Girl Meets Billionaire
Page 135
She moved to the tap, filling a Pale Ale for a regular customer, a skinny guy who always stopped by after work. She liked him; he’d never once tried to hit on her. He was only here for the drinks.
“The usual,” she said, handing him the glass. He doffed an imaginary hat, and took his first swallow. She gathered up tips from other patrons and returned to the register, tucking some bills in the drawer.
“Can I pretty please have your most special, awesomest Diet Coke?”
Julia grinned widely, and turned around to see her favorite person ever: her sister McKenna, decked out in a vintage emerald-green dress with a white petticoat peeking out from the skirt’s hem. On her shoulders she wore a faux white fur cape—one hundred percent pure-retro fashionista. Next to her was her fiancé, Chris, wearing a plaid button-down and jeans, dress-up attire for the most casual California surfer guy that he was. They were the happiest couple she knew, and yet another reason why Julia was never going to burst their bubble of bliss with her troubles. Seeing her sister in love was a singular joy, and she’d go to the ends of the earth to protect McKenna’s heart from any more hurt.
“Always for you,” Julia said, and leaned across the bar to give her big sister a hug. “And hello handsome,” she said to Chris, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Hey, Julia. How’s business tonight?”
“Always good at Cubic Z,” she said, beaming and glad for the chance to talk about the bar business. She was proud of her tiny little patch of land in SoMa; yet another reason why she desperately wanted to get out from under Charlie’s thumb. She didn’t want him to take over this place. The thought of him running his illegal operations from her bar, threatening other patsies with his knife that wasn’t dangerous in and of itself, but symbolized all he could do, made her stomach restless. He could turn it to rubble too, leaving her, Kim, and Kim’s family high and dry. She poured McKenna a Diet Coke, then asked Chris for his poison.
“Whatever’s on tap,” he said, and she winced inside at the words. Granted, she’d heard that phrase a few times a night, but it reminded her of Clay, of what he’d said the first night they met here. After she handed Chris his glass, she looked from McKenna to her man and back. “What’s up with the fancy attire? You going to a ball or something?”
Chris smiled and shook his head. “Nope, but WebFlix is having some shindig to celebrate our record-high ratings, so this is me dressing up,” he said, fingering the collar of his shirt.
“You clean up mighty fine,” she said, and once again her mind wandered back to Clay, to how delicious he looked in everything and nothing. She loved his sharp style, his power ties and crisp shirts, the cuffs and how he rolled them up revealing those forearms, so thick and strong.
A sharp pang of longing lodged in her chest. She wasn’t only yearning for his arms; she was longing for the whole man, inside and out, from the way he held her to how he talked to her. He’d wanted to know more about her, and she felt one hundred percent the same about him. He fascinated her, with his mix of down and dirty, loving and tender. Though it seemed insane to miss someone she’d only spent a few nights with, she’d never met anyone like him, who captivated her mind and her body.
She shook her head, as if she could shake off thoughts of him. She reached for the tap to pour a beer for another customer.
“Speaking of record ratings,” McKenna began in that voice that hinted she had something up her sleeve, “Chris is about to renegotiate his contract, and is looking for a new lawyer, so I was thinking about your guy . . .”
Julia’s hand froze on the tap and the beer started to overflow the glass.
Your guy. Oh, how she wanted him to be her guy, and all that title allowed—the nights, the days, the moments, the tangling up in each other’s arms.
“Oh crap,” she said when she realized the liquid had frothed over. Grabbing a towel, she wiped down the side of the glass, cleaned it up and handed it to a customer.
“What do you think about that?” McKenna asked when she returned.
“He’s pretty kickass at his job, right?” Chris said, chiming in. “I was talking to my sister the other day, and she said he’s worked out all kinds of perks for Davis.”
Julia straightened her spine. “I don’t have any business dealings with him, but from what I’ve heard, his clients rave about him.”
“Can you do an intro or something?”
“You’re the one who introduced me to him,” Julia pointed out.
“But that was more casual, something I mentioned to him in passing at the theater. I figured for this, a business intro would be better.” Then something flashed in McKenna’s eyes. Realization, maybe. Julia had been home from her trip for more than ten days and hadn’t said much about it, other than a few texts that it went well, and she was home and busy, busy, busy. She hadn’t told her sister that she’d bolted. McKenna leaned across the bar and narrowed her eyes. “Are you still into him?”
She was about to fashion an answer when she heard a customer call out. “Oh, excuse me!” The woman in the suit waggled her fingers.
Julia walked over to her. “How was it?”
The woman tapped the glass. “Never had anything like it. It’s amazing.”
“I’m so glad you liked it.”
