Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance

by Sonora Seldon

  “My, this promises to be a grand expedition – shall we begin?”

  I glanced around for a gleaming Killane Corporate Holdings limousine. “So where’s your ride? And why aren’t we taking it out on the town, instead of my powered-by-a-sick-hamster-running-a-broken-wheel Honda?”

  “I had my driver deposit me here before he went off duty for the night – after all, would a ‘regular guy’ take a lovely young woman out on a date in a limousine?”

  I thought about saying that our theoretical regular guy would have shown up in a regular guy kind of car, but I somehow doubted this guy owned any cars that cost less than Mom’s house.

  “So then where exactly are we going? No, let me guess – you haven’t even begun to think that part through yet, have you?”

  “Drive, Ashley – simply drive, and we shall see what random chance provides.”

  Less than a minute after I pulled out into the street and pointed the Honda’s nose in the general direction of downtown, Mr. K asked, “Unless you would prefer that I drive? Is that something a ‘regular guy’ would do on a genuine date? I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m afraid my experience in this area is shockingly limited.”

  “That depends – how often do you drive yourself somewhere? As in taking the wheel of a normal car and dealing with traffic and the unexpected all on your own, instead of being squired somewhere in a limo by one of your minions?”

  He stared up at the tattered lining of the Honda’s roof, chewing absently at his lip as he ran through his inventory of memories. “Hmmm … when I was fifteen, I stole a car belonging to the headmaster of my boarding school – does that count?”

  “Why the hell did you steal the guy’s car?”

  “Because I no longer wished to attend that particular school – it was my third school in as many years, and even more dreadful than the previous ones. As the headmaster’s draconian policies in general and his hatred for me in particular were the greater reasons for my miserable experience there, it seemed only fair that he provide the means of my transportation into the next phase of my life.”

  “Did you get caught? No, wait – first things first, did you know how to drive yet?”

  “It was an automatic, so I reasoned it would be easy enough to figure out – as for being caught, once the car and I ended up in a ditch twenty miles away, I climbed out, hiked into the nearest town, and told the authorities the first story that came into my head. Thanks to my storytelling abilities and my relatives’ willingness to spend money to erase trouble, no – I did not in fact end up having to accept so much as a shred of responsibility for my actions that day. I did have to endure a dreary hour or so of assorted Killanes shouting at me over the phone before they shipped me to a different school in another state, but all in all, I counted the day’s events as adding up to a win for me.”

  “Big guy?”

  “Yes, lovely Ashley?”

  “I am so driving.”

  Twenty minutes of random turns later, we rounded a corner in one of the seamier parts of town – Mr. Killane found the shuttered pawn shops and dingy liquor stores ‘fascinating’ – and discovered a diner that was open to rake in the business of people who couldn’t stand eating with their families, people who didn’t have families, and random riff-raff like me and my boss.

  I nudged the Honda up to the curb across the street – I wanted my elderly baby in sight, because I didn’t trust anybody who was roaming the streets at night in this neighborhood – and we hurried over to where the diner huddled beneath its buzzing, popping, half-lit neon sign.

  Inside, we found friends.

  The homeless doughnut crew from my days at main reception sat side by side atop classic retro stools at the diner’s glaring white Formica counter. Jerry, Bob, Eduardo, and Michael the revolutionary looked up from their cups of coffee – coffee they were rationing out for as long as the employees would let them stay, if I knew the guys – as the door’s jangling bell announced our entrance.

  Jerry bellowed, “It’s Ashley! Ashley, you’re NICE!” He paused, peered at Mr. Killane with his vague, watery eyes, and then turned up the volume and added, “HI, MR. BOSS!”

  Bob, enormous and gentle as ever, smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. “Miss Ashley, I saw you on a magazine cover, and you looked as pretty as real life. Is that your boyfriend?”

  Eduardo looked around to make sure he wouldn’t be interrupting anyone, then said, “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Daniels. Would you like some coffee?”

