Fierce (Not Quite a Billionaire)

by Rosalind James

  “That’s so sweet.”

  I turned my head to see the fiftyish American woman from the next table watching us. That was the downside of this kind of journey, I guessed. Fellow passengers.

  “Are you two on your honeymoon?” she asked.

  “Pardon?” I asked, startled. “No. No. On holiday, that’s all.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said, sounding flustered. “You just looked so much in love, I thought…”

  I wouldn’t tell her about the nondisclosure agreement I’d pulled out the night before at a restaurant a few kilometers from here. Let her preserve her illusions.

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” the woman said. Clearly the last of the true romantics. Well, she was in Paris.

  “Yeh.” That one, I could agree with. “She is.” I looked down at Hope again, at the vulnerable line of her part showing white in the midst of her tumbled hair, and somehow, I’d kissed the top of her head. I couldn’t help it, not really. She was just too sweet there.

  “Would you like…” My newfound friend hesitated.

  “Yes?” I asked, doing my best to be polite. It was lucky that the boat was almost back to the dock.

  “I thought you might like a picture,” she said. “To remember your night by. I could take it, if you like.”

  I hesitated for a few seconds, then was reaching into the pocket of my trousers, pulling out my phone, and handing it to her. “Please.”

  A minute later, she was handing it back, smiling at me again, and turning to her husband, beginning to gather her belongings. I shoved the phone back into my pocket without looking at it as the boat slowed and maneuvered toward the dock and Hope stirred in my arms and blinked her way back into consciousness.

  It had been a weak moment, true. But at least it had only been a moment.

  Real Life

  My softened mood lasted less than twelve hours. Just as long as it took Hope to challenge me again.

  “What?” I stopped typing on my phone and stared at her. I’d already gone back to my room and packed up, and had come back down to wait for her to finish. Somehow, I’d spent the night with her again, even though all we’d done was sleep. “Why the hell not?”

  She wasn’t a bit intimidated, it was clear, just kept folding the blue dress with more care than it required. “Remember that thing I said? That what’s between us is separate from the job? This would be it. If everybody knows, it’s not separate at all, is it?”

  “I’m not talking about sending out a bloody bulletin,” I said. “There’ll be three other people on the jet. I don’t even have Josh with me. Sent him back on Friday, didn’t I.”

  “Not exactly a big concession.” She’d stopped folding. Clothes, that is, because her arms were folded across her chest now, sure sign of temper. “Since I’m sure Josh has a pretty good idea of what you’re doing.”

  “Not as much as he normally does,” I muttered. “Have you heard from him once?”

  “Have I…what?” Her eyes got wider. “Oh. He normally handles your…arrangements. Wow. That’s romantic.”

  “I told you. I don’t do romantic. Except that I’ve done it with you, haven’t I. And now I’m asking you to fly back with me on a corporate jet, where you could eat real food and drink real wine and sit in a real chair and even lie down if you wanted to, and you won’t go because a few other people will be on board? We have a meeting scheduled. They’re not going to be interested in you.”

  Which was a lie, because everybody was always interested. Which was why Josh handled my arrangements. Normally.

  “No,” she said, “I won’t go because your marketing people will be on board. And I have the feeling that they might have the occasional conversation with your publicity director. Who is my boss.”

  I didn’t tell her that Martine probably had a pretty good notion of my interest. That wasn’t going to help me. “I’m not going to cancel my meeting,” I told her. “That’s rubbish.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” Her tone was level again, and she was back to packing, taking the black skirt off its hanger. “I have a perfectly good plane ticket home, and I’m happy to use it.”

  “Flying coach,” I said. “All the way back by the lavatories, eh. Probably in the middle seat.”

  “You forget,” she said sweetly. “My second flight, and I’m excited. And no. I’m by the window. I want to watch.”

  “Right, then.” I got myself back under my normal self-control, or something close to it. “I’ll take you to dinner, uh…” I consulted my phone. “Tuesday.”

