Indebted: Part 1: The Virgin & The Bad-Boy Billionaire (A BWWM Billionaire Romance)

by Sadie Black

  "Kendra, baby, we just don't have the money. I'm sorry, but that's not who we are. I'm doing my best, but I can't afford $100 for summer camp. You can go to the summer camp at the Y, like you always do. When I was young, I never went to any summer camps at all."

  "When you were young, you were on welfare! And we aren't living much better than that. You can't ever pay for anything good, and you work three jobs. What's the point? I don't want to go to the Y this year. I want to do the Dance Diva camp with Kellis and Trish."

  "I work hard to make sure you have a nice apartment, instead of the projects, where I grew up. You don't ever have the police running through this building all hours of the night and day. You don't need to worry about walking down the street as soon as the sun goes down, and you've always got food in your belly."

  "Yeah, welfare food.”

  "I don't have time for this. Listen, you can go to the Y, or you can find a summer job and start paying for your own things if I ain't doing good enough for you. It's your choice. I've gotta get to work. I'm gonna be late."

  I never thought about how hard she was working just to keep the four of us fed, clothed and in school. Like most 13-years-olds, I was only thinking about myself and my friends. I was a brat.

  I cringe when I remember how hurt she was when she came home. She told that she could take on some extra shifts and get me into a better program. It would still be at the Y, but she assured me it would be nicer than the glorified daycare I usually went to. By then I was sullen and sulky though and threw her good intentions in her face like the ingrate I was. I decided to pick up a job babysitting some kids in my building like she suggested, and I was none too pleasant about it.

  "I got a job. I don't want to go to any cheap programs at the Y anymore anyway. I'm sick of being broke all the time."

  I knew I hurt her. I had meant to at the time. Like most teenagers, I wasn't always nice to my mama. I just didn't understand how damn hard she worked to give us the little we had. It wasn't until it was too late that I was grateful for all she had done for me.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn't even notice us pull up to the intimidating building until the driver actually opened my door. I snap back into the moment, a moment I'm dreading and looking forward to in equal measure. Matthew is standing at the large entryway looking unbelievably handsome in a navy blue tux. I can see how the color has made his eyes sparkle from here, and we're still fifteen feet away from each other. Here goes nothing, I guess.

  I just get out of the limo, and Matthew is by my side, wow he's quick! Stealthy too. Sure enough, his eyes are not just gleaming but hypnotic when he's this close. I barely remember that I wanted to tell him something. If you asked me my name, I would struggle to give you the answer right now. You'd never know that I'm on the Dean's List in a prestigious masters program from the way I'm staring at him, slack-jawed right now. With effort, I manage to close my mouth. I don't want this guy thinking I'm another one of his fan-girls.

  "You look perfect.” His eyes travel over me. “Shall we?" Matthew extends his hand.

  Before I know it, I'm in an elevator heading up to the roof of the building, hand-in-hand with my sexy billionaire date. I don't say a word the entire way up. I think he should be the one to break the ice since he's the one who insisted on this date. Yet, the only sound is the floors whirring by us on our way upward.

  When the doors open, we step out onto a partially enclosed deck that overlooks the city. It’s fancy enough to be any five-star restaurant in New York, but it's clearly a place for the residents of the building to lounge. Is this where he's taking me? I look around. There's nothing but empty tables and chairs surrounding us.

  “Are we the first ones here?” I realize that it is rather early for one of these functions, but I thought that something would be set up by now.

  "Oh, the charity event isn’t here. I'm sorry, this is as far as the elevator will take us. I'm afraid we have to walk the last two flights.” He smiles down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If you're up for it."

  "I've been on the track team since I was twelve, I don't think a couple stairs are going to do me in."

  "Glad to hear it!" He tugs me by the hand, and I follow him up the steep cement staircase and then another. I refuse to slow my pace or show him that I'm getting a little winded, but it’s a relief when we reach the top step. I’m relieved, then terrified. As we step out onto the open rooftop, I see a sleek, black helicopter waiting for us with a pilot all suited up inside.

  Oh no. Oh my good lord, no. My heart is pounding, my ears are ringing, my knees could very well give out. Please don't let that be for us. Please, please, please!!!

  Matthew looks at me breaking out in a cold sweat. "I thought you were a track champ," he teases. He must think that my weak knees and slick forehead are because I’m winded by the stairs. What he doesn't know is that I've never been in a plane before, not a plane, not a helicopter, not even a Ferris wheel. I'm terrified of heights. Petrified.

  "Yeah, I guess they got to me, after all." I attempt a smile, but it's so forced it almost hurts my face. I don't want to tell him that I'm afraid to get in the helicopter, but I also don't want to die. This is a real toss-up. I know I'm not really going to die, I mean, I think I know. I keep my mouth zipped and let him lead the way to our impressive transportation. Do you know how many women would kill to trade places with you right now? Just get over yourself and start taking some risks, dammit. I suppose that's part of the whole reason I'm on this date, to get out of my comfort zone and take risks. I just pray to baby Jesus that this isn't the last risk I ever take as I climb into the helicopter with Matthew.

