She sighed, kicking a pebble across the path. Who was she kidding? This had been her one chance to escape, and somehow she’d blown it already.
The Heartbook campus was right next to the river, and Ellie tripped over the flowerbed so that she could walk beside it. She wasn’t quite ready to head home yet, where her empty apartment and empty bed and empty fridge were waiting for her. She was here now, she might as well enjoy the sights because she wouldn’t be back. Besides, there was nobody down here other than the ducks. The river gurgled, the trees swaying in the gentle breeze. Her button-front corset dress, printed with hearts wearing glasses and bought especially for today, clung to her body like silk, and for a moment she almost managed to convince herself she was on vacation, strolling down the beach with a gorgeous man by her side.
As if, Ellie, she told herself. She was as cursed with men as she was with work.
The daydream was demolished by the sound of her phone bleeping in her handbag, and she pulled it out, seeing that she finally had a signal. A message from her mom was waiting for her: Good luck, I know you can do this!
“Sorry mom, evidently I can’t,” she said, opening the internet browser and searching for Heartbook. It seemed to take an hour for the Google landing page to load, and her eyes widened as she took in the headlines.
Heartbook CEO under fire for disgusting posts.
Blake Fielding denies calling women “bitter, stupid, and greedy” on his Heartbook profile; Shares plummet.
She tried clicking on a link, but her phone was just too old to be able to load it. Grunting in frustration, she slid it back into her bag, so focussed on what she was doing she collided with a man who was walking in the opposite direction. Her bag slid to the floor, its contents spilling over the grass.
“Oh!” she said, startled. “I’m so sorry.”
She ducked down to pick up her belongings, and he did the same. She was so embarrassed she couldn’t look at him. Could this day get any worse?
“I was just on my phone,” she said, grasping for her purse. “I wasn’t even looking. Please, I can manage, you don’t have to.”
She picked up her purse, dropping it into her bag. He had her keys, with the plush Hello Kitty keyring she’d found in a cracker last Christmas, offering them to her.
“I was just, you know, not with it at all, with everything that’s going on,” she said, blurting out the words almost at random, in true Ellie Mae fashion. “I was supposed to be interviewing for this job, then it got cancelled, so I was just thinking about what to do next. Oh, thank you.”
She took her hairbush from the man, both of them reaching for her makeup bag at the same time. For a moment their hands touched, and he pulled away. Ellie’s glasses were in danger of falling off her nose and she pushed them back into place.
“It’s just my luck,” she went on, laughing. “Get a chance at the job of a lifetime then the CEO turns out to be a sexist, woman-hating monster.”
She tucked the makeup bag back into her handbag, finally letting herself look at the man who had helped her.
“Oh,” she said again.
The first thing she noticed was how handsome he was. A little older than her, his dark hair had been tousled by the breeze, making him look like he’d just stepped off a beach. His skin was perfectly tanned, his blue eyes so bright in the sun that they could have been sapphires. When he smiled, she felt suddenly warmer, as if the summer sun had flooded inside her. He was wearing a grey suit that seemed moulded to every curve, every muscle, but he seemed uncomfortable in it, tugging at his tie like it was a noose. He passed her a handful of loose change that had scattered on the grass, and it was then that she noticed the second thing.
“Oh,” she said for a third time, her brain finally making the connection. “Blake Fielding?”
“The very same,” he said, the smile wavering. He stood up, offering her a hand. “The sexist, woman-hating monster, at your service.”
3
There are a lot of haters out there, David had warned him.
And he’d walked into the first one within two minutes of leaving the boardroom.
Blake left his hand hanging, too ashamed to let it drop. Just a few hours ago he could have offered his hand to anyone in the city and they’d have gladly shaken it, whether they knew who he was or not. He’d always had a good rapport with people, a way of connecting. It was a gift given to him by his mom: the open, friendly eyes, the bright and easy smile, the strong but tender body language that people seemed to respond to. It was one of the reasons he’d gotten so far in business, because people seemed to almost instantly trust him.
But now that was gone. His name was in ruins. It felt like somebody had reached inside him and taken that gift from his mother, crushed it into pieces. The thought of it made the anger boil in his stomach and he let his hand drop to his side. He didn’t blame the woman for not wanting to touch him.
“Please excuse me,” he said, preparing to start walking again. The woman was fiddling with her bag, trying to close it. She looked flustered, like he’d just caught her robbing a bank. She must have sensed him looking because she glanced up again, a nervous smile on her face. She was a little younger than him, but she looked younger still because of the flush of colour on her cheeks, her thick-rimmed black glasses, and the way her hair was haphazardly tied back. He squinted at it, realising that there was a pencil slotted through her blonde bun. She tapped her head, as if remembering it was there, her face burning even brighter. She was wearing a dress that so perfectly accentuated every curve it took him a moment to notice the hearts printed on it, all of them wearing glasses.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just I was sitting in the… I mean I only just heard the news. Sorry.”
