by Marian Tee
“Likewise.” As Jaak shook hands with the other billionaire, he murmured wickedly, “And how is the lovely Yanna, by the way? I heard she’s expecting. Is she with you---” When the fingers gripping Jaak’s hand tightened in warning, Jaak only laughed, amused at the swift way Constantijin Kastein had taken the bait.
The other two men in the boardroom smirked. “Forgive our friend, Jaak,” Staffan Aehrenthal drawled. A famous rockstar as well as being the scion of a hotel magnate, he was also equally famous for being Sweden’s #1 sex god. “He’s become rather uncivilized since Yanna became pregnant.”
“Fuck you,” Constantijin said pleasantly. “Like you weren’t as bad when Saffi was pregnant.”
“Staffan has always been rather volatile, but you, my friend – we simply expected better from you.” This was from Rathe Wellesley, the Duke of Flanders, whose British pretty boy looks and exquisite manners had earned himself the title as England’s #1 Heartthrob. Turning to Jaak, the duke went on in a tone of exaggerated disappointment, “It’s rather unbecoming for a man of his stature, admittedly, but because we’re his friends, we’ve simply and thoughtfully chosen to overlook---”
Constantijin gave his friends a middle-finger salute. “Fuck all of you.”
But his friends only laughed. Collectively, the three gentlemen were known as The Three Pussketeers, and Jaak could still recall how there was one instance many summers ago he, together with his brother Nic and their Greek friends Stavros Manolis and Damen Leventis, had been wide-eyed with wonder and admiration when they attended a party hosted by the three.
It still ranked as one of the wildest nights in Jaak’s life, and yet here were the three now, all properly domesticated.
“I cannot be faulted for being too careful,” Constantijin said defensively as they walked out of the boardroom and headed to the private lift that would take them straight to the penthouse ballroom. “Yanna is a beautiful woman, and Jaak’s known to fuck anyone in a skirt---”
Jaak, who had been arranging his cuffs, looked up in sham protest at Constantijin’s words, saying, “At least give me some credit for having some standards.”
Constantijin only grunted as he and the others entered the lift. “Well, anyway, you’ll understand soon enough, I think.”
Jaak raised a brow. “Am I supposed to infer something from that too-cryptic remark?”
“Come on, man, no need to be shy,” Staffan interjected with a smirk. “We already met her last night.”
The elevator doors slid open, and Jaak was prevented from answering. When the others saw that Jaak appeared to be staying put, Staffan asked in surprise, “You’re not attending tonight’s party?”
“I am,” he assured them swiftly. “I just have something to do first.” He uttered a lie, hoping it would effectively address the other gentlemen’s worries, but instead he saw the three men exchange looks at his reply.
“I hope everything’s alright with the two of you,” Constantijin said finally.
The English duke nodded. “She seems the nice sort.”
The doors slid close before Jaak could ask any of them what the hell they were talking about. Had another wild rumor started about him and some random celebrity? He knew he should probably give more thought to it, but right now, all he wanted was to drink.
The unusually dark expression on the billionaire’s face had everyone steering clear of him as he headed to the lounge at the hotel’s lobby. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he reached the bar, and he answered the call, seeing that it was from Willem.
“Where are you?”
“Relax, big brother,” Jaak said lightly. “I know better than to skip this one.” Willem let a lot of things slide when it came to his presence in family gatherings, but tonight’s celebration was definitely an exception. “I’ll be right up soon. I just have something to work out here.”
“Make sure you’re here before the ball officially starts,” were the final clipped words Jaak received before the head of the de Konigh clan hung up.
So that would give him, what, fifteen minutes?
Fifteen goddamn minutes.
He might as well give up.
But he couldn’t.
He speed-dialed the number he had been calling for the past three days, and the phone on the other end of the line started to ring. It rang and rang until the call was automatically redirected to a voice mailbox, the way it had done so in the past three days.
Where the hell are you, Ilse?
The billionaire ordered a glass of scotch and downed it in one gulp as Ilse’s phone started to ring for the second time. And so it went on, and by the fifth unsuccessful try, he would have laughed if he didn’t feel so damn bleak.
If this was all because he hadn’t fucked her---
His fingers clenched around the empty glass.
God. The rare time he tried to act like a knight in shining armor, and the princess just had to want him to act like a villain.
His glance slanted towards the digital clock next to the wall-mounted TV behind the bar, and Jaak estimated that he only had ten minutes left.
Ten minutes.
If he had any doubt that Ilse Muir had him by the balls---
He reached for his phone one last time, but instead of making another call that she would no doubt ignore, he began typing.
---this was fucking it.
Hashing out emotional stuff over text messaging used to be something the billionaire thought he would never be guilty of. He was no etiquette monster like Willem, but he did think that text messaging made a rather sterile and puerile medium when resolving relationship conflicts.
And yet here he fucking was---
The billionaire pressed the Send button, and off his message went.
I miss you, Ilse.
His phone vibrated a few seconds later, a new message arriving at his inbox.
I miss you, too.
The billionaire immediately tried calling her, but when the call went unanswered, he knew he had no choice.
