Rainwater Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story

by Krista Lakes

  "A little after ten in the morning. Though, that's Eastern Time, so it'll feel earlier for you."

  "Why did you wake me up?" I growled. I just wanted to dive back under my sheets and never move again. Maybe I would bring some of this magic drink with me, though.

  "Because, we have stuff to do today. Remember, we made plans?"

  I groaned. Emma wanted to show me the city, and we were supposed to go out shopping in true New York style with Rachel. I silently cursed the flight attendant and her crisp uniform for bringing me the second tumbler of vodka.

  "Get up. You aren't that hung-over," Emma said, nudging me gently.

  "Yes, I am," I fired back. She laughed and stood up from the bed.

  "Drink that up. I'll start a shower for you and get some breakfast up here. We are going to have fun today."

  I groaned again and slumped back down into the pillows. It was going to be a long day.

  ***

  Whatever drink Emma had given me had worked miracles. The shower definitely helped, and the toast she forced down my throat probably did something too. By the time we were in the lobby, I only had a slight headache and thought my stomach should stay put for the rest of the day. As we exited the elevator, a well-dressed woman in her mid-forties hurried over to meet us.

  "Hi, Rachel, sorry we're late. Rough flight last night," Emma greeted her.

  "No problem at all," Rachel said with a smile. "It's nice to see you again, Kaylee. If we're ready, Dean has the car just outside."

  The three of us exited the hotel room, the sky heavy with an impending rainstorm. Waiting by the curb was a sleek SUV with tinted windows. Rachel slid into the front seat, and Emma and I took the back. There was an unspoken tension between Rachel and Dean, but I couldn't figure out if they were fighting love or just plain fighting.

  "Kaylee, you remember Dean?" Emma asked, gesturing toward the driver. An athletic-looking man sat in the front seat, his dark hair peppered with gray. He turned around and grinned, reaching a hand back to shake mine.

  "I'm glad to see Emma finally got you out of bed. We have some shopping for you ladies to do," he said with a grin. Dean merged the car effortlessly out into the heavy New York traffic. A thunderstorm warning for later in the day came across the radio, but Dean turned it down and flipped on some light music. I kept my nose pressed to the glass, trying to absorb the whole city from the car window. Before, I had been a little too wasted to notice just how big everything was on my way in.

  The city buildings rose up, reaching past where I could see, monsters of gray stone and cement. Well-dressed people hurried back and forth on the busy streets, everyone doing their best to ignore everyone else. It was so different from home. I was glad I didn't have to drive, as cars ducked and weaved around us, Dean managing to slide into spaces I never would have tried for. I think there were more cars on this one street than there were in the whole city of Des Moines.

  "How do you live here, Emma?" I asked as we stopped for traffic. The street looked like sales lot for used cars than a means of travel.

  "What? The traffic?" She shrugged. "I guess I've gotten used to it. The city seemed so big and strange at first, but now, I kind of like it."

  "I don't think I could ever get used to this." The city was just too big and too busy for me. Give me my quiet Midwestern city over this any day. Not that it wasn't impressive, it just wasn't something I wanted to live in.

  Dean navigated the SUV down another street, merging through a sea of bright yellow taxi cabs to pull up in front of a stylish brick building. A big glass window held mannequins in graceful poses, their clothes perfect and beautiful to the point where I thought they might come alive and coax us to buy their wares. Rachel led Emma and me inside while Dean waited with the car.

  The store was quiet except for soft music playing overhead. I wondered where all the customers were as Rachel headed deeper into the shop. She and Emma both seemed to know where they were going so I followed, glancing at the beautiful items for sale.

  A dark red purse caught my eye, and I stopped to pick it up. It was a beautiful little creation, the leather a deep wine red. I even recognized the designer label. I looked at the price tag, knowing I had a little money saved up and could splurge on a purse, especially if I could say I got it in New York City. $2,290.00. I didn't have that much to splurge. I set it carefully back down and hurried to catch up with Rachel and Emma.