  Michael grinned, and it made him look way younger than his nineteen years. “Ashley, you’re the best! Sit down and hang out with us for a bit, okay?”

  He aimed a wary look at Mr. Killane. “But are you sure this guy can be trusted? Capitalist robber barons like Devon Killane see the workers of the world as nothing more than grist for the corporate mill, you know that.”

  “Michael, I know that he’s a nice guy and that you should give him a chance.”

  Eager to head off any Marxist rants, I looked up at Mr. K as I waved at each of the guys in turn. “Boss, you know Jerry, the big quiet one is Bob, Eduardo here is sweet and knows everything about plants, and this firebrand champion of the working class is Michael. Guys, this is my – ”

  “I am Devon Killane, I have the honor of being the beautiful Ashley’s boyfriend, and I am delighted to meet you all.”

  Mr. Killane moved into high-end charming mode, wearing that irresistible smile as he stepped forward and shook Jerry’s trembling hand, Bob’s huge paw, and Eduardo’s calloused hand with its neatly trimmed fingernails. He finished by clasping Michael’s right hand in both of his.

  “Michael, I hope you can come to trust me enough to share some coffee and conversation – for Ashley’s sake?”

  Michael’s shifting mental world made it hard to guess which way he’d jump in a situation like this – but after a moment of consideration, he exchanged a firm shake with Mr. Killane.

  “If you’re sure he’s all right, Ashley, then I guess he can hang with us too.”

  The sour-faced waitress behind the counter chose that moment to speak up – and sure, she was probably tired and all, but this woman was too cranky to live, much less be working around people

  “Nobody’s hanging anywhere unless you guys pony up for something else – nursing a coffee apiece for two hours is ridiculous, and in case you didn’t notice, this is a place of business, not a charity for homeless leeches.” She tucked a greasy curl of dyed red hair behind one ear and then glared at every last one of us as if we were roaches she couldn’t wait to squash.

  Before I could launch myself over the counter at the bitch, Mr. Killane pulled out his wallet, amped up his smile, and drenched his voice in syrup.

  “If you’ll permit me, Ms. …” – he glanced at the nametag pinned to one side of her skanky cleavage – “…Melanie, I’d like to treat these gentlemen to whatever meals will gain them the privilege of occupying your fine establishment for as long as they’d like.” He waved a Killane Corporate Holdings credit card at her.

  The slut sniffed out the potential in this situation for an enormous tip in the same way a shark scents blood in the water. She switched off her snotty-evil-bitch personality in an instant, slapped on her smiling-gum-snapping-bitch face, and sidled up to the counter.

  “Handsome, I will keep the food and the coffee and whatever else they want coming all night long, if it makes you happy. Can I, ah, get you anything?” She batted her mascara-caked lashes at him in the most blatant example of eyefucking I’d ever seen.

  Ms. Trampalicious never noticed it, but I saw the thin edge of anger under my guy’s smile. He held onto himself like a champ, though, and answered her by leaning over, sliding his arm around me, and dusting a kiss onto my cheek. “Ashley, my love, what would you like?”

  “A vanilla shake will set me up just fine, sweetheart.” I dropped that endearment in there just to jangle Melanie’s trampy little nerves, and the bitch did not disappoint – she sh
ot me a look that was the visual equivalent of shanking me with a prison blade.

  “Is that all, my adorable and enchanting Ashley?”

  “Sure, honey – I’m still kind of full from dinner.” True, but I was also taking into consideration the fact that the milkshake machine was right in front of us, on the far side of the counter; I was reasonably sure anything I ordered that involved our girl Melanie going into the kitchen and out of our sight was something she’d happily spit in.

  “Then I’ll add to that a black coffee for myself, and that will be all – but if you wouldn’t mind, Ms. Melanie, my credit card and I would appreciate it ever so much if you took care of these gentlemen’s orders first.” He waved at the guys, who brightened up to varying degrees as they realized warm food was about to come their way.

