Followed by a Stranger (BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES Book 3) (2 page)

REBECCA

Andrew had been gone for a long time.
 
So long that I had managed to have a shower,
dry my hair, put on a load of washing and tidy up the flat, and he still wasn’t
back.
 
For some peculiar reason I was
worried about him and the preposterousness of it made me laugh.
 
He was a grown man for goodness sake, with
enough money to buy all the houses as far as the eye could see, according to
Marnie.
 
He was perfectly capable of
buying a few croissants and some milk, wasn’t he?
 
Maybe not!
 
He had a chef in staff-quarters at home who probably did all his food
shopping.
 
I wondered if he even carried
cash on him.
 
He probably had a servant
to carry his wallet.
 
I snorted at the
image, peering through the blinds to see if he was on his way back.

He wasn’t.
 

I slumped down on the sofa and turned
on the news, watching it absentmindedly as I contemplated the weird situation I
found myself in.
 
When I’d left home
three days before, I wouldn’t in my wildest dreams have imagined I’d be waiting
for the return of a financial giant holding a Tesco’s carrier bag.
 
I felt a bit like a non-fairy-tale version of
Cinderella, who had misplaced her prince in favour of a whisky-drinking, bossy,
bondage fanatic with multi-personality issues.
 
I was baffled at his motivation for traveling all the way to London to
apologise.
 
When he’d suggested we fuck
again it had sounded so half-hearted I was shocked.
 
I’d been certain he must want more sex but that
had baffled me too.
 
I mean, I knew I
wasn’t unattractive but I was hardly sexual dynamite worth flying nine hours to
pursue.
 
There were plenty of pretty
girls who were probably much better at sex stuff than I was, many of whom I was
sure he was well acquainted with.
 

The whole situation was ridiculously
strange.

After another five minutes watching
the depressing series of events that was occurring the world over, there was a
knock at the door.

When I opened it, I found Andrew on
the doorstep holding two carrier bags with two sheepish looking teenage boys clutching
more shopping.
 

“I couldn’t carry it all so I found
some help,” he said, striding past me.
 
The boys placed the bags on the doorstep and left pretty sharpish.
 

“You found some help?” I said,
incredulously.

“Well, hired some help would be a
more accurate description.”
 
He passed me
to collect the other shopping bags, seemingly unaware of how abnormal his
actions were.
 

“How much did you pay them?”

“£20 each.”

“You were robbed,” I said, laughing.

“Hardly.
They looked like they could do with
a good meal.
 
It was a perfectly
satisfactory transaction all round.”

“Anyway, what the hell did you
buy?
 
I can afford my own food, you
know.”

“I bought stuff and I know you can
afford your own food.
 
I just wasn’t sure
what you already had, so I got a lot.”

“I can see that.”
 
I followed him back into the kitchen where my
worktops were now overflowing with bags.
 
“Here, let me do that.”
 
I started
to unpack, finding all the items required for a cooked breakfast, a continental
breakfast,
five
different types of cereals, smoked
salmon, four different types of Danish pastries and enough fruit to run a
pick-your-own farm.
 
There was milk in
every variety, five different flavours of juice and even creamy yoghurt and
granola.
 
Everything was Tesco’s Finest
and there was not an economy product in sight.
 
I smiled to myself, wondering if he knew he had chosen all the most
expensive stuff or if the word ‘finest’ had acted on some kind of subconscious
level.
 
Psychologists could have a field
day with that one.

 
“So…what kind of breakfast do you fancy then,”
I asked him.
 
“I offer a full-service
menu here.
 
Name your pleasure and I’ll
provide.”
 
As soon as the words were out
of my mouth I realised what I’d said.
 
Andrew grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief and my stomach came
alive with butterflies. He was such a good-looking man it was almost
unbearable.

“You know my pleasure, Rebecca.
 
As for breakfast, I’m happy to have whatever
you
fancy.”

“We should have the pastries then and
the soft fruit because they won’t keep.
 
I can refrigerate and freeze a lot of the rest.”
 

“Why don’t you just have what you
want?
 
I bought it all so it doesn’t
matter if things go to waste.”

“Course it does,” I said, looking
shocked.
 
Andrew considered for a moment
and then nodded.

“Danish and soft fruit it is
then.
 
Can I have another cup of tea with
that?”

“Are you sure you don’t need another
whisky after your shopping ordeal?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you
are, Rebecca.”
 
He sounded amused despite
his assertion.

I pottered, arranging our breakfast
on a pretty, oval serving dish and making our tea while Andrew reclined against
the wall, frowning at his phone.
 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some stuff I need to deal
with.”

“I have internet if you need to
work.”

“Thanks, I might do that.
 
It’s hard to type on this thing.”

“It’s okay.
 
I’m not going in to the office today so
there’s no rush.”

He seemed pleased at my offer and
despite still being cross with him for ignoring my wishes and traveling halfway
across the globe without notice, I couldn’t help feeling a little spark of
happiness.
 
Little sparks can be the
start of dangerous fires, I thought, remembering the hollowness I’d felt at the
end of my last relationship and the disappointment that had hit me when I left
Andrew’s apartment.
 

