Reckless Hearts: A Billionaire Romance (2 page)

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Jennifer said, her smile turning to a smirk.

The crowd made a sharp turn to the right and the dome of the large, ultra-modern business presentation center rose up amongst all the Art Deco museum pieces around it.

"Methinks that line's a bit played out," I said, glancing at her. I wondered how Shakespeare would feel if he knew how often that line would be quoted, or in this case, misquoted.

"It's not played out as long as it's still true. Now, how much more protesting are you planning on doing?"

I crossed my fingertip over my heart. "None until this keynote is over... Hey, isn't a keynote supposed to be part of some larger presentation? I don't see anything else going on today."

But then the stream of people began compressing in order to file in through the banks of glass doors. It opened into a rotunda within, the curving sides leading to the entrance to the amphitheatre-space proper.

***

I
thought that Jenn was just trying to be nice and that in my preoccupied space I kept pushing her away. I didn’t want that. She didn’t deserve that, and I didn’t want to be that kind of person.

I suppose that Mr. X appeared in my head as the representative of the things I found wrong in the world. And I was grinding that axe so hard that soon there would be no steel left to sharpen.

“Want to do anything later?” I said, genuinely hoping for a yes. It could get awfully lonely studying, pouring your heart into school and nothing else.

“Yeah, definitely,” Jennifer said.

Despite my well-maintained aloofness, even I admitted that it was a beautiful space. Seating for three hundred or more all looked down in a semi-circle at the central space, focusing everyone's attention there.

The ceiling vaulted up high to a skylight which could be shaded to keep from frying the people below like a child with an absurdly large magnifying glass. Columns marched along the perimeter of the wall, pennants the height of the room hanging down between them.

Before I could help myself, I glanced down towards the lectern. A small table sat beside it, a perspiring pitcher of water and an empty glass next to it sat on that surface.

But no Mr. X. That disappointed me, the sensation welling up from the pit of my stomach before I could stop it.

Above and behind that little semi-circle with its lectern and table was an enormous projector screen, currently down and dim.

"Let's go sit at the front!" Jennifer said.

"Sorry. I don't want to. You go. Really, go, it's okay," I replied, my feet gluing to the floor when she tried to pull me along anyway. A cold nervousness jittered in my abdomen, something telling me not to go down. Not to get too close.

Jennifer stood with one foot on the next lower step, looking at me with the small wrinkle between her eyebrows that told me she was concerned. That concern warred with desire. The desire to be closer, to maybe be let in on the mystery. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go on. I like the air up here better anyway."

Everyone else seemed to agree with her, filling up the first few rows quickly. This let me get my pick of seats in the back row, where hopefully I'd go unnoticed. It  wouldn't surprise me, as I usually went unnoticed everywhere around this school.

I picked nervously at a loose thread on the front flap of my messenger bag. A gift from my kid sister, Angie, before I'd left for this place.

By now the dull roar of conversation had grown louder as more people filled the empty seats. The air conditioner kicked on, its cool breeze making the skin on my bare arms bunch into gooseflesh when it touched me.

The nervousness only worsened, my heart pushing its way up my throat. Then someone stepped out behind the lectern, giving the microphone a sharp, testing tap that sent reverberations through the room.

Everyone quieted, turning their attention to the focal point.

The excitement quickly died when we all saw that it was just the president of the university, Mr. Peabody. I could see the shine of his bald dome even from back in the nosebleeds.

"It's my very special pleasure," he began, the microphone chirping back at him when he put his mouth too close to it, "to introduce perhaps the most enigmatic guest speaker ever hosted here at SNYUC..."

The murmurs began again. I found myself leaning forward in my seat, unblinking. Somehow, I'd been caught up in the spell of excitement. So much so that I barely had time to raise an eyebrow at the school's overblown acronym. It meant Southern New York University College. I always thought they'd called it that trying to make it sound more like some grand old school in England.

Though I had to admit, it was going to look great on my CV.

"Please, quiet down, ladies and gentleman," Peabody said. Even he looked a touch nervous. What was the big deal? It was just some rich guy with a letter for a name.

That scorn helped return me to my old self, and I settled against the cushioned back rest of my chair to watch the show.

"Please give a warm welcome to Mr. X, CEO of Utopia Incorporated and a more than gracious donor to the business and economics faculty here at SNYUC." Peabody himself started the applause, lightly clapping the fingers of his right hand into the palm of his left as he took his seat in the front row.

I always thought it was such a strange world where we celebrated people who'd done nothing but make a lot of money.

But then he came out, entering through a pair of doors at the back of the room.

Oh
, I thought,
he actually is pretty handsome
.

And he was younger than I thought he'd be. Much younger. Not even 30, if I had to guess.

I found myself wishing that I'd sat closer. I leaned forward in my seat, squinting despite the self-righteous voice of protest in my mind.
Shut up
, I told that voice.

What color were his eyes? I couldn't see from here. I could see a strong face, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. Black hair that matched his tailored suit. Nice shoulders under that suit, too.

And a pair of full lips that pressed together briefly as he considered his audience. He walked over to the lectern, full of confidence and self-assurance, his back so ramrod straight it would have pleased any red-in-the-face drill sergeant.

Although there was something else, too. A hint of barely contained swagger. He controlled the room as soon as he'd come in.

We all watched with rapt attention as he poured himself a glass of water, the
clunk
of the pitcher as he set it back down perfectly audible to me given the great acoustics of the room.

Part of me wanted him. The rest of me dismissed that possibility all together. And that gave me an instant dislike for him. He was just a good looking young man who'd managed to strike it rich and was now just as full of himself as anyone else in the room.

Although
, I thought,
if he's an alumnus, Peabody definitely wouldn't have left that out
.

