Most Eligible Billionaire

by Annika Martin

  “Unbelievable,” I say. But I’m looking at her. I’m looking at her like she’s a gift. Vonda O’Neil. Strong as steel, with what she went through.

  We grab chicken and rice from a halal cart and eat it on a bench at Marcy Place triangle park on the Lower East Side. We throw leftover bits of bread to the pigeons. She’s still shivering, so I give her my jacket to wear. She wraps it around herself and snuggles into me on the bench there. I keep my arm tight around her. “I’m so sorry,” I say into her hair.

  “What did you do? You didn’t invite him.”

  “I started those wheels in motion. Scheming with Brett.”

  “I don’t blame you. In no universe would I blame you for that.” She puts a finger to my lips when I start to protest.

  We end up walking clear up the East Village and taking the East Side Line the rest of the way to my place. It’s afternoon by the time we get up there.

  I settle her into a chair out on the veranda overlooking the park. I drape a light blanket over her shoulders.

  She smiles up at me. “Come here.”

  I set my hands on her shoulders and kiss her.

  “I feel better,” she says. “Thank you.” Her neck is warm under my thumbs. She’s so beautiful, she doesn't know. I slide my hands over her blanket-covered arms, warming her more.

  I leave her out there and make her tea and bake cookies out of the premade cookie dough I keep in the refrigerator. “Cookies and tea,” she says when I bring them. “Next thing I know I’ll come over and you’re knitting tea cozies.”

  “I think I’m man enough to knit a tea cozy,” I say. Whatever that is.

  She grins. “Oh, you’re man enough to crochet a doily.”

  We watch the people in the park and talk about nothing. Doing useless things with her feels more important than the most massive asset takeover.

  She complains about me fattening her up, but we nearly finish the pan.

  She drains the rest of the tea and straddles my lap, kissing me, her cocoon a tent around us. It’s a slow, lazy kiss. The sunlight behind her tips the edges of her brown hair gold. She feeds me little bits of the last cookie and kisses me some more.

  We need to talk about the Vonda situation, but now’s not the time. There’s been enough Vonda today.

  She slides the pad of her pointer finger around my lips like she’s memorizing the shape of them. “I like feeding you cookies,” she says.

  “That’s convenient,” I say. “Because I like your fingers in my mouth.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  Her gaze turns mischievous. She removes her hand from my lips and trails it down her neck. My heart begins to pound, because I’m also man enough that every ounce of me is focused on the pink and succulent end of the path her fingers are tracing.

  Slowly she slides it down her shirt and into the waistband of her blue pants.

  I feel her eyes on me, but I can’t tear my gaze from the shape her hand makes in her pants, between her legs.

  I watch, mesmerized. It’s so sexy, I just want to flip her over and consume her like wildfire, but I hold back. It’s not what she needs.

  She strokes off, thighs rocking above mine. My cock grows hard as granite. Even the weight of her on my lap is hot.

  I slide my hand over hers—just lightly, just to be there with her, to feel what she does.

  My breath gusts in and out. I can feel my nostrils flaring. I’m starving for her. I need to feel her naked against me, skin to skin, belly to belly, heat to heat.

  I tear my eyes up to meet hers, beer-bottle brown, translucent in the daylight.

  “Mmm,” she says teasingly, lips curling.

  “Vicky.” My voice sounds strangled. Like it might be coming from somewhere else. “Vicky, Vicky, Vicky…”

  Slowly, eyes still locked on mine, she draws out her hand, holds up two glistening fingers.

  I grip her wrist and my lips are closing over her fingers. She yelps at the speed and violence of my grab. “What are you, a vampire?”

  I suck every last bit of her off of them. She tastes sweet and dirty. She’s trembling. Vibrating. I feel it where my skin meets hers.

  I run my tongue along the underside of her fingers, giving her the wonderful world of the human tongue and the sparkle in her eyes tell me she’s thinking that, too.

  She yanks her hand from my mouth and runs sloppy fingers down my chin and down to my straining dick.

