Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel

by Hawthorne, Aria

  Miles Braxton-Worth had been gazing out at the immense skyline and considering his life and all the responsibilities he needed to address with every one of his buildings. His eyes were surveying all his properties along the Northshore that he could see—one, two, three, four… he had started to count them before losing interest, as if none of it mattered because finally she had arrived. And he absolutely loved that about her.

  No one in the business world wore earmuffs, he pondered, and tried hard to not smile as she approached him. Her brown eyes caught his gaze immediately, and refused to drop it until he acknowledged her. He rose from his seat and circled around to meet her.

  Earmuffs, Miles thought again, hiding another smile. Curious and endearing, like her.

  “Allow me,” he said, offering to remove her coat. Maribel consented with ease. As he guided her into the leather high-back chair across from him, he caught the faint scent of her perfume and noticed her shell pink sweater that scooped along her graceful shoulders. And there, twinkling down along her attractive neckline, was the ruby necklace.

  “Javier,” Miles said, passing off her coat to the waiter, “wine for Miss Martinez, and then the starters…please.” He added at the end, like punctuation.

  “Very good, sir.” Javier jetted away to fulfill the request.

  Maribel flushed, suddenly realizing she was still wearing her earmuffs. She used the distraction to pull off her earmuffs and stuff them into her purse.

  She didn’t notice the way Miles shifted his eyes back onto her. The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and highlighted her long black hair, full lips and olive complexion. She was so naturally gorgeous. He took up his wine glass and released a warm smile, waiting for her to settle into the environment before attempting to make conversation.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come,” he finally said.

  “I wasn’t sure either,” she suddenly confessed with a small laugh—it was laughter of relief—an exhaling sigh, signaling the release of hours and hours of anxiety and anticipation. And it made them both grin a little wider than either of them expected.

  “You look lovely,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  They both fell into pensive silence; his patient gaze told her that he didn’t want her to feel pressure to say or be anything she wasn’t.

  “You know, I have to confess something,” she betrayed. “I’m very nervous.”

  “Don’t be… it’s just brunch.” Miles noted the change in Maribel’s face.

  Just lunch. Was it just lunch? Maribel wondered, suddenly feeling silly. She didn’t know.

  “So far…” he quipped.

  She smiled, feeling the edge melt away. “Yes, lunch and several pieces of very expensive jewelry.”

  He peered at her, amused, and sipped from his wine glass.

  “Do you like the earrings?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I had them open the store for me late last night. After my purchase at the department store. ”

  “They opened it—late last night? Just for you?”

  “Yes,” he acknowledged, realizing he had said too much. Miles smoothed down the table cloth with his palm, and attempted to return to the casual nature of their connection. “I know the owner well. I’m a regular customer.”

  Miles watched Maribel suddenly frown, realizing he had done more harm than good. She appreciated honesty, not pretense, he thought. “I wanted something to match the necklace. I told him it was for a special woman on a special occasion. You don’t get any more special than Valentine’s Day. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Miles had caught her attention; he sensed she was dropping her guard.

  Maribel stared at him. Was she a special woman to him? She didn’t understand why she should be, but he said it with such genuine sincerity that it was hard not to want to believe him.

  “I guess I should thank you for getting me out of the house today. I was planning to just hang out in bed all morning in my pajamas...”

  “And ladybug slippers.” Miles couldn’t help it. He had to zing that one at her for fun.

  Maribel paused, her train of thought interrupted. “Oh, no…please tell me you didn’t see those.”

  “I didn’t see those,” he repeated, his glinting blue eyes hinting otherwise.

  Maribel covered her mouth and laughed. “Oh, no… that’s horrible. I thought I had gotten away with it. But my feet hurt so badly; I was standing in heels the whole day before and…”

  “I know, I saw you then, too.”

  Maribel fell silent, realizing he had noticed her earlier than yesterday.

  They both paused. That time, Miles had betrayed too much. He had noticed her wearing fishnet stocking and high heels while working in the lingerie department the day before, and he had thought about her all day and night—more than he intended to admit.