Jaak: Have you been avoiding me because I didn’t fuck you?
Ilse: You’re only half-joking, aren’t you?
Jaak: The other half of me thinks you wised up. You finally saw me for the loser I am.
Seconds passed, and his phone remained frustratingly silent and still. His glance slanted towards the clock, and his jaw clenched. Seven minutes. He knew he could excuse himself for being late, but years of strict etiquette were hard to ignore. He had promised Willem he would be there on time, and although he was an ass about a lot of things, his word was his bond.
But just as he was about to reach for his wallet, his phone started to ring, and when he answered, Ilse’s voice reached him like a dreamy caress.
“Jaak.”
His eyes shut closed for a moment. “Ilse.”
“You’re only half-right, I’m afraid.” Her voice became softer, tender, the kind of voice that he had only heard Ilse use when talking to her brother. “Because I do want you to fuck me.”
The billionaire stiffened.
“I want you to make me yours, and I want you to be mine. I want you to surrender everything to me. Your fears, your pain, and most of all---” Her voice caught, and his chest tightened.
“I want your secrets most of all, Jaak.”
His name on her lips was like having his world set to right again.
“You told me to wait, and I did think about waiting. But in the end, I don’t think I should. If I waited like you said I should, I think you’ll make me wait forever---”
“Ilse---”
“That’s why I had to leave.”
Ah.
“I’m jealous of your secrets, Jaak. They’ve owned you far too long.” A heartbeat of silence passed before she pressed ever so gently, “Don’t you think it’s my turn to own you?”
What she was asking felt too much and too little at the same time, but even so, the billionaire knew there could only be one way to answer her.
There had alw
ays been only one way to answer Ilse.
If she needed him, he would be there for her.
“How can I be yours,” he murmured gruffly, “if I don’t know where you are?”
Silence.
And then---
“Oh, Jaak.”
And it was the most beautiful words that had ever touched his ears because in them he heard the promise of hope and redemption, the promise that one day soon, the other words they both needed to hear and say would come.
“Is t-there a TV where you are?”
The question startled him. “Why?”
“Switch to E.”
The billionaire frowned, knowing that the said channel had exclusive rights to air real-time coverage of the invitational ball Willem had organized. “This is a bad idea,” he said grimly even as he gestured towards the bartender and murmured the request under his breath.
“Why would you say that?”
“Something tells me this has to do with the woman friends of mine have been hinting about.”
“O-oh?”
“I had a business meeting earlier.” The TV display switched to E as the billionaire spoke. “They were telling me about this woman they had met last night at the premier, some airhead who seemed to have said something to make people believe she was my girlfriend---” He broke off as he found himself meeting Ilse’s big brown eyes…
Through the TV.
“An airhead, you say?” Ilse asked very sweetly.
“The loveliest, sexiest airhead,” he said without missing a beat.
Ilse glanced back at the camera, and as the camera zoomed in, her lovely full lips curved in a secretive, seductive smile – a Mona Lisa smile if he had ever seen one. And that smile said simply, Come look for me.
“He’s here.” The whispered words from Serenity Raleigh waltzed teasingly to Ilse’s ear, and the palest shiver ran down her spine. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. It had only been three days since she had last seen the billionaire, and yet each second had made her heart ache like it had been hurting for an eternity.
As she turned, she could feel the crowd reacting to his presence, a wave of heated interest coming in the form of sultry glances and throaty laughter, all meant to entice---
Him.
His blue eyes captured hers the moment she lifted her head. Look at me, his eyes commanded silkily, and only me.
It almost made her laugh. Did he really think she would have any interest in any other man than him?
His tall, dark figure cut through the crowd like a powerful, gleaming sword, people parting instinctively as he bore down on them in swift, long-legged strides. When a charming, sexy smile curved on his lips, drawn breaths and gasps swirled in the air. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, so exquisitely charming, a woman had only to look at him and want more.
When he finally reached her, they stared at each other, smiling, their eyes doing the talking for them.
Hello, babe.
What took you so long?
He moved forward, closing the distance between them, and he bent his head, murmuring very tenderly, “Ilse.”
“Y-yes?” She had the craziest urge to laugh but managed to rein it in and keep her face expressionless.
“Never do this to me again, damn you.” The billionaire meant every word. She had driven him mad the past three days, wondering what the hell he had done to make her leave, wondering what he could do to get her back and make her stay.
The words were so at odds with the smile still playing on his lips, she could no longer help it, a rare laugh breaking past her lips. The lovely sound had the billionaire curling an arm around her waist, and as he pulled Ilse closer, he allowed himself a moment to savor her scent.
As she turned in his arms to face him, her shoulders still shaking with silent mirth, he whispered against her hair, “I’m not fucking joking.”
Twinkling eyes met his grim gaze, and she said solemnly, “I miss you, too.”
Someone cleared his throat loudly before he could answer, and Jaak smiled when he saw the bespectacled middle-aged man standing in front of him. “Uncle Maurice.” Ilse tried to pull away as he spoke, but instead of letting her go, he tightened his hold. “It’s nice to see you again, and may I have the honor of introducing my girlfriend Ilse Muir?”
