Shagged: A Billionaire Romance

by Alex Wolf

  She typed out an email to all her clients and booked herself a cab to Heathrow, then she threw her laptop, charger, and a change of clothes into a bag and walked out the door. All she wanted to do was cry, but she had to hold it together. She needed to be there for her dad. She could deal with herself later.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Scrolling through the texts and emails on his personal phone, Matty didn’t feel as entertained as usual. The movie projected on the wall opposite his bed hardly thrilled him either, but normally a few angry texts would brighten his day considerably. A couple of days ago he would’ve found it hilarious to see his ex-girlfriends trying to get in contact with him, his brother complaining about his divorce, and his old employees begging for their jobs back.

  After Christina, he just felt like an asshole. These were people who wanted him, needed him even, and he was treating them horribly. At least she had an excuse. She had a job. He wasn’t all that important to her. These were people who had, at one time, mattered to him. And now he used their suffering for idle entertainment. To distract himself from the fact that his own life, however free of drama, was hollow and boring.

  Then he saw it. An email notification from Miss Christina F. Smith.

  Her name stood out like a neon sign, shining beautifully, and just inviting him to click on it. His heartbeat sped up at the thought that she was trying to get in contact with him. His mind was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to read her words.

  He fantasized briefly about what she’d say. Was she begging to get back in touch with him? Was she apologizing for how she’d behaved, leaving him for another client? Was she asking about his art? Another date? He grinned. Perhaps she wanted another night in his bed? Of course she did. Who wouldn’t?

  Most likely it was strictly professional. Arranging the schedule for the next day, or telling him off for being so disorganized. But a man could hope. Even so, he found himself incredibly eager to just see some words she’d put together for his attention.

  He slumped against the pillow when he noticed it was a CC email, not one for him personally. He nearly deleted it without reading. But, it could still be important. Even if she was treating him like he was just some other guy, he should open it.

  He lay back on the bed. “Mia, pause the film.”

  The film paused.

  “Read email.”

  “To whom it may concern,

  I’m sorry but I won’t be available to work for the foreseeable future. I need to go home to the U.S. to deal with a family emergency. I’ve attached a list of colleagues who may be able to see to your immediate needs.

  I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and will refund pre-paid appointments when I return.

  Kindest regards,

  Christina Francesca Smith.”

  For a moment the content of the email refused to sink in. The only thing he could think of was how she was, in fact, American, but not South American, as he’d assumed. She was North American, though probably not a descendant of immigrants.

  He shrugged. She’d integrated well into the UK. Though he’d found something off about her accent. Her mannerisms were very British, and her knowledge of their customs and geography very precise. She’d been as meticulous about integrating as she was about everything else. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. Despite his business, he’d actually never been to America. Only watched the movies and shows on television. She did kind of sound like them.

  But that email—what a pile of bullshit. If she didn’t want to work for him or see him any longer, she should’ve just told him. She wasn’t normally such a pussy about things. She might’ve fooled the other idiots she sent it to, but he knew better. There was no family emergency. There was no trip back to America. She was just making an excuse. Perhaps because she was ashamed of what’d happened last night. Perhaps because she had too much work and couldn’t keep up with the steady demand. Whatever the case, she was trying to inconspicuously get rid of some contacts.

  It wasn't like he hadn't done this to other people before, of course, but this was different. He liked Christina. He’d showed her some respect—showed her his damn art for God’s sake. Nobody else was privileged enough to see it. He’d thought that they shared something special, something different. At the very least, something that would require her to be honest about her intentions. Apparently, that was not the case. She was perfectly happy to send him a fucking CC email lying about her life, just to get rid of him.

  What a total bitch.

  Normally, he would let something like this slide. He would just not talk to her. He’d wait until she came back asking for his time and energy and ignore her like everyone else on his phone. But this was personal. He wanted to confront her about lying to him.

  He’d tried to sleep, unsuccessfully, all night long. He stared over at where he’d woken to Christina the day before.

  Fucking hell. I’m a mess.

  He felt incredibly empty, and some of his initial anger had subsided. Maybe he’d overreacted some.

  He didn't feel like working. For some reason, the feelings she aroused in him had returned. He wanted to finish that painting. He wanted to fill it with the colors of his heart and soul, to make sure it properly represented her. He made his way to the studio, ignoring Mr. Johannes' greeting and the sound of the post arriving. He just needed a few minutes of painting to clear his head before he dealt with anyone else.

  Walking into his studio, he looked at her portrait. The same painting she didn't even know was her. She’d appreciated it. Seemed more interested in his work than he’d shown in hers. She may not have understood it at all. She may have complained about the mess in his room and been confused about how comfortable he was with the lack of cleanliness. But she hadn’t tried to change it.

