Exclusive Love (British Billionaires Series) (3 page)

Chapter Three

Receiving an email verifying her registration on Exclusive Love, Katy was positively gleeful. Her real life as a real journalist was finally beginning. John amended her wage to reflect a salary of $100,000 a year. Her grandparents generously agreed to deposit the lump sums they’d been paid upon retiring to bulk up her account balance.

Sending over her online bank statement with confidential information blanked out to avoid close scrutiny of the unusual transactions, Katy was selective with the financial records she referred to the website administration.

Retracting the hike in wages after her membership was accepted left Katy with her routine meager monthly salary. Transferring the monies back to her grandparents account, she congratulated herself for flying under the radar with respect to finances. Evidently fact-finding on prospective clients was restricted to financial details. No one in their right mind would buy the story that a twenty-three year old journalist had an outrageous wage of $100,000 per annum.

      Confidentiality was promised by the online dating company. Assessing her profile, she tweaked it to reflect the likes and dislikes, tastes and preferences closest to her own. Keeping up a pretense would be less troublesome if it’s foundation was based on truth. In essence her income was her only lie. It was trivial in the grand scheme. The events to subsequently unfold when dating a millionaire were generating high levels of interest and excitement in Katy.

Swept up in her zeal to start the story, Katy was scrolling through pictures of available online millionaires as she sat in court on a case involving a teenager siphoning gas from another car at the mall. His excuse that his own tank had been empty and he couldn’t drive home from the cinema didn’t register with her. The range of rich bachelor pictures were classic, appealing to standard tastes. Her hand passed photo after photo until a striking man caught her eye.

Striking because unlike his blonde and dark haired counterparts, his hair was red. Not fire engine red, nor dark auburn, but blonde with a distinct red tint to it. His eyes were bluer than a stormy ocean. He had a strong jaw line with symmetrical features. In the photo, which had to have been lifted from a promotional company brochure, his lips were curved into a smile that didn’t indicate an effective and efficient financial director so much as a naughty boy hoping for trouble. The mystery millionaire mightn’t be traditionally handsome, but he had an air of playful sexiness.

      Debating on whether or not to commence contact, Katy was undecided. Men might see it as forthright and off-putting. Supposedly a new age where a woman asking a man out was no longer unusual or unseemly, tradition tended to reign supreme—particularly in respect of pompous British millionaires.

Impulsive in her youth, and disregarding her concerns, Katy scanned his profile. His name was Oscar; his byline was ‘Come Keep Me Company’. Wondering if he was sincere, his words didn’t imply he was a millionaire urgently chasing true love. It read as though he was in the country for a short period seeking a flight of fancy to occupy him until settled permanently to hunt a new conquest.

He’d ticked practically every box in the likes and dislikes, which gave no insight to him as a person. In the free form box titled ‘About Me’, his words read: ‘Let’s have a drink and go from there.’ She bristled that he wasn’t even offering to pay for the drink.

Considering her own form, she wondered if it read as a novel the size of Gone With The Wind. Would potential wealthy beaus read far enough to discover the secrets she’d embedded in her profile? Newly worried she wouldn’t attract any offer of dates was the incentive required to communicate with Oscar. Following the snippets gleaned from his profile she messaged: ‘Fancy going for that drink then?’

Hearing his phone and computer simultaneously notify him of an incoming email, Oscar logged onto his Exclusive Love inbox convinced he had a message. It was brief and to the point. No small talk, no banter, no teasing, no flirtation. It gave nothing away. The other emails he’d received since his profile had gone live twenty-four hours earlier required reading detailed letters, demanding upfront extensive online discussion and video calling with women for them to even contemplate dating him.

This girl was bolder and braver. Tired from checking endless boxes when preparing his profile—Oscar discovered he had an interest in everything life offered—reaching the free-form section, he’d written few words. Whether conscious or subconscious, he’d revealed almost nothing in relation to the man he was. Essentially a random stranger, the girl had guts. She gained his respect with one sentence.

He hit reply. In keeping with their shared tone, it briefly said: ‘Where, when and how will I recognize you?’

      The teenage boy siphoning gas had been given a paltry fine, his previous record for throwing a live firecracker into the window of another person’s moving vehicle failed to influence the judge’s decision. Leaving Katy without a story, the case had wasted the court’s time and money.

      Her face soured in the courtroom, not because of the judge’s light sentencing, but because Oscar accepted her offer for a drink without glancing at her profile. Had he at least skimmed it, he would’ve seen the obligatory picture and not had to ask how he’d recognize her.

The level of irritation from his message, caused an immediate sense of dislike toward the millionaire. She decided he was either desperate and dateless to accept her offer without reading the profile she’d spent hours carefully constructing or assumed, perhaps correctly, that the screening process of Exclusive Love only admitted women with a certain type of look. The bias niggled at her. She made a note to explore whether a photo screening process existed whilst undertaking her investigation.

