Just Friends: A Summer Fling With A Billionaire Heir

by Cynthia Dane

  Great. Good to know she was still attracted to him. With any luck, however, this charade would soon be finished and Rachel could go back to her regularly-scheduled spinster life.

  Then the man spotted her, with a flash of a dazzling white smile.

  Rachel stopped halfway to him, pulling out the earbud playing an old Japanese pop song into her head. Synth beats and squeaky vocals were replaced with the rumbles of the city and the wild thumping of Rachel’s heart.

  And the sound of Zack’s voice calling to her.

  “Over here!” He gestured with come-hither fingers. “Check it out! Managed to score a good spot! Had to fight a couple of guys and their dog off, but… eh, not bad, if I do say so.”

  Rachel took another step forward. It was only then she noticed the picnic basket nestled nicely in the green grass.

  “A picnic.” She shoved her phone into her bag. “That’s what you decided we would do?”

  Zack shrugged. Rachel was in no hurry to sit down in the empty spot next to him. “Not much else to do in a park when it’s already crowded with five million people. Besides!” He opened his arms wide. “This is only the beginning. Load up on food, then… well, we’ll see where things take us.”

  Rachel still wouldn’t sit down. “This isn’t a date.”

  “I didn’t say it was?”

  She stood back, arms crossed protectively on her chest, as if Zack were another guy looking to get his hands on her breasts. He might as well have been right now. Even though Rachel was a lot more likely to divebomb toward his chest. Girl, knock it off. See? This is why we’ve decided to be celibate for the rest of the summer. No dating. No excessive flirting. And definitely no sex! Her only partner was the toy in the bottom of her nightstand drawer.

  “You want to have a picnic with me in the park?”

  “This has been established, yes.”

  “But why?”

  The frown crowning Zack’s face only made his large sunglasses and the stubble on his jaw stick out. A lot. I’m doomed. “Because I want to be your friend.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “No, Rachel, this is all a rouse to prank you. Or get into your pants. Your pick. Either way, I’m a total asshole, aren’t I?”

  “That’s not fair. You don’t get to cut me off in both directions.”

  “I haven’t just cut you off. I’ve parked my car and am refusing to budge until you hear me out in the middle of the street.”

  That’s one way to put it, I guess. Rachel lowered herself to the ground, close enough to hear him, but far enough away that she could make a break for it if she needed to.

  It wasn’t that she felt wary around Zack. He didn’t pique her danger-meter, nor did he disgust her. Would she have agreed to this if he had? Then why was she so hesitant to get close to him, to hear him out, to give him a chance to even be her friend?

  Because this is weird!

  Nobody did this in the year 2017. Friendships – let alone man-woman ones – didn’t start because a man decided he’d rather be a woman’s friend than never see her again. After she had turned him down for a date, too! It made no sense. A man as handsome and seemingly well off as Zack had no reason to keep talking to her after she turned him down for a date. He should have easily moved on to the next woman who struck his fancy.

  Something didn’t smell right. Rachel wasn’t sure what his end game still was, and that bothered her.

  Still… he was hot. And charismatic. And he had brought her free food.

  They were in public, right? Lots of escape routes. Parvati wasn’t too far away. What did Rachel have to lose, aside from some of her time?

  “Finally, she joins me.” Zack leaned against the tree. “You’re a difficult woman to get out of her house.”

  “Not really.” Rachel kept her bag close. “I go out every day.”

  Zack opened the picnic basket. Freshly cut apple slices and a pair of turkey on croissant sandwiches appeared, each delicately wrapped in an easy-to-remove bag. They looked homemade. There was no way this guy had gone out of his way to make fancy sandwiches for their supposed friend date. “Doing what, exactly?” Zack handed her one of the sandwiches.

  Rachel didn’t hold much hope that she would want to eat it. Turkey on croissant was a gift from god, but only if she was allowed to order it. Rachel wasn’t proud to say it, but she was a picky eater, and shit like mayo… wait, where was the mayo? And the onions? And the vinegar? And the other terrible stuff people put on sandwiches because they were convinced everyone wanted them?