  It was odd how her desire for order seemed to make her respect chaos. She was able to do so many things he was not able to do, and yet she respected when he did the opposite. Meanwhile, he admired only himself, only his own work, and sneered at those who tried to place some order in his life, as though they were the problem. However cold Christina had seemed, she had a sort of humanity, a sort of dignity about her that he could only dream of possessing.

  But for all those abilities, she was unable to draw on people like he did, to make a friend, to hold down a relationship. For all the wealthy people in her life, none were her friends. He decided he should at least call her.

  “Mia, call—fuck it, I’ll do it myself.”

  Mia attempted to find a contact for “fuck it, I’ll do it myself.”

  “Worthless piece of shit.” He scoffed at the screen on the wall as he scrolled through the numbers in his phone and took a deep breath before tapping on hers.

  The phone purred in his ear, and she didn’t answer. Straight to voicemail.

  He’d get to the bottom of this. He knew people.

  Five hours later, he’d received a call and felt like an even bigger asshole. Not only was Christina’s father basically terminal, the insurance company refused to pay his bills. Because he’d had the cancer before, the insurance had deemed it was a pre-existing condition and refused to cover his treatment.

  The man Matty had called on was quite skilled. He’d hacked into Christina’s accounts and done some online sleuthing. What he came back with hadn’t surprised him. The medical bills were around forty thousand pounds. It was nothing to Matty. But, Christina had nobody with which she could call on for help. The amount would take all her savings to cover. It was merely a drop in the bucket to him, but she would be far too proud to ask him for help.

  He knew Christina was capable of interacting with humans. She was just too proud or too stubborn to do it. Deep inside her eyes, he could tell that she wanted to be loved, and wanted a companion.

  She was just really bad at accepting it.

  Meanwhile, he craved order and structure. He needed it. He needed it so much that he’d tried to finish his father's design that would organize someone’
s entire life. He’d called in a professional to show him what he was doing wrong.

  He wanted to follow schedules, to control his passions. He wanted to be orderly and disciplined.

  He was just equally as bad at it.

  Matty wanted to help her. And he would. It was his money, his life. Forty thousand pounds was nothing at all to him. It wasn't about passion, or emotion, or getting anything back. It was about the raw fact that he had more money than he needed, and she didn’t.

  If she was actively working at being passionate, the least he could do was try and be a bit more disciplined.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Christina sighed and signed the bottom of the page at her father’s rented house. She could repay the insurance company for their over-payments, cover her father's inpatient care, and have ten thousand left in savings for an emergency. How was it all disappearing so fast? She knew it was expensive, but none of this made sense.

  Maybe she’d grown used to the NHS. Living most of her adult life with taxpayer-funded healthcare, the American forms confused her. Maybe she was too distracted by grief to notice any discrepancies. The insurance company was probably relying on her current mood to rip her off. She wouldn’t put it past them. After reading the forms several times, all she could tell was that she would still have to pay roughly fifty thousand bucks for current treatments, and eight thousand for any in the future. So much for her savings.

  It wasn’t that bad, she thought. Her father wouldn’t be thrown out of the hospital and refused care. She was still young, after all. Her work in London paid well. She’d have the cash saved for her own place in another four or five years. The money was going to help her dad, and that was all that mattered.

  She finished the paperwork and dropped it in her bag. Money meant nothing. Family was everything, even if she lived across the pond. Looking at herself in the mirror, she laughed. If only her hoity-toity clients could see her now—hair tied in a messy bun, leggings, wearing a faded maxi dress from the closet in her old bedroom. She actually looked her age for once. She sighed at the whole situation.

  Being back home made her put her life in perspective.

  Money.

  It’d been controlling her. All of her clients cared so much about money. It was the reason they contacted her. And she cared so much about it that she put up with them, dressed for them, bent over backwards for them. All of it just to get some of her own. And now her father was ill, possibly dying at the hospital, and she hadn’t come home to see him for several months. She felt like a piece of shit. Since when did money matter that much?

  Her face broke out in a cold sweat on the way to the car. The money and bills wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She didn’t care if they both had to live in her studio apartment in the U.K. after this. She was scared of losing her father. She’d come straight to his house to drop off her stuff and was heading to go see him.

  He’d been in horrible condition when he was first diagnosed. The doctors had removed most of his pancreas and started him on a heavy round of chemotherapy. They did their best to push it back. It took three surgeries and three rounds of radiation before the samples came back cancer-free. By that point, his pancreas had been reduced to a fifth of its original size.

  He had to learn how to eat differently. He was restricted by diabetes and couldn’t digest fats. After a while, he put on a little weight and started to look healthier again. As soon as he was released from his first round of chemotherapy he made her leave to work and study. He knew how much her job and the country meant to her. He loved her and wanted her to have every opportunity in life. She returned to the U.K. shortly after.

  He was the only person left who still loved her. If he died, she’d be all alone in the world again. Even worse off than when her mother passed.