  She cups me, squeezing. A shudder thrums through me. I’m about to burst out of my skin for her. I cannot get enough of this woman. I think I never will.

  “Carry me,” she says. “Hurry.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. I palm her ass cheeks and sweep her up. She locks her arms and legs around me as I whirl her around and walk her in, stopping once at a wall just to press her there and kiss her.

  I bring her into the bedroom and lay her down. I unbutton and unzip her, kissing silky soft skin. She wriggles under me, soft limbs in a nest of sheets and clothes and the blanket from the porch.

  Her panting has a music to it. A high, shaky note, in and out. Her breath gets shakier when I touch her pussy. She grabs onto my hair, pulling as I do her, as I expertly match the speed she did herself with. She groans and pulls. “I won’t last if you do that!”

  I’m stunned at how bad I want her. I want to tell her, but I don’t want to scare her.

  There aren’t words for it anyway.

  Well, maybe there are.

  I stand and pull off my own clothes with much less ceremony, looking her over, laid out for me. Her gaze looks drugged. She presses a foot to my belly while I take off my pants.

  I roll on a condom. I crawl over her and worship her. She kisses my biceps as I press her hands over her head, as I settle between her legs, spread open for me.

  Not for Henry Locke, Most Eligible Bachelor, but me.

  She watches me with those brown eyes, watches me as I guide myself into her. I push low and deep into the hot grip of her body, trembling all the way in.

  She lowers her eyelids, gone with pleasure. Her groan, when I'm fully inside her, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

  She squeezes my ass as I move inside her, rocking gently into her. I change my angle until I hit that spot that makes her gasp, sweet and sharp, and then I stay there, moving at it, watching the way her eyes glaze over. Taking her clear over the edge with me.

  Afterwards, I throw on a robe and go around to the veranda to fire up the hot tub.

  “I didn’t know this was over here,” she says, coming up behind me and circling her arms around me. She’s wearing one of my shirts. It makes me want to walk her right back into the bedroom. Maybe the wall.

  “Little-known secret of my veranda.”

  She dips a toe in. “Mmm.”

  It’s a cool, crisp day—the kind tailor-made for a veranda hot tub.

  “Go on. Get in. I’ll grab the beers.”

  She narrows her eyes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink alcohol in these things.”

  “Maybe you can look into making a citizen’s arrest later on,” I say.

  She grins. “I think I will look into that.”

  When I get back, she’s in there, eyes closed, head tipped back. I hand her the beer and sink in next to her.

  “I should get Smuckers,” she says, sounding relaxed. “I really, really so should.”

  “April can handle Smuckers,” I say. “Also, I don’t think Smuckers would be fun in a hot tub.”

  “Not to mention how bad it would mess up his hairdo.”

  I'm in my living room later on, waiting for Vicky to come out and weigh in on where to go to dinner. We’re planning on picking Carly up as soon as her rehearsal is done. We might even try to catch part of it. We did a lot of line running with her and Bess over the long weekend, and she had a great presence. I’m looking forward to seeing her in action. We make a plan to sneak in the back to catch the tail end of the rehearsal.


  I grab my phone and I’m scrolling Instagram when the elevator doors open.

  It’s Brett.

  I stand, teeth gritted so hard I'm shocked they don’t break. I haven’t contacted him. I’m too angry.

  “Dude,” he says, coming in.

  “Dude?” I get in his face. “What the hell were you thinking? You knew who that was and you brought him in?”

  “Of course I knew. But you’re the one who stole the show. That punch? Stroke of genius. The ultimate good cop move.”

  “You bring him in?”

  “We didn’t even need him. I just got off the phone with Malcomb. Her lawyer contacted him about terminology questions for papers for signing off ownership for a dollar. I underestimated the powers of the Henry Locke dick.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The company. She’s giving it back. For a dollar. And you’ll be happy to know that I smoothed everything over with Denny. We own a parcel of land up north that the Woodruffs want for something. Small price to pay for keeping him quiet about a dog and Vonda O’Neil on our board because please, that would be a disaster.”

