The Billionaire’s Crush

by Tineka Brown

  It wasn’t like she even needed Valentine’s blessing — the real issue here was whether Everett actually liked her.

  Olympia had always liked to think of herself as a go-getter, a pretty forward person. When it came to men, she had no problem making the first move — but once in a while, she did enjoy playing the role of the damsel.

  She sighed and shook her head, pulling her leg back so that Valentine had no choice but to move his hand.

  “Well,” she said, “whatever your motive, it doesn’t matter. I’m here to sing, not to find a boyfriend. If Everett makes a move, I won’t refuse, but I’m not going to start hitting on him. It would be unprofessional.”

  Valentine shrugged and turned back to the TV. “Your prerogative.”

  *****

  Everett picked them up from the hotel the following afternoon to show them the casino. Olympia had spent the morning in luxury — first going for a swim, then enjoying the hotel’s fresh breakfast buffet, then spending a few hours shopping on the strip. She was in a good mood when Everett arrived, and not even Valentine’s continued odd behavior could shake her out of it.

  The exterior of the building was sleek — all shining glass panels and polished concrete. They pulled into an expansive, covered driveway and Everett waved at one of the valets standing outside before driving them into the parking garage himself. They were nearly the only car there. All the stage hands and construction workers had permits to park on the street.

  He led them through a convoluted series of hallways to the backstage rooms.

  “Here’s where you’ll get ready for the show Olympia,” he said, opening an unmarked door to reveal a spacious green room with a wide, polished vanity, two huge plush sofas, a small kitchenette and a series of empty clothing racks. “All the costuming and makeup stuff is supposed to arrive tomorrow. And we’ll get you set up with whatever food you want — you can let me know later today. I’ll have some forms for you that I can pass along to the caterers. Valentine, the room next door is yours. Of course, if you’d prefer to use the same dressing room, I suppose that can be arranged, but...”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Olympia. Everett looked at her, his eyebrows raised slightly as if in surprise. She cleared her throat. “I just prefer getting ready for a show by myself. You know, I like to… uh, meditate. For a while. It’s hard to do that with someone else in the room.”

  “Of course.” Everett nodded, his curiosity evidently assuaged.

  Olympia tried to imagine herself getting ready for the big show in this room and felt a thrill of excitement pass through her. It was just like the backstage rooms that she’d always dreamed of — Valentine wouldn’t ruin this for her. He couldn’t.

  As they continued to walk, the hall veered sharply to the left. Everett led them through a pair of heavy double doors, and they were in the wings of the stage — hidden in the dark folds of the safety curtains.

  “I’m sure you know not to touch the curtains here,” Everett said absently. “The oil from your fingers can ruin them.”

  Olympia knew, but she found herself oddly charmed by the fact that Everett did, as well. The man wasn’t just a billionaire producer, not just a puppet master, but someone who had actually done the dirty-work themselves.

  “And here’s the stage!” Everett beamed as he turned back toward them, walking backward for a few paces before stopping just short of the edge of the stage.

  Olympia let her mouth hang open for a few seconds as she spun around, taking in the sheer expanse of the room. She’d never been on a stage this massive. A long, narrow thrust sprawled out into the audience, and she found herself compelled to walk down it, imagining the seats packed with people, excited to watch her sing.

  “So,” said Everett, coming up behind her. “What do you think?”

  “It’s…” Olympia turned to look at him. They were close — a necessity, due to the narrowness of the thrust. Something about the shadowed light of the theatre cut sharp angles in his face and brought out the color of his eyes. He was stunning, truly. Olympia tried to remember what she’d been about to say. “Um. It’s gorgeous. I mean… um. Yeah. I’ve never been on a stage this big.”

  Everett laughed, and touched her arm lightly. “Neither have I!”

  Olympia smiled, not sure if she was beaming because of the joke, or because of his fingers, still pressing lightly against her bare arm. Too quickly, he pulled away and turned back toward the main stage.

  “That’s not entirely true,” he was saying, “I have been on this particular stage more than once. But I’ve never really performed. And this is certainly the biggest stage I’ve ever been on.”

  Valentine was still standing at the center of the mainstage, his head angled upward. “What are all these,” he asked, gesturing at a series of cables hanging from the ceiling.

  “Oh, those are just for set pieces that are going to be moving. I was, briefly, considering having one of you perform a wire act, but I think we’ll save that for the professionals. No offense of course.”

  “None taken,” said Valentine and Olympia in unison.

  *****

  The remainder of the afternoon was spent touring the rest of the building and talking to some of the set decorators who were putting finishing touches on the decorations that would grace the stage.

