Marry Me for Money (7 page)

He laughed and continued to tell me about his first time and how he’d had no idea what he was doing. By the end of his story, we were both in tears. Our conversation flowed so effortlessly that when I glanced up, we were on the outskirts of the city as the sun was setting in front of us.

“That’s the most I’ve laughed in a while.” He pulled up in front of my apartment and shifted the gear to park. “I have this great idea,” he said, searching my face as I reached for the door handle. “I think we should be friends.”

My eyes were cautious. “Okay…” I said, sounding unsure.

He continued, “We know quite a few things about each other, so it only makes sense.”

“Friends?” I tested out the word mentally.
What does it take to be friends with a multimillionaire who is conceited yet insecure, rude yet honest, and last but not least, an admitted man-whore?

“Just friends, and nothing more,” he said, waiting for my reply.

“I guess I don’t have any new friends in Chicago, so okay.” I shrugged, pretending to concede.

He shook his head in amusement. “Have a good evening, Beth.”

“You, too,” I said, stepping out of the car.

As he drove off, I wondered what a friendship with Kent entailed.

The weekend flew by and before I knew it, I was back to work on Monday. I glanced at the time on my computer, and it was already eleven thirty. On cue, my stomach grumbled. My phone rang, outdoing my loud stomach.

“Hello? One Financial. This is Beth.”

“Beth, I’m calling in my friendship card. It’s Kent. I’m bored. I’m downtown by your office, and I need someone to go shopping with me.”

I was surprised he’d called so soon. It must be nice to be wealthy. Without a full-time job, he was able to go shopping in the middle of the weekday.

“You can’t pick out your own clothes? Don’t rich people have personal shoppers or something?” I asked teasingly.

“Come on, I want someone to come with me. Let’s go. Meet me at
Barney’s
in ten minutes.”

“Fine, but you’re buying me lunch.”

“Just hurry up,” he said before dropping the call.

I grabbed my wallet, logged off my computer, and headed out the door.

Lifting my head, I felt the sun’s warmth on my skin as I took my time strolling down the street. The streets were full of working professionals, all in suits, hustling to lunch or heading back to work. One Financial was surrounded by well-known restaurants, high-end shopping, and the theater district.

I was used to the quiet of my home town but now, walking down the street on my lunch hour, I realized I didn’t miss home, I only missed Kendy. I embraced the noise and hustle of Chicago because it meant that my old life was behind me.

Strolling into
Barney’s
, I immediately spotted Kent with his Ray-Ban sunglasses sitting on top of his head. I laughed quietly as I witnessed the pretty brunette salesclerk pulling down her shirt and pushing up her bra to reveal more cleavage. Kent was oblivious as he searched through the pile of polo shirts. As I walked toward him, I saw two other women scoping out the handsome man in front of them with his tight crisp polo accenting his broad shoulders before slimming inwardly toward his pelvis. They were laughing and whispering to each other, like little schoolgirls. I observed as they secretly gawked at him.

“Hey.” I sauntered toward him and touched the polos in front of him.

“Pink or red?” He held up two shirts, wanting my opinion.

“Uh, neither. One, only certain guys can pull off pink, and you can’t. Two, I don’t like red unless it’s Christmas.”

“Okay, no red.” He picked up the pink shirt. “I’m not one of those guys who can pull off pink? Interesting. I thought I was.”

I looked from the pink shirt to his perfectly placed hair and to the Hugo Boss polo he was wearing. “Never mind. Pink suits you. I mean, you are metrosexual.”

“I’ll take this one.” He handed the pink shirt to the saleslady.

As he glided farther down the aisle to a pile of shorts, I followed behind him as I noticed the two women from before were roaming around to the other side, staying in his plain view. I found it humorous that they were both vying for his attention. I raised my eyebrows toward them, and once they caught my stare, they looked away. I bet they thought I was his girlfriend.

“So, friend, where are we going for lunch?” I asked loudly, emphasizing the word
friend
, as I gave him a brotherly shove on his shoulder.

He regarded me and furrowed his eyebrows, most likely at the increase in my tone. “Anywhere you want.” He lifted up two pairs of khaki shorts. “Which one?”

“I like the ones you’re wearing now.” I laughed because the shorts in his hands matched exactly to what he was currently wearing.

“Funny girl. No, it’s different.” He held both shorts against his own. “There is a difference in the material. See?”

I compared the three pairs of shorts. One was a tad bit lighter, but I could only tell the contrast between them by looking closely.

“Seriously, Kent?” I gave him the most incredulous look as I stepped up to him and took hold of the shorts. “They’re the same. Khaki is khaki. It might be different material than yours, but the color is very similar to the ones you’re wearing. Also, I think the two you picked up are the same shorts. There is no difference in color here.”

Smiling, he grabbed the shorts from me. “No attention to detail, Beth.” He handed them to the saleslady. “I’ll take both,” he said, amusement in his tone.

“You know you just bought two of the same thing. You probably have two more of those pink shirts at home, too.”

He shrugged.

“You do, don’t you?” I wondered what his closet looked like, and I had no doubt that this well-dressed, metrosexual male had more clothes than most of the women in this store. I glanced at my watch, noting the time. “Although I love being your personal shopper, I have to go back to work. My lunch break is almost over.”

