Never Yours: A Billionaire Romance

by Lucy Lambert

  She reminded me of those women I usually found myself with, somehow. And it immediately put me off of her.

  “If I needed any sort of help, you wouldn’t be the one giving it,” I said.

  Then something else happened that I expected to happen. The woman’s pretty features twisted in sudden anger at being spurned.

  Behind her, through the glass of the front door, I saw cars zip past. Including some taxis. I could just give my driver a call and have him here in the Town Car, but I thought I might just take a cab back into Manhattan.

  I wanted more time by myself. Where no one knew me for who I was.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.

  “It means No,” I said. I started for the door.

  “You’re an asshole,” the curly-haired woman said.

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” I replied. I pushed the door open and made my way to the curb.

  I held my hand up, hailed a cab.

  I climbed in. While we pulled away from the curb, I looked back at Rachel’s building.

  I should have stayed.

  Chapter 7

  RACHEL

  Should I have let him stay?

  Despite it still feeling pretty warm out, I’d grabbed my ratty old terrycloth robe from its hook on the bathroom door and pulled it on.

  My apartment looked out onto the street, and it afforded me a view of Neil getting into a taxi and driving away.

  The thing was, it took no effort at all to imagine the two of still in bed together. My head resting on his chest. His arm around my shoulders, holding me close. The two of us just enjoying the afterglow of it all, then drifting off to sleep.

  I’ll bet he would’ve wanted to get breakfast together, too. He wanted to stay.

  And I’d wanted him to stay, too. And that was why I’d kicked him out. Why I’d turned our lovely date into nothing more than an extended booty call.

  Telling myself everything was better this way didn’t help very much, either. The sentiment sounded hollow.

  Maybe I can get him to come back. Somehow I knew, even at that moment, that if I texted or called him he’d turn right around. Be on my doorstep

  Block him. Erase his number.

  It was the only way I knew I wouldn’t make a mistake like trying to contact him again.

  My phone was by the door, where I’d put it when we first came in.

  My robe swished around my ankles while I walked.

  There was my phone. It was one of those Samsung Galaxy things, a large rectangle of technology almost big enough to be called a tablet.

  All the better for looking at cat pictures on Twitter while on break.

  I started for it. Before I could reach it someone knocked on the door. Three quick, sharp raps. I jerked.

  “Neil?” I said. In my mind, I pictured him making the cabbie turn the car around. Pictured him tapping his thumb against the elevator call button before giving up on that and pounding up the stairs. I smiled at that picture.

  I opened the door.

  It wasn’t Neil out in the hallway but Suzy. She had her Compare Foods bag slung under one arm. A bottle of her favorite Riesling poked out of that bag.

  “Suze?” I said, my mind blanking. It was like if you picked up a drink expecting it to be soda but you got a mouthful of milk instead. Your brain just didn’t know how to process the unexpected taste right away.

  “Hey, you left us all hanging,” Suzy said.

  Then she took a step back and looked at me, really looked at me.

  I could imagine the sort of picture I made. Ratty bath robe over hastily pulled on clothes. Hair in disarray. I could still feel that flush of heat in my skin.

  “Oh. My. God,” Suzy said. Her mouth dropped open and she put a hand over it. I could see the laughter in her eyes.

  The flush in my cheeks turned to one of embarrassment. “Stop.”

  She dropped her hand, revealing the smile beneath. “Here I was, coming to your place with wine because I figured you’d need consoling. Instead, it turns out you had a way better night than I did!”

  “Stop!” I said again, that heat in my cheeks turned to burning.

  She stepped inside, grabbed me by the arm. “You have to tell me everything. Everything! Mama needs all the details.”

  Suzy led me by the arm into my living room. I cast one last glance over my shoulder at my phone.

  I’ll delete him from it after she goes.

  I didn’t.

  HE DIDN’T CALL OR TEXT on Sunday. When I got to work Monday morning, I checked my phone before I logged into the system.

  No new notifications.

  That’s a good thing, I told myself. Because this was what I wanted. And I guess it turned out that, after some reflection, he wanted the same thing. One night of, and I sneered a little at the idea, uninhibited passions.

  One night to get ourselves out of each other’s system.

  I ignored the low sensation of disappointment at the pit of my stomach. And I did my best to ignore the desire to pick up my phone and check it every few minutes. You know, just in case the notifications functions got turned off somehow.

  I put my elbows on my desk and rubbed at my closed eyes. The pressure was nice.

  Just breathe. This is what I wanted. This is a good thing. Get back to work and stay there.

  I started typing my username and password in, then my office phone rang.

  I frowned at it when it rang for a second time. No one called me on this phone. The management had been pushing for everyone to switch to email for all but the most urgent of communications since before I came on.

  Some irrational part of me wondered if it was Neil on the other side of that line. That he’d gotten this number somehow.

  A silly thing, I know. But a little thread of excitement made its way up the front of my stomach.

  Third ring.

  I picked up the handset. “Hello? I mean, Hi, this is Rachel.”

  “Rachel, this is Mr. Diehl’s office. Please come straight away,” the secretary said.