  My mind reels. She’s giving it back for a dollar?

  “You deserve an Academy Award, brother. We don’t even need the competency hearing now.”

  “That’s not—”

  My words die out as his face drains of color. He’s looking over my shoulder.

  “Competency hearing?”

  I spin around and there she is, hair still wet, but she’s dressed. Except for the naked pain shining in her eyes.

  Her voice shakes. “Competency hearing? Operation good cop?”

  “It’s not what you think.” I go to her.

  “Get away from me!” She pushes me. “All that was an act?”

  “Of course not!”

  “What’s operation good cop? Is that a thing?”

  “It was,” I begin. “A stupid thing.”

  “What’s the competency hearing? Is that also a stupid thing? A hearing?”

  I exchange glances with Brett.

  The wounded look in her eyes kills me. “You were going to put me on trial? For competency?”

  “That’s not how it is.”

  “You said you trusted me.”

  “I do trust you. I was going to call it off.”

  “But it’s still on. As of now.” She searches my eyes. “Is it still on? As of this moment?”

  My heart feels like it’s cracking. “I was going to call it off.”

  “Please, just say. Is it still on? As of now?”

  “Yes. Technically it’s still on.”

  “Technically.” She snorts. “And all this time, were you guys gathering evidence? To destroy me?” She holds up a hand when I take a step toward her. “Awesome performance. I guess that’s one thing Brett and I can agree on. It was absolutely award winning. Bravo.”

  “I wasn’t performing.”

  She grabs her purse and her jacket and heads to the elevator door, then stops.

  I stop behind her, heart pounding. Is she reconsidering? Remembering what’s between us?

  “Vicky,” I say.

  Slowly she turns, but the warmth is gone from her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll still give it back. I’ll sign and deliver those papers I drew up. For half a million.”

  “Don’t,” I whisper, when I realize the significance of the number.

  “That’s my offer.”

  “Henry—” Brett starts to say something. I shut him up with a quick look. He widens his eyes. He wants me to take it. It’s way cheaper than the millions we offered a few weeks back.

  “This isn’t you,” I say. “You fight for things.”

  “I didn’t get the half mill the last time around. So you’ll pay it to me, and if you don’t, the world will learn that Vonda O’Neil and Smuckers run your company.”

  “Vicky.”

  “It’s Vonda,” she says. “I’m Vonda O’Neil. And I have to say, keeping me on good behavior with the good cop act while you gather evidence for the hearing? Very effective. Who knows what I would’ve done. Maybe even painted those cranes pink, with Smuckers’s face—”

  “We’ll pay!” Brett says.

  “I don’t want you to go,” I say. “Brett is going.”

  “A bank transfer.” She fishes out a checkbook and tears off a deposit slip. “Five hundred thousand and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “I wasn’t pretending—you know I wasn’t. Feel the truth of that. Of us.”

  Her eyes are cold. “If you follow me or try to contact me, I’ll tell the New York Tribune the story of Vonda O’Neil and a dog and their hold over Locke Worldwide.”

  I get between her and the elevator door, but I don’t touch her. I’m not Denny. Except it’s too late. “I know what this looks like to you.”

  “Do you?” she asks. “Please understand when I ask you to leave me be. Respect me on that. Have the money in my bank account by bank open tomorrow. With that you’ll get my silence and your company back.” She stabs the elevator button. “If the money isn’t there, you can kiss the stability of the Locke name goodbye. You’ll learn firsthand about the power of the Vonda name.”

  “Screw the company. I want you,” I say.

  Brett grabs my shoulder. “Dude.”

  I shake him off. “We got this, Vicky.”

  Her eyes shine as she backs into the elevator. She stands in there alone, finger stab-stabbing the button like she always does.

  “It doesn’t actually go faster when you do that,” I whisper, but the doors are already closed.

  Thirty

  Vicky

  * * *

  “The day after tomorrow?” Carly is inconsolable when I tell her we have to leave. Her eyes shine wild. “It’s my junior year,” she says. “We can’t just leave!”