We sat at my little table and ate,
chatting about silly things; our favourite pastries led to our favourite cakes
and on to restaurants and cuisines, in an easy way that flowed and was
nice.
 
When he talked, Andrew was
animated and funny but I noticed more than anything that he really listened
when I spoke as if he found everything I was saying interesting.
 
So unlike Jonathan, who used to get a glazed
look in his eyes and then interrupt me halfway through an anecdote to talk
about himself
again.
 
It seemed very different to the meal we had shared in the plush
surroundings of his penthouse.
 
More
relaxed, but strangely disconcerting to find out how different this Andrew was
from the man I’d allowed to seduce me.
 
I
suppose people are like ice-cream sundae’s; you keep digging down through the
layers discover new ingredients as you go.

I wondered what he thought of my tiny
flat and the relatively simple surroundings I called home.
 
It’s hard to view things through the eyes of
someone else, particularly when you don’t know much about their
background.
 
I knew Andrew had money but
had no idea what his family was like.
 
When I met him I’d thought he was successful enough; the impeccable cut
of his suit told that story.
 
I knew a
lot of women would be motivated by money, and I’m not saying that financial
security wasn’t something I was looking for in my life.
 
I mean, who doesn’t want to have the options
that money can buy.
 
But I’d seen what
the pursuit of money can do to people and the outcomes aren’t always
pleasant.
 
My mother’s family were
wealthy but lost it all during a recession and her father was never the same.
 
The most important mission in my life was to
find real love, as corny as that might sound.
 
I wanted the kind of connection that will get you through even the
most shitty
of situations.
 
My mum always said ‘there are no pockets in a shroud’.
 
I wanted to live with love not die with money
and I felt sad for Andrew that he seemed so closed off to what I considered
most valuable.

When breakfast was done I took our
dirty dishes to the kitchen and he offered to dry while I washed.
 
I accepted only because I wanted to see him
wielding a tea towel; mine were floral which added to my amusement.

As I packed everything away he went
into the lounge and I could hear him unzipping his suitcase.
 
When I was finished, I found him at my dining
table with an open laptop.
 
“I grabbed
your WIFI code from your router,” he said, typing away, looking and sounding like
the true professional he was.

I sat down and picked up my book from
the coffee table, settling in for some quiet time, glancing at Andrew from the
corner of my eye.
 
It was strangely
comfortable to rest in his presence and oddly companionable considering how
little we really knew of each other.
 
His
fingers moved over the keyboard furiously and his expression was one of utter
concentration, but the next time I looked I found him glancing at me.
 
We smiled, embarrassed to have been caught
out.
 
After about half an hour he clicked
shut the lid of his computer and exhaled.
 

“That’s it for today,” he said,
twisting on the chair so his legs were out from under the table.
 

“Okay,” I said, wondering what he was
thinking as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the floor.
 
“What do you want to do now?”

Andrew’s eyes flicked to mine,
sparkling with delicious intent.
 
“You
shouldn’t ask questions like that, Rebecca. You might not like the answer…or
maybe you’ll like the answer but not want to admit it to yourself.”
 
He raised his eyebrows.
 

“You told me it ‘always comes back to
fucking’ so I guess I should know what to expect.”

Andrew laughed and leaned forward in
his seat, resting his forearms on his thighs and gazing at me with soft
eyes.
 

“Hearing my own filthy words coming
out of your pretty mouth…mmm…I like hearing you talk dirty.
 
But anyway, don’t worry your pretty head
about the ‘fucking’.
 
I have a rule not
to dip in the same hole three times, so you’re safe with me.”

“You have a rule?” I couldn’t believe
what I was hearing.
 
Offensiveness and
ridiculousness aside – I was getting used to his crudeness – I was baffled as
to why he’d restrict himself in that way.

“Yeah…keeps everyone happy in the
long run.”

“Does it?”

Andrew looked thoughtful.
 
“Yeah.
 
No strings, no hard feelings, no inadvertent
attachments.” I watched as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly
seeing some vulnerability in him that I hadn’t picked up on before.
 
Why else would he keep to such a restrictive
guideline if it wasn’t to protect his own heart?
 

“Just fucking?”

“I think I’ve been a bad influence on
your mouth,” he said, a transparent attempt to change the subject.

“Wow.” I said, standing up with the
sudden urge to provoke him.
 
“So I guess
if I just slipped these clothes off right here and decided to spend the rest of
the afternoon naked, you wouldn’t be tempted for a ‘third dip’?”
 
I slid the strap of my top over my shoulder
in challenge.
 

“I’d be tempted,” he said gruffly,
“But that doesn’t mean I would go through with it.”

I was surprised at his resistance as
I grasped exactly how important his rule was to him.
 
It made me feel sad for us both that we’d
been bruised along the way and were allowing those past negative experiences to
have such a big impact on our lives.
 
“Well,” I said, suddenly wanting to do something entertaining to stamp
on all the negative bullshit.
 
“I think
we need to do something fun.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Maybe we could go sightseeing?
 
Have you toured London before?”

“Some, but not everywhere, and it’s
been a while.”