Could this conversation get any more awkward? Blake thought. He could feel the heat creeping into his own cheeks, and it was only partly to do with the fact that the woman was almost irresistibly cute—not TV cute, or even girl next door cute, but something in between, a fierce and unashamed nerdiness that was exactly the quality he was drawn to. If there was one thing guaranteed to tie Blake Fielding’s tongue and make him blush, it was an attractive woman. That was one thing he hadn’t inherited from his mother or his father, the ability to talk to members of the opposite sex. Here, his charm seemed to drain away, replaced by a bumbling, bashful nature that was almost British, and which was completely and utterly embarrassing.
“Don’t apologise,” he said. “Please, I should have been watching where I was going too. It’s been a… a tough morning.”
The woman had sorted her bag and was clutching it to her chest like there were gold bars inside. She used her free hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, still grinning nervously.
“I should go,” she said, nodding toward the parking lot. She started to edge around him. “Sorry again.”
“No worries,” he said. She’d just stared to walk away when he called out after her, the words exploding from his mouth before he knew they were coming. “I didn’t say those things.”
“What?” she said, looking back at him.
“The things on my Heartbook page, I didn’t say them. I would never say that about women. About anyone.” He didn’t know why he was trying so hard to defend himself to this woman he had just met. Except in his head she somehow represented everyone in the company, everyone in the country, everyone in the world who had heard the news and made up their mind about him. “I was hacked. I can’t prove it yet, but I will.”
“Sure, of course,” the woman said, but she didn’t look convinced.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked. She glanced at the parking lot, then back at him, eventually nodding. He hesitated, wondering whether he should share such an intimate part of his history. The woman was staring at him expectantly, and he didn’t have anything else to say, so he started to speak. “My mother was everything to me, she was my hero, my best friend.”
What are you doing? he as
ked himself, seeing the woman’s brow crease with uncertainty. He took a breath and carried on, fumbling over the words. He wasn’t used to sharing so much, let alone with a complete stranger.
“Dad was always so busy that she practically raised me by herself. She taught me everything I know, she made me the man I am. Then, when Dad died, she took over the business too. We had a restaurant, it was hard work, gruelling work, every single day. But I never once saw her make an excuse, I never once saw her quit, and she never once stopped being a mom.”
“She sounds amazing,” said the woman.
“She was,” Blake said. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just want you to know, I’d never talk about women that way, any woman. Do you believe me?”
Ellie squirmed. She literally had no idea what to say. Her mind was buzzing like there was a nest of wasps inside it. It was weird enough that this was Blake Fielding she was talking to—who was talking to her. She’d seen a few photos of him, mainly from his Heartbook page, but none came anywhere close to doing him justice. He was almost exquisite—tall and muscular, his jaw strong and angular and dusted with just the right amount of stubble. She knew all about him, of course, because she’d wanted to work for Heartbook for so long. She knew about his difficult childhood, his breakout during a school science fair, his enrolment then abrupt exit from Harvard. She never imagined for a second that he’d be so handsome.
But he was being really, really weird—even by Ellie’s standards. She thought she was bad for wittering on, but he was taking it to a whole new level.
There was something so earnest in his expression, though, something so desperate. He was a nervous speaker, but there was a confidence there too, and she wondered if that confidence came from the fact he was telling the truth.
“Do you believe me?” he asked again. “I’m sorry, I’m putting you on the spot. I just…”
He seemed to run out of words, and his head dropped. Ellie felt her heart go out to him, he just looked so lost.
“I believe you,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she meant it or not, she just wanted to make him feel better. It worked, because his face broke into a smile so bright and so honest that it made her feel dizzy to look at it.
“Thank you,” he said. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
“Whatever this is, it will be okay,” she said, not quite able to believe she was giving advice to Blake Fielding. “You built all this, didn’t you? This company, this place. That can’t have been easy.”
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
“This won’t be easy either,” she went on, with absolutely no idea if she was talking sense or not. “But you’ll get through it.”
That smile beamed from his face, as blinding as the sun. He nodded.
“I will,” he said.
They stood there for a moment, serenaded by the river and by the birds. It might have been the heat, or the excitement of the day, or something else, but Ellie felt almost weightless. For a moment, the world spun a little too fast.
“I really should go,” she said before she could embarrass herself any further by passing out on the path. He reached out to her but she turned away, walking swiftly to the parking lot. She looked back only once, to see that he was still watching her.
Oh. My. Gosh, she thought as she climbed into her car—an ancient Toyota that she’d borrowed from her boss, Lissa. What was that?
That was Blake Fielding, one of the richest men on the planet, one of the cleverest tech entrepreneurs in the valley. And there she was wittering on about things being easy. She slapped a hand to her forehead, imagining him laughing at her stupidity. If the headlines were anything to go by he’d be doing just that—mocking her for being an incompetent female—but she couldn’t match those rumours with the honest and open man she’d just met.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. It wasn’t like she’d ever meet him again, or get her dream job at Heartbook. She’d chalk this whole day down as a disaster, as another example of the Ellie Mae curse, and then go back to work with a smile on her face and a hole in her soul. It wasn’t even like she’d told him her name.