  We get strapped in, quicker than I would like, and before I know it we're hovering above the rooftop and then the entire city is sliding under the belly of the helicopter. Matthew keeps studying my face, I'm guessing this is a move he makes regularly. I'm also guessing that the other girls he's wined and dined this way aren't gritting their teeth and trying not to cry. Just a guess.

  I try so hard to give him a quick smile, to show him that I'm happy to see him, but I'm pretty sure it comes across as me baring my teeth at him like a wolf. My hands hurt from how hard I'm clinging onto my safety straps. Meanwhile, Matthew looks like this is as natural as breathing.

  He flicks a switch on his helmet and all of a sudden I can hear him. "There's nothing like the Manhattan skyline at sunset, don't you think?"

  I glance around like I’m turning my head through molasses, as if moving too quickly or too much will rock the helicopter out of the sky. He's right though, the view is like a dream. The closest thing I've seen is from the top of the Empire State building, but even then, that wasn't when the sky was a collision of purples and rose clouds. "It's incredible."

  I have no real sense of what direction we're traveling in, or to what location. I can see the Brooklyn Bridge and Long Beach but I'm not sure where he is planning to go that can easily land a helicopter. Then again, I had no idea that a helicopter could be sitting on the rooftop, ready to go as it was. When it comes to luxury travel, I have a lot to learn I guess.

  My heart rate is finally slowing down enough that I can really enjoy the view. It's truly spectacular. If nothing else, this is something I'll remember from this night forever. What am I saying? Like there's any part of my date with a billionaire that I'm gonna forget? Not likely. I glance over at Matthew. His smirk has faded as he looks pensively out the window, he’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice as my eyes inch over him. How can I resist? He looks like a painting, not a person, real people shouldn’t be allowed to look like him. I soak in the scruff on his sharp jawline.

  I bet he spends a lot of time making it look like he just forgot to shave for a day or two, but still in the tidiest way possible. Like those women who throw on powder and touch up their lipstick before slipping back into bed so the man they’re with thinks they “just wake up like that.”

  I smirk at the idea of him primping, it seems so out of
his character and yet, there’s no way someone with his looks just happens. I don’t even notice that we’re descending until Matthew turns toward me to tell me, catching my stare. I quickly look away, like a teenager who got caught checking out her crush across the laundromat. Totally busted.

  “We’ll be on the ground in five minutes.” I don’t look at him, but I can hear the smile in his voice. I nod, looking out at the sprawling building below. We must be in the Hamptons. I look out at the water licking at the toes of the property where a white, Italian style building the size of a Wal-Mart is growing as we get closer to it. I can see a driveway, not a parking lot and for the first time it occurs to me that this is a house. This is where he lives? The thought doesn’t even make sense.

  As we approach, I can see a chain of limos and flashy cars snaking around the long curve of the cobblestone driveway. The neatly manicured lawn with intricately designed flower gardens seems so out of character for a man like Matthew. All I can think about is that people in this world live like this. When I go home to my shared 600-square-foot apartment, Matthew flies to this mansion which appears to be the size of a city block.

  The lawn is bustling with photographers, and older men draped by gorgeous women. I can’t help but notice, even from this distance, that I’m painfully under dressed in Brianna’s bridesmaid outfit. With a sea of evening gowns and tuxedos ebbing and flowing through the gardens like the ocean against the beach front property, it’s not hard to see that I stick out.

  When we touch down on the landing pad, I still haven’t recovered. Landing pad. He has his own landing pad. Why did he ask me on this date? I can’t be a typical match for him. Surprisingly, I’m actually a bit more excited than nervous for once. I’m interested in seeing where this is going.

  “Here, let me help you out,” Matthew offers, hopping the ground like he’s casually stepping out of a cab. He extends his hand, but when I reach for it he leans in and picks me up, swirling me out of the helicopter by the waist and safely placing me on the ground. A supernova of the media’s flashing cameras go off before my eyes, temporarily blinding me as I clutch his arm. Second thoughts cloud my mind. What am I doing here? What kind of game is he playing? One look at his aqua blue eyes and his knowing smile and my reservations melt away. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

  “Matthew! Darling! It’s been too long. Don’t you look debonair?” A tall, white, platinum blond woman immediately finds us in the crowd of back-patters and hand shakers, double kissing Matthew’s cheeks like she’s in a movie.

  “Marjorie, I believe it’s only been a month, hasn’t it? At the Rosenberg wedding?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Wasn’t that something else? I heard that they spent over a million on the reception alone and guess what? The happy honeymooners are already talking about an annulment, can you imagine?”

  “That’s unfortunate. Marjorie, this is my date tonight, Kendra Cole. Kendra, this is Marjorie, she’s an old friend.”

  “An old friend? Is that what I’ve been downgraded to now?” Marjorie pushes her pillowy lips in a practiced sulk. “Can’t a woman get any credit for taking you off the market for three years?” She winks at him and gives his arm a playful squeeze before finally looking at me for the first time since she approached us. “Well, aren’t you just darling?” She trails her green eyes over me. “Where did you find this one, Mattie?”

  Excuse me? I’ve known this woman for less than five minutes, and I already want to punch her frail-looking throat.