  “Once rehearsals start you’ll have a chance to see all of it, every detail,” said Everett. “It’s going to be stunning. I’m really excited to have you both along for the ride!”

  Olympia glanced at Valentine, who had spun around to look at some other minor elements of the stage. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t walked out to stare into the rows of seats yet. Did he have stage fright?

  Performance wasn’t something they’d discussed much, during their relationship — or when they had discussed it, the discussions had been mostly one-sided. Valentine would offer Olympia his trademark “friendly” pointers whenever he happened to see her sing. For the first few months, Olympia had taken his advice to heart, and tried to integrate it into her style. Eventually, she’d realized that this advice was only a cover-up for Valentine’s own insecurities. Of course, by the time this had occurred to her, she wouldn’t have dared point this out for fear of violent retribution.

  “Are you hungry?” Everett’s voice disturbed her train of thought, which was just as well. She wasn’t exactly ready to revisit those moments.

  “Starving,” said Valentine. Olympia nodded in agreement.

  “Great. It’s getting close to dinnertime — why don’t I treat you guys to a meal at Rouge?”

  “Rouge?”

  “It’s the casino restaurant. I’ve designed it to be more upscale than others nearby, to give guests here a real taste of luxury.”

  “Sounds pretty cool.”

  “Oh, you’ll love it.” As if noticing Olympia look down at her jeans and sneakers, Everett added, “and don’t worry about your attire. It’s not open yet, so we’ll be all alone.”

  *****

  The restaurant was on the third floor of the casino. One wall was composed entirely of glass, with still another leading out onto a spacious deck with tables and heating lamps. Olympia supposed there might be a use for the heaters in the winter, though she couldn’t imagine Vegas as anything other than sweltering.

  Everett led them to a seat in the corner of the restaurant, against the wall of windows. Olympia and Valentine slid into the booth, upholstered in red leather. The table was of some dark hardwood which also made up the frames of the seats. The place was an interesting blend of airy, and rich-colored like an old winery.

  “You make yourselves comfortable, I’m going to let the chef know that we’re here and get us some menus.”

  They nodded. With nothing to do, Olympia stared out the window. The restaurant overlooked the strip, jutting out slightly from the curb so that the driveway was hidden from view. The street was even more busy, now that it was evening — she supposed that everyone who had opted to hide indoors fr
om the afternoon sun was now on the hunt for dining options or heading back to hotels.

  “So, what did you think of the stage setup?” Asked Valentine.

  She looked at him, contemplating his motives for asking. Was he going to give her more pointers? “I thought it was beautiful,” she said.

  He nodded slowly, resting his head on his hands. “Are you nervous?”

  Olympia considered this. She’d been expecting to ask herself the same question, later, lying on the sofa bed and staring up at the whorls in the stippled ceiling of the hotel room. Truth be told, she didn’t feel nervous. It wasn’t as if she was particularly prone to stage fright — if she was, she probably would have given up singing long ago. But she couldn’t deny that once in a while, a packed house would give her a case of sweaty palms.

  “No,” she said, adjusting her posture so that she was sitting straight up against the booth, as if offering a challenge to Valentine. “Are you?”

  Valentine smiled mysteriously and glanced off across the rest of the empty tables. “No. I don’t think so. Who knows, maybe on opening night when the house is packed, I’ll feel differently.”

  Olympia nodded. “Yes. That’s about what I’m thinking.” She still felt very strange about Valentine’s behaviour. He wasn’t acting himself, and while the change was certainly for the better, she was just waiting for him to break.

  Everett returned to the table carrying a bottle of white wine. “This is to pair with the salad,” he said. “It’s a beautiful vintage, Pinot Blanc. May I?”

  He gestured toward Olympia’s crystal glass. “Of course.” She leaned back slightly watch Everett pour the wine with an expert tilt of the wrists. She waited for him to pour a glass for both him and Valentine, then took her glass in hand.

  “A toast,” said Everett, holding his glass up in turn. “To good beginnings.”

  “To good beginnings,” mumbled Valentine and Olympia in unison, before taking a sip. Olympia could feel Valentine’s eyes on her, and she tried to keep her gaze fixed on Everett.

  Everett slid into the booth next to Olympia. She moved to give him space, but not too much, leaving a wider gap between herself and Valentine. “So, what do you think of the place so far?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Olympia.

  “Stunning,” added Valentine. “I love the tables, and the upholstery.”