“Listen. I have a friend—his name is Glen Mills—whose magazine is running a search for the best cocktail ever,” the woman continued. “I’m going to tell him about this.”
“That’d be nice of you,” she said, though she knew patrons said stuff like this all the time, so she didn’t put any stock in it. No more, at least, than simple pride in a job well done.
“What’s your name?”
“Julia,” she told her, as the woman handed her a twenty.
“Keep the change, Julia.”
Then she left, rolling her bag on the way out, only this time her pace was upbeat and energetic. Julia returned to her sister, eager to avoid any more talk of Clay. She didn’t need to feel that empty ache for him all evening, especially since she was sure to feel it all night long alone in her bed. She looked at her watch. “Hey, it’s about to get crowded here.”
“So can you do an intro to Clay?” McKenna asked again, and clearly Julia wasn’t going to be able to ignore this request.
She mulled over the question. She’d been trying to steer clear of temptation, locking her phone in a kitchen drawer in the evenings when she felt the desire to text him or call, going for a run in the mornings to try to clear her mind. But neither tactic kept him from occupying the prime corner lot in her brain. She’d been dreaming of him every night. The very mention of his name brought a flush to her skin, and heat between her legs. It had been a while; she hadn’t even touched herself since she’d left. If she did, she’d only picture him, and that wouldn’t help put him out of her mind.
Maybe, just maybe, a brief email for her sister would satiate this longing inside her, and quench her thirst for him. Sort of like a phased withdrawal. One tiny taste, and then she’d be done.
“I’ll take care of it for you,” she said, and something inside of her dared to spark. At least she had a reason to reach out to him, and she tried not to get too excited about the prospect of sending him a note, but she couldn’t help it—she was excited. “Now, can we talk about something besides business please? Like your wedding? That’s what I most want to chat about. I can barely wait another month to see my big sister walking down the aisle.”
The two of them beamed, Chris and McKenna matching each other in sheer wattage of their smiles. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, and she threw her arms around his neck, and Julia was happy for the way her sister could be free with the man she cared for.
“So we’re going to have karaoke, as you know,” McKenna said and began rattling off all the details, and though Julia knew most of them already since she was Maid of Honor, she didn’t mind hearing them again. Her sister’s happiness brought a smile to her face, so she listened as McKenna updated her on all their weddi
ng plans, and she too was counting down the days till the two of them got hitched.
Later that night, as the crowds wound down she reached for her phone to call when she saw Clay had texted her. Her eyes widened, lighting up with anticipation. With hopeful fingers, she slid open the message.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Her heart thrummed hard against her chest as she savored the words, each one like decadent chocolate. She clutched the phone to her chest, as if that simple act would bring him closer. She walked into the back room, needing a moment alone with his text. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it and stared like a love-struck idiot at the screen again, running her fingertip across his message.
She cycled through her options. She could pretend she never saw it. She could delete it. She could keep on ignoring him. But the very thought of that felt like thorns twisting in her gut. She’d been in a funk since she’d left New York. A real ball of piss. She’d slept badly, she’d been sullen when she went for her morning run, and she could barely focus on the book she’d been reading at bedtime. Her thoughts always careened back to him. A reply might unwind some of the tension knitting its way through her body.
Though she knew the risks, she became convinced with each passing second that answering his message wasn’t dangerous. It was simply answering a message. Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar.
The very least she could do was write back.
Would love to know what you’re thinking about . . .
Only later did she remember she’d forgotten all about McKenna’s request for an introduction. So much the better. Another reason to be back in touch.
By the way, my sister’s fiancé wants to talk to you about working together. I’ll send you his info. Though I still want to know what you’re thinking about.
She paused, her thumbs hovering over her smartphone. Then, she added, just so there’d be no misunderstanding, about her intent—xoxo.
Chapter Sixteen
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 16, 7:48 AM
subject: What I’m thinking about . . .
Everything. Your hair. Your ass. Your beautiful breasts. Your lips. You curled up in my bed. Your attitude. Most of all, why the fuck you left like that.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 16, 11:08 AM
subject: The other thoughts please
Something came up. Can we go back to those other items instead?
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to:purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 16, 5:48 PM
subject: Not sure . . .
I don’t know. Can we?
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 16, 11:48 PM
subject: Be sure . . .
You tell me.
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 17, 6:48 AM
subject: Ball. In. Your. Court.
You tell me what you’re wearing. You tell me if you can’t stop thinking about me. You tell me why you’re not here spread across my lap, that beautiful ass calling out for my palm.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 17, 9:48 AM
subject: Served
So you’re saying you want to spank me?