  “And this restaurant? Did you have them open it this morning, too—just for us?”

  “Yes,” he said curtly, as if he was confirming the weather and the temperature. “I simply had to coordinate with the wait staff and the chef.”

  “That sounds like a lot of effort,” her mind swam with uncertainty. Why was she truly there? Maribel still wasn’t certain.

  “No effort at all,” Miles countered. “I own this restaurant. And the building.”

  The restaurant… and the building. Maribel sank in her seat. Suddenly, she felt way out of her league.

  “Here you are, Miss Martinez.” Javier placed a glass of red wine on the table.

  “Thank you so much,” she glanced up at Javier, and wondered if he would have preferred to have the morning off rather than serve her. Over the years, Maribel had worked many irregular hours—often because it paid time-and-a-half, not because she really ever wanted to.

  “How’s the wine?” Miles suddenly asked.

  “I’m not sure…” she peered into her wine glass. She waited until Javier refilled their water glasses and left before confronting Miles’ assertive eyes.

  “You don’t drink wine, do you.” The way she held her wine glass like it was orange juice charmed him.

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “Yes,” Miles laughed, delighted by her honesty. Maribel shrugged—there was no reason to pretend she was something or someone she was not.

  “At least try it,” he encouraged her. “It’s a vintage Pinot Noir that costs more than your ruby necklace.”

  Stunned, Maribel looked down into her wine glass. “I have to tell you that I am very flattered by all your gifts, but I can’t accept them. I mean, they’re lovely—no, gorgeous—but they’re too much, obviously… and…”

  “And…?” He looked at her, waiting for her to find the courage to say what they both knew.

  “And… you don’t even know me.”

  Amused, he sat back in his chair and settled his hands on his lap. “You still haven’t tried the wine.”

  Maribel lifted up her glass and took a cautious sip. She hated red wine; it was bitter and dry, and it always gave her a headache, but she couldn’t possibly be so rude as to turn down his jewelry—and his even more expensive wine.

  “Yes, it’s true,” Miles laughed again. “You definitely don’t like wine.”

  Maribel smiled with embarrassment and forced herself to swallow it.

  “Look, let’s be clear,” he leaned into the table. “The necklace is non-negotiable. You like it and it looks stunning on you,” his eyes fell upon her neckline, admiring her natural ability to wear fine jewelry. “So please, no more talk about not accepting it. It was my pleasure.”

  Miles tried to keep his tone level, but firm. The idea that she might return his gifts truly pained him. He watched Maribel’s cheeks blush pink; she looked like a Renaissance painting with her soulful brown eyes and black strands of hair coiling down one side of her bare shoulder, and he felt certain there was no prettier woman in the world who deserved rubies and diamonds more than she.

  The sin
cerity and determination in his voice was so charming. Maribel felt herself blush and vowed silently not to push the point further. “Thank you.”

  Miles nodded in acceptance. “The earrings on the other hand, well…” he paused and wavered, noting the tear-drop ruby earrings that hung from her ears. How much to say, he wasn’t sure. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel obligated to him. “I will confess something to you. I did consider the fact that you might not want to wear something other than your diamond studs.”

  Maribel touched her ears, surprised he had remembered what kind of earrings she was wearing before she changed them.

  “Yes, I’ve had those studs a long time.”

  “Sentimental value,” he acknowledged. “I understand.”

  Maribel stared at him; it was as if he was reading the deepest emotions within her heart.

  Miles stared back at her, hoping it was enough for now.

  “So the earrings can still be discussed. But they looked fantastic on you as well. So we simply may need to shake hands and call it a draw. Agreed?”

  He extended his hand across the table, and Maribel complied with a reluctant smile. They both smiled. It was all so silly and juvenile, and yet, that was the spirit of their connection—fun and freewheeling, spontaneous and original. He had such a way of making her feel like she deserved it—every bit of it. “Agreed.”