  “Thank you. I spent a lot of time trying to find a good company that offers conscientious leather — this is all imported from Ireland, in fact.” He ran a hand over the smooth leather above Olympia’s shoulder, an appreciative look on his face.

  “You’ll love the food even more,” he continued, turning his attention back to his companions. “I’ve sent for a six-course Chef’s special sampler. It’s smaller, tapas versions of all the dishes that we’re going to be offering on our menu for the first three months. I’ve tried to keep a very seasonal menu, so since it’s later summer we’re going to be focusing on slightly lighter fare, salads with fresh berries and fish.”

  “That sounds delightful. Where do you purchase all the ingredients?” Olympia was intensely aware that Everett had shifted slightly so that his thigh was pressing against hers.

  “We try to get them from as close as possible. Of course, Nevada isn’t exactly known for its lush agriculture, so some of it has to be imported from nearby states. All our exotic meats, like alligator and ostrich, are from the south. Wild Atlantic salmon from the East Coast and Ahi tuna from Hawaii. The main course, this evening, features a honey and garlic marinade with all the ingredients directly from Nevada.”

  “Wonderful.”

  A waiter arrived with the first course, then, a beautifully delicate salad with green leaves and jewel-toned strawberries and raspberries. Olympia took a dainty bite as Everett watched.

  “Aren’t the berries superb?” He asked. His voice seemed almost imperceptibly lowered, as if he was enthralled by the sight of Olympia enjoying the food.

  She nodded vigorously. “It’s amazing,” she said.

  He smiled. Out of the corner of her eye, Olympia noticed Valentine pushing the salad into a mound on the tiny black plate before stabbing it aggressively with his fork.

  As the meal progressed, Olympia was aware of Everett moving closer, pressing against her more urgently, in fractions that could barely be noticed. For her part, she was feeling a buzz of excitement — whether from the wine (which was flowing copiously), or from Everett’s presence she couldn’t tell.

  “You know, working with the head chef to figure out this menu was one of the most enjoyable work experiences of my life,” Everett was saying, pressing the neck of his wine glass between thumb and forefinger as he gestured wildly with his other hand. “We went to all sorts of farms and orchards, and god, the food I got to taste,” he looked pointedly at Olympia. “Let me tell you, Olympia… it was incredible. And the menu we’re sampling… it’s the best of the best.”

  Olympia popped another bite into mouth as if to demonstrate her agreement. They were on the fourth course, a sampling of freshly seared tuna with a sweet soy reduction and fresh microgreens. Olympia was a fan of seafood, but this was something else. She knew she’d be thoroughly ruined for any mid-range versions of these foods, after this meal. The thought was almost melancholy.

  Or, it would have been, if it weren’t for the persistent, bubbly giddiness that was invading her thoughts as she watched Everett talk about his work. He was, perhaps, slightly drunk, but something about it was charming rather than off-putting. She was close enough to smell his cologne, which was delightfully subtle. The man knew how to dress.

  The alcohol must have been getting to her, too, because Olympia chose that moment to slyly place her hand on Everett’s leg, just for a moment. Everett grinned at her, and to Olympia’s chagrin, Valentine obviously noticed, and was obviously agitated.

  “So, how long have you been a singer, Olympia?” Everett continued, oblivious, whether willfully or otherwise, to Valentine’s ire.

  Olympia smiled coyly and said, “I started professionally when I was sixteen — but you could say I’ve been a singer all my life.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. You know, a voice like that… like yours, is something that you’re born with. You can’t train that.”

  Olympia felt herself blush as Everett brushed her arm gently. As if to offer concessions, Everett turned to Valentine. “What about you, Valentine? Have you been singing since you were young, as well?”

  Valentine gave Everett a disparaging look, and said, “I suppose. I didn’t start until I was eighteen. Olympia got the jump start on me.”

  Everett chuckled. “Well, I’m sure you’ve had a profound influence on her, as well, what with your relationship, and being in the same job.”

  Olympia watched as Valentine’s knuckles tightened. He took a swig from his wine glass, finishing it. A waiter descended on their table in a moment to refill it.

  “Are you… are you okay, Valentine?” asked Olympia. She wasn’t sure why she was asking, whether out of some genuine but misplaced concern, or whether she was just trying to impress Everett by being so caring.

  Valentine looked at her and scowled. “Actually, uh, Everett… I have an appointment. With, um… a local contact. I’ve got to go.”

  Everett looked surprised. “You won’t be staying for dessert?”

  “I… wish I could, but this is urgent.”

  “Very well. I’ll let the kitchen know.”

  Valentine glowered, standing up. “Olympia, I’ll see you later.”