Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (16 page)

He said it with intentional
chauvinism.  He was boxing Gillian out and she knew it.  Their eyes locked, but
it was Gillian who finally broke their stalemate.  When he was certain she
wouldn’t attempt to fight him, he ascended up the stairs and followed the group
behind closed doors.

Gary’s den was an expansive room,
offering an unobstructed view of the jagged bluffs and sandy shoreline from the
second level of the estate.  With its angled ceiling and walls of glass, the
den was both spacious and secluded—the perfect place to execute business
without worrying about formalities. Miles settled himself into one of Gary’s leather
club chairs and gestured politely for Olson and his wife to do the same.  Wendell,
their lawyer, circled around the Italian conference table where the seventy-page
contract lay on its tempered glass.  Miles already knew they had been through
it—page-by-page—but still, Wendell paced around it like an anxious bulldog. 
They
were still uncertain about something
, Miles noted, even though he felt
anything but uncertain. 

As promised, Gary moved towards the
impressive cherry wood liquor cabinet, unlocked it, and swung open its broad
doors.

“Jura Vintage 1977 Single highland
Malt Scotch Whisky,” Gary recited, lifting up the unopened bottle from the
cabinet.  “And that’s before anyone signs anything.” He pulled out tumblers from
the stemware rack and poured out the drinks.

He passed the first serving off to
Olson’s wife, and the second to Olson. 

“That’s a fine aroma,” Olson
complimented. “Real fine.”

“Only for the finest occasions,”
Gary confirmed, handing off a drink to Miles before serving himself and
savoring his own drink.

“You still never told me why you
didn’t bother to do the Zale deal,” Miles asked.

“Came close to it,” Olson snapped. 
“But then Gary called me directly and said he could get me in the room with you,
if we still wanted to be in your Fields building.  I figured it was worth one
more kick at the can.  Your buildings are premium properties, Braxton.  The
only thing Zale’s got is plain vanilla skyscrapers—just a bunch of lofty floors
of concrete and glass.  I like personality.  And I like vintage.  But I don’t
like being yanked around like a half-dead hog tied to a pickup truck, so I’m
glad to see that we finally want the same thing.  Otherwise, Gillian was
right.  You were leaving us with no choice but to shop the deal.”

“Well, there’s no need to shop it
anymore,” Gary interjected. “We all want to close it—tonight.”

“Have you looked at the contract?”
Olson suddenly asked Miles.

“No,” he replied with a cavalier
disinterested that made Olson shift in his chair. “But that’s what I pay Gary
to do.”

“Then you know we’re holding firm
at eight percent for the annualized rent escalation.”

“Yes, and I’m not happy about it.”

“Well, you realize eight is
market.”

“Sure, on Zale’s plain vanilla
properties.  But not on classic vintage properties with unparalleled history
and irreplaceable architectural flare.”  Miles rotated his tumbler, letting the
light reflect off its amber Scotch.  “The Fields building has antique stain
glass ceilings designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany.  It has one-of-a-kind Louis
Sullivan’s terra cotta ornamentation that brings in foot traffic, just by its sheer
natural beauty and stunning elegance.  That’s the power of style and class.  It
gets noticed without even trying, and that’s the secret to knowing the
difference—not between market and premium—but between premium and priceless. 
One is worth paying for and one is worth fighting for.”

“I’m not interested in any more
fighting, Braxton,” Olson said, tossing back his drink and throwing down his
hand.  “So you let me know now if we’ve got a deal.  Otherwise, Marge and I
will call it a night and be on our way.”

“How ’bout we split the difference,
gentlemen, and settle on nine percent,” Gary cut in, refreshing Olson’s
tumbler. “That’s a healthy bump of a few hundred grand over the twenty-year lease.”

“Three hundred eleven thousand,
four hundred and eighty-two dollars,” Miles counter, calculating the spread in
his head.  “Just to be exact.”

“Calculus major, casual genius,
annoying show-off,” Gary joked with a nod at Miles.  “Let’s all agree on nine
percent—an acknowledgement that Brax is offering you the best of the best in
Chicago downtown rental space.”

“I can live with that,” Miles said,
tossing the choice to walk away from the deal back onto Olson.

“Nine percent,” Olson chewed on the
new terms.  “What do you think, Wendell?”

“I think the longer we stay here,
the more we give up.”

“Damn straight,” Olson confirmed.  “Alright,
boys.  Let’s sign this puppy before I finish my drink and change my damn mind.”

