I Married a Billionaire (16 page)

Well, they probably just said that for legal reasons.

I hoped.

It took some jumping through hoops to actually schedule the appointment for a time when Daniel could get away from work, but when we finally did, it was a full month away. I didn't know how I was going to survive the anticipation.

I spent a lot more time researching and a lot more time pacing. Daniel pulled out his tiny notebook and we went over everything again, and again and again. He kept telling me that the most important thing was to sound honest and unrehearsed, but I was absolutely sure I was going to make some horribly obvious mistake and ruin everything.

The morning of the interview, I dressed in my most responsible-looking outfit and threw up twice in the bathroom while I was getting ready. The whole drive over, I felt like every organ in my body was trying to crawl out through my chest. I let my hand from my lap down to the seat, where I found Daniel's. I clasped his fingers in mine and squeezed tight, and he squeezed back.

He had, at least, some amount of faith in me. I just wasn't sure if it was justified.

We went to a nondescript building downtown; it could have passed for any other bank of offices. After a long walk down many hallways, we finally arrived at our meeting place.

The waiting room was small, and crowded with people. Most of them had the same thousand-yard stare that I was sure I sported. Not a single one of us wanted to be there. You could practically smell the fear.

I sat there, still clutching Daniel's hand, until his name was called.

"Mr. Thorne?"

I had forgotten they'd be talking to us separately. Of course they would. I let go of his hand and hunched down in my seat.

This was going to be the longest wait of my life.

After a while, I actually started to seriously consider that he might never come back. Maybe they'd already arrested him, and they'd be coming for me next. Of course our story wouldn't hold up. Why would it? We'd been stupid to think we could beat the system.

I sat in utter misery for what felt like hours. Every time the woman came back to the door and looked around the room, my head perked up, hoping against hope it would be my name that she called.

But it never was.

And then, finally, I heard it.

"Mrs. Thorne. Will you please come with me."

I followed her, into a tiny office with barely enough room for two chairs and a desk. I sat down.

"Someone will be with you in just a moment."

She disappeared.

Sitting there, alone, in the stifling little room, I was very aware of the sound of my own breathing. Did I seem nervous? I had to act normal. I had to remember to smile.

The doorknob rattled.

A middle-aged man walked in, glasses perched on his nose. He was dressed like Mr. Rogers. I smiled bravely at him.

"Mrs. Thorne," he said. "Thank you for coming in."

"My pleasure," I said, absurdly.

"All right." He opened a manila folder on his desk. "Let's get started, shall we?"

I sat quietly, irrationally worried that the interviewer could hear my heartbeat. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and then, he finally spoke.

"Can you tell me about your first meeting?"

I cleared my throat. "Well, uh, he runs the company that I work at. But he doesn't take a very…hands-on role in dealing with his staff. So I saw him around for years before I ever really 'met' him." I inhaled, slowly. Breathing. Staying present with myself. "Then, about three months ago, he sent his lawyer to get me. He told me that Daniel wanted to meet with me."

"And what happened then?"

"Daniel wanted to talk about a special project. A logo redesign for the company. Complete image overhaul. He wanted to keep it a secret, which was why he was talking to me about it directly. Or so he said."

"It wasn't true?"

I smiled. "He made it all up, just to get a chance to talk to me. I guess he'd been, sort of…interested in me for a while."

"Did he make you aware of his interest in the first meeting?"

I swallowed. We hadn't gone over this. "Not…not in so many words."

The interviewer looked at me, clicking his pen.

"I…suspected," I said, at last. "From the way he looked at me. But I thought I must be imagining things."

"So." He looked down at his papers. "Where were you living, at this time?"

I recited the address to my old apartment.

"At your first meeting, did you exchange contact information? Did you make arrangements to see each other again?"

I hesitated. "I…I think so," I said. "But I can't really remember exactly how many times we met before he gave me his number."

So far, I was following Daniel's guidelines as closely as I could. I figured vague was best, but too vague and I risked looking suspicious. I had to walk a delicate balance.

And breathe.

"Can you tell me about when you first realized you had something in common?"

I laughed a little, looking into the distance, like I was remembering something that made me happy to think about. "I don't remember how it came up, exactly, but…Woody Allen movies. Turns out we both grew up watching them. We started talking about them every time we got together, just chit-chatting…less and less about the 'project,' and more and more about personal things. Finally, he told me that they were putting the project on hold, but…he still wanted to see me."

"And you felt the same way."

"Yes."

A part of me was actually starting to believe my own story, and it made my heart ache.

"So would you say that's when your relationship turned romantic?"

I nodded.

"Where did you go on your first date?"

"We ate lunch together at the office quite a bit," I said. "But…officially? The Inn at Grenarnia," I said. "It was very nice."

"Do you remember the date?"

"I think it was…around the end of July?

"Were you concerned about your co-workers finding out about your relationship?"

"We were, for a while. That's why we kept it quiet. But eventually we decided it was best to be open about things, and that I would quit my job as soon as it was feasible to avoid conflicts of interest."

"How soon into the relationship did he inform you about his immigration difficulties?"

"Before he proposed," I said. "He wanted to make sure I knew that it wasn't about that."

"And when was that?"

I looked down. "After a few weeks of dating for real," I said. "He told me that he knew it was crazy…but the craziest part was, I felt exactly the same way. I was ready to take a leap of faith."

"What made you decide to have a short engagement?"

"Well, neither one of us is particularly romantic. I didn't want a big fuss and he didn't either. So we figured there was no reason to let things drag out forever."

"How did your parents feel about the relationship?"

I hesitated for a moment. "My parents and I aren't…close. I invited them to the wedding, but they wouldn't travel. Daniel's parents have passed away."

"Well, that takes care of my last question." The interviewer looked up, smiling a little bit. Finally showing his human side.

