Followed by a Stranger (BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES Book 3)

by Holly Stone

  “Out of the front door, turn left and then left again at the first junction and walk for about five minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said, finishing my tea. I could do this. Shopping at Tesco like a normal human being. I couldn’t remember the last time I bought my own food.

  REBECCA

  Andrew had been gone for a long time. So long that I had managed to have a shower, dry my hair, put on a load of washing and tidy up the flat, and he still wasn’t back. For some peculiar reason I was worried about him and the preposterousness of it made me laugh. He was a grown man for goodness sake, with enough money to buy all the houses as far as the eye could see, according to Marnie. He was perfectly capable of buying a few croissants and some milk, wasn’t he? Maybe not! He had a chef in staff-quarters at home who probably did all his food shopping. I wondered if he even carried cash on him. He probably had a servant to carry his wallet. I snorted at the image, peering through the blinds to see if he was on his way back.

  He wasn’t.

  I slumped down on the sofa and turned on the news, watching it absentmindedly as I contemplated the weird situation I found myself in. When I’d left home three days before, I wouldn’t in my wildest dreams have imagined I’d be waiting for the return of a financial giant holding a Tesco’s carrier bag. I felt a bit like a non-fairy-tale version of Cinderella, who had misplaced her prince in favour of a whisky-drinking, bossy, bondage fanatic with multi-personality issues. I was baffled at his motivation for traveling all the way to London to apologise. When he’d suggested we fuck again it had sounded so half-hearted I was shocked. I’d been certain he must want more sex but that had baffled me too. I mean, I knew I wasn’t unattractive but I was hardly sexual dynamite worth flying nine hours to pursue. There were plenty of pretty girls who were probably much better at sex stuff than I was, many of whom I was sure he was well acquainted with.

  The whole situation was ridiculously strange.

  After another five minutes watching the depressing series of events that was occurring the world over, there was a knock at the door.

  When I opened it, I found Andrew on the doorstep holding two carrier bags with two sheepish looking teenage boys clutching more shopping.

  “I couldn’t carry it all so I found some help,” he said, striding past me. The boys placed the bags on the doorstep and left pretty sharpish.

  “You found some help?” I said, incredulously.

  “Well, hired some help would be a more accurate description.” He passed me to collect the other shopping bags, seemingly unaware of how abnormal his actions were.

  “How much did you pay them?”

  “£20 each.”

  “You were robbed,” I said, laughing.

  “Hardly. They looked like they could do with a good meal. It was a perfectly satisfactory transaction all round.”

  “Anyway, what the hell did you buy? I can afford my own food, you know.”

  “I bought stuff and I know you can afford your own food. I just wasn’t sure what you already had, so I got a lot.”

  “I can see that.” I followed him back into the kitchen where my worktops were now overflowing with bags. “Here, let me do that.” I started to unpack, finding all the items required for a cooked breakfast, a continental breakfast, five different types of cereals, smoked salmon, four different types of Danish pastries and enough fruit to run a pick-your-own farm. There was milk in every variety, five different flavours of juice and even creamy yoghurt and granola. Everything was Tesco’s Finest and there was not an economy product in sight. I smiled to myself, wondering if he knew he had chosen all the most expensive stuff or if the word ‘finest’ had acted on some kind of subconscious level. Psychologists could have a field day with that one.

  “So…what kind of breakfast do you fancy then,” I asked him. “I offer a full-service menu here. Name your pleasure and I’ll provide.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realised what I’d said. Andrew grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief and my stomach came alive with butterflies. He was such a good-looking man it was almost unbearable.

  “You know my pleasure, Rebecca. As for breakfast, I’m happy to have whatever you fancy.”

  “We should have the pastries then and the soft fruit because they won’t keep. I can refrigerate and freeze a lot of the rest.”

  “Why don’t you just have what you want? I bought it all so it doesn’t matter if things go to waste.”

  “Course it does,” I said, looking shocked. Andrew considered for a moment and then nodded.

  “Danish and soft fruit it is then. Can I have another cup of tea with that?”

  “Are you sure you don’t need another whisky after your shopping ordeal?”

  “You’re not as funny as you think you are, Rebecca.” He sounded amused despite his assertion.

  I pottered, arranging our breakfast on a pretty, oval serving dish and making our tea while Andrew reclined against the wall, frowning at his phone.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just some stuff I need to deal with.”

  “I have internet if you need to work.”

  “Thanks, I might do that. It’s hard to type on this thing.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not going in to the office today so there’s no rush.”

  He seemed pleased at my offer and despite still being cross with him for ignoring my wishes and traveling halfway across the globe without notice, I couldn’t help feeling a little spark of happiness. Little sparks can be the start of dangerous fires, I thought, remembering the hollowness I’d felt at the end of my last relationship and the disappointment that had hit me when I left Andrew’s apartment.

