d thought she was quite happy alone, and only very vaguely looking for a partner to complete the set of her business and her home. In less than two days, Spencer had turned her head, captured her heart, and now fulfilled a dream she’d harboured for years without even telling a single soul.

She was struggling to hold back tears. It wasn’t perfect, she knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t the money that annoyed her, but he had lied to her about being the boss of his company. She sensed there was more to his business than he had told her so far, as well. The lambs had been wealthy enough, certainly, but they hadn’t looked like the kind of people that could afford the software Spencer claimed to be selling. And what was the gift that was still waiting for her back in the shop?

Nothing quite added up about Spencer. He genuinely seemed infatuated with her, which was very flattering, and she was already crazy about him, but there seemed to be an element of calculation in everything he did that made her wonder about his true aims.

She shook her head. She could worry about that in the morning. For now, there was open water ahead of them, and champagne in the fridge.

Spencer appeared behind her, clutching two fluted glasses and the bottle of champagne. “We’re all set. Where to, Cap’n?”

Mary took the boat’s wheel in awe. “First star to the right. And straight on till morning.”

The
Mary Chilvers
slipped away from the pontoon and out on to the Thames.