  “Now Marjorie, what have I told you about playing nice with others?” Matthew scolds her.

  “Oh, she knows I’m just teasing, don’t you… I’m sorry what was your name again?”

  “It’s Kendra.”

  “Right, Kendra knows I’m kidding, don’t you?” She doesn’t actually look in my direction or wait for my answer. “Don’t be so uptight, Mattie.” She purrs at him, like a cat in heat.

  “As I was saying, Kendra is finishing up her masters of business at Columbia.”

  “Well, I didn’t think she was majoring in fashion.” She laughs loudly at her joke. I tug at the hem of my dress and grit my teeth together.

  “I said enough already.” Matthew’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches tight sucking the wind out of Marjorie’s sails. I have to say, it’s pretty satisfying to watch the emotions battle it out on her face. For a second, I think she might even cry, but she pulls it together with a pasted on smile.

  “Well, I should really start mingling a bit more anyway, just wanted to say hello,” her voice flat now. “It was so nice to meet you, Kendra.” She spits out my name like venom.

  “The pleasure was all mine, Maggie.” I smile as earnestly as I can manage and walk away on good old Mattie’s arm as she fumes.

  “Haha, I’ll have to remember to stay on your good side. Women like Marjorie expect to be remembered, that’ll eat her up.” Matthew smiles at me approvingly, and I feel weak in the knees, and it isn’t because I’m hungry.

  If I’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that wealthy people love to talk. I’ve been sitting at this dinner table for hours, being brought endless bite-sized courses of food that looks like art, and I still don’t even know what charity this event is being held for. It isn’t for a lack of speeches, it would seem that everyone has an important announcement or needs to toast Matthew for one thing or another. It’s just getting boring. Not to mention the other problem I’m having. My bladder wasn’t made for sitting through an eternity of bloated, old white men with even more bloated wallets, spewing hot air. I keep waiting for a polite time to slip away and find the restroom, but as soon as one of them sits down there’s another just clamoring to grab the mike next.

  Finally, I see my opportunity. The man who just finished talking about himself for thirty minutes is about to hand off the microphone to an elderly man being assisted onto the stage. Just from how slow he walks, I know if I don’t skedaddle now, I might wet myself.

  “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies,” I tell Matthew.

  “Oh, I’ll show you the way,” he offers, starting to stand up.

  “Mr. Blackwell, I didn’t want to talk business tonight, but if I could bend your ear for a minute, I’d appreciate it.” A white-haired woman sitting next to us clutches his arm.

  Matthew looks at me. “I’ll just as someone inside, don’t worry about me.” I smile at him reassuringly. He nods and sits back down with the clingy senior.

  I go in through the back door that a steady stream of servers are carrying wines and other cocktails through. Making my way through the sprawling house, decorated with exquisite art and handcrafted furniture, I can’t help but notice the attention to detail that has gone into every room I pass. The large rooms seem even larger with their minimalist designs and sparse, uncomfortable looking furniture. I suppose when you have this kind of money, every item becomes a statement of your wealth. I bet I could work for the rest of my life and still never be able to afford even a chair in this house.

  It turns out I don’t need to ask for directions, or you know, use a GPS to find the washroom. I stumble upon it in this maze all by myself. The marble white bathroom is impressive in its own right, but I could hardly care right now. All I can think about is my poor little bladder holding on for dear life.

  I head back out toward the party much slower than I came in here. I don’t have the same ambition to get back to the monotone speeches as I did to pee. Strolling back the way I came, I really start nosing a bit as I walk past the rooms. I see a grand piano in one and wonder if Matthew plays. He must, right? Do people just decorate with pianos if they can’t? I wouldn’t be surprised actually. I’m just about to pop back out when a darkened room full of bookshelves and picture frames catches my eye. I know I shouldn’t go snooping around, but I’m curious. Besides, it’s not like there’s some kind of velvet rope barricading the door. Looking left and right quickly, I see the coast is clear and quickly disappear into the room.

  Loo
king around the spotless library, I trail my fingers over the books for a moment. He has an impressive collection, but only if he actually reads them and doesn’t just use them as expensive dust magnets. I make my way over to the mantle full of photographs that I really came in here to see. Most of them look the same, the only thing that’s different is the women in them.

  In this one, Matthew is in a bathing suit smirking with a stunning blond, her ample breasts popping out of her string bikini top she has casually rested on his shoulder. The next one he’s dressed in a tuxedo, looking very dashing with a vibrant red head on his arm. I feel like I’ve seen these women before, but I know there’s no way that’s possible. I know! They remind me of my cheap fashion dolls from when I was a kid, all sharing one body type but coming with different colored hair styles.

  My eyes freeze as I see a large photo of a young looking Matthew and Marjorie not posing, not even looking at the camera. They don’t look more than eighteen, and Marjorie looks much prettier despite her lack of makeup and the freckles on her nose showing. She’s looking at him with a love that has definitely evolved into something more sinister over the years. He’s returning the gaze with what looks like a genuine smile meant for only her. A moment of sadness for that lost young girl is quickly replaced by something I never expected to feel. Jealousy.