  “This sandwich is… perfect?” Turkey. Lettuce. Fresh, melted Swiss cheese. Nothing else. None of those gross condiments at all!

  “I took the liberty of asking your friend how you like your sandwiches.”

  Parvati! Whose side was she on?

  “You haven’t answered my question, by the way.”

  Rachel looked up from the sandwich she was afraid to eat. “What’s that?”

  “What do you do? With your days, that is.”

  Rachel snapped off a piece of lettuce and tasted it. “I’m a freelance translator.”

  “Aha! I had figured. I saw the Chinese textbooks.”

  “Japanese.”

  “Oh. Excuse me.” Zack took a hearty bite of his sandwich. “So you speak Japanese?” Bits of croissant flew out of his mouth.

  “Good enough.”

  “That’s cool. Don’t know many people who can speak Japanese.” Finally, he swallowed.

  “So, uh…” Rachel still had yet to taste her sandwich. “What do you do? You must not work in an office if I always see you during the day.”

  “You’re right. I don’t work in an office.” Zack tossed an apple slice in her direction. “I’m a full-time artist.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Have my own studio and everything.”

  “What kind of art?”

  Zack pointed to the sandwich in her hand. “Start eating that and I’ll tell you.”

  While Rachel started munching, Zack tapped into his phone and swiped through pictures. Damn, this is a good sandwich! The croissant was freshly baked, the turkey smoky, and the lettuce so crisp that it was like biting through fine ice with an earthy aftertaste. I could weep! If it were poisoned, it was worth it!

  “This is the last piece I completed.” Zack showed her the image on his screen. “Week and a half ago. It’s made out of recycled glass I scavenged from here and there.”

  Once the glare disappeared, Rachel almost choked. Wow. Woooow. There was no way this guy created such a beautiful glass mosaic that caught a million colors at once, trapping them in a sweet prism that reflected half the shades of the sky and the cosmos beyond what the eye could see. Is that a woman in the center? Greens and blues exploded into a thousand pieces, but it was a woman’s figure in the center of the mosaic that ultimately held Rachel’s attention. At least three different images went into the composite of one woman, but Zack had achieved it so seamlessly that at first glance Rachel swore she had always belonged there.

  “You made that? By yourself?”

  Zack glanced at this screen before pocketing his phone again. “Yup.”

  “So you do glasswork?”

  “Glass, metal, stone, clay… sometimes wood, though I don’t like working with it as much. I’d rather deal with cuts than splinters.” Zack shrugged. “I also do different types of paintings if the mood strikes me. Sometimes I go through phases where all I want to do is paint, but then I’ll run through acrylics, oils, watercolors… the whole painting gamut. Once I made a mosaic with colored sand. God, what are they called… you see them in Buddhism?”

  “Mandalas?”

  “Mandalas. That’s it. I did one for an exhibit in LA. The dumb bastards paid me to fly out and make one in a day and then destroy it a week later. Weird.”

  Rachel chuckled on her sandwich. “So you do all sorts of art for a living?”

  “Yeah. Figure I might as well use that art degree for something.” />
  “How cool is that, though?”

  “Yes, so now you know why I wanted you to be my model.” Zack’s cheeky smile almost swayed Rachel – swayed her into not listening to a thing he said. “When I saw you in that café the other day, my inspiration was struck for the first time in a while. So I sketched you to get the creative juices flowing.”

  “That so? Me?”

  “There’s no explaining that sort of thing. How’s the sandwich?”

  “Good! You made this?”

  “You could say that. Had some extra time this morning. Creativity was blocked, so I made lunch.”

  This guy is something else. Hot and creative? How often did that happen? Most super-hot guys Rachel met were so devoid of any creativity that it was a miracle they could hold a conversation for more than a minute. Luckily for her, most of them didn’t want anything to do with her, so she was able to avoid that mess.

  “You in galleries and stuff?”