“I already have a personal shopper, who works at Neiman Marcus. I made the mistake of sleeping with her, and it didn’t work out too well.”

He turned to the register before seeing the appalled look I was giving him.

“Wait, let me pay first, and I’ll walk you back. I told you I’d get lunch,” he said, placing his black AmEx on top of the counter.

I waited outside the store, leaning against the red brick building. I lifted my head again to enjoy the sunshine one last time before I had to step back into the office.

Kent strolled his way toward me, holding the bag of purchases in his one hand. “Not bad, Miss Beth—one shirt, two pairs of shorts, and a phone number.”

“You got Miss Pretty Brunette’s phone number?” I asked. My eyes widened in shock.

I didn’t know why I was surprised. She had practically stripped in front of him.

“Yes, I did. Do you wish it were you?” He took my arm and linked it through his.

“No, I prefer to avoid sexually transmitted diseases, thank you very much.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and his dimple appeared. We strolled down the street, comfortably connected by our arms. I found it odd that just a few days ago I hated this spoiled brat next to me and now, we were friends. There was a part of him, maybe his honest humor, that reminded me of Kendy.

“My mother enjoys shopping as much as I do, and I have to admit, I love spoiling her,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts.

His eyes lit up as he spoke of his mother, and part of me was curious to meet her.

“I should take you shopping sometime,” he added.

“Uh, no.” I rolled my eyes at him. “That’s not going to happen. Friends just don’t take friends on shopping sprees. It’s not normal.” I wondered if it was typical for the elite to take turns splurging on each other. “You get this friendship,” I motioned between us with one hand, “for free.” My eyes moved to the time shown on a nearby clock tower. “But you can buy me lunch. I’ll let you do that. Really, I have to go though. I don’t have time to eat out, so I’ll have to eat at my desk.”

I hurried and tugged him forward. We ended up in line at a taco place. Kent motioned for me to order first.

“I’ll have two tacos, a nacho supreme, and a side of rice. Oh, and please give me a glass of horchata,” I looked at Kent and back at the cashier, “and a churro for later. All to go, please.” I wrinkled my nose at his amused smile.

“You know, it’s cheaper to buy you clothes than to support your food habit,” he said while turning to pay.

“Shut up,” I whined.

So what if I have a healthy-eating habit?
I wasn’t the typical girl who counted calories and watched what she ate. If I wanted a cupcake, hell yeah, I’d have that cupcake without even thinking twice. Where other people my age could throw back beers, I could eat and loved doing it.

“If I didn’t see you eat before, then I wouldn’t believe you could finish it all. With all you eat, it’s amazing you are not obese. Tell me, Beth, where does it go?”

“I just have a fast metabolism.” I replied.

After the cashier called out our number, we grabbed our food and strolled our way back to One Financial.

“Next week is restaurant week. I’ve scheduled us lunch on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I had to book these things early as reservations fill up quickly,” he said, squinting at his calendar on his phone.

“And when were you going to ask me?” I took the bag full of food from his hands. “Thanks for assuming that I had no plans.”

“Well, you don’t. You can’t possibly. You don’t know many people here yet, and I only wanted to go with you because you can eat. You eat like a horse actually.” He laughed at his own joke that he thought was funny. “Plus, I know you can’t turn down three good meals.”

He looked to me, and I shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Food is my weakness.” I gave him a quick smile, a half hug, and walked inside the bank.

Out the door of One Financial, I began strolling home after work when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I pulled one earbud from my ear and wheeled around to see all-American Brian Burcham standing behind me.

“Hey, where you headed?” he asked.

There was something about a man in a suit. He looked professional and adorable all at the same time. I blushed at my inward thought.

“Nowhere special. Just going home.”

“I’m walking you home. You might get lost.” He reached for my laptop bag and carried it over his shoulder.

“I live four blocks away from here. I think I’ll manage.”

He had the most boyish grin on his face, and I didn’t want to tell him no. There was no wonder this man was in sales. I’m sure it was hard for his own customers to tell him no especially with a convincing face like his.

“Well, I’ve heard it’s quite dangerous here in Chicago. As a man of honor, I have to make sure you’re safe,” he said, placing his free hand on his heart.

“Okay.” I nodded and crossed the street while he followed.

“So, where were you today for lunch? Caroline was terribly disappointed that you didn’t show up.”

“I went shopping with a friend. Totally my fault that I didn’t even tell Caroline.”

I mentally kicked myself. I’d been having lunch with Caroline almost every day, and I’d forgotten to tell her about my surprise shopping date. Brian had joined us a couple of times when he wasn’t on a customer lunch.

“I’m just playin’. Caroline went on a customer call. I, on the other hand, was waiting for you all alone at our lunchroom table.” He frowned slightly and looked to the ground, feigning sadness.

I had an urge to take my finger and lift his pouty lip. He was truly adorable—an all-American man package wrapped up in a suit. It wasn’t that he was just good eye candy, but the fact that he was such a motivated go-getter added to his appeal. Management loved him and not because he brownnosed with the bigwigs. It was because he worked hard, loved his job, and had fun doing it.

But we worked together, and although this flirting back and forth was fun, work was the single most important thing for me. What I didn’t want to do was mix business with boys.

“Brian, listen—” I stopped.
What if he is like this toward everyone?
I didn’t want to assume he was interested.