  Miles was used to shaking hands with women who had long painted nails, sharp diamond rings, and even sharper attitudes. Maribel’s hand, on the other hand, was soft and tender. When she finally attempted to withdraw it, Miles held it a little longer than necessary.

  “And so long as we’re laying all of our cards on the table, I have a confession to make to you,” he suddenly announced. “I thought that you might be planning to spend Valentine’s Day alone, so that’s why I invited you here to spend it with me.”

  Maribel peered at him with surprise. “Were you planning on spending it alone, too?”

  The insinuation surprised him. It was a perceptive question, one that probed whether or not Miles had betrayed more than he wanted. Abruptly, they were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, lying on the table.

  Miles glanced down at its screen. G-I-L-L-I-A-N.

  “Excuse me, business,” he said, taking the call. It was a convenient disruption. Miles didn’t want to take the call, but he didn’t want to acknowledge that he had planned to spend the most romantic day of the year—alone.

  “Yes,” he answered and shifted away from the table.

  “You’re avoiding me,” Gillian asserted.

  “No, it’s a Saturday.”

  “Since when do you not work on weekends, Brax?”

  “I answered your call, so let’s cut to the chase.”

  “Oh, I see… all business, are we?” Gillian’s voice shifted with aggression. “Fine. My client wants seven-percent escalation, thirty-year lease term, and a twenty-percent share of common elements expenses, or the deal is off.”

  “Fine. The deal is off.”

  Maribel heard the sharp voice of another woman on the other end of his phone. Nothing about “the deal is off’ sounded good to her. She watched as Miles shifted back into his chair and gazed out the window—as if he was the only one at the table. Maribel suddenly felt like she was eavesdropping on his private conversation.

  “Brax—” Gillian reprimanded him, stern, “you’re not blowing off a thirty-five million dollar deal. I know you. You’re impossibly pigheaded and arrogant, but you’re not stupid.”

  “Okay, thirteen percent rent escalation and twenty-year lease term.”

  Javier returned with two white china ramekins and endive salads. Miles watched as he placed the plates in front of Maribel. “Here you are, Miss Martinez…”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Miles’ phone suddenly went silent. “Oh, I get it…” Gillian said, slowly. “You’re not alone.”

  “No,” Miles confirmed. He knew that would help get Gillian off his back, and it worked.

  “Thirty-five millions dollars, Miles. To blow off thirty-five million dollars, she must be someone very special.”

  Miles gazed over at Maribel. She smiled at him with compassion. “I’m fairly certain she is…”

  It was the wrong answer. Gillian zinged back to her original offer. “Seven percent escalation and we’re not giving up the sublease contingencies…”

  Miles cut her off. “Here’s what I want—I want you to call me tomorrow.”

  “Brax,” Gillian rushed to keep his attention. “She sounds too young, even for you.”

  Miles considered hanging up on her, but that’s what she wanted, and he was tired of rewarding bad girls and their bitchy behavior. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Gillian.”

  Silence filled the line, then she ended the call. Miles tossed his phone back onto the table. Maribel stared at him with her sensitive brown eyes. He relaxed under her gaze and tried hard not to think about tomorrow.

  “Work?” she asked, sympathetic.

  “Always…” he sighed.

  He sounded tired, Maribel noted, impossibly tired. Maribel never thought about the fact that even men with billions of dollars get tired like the rest of the world. She stared at him, relieved. The call had threatened to disrupt their brunch together, but in the end, he had chosen her over business.

  “You’re not eating,” he noted.

  “I guess I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, and Miles knew it. It was her inability to hide how she truly felt, he thought, that kept him engaged and wanting more.

  “Too hard to eat black food on Valentine’s Day?”

  “Maybe,” Maribel betrayed, peering down into the ebony soup. “What is it?”

  “Octopus cooked in its own ink.”

  Maribel shivered with disgust. Miles laughed and lifted up two tentacles with his fork. That’s what was so different. There were no games because she had nothing to hide.