Olson rose from his club chair and
eyed the contract on the glass table.  He watched Gary adjust the escalation
clause by hand, and pointed out where Olson needed to initial and sign to
formally execute the deal.  Miles followed behind him. 
Freedom
, he
thought.
Finally, he would be free of all of them
.  Gary would get off
his back and Miles could disappear with Maribel for a few weeks on his schooner
without anyone demanding anything from him.  Miles peered over at the
seventy-page contract—pages and pages of indemnification clauses and financial legalese. 
Instead of relief, he suddenly wondered if thirty-five millions dollars was
enough… was it enough to commit Miles to this life—a life of real estate deals
and petty negotiations about rent escalations and expense charges—for twenty
more years?

Then, they all heard the disruption
and turned towards the doorway.

Miles saw Timothy panting and
flushed at the top of the stairs. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Brax…” His
eyes fell on the business contract and backpedaled, realizing his ill-timed
intrusion.

“What is it, Timmy?”

Timothy wavered.  Miles frowned and
searched his friend’s face, filled with urgent distress. 

“She’s gone, Brax.  Maribel’s
gone.”

“Ah, the mouse…” Gary said with a
snide tease.  “Don’t worry, Brax.  After you sign the contract, you can go back
to hoarding cheese.”

Miles stared at Timothy.
  Gone…?
He couldn’t possibly mean ‘gone, gone’
. 

“Brax,” Gary leaned into him. “The
contract?”

“It can wait.” Miles pushed back on
him, throwing the pen onto the table. 

“Brax, don’t do this,” Gary lowered
his voice with caution.

“Are we going to finish this thing
or not?” Olson insisted, the ink of his full signature still wet on the
contract’s final page.

Miles glared at Gary, then Olson. 
Then, he shifted his eyes back onto Timothy.

“Where?” Miles demanded, signaling to
everyone in the room that his priorities has changed.  Timothy nodded and shuttled
down the stairs, beckoning Miles to follow him.  Without warning, Gillian
crossed into their path and pushed up against Miles like a cat looking for a scratch.

“What’s all the rush? You can’t
leave without saying goodbye.”

“Get out of my way, Gillian—”

“What’s the matter, Brax?  Did your
little schoolgirl leave already?”

Miles glared at her and dropped his
voice.  “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing she doesn’t already know. 
In fact, I think she realized how much we have in common.”

“You have nothing in common with
her.  Nothing.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.  She’s
barely legal and you’re acting like you’re in love with her.”

“Get out of my way, Gillian, before
I push you across the room.”

Gillian slowly narrowed her eyes. 
“My goodness, Brax…tell me it isn’t true,” she said with a nervous laugh. “You
think you’re in love with that girl?”

“And you think you know how to destroy
me,” Miles seethed, cornering her against the wall and wrapping his hand around
her wrist. “But you can’t, Gillian.  You want to know why?  Because every time
you try, you’ll only prove that you’re incapable of loving anyone but
yourself.  And you want to know the really sad part?  For years and years, I was
the same as you.  I was incapable of it, too, until I met someone genuine and
caring—someone who only wants to love and be loved, and I realized there’s
nothing more important in my life than that, and no one—not even you, Gillian—can
take that away from me now.”

Miles shoved her deeper against the
wall and tightened his vice grip around his wrist until her artificial smile
betrayed pain.

“Miles—” Timothy said, pulling him
back. 

Miles released his grasp, but not
his threatening gaze.  When he was certain she wouldn’t follow them, Miles
abandoned Gillian in the corner and raced behind Timothy to front door and out
into the circular driveway.

“Has anyone seen a young woman
leaving the property?” Miles called out.

All the limo drivers stopped their
chatting and stared at him.  They dragged on their cigarettes and kicked the
curb, but their unified silence confirmed they weren’t interested in helping
him.

“Maybe she followed the terrace pathway
into the gardens,” Timothy offered.  “Or maybe she started down the road
herself.  We can take my car…”

Miles stopped him, and surveyed the
motley crew of drivers.

“Let’s try this again,” he insisted,
pulling out a roll of cash out from his pocket and peeling off five one-hundred
dollar bills from it.

“Has anyone seen a young woman
leaving the property?”

Suddenly, all the drivers raised
their hands—eager to assist.

