She was barely afloat with the ranch. The entire time I was growing up she’d never had a mortgage. She’d bought the ranch outright when I was just a baby with the money that the Biological Sperm Donor—my not-so-affectionate term for the male who had fathered me—had paid her to go away and have her baby somewhere else.
“Mia, you’d tell me if you needed anything, wouldn’t you?” Mom, you’d tell me if you were about to be turned out by the bank, wouldn’t you? I longed to reply with those words but, as usual, lacked the courage to even bring it up.
The ranch—a sort of cross between a guest “dude” ranch and a western-themed B and B—was Mom’s livelihood. But she hadn’t been able to run it properly since the cancer diagnosis and treatment. So she’d had to take out a mortgage to help cover her medical bills.
I managed my fake-bright voice again. “Of course, of course. Love ya!”
“We haven’t even talked—what—”
And damned if the call waiting didn’t click through at that moment. I checked the ID. Thank you, Heath! If I could have reached through the phone wire and kissed him, I would. I loved that guy.
“Mom, Heath is calling through and I think it’s pretty important. Can I call you back?”
“I’ll call you. It’s long distance.”
“Okay. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tell him I said ‘hi’ and I’m still waiting for him to come up with you next time so I can see him.”
“Sure, sure. Love you, Mom.” And I clicked off to take the waiting call, took a deep breath and sat up.
“Dude.”
“Dollface.”
“What’s up?”
“I got it narrowed down to two guys. I’m going to meet with both of them within the next few days.”
“They’re in the area?”
“One of them doesn’t live too far away, actually. The other one is back east but he’s flying out on business this Thursday. I can meet him then.”
My heart kicked up to high-speed velocity. “Okay. What—what are they like?”
“The younger guy is only sixty-two—”
I tensed. “What?”
“Kidding.”
I sat back in relief. Shoulda known. “Asshole.”
“The third guy was kinda up there. Almost fifty. He was a ‘no’ based on other criteria, too. The younger guy is only a few years older than me. The other one is in his thirties. Pretty yummy. I’d do him, but you know I like blonds.”
So the younger guy wasn’t blond. “What else can you tell me?”
“Rich as hell, of course. Both keenly interested, especially after I sent them the face shots.”
I rolled my eyes. Aside from his many other technical achievements—Heath designed and built websites for his day job—his beloved pastime was digital photography. And he was very gifted at it. He was the one who’d insisted, when I’d cooked up this crazy scheme in the first place, on dressing me up in a bikini (one I bought at Anthropologie and ended up returning because it was way beyond my price range). He took snapshots of me on the rocks of the jetty at Corona Del Mar beach.
The pictures he’d posted on the auction website were from the neck down. I guess I had a nice figure even if my breasts were pretty small. But I was on the taller side, which gave me the side effect of long legs. Nevertheless, I’d been pretty sure that my lack of surgical enhancement or fake bake tan would affect the results of the auction. But apparently that wasn’t the case.
Despite how much I knew it was time to get it over with and just lose it, it wasn’t just a matter of surrendering my virginity to the guy willing to pay the most. I had a carefully laid-out plan in place. First he’d have to submit to a thorough screening by my “bouncer.”
“Yes, I’m going to have to find a way to appropriate the one who doesn’t win you.”
I laughed. “Let me know how that works out for you. Then again, maybe not. I’d rather not know.”
“I’m meeting the Californian guy tomorrow for lunch in Irvine. After I meet the New Yorker, I’ll be in touch. I asked them both for medical records and I’m having some background checks run.”
“It all sounds good.”
“Mia, I need to tell you this again—it’s not too late to back out of this. Once money is exchanged and plans are made, it’s a done deal. But you still have that freedom to walk away and be completely anonymous. I mean, this is not an easy thing to ask of yourself. You’ve never had sex before and planning to do it with a complete stranger—”
“Heath—”
“I mean, I did make sure to put into the language of the auction that you might require a ‘get to know you’ period. Maybe a few dates first so it’s not just so—sudden?”
