Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  It wasn’t like it was the sum total of who she was. She was a successful professional in her own right. So what if she enjoyed looking her best?

  “He’s the ultimate hypocrite,” Carrie muttered, finally showing some of her anger to her best friend.

  “Hm, how so?” Juanita pushed aside Carrie’s tea, and replaced it with a champagne. “Don’t think about the calories. Just this once.”

  Carrie was inclined to agree. She drank half the glass in two sips. “He only wanted me when he saw me dressed up like that. He goes after women who look like models. But then he wanted me to peel off the mask and be ‘normal’.” She groaned angrily. “He didn’t want me when I was ‘normal’. The very idea disgusted him.”

  “Such a bastard,” Juanita agreed.

  Carrie drained her champagne flute, much to Juanita’s surprise. She topped it up instantly.

  “What are we celebrating?” Carrie asked with a tipsy giggle, as she tasted her second glass.

  “Freedom from oppression and tyranny,” Juanita giggled back.

  “Hear, hear!” Carrie seconded, clinking her glass to her friend’s.

  At the end of her third glass, she looked at Juanita and said quietly: “I think I might have fallen just a tiny bit in love with him, though.”

  Juanita shook her hand in the air. “Who wouldn’t have? He’s gorgeous. Total sex on a stick. But he’s still a bastard.”

  “Right,” Carrie said with a nod. “A bastard.”

  The only thing better than a boozy night in with one’s best friend was the addition of a movie; they loaded up the first Twilight and snuggled into the sofa for a session of vampire romance.

  “See? Edward wants what’s best for Bella! He doesn’t care that she’s human and he’s an immortal. He loves her.” Carrie said unsteadily, not entirely sure she was making sense anymore.

  “Yeah.” Juanita agreed anyway, her smile firm on her face. Until it slipped off, to be replaced by a thoughtful frown. “Is that your phone?”

  Carrie shook her head. “I don’t know where it is.”

  Juanita, at that point in time, thought that was about the funniest thing she’d ever heard. She stood up and looked around, following the sound of ringing like a cat might hunt its prey.

  “Uh huh!” She slipped it out of Carrie’s handbag, and victoriously held it aloft.

  Carrie froze when she saw Gael’s face staring back at her.

  “Shit!” She lifted her hands over her eyes, as if that would erase the image of him staring at her.

  “Oh. It’s him?” Juanita handed the phone over like a hot potato.

  “I’m not going to answer that,” Carrie said angrily, passing the phone back.

  “Good for you.”

  One hour, another Moët, and seven attempted calls later, Juanita hiccoughed, “I’ll get it. I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

  And Carrie was too delightfully tipsy to care. “Fine,” she said with a shrug, standing up and moving well away. Even the sound of his disembodied voice, carried from Juanita’s ear to hers, would be too much. So she disappeared upstairs, intent on doing anything but being in the same vicinity as Gael’s sinfully gorgeous words.

  “Carrie’s phone,” Juanita said, her tone dripping with ice. At least, she imagined it to be. In truth, after half a dozen glasses of bubbles, she was slightly fuzzy around the edges.

  “Is Carrie there?”

  “No, Gay-yelllll, she is not. Not for you anyway.”

  Gael gripped his phone tightly, the torrent of emotions he’d been navigating for a week making his patience thin like the top of an ice lake on the first day of Spring. “It’s important.”

  “Yeah, well, do you know what else is important?” Juanita lifted her champagne and gestured with her hand. “Treating a woman with respect. Accepting her for who she is.”

  Gael closed his eyes. “While this is a conversation I’m willing to have with you another time, I called to speak to Carrie on another matter. Would you be so good as to take the phone to her?”

  “She doesn’t want to speak to you, okay?” Juanita’s lips curled in response to his silence. “And if you think she’s been here pining over you all week, you’ve got another thing coming. You’re nothing compared to the guy she replaced you with. Yum, yum, yummy.”