Chapter Sixteen

Miles peered out the limousine
window as Maribel’s apartment building came into view.  
This is where they
had spent their first night together—this is where it had all started
.  It
had been a long drive back to the city.  Along the way, Miles realized he didn’t
even have Maribel’s phone number.  They had spent almost every moment together
since Valentine’s Day.  He had picked her up and dropped her off from work and
she had slept with him in his bed for the past three nights.  And yet, he never
bothered to ask for her number.  The driver rolled up to the curb.  Miles
jumped out of the limo before its wheels stopped. 
No, it was not going to
end like this
—
not before they had a chance to truly explore what was
growing between them
.  Miles charged up to the front foyer of the apartment
complex.  It was almost midnight and the entire building was quiet with
slumber.  Miles buzzed Maribel’s apartment number, then stood back from its
façade, searching for a sign—any sign—that she was there, waiting for him. 

“Maribel!” he suddenly shouted up
to her third floor window.  He felt consumed with desperation. “Maribel!” 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…” Emma
Jean suddenly threw open her window.  Her hair was webbed with a net and her
face was smeared with nighttime cream.  “What the heck are you doing?  Trying to
get arrested?”

“Please, have you seen Maribel?  I
need to see her.” Miles stepped back and shouted again, projecting his voice
past Emma Jean’s window.  “Maribel!”

Emma Jean hushed him.  “Jeepers. 
Stop your hollerin’ for chrissakes, and come up to talk to me like a normal
fella…” 

Miles heard the vibration of the
door buzzer, unlocking the foyer door.  He passed through it, shuttled up the
stairs to the third floor, then banged on Maribel’s apartment door.  “Maribel,
please… please open the door.” He was only greeted with silence.

Holding her robe shut with one
hand, Emma Jean cracked open her own door and peered out at Miles.

 “I truly don’t think she’s there,
honey… I haven’t seen her since the night of my party.  And if you weren’t so
handsome and charming, I’da called the cops days ago.  I just assumed she finally
found true love and was making the most of it.  Is everything okay?”

Miles held his head. 
Think,
think, think
… he tried to remember their conversations, somewhere else she
might go, the name of a friend, a favorite bar, a special spot in the city.  He
only remembered the library. 
The library
.  And at this time of night,
it was closed.  But maybe in the morning, he would find her there.  And if not
there, surely she would be back at work tomorrow afternoon.

“Please, if you see her, tell her
to call me.”

Miles felt down his suit jacket. 
He had a solid gold pen, but no paper.  Instead, he pulled out a hundred dollar
bill and scribbled out his phone number.  He slid the bill across Emma Jean’s
door and into her fingers.  “Please…” he said with despair in his voice; his
eyes begged for mercy.

“I sure will, love,” Emma Jean
nodded with empathy, accepting the hundred dollar bill and slowly shutting her
door.

Miles trudged down the stairs,
withered by hopelessness and dread.  He knew he was not a perfect man.  He had
made many mistakes in his life and there were more indiscretions in his past
than he cared to remember.  But Maribel had made him believe in the possibility
of change—a change in his life which had brought him four days of happiness simply
by being with her.  Now, as he slipped back into the limousine and watched it rolled
away from Maribel’s apartment, that happiness suddenly vanished, leaving only a
churning anguish in the pit of his stomach and a salty lump in his throat.  He
had grown used to her in his life so quickly, and just as quickly, he had lost
her.  It was an ironic punishment, punishment for all those years he had
dismissed love for himself and spurned countless of women in the process. But
he realized there was nothing more important in the world than a woman’s love,
especially a woman who wanted nothing from him except to be loved in return.  No,
Gillian was wrong
—
he didn’t think he was in love with Maribel
. 
He
knew he was in love with her.
 

* * * *

Maribel sat huddled on Emma Jean’s
couch, listening to Miles hollering her name through the window.  She knew
Miles would try to come find her there.  She also knew she wasn’t strong enough
to resist him.  She had been a fool—
such a fool
—this whole time.   She
had fooled herself into believing there was something more to their
“relationship” than just sex.  She had fooled herself into believing that Miles
and she had shared a bond through their mutual loss of her mother and his aunt.
 She had fooled herself in believing that she could assimilate into Miles’ wealthy
world without paying a price.  But she had paid a price, and now, she
recognized that price was too high for her to bear.  She had lost her own self
along the way, handing over her mind, body, and heart to a man she barely
knew—simply because he had asked her to. 
Yes, her love was free
. 
But
her dignity was priceless
.

“He’s going to wake up the whole
neighborhood…” Emma Jean whispered, peering out at Miles from their dark
apartment.

