Billionaire on Board

by Dasha G. Logan

  Our third and last round was a very docile act with both participants three quarters asleep, or so I believed. Because when it was over and I was about to doze off, Ryan got up and fumbled in his jeans for his phone.

  "What do you think you're doing?" I drawled.

  "Sorry, Buttercup, I have to make a phone call."

  "It's 2.30 am…"

  "Yes, I know. You sleep. Tomorrow's the big day. Can I use your charger?"

  "Sure," I yawned and pulled the cover over my head.

  He unplugged the item, put on his boxers and his t-shirt and went into the living room.

  My body felt heavy as led but curiosity got the better of me.

  I climbed out of bed and carefully nudged the door open to listen.

  "Hi, Shiro, sorry, I was busy all day negotiating with some shipowners… Hamburg, yes… what have you got… hm… hm… yes… no more than thirty million pounds, I gather… no… no… call Frederick later, he has the data…"

  I closed the door and went back to bed. If he had to work that was his problem. I was so tired my had was spinning.

  I wriggled around a bit, shook my pillow, struggled the cover into position and closed my eyes. Soon my thoughts became random and disconnected. And then, then, in the most beautiful of moments, when I was just about to really fall asleep, I turned around and rolled into the wet patch.

  One forgets about these things, you know.

  Eleven

  I woke to the singing of a particularly tenacious bird right outside my bedroom window. Ryan was not there.

  I grabbed for my phone to check the time.

  It could not have been later than 9 am. I had set my alarm.

  Black. The screen was black.

  I vehemently pushed all available buttons but nothing happened. Then it dawned on me. Ryan had eloped with my charger and I had been too sexed up to remember my own need for battery life.

  What time was it then?

  I wrestled my aching bones into an upright position and tumbled through the corridor into the kitchen. There was a clock on the oven.

  11.30

  "Oh no…"

  The wedding was set for 2 pm, but I had a lot of styling to do and then there was getting to the church, and getting there early enough as well.

  I waddled into the living room where I found my hot date fast asleep on the couch, clutching his phone - which was connected to the plug with my charger - to his chest.

  I tiptoed back into the kitchen to make myself some coffee and took two cups from the cupboard. I felt rather lenient after a night of extremely satisfactory sex.

  I opened the fridge to get some milk and caught a glimpse of its contents.

  I did not believe what I saw!

  I had not paid any attention to the stuff Ryan had bought at the supermarket, because I had been too occupied trying not to fall head over heels in love with him. He had filled his cart and I had clenched my fists, pretending to be completely at ease and to find nothing wrong with the situation.

  Eggs.

  Bacon.

  There was even a pack of toast. Why anybody put toast into the fridge was beyond me, but that was not the point.

  As the attentive reader will remember, I am a cornflakes girl. I never eat bacon and eggs at home because I am far too lazy to clean up the mess.

  Ryan had already known he was going to spend the night when we had been at the supermarket!

  Bastard!

  I fetched a pan and set it onto the hotplate.

  "Good morning!" I barked and Ryan opened his eyes.

  He blinked twice and found me looming over him. His face turned cheeky. "Who are you?"

  "Here." I shoved a cup and a plate into his face. "Your premeditated breakfast. Actually, I think people mean something else when they say they can sleep on the couch."

  He took cup and plate from me and showed no sign of guilt. "Can I keep you?"

  "You can call your driver and tell him to pick you up. We have to be at the church in two hours and I have a lot of beautifying to do."

  "I think you look amazing. Aren't you having breakfast with me?"

  I felt shockingly warm.

  "No, I'll have a banana later, there are still a dozen of them waiting to be eaten."

  He winked. "You're free to have mine."

  I stuck my tongue out. "You're so witty."

  He prodded me with his knee. "Don't we have time for an early morning shag?"

  "It's 11.45!"

  "You know, you haven't fellated me yet."

  "Yes, I have."

  "No, not properly, not all the way to the end."

