by Sierra Rose
“I can’t dance,” I murmured. A thin sheen of sweat was glistening on my forehead.
“You’re doing fantastic.”
“Am I?”
“Hey.” Something about his voice commanded my attention, and I looked up into his eyes. For the first time all night, they were serious, thoughtful. They held mine with a sincerity I couldn’t ignore. “I’m not going to drop you. We’re just dancing. You’re not going to fall.”
I searched his eyes for any sort of joke or deception but found none. In the end, I nodded quickly, taking a deep breath and gripping his hand and shoulder with more purpose.
“That’s it,” he smiled, “I’ve got you.”
We started spinning with more and more speed, and in seconds, the rest of the crowd had faded to a blur. He and I were the only solid things left in the room. I gasped and pulled myself closer, but he kept on staring at me with those sparkling eyes.
“Now hold on.”
I stifled a shriek as he swept us through the room as if we were the only ones dancing, lifting me, so the tips of my heels barely touched the ground. I smiled as he shot me a thousand-watt smile. Nobody had a more beautiful smile than this guy. I could feel the light fluttering of butterflies in my stomach as we twirled again and again, tracing graceful lines under the twinkling chandeliers. After I got over the initial shock that this was really happening and that I was actually keeping up, my face lit up with a breathless smile. A delighted giggle escaped my lips, and he beamed back at me, tossing me lightly into the air before catching me in a low dip as the ends of my hair swept the ground. I was having an amazing time.
There was a frozen moment where I gazed up at him, only vaguely aware that we were the only ones not dancing in a room full of spinning dolls. Then, a throat cleared sharply right over my shoulder and the moment passed.
He pulled me quickly to my feet, and I turned around to find myself face to wrinkled face with an Asian businessman. He was flanked on both sides by younger versions of himself, and from the hard set of his mouth, he liked dancing just as much as I did.
“Mr. Takahari,” Marcus exclaimed, taking a respectful step back. There was a caution and deference to the way he regarded the man. And there was something else too. He looked almost…nervous. It was an expression that seemed ill suited to his handsome, confident face. He was the kind of man who didn’t get nervous. Even when that ex-wrestler maintenance man outside the coffee shop had been about to kick his ass, he looked firmly in control.
His eyes flickered to me with a silent plea, and I raised a teasing eyebrow. But I wound my fingers through his hand and politely held my tongue. He had saved me from becoming roadkill out on the dance floor; I would do this for him.
“Mr. Taylor,” the gentleman responded. The only person not to call him Marcus. “Pardon my intrusion. I was about to take my leave, yet I could not help but notice your delightful companion. Usually, you surround yourself with two or three.”
Two or three?
I glanced at Marcus curiously, but he blushed and placed his hand on the small of my back. “It’s no intrusion. This is Rebecca, my girlfriend.”
Although I’d heard the words whispered from every corner of the crowded dance hall, there was something different about the way he said them now. It was a supplication. And whether it be from the flush of dancing, or the relief that I wasn’t being charged with identity fraud, I didn’t hesitate when I stepped up to the task.
And for just a minute in time, I felt like a princess. I was dressed up for the ball and the handsome prince had called me his girlfriend. I wished this night could last forever. Because this kind of stuff never happened to me.
“Pleased to meet you. It’s Becca, actually.” I offered my hand, and the old gentlemen took it mechanically. “Now is when I would typically try to charm you by reciting something quaint in Japanese, but alas, I’m ill-equipped.”
There was a split-second pause, and then the old man’s face cracked into a thousand different lines as he laughed a strange, guttural cackle. I leaned back imperceptibly to avoid the spray of spit that followed, but I was pleased with my efforts. Despite his crusty exterior, I liked the old man. He reminded me of a few of my patients. I glanced sideways at Marcus for approval, but Marcus was staring at the man like he’d never seen him laugh before. Like he didn’t know he could laugh.
“Don’t speak any Japanese, do you?” he croaked when he was through.
“I learned a poem once,” I admitted. “Something about red dragonflies and a bunch of other beautiful imagery—but to be honest, I only did it to impress a guy in college.”
The uproarious laughter continued, and Marcus stared on in shock. Even Takahari’s aides seemed completely at a loss as to what to do.
When the old man finally quieted, he took my hand in his own and led me off to the side of the floor, a bewildered Marcus trailing behind. “I am hosting a charity golf tournament in a few days’ time. I hope I will see you there, Becca.”
Not a chance in hell.
“I’ll check my schedule.” I squeezed his arm gently and smiled. “Now stop hogging me, old man, I have a billionaire to land.”
Another spray of spittle, but I was already back in the crowd, weaving my way outside to the door. There was a small commotion behind me, and I thought that I should probably say goodbye to Amanda, or even Marcus—at this point, but every instinct I had was telling me to leave before things got any worse. Both literally and figuratively speaking, I’d been dancing on the edge of a knife all night. It was time to go home.
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
Marcus’ voice behind me made me stop. I turned around to see him standing with two champagne glasses, one in each hand.
Yeah, well, I can’t believe I’ve done a lot of things tonight, I thought.