  There was silence. Several moments of obviously angry silence, before Gael spoke again, “Tell her to pack an overnight bag. I’ll be there within an hour.”

  “Oh, crap.” Juanita disconnected the call and stared at the phone, wondering if she could rewind time and take that particularly unwise conversation back.

  “Carrie?” She called, walking a little unsteadily up the stairs of her friend’s townhouse. “We have a bit of a, um, problem.”

  “No more champagne?” She giggled, pulling her new shoes out of their box and slipping her hands into them. “Look, shoe hands, shoe hands,” she joked, making imaginary footsteps with them through the air.

  “No, I’m serious, babes. A real problem.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “Um, well, I answered your phone, and, um, I think Gael is planning to come here. To see you.”

  “What?” Carrie stared at her best friend in total surprise. “When?”

  “He said within an hour.”

  “No, no, no,” she said angrily, throwing her shoes across her bedroom. “Why won’t he just get lost?”

  Juanita nodded, a sympathetic grimace on her face. Then, an idea occurred to her. “Hey, why don’t we?” She whispered conspiratorially. “Pack some stuff; let’s go to a hotel. He’ll never find us.”

  Carrie stared at Juanita long and hard, and finally nodded. The small part of her that wanted to see Gael was noisily drowned out by the fear she felt at meeting him again. “Where will we go?”

  Juanita laughed. “Let’s go to the Ritz and book their best available room. Let’s spoil ourselves.”

  Carrie joined in the laughter, though inside she was dying. “Yes, let’s.”

  She pulled items from her wardrobe – just enough for a night or two. Some silk pyjamas, underwear, a few dresses, jeans, and her make up bag. She grabbed it defiantly, though she knew she’d never feel the same about it after Gael had made her confront her addiction head on.

  She stuffed it all into her suitcase and then dragged it bumpily down the stairs.

  “Oh, shoot!” She said at the bottom. “Call a cab. I’ll just be a moment.”

  She ran back upstairs and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She’d met with a potential investor earlier that day. Despite the copious amounts of champagne she’d consumed, her appearance was still fine. Glamorous, she could even have said. Maybe they’d go for drinks once they checked in? She smiled as she ran back down the stairs and lifted the handle on her bag. “You ready, slow coach?”

  “Yeah! Just getting Tom to bring me some things.”

  “You can borrow my stuff. Let’s go!”

  “Hang on!”

  Carrie rolled her eyes, then leaned against the door. It knocked almost instantly. “The cab’s here, Win,” she shouted.

  Juanita appeared as Carrie wrenched the door inwards. “But I didn’t order a cab yet,” she giggled.

  Gael was a dark, ominous presence as he took in the scene. His expression was a barely contained emotion; his hair dark, his eyes glittering, his clothes black. His eyes lingered for a second longer than was necessary on Carrie’s slender frame, before moving past her to Juanita.

  In different circumstances, he might have been amused by the way the equally waif-like best friend clamoured to protect Carrie, moving her body between the two of them, with green eyes that blistered with indignation. “You’re not welcome here,” she said furiously.

  Gael spoke slowly. “As I said earlier, I’m willing to discuss just how badly I behaved at another time. Right now, I need Carrie.”

  “Tough,” Juanita snapped, putting an arm around Carrie’s waist reassuringly. “She doesn’t w
ant to see you.”

  Gael waited for Carrie to contradict her friend, but she stayed silent.

  “Carrie…”

  “Don’t you get it? You two are O-V-E-R. You’re acting like a loser, chasing her like this.”

  Carrie sent Juanita a sidelong glance. She was obviously warming to the theme of valiant protector.

  “Carrie…”

  “Don’t speak to her!” Juanita shouted, pushing at his chest now.

  Gael didn’t budge. He was like a boulder; firm and intractable.

  “Carrie…”

  “What kind of thick, stupid …”

  “Diego is dead, Carrie.”

  Carrie opened her mouth, then shut it again. She opened her mouth, then closed it, over and over, like a fish, struggling for food. She clutched for Juanita, and grabbed her shirt, but it was not enough. She fell to the floor, rendered unconscious by the shocking delivery of such news.

