Billionaire on Board

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Billionaire on Board Page 4

by Dasha G. Logan


  "I fly a lot."

  I wanted to make some cynical remark about a private jet but I stopped myself. I had been too edgy about his wealth already.

  "Will you be going all alone? Three weeks? Only with Angelo and the crew?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Actually I had two candidates but in the end I decided I could stand neither of them on restricted space for such a long time."

  "Let me guess. Models? One Russian, one Italian?"

  He drew his eyebrows together. "One Czech and one Brazilian. Good Lord, am I such a stereotype?"

  I shrugged.

  The wine came. It was excellent and I praised it freely, not mentioning the fact that I usually quaffed discounter stuff with the same gusto, as long as a plate of pasta and my girlfriends were in the package.

  "You aren't stereotypical at all," he concluded after another of those five second pauses.

  I shook my head. "Probably more than you think."

  Secretly I hoped he would go on talking. I was giddily interested to hear what he would have to say about me.

  "If it wasn't for the elegant outfit and the language you could be a cheerleader, you know, blonde hair, blue eyes—"

  "Green."

  He scowled at me. "Seriously? I couldn't say in this light, I thought they were blue."

  "Green."

  "That's embarrassing, taking out a beautiful woman to dinner and getting her eye colour wrong."

  There was nothing to be got wrong about my skin colour though, because I turned bright red.

  He noticed all right.

  There was a certain shift in his demeanour.

  "Tell me about the guy who's getting married. Christian."

  "Oh. Uh. Christian!" I quavered. "Yes, err. I've known him forever. His mother's my mother's best pal. He used to get me drunk when I was small and he had to babysit me. I honestly can't fathom how our parents ever thought that was a good idea. I'll never get over the Frankenstein movies he made me watch."

  "How dreadful! To get a girl drunk to make her more complacent. More wine?"

  "Yes. — He met Corinna maybe seven or eight years ago. She was very pretty back then. Not so much these days. Anyway, I remember not believing my eyes when I first met her. I couldn't understand what she wanted with him, I mean, I love him like a brother but he's certainly no gentleman. Rather one of those sleazy types who hit on every female they meet until they get lucky. She must have decided it was time to hog-tie a man and he was the one she got hold of. She was quite certain she had him home and dry. Then I showed up."

  "I can't say I blame her." His eyes were twinkling.

  "Yes, but I'd never ever be into him. Never! On my dad's birthday party I forced him to dance with me because I had nobody else to do it with. Just one dance. To 'Sex Bomb'. She had a nervous breakdown and kept crying and screaming. I'm begging you, one dance!" I took a sip of wine. "The woman's crazy."

  He grinned. "She was probably afraid he'd not be able to resist the temptation."

  "What temptation?"

  "You."

  "Tsk. I didn't tempt him at all."

  "Oh, sure you did."

  "No."

  "Yes, you did."

  "I did not tempt him, period!"

  He grinned even more. "You are tempting, period."

  "No, I'm never tempting anybody."

  "I didn't say you did it on purpose."

  "I'm certainly not tempting!" I nearly slammed my hand down next to my plate in vehement protest, but I remembered where I was and I put it down gently. "Stop teasing me!"

  He leaned forward. "I know for a fact how tempting you are, because right now I'm terribly tempted myself."

  I raised my eyebrows defiantly. "To do what?"

  "To kiss you."

  "Madame et Monsieur, Boeuf Bourginion avec Gratin des Pommes de Terre sur Chèvres et Mousse de Prunes Corses de Première Saison. Is everything to your satisfaction?"

  "Absolutely…" Ryan said without ever taking his eyes off me.

  I must have burnt brighter than a lighthouse.

  "Hm?"

  I exhaled. "Listen, I'm really not the kind of girl you take me for. Maybe I gave you the wrong idea."

  "What kind of girl am I taking you for?"

  I bit my lip. "One who rolls over for a bottle of expensive french wine."