  I found them in a private area, Rachel deep in conversation with a saleswoman. As I walked up, Rachel turned and grinned.

  "I went ahead and picked some things out for you to try. They're in that dressing room there." Rachel pointed to one of the large changing rooms. I smiled weakly. If the clothes were half as expensive as the purse, there was no way I could even afford to be in the same room as the clearance rack.

  Emma must have read my mind, as she quickly added, "Don't look at the price, Kaylee. This is my treat for you. I never thought I would get you out to New York, so I'm excited to spoil you a little."

  I almost told her no. I almost said that she shouldn't spend that kind of money. Then I remembered who she was married to, and the words died before they made it out of my mouth. Jack made enough money to buy that purse before he got out of bed in the morning.

  I walked confidently into the changing room and slid on the first pair of pants. They were a soft tan color and made of a light linen material. I was shocked at how well they fit. Rachel was a great judge of size. I turned in the mirror and was pleased with what I saw.

  "Told you those would look good on her," Emma said to Rachel as I stepped out. Rachel nodded.

  "You are getting better. Soon, you'll be dressing me!" Rachel said. The two of them laughed before Rachel stood to get a closer look at the pants. "Those will be great for you in Dubai," Rachel said. She came up and had me spin. "Lightweight, but full length. Mr. Parker suggested we pick some things up for you to wear on your trip."

  I blushed a little. I had no idea what to pack for two weeks in the Middle East. I almost brought only shorts and tank-tops for the desert heat before remembering that the local populace probably would prefer that I wore something a little less revealing. My suitcase was sadly light as the majority of my clothes were scrubs from work.

  "Go in and try on the purple shirt with those slacks," Emma said. She was practically bouncing in her seat. I gave her a strange look.

  "Since when did you get interested in clothes?" I asked her. When we were living in the same house, I never worried about her stealing my clothes because she just wore the same jeans and T-shirt every day. She gave me a proud smile.

  "Rachel's been training me. She's actually managed to show me the error of my ways and teach me something that resembles a fashion sense."

  Rachel blushed. "You picked it up pretty quickly. I'll have you designing your own clothes any day now."

  This time Emma flushed. "No way."

  "I'm going to have to agree with her, Rachel. You should have seen the scarf she tried to knit. And the teddy bear she made in home economics. Well, I'm not sure you could even properly call it a bear."

  Emma blushed almost purple. "It wasn't pretty. Nightmarish things happen when I try to sew."

  "Hmm, I guess that's job security for me," Rachel said with a chuckle. I ducked into the changing room and threw on the purple shirt. It was just a silk button-up blouse, but I could imagine it doing well in the desert heat. I stepped out and did a little catwalk.

  "I like it, but not with those pants," Rachel said with a laugh as I struck a model pose. Emma nodded.

  "Maybe with a khaki skirt?" Emma's face became thoughtful.

  "Or the black slacks," Rachel mused aloud. I grinned. It was fun letting them play dress-up with me. The clothes were all so beautiful that I was having fun just trying them on. Knowing that they would make sure I was dressed perfectly made it easy to try on things that I would never pick out myself.

  We went through mountains of clothes, loading the salesperson who came t
o check on us with piles of rejects. She didn't mind, though, as the piles of things we were purchasing continued to grow. I had clothes for my trip, and even a new dress to wear out while with Owen that night.

  When we finally walked out of the store, I didn't even want to look at the bill. I had seen price tags of over two grand on some of the dresses that Emma wanted to buy me, and the idea of seeing the final number higher than my yearly salary was just too intimidating. I knew if I saw that, I would never wear them for fear of ruining them.

  Rachel grinned at me as we headed back out to the waiting car. I could see why Emma loved Rachel. The two of them, despite their age difference, got along famously.

  "You lovely ladies have a wonderful time and spend all of Mr. Saunders' money?" Dean asked as we piled back into the SUV.

  "Every dime. But Kaylee is going to look fab-u-lous!" Emma said, rocking her shoulders and giving her hand a single wave. Rachel snorted, and Dean just rolled his eyes as he pulled out into traffic.