  She came to almost instantly, her eyes clouded with confusion. Gael crouched beside her, his hands confident at her back.

  She shook her head, and when she spoke, her mouth was thick. “I thought you just said …”

  “He’s dead.”

  Carrie, who had been fighting tears almost constantly for a week, didn’t cry now. She pushed up off the floor and brushed her dress of any invisible flecks of dust. “Let’s go.”

  Juanita was silent. She didn’t look at Gael. “Do you need me to do anything, Care-Bear?”

  Carrie turned around, and the sight of Juanita’s gentle face finally brought tears to her eyes. Her lower lip quivered. “I … I don’t know,” she whispered.

  Juanita wrapped her arms around her best friend’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Be brave, beautiful.”

  Carrie nodded, trying to bring her tears in check. “I’ll call you.”

  Gael must have stowed Carrie’s suitcase, because it was gone. She slid into his car and stared at the mews street. It looked different somehow.

  It wasn’t until they were clear of London that Carrie heard herself say, “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Why didn’t anyone …?”

  “Your mother tried to call you last night. Your phone was off.”

  Carrie looked in his direction out of habit, not because she wanted to see him. She’d left it at home and the battery had run flat. She’d wanted to escape from everyone and everything for a while.

  “But today?”

  His fingers were white on the steering wheel. “We’ve been busy.”

  She felt like a chastened child. She also felt excluded. As though the big people had been occupied, taking care of things, while she, Carrie, had been left aside. An irrelevancy that had to be ‘dealt’ with when there was time. “How is my mother?”

  Gael’s glance flicked to her momentarily and Carrie felt a charge of angry electricity. “How do you think?”

  Carrie would not have answered that question confidently in a thousand years; not if her life depended upon it.

  “Was he …” She swallowed, thinking of Diego. Her voice broke. “Was he comfortable?”

  He shook his head. “He’s dead, Carrie.”

  Her heart turned over. A need to comfort Gael bubbled through her. She discarded it as childish.

  Being at Forest View without Diego was entirely strange. How used to his presence Carrie had become! Initially, it had felt like an invasion, and now it was as much a part of life in the estate as the birds and the lake.

  The grass was wet beneath her bottom. She didn’t care. She stared out at the early morning fog, watching as a diligent little sparrow dug his beak into the grass and lifted out a worm. The worm was tough though, and did not come easily. The sparrow made a warble of disapproval and tugged again, until it had the entire squiggling beast in its captivity. Away it flew, satisfied with the morning’s hunt.

  Carrie’s fingers rubbed against the rose petals; they were soft like a peach, reminding her of the frangipani on Gael’s island.

  Gael. Her body physically clenched at the memories.

  The morning was cool – too cool for August. It was as if the summer had decided to mourn Diego’s passing, along with the rest of the estate. Carrie, unable to sleep, had been sitting on the grass since three o’clock in the morning. The darkness had comforted her, and the singing of the dawn birds had rewarded her. She pressed her palms into the damp ground, ready to stand, when a dark figure captured her attention.

  Gael.

  It was not yet six o’clock. His pace was even, his steps strong, his stride confident. He ran as though he was trying to pound his thoughts into the earth. He ran angrily. He ran furiously. Her mournful blue eyes tracked him, confident that the fog would keep her concealed from him.

  Except he was looking for her. Or perhaps it just seemed that way. His eyes scanned the grounds, and sure enough, he changed his path as he neared her location, running for her quickly now.

  Gael slowed a short distance from Carrie. She was shivering, her face pale, her eyes huge, her hair a mess.

  “Carrie?” He crouched down on his haunches. “You’re frozen.” He unzipped his running jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. It smelled of him. She pushed it away.

  “Am I?” She asked, her eyes holding his for the briefest of moments.

  “How long have you been sitting here?”

  She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  He made a sound of impatience. “Come inside with me.”

