The Billionaire Bastard: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Hart, Romi

  “Wow…” he says scratching the back of his head, probably a nervous tick.

  “Yeah WOW. Morality and being a good person is really deep shit. Maybe you should write a book about that.”

  He laughs again. “You really have the acid tongue these days.”

  “Meh, what can I say. I guess I picked up a lot of nasty habits from Mickey.”

  “I’ll say. So does this mean my proposal is rejected?”

  “Did you just propose as a publicity stunt?”

  “No, silly. I’ve been in love with you for years. But I resisted. And apparently I don’t get any credit for that.”

  “Because you DID NOT resist. I resisted. I RESISTED, Simeon.” I stare him down, for once, making strong eye contact and not looking away. “Yeah I could have taken you to bed and I probably wouldn’t have felt the least bit bad about it, all things considered. But I would never do that to another woman.”

  “And you would have enjoyed it too, taking me to bed.”

  I snort and snicker at him. “You just don’t have the moral fortitude that I thought you had. You are moral by “default” Mister Hollock.”

  “Disagree. Morality is more complicated than that. But then again I’m a writer and you’re a CFO. We’re paid to do different things, aren’t we?”

  “What does that mean, Mister Genius?”

  “That means I explore complex subjects pertaining to morality, ethics and choices in life. You fire people for losing money. That’s the difference.”

  “I reject your proposal on the basis that you’re not who you say you are. Maybe everything about you is an act. How would I know?”

  “So you’re rejecting my proposal? You mean you’re reneging on the vow you agreed to?”

  “It’s not a vow, it was a proposal. And you’ve shared new information that has made me reconsider my decision.”

  “So I fail the ethics test?”

  “I didn’t learn much from my decade with that maniac, Simeon. But there’s one thing I did learn and I’ll take it with me wherever I go. I will only marry a man who has stronger morals than I do. I will never try to save anyone, change anyone or help someone become better…ever again. That’s not me anymore. That’s a one way trip to Hell right there.”

  I shrug, meeting his eyes but barely looking into his pupils. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Simeon says, pouting and frowning, definitely feeling bitter. “I’m glad you were honest. Maybe deep down…I always suspected that this thing between us…wasn’t real. You were just being nice. You know how to make a man feel like a king. You tell him what he wants to hear, butter him up, break his heart. That’s what Mickey always told me.”

  “Yeah mail that to four years ago when I was with him and was a little mouse, Simeon. In case you haven’t noticed, I kick ass nowadays. And to quote my great ex-husband who was so clever with the insults, “Fuck you and the hippo you wrote in on.”

  “Well-”

  “That same hippo you so sweetly call mom.”

  “I-?”

  “The same mom I banged last night, junior.”

  He cracks up laughing and so do I.

  “Okay…that was funny,” he said. “I’m a little pissed but dammit Mickey always could make me laugh.”

  “Me too. The funniest people, the most brilliant people you’ll ever meet…they’re not always easy to live with.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Well for what it’s worth, I really cherished our date together. Maybe it should have been a date. Not a marriage proposal.”

  “Yeah I guess so. I mean, just out of curiosity, Simeon…what do you think makes you different from all the other guys who want to take me to bed?”

  He looks at me blankly and then smiles deviously. Hiding his real heart, returning back to the insincere TV camera charm that I recognize.

  His swagger, his cold bratty attitude, sends chills down my spine.

  “Well I’m rich, obviously. I’m important. And I fuck like a god.”

  I don’t even bother looking at him anymore. I walk one direction, towards home, and he walks back to the city for a cab. Oh well…every love story seems like a good idea in the beginning. Time ruins everything.

  Chapter 4

  Simeon

  I have been excommunicated by the woman I love. The woman I fell for, years ago, and loved for years—all because I lusted her. I lusted her more than I loved her. I desired her body and so I betrayed her heart.

  Dear God who can figure out the logic of a woman? She spends so much time looking beautiful, being attractive and creating this façade of desirable femininity and then she resents me for noticing all of these peripheral qualities.

  She resents me for sexualizing her even though SHE started it and sexualized me! I mean she didn’t hold a hand to my dick but she did butter me up, grab my attention and make me fall for her. I got news for you, Sally, that’s what WORKS on men. You don’t grab their crotch, you grab them by the brains. You tickle their ego, caress their dreams and ambitions. That’s how you SEDUCE a man, my beautiful cunning femme fatale.

  Years ago, that is, she seduced me with cunning. Certainly not today. Earlier today she was brutally honest and even a bit sour. She resented the fact that I fell for her, indicating that I should have resisted her because of my great moral strength, whatever that means. The fact that I loved / lusted her enough to question my morals and values and everything I knew in life was apparently not enough for her.

  She needs to know that I don’t love her enough, that I don’t want to be her chivalrous knight. She wants to be rejected apparently. Bah! I don’t like the insinuation—no, the characterization that she gave me. The motivations are wrong. Her entire construct of my identity is wrong.

  To suggest that I was a womanizer, that I would just score with anyone at anytime, it’s all wildly inaccurate. The whole point of the issue was that it was HER I was attracted to. I didn’t trust myself around HER. I desired her, l loved or lusted, whatever you call it, HER.