  "Yeah, well, I'm sure we'll get to that, just not now. I really don't want to be late to the bloody wedding."

  "Oh come on, these things never start on time."

  "Ha, Mister!" I threw up an arm. "I think you're underestimating your current whereabouts!" I pointed my index finger theatrically at the ground. "THIS IS—"

  "Sparta?"

  I sat down on the carpet, puffing and blowing

  "Germany!" I gurgled. "This is Germany! Everything's always on time!"

  He was picked up by his driver twenty minutes later and left me, after a session of extensive french-kissing, by the door.

  I went into the bathroom and ran water into the tub.

  Every nerve in my body was tingling.

  I was ecstatic.

  In my memory last night's images played out like a 1980s Tom Cruise movie, you know, Ryan embracing me in the light of a thousand candles, Michael Bolton singing… Several times I had to squeal.

  In truth, neither the candles nor Michael Bolton had been there.

  Thank God… he might have wanted to join in!

  "Pull yourself together, Jude," I admonished myself whilst applying the lady shaver, "this is one weekend of raunchy sex and then you'll be back to your own devices. Michael, shut up."

  Twelve

  I waited in front of my building in full regalia. In this case it meant a tight, strapless red dress and four-inch-high red patent leather stilettos, large gold earrings and an even larger gold bracelet which charmed my skin excessively. (For the eventuality of going to Christian's wedding after all, I had done some low-intensity tanning over the winter, f.y.i.)

  I had brought a red stole with me for the church but because of the unusual heat I had cramped it into my handbag for the moment.

  My blow-dryer had not deserted me and my hair was glossy, its natural blonde shone brightly - of which I was unduly proud - and I had draped it elegantly over my right shoulder. Kim Basinger could not have done better in her days.

  Talking about upstaging the bride… I would give Corinna a run for her money.

  There are few people on the planet I actually despise, but my oldest buddy's psychotherapist slash psychopath wife is definitely among them.

  I looked out for the Maybach.

  Strangely enough, I did not have an inkling of a doubt about Ryan's willing participation in the day's charade. One might have apprehended a change of mind - in reality he had no reason whatsoever to go to a wedding between two complete strangers, especially now since the goods had been delivered - but I trusted him and was confident to see the Maybach's characteristic grill within the next few minutes.

  It had something to do with having known him for a long time. Or better said, having known about him.

  He was a piece of my past. He was part of a time for which I felt a strong nostalgia, even if his cameo in my life's movie had lasted fifteen seconds only. The idea of him had remained with me. I had always known, somewhere out there, somebody called Ryan Corvera-Fabergé was outrageously good-looking, probably rich as Midas and in the possession of a driver's license.

  There is also a tendency in humans to flock to people with whom they have something in common. When you move to a strange city and you meet someone from your own place, you bond with them, you confide in them. It's even worse when you move into another country. You will automatically feel closely link
ed to everybody of your own nationality, even if they are people you would never have chosen to be friends with back at home.

  It was not exactly that with Ryan, but I experienced the same feeling of comradeship.

  He knew my old school. I had seen him there. He had seen me there. His sister had been my schoolmate. No matter how little contact I had had with Laetitia, I had been familiar with her. I had played netball against her. I had met her in the locker room, the dining hall, the loo, the dodgy corner behind the gym where everybody went to smoke, the off-limit pub, the bus. She was somebody real.

  When you meet a man, say, in a nightclub or in a bar, you can never be sure they really are who the say they are. You do not know their names, you do not know where they are from, they can tell you anything. They lack credentials.

  To me, Ryan had those credentials. It was not much, but it was something.

  The Maybach arrived three minutes later and Ryan alighted from it with inborn grace, as if he did not do anything else in life. Which was probably true.

  He had renounced the tuxedo and wore the same dark blue suit I had met him with, now in combination with a silky yellow tie and a matching pochette. The Ray Bans rested haughtily on his high-class nose and his hair was combed back as sleekly as a seal's. He looked what the Americans call 'a million dollars'. In his case rather 'several billion dollars'.