  We sat at my little table and ate, chatting about silly things; our favourite pastries led to our favourite cakes and on to restaurants and cuisines, in an easy way that flowed and was nice. When he talked, Andrew was animated and funny but I noticed more than anything that he really listened when I spoke as if he found everything I was saying interesting. So unlike Jonathan, who used to get a glazed look in his eyes and then interrupt me halfway through an anecdote to talk about himself again. It seemed very different to the meal we had shared in the plush surroundings of his penthouse. More relaxed, but strangely disconcerting to find out how different this Andrew was from the man I’d allowed to seduce me. I suppose people are like ice-cream sundae’s; you keep digging down through the layers discover new ingredients as you go.

  I wondered what he thought of my tiny flat and the relatively simple surroundings I called home. It’s hard to view things through the eyes of someone else, particularly when you don’t know much about their background. I knew Andrew had money but had no idea what his family was like. When I met him I’d thought he was successful enough; the impeccable cut of his suit told that story. I knew a lot of women would be motivated by money, and I’m not saying that financial security wasn’t something I was looking for in my life. I mean, who doesn’t want to have the options that money can buy. But I’d seen what the pursuit of money can do to people and the outcomes aren’t always pleasant. My mother’s family were wealthy but lost it all during a recession and her father was never the same. The most important mission in my life was to find real love, as corny as that might sound. I wanted the kind of connection that will get you through even the most shitty of situations. My mum always said ‘there are no pockets in a shroud’. I wanted to live with love not die with money and I felt sad for Andrew that he seemed so closed off to what I considered most valuable.

  When breakfast was done I took our dirty dishes to the kitchen and he offered to dry while I washed. I accepted only because I wanted to see him wielding a tea towel; mine were floral which added to my amusement.

  As I packed everything away he went into the lounge and I could hear him unzipping his suitcase. When I was finished, I found him at my dining table with an open laptop. “I grabbed your WIFI code from your router,” he said, typing away, looking and sounding like the true professional he was.
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  I sat down and picked up my book from the coffee table, settling in for some quiet time, glancing at Andrew from the corner of my eye. It was strangely comfortable to rest in his presence and oddly companionable considering how little we really knew of each other. His fingers moved over the keyboard furiously and his expression was one of utter concentration, but the next time I looked I found him glancing at me. We smiled, embarrassed to have been caught out. After about half an hour he clicked shut the lid of his computer and exhaled.

  “That’s it for today,” he said, twisting on the chair so his legs were out from under the table.

  “Okay,” I said, wondering what he was thinking as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the floor. “What do you want to do now?”

  Andrew’s eyes flicked to mine, sparkling with delicious intent. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that, Rebecca. You might not like the answer…or maybe you’ll like the answer but not want to admit it to yourself.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “You told me it ‘always comes back to fucking’ so I guess I should know what to expect.”

  Andrew laughed and leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his thighs and gazing at me with soft eyes.

  “Hearing my own filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth…mmm…I like hearing you talk dirty. But anyway, don’t worry your pretty head about the ‘fucking’. I have a rule not to dip in the same hole three times, so you’re safe with me.”

  “You have a rule?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Offensiveness and ridiculousness aside – I was getting used to his crudeness – I was baffled as to why he’d restrict himself in that way.

  “Yeah…keeps everyone happy in the long run.”

  “Does it?”

  Andrew looked thoughtful. “Yeah. No strings, no hard feelings, no inadvertent attachments.” I watched as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly seeing some vulnerability in him that I hadn’t picked up on before. Why else would he keep to such a restrictive guideline if it wasn’t to protect his own heart?

  “Just fucking?”

  “I think I’ve been a bad influence on your mouth,” he said, a transparent attempt to change the subject.

  “Wow.” I said, standing up with the sudden urge to provoke him. “So I guess if I just slipped these clothes off right here and decided to spend the rest of the afternoon naked, you wouldn’t be tempted for a ‘third dip’?” I slid the strap of my top over my shoulder in challenge.

  “I’d be tempted,” he said gruffly, “But that doesn’t mean I would go through with it.”

  I was surprised at his resistance as I grasped exactly how important his rule was to him. It made me feel sad for us both that we’d been bruised along the way and were allowing those past negative experiences to have such a big impact on our lives. “Well,” I said, suddenly wanting to do something entertaining to stamp on all the negative bullshit. “I think we need to do something fun.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Maybe we could go sightseeing? Have you toured London before?”

  “Some, but not everywhere, and it’s been a while.”

  “Okay then. How about The British Museum, Tate Modern with a stop for lunch in the restaurant at the top, then a stroll along the South Bank and if you haven’t been, we could go to the top of the Shard?”

  “Sounds great,” he said, smiling with a look of genuine excitement. I was excited too. I didn’t often spend time appreciating the city I lived in and it would be nice to share the experience with someone who would be seeing everything through fresh eyes.

  “Do you want to shower and change?”

  “That’d be great.” Andrew got up to retrieve the things he needed from his suitcase and we converged in the corridor to my bathroom, me with a clean towel to give him, feeling ridiculous for finding the whole prospect of him showering in my flat more intimate than the insane sex we’d shared. Everything seemed backwards and upside down.

