Billionaire's Lies: A Novel (2 page)

"You look happy," Vanessa said--no, practically sneered. It was more of an accusation than a statement. When I saw her cross her arms over her chest, I knew the interrogation wasn't that far behind. "What's going on?" She sat in my chair as I faxed out paperwork.

"Nothing," I responded without looking up at her.

Aside from being my Oprah, she was somewhat of a mind-reader. Years ago, I figured that if I avoided eye contact, she couldn't enter my thoughts. Although we had been friends for so many years, sometimes
I
couldn't read
her
. Sometimes I wasn't sure if she was genuinely happy for me or if she was acting petty, and now was one of those times.

"Chrissy..." She walked over to me, but I pretended to be occupied with the fax machine. "What is going on?" She was a bit more firm.

I sighed and looked over at her. "I have a date."

Before I could even finish the sentence, she squealed and jumped up and down like a schoolgirl. She started to rave about how she was so glad and about how she was
this close
to signing me up to some dating reality show.

It was true that Vanessa did look out for my love life: she would continually try to get me to go out with her and meet guys, but I was not interested. I just don't have time for the pretenses that came with dating.

You have to fake interests or even pretend that you're listening--all for the hopes that you find the special someone. Or if you were actually genuinely interested, it's all to find out that your date is just waiting to see how long before they get to sleep with you. If you give it up on the first night, you're a slut; if you don't, you're a prude. It's too much. Add to it the hype with Internet dating and swiping right for yes and whatnot, it was just too exhausting.

"So Mr. Blake decided to step up," Vanessa grinned, tucking a strand of dark, curly hair behind her small ear.

"Honestly? He's asked me out before." I ducked for the shoe Vanessa cast my way, scowling. I held my hands out in surrender. "Hear me out! At first I was busy, but it's not just that. Not anymore, at least. I'm honestly a little scared."

With a tight, yet understanding, smile, Vanessa stepped over to me and gripped my shoulders. "Get out of your head," she said, shaking them. "Live a little, Chrissy! It won't kill you. Pinky swear."

"You're right."

"I mean, Blake might, though," she teased, chuckling, but it quickly faded and her serious expression was back as if the possibility Blake would kill me was real. "What did he say he did again? Like, what does he do for work?"

"Just something with computers and applications. I think he makes apps or something like that."

"And what does he look like?"

"Tall?" I tried. I honestly didn't know; he'd never sent me a picture.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"No, he said he was tall and had the body of an athlete."

"Oh boy." She rolled her eyes. "How is it that with all the technology in the world, you guys haven't visually seen each other? Shoot, the fact that he works with computers means that he has the means for you to see him. He's just holding back. That's a huge red flag, Chrissy!"

I just stared blankly in response. It was too late to back out now, and after all of these years of Vanessa teasing me about not meeting him, it was a little annoying that she chose
now
of all times to point out his flaws.

"I don't know. When we first started talking, there weren't that many avenues. Now you blink and everything is available at your fingertips." I shrugged, not thinking too much of it.

"Exactly. You can't tell me that man doesn't have access to a camera. Hell, almost every cell phone has one. I've seen
toddlers
with cameras, for Christ's sake!"

"I know."

"Okay. Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to give you some pepper spray and my taser, just in case."

"Vanessa!"

"What?! Listen, you don't have time to play cute and coy. I refuse for your life to end up like a Law and Order episode."

"Fine."

"And another thing..."

"What?" Here comes the headache.

"We have to get you looking like a sexy vixen!"

"What?"

"Live a little." She smiled, adding again for emphasis, "It won't kill you."

Chapter 3

Walking into the bar wearing Vanessa's skintight, low-cut, red dress made me nervous. I felt sexy, but I could feel all eyes on me, which made me nervous. I've been such a recluse that I had entirely forgotten what it was like to get any attention.

It was flattering to see guys turn their heads just to get a look. When I caught a glimpse of my reflection, I was out of breath. Vanessa had managed to make me look like the vixen she wanted to see. I never knew I could have killer curves. My breasts were out, my hips and butt looked great, and my makeup was flawless. Maybe while I had my eyes closed, Vanessa hit me with a magic wand.

"Hi. Can I get you something to drink?" The bartender acknowledged me as I sat down.

"Could I please just get a glass of white wine? Pinot Grigio," I added for clarification. "Actually, make that a vodka martini."

"Hard day?" Blake's deep, rich voice jolted me in my bar stool. Just the sound of it so up close sent a whole new set of nervous butterflies fluttering through my belly.

Poising myself, I turned to greet him and immediately stopped cold. "Oh my," I blurted.

Blake was tall and built like an athlete, just like he said, but what he failed to mention were his chiseled features. He was so painfully handsome; he could have been on the cover of this month's
Vogue.
His head of full, dark hair was slicked back in a classical 1920s fashion. His perfectly sculpted face was complete with a sharp jawline, complete with the gorgeous smile he was currently flashing me.
Smooth, Chrissy. Get it together!