Ilse jerked, but he pretended not to notice as he slowly but firmly made her face his uncle.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Muir,” Uncle Maurice said with gruff warmth.
“Hello, Uncle Maurice. I can see where Jaak’s got his good looks from.” Ilse’s training in entertaining the opposite sex automatically kicked in even as her head swam at the billionaire’s too-casual way of publicly referring to her as his girlfriend.
And it was just the start.
They began circulating the cocktail area, Jaak allowing himself to be waylaid by anyone who cared to say hi to him. And of course everyone did, seeing how the billionaire who used to shun such gatherings appeared to be in an amazingly good mood.
He introduced her to at least two hundred persons, and to each of those acquaintances, he wouldn’t stop referring to Ilse as his girlfriend.
Sometimes, the things he would speak of were unbearably sweet. When a society matron showered Ilse with effusive compliments, the billionaire had taken the time to study his girlfriend leisurely, his gaze caressing her as he took note of the way her silver gown accentuated her curves while baring every inch of her flawless back, and after, he had said simply, She’s not just easy on the eye. If you get to know her better, you’ll discover – as I did – that she’s even easier on the heart.
Other times, the things he would say just plain cracked her up. When a former lover of Jaak came up to them, hinting snidely about Ilse possibly having her nose done because it was too perfect, the billionaire had only sighed, saying, I don’t blame you for thinking that. Ilse’s just too beautiful, isn’t she? There are times when I look at her and I seriously contemplate about what I can do to make her ugly. I’m sick of the way she makes it hard for me to breathe around her.
But then there were times he was just so unbearably irritating. When asked by a catty-looking redhead if Ilse had ever made him jealous, the billionaire had answered unhesitatingly, Every second of the day. If I find out she’s entertaining thoughts of using a vibrator, I’d still be jealous as hell. She’s the only one I see, and in my eyes all other women look like horses next to her.
When the redhead had walked out on them, visibly enraged, the billionaire had only raised a brow, a look of sham innocence on his face as he asked if he had said something wrong.
He alternated between infuriating and endearing effortlessly, whichever the situation would call for, but it was when a particularly nosy reporter came to them, asking Jaak about how he felt regarding Ilse’s job as a sex tour guide, that Ilse couldn’t help tensing, couldn’t help wondering if maybe - just maybe – tonight was only meant to be a fantasy.
“I heard she dresses up and role-plays to satisfy her clients’ fantasies,” the reporter said with a snigger. And he had obviously done his research on Ilse as he then proceeded to describe her job in the coarsest possible terms, his loud voice attracting the attention of the people around them, as it was meant to.
She listened to him with a carefully blank expression, not because she was ashamed – she was not – but because she could only wait.
Most men would have been livid at hearing such things about their girlfriends, and they would be forgiven for it.
But Ilse was hoping Jaak de Konigh would prove to be different from most men.
When the billionaire met her eyes, she gave him a little smile. This is how it’s going to be when all secrets are out in the open. And I do want everything out.
The billionaire smiled back. I guess that makes you a masochist. He reached for her hand. But you’re also a masochist I happen to love so…
He turned to face the reporter, saying easily, “Yes. That’s her job, and Ilse’s amazing at it.”
He raised a brow at Ilse. “Perhaps you have a business card with you?”
“Of course.” She opened her purse and pulled out one. “I’m always prepared.” She handed it to the reporter, who looked dumbfounded for suddenly losing his prey and not understanding how it happened. “Our rates at Glory Hall are rather high, but I promise you---” Her voice lowered, and she winked at the reporter, saying, “Every euro you spend will be worth it.”
As they walked away, her hand still grasped securely in his, the billionaire murmured her name. She looked at him inquisitively, and he gave her a crooked grin, saying, “Admit it, babe. I handled that better than you hoped.”
“You did,” she said grudgingly.
“Did it make your heart beat fast?”
“Nope.” But it had, and the way the billionaire only smirked at her in response told Ilse he knew she was lying.
The ball officially commenced a few minutes later, with Ilse and Jaak joining his siblings in the VIP table. The billionaire knew by now that Ilse had spent the entire three days with his family, but even so it was a pleasant surprise to see her getting along extremely well with everyone.
When there was a rare pause in the conversation, he couldn’t help intruding with a curious question he had wanted to ask from the start. “What have you guys been up to in the past three days?”
His sister Anneke appeared surprised. “What else?”
He only raised a brow, wondering if all women had the mistaken belief that men were mind readers.
Fleur, his other sister, rolled her eyes at him, saying, “She wants to dig out every possible skeleton in your closet, naturally.”
“I see.” He looked at his sisters one at a time. “And you helped, of course?”
His sisters pointed to Serenity. “She helped, too.”
Serenity cocked her head to the man beside her, murmuring politely, “Mr. de Konigh asked me to.”
“Yes, I did,” Willem confirmed bluntly to his brother just before turning to his secretary-slash-fiancée, saying pleasantly, “Serenity?”
“Yes, sir?”
“It’s Willem.”
“I know, Mr. de Konigh. I’ve known since I was fourteen.”