  “We have to.”

  “But we can’t! Please…”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She collapses in a heap on our ratty green couch. “And our show just went up. And Bess…oh my god, I’ll never see Bess again!”

  “You’ll see her again.” I hope. I think. I wrap my arms around myself.

  “All my friends. Our whole life. If I leave school they’ll never let me back in.”

  “I know, baby.”

  “Isn’t there some other way? There has to be! You always think of something. You always do.”

  The hope in her eyes kills me. “I thought about it long and hard. This is the best I can do for us.”

  She flops back, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

  I’m letting her down. I tried to take too much. I tried to fly too close to the sun and I got torched. I wipe the thought of Henry from my mind’s eye. He might be calling, but I’ve long since blocked him.

  “All our stuff,” Carly says.

  I want more than anything to wrap her up in a hug, to give her the hug that I actually really want for myself, but she’s not in the mood. “I’m sorry.”

  “What if I finished out the semester living at Bess’s place? And then maybe it all dies down…”

  “Connect the dots, Carly. Denny will spill. He lives to make my life miserable. Or somehow it gets out—too many people know. And Mom hears. She’s going to want you back. Especially if she sniffs the money—she’ll want you back and she’ll figure out an angle.”

  “She’s a drug addict! She didn’t even file a missing persons report. Won’t they see?”

  “She’s your mother and I’m Vonda—that’s what they’ll see. They’ll put you back with her. You’re leaving New York with me or her. You know I'm much more fun.”

  She picks up a bright green scarf and a soft sob escapes her lips. Deep down, she knows I’m right. She was young, but she remembers the scary guys, and they’re still there. We know this because we secretly follow Mom on Facebook. We see her pictures, most of them from the inside of a bar or somebody’s trashy living room.

  I sink down next to her. “We ca
n go a lot of places with that money. Where do you want to go?”

  “Nowhere. I want to go exactly nowhere.”

  “Me, too,” I say. I look around, despairing. Aside from the couch, the furniture isn’t ours, but we collected a lot of little treasures over the years. We fought hard and we made a life.

  “We’ll never see the sad mimes or fierce protector guy again.”

  “I know.” I set a hand on her forearm. “Let’s think of a cool place to go where you can continue your theater training.”

  We go out to get stupid-amount-of-candy ice cream, passing the sad mimes on the way. We hug them and get white paint on our cheeks.

  We talk plans at the ice cream place. I nix Los Angeles—it has to be overseas. I already spoke with my ultra-expensive fake ID guy—he feels like he can swing overseas work visas under different names.

  We settle on London. It’s the theater scene that sells it to Carly. And it's a big city like New York. A place to get lost.

  We look for VRBOs on our phones, and when we find one, we pay a random neighbor to arrange it; that way we won’t leave a trail.

  We’ll head to an airport hotel ASAP and arrange the rest of the move from there. It’s important not to leave a trail, because if the story about me and Smuckers and the company pops, the media spotlight will be relentless.

  Brett seems to think he has Denny contained, but he doesn’t know that piece of shit like I do.

  I leave Carly at our place, packing boxes to ship. A classmate of hers and her mother are taking over our parrot-sitting gig, because long-term pet sitting gigs on the Upper West Side are easy to fill. She’s going to introduce them to Buddy and show them how it all goes.

  I head out to meet Latrisha at the studio. It’s dark outside when I get there. I thought I’d feel sad when I walked into the place, but I feel strangely proud. The space and the community made my life better. It was a family when I had none. I wander around, just connecting with people one last time, not doing the big dramatic goodbye.

  Bron over at the smithy gives me a beer and tells me how my order will be ready in a week. I tell him that I know it will be amazing.

  Of course I tell Latrisha I’m leaving. She senses it’s trouble. She thinks it’s Henry. I promise her it’s not. She wants to rescue us, put us up in her high-security building, circle the wagons. She’s a total Joan of Arc that way.