  I had until this moment quite successfully masked out the sheer amount of wealth behind this man who had shared my bed, my couch and my body, but it struck me now and I did not like it.

  "I have a date with your neighbour, but I'd prefer to take you instead."

  He kissed me softly on the cheek.

  "Has Gianni Versace been revived in order to deck you out?"

  "No, but he was my mother's—"

  "Pedicurist? Dog sitter?" I realised I had run out of patience with references to his jet set life.

  "Favourite designer."

  "I see."

  In the car he asked me to give him a general 'who is who' of the people we would meet at the wedding.

  "Lilly's my best friend. She knows who you are. Or rather who you're not."

  "I thought Tina was your best friend."

  "Well, Tina and I are close, we're 'bro's', if you will, but Lilly and I have known each other since we were babies."

  "What does she do?"

  "She's a physician."

  "Does she have a boyfriend?"

  "Husband. Nicky. They got married last year around this time."

  "Who else?"

  "There's my dad, his name is Ole. Prof. Dr. Dr. Ole Jansen."

  "Sounds as if your dad was Swedish."

  "It's typical for Northern Germany. It's closer to Danish, if anything. — There's Christian's parents, Sybille and Klaus-Walter. She's a drunk, he's a groper."

  "And the happy couple?"

  "Corinna's a therapist and treats mainly women with personal disorders, of all things. Christian's in sales for Rachholder Machines."

  "Rachholder! Sure. They're really big in the Asian forklift market."

  I pulled a face. "I wouldn't know about their forklifts."

  He turned towards me. "Why are you so thorny all of a sudden? I left a purring kitten and I come back to a scratchy stray?"

  "Am I."

  "Yes, if I didn't know better, I'd say you needed to get laid."

  "How poetic."

  "No it's not, but do you know what is? Wait, I got the perfect accessory for you." He reached into his pocket and fished out a little red box.

  He held it out to me and opened it.

  It was a ring. A diamond ring.

  I looked at it disdainfully.

  "Did you find that in you Kinder egg?"

  "No. Cartier."

  "It's very beautiful, but you don't seriously think I'm going to put it on."

  "Why ever not?"

  "First, I don't even know if it fits me, secondly—"

  "No, it fits you, look!" He fished something else from his pocket. Another ring. A plastic one. My plastic one.

  "Where did you get this ring, did you take it from my jewellery box? Have you rummaged in my bathroom cupboard?"

  "Yes, I—"

  "That's bloody impertinent!"

  He put his hand on my thigh. "Sorry, Buttercup, I thought it was a good idea…"

  "No, it's bloody well not, I won't pretend we're engaged, not with my parents around, that's way too serious. They'd be over the moon for nothing, for a fake. You must be out of your mind!"

  "Ah. So, the rest of the travesty's fair enough for you."

  "No, it's not! You bloody well invited yourself to this wedding, I didn't ask you to come!"

  "I can always drop you off at the church and drive back to the hotel."

  "Go ahead."

  But the car had already stopped and the driver had already opened the rear doors.

  I heard a familiar voice. "Na? Erste Wolken am Himmel des jungen Glücks?"

  My dad.

  It was a German saying which literally meant: "What's this? First clouds in the blue skies of happiness?"

  I got out of the car. So did Ryan.

  My dad was standing not four yards away from us, Mary Lou in tow.

  "You didn't tell me your father was scary and your dog was a monster."

  "Shush." I was seething with anger.

  Well, to be fair, my father is 6''5' and he has a thick grey beard and Mary Lou is a Great Dane, all black and with a shoulder height of thirty-two inches.

  "Ah," my dad said in his terribly accented English. "Ja. You must be Ryan, wie geht's, I'm very pleased zat you have come! Vat a nice day, no?"

  "How do you do, Sir." Ryan's voice was audibly tense.