It was hard, though. His green eyes were almost hypnotic, in that I was only freed once he blinked. I must have just been gaping at him like an idiot because I was awarded a confident, arrogant smirk as he slid into the seat next to me. If I was nervous before, it was nothing compared to what this Godlike man was subjecting me to. I'd never even stood this close to someone so gorgeous before. The fact that this man was the brilliant, funny man I'd been talking to for the past ten years should have reassured me, but it made me even more nervous. It made me unsure of myself, rather than him, and this was territory I was
not
used to.

When he sat down next to me, I got a whiff of his cologne. It was this smoky, dense, robust scent that was almost as captivating as him. It took all my willpower to not close my eyes, lean in and get a deeper whiff.
Stop being weird, Chrissy. You'll scare him away before you even say hello.

"That picture that you sent me years ago doesn't do you any justice. You're exquisite." He brought my hand to his face as his said it, brushing my knuckles with his lips. I tightened my fist to hide my chipped nails, suddenly wishing I
had
made that trip to the salon with Vanessa.

"Thank you," I whispered, blushing. I started to look away, but then his face caught my eye, for a whole different reason. I realized that he looked familiar. "I know that this sounds crazy, but have we met before?"

"No. What do you mean?"

"You look so familiar. I can't put my finger on where I have seen you before."

"Have you?" He seemed amused. It was like he was holding something back from me.

"Yes, I have," I straightened up in my seat, as if that would give me the answers--I wasn't holding back from staring at that handsome face dead-on now. I was sure I'd seen him before now, but I was still having a difficult time placing where I knew him from.

The bartender interrupted my thoughts by taking Blake's drink order and serving me my martini, and within moments we fell into our comfortable selves. All thoughts of his familiarity vanished as he had something that made me laugh. It all felt incredibly natural.

I told him about the pitfalls of work and he just shook his head 'no'. He informed me that we weren't going to talk about work and reminded me that we were here to have a good time. After he said that, it was like this huge burden was lifted off of my shoulders. I felt at ease and the outlook of the night brightened a significant amount for me.

An hour and another drink later, he asked if I was ready to go. I nodded and he escorted me out.

"Where's your car?" I asked while looking up and down the empty street.

He raised his hand and within seconds, a black car pulled up. Swiftly, a driver in a custom-tailored suit got out, walked around, and opened the back passenger door. He then turned to address us.

"Mr. Slate," he said as he tilted his head towards Blake. "Miss Foxworth." Then he tilted his head towards me.

"Thank you, Jonathan. Please drive us to the first destination of the night," Blake responded, ordering the driver as if he'd known him for years and hadn't just rented the limo for the night.
Maybe he
has
known him for years.
Blake held my hand my hand up to give me stability as I climbed into the backseat.

Blake stood outside for a few moments longer, giving the driver further instructions, as I glanced around the interior in stunned silence. It was all creamy leathers and sleek, black paneling. Renting a ride like this for a night would cost more than my rent for a month, and from the way they were interacting, it sounded like it
wasn't
just for one night. It sounded like Jonathan was Blake's regular driver.

After this realization dawned on me, Blake slid into the seat beside me and the driver closed the door behind him.

"What exactly is it you do again?" I asked as the driver began to head towards our next destination.

"Tsk tsk. I thought we agreed not to talk about work tonight."

"But you're here acting like you're James Bond," I responded, flinging my hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Who is to say that I'm not?" he joked while shooting me a wicked grin. "I could very well be Mr. Bond."

"Ha ha, very funny. Now come on! You already know that I'm an account executive at one of the largest marketing firms in all of New York City. Why is it that after all of these years, I don't know anything about you? Doesn't sound very fair to me."

After my declaration, the silence stretched on. For a while, we just looked out of opposite windows. I watched as the cars buzzed by, watched the couples inside of them.
I bet they know what their partners do for a living. Not that Blake's my partner, but still.

I tried to piece together past conversations. Was there ever a time where he gave me a clue about what he did? I knew it had something to do with computers or programming, but was that all I'd gathered? Had I been so self-absorbed in all of our conversations that I hadn't try to pry further, to try to get to know Blake on a deeper level? A pang of guilt struck me as I felt like a crappy friend--I'd treated him like my therapist, always venting my problems and expecting him to fix them for me or soothe me.

"Christina..." Blake interrupted my thoughts and I was pulled back to the reality of the limo ride. "You know that never-ending puzzle game you like to play?"

"You mean the one with the candies and cakes?"

"Don't forget the jewels and birds," he responded sternly, drawing a giggle out of me. I couldn't help it; he was just so serious sometimes about things I felt the average person wouldn't be serious about. It was refreshingly funny.

"What about them?" I asked, once I could hold my giggles together.

I didn't know what he was getting at. He knew that I knew about that damned game, I'd been stuck on level 81 for weeks now and it was driving me insane. I'd actually switched over to one of the other games the company made while I hoped eventually I'd beat the level out of luck, though they had like eight other games to choose from. Sometimes I just cycled through all ten apps. I couldn't help it; it was addictive. Like Blake.

"I own the company that makes them." His tone was so matter-of-fact; it was as if he hadn't just informed me that he's a multi-billionaire.