  I gave her a playful shove, but I couldn't wait to show Owen what we had bought.

  Chapter 15

  I stood, anxiously waiting for Owen in the lobby of the hotel where we were staying. Since he traveled on such a regular basis, he didn't bother keeping a house in the city and instead just rented the penthouse suite whenever he needed it. He had told me to meet him in the lobby, and he would pick me up when he finished a meeting with Jack to go over the details for his upcoming business trip. He had told me he was taking me to a fancy French restaurant and to get dolled up.

  I fussed with the straps on my dress, as much making sure that it was in place as giving my hands something to do. Rachel and Emma had found me the perfect dress while we were out shopping, and then Rachel arranged for someone to come to the hotel to do my hair and makeup for my date. I chewed my lip, knowing that I was probably smearing my lipstick. Owen was only a few minutes late, but because of my dress, everyone who walked through the lobby stopped to look at me.

  I looked like something off the red carpet at the Oscars. I wore a long, flowing gown of soft white fabric that fluttered when I walked. It was cut in a Grecian style, with a form fitting top and a skirt that cascaded beautifully to pool on the floor. The dress was long enough that I was able to wear simple white ballet slippers, the skirt's hem long enough that my feet were completely hidden. My hair was slightly pulled back out of my face, but left loose down my back in soft waves. Emma lent me a simple diamond necklace and sparkling chandelier earrings to complete the look.

  Owen finally walked in through the front door, moving the crowd aside like he owned the place. Our eyes met across the lobby, and he moved toward me, slicing through the room as though it were empty. His dark gray suit somehow made his eyes even bluer as he smiled at only me.

  "You look better every time you put on a dress," he said as soon as he reached me. I kissed him gently, not wanting to leave a lipstick mark. He took my hand and held me out as though we had just finished dancing, his eyes going up and down, appraising the dress. He held my hand up over my head, coaxing me into a spin. The fabric floated gracefully before settling again. "I think this is my favorite dress I've seen you in."

  "Thank you," I said, blushing to the roots of my hair. "You look pretty good yourself."

  He grinned and did a model spin for me, finishing with a flamboyant hand on his hip. Even with his goofy antics, he looked hot. The dark gray of the suit stood out against the white of a dress shirt, and a tie the exact color of his eyes pulled everything together. The suit accented his broad shoulders and tapered waist, even showing off his perfect ass.

  A camera flashed and I remembered that we weren't in our private hotel suite, but instead in the lobby of a very stylish and popular hotel. A woman in a wide brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses looked at us with wide eyes.

  "Are you two celebrities? I hear celebrities stay here," the woman babbled, her eyes excited as she held up her camera to take another picture.

  "No, we're just normal people." Owen said as he smiled politely at the tourist. She looked disappointed, and she turned to walk away. I giggled, the idea of being mistaken for a celebrity amusing me. No one at home would ever mistake me for a movie star. Owen carefully folded my hand into the crook of his arm, and escorted me out to a waiting car.

  I had given up on trying to figure out what expensive model of car we were driving. Owen seemed to enjoy having a new fancy car at every opportunity. He had told me he didn't actually own any of them, he just rented whatever he felt like when he needed one. I had laughed at the idea that I actually owned more cars than a billionaire, since I actually did own a car, but then he pointed out that he owned a plane. I told him planes didn't count as cars, so I still had more.

  This one was a silver convertible. It was early afternoon, and sunshine peeked through the clouds, casting a warm, dappled light across the city. The weather was finally nice enough that a convertible sounded wonderful. Owen opened the door to the passenger side, his face going pale as I sat down.

  "I just realized your hair, and the car..."

  I laughed. "Don't worry. There is enough hair spray on this to hold it through a hurricane. Besides, I think the windswept look is in right now. I'd rather drive with the top down and enjoy this weather than have the roof up."