  I know, the proverbial argument is that if I don’t know the difference between love and lust, then maybe I haven’t “learned” anything at all. I’m not a fool. I’m a writer. I know what love is. I know what lust is.

  One might even say that a writer is forced to take a scientific viewpoint of love. I know what oxytocin is. I know the chemical processes that people undergo that makes them feel love and lust.

  It’s true, lust is temporary. Love lasts longer. But in practically every relationship, lust STARTS the relationship. A man pursues a woman because of her attractiveness—her face, her body, her sense of humor, her personality—and then over time, as she resists him, he starts to fall in love with her.

  When I met Denise, I actually fell in love with her first. I felt admiration for her character, I fell in love with the PROTAGONIST that I saw in her. She was a heroine, a compassionate lover who tried her damndest to save her husband, to save the marriage. Then I fell in lust with her, AFTER she seduced me in mind. After she convinced me that I was valuable, that I was interesting. That’s definitely the fastest way to an unpublished writer’s heart.

  Hell, until a writer makes his first million, he’s practically incapable of giving any kind of consent! Starving artist, starving ego.

  But whatever, I’ll let Denise ride her high horse all the way to heaven. The truth is I can’t dislike her. Even when she’s snapping at me or fussing with me or blatantly insulting me, I can only chortle. She’s adorable, especially when she’s offended or slightly angry.

  In fact, sometimes I think she’s so splendid a real life character, I ought to turn her into a protagonist for my next book. I do need a new heroine. Denise would be fascinating, a great mainstream character. And I’m sure Denise wouldn’t mind if I used her character, so as long as I treated her with dignity of course, which I plan to do. The story needs a heart and no question, she has heart.

  (Text Chats)

  (Simeon)

  “Hello De
nise. As we discussed, I sent you a free advance copy of my book. Would love to get your thought on it.

  P.S. I’m really glad we could put that silly marriage proposal bit behind us! I like being friends again.”

  * * *

  (Denise)

  “Simeon Hollock! How nice to hear from you. I did get around to reading your newest masterpiece. As you may know by now, I always rush to read your newest book and usually get up extra early just to get in line to pick up the first edition, newest release.

  So imagine my disappointment that night, after finishing your book, when I realized that the Gena character was obviously based on ME.

  And my God did you make her a bitch! Why? What did I do to you to deserve such libel and malice? I thought we understood each other. Even though you bragged about your womanizing ways I let it go because I figured we’re just two different people.

  But my God, Simeon! After such vindictive treatment, after seeing your true hateful colors, I really am shocked that I was EVER your friend! I can’t believe you wrote Gena to be so evil and then killed her off in such a cruel and punishing way.

  All because what? Because I called you on your bullshit?

  Do not contact me ever again. You are now my least favorite author, even lower on the bottomfeeder scale than EL James.”

  I don’t know why I’m so naturally combative. A friend of mine, well, more like an acquaintance, told me that I tend to antagonize people. Which seems strange to me, because I never intentionally try to piss people off and I’m certainly not thinking that as my motivation when I start arguments.

  But I guess it would be dishonest to say that it never happens. In fact, I do tend to start fights and arguments…especially with women…especially as they get, well, closer to who I really am. I’m not sure why that is.

  Damn, I feel a bit guilty over the way things went down with Denise. I want to make it up to her, but am not exactly sure how to apologize for this strange mistake. Doesn’t a writer simply dramatize how he feels through other characters?

  Is writing my feelings about Denise, occasionally critical but mostly loving, a “micro-aggression” I’m not aware of? I don’t know. All I really know is, I should talk to her again.

  Well the good news is Denise isn’t really “angry” as much as she’s just miffed. After repeated requests to meet me, she finally agreed to give me a few minutes inside the Five Fronts Library—in all places, a treasury of books! How ironic.

  “Denise! So glad you came!” I say sincerely to Denise who’s giving me death-to-you stares.

  “I’m only giving you five minutes.”

  “I asked for ten.”

  “Five!”

  “Come on, I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

  “Fine ten, just start talking,” she muttered.

  “And we can’t be too loud. Librarians don’t fuck around you know, if you’re disturbing the peace they will give you the business.”

  “Is this really what you want to talk about, Simeon? Librarians?”

  “All right, the reason I called you here was to tell you that you totally misinterpreted the Gena character.”

  “No, I didn’t! You wrote her to be this ghastly, terrible person! And then you killed her!”

  “She did die, but do you understand why she had to die? Do you understand how she redeemed herself?”

  “Come on, Simeon. She was obviously based on me.”

  “Perhaps. But you still misinterpreted the text if you think your depiction was unfair.”

  “How was it fair?” she screams. “You made her vain and materialistic. All she cares about was money. That’s exactly what my husband used to say to me.”

  “No, no, honey, that’s not what it was. That’s what everyone around her thought! That was the point. But that wasn’t who she really was. I thought I made that clear.”

  “Well you didn’t! You hurt me. Again.”

  “Again? Why again?”

  She stares and lowers her brow.