Ellie started the engine, feeling like she was about to cry. She wound down the window, put the car in gear, only hesitating when she heard her phone ring again. Looking in her bag, she saw that it was her mom, but she didn’t have the heart to answer it.
It was only then that she noticed her notebook—full of the most intimate details of her life—was missing.
And she knew exactly where it was.
4
Blake stood by the river, feeling as if his battery had just gone flat. He’d been dead set on leaving the campus immediately, planning to head back to his penthouse apartment and start going over the code that made up his hacked account. But the meeting with the woman had floored him completely. He couldn’t quite bring himself to start walking again.
Who was she? he asked himself. A complete stranger was one answer. He met dozens of people every day, and most of the time he never even gave them a second thought. He was antisocial by nature, and meeting new people was hard work. But for some reason this woman had lodged herself into his head, as persistent as a splinter. It was partly her dazzling smile, the way her eyes had seemed to glow with sunlight. He hadn’t seen a smile like that in a long time. Usually when people smiled at him he could see the greed there, the ambition, the hope that Blake Fielding might offer them money or fame or power or even love. But she had seemed utterly sincere.
Her words had moved him too. Whatever this is, it will be okay. There was no way she could possibly know that, of course, but she’d believed it, she’d believed him. How much kindness did it take for her to say that to him? Just fifteen minutes ago he’d convinced himself that he’d lost everything, that the world would turn against him and force him into hiding. But this one show of trust from a young woman who’d barged into him by the river had given him hope.
It helped, too, that she was so attractive.
Are you insane? Blake scolded himself. That was the last thing he should be thinking about. He was in enough hot water as it was, if the press even caught wind of him thinking about women in that way then they’d hang him out to dry. No, this was no time for romance, no time for relationships, no time for anything other than work. He had to show the world that he was a good man.
All the same, he was kicking himself that he hadn’t even asked for her name.
He shook his head, heading for the secure parking lot beneath the security gate. He’d only taken a few steps before he caught a glimpse of something pink lying in a clump of long grass. Curious, he bent down and picked up a small, hardback notepad. Brushing the dirt from the cover, he opened it up and flicked through the pages. There were shopping lists, appointment times, at least three notes saying “Call mom!” There were lists of resolutions, lists about how to improve posture and gain stamina and increase confidence, lists about how to attract the perfect man. It was like an issue of Cosmopolitan condensed into a notebook, complete with cute little illustrations and doodles. There were what looked like diary entries too, but he didn’t read them because it felt like an intrusion. He skipped to the last page, and couldn’t help but smile as he read through what was written there.
Notes on Interview!!!!
DON’T MESS IT UP
Talk about Heartbook. Duh, I mean, it’s an interview at Heartbook, so you’re obviously going to do that.
Talk about LifeWrite, because you invented it and it deserves to be discovered. EMPHASIZE IT’S YOUR IDEA BECAUSE IT IS YOUR IDEA.
Remember Blake Fielding started with nothing, and so did you. You can be as awesome as he is. Just believe in yourself, and don’t forget the most important rule:
DON’T MESS IT UP!!!!
There was a cartoonish doodle underneath of a young woman in glasses fighting a monstrous, bug-eyed creature with the word CURSE written on it. She was armed with a pencil, another one tucked in her hair, which all but
confirmed that the owner of the notebook was the young woman he’d just been speaking to. He almost laughed at the words, and at the picture, but the mention of his name there was like a punch to the gut. You can be as awesome as he is. People had once admired and respected him. But after today, would anybody want to be like him?
He opened the first page of the notebook, seeing a “Please Return Me” form. The field for the name had been left blank, as had the address. But where it said “Reward” there was a scribbled note.
No money to give you, but come down to The Bookworm Cafe and I’ll make you a coffee.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. Blake held onto the notebook, making his way up the river. A bank of acacias meant that he couldn’t see the plaza from here, but he could hear the buzz of the crowd that had formed there. He wished he could walk amongst them unseen, if only to find out what they were saying. He hoped that some of his employees were supporting him, but even within the company he’d never really let himself get close to anyone. While he knew that most people liked him, there was nobody—outside of the boardroom, anyway—who could vouch with complete confidence that he wasn’t a sexist, woman-hating monster.
He followed the bend in the river and saw the security booth up ahead. His Mercedes was there, and he wondered whether he should take it straight to the café mentioned in the notebook. The woman might be heading there now, and surely she couldn’t hate him for bringing her book back. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? That’s what a true gentleman would do. It’s what his mother would have told him to do. He’d hand it back, wish her a bright and happy future, and tell her she was welcome back for an interview any time.
He was so caught up in the plan that he didn’t notice the cluster of people hovering around the security booth until it was too late. He heard somebody call his name, and suddenly a dozen men and women were running down the path toward him, microphones and cameras held out like the weapons of a charging army. His first instinct was to bolt, but he stood his ground, gritting his teeth and trying to smile at the reporters. It was more of a grimace, he knew, made worse by the fact that his fist was balled by his side. He forced himself to relax, and tried to make his smile as genuine as possible.
My Antisocial Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 1) Page 2