I shook my head, trying to suppress a rising mound of frustration. We’d been over this before—several times. “I already told you I’d rather not know him. I just want to get it over with as quickly as possible. It’s not a romantic act for me—just a bit of skin. I have no emotional attachment to it. It’s high time I lost it. This way, I can move on with my life with a nice fat bank account.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I sat up and squeezed my eyes shut and thought of my mom. She’d need another melanoma therapy vaccination soon and those came dear, especially with no medical insurance. She’d probably refuse to get it and choose to pay the mortgage instead. Anger at our helplessness burned at the edge of my awareness. “I told you I’m not backing out.”
“Okay. I just felt obligated to say it again.”
“And again. And again.”
“Right. Now I’m going to ask you another question that will annoy you.”
I braced myself but didn’t say anything.
“What do you think your shrink would say about this?”
I arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen Dr. Marbrow for years.” I couldn’t afford her anymore, either. “She released me to my own recognizance. Declared me all healed.”
“Riiight.”
“You think I’m crazy?”
He sighed. “I think that the shit you were dealing with takes a long time to get over.”
I swallowed. Six years wasn’t long enough? If not, then how much time would it take? A decade? Fifteen years?
“I’m a tough woman,” I breathed.
“Hell yeah, you are. I’m just saying—”
“Okay, that’s all the preach you get today. No more. Talk to you at the end of the week. I gotta start getting ready for work.”
“Are you logging in tonight?” he asked.
“It’s our regular game night. You know I’m always there.”
“Any word from Fallen?” Heath referred to a regular member of our group by his game name—FallenOne—as we all did, since he’d never given us his real name. We’d all been gaming together for over a year, along with another good friend from Canada, and Fallen hadn’t been making our regular group nights for nearly two months.
“I’m not sure what’s going on in his personal life right now.”
“He hasn’t told you? You two talk about everything.”
“Not anymore,” I said with a twinge of regret. I knew that Fallen read my blog. He’d vehemently opposed the Manifesto. We’d been up half the night chatting in game text chat and arguing about it. Was he upset with me because of the auction? The thought of losing friends over this thing didn’t please me, so I hoped this wasn’t the case.
After we ended our call, I hopped out of bed and into the shower, then pulled on my scrubs and headed to the hospital. And I tried to keep my mind on what I was doing and not the issues that Heath had dug up—nor the end results of the auction. With any luck, things would be all taken care of before I had to retake the MCAT. I could only hope, anyway.
Chapter Two
I passed through the next week like an automaton, going through the motions at work, on my blog, getting various things done. I felt poised on the brink of something—something big. But I wouldn’t let myself entertain that idea. T
his had to be smaller than me. This had to be an insignificant moment in my overall timeline. Soon it would be over and I’d move on with the rest of my life.
But I couldn’t help wondering what kind of person I would end up with. If I was lucky, I’d find him attractive, at least. Maybe he’d be good, gentle. He didn’t have to be amazing as I was hardly in a position to judge, given my lack of experience.
Ideas like these flickered through my mind and a couple times I caught myself fantasizing about this mystery guy and jumping every time the phone rang as I waited to hear back from Heath. Thus, when the phone finally did ring, it was no surprise that I was, again, in bed—this time for a quick nap after an overnight shift working in the ER.
“What?” I mumbled into the receiver, still mostly asleep.
“Were you sleeping?” Heath’s amused voice came over the line.
“Mm. Late shift last night, this morning.”
“Ah, okay. Well…get up and brew yourself a pot of coffee because I have your winner and he wants to meet you this afternoon.”
I groaned. “He can wait. I’m half-dead, Heath. Can’t we do this tomorrow? It’s my day off and I need some warning, I haven’t done laundry for—”
“No can do, doll. He has to fly to the East Coast on business first thing tomorrow. He won’t be back until the end of the week.”