Maybe I didn't like him because of that. Maybe it was because I knew I'd clam up, unable to say a word to him, if we met out on the street. He'd be able to tell I hadn't come from money and probably wasn't headed into any, either. And he'd pass me by.

I hated him because I knew I couldn't have him, though I didn't like admitting that to myself, either.

"Thank you all for having me here tonight," he said, letting his eyes sweep over the room. I wanted to flinch as they passed over me, but I forced myself to stare right back at him.

It went on about as you might expect. He talked about how it was important to surround yourself with the right people, how to strike a balance between taking risks and playing it safe. That sort of thing.

It was almost too bland. Too canned, perhaps was the better word. Any details at all about his personal life were conspicuously absent.

Everyone could sense the speech dying down when he told all the students to concentrate on their work and on making connections.

And then, to everyone's shock, he pulled back his cuff to glance at his watch and said, "Now I'll take some questions."

Just about every hand in the room shot up, including many of the faculty members sat in the front row (rays from the skylight danced on Peabody's bare scalp).

"But only three," he said, "And please, nothing personal."

At that, many female hands fell to disappointed laps.

"You there," Mr. X said, indicating a guy in the third row.

My heart lurched when Justin Rothsman stood up, his hands jammed nervously into his blazer pockets.
Of course it would be him. Something else for him to gloat about
.

I wondered if his Porsche was out in the parking lot. I wondered if maybe I still had that tube of lipstick in my messenger bag.

"What do you think the most important aspect to your incredible success was?"

I honestly thought for a second that I was going to be sick. It was such a useless, brown-nosing question. A guy like good 'ole X would probably gobble down the flattery.

Mr. X considered this for only a moment, his eyes fixed on Justin, before replying, "Willpower. Next question."

Justin stood stupidly for another moment, obviously waiting for more. In fact, just about everyone in the room began glancing at each other, shrugging and whispering. It wasn't what they'd been expecting.

I almost liked him for toying with Justin like that. Almost.

I began thinking I was wrong about him, somehow. Very wrong. Of course, I was too stubborn to let go of my prejudices that easily.

Justin himself lowered back down to his seat slowly, a delightfully confused expression on his handsome face.

"You," he said, pointing to someone in the first row. Of course all the questions would go to them, I knew. I began wishing that I had taken Jenn up on her offer and sat closer.

This time a girl stood up, tugging at the sides of her grey skirt to smooth out the wrinkles. Instantly every female brow in the room flushed with jealousy. I even felt a bit of that heat myself.

"If someone wanted to follow in your footsteps, what would you recommend they do?" she said. She spoke quietly, as though afraid of him. The excellent acoustics of the room carried her question to all ears, though.

"I think every person has to blaze their own trail if they want real success. Just following others gives you whatever scraps they toss aside. And do you really just want scraps?"

The girl said, "Oh..." and then sank to her seat, fidgeting with her skirt.

God, he even thinks he's better than all the people here
, I thought. Apparently there were even snobs for snobs. I thought of leaving right then, but with how quiet the room was I knew people would shoot me nasty looks.

Two professors in the front row, from the business faculty if I had to guess, began whispering to each other. Business professors were the worst. They were the type of people who took a bizarre sort of pride when you accidentally called them Dr. So-and-So. As though not having a PhD was some sort of badge of honor for them.

Apparently Mr. X wasn't what anyone expected him to be.

"Final question," Mr. X said, sweeping the room.

I don't know why I did it. I've never been able to figure it out. Impulse, I suppose. I could be impulsive at times. My mom always called it strong-willed. My dad preferred, "smart-assed smart-mouth."

I lifted my hand into the air, expecting nothing, thinking I should just lower my hand. I sat right at the back, and so far he gave preference to the first few rows.

Although maybe that was why he lifted his eyes and for a moment met mine. If they hadn't frozen me solid for that heartbeat I would have lowered my hand and pretended that I'd been stretching.

"You. In the back."

The people around me shot me glances, taking in my plain shirt and my worn jeans.
She doesn't belong
, I could practically hear them thinking.

My heart really started to pound.

For a moment, the entire amphitheater quieted. I realized that I was taking too long.

"You do have a question, don't you?" he said, not even bothering to raise his voice.

Then I saw Justin Rothsman smirk, lean closer to the guy sat next to him and whisper something. They both sniggered.

The cold nerves around my heart relaxed, that familiar resentment lending me some boldness.

I stood, proud of myself when my knees only trembled a little bit. "Yeah, I've got a question. How can you live with yourself?"

Even from the back row, I could see how he frowned. That urged me along.

"I don't understand what you're asking," Mr. X began.

"Let me put it differently, then," I continued, ignoring the way I'd balled my hands into fists and kept them pressed tightly to my hips, "How can you make so much money when there are millions of people starving all over the world? Is there literally a single thing your huge corporation does that makes this a better world that you don't just do for a tax write-off?"

I meant to end it there, but my smart mouth didn't want to stop running. I chalk it up to all those shocked stares coming at me from all over the room.

Shut up,
I thought,
Just shut up before it’s too late!
I couldn’t. That mouth of mine had a mind of its own."Also, how conceited does a person have to be when they think it's okay to make people call him Mr. X? Do you really think you're so important that you can't even tell people your
name
?"

Crap. Why did I say all that? Why oh why? Now he really is going to hate me!
And I didn’t want that. I didn’t want anyone hating me.

It was Justin Rothsman, I knew. That smirk, that joking snigger. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t take it back. My stomach started boiling, and even worse, my knees locked.

It was that rebellious part of me that said, “
Fine, if I can’t fit it, I may as well make sure they know where I stand.
”

Something shifted in the man standing by the lectern. It wasn't anything I could see, rather only something felt. At first, he bristled, the whole room maintaining its silence, its collective breath held, waiting for his response.