  “They’re good, I promise,” he said, letting the tentacles jiggle on his fork before popping them into his mouth.

  Maribel wasn’t convinced. Miles considered the challenge of gaining her trust.

  Javier returned to offer more wine, but Maribel declined. She waited to speak until after Javier disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t stay here too long. Everyone deserves to have a day off from work, do you know what I mean?” Her eyes fell down upon his phone. “Even billionaires.”

  It was true. Miles had been selfish to ask Javier and the rest of the wait staff to work that morning. He was paying them handsomely for it, but he never considered that perhaps they would actually prefer to be at home with their families. He leaned into the table, his mind churning. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Something a little more…casual.”

  “You mean less stuffy.”

  “Less formal,” she corrected him.

  He smiled, slyly. “Less pretentious.”

  “More relaxing.”

  He glanced down at her untouched meal, and smirked. “Less inky.”

  “Maybe,” Maribel’s eyes fell down onto his white ramekin, filled with black ink and giggly wiggly black octopus tentacles.

  Maybe, his mind repeated. He had learned her language now. Miles smirked with pure enjoyment. “Javier…Miss Martinez would like her coat,” he called out into the open room, then turned to Maribel with a wink. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s go get some fresh air.”

  * * * *

  Hot dogs. Fully loaded hot dogs. Now, this was perfect.

  Miles glanced down at Maribel, who thought it was perfect, too. They both indulged in the steamy, juicy hot dogs while gazing upon in the ice skaters in outdoor rink in Millennium Park.

  Maribel took another gluttonous bite. A mixture of ketchup and mustard dotted the tip of her nose. Miles reached out with his napkin and swiped it off with a smile.

  “Slow down, or I might have to buy you a second one.”

  Miles was used
to dining with women who ate like birds and pretended they could barely eat dessert. But not Maribel. She consumed her hot dog without apology and smiled wide when he suggested they go for seconds.

  “It’s just so delicious.”

  “Better than octopus cooked in their own ink?”

  “Please, don’t remind me.”

  Miles laughed. Sassy when relaxed and well-fed, he thought. He could live with that.

  “I have a confession to make…”

  “Another one?” she eyed him.

  “Yes, a zinger this time,” he quipped. “This is usually where I come to eat my lunch during the week.”

  He turned around and leaned against the rink’s railing, taking in the full view of the city and its skyline. “That’s my apartment over there,” he nodded. “I usually work from home in the mornings, then come down here for a quick lunch break before heading over to the office.”

  Maribel followed his gaze to the top of each building. “It must be exhausting, living life at the top all the time.” She chomped down on her hot dog. Ketchup smeared her cheek.

  Miles fell silent. Her perceptive comments disarmed him. It was exhausting. Isolating and exhausting. He gazed at Maribel with her ketchup smudge and black earmuffs, and realized she was the first person with whom he felt comfortable confiding in. “Yes, it can be. That’s why I make sure to come down to the street every day,” he acknowledged, wiping her cheek with his napkin, “to keep everything in perspective.”

  He watched as she finished her hot dog, and dodged his playful advance to wipe her face again. She wiped it herself, then turned back to watch the skaters, circling the rink with their brown rental skates and wobbly, imperfect balance.

  “I think that everyone is living their own private lives of pain and isolation, you know? And we’re all trying to find ways to come together to enjoy ourselves—if only for brief fleeting moments. Then, we wake up the next day and struggle to do it all over again.”

  Pensive, Miles chewed on his hot dog and studied her. Her cheeks blushed from the cold air, and condensation escaped from her lips when she spoke. She possessed such sophistication and maturity for her age, he thought, and she was so authentic, inside and out. It made him want to stare at her without restraint, waiting to discover a new angle that would charm him even more. He already knew she had the ability to be down-right sexy—images of her in high heels and fish nets in the lingerie department had been permanently seared in his head. But he wasn’t prepared for her to be so genuine, and their connection to be so intimate.