  “Yup. I do the show here and there. My agent has difficulties with me, though. He says it’s hard selling a multi-medium artist in a world that only wants one thing at a time.”

  “What are you working on now?”

  “Ah…” Zack rubbed the back of his head before looking away. “I was working on a marble piece, but it broke.”

  Rachel gasped. Marble! How expensive had that fuck up been? This guy works with expensive mediums, huh? He must be paid a lot, but based on the other pro artists Rachel had met over the years, he probably sank most of his earnings back into his supplies. And rent. Rent was not cheap around there.

  “So tell me more about yourself.” That grin returned. “If we’re going to be friends, I guess I should know more about you. Enough about me, right?”

  I suppose… Friends, huh? He was still going with that angle? “Compared to you, I’ve done nothing special.”

  “Come on. Surely there’s something interesting about you. I wouldn’t be interested in you, otherwise.”

  Rachel needed to control her blushing, but at least she had the sun to blame it on. “I haven’t done much of anything in my life, really. Haven’t traveled much. Been working all my adult life, and my family is pretty damn humble.”

  The smile disappeared again. “I see. Where have you traveled?”

  That question unlocked one of the few conversation whirlpools swimming around the back of Rachel’s mind. It was true that she hadn’t lived the most inspiring life. How could she, when she came from a family that spent more years impoverished than middle class? She had taken out tens of thousands in student loans to pay for her private college education. (A mistake, she quickly came to realize upon graduating in a shit economy.) The only experiences she could have were directly tied into her field of study. Between homestays, studying abroad, jobs, and the one occasion she had enough money to fuck off and do whatever she wanted, Rachel had lived in Japan exactly four times. She had done a homestay on scholarship in high school. Gone studying abroad with her usual college tuition. Gotten a job for a year that helped her save some money and pay some of those obnoxious bills when they started to roll in after her grace period.

  Oh, but at least she had been all over the land of the rising sun. Homestay in Shikoku, one of the most remote, countryish places a person could get. Study abroad in the Tokyo suburbs. Working in the Japanese Alps with easy day trips to the third largest city in the country. Rachel was so familiar with Japan’s geography and its myriad of subcultures that she liked to think it made up for her lack of experience in other countries. Some people travel the whole world to say they did, but don’t pick up a single thing. Sometimes she swore she coughed up a piece of her soul in Japan, and now she was forever bound to be homesick for a place she never knew as a child.

  “I speak fluent conversational Japanese,” she said at the end of her spiel. “But translating is really hard. Probably harder for me than most others in my programs. I noticed that when we watched TV shows in class, I always relied more on what the characters were actually saying than what the subtitles said. My brain translates sound so much faster than text. Sometimes text complicates things even more for me.”

  Zack, who had long finished his lunch and leaned languidly against the tree, scratched his stubble. “Yet you make a living off translating?”

  “A humble living. I barely pay the bills.” Recently, she hadn’t been paying them at all.

  “You thought about going back to teach again?”

  Rachel flinched. “Yeah. I didn’t like it, though. I don’t get along with kids, and that’s 90% of who you’re paid to teach. And teaching is like translating for me. Easy in theory, not so much in practice.”

  “Hmm.” Zack flipped the lid to the picnic basket closed. “You say you haven’t lived a very interesting life, but that sounds pretty intriguing to me. Then again, we always think that our own lives aren’t that exciting and will always compare it to somebody else’s.”

  “You think so?” Rachel pulled her sweater off and draped it over her legs. Zack briefly glanced at her bare arms before looking away again. “You tackle those subjects in your art?”

  “Maybe I will now. See? You keep inspiring me, Rachel. We should be BFFs.”

  He said it sarcastically, yet Rachel sensed he truly meant it. And that’s so weird. Men never wanted to be friends with her. They always had an ulterior motive. Or they were doing it without realizing it, and everything ended with poor Rachel being played the fool. “What? You think we’re friends? Honey, I barely know you.”