“I shouldn’t have said the billionaire line,” I said. “But I was just kidding. And he was laughing.” I ran my fingers up my scalp, only to have them buckle against the stiff helmet that used to be my hair. “It was great meeting you. Thanks for playing along. But you’re off the hook now. I’m going to find my friend and we’re going to get going. We had a lovely time at your wonderful party. Thank you for everything.”
He gave me a small smile. “I know you want to leave—but one more drink?” He held up the flutes hopefully and cocked his head up toward a balcony. “To celebrate our success?”
I wanted to go. And maybe I should have. But there’s something fundamentally impossible about leaving a gorgeous man holding a glass of champagne to return to a hovel in East Hollywood. After a moment’s pause, I cracked.
“Such as it is.”
I followed him silently past the velvet dividers up to the forbidden second story, casting wide-eyed glances up and down the halls.
“Is that a Degas?” I asked, curiously referencing the one painter I happened to know. It was hung side by side with a finger painting of a splotchy butterfly.
Marcus glanced back at the wall. “No, that was me when I was seven. The Degas is the one hanging beside it.”
Smartass.
With a rueful grin, I followed him out a set of glass-paneled doors to a tiny balcony nestled against the side of the house. We leaned against the curved stone and clinked glasses under the stars, toasting our great deception as the befuddled masses scurried below.
After a few moments of peaceful silence, punctuated by occasional sips of champagne, he spoke in a low murmur. “Do you know why I hate coming to these parties?”
“I thought you would love mingling with the über wealthy socialites of the world,” I said.
Or he had a Gatsby complex. I’d ask about that at a later time.
He shot me a look, but his face softened into a smile as he fixed his eyes on the people below. “Because they’re dull and boring.” The smile lingered, relaxing the lines of his face into something I could only describe as stroke-able. “Not tonight.”
For whatever reason, I warmed to hear it.
It was like those two words, not tonight, carried us through—exempting us from all blame and putting a perfectly fitted cap on a crazy evening.
I leaned down against the stone beside him, bringing my arms even with his as I peered over the edge. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He cocked an eyebrow and tilted my way, offering me a hand. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I accepted. “Yeah, the agency told me who was hosting the party.”
“Ah, you’re with the agency. Model or actress?”
I smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He laughed. “Actress.”
“Yes. I’m Rebecca.”
He shot me that movie star smile. “Rebecca is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
He gave me a quirky half-smile. “So my girlfriend’s name is Rebecca.”
I shook my head, still grinning. “All three of them? That’s quite a coincidence indeed.”
“You can’t listen to Mr. Takahari or the rumors floating around. I’m not always surrounded by two or three women.”
I took a sip of my champagne. “I’ll try to remember that.”
For a moment, a shadow passed over his face. When he looked at me again, it was sharper, appraising—but still with a hint of a grin. “Mr. Takahari was certainly taken with you.”
“He seems like a sweet old man.”
“He’s never been called that before. Not ever. And he’s never been taken with anyone.”
I shrugged, shivering slightly in my thin dress. “I’m glad he liked me. Who is he?”
“He’s a very important client of mine.”
He shrugged off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders in a single, fluid motion. An intoxicating smell rushed up around me, and I pulled the jacket a little tighter as I sipped my champagne. Who in the world would ever believe this story, were I to tell them? Perched with a billionaire at the top of the world. Surreal didn’t begin to cover it.
“Rebecca?”
I turned to see him studying me closely. He bit his lip, as if he was debating something. A second later, he eased the champagne flute from my hand and set it on the balcony. I stared with frozen curiosity as he slid his hands up my wrists and leaned in to whisper in my ear…
“I have a proposition for you.”
Chapter 7
“You’re propositioning me like a hooker?” I shouted. I was livid and kicked him in the balls. “I might not be rich or belong here, but that’s no reason to treat me like a prostitute!”
“That’s not what I meant!” he gasped.
I ran, Marcus hot on my trail—wincing occasionally and doubling over in pain. I felt like Cinderella running home from the ball. It was time to change back into my rags.
“Rebecca, please—you didn’t even give me the chance to say anything! Hear me out!”
“Get away from me!” I sped up, bypassing a pair of entangled Jamaican love birds and yanking open the door to the first limo I could find.
“Rebecca—”
The driver jumped and twisted around, eyeing me like maybe I was drunk. “Hey, lady, this isn’t your car.”
“Look,” I panted, “I guarantee your keepers are still in there getting shitfaced. Can you do me a solid favor and drop me off at the Taco Bell at the base of the hill?”
His eyes went from me—shivering in my dress, to Marcus—gasping in his disheveled tuxedo as he ran up behind me. His chin jutted up as the muscles in his chest swelled.
“Yeah, girl, I got you.”
“You’re a gem.”
I jumped inside and slammed the door shut just as Marcus reached me. He put his hands on the windows and leaned onto the car as his hair spilled messily into his face.
“Rebecca, that’s not what I meant at all. Just give me a chance to explain.”
I rolled down the window a fraction of an inch. “I don’t give a damn what you meant, and I don’t give a damn what you’re used to getting from people. I’m not that kind of girl.”