“Heath…”
“Come on. I’ve reserved a private conference room at the Westin South Coast Plaza.”
I remembered my one serious skirt—a crisp business pencil skirt—was at the bottom of the clean laundry basket, wrinkled beyond recognition.
“I have to iron my skirt and my iron’s broken.”
“I’ll bring my iron when I pick you up.”
“I don’t have a board, either.”
“Then use the table, for chrissakes. Listen, I’m not here to solve your first-world, heterosexual female problems. Get up, get your makeup on and get with the program.”
I sighed and hung up, my heart racing. It occurred to me that he hadn’t told me whom he’d selected.
I followed his instructions, got up, showered, styled my hair and, surrendering to the inevitable, pulled it back into a ponytail because it wasn’t cooperating. My makeup went on satisfactorily and I was in my blouse—a white, tailored button-down—and skivvies when Heath showed up. He didn’t have his iron.
“What the hell, Heath?”
“I couldn’t find it. I think that stupid little twerp swiped it when he packed his crap and left.” He referred to the recent demise of his two-year relationship. It had not been a good breakup and Heath was still nursing the broken heart from it.
I shot him a puzzled look. “Who steals an iron?”
“Spoiled little brats like Brian, that’s who.”
I sighed and glanced at my pathetic excuse for a skirt.
“Why don’t you hang it up in the shower and run the hot water?” he asked.
“Give my skirt a shower?”
“The steam will take some of the wrinkles out. A dryer works, too.”
“Well, I don’t have a dryer, so I guess steam is going to have to do. Do you think it will work?”
“Hell no, but might as well try.”
I ran the shower until the hot water ran cold—which didn’t take long in my little studio. Since living here, I’d become the queen of the snappy shower. When I pulled the skirt off the hanger and tried to smooth out the damp cloth, it failed to cooperate.
Once dressed, I left the bathroom. Heath made a face and twirled his finger, signaling that I should turn around.
I complied. “That bad?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t take a fashion expert to see that that thing is a hot mess—literally.”
I blew out a breath. “How much time do we have? Maybe swing by the mall to pick up a loaner?”
He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at it and shook his head. “You’re going like that. Besides, he’s not paying the big bucks to sleep with your skirt, fortunately for you.”
I glared at him. “Sometimes you annoy the shit out of me.”
“I know.” He shrugged and jerked his shoulder toward the door and walked out. I followed him into a gorgeous spring afternoon.
Once in his blue Jeep Wrangler, Heath maneuvered his way to the nearest freeway entrance down sleepy residential streets cloaked in bright purple jacaranda and whispering pepper trees. Out on the wider boulevard, towering palms—ubiquitous in Southern California—shivered in the cool ocean breeze.
“So who is this guy?” I asked him as we zipped down the 55 freeway.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Name’s Drake.” He shot me a glance like I should know who that was. “Adam Drake.”
“And which rich dude is he?”
“The one from out here. Lives in Newport Beach, of course. Don’t they all?”
I snorted. “And you said he’s young?”
“A bit older than we are. Twenty-six.”
“So how’d he get so rich? Trust fund? Daddy’s company?”
“Nope, he’s completely self-made, actually.”
That bit of info blew me away. “How is that possible at his age?”
“He’s a software architect—video games.”
My mouth opened in surprise. Heath’s sense of irony was not lost on me. “I can see why you picked him. He develop anything that I know?”
Heath shrugged. “Maybe.”
I shot him a pointed glance. “Just how thorough was your background check?”
“Oh God. I think I know him like a brother by now. We spoke on Monday for three hours. Then had another long chat on Wednesday on the phone. I was already half in love with him before I even met Mr. New York.”
I snorted again.
“Yeah, don’t do that when you are in there. He might back out of the whole thing if he hears you laughing like a piglet.”
I slapped his shoulder with the back of my hand and he grinned.