  “The shower’s pretty easy to use,” I said, lurking at the door while he walked into my tiny bathroom. “Just press the red button and it should be the right temperature.”

  “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “Maybe I’ll check out your bathroom cupboards while I’m at it.”

  I laughed. “You’ll only find a load of boxes of tampons and some spare toilet-rolls. Nothing scandalous in there.”

  “Shame,” he said, reaching for the door handle and leaning against it, looking way too sexy for his own good. In a memory flash I remembered the first time he’d pushed open my knees and traced the seam of my pussy, and felt instantly wet.

  “See you in a bit,” I said, turning before he caught sight of the flush on my cheeks.

  Andrew emerged ten minutes later in a cloud of amazing-smelling steam looking like a model from the cover of GQ. He’d styled his hair differently so it was edgier and messier than I’d seen before, and he was dressed down in dark jeans and a sweater that looked like it was made from the world’s softest fabric. His feet were bare and catching sight of them made my tummy flip. I internally cursed myself for being such an idiot. I was ready to leave and it looked like he was almost there, perching on the edge of my sofa to put his socks and boots on.

  “It’s only a five minute walk to the tube station,” I said, pushing my arms into my slouchy grey coat and zipping up my knee high black boots.

  “My driver’s outside. He can take us.”

  “Your driver?” I said, thinking about how long Andrew had been with me and about the poor man who had been sitting in the car all that time.

  “He went to get breakfast but I messaged him when I was in the bathroom. He should be here now.”

  “Oh,” I said, unsure how I felt about being chauffeur driven. I mean, it was definitely a luxury but London traffic was a nightmare, not to mention I’d liked the idea of making Andrew slum it for a day.

  “You don’t sound happy,” said Mr. Perceptive.

  “I don’t mind. I thought we could go in on the tube but if you’d rather take the car…”

  “Well, we could use the car to get dropped at the station. What about that for a compromise?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, slinging my satchel strap across my body, ready for a day of walking and looking forward to it more than I should be.

  ANDREW

  The day I spent with Rebecca in London was one of the best I’d had in a long time. We travelled in on the subway – or ‘Tube’ as the Brits refer to it – missing the rush-hour, thank goodness. The underground passageways were like a maze and I was glad I had a native to guide me. Getting off at Holborn, we walked to the first museum like friends, close but not touching. Rebecca told me about school trips she had taken to see the ancient treasures within and said I was going to love it there, having seen my love of antiquities at my apartment. The outside of the building was awe inspiring, influenced strongly by those from Ancient Greece, complete with columns and statues that towered above the crowds of tourists. Inside, the museum housed amazing examples of treasures from all major ancient civilizations, taking my breath away. We spent a lot of time in the Egyptian room but I found the Parthenon room the most fascinating, with its frieze that ran the entire circumference, and statues that were so expertly carved, the marble looked as soft as flesh and cloth.

  At my request, we took a black cab to Tate Modern and spent an hour wandering the rooms filled with strange and bizarre modern art creations, most of which I saw absolutely no value in. Modern art is a funny thing; sometimes thought provokingly original but often trash, in my humble opinion. Rebecca had a more moderate take on it, enjoying the silliest of the exhibits and standing for a long time in front of works by Picasso and Dali. I saw something in those too.

  We took an elevator to the top of the building and asked for a table for two near the windows that overlooked the River Thames and St. Paul’s Cathedral. The food looked average but the vista was really something.

  Rebecca had been an excellent t
our guide, contagiously enthusiastic and with a cheeky sense of humour. She’d made no effort to conceal her ogling of the nude statues in the museum, and giggled at the lack of ‘men’s bits’. I shouldn’t have been amused but I couldn’t help myself.

  In the restaurant though, she was subdued. It had been a strange day of ups and downs. I just wanted to be able to leave with everything okay between us. I watched as she tucked her glossy dark hair behind her ear as we waited for our main courses. She was such a beautiful girl; young and fresh but with a maturity that gave her an interesting edge, and enough challenge in her to keep me on my toes. I couldn’t help but think about the things we had done together. The sight of her naked body was still fresh in my mind, but that wasn’t what this was about, or at least it should have been.

  She interrupted my train of thought with a question about my family that caught me off guard.

  “I have a brother and a sister,” I told her. “My brother lives in New York – I think I told you – and my sister lives in California near my parents. She’s the only married one, much to my mother disappointment.”

  “You all live so far apart,” she said, looking sad for me. “My parents are so close I could see them every day if I wanted.”

  “Some families are better living far apart.” It was definitely true in my case. I couldn’t stand my mom’s content questions about my private life or my father’s determination to interrogate me about BGP. It was worse since what had happened with Adrianna. I’d been weakened in their view which only made family life more difficult.

  “That’s sad. I always want to be close to my mum and dad,” Rebecca said.

  “You’re younger.” I remembered the 9 year gap I’d worked out there was between us. “They’ve had less time to annoy you.” It was an attempt at humour that fell flat.

  “Everyone’s families are different,” she said cautiously, as if she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

  “Yes. I can’t fault them for their willingness to back me financially or their drive to help me succeed.”