Fighting the urge to retract the offer, she turned her phone off, Sitting straighter in the uncomfortable hard row of wooden seats, she focused on the next case.

Oscar wasn’t normally nervous around women. He’d never had a need to be. Assuming Katy to be open and friendly from the single message he’d received, the lack of response had him edgy. Had he been too keen replying straight away? Was she a player, deliberately keeping him on tenterhooks for a reply? It was possible that she was simply caught up in work. Alleviating his tension, he perused her profile on screen rather than submerge himself in financial reports.

As a man of the world, Oscar knew women would upload their most flattering photographs to reel in dates. The photos rarely reflected the women in the flesh partaking of their daily lives, hence he paid no attention to them. Katy was pretty in a brown eyed, brunette way, but her profile was endless. It was an essay not a brief introduction.

Allegedly she was a reporter. Coming from that professional background, he assumed she’d be concise with her writing. He was miffed at the stream of words reading as a feeble romantic novel. Losing interest in her onscreen babble, he was comforted that perhaps he’d had a lucky escape from her.

Finishing work for the day, Katy was tidying her desk hurriedly to avoid crossing paths with her boss. Seeing him enter the main office from the corner of her eye, she cursed.

‘How’s that piece coming along, Katy?’

‘I only got verified today.’

‘Don’t string it out. Start making a move,’ John advised.

Gritting her teeth, to not roll her eyes and vent a churlish comment she’d later regret, Katy nodded as if taking his advice.

‘If you leave it too late, another journalist at another publication may jump on it and you’ll miss the scoop.’

      Why did he always have to sound as if he was a newspaper editor from a cartoon strip? Scoop indeed! Scurrying out of the office, preventing a longer conversation relating to the article, she knew she’d have to reply to Oscar.

Her temper had simmered over a few hours. Turning her phone on to reread the message had her blood boiling. Why hadn’t he suggested a bar and time to meet? She had no awareness as to where millionaires frequented in New York. Undertaking perhaps the briefest groundwork she’d ever done (praising online access offered by her cell phone), she discovered the Rose Bar which apparently catered to the filthy rich.

Was tomorrow too soon for a date? Perhaps it would benefit her to present herself as someone with a full diary to gain his interest. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have or so her oldest friend Julia had drummed into her head since puberty. Julia was someone whose comfort and advice she could use. Confiding in her reliable friend wasn’t feasible on this undercover job. One excited slip of the tongue and word could spread fast; rendering her piece untimely. Keeping in mind John’s words she opted to go forward.

‘Tomorrow. 7.30pm Rose Bar. You’ll recognize me if you take five seconds to review my picture online.’

      Oscar wrinkled his nose at the message. Whiling away an afternoon fretting over the rejection of a girl who ultimately read as ‘boring’, he decided to compensate for his laziness by catching up with work in the nearly vacant office. Whoever this Katherine was, he’d written her off already. Faced with a message dictating their date affirmed his intrinsic sense they would not gel as friends or lovers.

His breeding surpassed his instinct. He agreed to her invitation. In fairness, he had requested she select the time and venue. Perhaps it was the snide chastisement relating to her profile picture that irked him. At thirty-five had been too long since he’d felt someone could discipline him with any real right or reason. It would be easy to block her from contacting him via the website, agree to come but not turn up to the date or delay the event with excuses until she got the message he wasn’t keen. Cowardice was not one of Oscar’s faults.

On the positive side it was tomorrow night. He could get it over and done with promptly. He wasn’t obligated to make a night of it. After all they both specified ‘a drink’.

‘I’ll see you then,’ he typed. Unable to resist his predisposition to flirt, he keyed a further sentence then hit send.

Katy remained surprised at his prompt response.

‘I’ll see you then. Hopefully you’ll spot me through the crowd of women surrounding me.’

‘Arrogant sod,’ she thought reading it.

Chapter Four

Katy didn’t bother with the office after the court closed for the day. Her boss interfering and giving guidelines on how conduct herself with the enigmatic and arrogant Oscar was the last thing she needed.

      Spending yesterday evening with Julia trawling her wardrobe for an appropriate dress to wear, it had been Julia’s mother providing the vintage Chanel. Remaining vague as to why the dress had to be designer, seizing it she kissed her friend’s mother exuberantly on the cheek.

      Appraising herself in the mirror, the dress wasn’t quite the gem she’d hoped for, but she was stuck with it. Transport hadn’t been at the forefront of Katy’s mind when proposing the Rose Bar. Not owning a car, or having a private driver, public transport was her only option.