  She shook her head. She tried to smile. She thought it was appropriate. But her lips wouldn’t cooperate. “I’ll be in soon.”

  He hadn’t seen her since the previous night, when they’d arrived on the estate. He’d been busy with Alexandra, but his mind had been singularly focussed on Carrie. She’d barely spoken, the entire trip out to the countryside.

  “How are you?”

  She swallowed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  He was hurting from not touching her. He ached to put an arm around her shoulders and hold her against his chest. “He was my father by birth, but yours more so at the end.”

  Carrie closed her eyes. Tears slid out from the corners of her eyes, hot and heavy on her cheek. She didn’t bother to check them. Gael watched her cry andhe sat perfectly still.

  “He was well, when I saw him last. He was laughing.”

  Gael nodded. “He caught a flu.”

  Carrie shook her head. “Who from?”

  “Who knows?” Gael shrugged. “He was weakened from his chemotherapy.”

  “When?”

  “When?” He repeated quizzically.

  “When did he get sick? When did you know? When did you come here?”

  Gael nodded. “Alexandra called me Monday.”

  “Monday?” She shook her head angrily. “Why didn’t she call me?”

  “I told her not to,” he responded heavily. “It was just a flu. Diego said he’d be fine. He didn’t want to bother you. I agreed with him ...”

  If it would have served a purpose, Carrie might have allowed herself to feel anger. But it didn’t. She wouldn’t.

  “You’ve been here a week?”

  He nodded.

  Carrie pulled her knees to her chin, and rested her head on them. “We were halfway through Moby Dick. I can’t believe he didn’t wait to hear how it ended.”

  Gael picked up a stick and tossed it far off into the distance. “He waited longer than I believed he would.”

  “Really?” She pressed her cold cheek against her knee, so that she could see him. His face was pale.

  He made a sound of agreement. “I thought he was about to die. Six years ago, when I came here. I was certain it was the end.”

  Carrie let out an uneven breath. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

  “It is,” he agreed stonily. “So much has changed since.”

  “Yes. We’re the same cast, but different characters.”

  “Carrie?”


  She heard the serious note in his voice and stood abruptly. “I should go in. There must be something I can do.”

  Gael followed her lead, though he wanted to stay there more than anything. Where it was just the two of them, alone in the world. “Yes, you’re right.”

  The funeral took place two days later, in the grounds of Forest View. It was the second man Carrie had loved who was brought to rest in amongst the ancient elms of the West Garden. She clung to Juanita and Tom, immaculate in a black Prada dress with dark sunglasses pulled low over her face. Only the translucent shade of her skin communicated her inner-torment.

  Alexandra was stoic and stunning; poised in a designer suit, her blonde hair brushed long and straight. She spoke eloquently, and brought most of the crowd to tears.

  Carrie was beyond tears. Even when Gael delivered a eulogy and quoted from Moby Dick, she didn’t react.

  She just wanted it all to be over, so that she could go back to her townhouse and stare at a white wall in silence.

  “Carrie?” A voice, familiar yet not, caught her attention. She turned, realising that everyone else had gone. She was alone, amongst the elms and some forgotten tissues. “Carrie?” She angled her face, and startled when she saw Gabriella.

  “Oh!” The watery smile felt tight on her face. “Hello, Gabriella.”

  The older woman extended her arms, and Carrie sobbed, finally, as she fell into them. She shook her head against her shoulder, straightening swiftly. “I’m sorry. I stayed away from everyone else because I didn’t want to seem maudlin.”

  “You are not maudlin. You are sad. Your sadness is an honour to Diego’s life.”

  Carrie nodded. “I’m pleased to see you. I’m glad you’re here.”

  She nodded. “I came for Gael.”

  Carrie swallowed. “I’m sure he’s grateful.”

  Gabriella put an arm around Carrie’s waist, not sure if it was to take or give support.

  Carrie felt her warmth, and for the first time in days, she felt a small part of herself warming. “Would you like to go inside? We can get a quiet cup of tea away from the crowd?”