He hit the side of the car in frustration. “Would you just listen to—”
“You best step away from the car, son.” My driver rose slowly from his seat and stepped out of the limo, biceps bursting out the arms of his suit as he eyed Marcus dangerously. “The lady asked you to leave. We wouldn’t want somebody to get real fucked up, now would we?”
Still panting from our sprint, Marcus threw up his hands and took an exaggerated step away. It looked like his retreat was mostly rooted in exasperation, but the fact that my driver was coming up on seven feet couldn’t have hurt either.
“S’what I thought.” The driver smirked and slid back into the car, gunning the engine as I rolled down my window triumphantly and gestured at Marcus’ pants.
“You should really ice that, by the way.”
We roared away from the curb in a cloud of dust, high on success. But by the time we rounded the wide lawn and proceeded down the hill, the high was already wearing off, and we stared at each other curiously through the open partition.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking…where’s your actual ride?” he asked.
I looped the straps of my heels around my wrist and tugged off my earrings as the night officially came to a close. “I left it for my roommate. And she has the keys in her purse. I can’t leave her here stranded with no way home. And I don’t want to come back later to pick her up. Because I don’t want to run into Marcus Taylor. Believe it or not, I was sent by a talent agency with my friend to ‘make a good impression.’ Whatever that means.”
He glanced back at Marcus’ vanishing form in the rear view mirror. “Well, he’s the host, isn’t he? You’ve definitely left a lasting impression.”
I snorted at his pragmatism. “Yeah, probably.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence until he pulled into a corner of the fast food parking lot to let me out. “You gonna be okay here?” He glanced up the quiet street.
“Yeah, I’ll call a cab.”
He nodded. “Wait inside, okay?”
“Will do.” I smiled gratefully, then handed him all the money in my purse. “Thanks again. Seriously, thank you.”
He turned up a hand at the cash and slid back inside the car. “Naw, girl, you’re good. Just stay away from all them unsavory characters. You feel me?” He drove off with a wink and left me standing in the parking lot feeling rather deflated.
“Yeah, I feel you.”
With a tired sigh, I hung my head and trudged into Taco Bell to call a taxi.
Thirty minutes and four tacos later, I was back in my dingy apartment cuddled up next to Deevus and waiting for Amanda to get home. I didn’t have to wait very long. My departure must have caused a little bit of a commotion, and when she couldn’t find me at the party, she came straight back.
“Rebecca?” she called as soon as she yanked open the door.
She must have been truly worried. Rebecca only made an appearance when she was really angry, really concerned, or really drunk.
“I’m in here,” I called quickly, watching as Deevus bolted for the door.
Amanda appeared a second later, disheveled and flushed. “What the hell happened?”
I prepared for the grand wind-up to launch into my story—the one I’d been rehearsing since the second taco. But before I knew what was happening, my eyes welled up in sudden tears. “I had the most amazing…and most terrible time.”
Just like that, I collapsed in a fit of child-weeping. Amanda’s jaw fell open as she watched, then rushed to comfort me on the floor.
“We’re…we’re crying about this?” she asked incredulously. My hand flailed toward a bottle on the table, and she ducked in time to save herself a black eye. “Oh—yep—we’re going for the tequila. Okay.” She tried to smooth down my hair but found herself as stymied by the pounds of hairspray as I had. In the end, she just patted my back sympathetically. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“That guy, M-Marcus,” I was blubber
ing, barely able to get the words out, “he took me to the middle of the floor, and uh, we started d-dancing!”
“Oh,” she soothed, steadying the bottle before it could slop down my dress. “I know you hate dancing.”
“I loved it!” I cried viciously.
Her eyes dilated slightly in the dim light as she tried to follow along. “I…okay. Well, honey, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“He’s the rich guy from the coffee shop.”
“The one you’ve been talking about? The one with the most beautiful eyes in the entire world?”
“Yeah. It was him.”
“That was Marcus Taylor!”
“The one and only. Trust me. Nobody was more shocked than me.”
“And you danced with him? What’s it like dancing with a billionaire?”
“I didn’t think of him as that way. I mean, dollar signs weren’t flashing over his head or anything. His money was the last thing on my mind. You know I’m not like that.”
“I would’ve loved to dance with that guy! I never even got a chance to meet him because I had to find you!”
“I’m so sorry about that. Marcus is a great dancer. Me, not so much.”
I went on to tell her about those rich snobs, and how I said I was Marcus’s girlfriend, and how it all played out. She listened patiently and didn’t judge me.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” she said.
“Sure. Anything.”
“What’s it like to be a billionaire’s girlfriend? I know it was pretend. But just for that one glorious moment, what was it like to be on his arm?”
“I was so shocked he was going along with it that I’m not sure. But it felt wonderful. It didn’t last too long. But I enjoyed being on his arm. This beautiful music was playing, and it felt like I was living in a real-life fairy tale. I mean, I felt like Cinderella at the ball. He was my handsome prince who swept me off my feet. But instead of the clock striking twelve, he propositioned me, and I kicked him in the nuts and ran. What a twisted fairy tale, huh? I bet Fate is looking down and having a good laugh.”