Master Class: A Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  Celia was out when I got back to the room, but returns just as I lay down on my bed, lounging with my Kindle. Her appearance stresses me. I was hoping to get a few minutes by myself before I’d have to talk about today’s events.

  She beams at me. “How was it?”

  I sigh and tell her everything while she removes her many layers of winter clothes. I don’t leave out anything, as painful as it is to relive the humiliation Jackson put me through. While talking, I realize that having to share these things with Celia isn’t all that bad. It actually feels good to get them off my chest. This was the second time Jackson let me down big-time, but at least I can talk about this one with another person and get a second opinion of what to think about his disappointing behavior.

  “He talked you down in front of everybody?” she exclaims when I’m done. “What an asshole!”

  “Right?” I agree, sitting up on my bed with my legs dangling over the edge. “Though, he didn’t exactly talk me down. He just pointed out a few things that he didn’t like about it.”

  “Yeah, but he could’ve told you before!”

  I lower my head, biting my lips as I think about what to say next. He did tell me beforehand, I just didn’t listen.

  “Well, to be honest, he did,” I admit to Celia. “But what he’s proposing would change my project too much in a direction that I just don’t like.”

  Celia tilts her head to the side quizzically. “Like how?”

  “You know how I want to introduce this social app, for neighbors and communities to get together and solve local problems, help each other out and make it easier to socialize without having to knock on every single door or rely on-”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Celia interrupts me with a wave of her hand. “You don’t have to repeat your speech, I’ve heard it before. But what was Mr. Perfect’s objection?”

  “He wants me to include local businesses,” I say. “You know, like food stores, barber shops, bakers, that kind of thing.”

  “And?”

  “Well, he said that local businesses are just as much part of a community as the people who live there, which is true. But,” I clear my throat, hesitating for a moment before I continue. I’m repeating his exact words as if they were my own. As if I believed in them myself. “I mean, he said that they could also function as financial support, because they could pay for advertising via the app. You know, make people aware of their existence, or promote special offers they may have at the moment.”

  “Or create special offers for locals,” Celia adds, raising her hand.

  “Um, yeah, maybe even that,” I say.

  She looks at me, folding her arms in front of her chest and raising her left eyebrow. “And you don’t like the idea, because…?”

  “I don’t want this to turn into an advertising platform,” I explain. “If all people find on there are ads for supermarkets or some other shit trying to convince them to buy stuff they don’t need, it’s just gonna be annoying and will lose it initial purpose, you know?”

  “Mhm,” Celia makes, nodding. “But couldn’t you add some kind of limitation to that? Like categories or limits on how often the stores are allowed to advertise on there or something. Or let users limit its visibility or something?”

  I skewer her with a look. “Are you agreeing with him?”

  Celia raises her hands in defense. “No, I’m not saying what he did was right or anything. Just that his objection might be something to think about. A little. Maybe.”

  She shrugs, grinning at me helplessly. “I mean, he’s an expert after all.”

  “But it’s my project!” I insist. “And I don’t like the idea — at all!”

  “Fine,” she says, frowning at me. “All I’m saying is that there might be a way around it, you know. A way for you to shape the project in a way that makes both of you happy.”

  “Both of us,” I whisper. She makes it sound as if this was a joint venture between him and I.

  Does she have a point? After all, if it wasn’t for him, I’d have never come up with a real proposal in the first place, I’d never have been at this presentation today, and I wouldn’t even think about doing anything other than following in my family’s footsteps. Footsteps that may not fit me at all.

  “I’m gonna grab a bite to eat,” Celia says. “You wanna come with me?”

  I’m inclined to shake my head no, but my stomach is furiously growling. I haven’t had a bite to eat all day because I was so nervous due to the presentation. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so shitty right now. Food may help me to see things from a different perspective.

  Or at least help with that nauseating feeling that keeps me from thinking straight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LANA

  I don’t know when I can expect an answer from the committee, but with every day that passes without hearing anything, I lose more and more hope.

  Jackson tries to contact me several times. I was going to give him the silent treatment once again, but I know him too well, and it won’t work on him. If I don’t reply to his calls and messages, he will just end up at my door again, so there’s no escaping him.

  Rather than ignoring his attempts at contacting me, I write him a single message with very clear wording, asking him to leave me alone for a while and give me some time to think about what happened.

  Of course, he doesn’t content himself with that and bombards me with messages, saying that the presentation had nothing to do with us and that I shouldn’t let it affect our relationship.

  A relationship, he calls it. I don’t know what to think of that.

  I don’t reply to his messages and hope he will get the hint and leave me alone. I asked for a few days, that’s all. He should give me that.

  Roughly a week after the presentation, I’m starting to get anxious, about the committee and about Jackson. The more time passes, the stronger the pressure of being confronted with either of them - or both - grows.