I just kept breathing.

More questions came after that. About the wedding, the number of people in attendance, about who took care of the finances and what T.V. shows we watched together every week. He asked to see my keys, examining the one I said was for Daniel's apartment. I wondered if he was trying to match them up from memory.

He wanted to know if I'd met any members of Daniel's family, so I told him about Lindsey and Ray. I answered a long string of mundane questions about our home life - the number of bedrooms and bathrooms, when the garbage pickup came, and the color of the carpet.

Finally, he released me. I walked back out into the waiting room slowly. Daniel jumped up out of his chair when he spotted me.

I hurried over to him; he pulled me close and kissed me swiftly.

"We survived," I said.

"Yes." He put his arm around my shoulders. "Come on. Let's go."

I had to bite my tongue until we got back home, although I was dying to compare whatever answers we could remember. John was driving, and he didn't know the truth.

As soon as the door closed behind us, I turned to him and blurted out:

"Did they ask you if you came onto me at our first meeting?"

He blinked. "I said that I was flirting with you, but being subtle about it. What did you say?"

I exhaled. "I said that I thought maybe you were, but I wasn't sure."

"That's fine, then." He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. "I'm sure everything will match perfectly. There's really nothing to worry about."

"When will we find out?"

"I should get a letter in a few months," he said. "If we don't hear anything between now and then, we're to assume everything's going smoothly. Which I'm sure it will."

"I'm glad you're so confident."

"Come on." He laid his hands on my shoulders. "It's all right. I know this isn't the easiest thing in the world, with all the waiting, but everything will be just fine."

I smiled, and then looked away for a moment. I wanted, very badly, to say something about the honeymoon. About the fact that we hadn't really touched each other since. About the fact that I wanted, more than anything, for him to grab me and take me like I knew he really wanted to.

I 
knew
 he did, even if he wasn't showing it.

"We had a good time on the honeymoon," I said, finally. "Didn't we?"

"Yes," he said, a little hesitantly.

"And I'm not talking about the moon walk."

His mouth twitched.

"Maddy," he said. "Maybe we shouldn't -"

"What - talk about it?" I touched the side of his face. "
Do
 it? What difference does it make?"

He swallowed. "Maddy," he said, a little hoarsely. So I was getting to him, at least.

"We're going to feel what we feel," I said. "Whether we act on it or not."

He licked his lips. "All the same," he said.

"All the same? What kind of counter-argument is that?" I smiled. "Stop acting like a character in some Victorian loss-of-virtue novel."

He laughed, and then leaned down to kiss me. "You're very persuasive, you know that?" he said when he broke away. "That's very naughty. Tempting me. You know I can't resist."

"Why would I ever want you to?" I wound my arms around his neck, smiling.

"I don't know if you realize what you've unleashed." He had such a wicked grin on his face. "Go upstairs and wait for me."

I frowned a little. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

He was still smiling.

"Fine," I said. "But you better make it worth my while." I turned and skipped up the stairs, two at a time.

"Oh, I will," he shouted after me.

I stood in the middle of the bedroom for a moment, trying to decide how to present myself. The obvious thing would be to undress completely - or at least partway. But he'd be expecting that. He wanted to punish me, didn't he? And strangely enough, I wanted to be punished too. So I should be bad, right? I should do the opposite of what he expected. What he wanted.

I went over to the small bookshelf by the door. I hadn't looked at it too much; it was mostly business stuff or financial guides, nothing that really interested me. But there were a few novels on the top shelf, so I picked one at random and sat down on the edge of the bed. It looked like something you'd buy at the airport on a whim. I flipped it open and started reading.

 Minutes ticked by, and I hadn't turned the page. I couldn't really process the words. I felt nervous and excited, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, more so even than it had at the interview.

Suddenly, I heard a light tapping noise. I looked up.

Daniel was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his fingers drumming out a staccato on the smoothly painted wood. He was smiling, coldly.

"I thought I told you to wait for me."

"I 
am
 waiting," I said, innocently. I looked up, setting the book down on the mattress. "I got bored. Is that a crime?"

He strode over rapidly, stopping a few feet away from me and staring down at me. I swore his eye twitched.

"When I tell you wait for me," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "you 
wait
 for me. You don't read. You don't check your phone. You don't think. You just wait. That's all you are allowed to do."

My throat tightened. He was right - I had no idea what I'd unleashed. This was a side of him I hadn't seen before. It was a strange, intimate version of his forbidding work persona, more like how I'd imagined he would be in private. And apparently, I was right. I just hadn't known how right, until now.

I'd intended to keep up the defiant act for a little longer, but I found the words stuck in my throat.

"I'm…I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know."

"Well, you should have." He walked over to his closet and began rifling through his belt rack. I felt all the blood drain from my face. Was he really going to do what I thought he was going to do?

A little spanking was one thing, but I wasn't sure I was ready to get hit with a belt.

Then again, there was something inside me - something that stopped me from protesting. A very small voice, but very clear.

I trusted him.

He came back with a belt looped in his hand. I was afraid, yet at the same time, I wasn't.

"What do you think?" he said. "Is this what you deserve?"

I swallowed. "No," I said, very quietly.

He smiled. "Maybe not," he said, looking down at the leather in his hand. He loosened his grip and let it slither to the floor.

"Maybe this would be more appropriate," he said, reaching for the book.

"Thank God I picked a paperback," I said, before I could stop myself.

He grabbed me by my arm, flipping me over onto my stomach. I squealed.

"You've got a smart tongue," he said. "You really should learn to control it a little better."

He spanked me with the book. Hard. It didn't sting as badly as I thought it would, especially through my jeans, but it was a powerful swing. I groaned into the pillow, half out of pain and half out of pleasure.