  He looked down. "That's not what I think," he said softly. "That's not what I meant. You're just so unreal, showing up, coming out of nowhere, capturing me in your crazy schemes… I'm taken back to a time long ago when I thought you were the most incredible creature on this planet. With your cello."

  My heart stopped. Nobody had ever said anything like this to me.

  I unsteadily took hold of my napkin. I had to hold on to something. He was still looking down. Then I saw his mouth twitch.

  Heavens, was he trying not to laugh?

  His eyes flickered up ever so briefly and yes, there I saw it! Pure mirth!

  He had made fun of me!

  I could not believe it. Of all the arrogant, hot and cold, nasty and demeaning things! I had tapped right into his trap! How mortifying!

  "You're devious!"

  "Sorry. You were so adorable defending your virtue, I couldn't let it pass."

  I snorted. "Very funny. But congrats, that was the cheesiest pick up line in the history of mankind."

  There was his sky splitting smile, shooting sparks into the night. "Yes. I gave it all I had."

  "I almost believed you."

  "No, no, I didn't tempt him at all!" he wailed, mimicking me. "I'm the virgin Mary! I wouldn't do such a thing!"

  "You're impossible!" I spewed.

  "Harr harr. How's your beef?"

  I violently stabbed my fork into my boeuf bourginion. "Probably cold by now!"

  He got me round to be friendly again after a very short time by discussing Cambridge and university life. He was a great conversationalist, I had to give him that. He made it easy for me to talk to him, even though I was nearly disabled by the physical attraction he had on me. I did not know whether he realised, I was sure it happened to him all the time and he had grown immune to it.

  It turned out to be a successful dinner in the end and by the time I had spooned down the last bit of crème brûlée I was feeling happy and relaxed, accepting my fate as his harlequin for the night.

  Even a cruise ship had gone by, fully illuminated, giving me ample opportunity to regale him with funny anecdotes about my regular cruise tourists.

  When we left the restaurant the Maybach was there. The driver held the door for me and I let myself glide into it as if it were a bath tub.

  "So, where do you live?"

  "Hm?"

  "Your address. The driver will want to know where we need to drop you off."

  "Oh, I see."

  I gave the driver the address in German. He said he knew where it was and the glass screen between him and us went up.

  "What are our plans for tomorrow then? When does the harbour cruise start?" Ryan's voice was incredibly velvety in our dark little private back seat.

  I had an instantaneous fantasy of him leaning over and pressing me down into the deep leather seat, but unfortunately nothing of the sort occurred.

  "Ten o'clock. You'll have to come to Pier number 6. The barge's name is Heidi."

  "Heidi, Heidi…" he gently sang. "I think I'll manage to remember, but you'd better give me your number in case I get lost."

  "It's really not difficult."

  "Hey, I'm your boyfriend, I should have your number in my phone."

  I dictated it and he duly saved it.

  I waited for him to give me a little call back to check if it was the right number - knowing I would have his number that way too - but he just put the phone back into his trouser pocket.

  "By the way," I asked, "why is Myrtle called Myrtle?"

  "Myrtle was my first Nanny."

  "What would Sigmund Freud have to say about it?"

  "I wonder…"


  We gazed out of our respective windows for some time.

  "And afterwards?" He shifted around to look at me.

  "What afterwards?"

  "After the cruise, where will you take me? We have to do all the things we usually do, won't we?"

  "Okay, if you really want to."

  "Sure, I have nothing else to do. I mean, I could sit around in my hotel room and re-watch House of Cards…"

  "Yes, yes, fine. Let me see. Usually I'd have some lunch after work and go back home but tomorrow I have a coffee date with Tina at the old abattoir."

  "Mmmh, what will we have? A double bloody latte with bone chips? No, make that a frozen liver macchiato."

  "The old abattoir. It's ancient brick buildings with some shopping and cafés. Quite a hip area these days."

  "Where we'll meet Tina."