  Without telling anyone, I’ve started to play around with the idea of including Jackson’s input. I don’t want to do it the exact same way he suggested, but rather - try to find a way around it, thinking of Celia’s suggestions of putting limitations on the way businesses can advertise on my app. I feel like I’m making headway with it, but there’s no point in pursuing this if I get rejected by the committee. The thought of them saying no and not having the support I need to make this a reality weakens my motivation, but it doesn’t kill it off entirely.

  Maybe I should contact Jackson just to know when I might hear from them. He said there’d be no special treatment - but does that include giving me mundane information such as this?

  The question of whether I should contact him or not resolves itself when I find him in front of my dorm once again, sitting on the exact same bench, when I’m walking home from a late shift at the library.

  A part of me is happy to see him. The part that is about to fall in love with this attractive man. The sensual part that misses our time together. My body aches for him just as much as my mind does.

  He’s wearing a thick coat with a light fur collar and black leather gloves. His dark hair is hidden beneath a gray beanie that makes him look younger than he is. He’s so handsome that looking at him almost makes me angry.

  “I told you I need time,” I say in place of a welcome. “Why can’t you leave me alone when I ask you to-”

  “Because I can’t,” he interrupts me. “And because I don’t want to. I told you I’m not into silly games, Lana. I’m too old for that shit - and so are you.”

  I huff.

  “Besides,” he says, rising from the bench. “I miss you.”

  He approaches me, while I just stand dumbfounded in front of him, my mouth slightly opened as if I was about to speak and my eyes glued on him as he closes in on me.

  He places his hands on my shoulders, his signature move to calm me down and draw me in. But I don’t want to make things that easy for him.

  “Fuck,
Jackson, I-”

  “I’m not here to kidnap you again,” he says. “Even though I’d love to fuck you senseless. I miss you. I miss your body. I miss you quivering beneath me. That beautiful body of yours belongs in my hands, you know that.”

  I blush at his words and try to ignore the warm throbbing they evoke in my core. Why is it so easy for him to seduce me that way? I feel like wax in his hands, melting beneath his touch and yearning for him to take me, control me, overwhelm me with surreal pleasure.

  “What then?” I utter, trying to hide the effect his words have on me. “What do you want?”

  “I want to tell you about the state of affairs in regard to your proposal,” he says.

  My heart stops. I stare up at him, scared of what he might say next.

  “They’re undecided,” he says, neither lifting nor crushing my hopes. I remain in that terrible limbo that’s been my companion the past week.

  “What does that mean? Undecided?” I ask, biting my lower lip to stop it from quivering.

  “It means you still stand a chance,” he says. “Depending on how you do in the recall round.”

  I look up at him. He’s smiling.

  “Recall round?” I ask. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a second chance we grant to all the proposals that showed potential, but were not quite there yet. The kind of proposals that went out after their first presentation with two voices for them and three voting against them.”

  “I could’ve had three for me if-”

  “But you didn’t,” he interrupts. “And I told you I won’t give you any special treatment. I wouldn’t be doing you a favor if I did.”

  “Yeah, but why does it feel that you’re even stricter with me than anyone else?”

  He frowns at me. “What makes you think that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. I really don’t. After all, I don’t know how he reacted to all the other proposals

  “There were quite a few projects that I flat out rejected,” Jackson says, as if reading my thoughts. “Lana, I really like your idea, and I would love to see it happen. Trust me.”

  “But you’ll only approve it if I do it your way,” I assume grimly.

  He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. If you find a good way to do it without my suggestion, go ahead and prove me wrong. I would love to hear it.”

  He squeezes my shoulders.

  “Remember what I told you at the very first lecture: failure is part of the game,” he says. “You just have to get back up.”

  I nod. “How much time do I have?”

  “A week,” he says. “I arranged the date as early as possible because I know you have to study for your finals soon.”

  “A week?” I repeat. “That’s still pretty tough.”

  He smirks at me. “Not too tough for my girl, I’m sure.”

  My girl.

  The words resonate through me like a beautiful chorus, filling me with elation.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”

  “Good,” he says. He lets go of my shoulders and scans the area around us. There’s no one in our direct proximity right now, but I know what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it, too.

  “I’d love to kiss you right now,” he whispers. “But that will have to wait.”

  We exchange one last smile instead before dismissing himself, once again reassuring me that I can do this.

  I hope he’s right.

  That night, I sit down in my dorm and start working on my second presentation, consulting with Celia, the only person who supports and knows about my project other than Jackson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  JACKSON

  I haven’t seen Lana outside of class since our last conversation. She didn’t ask for any more help, and I thought it best for her to do this on her own. While I want her to succeed, I want her to do it herself, at least when it comes to molding the idea and drafting the business plan.

  Only three projects have been invited to return for today’s callbacks, and Lana is the first to present. When she walks through the door, I can barely keep myself from walking up to her and forcing a kiss on her trembling lips. Or from making her come right on that table. It would be so easy, too, because she’s wearing an endearing pencil skirt paired with her white blouse, looking so innocent and all business.