  “Sorry, I can’t,” she said, and I looked sharply at her. Was she playing games? “I’ll have a lot of work this week,” she went on. “I’m positive of that. Who knows when I’ll be done? I’ve left Karen for more than a week, too, and I don’t like to be gone all evening on a school night anyway. Could we do something on the weekend instead? Saturday, maybe?”

  I was the one who set the limits. Always. And those limits were once a week, twice if I needed to work off some…stress. On my schedule. I was a busy man, and a disciplined one. But while I was still thinking out how to make that clear to her, she added, “Unless…”

  Ah. She was reconsidering.

  “There’s this one thing,” she said. “Wednesday nights. You could come for that if you wanted.” She was getting busy with her folding again, looking self-conscious.

  Hard line, I reminded myself. The winner is the one who needs it less. Not answering had been right, had forced her into concession. The rules were always the same. Business or personal, it didn’t matter. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Women’s Wednesday,” she said. “Karen’s and my thing. It’s nothing much, it’s just at home, popcorn and a movie, but we always do it, so…just if you wanted to come,” she repeated. “If you wanted to…see me.”

  “Lunch,” I suggested. A movie on the couch, not a bit of privacy, and then I’d go home? Not good enough.

  She shook her head. “I only have a half hour, and I can’t plan ahead. It depends when I can get away. And the roof is too public. I shouldn’t have done it before, but I didn’t know.” She stopped folding, turned, and looked at me for a minute, and her expression changed. The next thing I knew, she was shifting the ground out from under me again. Stepping around the bed, putting her hands on my forearms, and looking up into my face.

  “Hemi,” she said. “I want to see you. Very much. But this is what my life is. If you don’t want to come over on Wednesday, then…Saturday? Sunday? We could have dinner, or go for a walk, or to a museum. Anything, really. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I just want to be with you.”

  She clearly hadn’t read the memo about the winner being the one who wanted it less, because once again, she’d put her heart right out there for me to see.

  “Saturday,” I said, doing my best to maintain. “Seven. Dinner. And this time, I’m sending Charles for you.”

  She wrapped one soft hand around the back of my head and pulled it down for a kiss. “And this time,” she said, smiling into my eyes, “I’m saying yes.”

  I thought about arranging a new job for her, one where I could make it very, very clear that her lunch hour was flexible, and that she had her evenings free. I could do it today, on the flight. Something in marketing? Easy as. But she’d see through it in a heartbeat, and she’d refuse. And I’d lose.

  I’d been right to refuse to ride back in the jet. I knew it, but that didn’t make the flight any better. When the woman behind me stuck her stockinged feet into the space between my seat and the window, I turned up the volume of my headset and ignored the stench. And when we circled the airport for an hour before landing, I looked out the window and admired the view. And tried not to think about sitting beside Hemi in some sort of leather recliner, drinking wine, holding his hand…

  No. He’d be working, and I’d be his—not even his girlfriend. His latest short-term arrangement. It would be all over the office on Monday, and I needed to keep my job, and not to feel h
umiliated. Now or ever.

  I wanted this thing that had started between us. But he’d said it from the beginning. This isn’t true love. There’s no forever. He didn’t want to come over to watch a movie with us, didn’t even seem to understand what a big deal it had been for me to offer to share Karen’s and my special time with him. Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t what our relationship was about, and if that made my heart ache—well, that was my problem. It wasn’t his fault that my treacherous heart insisted, despite all evidence in my own life to the contrary, on harboring romantic notions of Prince Charming to the rescue, of lavender roses and enchantment. Of Hemi putting his arm around me in the boat, and being able to lay my head against his shoulder and fall asleep, knowing he’d take care of me.

  I’d just rein that right in as the daydream it was. I’d enjoy being with him, and what was life about, if not enjoying the wonderful times? But I’d make sure that when they were over, I could go on, because that was the other thing life was about. Going on.