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 17, 3:48 PM
subject: Hand is ready
You have no idea.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 17, 3:49 PM
subject: Ass is too
Oh, I have an idea. I definitely have an idea. And I would like that very much. I also think you have a thing for my ass.
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 17, 11:48 PM
subject: More on that
It’s perfection. I want to bite it. Lick it. Smack it. Grip it hard while I fuck you.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 18, 1:01 AM
subject: Which means . . .
So you still want me, I take it?
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 18, 7:01 AM
subject: Yes
You know I do. That didn’t change.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 18, 11:34 AM
subject: Ditto . . .
I still want you . . .
Clay stared at the computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keys, considering a reply. But damn, those words were mocking him. I still want you. How could she say that with the way she’d left? It made no sense, and Michele had spelled it out for him in no uncertain terms that if Julia wanted to play ball, she’d be at the plate, not skipping and frolicking along the foul lines, darting in and out of sight. He pushed away from his keyboard, like an alcoholic trying to step away from the bar. Grabbing a pen and a contract from the pile of papers on his desk, he tossed his phone onto his desk, left his office, and locked the door.
If he stayed within typing distance of either device, he’d surely keep up this volley with her. Because she was as irresistible to him as she’d been that very first night. With his head down the whole way, he headed to a bench outside Central Park and settled onto it, trying his best to dive into the fine print on a licensing deal that the actor Liam Connor needed wrapped up before he opened a new restaurant in New York in a few weeks. Clay didn’t usually do restaurant deals, but Liam was a long-time client and had asked him to look over the terms with the other co-owner. Clay shoved his hand through his hair as he studied the fine print, but soon the words he knew backwards and forwards, like indemnify and liability, were levitating off the page and he could barely put them in context. Reading this was a slow, cruel tease because he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.
She weaved in front of him like a damn mirage, tantalizing and teasing him. Whenever he opened or closed his eyes, she was there. Beautiful and beckoning, she lured him in. He could picture her, he could feel the trace of her, touch the outline of her. She’d left her mark on him and he wanted her day after day, night after night.
He swore loudly and looked up. No one noticed his cursing. No one cared. It was New York, and the city spun on its own axis. So he sat and stared at the lunchtime crowds, at a harried doctor rushing by in her scrubs, at a guy in a suit, tugging at his tie while tapping out a message on his phone, at a pair of women in sharp jeans and sweaters, each balancing a cardboard tray of lattes in their hands. A bus trudged by on Fifth Avenue, pulling up to the stop and letting off several passengers who looked equally hurried as they raced to their destinations. Somehow, the chaos of the city soothed the tangled knots in his chest for the moment, and calmed his mind. He took a deep fueling breath, and returned once more to the contract.
A half-hour later, he’d found the one clause that concerned him most, so when he met Liam for lunch he told him about the points he wanted to iron out.
“That’s why I keep you around, man,” the actor said, flashing his trademark smile that made women swoon and patrons pay top dollar to see his face in lights. “You’re going to come see me in The Usual Suspects, right?”
“As if I’d miss it,” Clay said, and mentally marked the date on his calendar to see the stage adaptation of the hit film.
They spent the rest of the meal talking about Liam’s upcoming work, the movies they’d both loved and loathed, and sports, always sports.
When lunch ended, Clay simply hoped he could keep harnessing that focus, and use it to stay on track in his business. He didn’t need a repeat. When he retur
ned to his office, refreshed—mostly—from the few hours away from electronic tethers, he clicked on his phone and found another message from the woman who was never far from his mind.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 18, 2:23 PM
subject: On the subject of wanting . . .
So unbelievably much . . . in every single way.
All his control unraveled in a second as his skin heated up, and his heart beat faster, pounding against his chest with the aching want to have her in his arms again. Resistance was futile, so he banged out a reply, saved it in his drafts, and told himself he’d see if he still felt the same way that night. When the workday ended, he went to the gym to pound the punching bag until his shoulders were as sore as they’d ever been.
On the way home, he pulled out his phone, opened his drafts and made a decision.
Chapter Seventeen
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 18, 5:23 PM
subject: Which brings us back to . . .
So why then? Why did you leave?
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 18, 8:48 PM
subject: Truth
I was afraid.
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 18, 11:24 PM
subject: Truth is good
Of what?
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 19, 2:03 AM
subject: It can be . . .
Of getting close.
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 19, 7:48 AM
subject: Re: It can be . . .
Don’t be afraid.
from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
to: cnichols@gmail.com
date: April 19, 11:19 AM
subject: Re: Re: It can be . . .
But I am.
from: cnichols@gmail.com
to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com
date: April 19, 5:59 PM