  I hope she has the rest of the day off, because I desperately want to rip that blouse off and have my way with her.

  She said I’m too good for her. This wonderfully strong and troubled girl. She has no idea what those words meant to me. Years ago, it would have been the opposite. I wasn’t good enough for anybody, let alone a girl like her. She was of the same opinion when we first met, but she was willing to be convinced otherwise. Letting me in, listening to me was against everything she thought she knew. I saw her struggling through her journey.

  Now she’s standing in front of us, fighting a battle she hadn’t even considered as an option before we met.

  Love is a strong word, but I’m beginning to understand what the meaning behind it could be.

  For what it’s worth, I’m incredibly proud of her. My girl. My Lana.

  She greets us with calm professionalism, but I can tell how nervous she really is by the flickering of her thick eyelashes.

  Even now, she’s wearing that gigantic ring. It doesn’t go well with the outfit and looks almost masculine on her dainty finger. She’s touching it, nervously turning it around her finger as she takes her position.

  She starts her presentation in a very similar way to last time, which is good, because there was nothing wrong with the basic idea and the way she introduced it. As it is so often, the devil is in the detail.

  That particular detail is mentioned toward the end of her presentation, and she changed it drastically. She took my suggestion of not only addressing individuals or small groups of people, but also providing room for local business to make their neighbors aware of their existence and special promotions. That is pretty much what I suggested, but she modified my proposition by limiting this opportunity only to small, local businesses, to give them a head start against big chains, and she also suggests adding a filter mode that will let people decide how much of this advertising they want to see.

  I can’t stop the broad smile from appearing on my face as I listen to her proposal. She’s done great. I’m not surprised, but feel validated in my trust and belief in her. I knew she had something in her, and she does.

  Needless to say, she’ll get our approval. After this presentation, she has four votes on her side and only one against her, solely based on the fact that she can’t code the app herself and - according to my colleague - is thus not qualified to enter this market at all. There are plenty of narrow-minded people in the business world, as well; that prerogative is not limited to Ivy League campuses.

  I can tell by the look on her face that she knows how well she did, but I still have to go through two more presentations - one that’s declined outright and the other accepted - before we call her back into the room to tell her the good news.

  Seeing her eyes light up, glistening with tears of joy, is even more beautiful than seeing her break and lose control beneath my touch. I want to hug her, celebrate with her, but I can’t as long as we are still here.

  After everything is wrapped up, I hurry outside to see if she’s still around. Lana is standing in the waiting area, idly chatting with the other guy whose proposal was accepted today. When she sees me, she kindly excuses herself and approaches me, pressing her notes against her chest, her eyes beaming with pure joy.

  “Mr. Portland,” she says, the coy undertone in her voice evident. “Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity.”

  She winks at me, and I want to spank the hell out of her for being such a tease.

  “You did very well,” I say, trying my best not to touch her in any inappropriate manner. “You worked well with those suggestions, and you made them your own.”

  “My roomm
ate helped me,” she admits. “She gave me the input I needed.”

  “Is that so,” I reply. “And here I was, thinking it was me who helped you succeed.”

  She leans in closer, casting a quick glance around before she whispers, “You know you are.”

  She withdraws and clears her throat.

  “Also, even though it pains me to agree with you,” she says. “You were right. Failure. Never underestimate the value of it. Mine certainly made this project better than it was before.”

  I notice that she’s fiddling with her hands again, and I look down. She’s holding that ring between her fingers, not turning it like she was before, but holding it in a tight grip between two of her fingers.

  “Tell me,” I say. “This ring. What’s the story behind it?”

  She instantly withdraws her fingers from the ring and stares up at me, caught in the act.

  “It’s um… why do you think there’s a story behind it?”

  “There must be,” I assume, taking her hand and lifting it up to my face. “It’s such an unusual ring, especially on a hand like yours.”

  She flinches. “Jackson, not he-”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m just looking at your ring, it’s not like we’re about to make out.”

  I pause and let go of her hand, catching her blue eyes. “We’ll do that later.”

  She blushes.

  “So?” I ask, nodding toward her hand. “What’s the story?”

  She sighs and lowers her gaze down to her hand, gently touching the ring.

  “It’s a promise,” she murmurs. “A promise I made with a friend, to myself.”

  “A promise to yourself?”

  She nods. “Yes. A promise to do exactly what I did today - to try to become someone different than my parents.”

  I’m utterly confused.

  “I noticed you wearing that ring the first day I met you,” I say. “But you weren’t exactly living up to the promise then, were you?”

  A sad smile emerges on her tired face. Now that she’s no longer carried by the strain of having to present herself, it’s quite noticeable how drained she is. I will have to make sure to pamper her in the upcoming weeks to make sure that she has enough energy to study for her finals.