  Life was Karen, too. By the time I’d pulled my bag up the four flights of stairs to the apartment and let myself in, it was after six in the evening, close to midnight Paris time, and I was dragging. But seeing Karen jumping up from the couch was a pretty good antidote.

  “Hey!” she said. “You’re back! Debra and I cooked dinner for you. Are you hungry?”

  “Made you some soup,” Debra said as I hung up my coat and put my suitcase in the bedroom. “That’s gotta have been a long day. And flying nowadays?” She shook her head. “No way. We’re all getting fatter, and those seats just keep getting smaller.” She picked up her purse. “And I’ll get on out of here now so you can relax. Everything’s real good here. We went to the grocery store today, got you stocked up for the week.”

  “Oh,” I said, and reached for my own purse. “Let me just—“

  She waved her hand. “Nah. Hemi took care of all that.”

  “Well,” I said helplessly, “thank you very much, then.”

  “Bye, hon,” she told Karen. “See you next time.”

  Karen gave her a hug, shut the door behind her, looked at me, and said, “Hemi?”

  “You get all your homework done?” I asked.

  “Nice try.” She plopped herself back down on the couch and folded her arms. “I thought your work was paying for Debra to stay with me. Which seemed pretty weird, but did I say anything? No, I did not. I was trusting, because my big sister never, ever lies to me. She believes in honesty.”

  “Hey. That wasn’t a lie. My work did pay. Kind of. Hemi’s my…” I took a breath and said it. “Well, you know. He’s Hemi Te Mana. And it was his show. His trip.”

  “Te Mana,” she said slowly. “As in your company. Get out. He’s…what is he?”

  “The CEO. And—phew.” I pulled my T-shirt over my head. “I feel like I got dressed about twenty-four hours ago. I need a shower. Did Debra say there was soup?”

  Coming To An Agreement

  I rang Hope on Sunday night and swallowed my frustration over the fatigue I heard in her voice, which I thought was pretty restrained of me. And then I didn’t see her on Monday, and I didn’t see her on Tuesday, either. Until I did.

  I was walking into O’Doul’s, the Irish bar in the lobby of the building next door to the office, with Vanessa and Vivienne Farnell when it happened. Because there, sitting in a back corner, was Hope. And some bloke.

  No, not some bloke. A bloke of about her own age, every inch the perfectly groomed metrosexual, and every bit focused on her. I stopped in my tracks as she put her elbow on the table, shoved a hand into her hair and laughed, then gave him a smack on the arm, exactly as she’d done with me on the roof. As he laughed back at her, every intention perfectly clear.

  I forgot all about Vanessa and Vivienne. I was headed straight over to that table, and I could almost hear the click when Hope noticed me. Her eyes widened over the wine glass she’d lifted to her lips, and she was setting it down again without drinking. Looking flustered, as she bloody well might.

  “Hemi.” Her hand went straight to the hair that had been mussed up during her little exhibition, began smoothing over it as if that would make me forget what I’d seen. “I mean—” She shot a look at the bloke. “Mr. Te Mana.”

  The bloke was standing now. “Hello,” he said. “Uh—I’m Nathan Forrest.”

  I finally looked at him. I didn’t grab him, which took some major self-control. “Excuse us.”

  “What? Oh. Uh—I’ll just—”

  I didn’t listen to the rest of it. He was gone, that was all I cared about. And I was telling Hope, “Let’s go. Now.”

  “What are you doing?” She was standing up now as well.

  “No,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  She took a breath, and to my fury, she was looking narky now. “I’m having a glass of wine with my coworker.”

  Her eyes widened, slid to the side, and I glanced over, saw Vivienne and Vanessa, said, “One moment, please,” and turned back to Hope. “You’re leaving.”

  “No.”

  “No? No?”

  “I mean it, Hemi. No. So—so not all right.”