  “Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Is there something wrong?” I said. I thought immediately of those analytics reports I’d meant to finish on Saturday. I hadn’t finished them Sunday, either.

  Did I tell him I’d have them by Monday?

  I couldn’t remember. This is Neil’s fault, I thought, rather petulantly. Even though it took two to do what we did. And I was a very willing participant.

  Still, if he hadn’t showed up those analyses would be on Mr. Diehl’s desk (well, in his email account) right at that very moment.

  “He’ll speak to you when you see him,” the secretary said, rather cryptically. Then she hung up.

  “Hello? Uh, hell—. Well then, bye to you, too.”

  I tried not reading too much into that rather cold conversation. Just because Mr. Diehl’s secretary spoke like that didn’t mean that Mr. Diehl would.

  I walked to his office, which was on the other side of our high-walled cubicle farm. I passed by as people tapped their keyboards or spoke softly into their phones. Somewhere a printer hummed.

  It was a quiet workplace. They didn’t want, as Mr. Diehl put it, a “Millennial Party Office.” And I usually liked it that. But today, as I walked through that relative quiet, I found it unnerving.

  It gave me too much space to imagine all the scenarios where something could be wrong.

  Not only did he want those analytics reports, he wanted some other report I can’t even remember forgetting.

  There was some important meeting that I didn’t attend because I forgot to check my email.

  Maybe he wants to give me a promotion?

  That final one seemed like the least likely scenario to me, even if it was the most welcome one.

  I left the cubicle farm and found myself in the hall of office suites adjacent to it. The people inside these offices grew more important to the company the closer you got to the end of the hall.

  Also the closer you cam
e, the more of these offices had secretaries sitting at the our own desks, many of them typing with the glow of their computer monitors on their faces, or speaking into their phones about how Mr. So-and-So was a busy man and couldn’t take your call right now, please try again later.

  Mr. Diehl’s office sat almost, but not quite, at the end of the corridor. There was one other office past his.

  Then the true bigwigs began, one floor up. I’d never been to any of their offices.

  I’d made plenty of reports to Mr. Diehl in the past, and his secretary recognized me.

  “Go right in; he’s expecting you,” she said.

  She was an older woman, maybe just a few years younger than my mom. She kept her graying hair in a tight ponytail. I suspected it was to keep the skin on her forehead pulled taut.

  Why pay for Botox when you just needed a hair elastic and a can-do attitude?

  She peered at me through a pair of cat’s-eye glasses.

  I stopped by her desk, my heart kicking up a notch and wedging at the bottom of my throat.

  “Do you know what this is regarding?” I said. I tried to sound like a confident, professional woman.

  The question, to me at least, came out quavering. Like a little girl sent to the principal’s office for the first time, uncertain what to expect.

  “I don’t. Go in, he’s expecting you,” she replied.

  She cut off any further questioning by turning back to her computer. From the corner of my eye I glimpsed Microsoft Office and a myriad of unread emails.

  “Julia? Is that the Smith girl?” That was Mr. Diehl, asking from within his office.

  “Yes, Mr. Diehl, she’s on her way in now,” Secretary Julia said, looking up at me as though to ask why I was just standing there.

  I smiled nervously, then went inside.

  Mr. Diehl’s office was spacious, and its big window afforded a nice view of midtown. He sat with his back to this view.

  His jacket hung on a hook by the door. His crisp white shirt was buttoned all the way up, the knot of the black tie he wore was tight. No room for slacking with him, not even any for himself.

  His hair was silver and his face was lined, but his eyes, green eyes, were sharp and aware.

  At that moment, they seemed acutely aware of me.

  “Sit,” he said.

  I sat, crossing my knees and folding my hands on my lap. Oh God, is this what I usually do with my hands?

  I hated feeling nervous like this. Hated not knowing what this was about. I decided to nip it in the bud.

  “If this is about those analytics I started on the weekend, I’ll have them to you by the end of the day. Something came up and pulled me away from work, but now it has my full...”

  He held up one hand, palm out. Quiet, that hand said.

  “This isn’t about that.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  The collar of my shirt felt tight around my throat, and I resisted the urge to reach up and loosen it.

  Then what the hell is this about?

  Chapter 8

  NEIL

  I should have forgotten about her by this point. It was Wednesday morning, four days since that night with Rachel.

  Four days and I couldn’t think about any other women.

  And I tried.

  Because I knew what Rachel meant when she told me that this, that the two of us, couldn’t be a thing. That she had plans and that, at the moment, they didn’t involve a man in her life.

  I could see the Chrysler Building from my office. It was a corner office, windows on two walls. High above the bustle and noise of Madison Ave.

  I stood, pulling an errant wrinkle out of my shirt as I did. I walked over to the window and looked out at the building in question.

  If I closed my eyes, I could feel the way she felt with me on the bed. That sense of pressure, of another person near. I could remember the soft smoothness of her skin. The light, floral scent of her shampoo.

  Perhaps, I considered, it was like trying to go to sleep. The more you tried, the more awake you became.