Made up and dressed up, she trotted in her glamorous outfit to the train station. Knowing what an abnormal vision she was to those passing by, the stares and wolf whistles attracted from the less poised men on the carriage were expected.

Her deteriorating appearance over the spell of the journey was cause for concern. The rattling train and trooping to the Gramercy Park Hotel would alter her tireless endeavors in front of the bedroom mirror that afternoon.

Friendly enough, the doormen were suited and carried an air of discernment. Katy wanted to yank the Chanel tag from the back of her dress to present it as if it were a membership card. Whether it was pity or approval, they warmly welcomed her.

Oscar pinpointed her upon entry. Even with the dark lighting, she fell below his expectations. Slightly disheveled, long strands of brown hair fell from the basic ballerina bun she’d styled and were clinging damply to her face. It was as if she’d run from the dance studio failing to glimpse herself in the mirror. The four inch stilettos were unfamiliar footwear. Stumbling as if walking a tightrope, the doormen aided her to thwart any mishap.

Wobbling to keep balanced and upright had the traditional black cocktail dress fitting awkwardly on Katy. Staggering straight to the women’s bathrooms, her eyes didn’t search him out. The girl obviously knew she wasn’t anywhere close to the woman on her profile picture. She’d gone to preen and make herself presentable. Oscar’s heart softened. Forming an opinion of someone from a brief online exchange didn’t automatically make it accurate.

Katy burst into tears seeing her reflection in the mirror. Tendrils of hair were matted in her thick foundation. Aware of the ticking second her on the watch and limitations imposed, she did what she could. Styling her hair would have to wait to a second date if it eventuated. Letting her hair cascade, she brushed the thick, darkest brown hair running halfway down her back.

Sleek and glossy, it was a major improvement on the sweaty ballerina. Her handbag hadn’t the capacity to include her entire make up kit. Powdered concealer was used to touch up her liquid foundation. Tidying her smeared eye liner and mascara with a piece of toilet paper, she reapplied them, grateful her blusher and lip gloss were on hand. It wasn’t her ideal presentation, but she sensibly tolerated it.

Lounging comfortably in a chair by the fireplace Oscar did a double take when Katy stepped out from the ladies bathroom. The black dress was classy. From the button attaching the high rounded neckline ran a delicate split to the top of her cleavage, giving a hint of what was beneath.

The silky satin material of the dress was simply cut, stopping above her knees, but from the satin band around the bodice fell a pleated chiffon skirt taking the dress to mid-calf length. The effect was stunning. It teased a man’s imagination with the trace of tanned skin from her chest and the toned legs underneath the chiffon. The long sleeves of the dress established its designer. On the satin cuffs were two gold CC buttons—Coco Chanel.

Unfazed in his armchair, Oscar saw Katy perusing the room for him. Above average in height, especially in her four-inch stilettos, Katy was nonetheless dwarfed by Oscar as he stood to greet her.

‘Glad you managed to rid yourself of the throng of salivating women before I arrived,’ said Katy.

Although barbed, the comment wasn’t unfriendly.

‘I had ample time, given you spent close to half an hour in the bathrooms readjusting yourself.’

Praying her healthy glow from the sun covered her blushes, Katy knew he’d had full view of her rumpled self as she breezed in.

Oscar mentally kicked himself. Funny in his head, aloud the comment was cruel. The color draining from her face had him awash in guilt.

‘It was worth the wait. It was as if one woman walked in and a totally different one came out. I approve,’ he jested.

Missing the compliment, Katy caught only the conceited ending.

‘I’m glad you do, but I wasn’t seeking your approval,’ she said controlling her voice.

‘I was teasing,’ said Oscar gently. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

      Sitting across from him, she had a chance to take in the décor of the bar. In her homely chair, tilting her head she saw glorious high ceilings. The artwork decorating the walls would be appreciated by someone knowledgeable in the arts. The shades of rich red and moss green gave a comfortable ambiance. The casual pool table assured her she wasn’t absolutely out of place in the hotel bar.

      Inspecting the menu of cocktails, there wasn’t a drink under $20. Her personal budget was already blown and the night hadn’t begun. In retrospect she should’ve told John what was going on to obtain an expense account to cover the cost of the assignment.

      ‘Sex on the Beach,’ she announced, slapping the menu cover shut.

‘Is that an invitation or a drink?’

Katy directed a frosty stare at him.

‘Give me a minute. Then you can tell me about yourself.’

      Heading towards the mahogany bar with its carefully crafted shelves packed with an enormous range of spirits, she knew he’d come straight from work. His navy suit was tailored and well designed. The double breasted jacket restricted her view of the pristine, sky blue shirt underneath and the multicolored blue and gray tie. His trousers were crisp and smooth. Katy had no theory as to how his clothes remained crease-less. His shoes were shiny black leather lace ups, which Katy knew to be Italian. Nothing gave-away that his suit was Armani, but she couldn’t deny he dressed to reflect his finances.