  I found it quite presumptuous how he included himself without even asking, but I was also pleased to be able to show him off to my friend. Her jaw would be dropping from here to Cape Town.

  "Yes. I've known her since school. We're very close."

  "I thought your best friend lived in Berlin."

  "I have several close friends. Don't you?"

  He ignored the question. "What will she say about me?"

  "Oh, she knows about you."

  "What does she know?"

  "She knows you don't exist, so that'll be fine."

  He laughed. "I don't exist? I just had a four course meal with you. I'm very real. See here!"

  He pinched my arm. Quite viciously.

  "Ouch!"

  "Serves you right."

  The car stopped in front of my house.

  "Here we are. This is where I live."

  "Well then, thank you very much, it's been a lovely evening." And then he did lean over and his face came closer and closer and for a brief moment I really thought it was going to happen but his mouth passed mine and gently settled on my cheek.

  His breath touched my neck ever so gently when he moved away again.

  "Good night."

  "Good night." There were goosebumps all over my body. "I had a great time."

  "So, I may come in?" he rasped with a fake Spanish accent, grinning like the devil. "For a cup of coffee?"

  "Oh, stoppit, you strange man!" I cried with fake indignation, or at least I hoped it sounded so.

  "I have to come in sometime before saturday. I need to know where you've been fellating me these past months."

  I lashed out at him and he laughingly shielded himself.

  "No, but seriously, you'll have to let me take a glance at it. Tomorrow afternoon? Broad daylight."

  "Good night, Mr. Fruitcake," I sputtered and climbed out, hoping my skirt would not come up in the process.

  He waved. "I see you tomorrow, Pier 6, ten o'clock. Barge Heidi."

  As soon as I had entered my flat I flung myself down on the bed and drummed my arms into the mattress.

  How had I deserved this? Why did he have to come here? How could anybody be so good looking and so funny and so hot? How could he take me to dinner, scuffle with me in his limo, get me all hot and bothered and weak in the knees, while he only thought I was funny. Funny!

  Even worse, he wanted to see my flat!

  I lifted my head and took in the sorry state of my surroundings. They were littered with debris from my earlier styling debacle. I pushed myself up, moaning pitifully and got to work.

  After two hours of hefty midnight cleaning I took another shower and fell into bed, exhausted. I switched off the light and grabbed my phone to set the alarm.

  One message.

  My pulse was instantly racing.

  I pressed the touchscreen before I could even see who it was from.

  'I'm lying awake in bed wishing you were here with me. Can't you order a cab and help me out? R.'

  I flew up and ran towards the bathroom in a headless panic, when suddenly a nasty suspicion took hold of me. I stopped, turned around and picked up the phone again.

  'I'm lying awake in bed wishing you were here with me. Can't you order a cab and help me out? R.'

  Sender: Tina

  I howled.

  Five

  I sprinted towards the underground stop, telephone in hand, cursing myself inwardly. I had been obsessing so badly over my outfit, I had almost forgotten the time.

  It was an unusually hot spring, in fact, I cannot remember another one like it, so I had slipped in and out of twenty different summer outfits, settling in the end on a flowery, short summer dress - but not too short since I was going to work - plus a thin navy cardigan and a pair of dark blue ballerinas. To look less dowdy I had curled my hair with my curling iron and wore it in a lose braid. It created, or so I thought, a nice milk and honey effect.

  "Lilly, it's true, I swear, he's here and I'm meeting him at Pier 6 in, shit, ten minutes, if I catch the 9.49 train."

  Lilly's voice was shrill through my earpiece. "But it's impossible! These things just don't happen! Not even to me!"

  "I know, right? I tell you when I start to see pink pixies flying around his head. Then you must get me to hospital."

  "So he's really coming tomorrow? I get to see him at the wedding?"