  “What? You mean that whole argument we had? About you thinking I was a player?”

  “Well you are. And yes, that really did hurt, Simeon.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I loved you!” she says, gritting her teeth. “You asked me to marry you and I said yes. Because it really hurt to know that the man I was falling for, that I had been thinking about in the back of my mind, was not the man I was so sure that he was.”

  “You mean a loyal man and a decent guy, guided by morals.”

  “Yes,” she mewled. “Is it so foolish of me to think a guy like that really exists? Am I a relic of an old era?”

  “No, kid,” I say, giving her a cutesy nickname and welcoming her into my arms. “You’re just an idealist. People grow up believing in something.”

  “And then life just beats all that lovey dovey stuff out of them, right?”

  I laugh as I hug her tightly. This time she doesn’t let go so easily, like we used to hug. This time she holds me in place. This time she rubs her hands on my back, letting me feel safe in her arms. “Well call me crazy but I still want to believe.”

  “You’re not crazy. And no, Gena the character is not evil. She’s a wonderful fictional person, just like the woman she’s loosely based on.”

  “I hope you really feel that way.”

  “Hey, look at me,” I say holding onto her shoulders. “I’ve never lied to you. I never will lie to you. And the only way I’ll ever hurt you is if I tell you too much of the truth. You got that?”

  “Okay,” she says, her face smiling brightly, as natural and beautiful as a sunset.

  Eventually Denise came around and understood the complexity of the Gena character. Both feelings of love and hate go into creating fiction, although I’ve never actually hated Denise. Maybe Mickey did, that would explain why he emotionally abused her. But I used his hate, his warped view of the woman I loved, to explain the real beauty of her soul. We departed as friends. We survived my silly romantic gesture and instead kept alive what was truly real. Respect for each other, no pressure to be moral or perfectly exemplary—just the way I preferred it.

  As for love? Did it still exist? Who knows. As a gesture of good will I actually approached Denise with the idea to have Jolt DDD work with my company for an entertainment / advertising venture. Although Jolt did do a lot of dating stuff, they also produced comedy sketches and animation shorts—something that would fit in with my novel characters, which were very popular with young adults.

  Although I thought it was a gesture of kindness since I really didn’t need Jolt all that much, Denise took it as some sort of favor that I was asking. That didn’t sit well with me, especially when she told me she tried really hard to “sell” the partnership.

  Why? I don’t need this partnership, I told her. But she always managed to make me feel guilty. Maybe she was still sore about me killing off Gena, who knows.

  I will say this. Working with Jolt and developing material did accomplish two things: it got Denise and I back into each other’s lives—for better or worse—and also helped me realize that maybe marrying her wouldn’t be that great of an idea.

  I mean, as much as I love Denise, she really does have a judgmental side sometimes.

  “I just think we shouldn’t be marketing all this sex and violence to teenagers,” Denise tells me.

  “First of all, my books are not for teenagers. Secondly, why the hell wouldn’t you show more sex and violence? It works for Game of Thrones.”

  “I’m just thinking about the financial aspects here, Simeon. We’re doing you a favor and we don’t want to waste money.”

  “You’re not doing me a favor!” I say, laughing in disbelief. “I approached you because I wanted to help YOU, kiddo. Because I like you. I wanted you to make CEO, I don’t need Jolt, I don’t give a damn about any of it.”

  “I don’t need your help!” she says defensively. “I busted my ass for years at Jolt, I sure don’t need a vanity project attached to my na
me.”

  “It seems what we have here is a failure to communicate! Cool Hand Luke, good flick.”

  “I’m sure it is, but way before my time!”

  She smiles. A little bit too professional. I know exactly what’s happening. I’m still getting the Denise from the office, the Denise who was all work and no play. The ice queen, the work bitch, the woman who never dated—according to her own words. But it sure as hell is insulting to me, coming from her, considering how close we came to actually trusting each other!

  “Just say what’s really bothering you,” I say, exasperated with all this passive aggressive bullshit.

  “I did. I don’t like the marketing campaign.”

  “Fuck the campaign I don’t need it. I said tell me what’s wrong with US. You said you would marry me, dammit.”

  “Because-”

  “Because you thought I was a better man, or whatever.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she says sadly. “I’m sure you are a good man. We just have different definitions of what love is.”

  “Well yeah I do,” I say quite annoyed at the whole spiel. “Let’s talk about the past, that seems to be your favorite subject.” I watch as she folds her arms and listens, so defensively, as she’s always been. “I think there’s an elephant in the room that needs mention.”

  “What?”

  “You devoted a decade of your life to that loser, that piece of shit, Mickey Downton. You took his last name!”

  “Right?”

  “So all I see is that you, Gena, you Denise, moved mountains to love Mickey. You put up with a lifetime of shit and emotional baggage just to please him…” I shook my head and calmed my voice. “But you never even gave me a chance. Did you? I was the untrustworthy one. The man who resisted you for purely selfish reasons. The big disappointment in your life. I waited for you, kid. I waited until you were free and that’s when I make my move. And you repay me by treating me the same that Mickey treated you. Like nothing, like a pain in the ass. That’s what really hurt.”