Consulting the barman, she admired his rangy frame from behind. Tall, broad and toned, he was solid and masculine. Turning with cocktails in hand, she was drawn to his face. Red-headed men weren’t her type, but her stomach flipped with his blue eyes locked directly on hers. Smiling as he sat, his lips curved in the same cheeky way they had on his profile picture. Somehow the clash between his coloring and chiseled features gave him a school boy look, rather than a man with middle-age lurking in the not too distant future.

‘You, Katherine, are not at all what I expected,’ he said, ‘Can I expect a lot of people recognizing you or popping over for an autograph?’

She was flummoxed. What an odd question to ask? If that was his sense of humor, the evening did not bode well.

‘Why would you ask that?’ she mustered from her bewildered state.

‘Answering a question with a question. Here I was thinking I’d play the mysterious bachelor. Now you’re competing as the even more mysterious bachelorette.’

From her confused expression, he grasped she was by no means being coy.

‘It said on your profile you’re a reporter. I assumed given the,’ he paused finding a tasteful way to present his assumption. ‘I assumed given the website’s requirements you were a TV news reader or of a related position to fit the criteria. Let’s face it, journalists are renowned for being poorly paid, given the hours and conditions of the job.’

The red velvet drapes and fireplace inferred the premise could be the gateway to hell. In that instant Katy would’ve been happy to face the devil’s wrath to escape the painful conversation. They mightn’t be ‘on the ball’ at Exclusive Love, but Oscar was. She’d come in dressed for Halloween and was visibly unraveling in their initial exchange of words. Overcoming the chasm in social etiquette and carrying out a relationship in a bid to get an insight into his world, was going to require serious effort on Katy’s part.

‘Have you seen me on TV?’ she feigned disinterest.

‘No, but I haven’t been here very long. I tend to stick with BBC news. It keeps me from feeling homesick. I figured you might report for a cable channel.’

‘Report or present the weather?’

Oscar was taken aback. He wasn’t seeking a clash, nor was he questioning her qualifications or professionalism. Hitting on what he assumed was a touchy subject, he diverted the conversation.

‘Either one. You’re sharp. I’d guess you to be a reporter or newsreader, but you’re definitely pretty enough to be the weather presenter worshiped by a cult of regular male viewers.’

The words were calming. Unsure of his sincerity, Katy was grateful to sidestep the issue. Lying didn’t come naturally to her, which in the future could be potentially problematic given her line of work. Lying by omission she deemed acceptable.

‘What do you then?’

      Grinning Oscar revealed straight white teeth.

‘You know, Katherine, I detected the merest intimation of displeasure that I hadn’t consulted your online profile before accepting your offer of a date.’

‘I didn’t ask you out on a date,’ she corrected. ‘Your rather brief summary on Exclusive Love reads as an open invitation to date whomever crosses you in cyberspace.’

His chuckling was low and deep, making Katy fuzzy and girlish.

‘A fair comment. It doesn’t, however, excuse you from the fact that you slapped my wrist for not checking out your photo when you’ve not read my profile.’

‘I have. Asking your line of work was merely a conversational pleasantry.’

‘Let’s not bother with those, then. Life’s too short. What is it I do?’ challenged Oscar.

He was right. Approving his photo and initiating contact on the basis of a physical attraction, Katy was the shallow one. His attire gave away nothing. Her only clue was, unlike the other men online, his picture was stamped with a gold star signifying him as a billionaire.

‘Finance. You work in finance.’

‘Lucky guess?’

      Katy was unable to resist his charm.

‘Maybe.’

‘Definitely.

      ‘Okay, you win,’ she conceded.

‘I always win,’ he laughed.

Arrogance was not an attractive quality to Katy, but it befitted Oscar. Passing it off in a humorous, casual way, he blended it with his finer characteristics.

‘Are you on a winning streak with me?’

‘Too early to say. When you tramped in I would’ve said no. I couldn’t believe from the way you lurched in you were on TV. When you reappeared, my admiration increased tenfold.’

‘How rude. My pilgrimage here was trying, but I can’t have looked that bad to be let in by the doormen. They are exceptionally particular with their clientele here.’

‘I know. I’ve been occasionally dragged here. I told the doormen to keep an eye out for you and give a subtle signal when you showed up.’

His confession took the wind from Katy’s sails. Her spirits diminished as her ego deflated.

‘I didn’t know you’d been before. I should’ve guessed.’

‘Apparently it’s quite the haunt for gold-diggers,’ he said without insinuation. ‘Hence it isn’t my kind of scene, but it’s serene and private enough to talk.’