“I can’t see him, I can’t.” Maribel
insisted, closing her eyes.  “I feel like a fool.”

“Don’t worry, sweet pea.  Let me
handle him,” Emma Jean nodded before throwing open the window.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…what the
heck are you doing?  Trying to get arrested?”

“Please, have you seen Maribel?”

Maribel listened to Miles’ voice
ascend up through the cold night air.  “I need to see her…Maribel!”

Maribel cringed.  He wasn’t going
to stop until he had his way.  Stubborn.  Relentless.  Selfish.  Maribel had
fooled herself into believing that she motivated his determination.  Now, she
realized that he was always motivated to have whatever he wanted.

 “Jeepers,” Emma Jean warned him
with a hush.  “Stop your hollerin’ and come up to talk to me like a normal
fella.” 

When Maribel heard Miles bounding
up the staircase, she clenched Emma Jean’s sofa quilt and draped it tightly around
her revealing sequin dress.  Maribel hadn’t been home yet.  Seeking sanctuary
and companionship, she had come straight to Emma Jean’s apartment.  Emma Jean
had let her cry for hours enduring her heaving tears of humiliation.  Now, Maribel
rubbed the black smudges of mascara off her hands.  She was too weak, too
fragile, too emotional to face Miles, and instead, she hoped Emma Jean would
protect her.  Both women shifted their eyes to the hallway.  They heard Miles pounding
on Maribel’s apartment door and calling her name.  There was suffering in his
voice—as if he truly missed her
.  A fool
, she thought,
a silly naïve
fool
.

“Don’t say a word—” Emma Jean
instructed Maribel before cracking open her front door.

“I truly don’t think she’s there,
honey… I haven’t seen her since the night of my party.  And if you weren’t so
handsome and charming, I’da called the cops days ago.  I just assumed she finally
found true love and was making the most of it.  Is everything okay?”

 “Please, if you see her, tell her
to call me.  Please…”

Maribel watched Miles slip money
through the doorway. 
Typical.
 
In his world, everything could be
bought
. 
Everything had a price
. 

“I sure will, love,” Emma Jean said,
accepting the bill and slowly shutting the door.

Love
…Maribel
echoed the word in her head, and listened to the fading sound of Miles’ footsteps,
descending down the staircase and out through the foyer door. 
He gave up
already.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes.  Emma Jean locked the deadbolt
and sat down beside her.

“Honey, he sure knows how to drive
a hard bargain.” She tossed the hundred dollar bill into an ashtray, grabbed
her cigarette lighter, and lit it with a match.  Maribel watched it burn
slowly, painfully, reluctantly.  For four brief days, she had believed she had
fallen in love with a man who could have any woman in the world he wanted, but
had chosen her.  Now, she realized she had fallen for a man who could have any
woman he wanted, and was just as willing to abandon her.

“Do you want to sleep here
tonight?” Emma Jean offered.  “I can make up the couch real comfy, and you can
borrow a pair of my flannel pajamas.”

Maribel shook her head and stood up
from the sofa.  “Thanks for everything, Emma Jean, but I just want to sleep in
my own bed tonight.”

Maribel dropped the quilt behind
her and exited into the hallway.

“Don’t give up on love,” Emma Jean encouraged
her. “Lord knows I never found it and I’m a cynical old hag because of it.  But
you’re still young and beautiful, and you’ve got a sweet caring heart that
deserves to find it.”

Maribel nodded in appreciation, not
because she believed Emma Jean, but because she knew it was a lovely sentiment
that was true for someone else. 

As Maribel stood in front of her
apartment and unlocked its door, she seemed like she was returning to the home
of her former self.  She hadn’t been there in four days; it felt like an
eternity.  As she entered, she felt like a stranger passing her eyes over
unfamiliar belongings.  Everything was untouched in the darkness, like she had
fled her life, lured by the promise of a better one.  But now, she returned home
after a long absence, wanting nothing more than the simplicity and security of
what was rightfully hers.  Maribel fumbled across the floor and into her bed. 
In the shadows of moonlight, she could see the familiar pattern of her
obnoxious rosebud sheets.  She stripped off her sequined dress and smothered
herself under the covers, indulging in the faint scent of his cologne that
still lingered on the sheets.  Maribel caressed herself the way he often
caressed her. 
It had been a lovely four days
,
but it had all been a
foolish fantasy.
  And like every fantasy, there was the stark truth of
reality, lurking below the gaiety and infatuation, waiting to bring everything
to an abrupt and sobering end.