  "Here!" My father pressed a five euro bill into Ryan's hand. "Valk over ze street to ze coffee shop! Buy a salami sandvich and a Coca Cola! Do not speak to her anymore, before she has not eaten it!"

  "Haven't you eaten anything yet?" Ryan asked me incredulously.

  "No, she has not. I see it right avay in her face!"

  I shook my head, wanting to throw my handbag at either of them.

  I crouched down next to Mary Lou and took her into my arms with tears welling up in my eyes.

  "You see," my father went on. "Blood sugar! Her mozzer is the same! She once dragged me to a divorce lawyer but in his office zey gave her Kaffee und Kuchen. Cake and Coffee, you understand?"

  Five minutes later I was sitting on a bench by the church, chewing and swallowing and loving the world.

  Ryan sat next to me and incredulously watched me devour the salami sandwich and the coke. Once I was done, I wiped my mouth with a mini-sachet from my purse and kissed him on the temple.

  "Thank you and sorry. You didn't know about the Grouch…"

  "He's scary and you can't blame me, of all people. Your fridge is full."

  "I know," I whispered forbiddingly. "But when the Grouch takes over, it's already too late."

  "God, you're crazy," he mumbled and slipped his hand onto my waist. I slung my arms around him.

  "I greet you most heartily, my Lovebirds!"

  Lilly sat down next to Ryan who released me instantly and jerked around. With a bright smile she extended her hand to him.

  Subsequently she leaned across his lap and planted a loud smack on my cheek.

  With open interest she peered at Ryan. "How are you, dear imaginary boyfriend? Welcome to our beautiful launderette!"

  "I'm fine, thank you…"

  "Ryan, this is Lilly."

  "Hello Lilly."

  Lilly's violet blue eyes shone merrily and her short blonde curls bobbed about her head like the pure joy of life residing within her. She wore a flowing, flowery dress and altogether looked like an elf.

  She took hold of my wrist and felt my pulse. "Oh Judy, I told you not to sleep with him."

  "Yes, I know. I couldn't help it."

  Ryan twitched next to me. "Him being me? I'm sitting right here."

  "Yes, yes, you do. An
d I can see you have a very red aura at he moment. Oooh and it was really good, I feel it in her pulse! Well done! I give you my consent."

  I grinned. "Yes, it was."

  "Could you have this discussion some other time?"

  Lilly held out her open palm. "No! This discussion is of the utmost importance. One should never keep things knotted up inside, it blocks the energy flow."

  "I see." Ryan smiled in bewilderment.

  "Look here, I brought you a gift! They are terribly expensive. It's a fifty pack. No Latex, ultra-thin, it feels as if you did it without!" She threw a square box at me and I caught it from the air.

  "You think of everything, Lilly."

  "Oh, what a beautiful day!" Lilly cried, clapped into her hands and jumped up. Then she turned a cartwheel in front of us and finished with a little courtesy. "I have to find Nicky before he gets into a theological debate with the priest, or we'll never see it happen! Oh, by the way, I kept the secret even from him, we will have to keep on our masks. Bye, bye, I see you in the temple of lurrrrve."

  She flew away.

  "What was that?"

  "Hm?" I peeled a fluff off my dress.

  "Is she always like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Discussing people's sex life and turning cartwheels? Gift-wrapping condoms?"

  I nodded. "Yes."

  He frowned. "Well, we were running kind of low… How does her husband cope with it?"

  "You'll see." I patted his hand. "Listen, we're a weird bunch. But you only have to support us for one day. Enjoy the show. I'm really, really grateful to you."

  "Does that mean you're going to fell—"

  "HUSH!"

  My dad was back.

  Mary Lou rammed her big head into Ryan's lap and looked pleadingly into his eyes.

  He returned her gaze with some uncertainty. "What does she want?"

  I put my mouth to his ear and noiselessly breathed "fellate you…"

  "No!"

  I laughed. "She wants the sandwich, of course!" I pushed her away. "It's gone, Mary Lou. Come on, get off the Ferragamo!"