  Lilly had known Christian for almost as long as I had because we had played together as toddlers in what the Germans call a Krabbelgruppe. She was not as close to him as I was (until Corinna), since her parents had only come into contact with his parents via mine, with whom they had used to go on cycling tours through the Mosel region.

  Sorry, who cares about such details when a handsome billionaire is to be discussed?

  "Yes, if he's not changing his mind that is… I can't really say what's going on behind his beautiful forehead."

  "Is he as wonderful as you remembered?"

  "Oh yes. Oh, much hotter even. It's unnatural."

  "Whatever you do, don't sleep with him. Not until I've vetted him! And if you do, use protection! I say this as your future gyn."

  "Who says I want to sleep with him?"

  "Don't you?"

  I ran up the stairs, dove onto the platform and jumped into the tube's last car just as the doors were closing.

  "Jude? Don't ignore my question."

  "Well, that's irrelevant because—" I lowered my voice to a whisper, "I don't think he wants to sleep with me."

  Lilly laughed.

  "What!"

  "Judy darling, they all want to sleep with you."

  "I can't say I notice it much."

  "Only because you don't let them anywhere near you! Because you think they won't take you seriously! Because you're afraid your boobies will get in the way! Let it flow, let it come! You are blocking your root chakra!"

  "That's not true!"

  "Yes, it is. Now, just stay calm and don't do anything, no matter how much your little pouch of glory calls out for it, help is on its way. As soon as Nicky comes home from his practice we'll drive to Hamburg and tomorrow at the wedding I'll be there to hold your hand. I could stay at your place over night if you want me to."

  A little voice inside my head was whispering corrupting things to me.

  "I'll be fine, you really don't have to, there's nothing to worry about. I can always call Tina if something goes wrong."

  "Okay, good."

  "I'm going into the tunnel now, the reception always sucks here. I keep you posted!"

  "Okay! Good luck! Have fun!!!"

  I hung up.

  As the tube went down into the dark tunnel I looked at myself in the window.

  Milk and honey? I resembled a wanton nymph just out of bed with the river god.

  I had hardly slept. My head had been full of Ryan Corvera-Fabergé, my mind had repeated the day's events over and over in its own infinity loop. When I had finally dozed off I had dreamed about making love to him in ways not even French porn directors would have been able to imagine. I do not know how many times I had got myself off, hoping to somehow flush him out of my system.

  Coming out o
f the tunnel at the 'Landungsbrücken' stop is always beautiful.

  The tube rushes right out onto a bridge from where you can see across the 19th century departure hall and the river towards the shipyard's huge docks, hosting whatever needed to be repaired or repainted, from bulky container vessels to high-tech drilling ships, from majestic cruise ships to petrol tankers. Sometimes even a mega-yacht would grace us with its presence.

  The yachts were usually kept in floating hangars, shielded from the eyes of eager tourists and protected from wind and rain until they were completely closed up and covered in protective layers of paint and anti-fouling varnishes. But on that day, much to my delight, I saw a white chimney peep out from behind dock 11, where they berthed the ships when they were about to depart.

  There was a slim burgundy circle running around it and it glowed, fresh and happy in the morning sun.

  Myrtle!

  My heart gave a little jump.

  I really could not wait to see her.

  I really could not wait to see her owner either, although I was terrified of seeing him at the same time.

  My heart was beating all the way up into my throat.

  What if he had not come?

  The tube stopped and the doors opened.

  I stumbled down the stairs towards the pedestrian bridge leading to the piers.

  There was no Maybach standing about anywhere, but I would not be able see Pier 6 until I had rounded the clock-tower.

  I wound myself through the groups of families, school-children and handholding couples profiting from the bridge day until I finally saw the Heidi. Her captain, Adolf (one of the many unlucky Germans born between 1933 and 1945), stuck his head out of his cubicle and happily smoked his pipe.

  "Hello, Pussycat!" he called and waved. My mother's company had a long standing cooperation with his fleet of tourist barges and I had known Adolf for eighteen years.

 

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