Not half an hour later, we sat at a glass-and-chrome conference table in black leather chairs, sleek granite décor ensconcing us in all that was modern and exuding wealth. I’d driven by this hotel many times but never been inside—and never hoped to have the chance to stay in a place so nice.
My hands drummed on my lap, slapping against my bare knees. Heath stopped me once by placing his large hand across mine but I only resumed the minute he removed it.
“You’re driving me up a tree with that.”
I shot him a look. He’d just have to deal with my nerves. “Are we really that early?”
“No, he’s late.”
“If he was that anxious to meet me today, shouldn’t he be here on time?”
“He’s coming up the 405. After three, it’s an instant parking lot. He’s probably stuck in traffic.”
I huffed. “Can’t he take the filthy rich limo lane or something?”
Before I could even finish my sentence, two men approached the frosted glass door to the conference room. One of them leaned forward to snap open the door. He was the taller of the two and wore his dark hair in a close-cropped style. The other man—well, I hardly noticed him when I locked eyes with the first man’s obsidian stare.
Heath and I jerked to our feet. My pulse ratcheted up to a near-fatal rate, threatening acute hypertension. The first guy with the dark eyes was the software mogul—I would have bet my every measly belonging on it. He hesitated at the doorway once he’d caught a full glimpse of me, and my breath caught when I looked into his stunningly handsome face.
He was about six feet tall and wearing an expensive suit—the kind with a vest under the jacket that looked like it had been tailored for him, hugging his tapered waist and slim hips. The suit looked so good on him that I knew it had to be designer, even though I was the first one to confess that I knew nothing about designer anything.
He was finely built but not imposing. His slacks clung to muscular thighs, his jacket stretched across solid but not broad shoulders. His suit was a
crisp steel gray with a slightly darker shirt and tie. The silver tie clip caught the light and my eyes flicked to it and then back to his face. He had the chiseled masculinity of a marble god. All angles and strong, clean lines.
My heart felt like it might fibrillate or—as a non-medical student would say—flutter. I’d never been so strongly affected by a man. Especially one I’d only just laid eyes on. His dark eyes met mine and my chest felt like it was about to explode. He stopped, his eyes narrowing. While he gave me the once-over, I sucked in a lungful of air because I’d almost forgotten to breathe during this initial lightning strike.
Shit. It was at that precise moment that I realized I was in trouble.
Drake never took his eyes off of mine, not until he came to a stop just opposite the conference table. He moved like a cat—a sleek predator.
Heath leaned forward, offering his hand, and Drake finally looked away to shake hands with him, an arrogant smile on his lips. “Good to see you again, Bowman,” he said with a clear, deep voice that only made my heart race faster.
His voice was a caress—a gentle but firm hand that skimmed down my bared spine to settle in a tight fist just at the base. Every sense came alive and my awareness of everything around me heightened. Elevated respiration. Increased perceived body heat. Speedy pulse. Classic signs of sexual arousal.
I almost fell off my heels in shock over the strength of it. Was this me? Me? Who’d wondered for at least a year if I might be a lesbian because I didn’t find any men I met attractive?
His gaze flicked back to me as Heath laid a hand on my shoulder. “This is our semi-famous blogger, Girl Geek.”
Drake’s chin tilted in a fetching way as he seemed to be studying me. I bit my lip, every nerve pulling taut. It was amazing how the body’s response to arousal and fear were so very similar. And at that point, I’d have been hard put to discern the difference.
Drake waved a hand to my seat while he took his. I sank slowly into mine, the leather sticking to the backs of my sweaty knees. I looked at the man flanking him for the very first time, suddenly realizing I hadn’t even spared a thought or a glance for him before this. He was older, balding, with a middle paunch and he appeared to be in his midfifties. He carried a briefcase, apparently a lawyer. When I looked back at Drake, I almost jumped at the intensity of his gaze. His eyes shot points right through me, like icy darts. My eyes held his but I swallowed what felt like a watermelon in my throat and tried to ignore the pulse bumping at my temple.
Girl Meets Billionaire Page 24