  That was always the trick. Want to go to sleep? Do your best to stay awake.

  But I couldn’t let go of the thoughts of her. And it was ridiculous. I wasn’t even 30 yet and I was the head of a corporation with a valuation with an embarrassing number of zeroes in it.

  What I wanted, I got. Who I wanted, I had.

  Except for Rachel, apparently. Except for her.

  I wondered if maybe that was it. When was the last time someone rejected me?

  Of course, it wasn’t exactly rejection, was it? We spent that night together. But that was all she wanted: a single night.

  A single night couldn’t satisfy me.

  However, I knew that a single night might be best for both of us in some ways. She got what she wanted, and I didn’t have to tell her who and what I was.

  No strings and no explanations.

  I squeezed my fingers into fists until my knuckles crackled. Then I looked out at the Chrysler Building again, the way the sun dappled golden along its tiered tower.

  Gigi choose that moment to walk in. She was the woman I should see. But not the woman that I wanted to see.

  She was a tall and leggy blonde. Almost as tall as I was. And that blonde hair was almost platinum and apparently completely uncolored. All natural, as they say.

  She was a beautiful if somewhat severe looking woman, the angles of her face harsh in their beauty.

  And I knew that she wanted me.

  The women like her always wanted me. And she wasn’t shy about letting me know.

  “Neil,” she said. I didn’t turn around to face her.

  She always called me Neil when we were alone together. Always Mr. Telford if anyone else was around.

  She wore a pencil skirt that hugged her hips, a blouse tucked in at her narrow waist.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “You have that interview coming up. 15 minutes,” she replied.

  Did I mention that she worked for me? Not just for my company, but me, personally. Her father owned a large number of shares and he’d gotten her in, supposedly, to ‘learn from the best.’

  I figured he hoped Gigi would try to seduce me, and that pretty much lined up with her goals, too.

  First executive assistant was her official title. I knew that both she and her father wanted that changed to wife.

  And the business part of me was tempted. It looked good, being married. Especially to someone from a family like hers.

  The man part of me was tempted, as well. She was beautiful.

  I didn’t let either get beyond errant thoughts of temptation, however.

  “Something else?” I said.

  I could see her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling plate glass window. She was beautiful. It bore repeating.

  But she was also cold. Cold enough to burn, if I let myself get too close.

  She came closer to me, her reflection disappearing mostly behind mine.

  “Take me out tonight, just the two of us,” Gigi said. She looked over my shoulder, looked my reflection in the eye.

  “And then what?” I said.

  Her eyes dropped for just a moment and then came back up. “Then anything you want. You know that.”

  You should want her, I kept thinking. But I don’t.

  “No,” I said. Just as the old adage was true about makeup, the same was true of words, I’d found. Less is more.

  Gigi hesitated. I could sense that she wanted to say something. Sense her wondering if maybe she should make some move. Like slipping her arms around me, pushing the front of her body against the back of mine.

  She didn’t. Instead, she flicked her hair back and started for the door.

  “Gigi?” I said before she grabbed the handle.

  She turned back to me.

  “In the future, don’t take so long to tell me about a meeting. 15 minutes isn’t enough time.”

  Even from where I stood, I saw the muscles work in her jaw. �
��Of course, Mr. Telford.”

  She left. I turned back to my view of the Chrysler Building. The meeting didn’t seem so important to me, now. Nor did the company, my cars, my planes, my houses. Not even my bank accounts.

  No, the most important bit of information and property to me at that moment was my phone. The latest model iPhone. Apple always sent me a preview version a month before John Doe could go pick his up at Best Buy.

  I palmed it from my pocket, the curved aluminum and glass warm from my body.

  And the most important bit of information was a phone number in the address book on that phone.

  I found our message log right away. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips while I read through it.

  I even started typing. I stopped short of sending anything though.

  I hesitated. When was the last time I hesitated about anything?

  I would send something later, I promised myself. Because I wasn’t going to let this be the end of us. I just needed to make her see the potential that I saw.

  I slipped the phone back into my pocket, my message typed up but not sent.

  Chapter 9

  RACHEL

  Neil stayed in the back of my mind. Stuck there like a song. An ear worm, my brother once told me those songs were called.

  Unfortunately for me, I also recalled my brother telling me the best way to get rid of one of these ear worms was to listen to that song again.

  It was a song I didn’t dare put on repeat.

  It was Friday at the office. I sat at the desk of my high-walled cubicle. Half a cup of old, black coffee sat near my left elbow, mostly forgotten.

  My computer screen glowed at me. If I stared much longer, I thought that tiny copies of the Google Analytics graphs might burn themselves onto my eyeballs.

  And I didn’t want to go through eternity with a pie chart showing that the largest consumers of online streaming of Rom-Coms was middle-aged men by a surprisingly large margin.

  Don’t take a break now. Remember what Mr. Diehl said.

  I grabbed my cup of old coffee and swallowed down the rather cold bit of liquid left inside it, grimacing as I did. The office coffee would never win a taster’s choice award. But at least it had caffeine.