  She walked into his hospital room and was relieved that he didn’t look near as bad as last time. But he’d lost weight again. His pallor was ashy gray. Skin hung off his cheekbones, and his eyes were purple from exhaustion. She hated seeing him like this.

  She knocked lightly on his door. “Daddy. It's me.”

  His eyes lit up and he grinned. “Hey, sweetie. Was the flight okay? Jet-lagged?”

  She tried not to burst into tears. He’d been in this condition and hadn’t told her because he knew she’d come running back.

  “I’m fine.” She sat on the edge of his bed and hugged him. “I'm worried about you.”

  “It's no big deal. Caught it early this time. Already out. Another round of chemo and it’ll all be gone.”

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. “And if it doesn't work?”

  “More chemo, I think.” His hand reached up and smothered hers. “It will. It's not like the first time. That damn thing had been growing for years. This one’s small. I’ll kick its ass.”

  She nodded and tried not to sniffle. “What did the doctors say?”

  “Should be able to go home in a month or two.”

  Christina breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I was so scared when they called. I-I thought—”

  He wrapped his thin arms around her. “Sorry, baby girl. I didn’t mean for them to scare you. You know how this shit goes, though. We stay strong and keep going. These problems just pass us by.”

  Christina looked away at the wall and wiped a tear from her eye. “They didn't pass Mom by.”

  His chin dropped to his chest. “No. They didn't.”

  She finally broke down. It was too much to hold in. She pressed her face into her father's chest and sobbed. “I th-th-thought I’d lost you.”

  Her father’s arms tightened around her.

  “Why would you think that? I’ve lived through worse than this.”

  “Because. You’re so stubborn. You don’t tell me things until it’s too late. I don’t know if it’s to try and protect me or what.”

  “Maybe. I just don’t want you to miss any of your life on account of me.”

  She couldn't reply. All she could do was cry.

  His arms squeezed her even harder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  They stayed like that a few minutes and the tears finally stopped. She knew that her father wanted to cry, but she also knew that he would wait until she was gone. He was the same way the last time he got sick. He’d been the same way when her mom died too.

  There was a knock at the door. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Christina looked up. It was the doctor. She wiped her eyes, thankful she hadn’t put on makeup.

  “He needs to get some rest. You should probably come back tomorrow.”

  She nodded. They’d been kind enough to let her in at the end of visiting hours. She wasn't going to push her luck. “Thank you.”

  The doctor walked away, and she turned to her father. “Get some rest. I'll see you soon.”

  “Get some rest too. You look exhausted.”

  Leaving the room was hard, but she knew it was for the best.

  Walking by the front desk, Christina remembered the forms and walked over. “I have some paperwork for Julio Smith. Copies of insurance forms and payment details.”

  “Great.” The lady reached over and took the papers. Christina hovered, watching as the woman typed a few numbers into the computer.

  “Julio Smith, birthday June seventh, nineteen fifty-eight?”

  Christina nodded. A sudden panic came over her. “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s already been paid.” The woman slid the paperwork back to Christina.

  “I don’t understand. I talked to the insurance company. They're not going to cover the upcoming fees, or the current ones.” Just great. If they paid already she’d have to go back through everything and pay again, possibly with additional fees. It’d be a nightmare to keep track of.

  “Not your insurance. It's from a private bank account. Did you pay this morning?”

  “No. I just got into town and looked at the papers a few hours ago. Maybe someone made a mistake?” She didn't want to pay if she didn't have to.
But she didn't want to deal with the charges if it was correct.

  “It’s definitely been paid. Let me have a look. A Mr. Spencer paid them this morning. There’s a note on the file saying he’ll handle all future billings. Is that correct? If it’s not, I can have him refunded.”

  “Mr. Spencer? Is that from an overseas bank account?”

  “Yes, it is. Do you know him?”

  Christina hesitated. “Yes. I didn't think. Never mind, I’ll get back to you.”

  “No problem. Have a nice day.” She handed the bills and checks back to Christina.

  She walked out of the hospital in a daze, slowly making her way over to the parking lot. She found her father's car. Forgetting what country she was in, she almost climbed into the right-hand side before she remembered and moved around to the left.

  She sat down in the driver's seat and placed the forms on the steering wheel, and just stared at them in disbelief. He’d paid for it. He hadn't asked her for anything—hadn't sent her a message to brag or fish for compliments. There were no strings attached. He’d just paid it.

  Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Nobody had ever given her a handout. Nobody had ever been so kind to her. The closest thing she’d experienced to financial support was her student loan and healthcare back in the U.K. She’d never even had a friend pay for dinner. And now someone had paid fifty-eight thousand dollars for her, no strings attached.

  She thought he wasn't anything special. Nothing more than another spoiled rich prick who didn't understand her life or her struggles. But even if he was, it didn't matter. He cared. For the first time in her life, someone other than her parents actually cared about her.

  She stared up in the rearview mirror and noticed she was crying.