  “And this is for you – I trust it’s enough to ensure our friends will receive smiling and courteous service for as long as they care to stay tonight?” And with that, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and slid it across the counter to her.

  The way her eyes lit up, I thought the bitch was going to have an orgasm. She snatched up Ben Franklin and disappeared him into her pocket in a heartbeat.

  “Sweetie, they’re my number one customers as of now.” She flashed her trashiest smile, and then strolled over to the guys, order pad in hand.

  The second her back was turned, Mr. K pulled out his phone.

  “Ashley, I apologize for interrupting our date this way, but there’s a bit of business I must see to – this won’t take a moment.”

  Seconds later, he was talking to one of his underlings.

  “Yes, I’m well aware it’s Saturday night. Indeed? Well, I’m quite sure your dinner and your family members aren’t going anywhere for the next sixty seconds. Please make a note – first thing in the morning, we need to purchase a dining establishment named Five Points Grille, located here in the city at –”

  He turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

  “The corner of West 63rd and Halsted, boss.”

  “ – 63rd and Halsted. A depressed area? I prefer to think of it as an intriguing area, full of local color and local crime statistics, but no matter – pay twice what it’s worth if you must, or more, but I want to see this property on our books by no later than ten tomorrow morning. Is that clear? Excellent. Once that’s done, you’re to come down here in person – I beg your pardon?”

  He paused, listening to the frantic objections I could just imagine on the other end of the phone, then continued. “Strangely enough, I have no interest in how dangerous you perceive the area to be. In any case, the moment the deal is closed, you are to present yourself here and personally fire a dreadful woman named Melanie Something; you’ll know her by her hideous dye job and ghastly manners.”

  Another pause. “No, I haven’t a single idea at the moment as to what we’ll do with the business, but I rather think I’ll have come up with something by the time you report to me tomorrow that this matter has been taken care of. Yes, I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Goodbye.”

  He dropped his phone back into his pocket. “Now, where were we, Ashley? Are you ready to sleep with me yet?”

  An hour later, I was working on my second milkshake while listening to Jerry tell a long and almost coherent story about a war that may or may not have existed only in his imagination. Bob was enjoying seconds on meat loaf and Eduardo was thanking Sleaze Bitch for a slice of lemon meringue pie, while Michael and Mr. K were debating the finer points of Marxist dogma and various socialist theories.

  “Mr. Killane, your viewpoint from the summit of the corporate power structure blinds you to the economic realities of life among the working proletariat – I’m just not seeing any other way of looking at it.”

  “Ah, Michael, but perhaps you might wish to consider the views of Herr Engels on the possibilities of managerial co-operation with the proletariat to achieve the twin goals of political enlightenment and equitable distribution of goods and services?”

  The big guy then proceeded to quote Friedrich Engels at length, entirely from memory, and in the original German – whoa. Not only that, but Michael, bless his confused heart, lit up like a Christmas tree and answered him in German, as if he’d stumbled across a long-lost friend who understood him when no one else did.

  Who knew either of them spoke German? What other topics was Mr. Killane an unexpected expert on? How did this adorable mystery of a guy keep surprising me at every turn?

  This was turning out to be the strangest and coolest Saturday night ever.

  Thirty minutes or so and another round of handshakes later, we left the guys sitting in the diner with full stomachs as my honest-to-God date and I walked back across the street to my car, holding hands and happy as hell.

  My Honda waited by the curb, unmolested – apparently it wasn’t even good enough to be worth stealing or stripping for parts, which worked out great for me. I glanced down at the front bumper as I pulled out my keys … and I had a moment of inspiration.

  I dropped the keys back into my coat pocket and before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped up onto the bumper. Now I stood nearly tall enough to be eye-level with Mr. K, which made it a lot easier to grab hold of the guy and pull him into a surprise kiss.