  A bright yellow frisbee landed a few inches away from Rachel. A golden lab came running up, slobbering into the grass as he crashed against Rachel’s legs and snatched the frisbee into his teeth.

  “Whoa!” Rachel backed up against the tree. Zack stirred beside her.

  The dog attempted to bark with the frisbee in his mouth. His tail wagged so emphatically that Rachel was afraid he’d fall over.

  “Sorry about that!” A man in his casual best jogged up to get the dog’s attention. The lab was more than happy to jump against his owner’s legs. “Totally misjudged that throw!”

  Zack nodded. “Beautiful dog.”

  “Thanks.” The man flung the frisbee into the open grass area. The dog immediately tore after it with a happy bark. “Sorry again about interrupting your date.” He left.

  Rachel and Zack remained quiet for a moment. “See?” Zack finally said with a sigh. “Everyone thinks we’re on a date.”

  “We’re not…”

  “Come on.” He hopped up and grabbed the picnic basket by the handles. “It’s happy hour somewhere. I’ll buy you a drink.” He looked over his shoulder. “As a friend.”

  Rachel hurried after him. She’d figure out why along the way.

  Chapter 7

  “Don’t give me that look,” Zack said over the buzz of other drinkers in the midday bar. “This is the manliest drink I could possibly get, and I’ll tell you why.”

  Rachel stifled another laugh. The fruity cocktail, complete with lemon wedge on the rim, was something the waitress had deposited before her while giving Zack the rum and Coke. He hadn’t waited for her to turn around before switching the drinks. “Okay. Why?”

  “Because there is way more alcohol in these girly cocktails than there is in manly shit.” Zack pulled the wedge off and slurped half the drink down his throat. Red liquid dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Rachel’s lips turned downward into a disenchanted scowl of disgust. “Plus it’s delicious. Strawberry.” He put the drink back down. “Want a taste?”

  “No thanks.” Rachel preferred Coke and alcohol to whatever was in that. Vodka, probably, and not enough of it, no matter what Zack said. “By the way, weren’t you going to tell me why you don’t like being called Feldstein?”

  Zack almost snorted his next swig. “What the…”

  “You said that if I went out with you, you’d tell me what was up with Feldstein.”

  “Man…” Zack slammed his glass down and dabbed his nose with
a napkin from the dispenser. “You really know how to time your jokes.”

  “I’m serious, though. Both times I accidentally called you Feldstein, you acted like I personally punched your grandmother in the face.”

  “And you bring up my grandmother!” Zack leaned back in his chair with a grin. “I think you’ve been reading up on me, Rachel Taylor.”

  “Reading up on… I didn’t even know that you were a full-time artist. You think I’m reading up on you?” There was stuff she could Google about him? Know what I’m doing tonight.

  Zack shook his head. “Man, you’re killing me. You’re on a helluva wavelength, Rachel.”

  “So what’s the big deal about it? Something about your grandmother?”

  Zack glanced around before leaning in across the table. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Uh, yeah?”

  “You sure? Because I’m about to tell you a big family secret.”

  “Uh… as long as it’s not going to get me thrown in jail as a co-conspirator of some kind…”

  “About my name,” Zack interrupted. “It’s Feldman. Legally. Going back to my great-grandfather when he came over from Europe.”

  “Yeah?”

  Zack gave her another look before continuing. “Eastern Europe.”

  “Oh. Oh.”

  Nodding sagely, Zack picked up another napkin and cleaned some of their mess off the table. “The family name used to be Feldstein. They changed it when they went through Ellis Island. Didn’t want people knowing that they were Jewish.”

  “Why? Bad stuff happening back home?” This was well before World War II, right? Zack wasn’t that young… twenty-five at the absolute youngest.

  “They thought it would make getting a job and starting their own company easier. They were right. My great-grandfather got a job at a shipping yard and learned the ins and outs of steel manufacturing from one of their clients. Next thing anyone knew, he was getting a loan to start his own steel company.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Uh…” Zack snorted. “The rest is history?”

  Rachel continued to give him a quizzical look.