  His face brightened again, and he jumped into the driver's seat. With a roar of the engine, he pulled out onto the busy street, the wind blowing gently in my hair. He drove through the city, pointing out different landmarks and places that he thought I might enjoy. It wasn't long before we reached a stylish white brick building with ivy crawling up toward the windows.

  Owen tossed the keys to a valet and hurried over to help me out. I smoothed my hair from the drive, a little surprised at just how well it had held up. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver out of the fancy sports car in my flowing dress, but I gladly accepted Owen's hand to help me stand. Any excuse to touch him was a good excuse.

  Inside the white building, we walked through the main room to a private dining area. Everything had a golden glow, as though the entire place was candlelit. A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music soothing and the perfect volume for dinner conversation.

  Owen pulled an ornate chair out for me to get my legs situated under the heavy wooden table, and then helped to push me under once I was seated. I glanced nervously at the array of utensils displayed before me. I was used to a salad fork and regular fork at restaurants, but there were tiny forks, an extra spoon, and more glasses than I knew what to do with. I was out of my league here.

  The waiter placed my napkin on my lap and handed me a large leather-bound menu as Owen ordered a bottle of wine. I opened it up, wondering what culinary delights I would find inside. Instead, I stared at the pages, feeling foolish. I couldn't understand a word on the menu. It was all in French, and despite my French last name, I couldn't read a word.

  Owen peeked over his menu at me and caught my blank look. He whispered softly, "Chicken, fish, or beef?"

  "Fish."

  "Do you mind if I order for you?"

  I shook my head, grateful that I wouldn't have to choose between butchering the beautiful language or pointing to the menu in silent shame.

  "Is there anything you don't want to eat? Are you all right trying escargot? It's amazing here," Owen asked. I smiled, glad he was making sure I would enjoy what he ordered for me.

  "I'll try anything. Escargot is snails, right? I'll try it, but I have no idea how to actually eat it." I gave him a brave smile, a touch of nerves hitting me. This place was far fancier than anything I had ever even imagined possible. Back home, even the nicest places let people walk in and order wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Here, everyone was elegantly dressed in designer gowns and suits, and I had a feeling that jeans and a T-shirt would never even get to look at a menu.

  When the waiter returned to fill up our wine glasses, Owen ordered in perfect, or at least what sounded perfect to me, French. The waiter nodded an
d took our menus, disappearing once again.

  "You speak French?" I asked Owen, impressed at learning of his talent. He blushed a little.

  "Only enough to sound like I know what I'm doing when I order in a restaurant. Pierre, my chef, taught me a little. I can swear decently in French, though, also thanks to Pierre." He gave me a little boy's naughty grin and I couldn't help but smile back.

  "What other languages do you speak?" I sipped on my wine, wondering if I should raise my pinky in the air. No, that was for tea; it just didn't seem fancy enough to just drink the normal way in a place like this.

  "I am getting pretty good at Arabic, and I can order cervezas like a pro in Spanish. But other than that, I just know key phrases. You?"

  "I know some medical Spanish, but I wouldn't say I'm even close to fluent. Will I need to know Arabic for our trip?"

  Owen smiled and shook his head. "No. All these business dealings will be done in English."

  I was about to ask more, but the waiter returned with two small round plates that he set in front of each of us. Six tan and white shells were presented like artwork, each in its own little hollow of the special plate and dressed in butter. It smelled fantastic.

  Owen picked up a pair of tongs and a slender two pronged fork from the assortment of utensils before us. I mimicked his motions as he grasped the shell with the tongs and used the fork to pull the meat out of the shell. I hesitantly put the food in my mouth, unsure of what to expect.

  It was delicious. The snail reminded me slightly of an oyster, but with an earthy taste instead of salty. The butter sauce was creamy and divine, giving the little piece of meat more flavor than I had been expecting for something so small.

  "You like it?" Owen asked, dipping a piece of bread into the butter sauce.

  I nodded, going for a second shell. The tongs slipped and the shell threatened to fly off the table, like the scene from Pretty Woman, but I caught it before it got too far.