  Her breasts were rising and falling under that turquoise blouse and cutaway gray sweater. It was the same outfit she’d been wearing when she’d slapped my face. The same outfit that had had me staring at her in exactly the way the bloke had been staring just now.

  It seemed she could tell what I was feeling, because she said it again. “No. Not here. Call me later. You’ve got this all wrong. But…” Her gaze shifted again to our audience. “We can’t do it now.”

  She sat down, picked up her wine glass, and swallowed a mouthful, though I could see her hand was shaking. And there was nothing I could do short of dragging her out by the arm, which was what I wanted to do. Never mind the fool I’d look, though—it was what Hope would do if I tried that was stopping me. So I left her there. I saw the bloke, who’d been loitering around the bar, drifting back to the table. And I sat down with Vanessa and Vivienne all the same.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to yank myself back under control again. “A personnel issue. Where were we?”

  “I think,” Vanessa said, “you were about to buy us a drink. And let me just say...” She exchanged a glance with her sister. “I didn’t think that’s what it was called.”

  “Does this mean our threesome’s off?” Vivienne, the outrageous one, drawled.

  “Business,” Vanessa said, frowning at her sister.

  “Oh, honey,” Vivienne said, “I’m all about the business.”

  Maybe the office would’ve been a better place for this meeting. I tried not to turn my head, and I didn’t succeed a bit. I saw Hope standing up, shrugging into her coat, saying something to the fella, and leaving the bar. And I stood up myself.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll ring you tomorrow. Something urgent has come up, I’m afraid.”

  “I knew it,” Vivienne sighed, but I barely heard her. I was already gone.

  I could have ignored him. I could have sat there with Nathan and had another glass of wine. Except that I didn’t want to play games, and I didn’t want to talk to Nathan. I just wanted to go home.

  “Oh-kay,” Nathan said when he’d sat down again. “Want to explain that? Since when do you call Hemi Te Mana ‘Hemi’? You two pals, or what?”

  “No.” I looked down at my wine, finished off my glass, and tried not to grimace at the taste. “Of course not. It’s because I went to Paris, that’s all. I met him there. I mean, of course I knew who he was, but now he knows who I am, too. He had something he’d forgotten to tell me, that’s all.” I was babbling, so I shut up.

  “Right,” he said slowly. “See, if I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was jealous.”

  “Jealous?” I laughed in what was supposed to be a casual way. “Of what?”

  “Well, of me, that’s what I’d call that. Like I had benefits, and he wanted them. Or like he had them, and was worried that I
wanted them. One or the other. I mean, if I didn’t know better, of course. But of course you wouldn’t be sleeping with the CEO without telling me. After I was so nice about you being picked to go to Paris and me being left behind.”

  He’d lifted his glass, but now he set it down, and his brown eyes had widened. “Oh. That’s totally why. You are such a little…” He was laughing. “You’re kidding. No wonder I never got benefits.”

  I stood up and grabbed my purse and coat. “No. You never got benefits because I don’t do that. And I have to go.”

  “Hey.” He was standing too now. “Come on. You can tell me. We’re friends. Share.”

  “No,” I said, hardly knowing what I was saying. “I can’t. I have to go. Oh.” I fumbled in my purse for my wallet, pulled out a ten, and tossed it on the table. “See you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t lie, and I didn’t sneak around. But I was doing both things, and none of this was all right. And I had to go.

  She hadn’t made it a block before I caught up to her. I was grabbing her arm, exactly like in Paris. And she was whirling to face me in exactly the same way, too. Not one bit ashamed of herself.

  “Don’t,” she told me, and if I’d ever thought Hope would be sweet and compliant, I’d been dead wrong. “Don’t you dare wreck everything we’ve got, making me think you’re some kind of jealous stalker who’s going to tell me I can’t have friends!”

  She actually had me stepping back a pace. I didn’t do that, so I stepped forward again. “You won’t spend any time with me during the week, but you go out with somebody else? And you expect me to be all right with that?”