  We stood right out there in the street – well, he stood in the street, I stood tip-toe on the bumper – and sank into each other. He slipped his arms around my curves, pinning me against his hard, muscled body as our mouths blended together, our tongues tasting and exploring. It was hot and arousing, sure, but it also felt sweet, and safe, and certain.

  It felt like coming home.

  15. Warmth

  We both knew where our night together would end.

  Sure, we made a couple more stops after the diner. The big guy and his bottomless pit of a stomach insisted on pulling over to buy a couple of steaming pretzels from a street vendor, and a few blocks after that we had no choice but to stop and join the crowd at a concert by a saxophone trio in Grant Park – after all, how often do you get a chance to see three dudes playing saxophones while riding unicycles?

  The night sky went from clear to cloudy somewhere in there, and rain poured down in stinging needles by the time we arrived at my apartment complex. I nosed the Honda into its accustomed parking slot – 17B, between a pickup belonging to the guy that everybody said was running a meth lab out of his kitchen, and a PT Cruiser that passed its time by leaking antifreeze because the woman across the hall couldn’t afford to get the radiator fixed – and I shut off the engine.

  Mr. Killane unfolded himself out of the passenger seat. He stood next to the Honda and stared all around. He stared at the rows of dilapidated cars, at the battered dumpsters huddled at the far end of the parking lot, and at the security lights, half of which weren’t working – as usual.

  “Ashley, I grant that affordable housing in this city is scarce, but I had no idea – why in the name of common sense haven’t you used your ample new salary to move to a location that doesn’t look like it belongs in a movie about life after a world-rending apocalypse?”

  I thunked the driver’s door shut, locked the Honda even though no one in their right mind would bother stealing it, and raised an eyebrow at the boss.

  “First things first, big man – I’m saving so I can get Mom out of that shoebox of a house and into something bigger, more comfortable, and in a less dodgy part of town, okay? Once that’s checked off my things-to-do list, I’ll be getting out of this place, trust me.”

  I hurried toward the nearest stairwell. Mr. K closed the distance between us in two strides and eased his left arm around me, pulling me against his warm body.

  “My lovely and obstinate Ashley, it would make so much more sense if you simply moved into my home. That would cost you nothing, and you could do it tomorrow.”

  I glanced up at him. “Move fast much?”

  Using his calm, reasonable, you-know-my-way-is-best voice, my newly minted boyfriend sa
id, “I live in an obscenely large home, Ashley – I am quite serious when I say that you could move into one end of it, and we might well never see each other. Therefore, I am not moving fast, but simply being logical – will you at least consider the possibility of moving in with me?”

  He tightened his arm around me as we headed for the stairs. “In the meantime, I will be increasing your security detail – whenever you are here in this beastly rat trap, there will be at least one guard keeping watch nearby, starting tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re over-reacting about six ways from Sunday.”

  “No, I am not. I am reacting in a measured and sensible fashion to the spectacle of someone who means a great deal to me living in a dangerous situation. Rest assured that if you continue to object to a mild increase in your security coverage, I will see to it that multiple guards are posted immediately outside your door, twenty-four hours a day. Now, shall we go inside?”

  Soldiering up three flights of stairs took most of my breath, and leaning into his powerful body claimed the rest; by the time we arrived in front of my door, I was having a hard time coming up with any remotely reasonable argument against moving into his version of Wayne Manor.

  And I meant a great deal to him? Those few words warmed me and terrified me.

  The only thing that scared me more was how in the space of only a few months, this strange and troubled man had come to mean everything to me.

  “This feels safe.”

  Devon Killane stood in the middle of my combination living room-bedroom-kitchen, staring all around himself like an astronaut surveying an alien planet. My one-room-plus-bath kingdom was small enough as it was, and when a towering, dominant, gorgeous man stood in the middle of it, it looked more like something you’d wear than an actual living space.

  While I fastened all four of the locks on my door – deadbolt, knob, chain, and another deadbolt, because I knew better than to trust this neighborhood – the boss turned slowly on one heel.