The Billionaire's Embrace (The Silver Cross Club) (6 page)

So I would just wait, tumbling head over heels, desperately trying to keep him at arm’s length, until he wised up and left.

Everyone left me eventually.

* * *

I
woke up feeling hungover, even though I didn’t have anything to drink the night before. I still hadn’t totally adjusted to working nights, and after I got home, I’d stayed up doing some mindless internet window shopping until almost dawn. Poor life decision.

I had texted Sadie asking for more details about dinner, and when I checked my phone, I had a message waiting from her.
6:30, my place, don’t b late!!!! so excited 2 meet him!!!

I sighed and texted Germaine that I wouldn’t be working that evening. One of the nicest things about my job, aside from the ridiculous amounts of money I was making, was that Germaine didn’t care if I didn’t show up to work as long as I let her know a few hours in advance. She had actually gotten after me about working too much. That had changed a little, now that I was dating Carter, but I was still at work more nights than not. I knew the job wouldn’t last—I would mess up eventually, and get fired, or they would go out of business, or the building would burn down in a fire—and I was determined to make as much money as possible while I still had the opportunity.

My savings account had hit five figures the week before. I’d never had that much money in my life.

Carter probably spent that much on your average Tuesday afternoon.

That wasn’t fair. I hadn’t actually seen him do anything particularly extravagant. His apartment was really nice—the skylights, the big windows—but it only had one bedroom, and the furnishings were obviously well-made but not flashy. No gold-plated statues of baby angels or anything. And there was the car and driver, and the nice restaurants, and the expensive suits, but I didn’t think any of those things were out of the ordinary for a billionaire. He ran a multinational corporation; he probably had to maintain appearances to some extent. Play the part to keep his investors happy. I didn’t know for sure if investors cared about that sort of thing, but I had a feeling they did.

He was rich, and he lived like a rich person, but he didn’t have a pet tiger or diamond-encrusted silverware. He had the things that I would probably want to have, if I were rich.

I rubbed my temples. Too much thinking before noon. I dragged myself out of bed and turned on the coffee maker. Everything would make more sense once I had some caffeine.

While I was waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, I texted Carter.
Dinner at 6:30. Sadie lives in Carroll Gardens so we can meet there.
There was no reason for him to come all the way to my neighborhood and then backtrack to Sadie’s place. I typed in her address and hit send.

He didn’t respond until I was settled on the couch with my coffee, making my usual morning rounds of blogs and email.
Don’t be silly. I’ll come pick you up. What should I bring? Wine?

I thought about it. Wine was usually a safe bet, but Sadie had said Indian food, and I didn’t know what else she had planned.
I’ll have her call you if that’s okay
.

Sure. I’m in meetings all morning, but she can leave a message. Can’t wait to see you tonight.

I bit my lip to hold back a foolish grin. That was the problem with Carter: my brain told me that it couldn’t last, that it would end in sorrow and suffering, but my heart wanted him so much that it bloomed in my chest, an extravagant flower, with the slightest provocation. He was kind, and thoughtful, and
good
, a fundamentally decent person, and that was why I hadn’t bailed yet. He gave me hope. His earnest belief that the world was a good and worthwhile place was contagious. Being around him made me feel like everything would turn out okay.

Foolishness. False dreams. I looked around my apartment, grounding myself in reality. Dirty dishes, overflowing hamper, drug addicts yelling outside. Real life. The way that real people lived.

Well, real people didn’t have to live in filth. I spent the day cleaning, and then realized it was already 5:00, and Carter would be ringing my doorbell in less than an hour. Panicked, I hopped in the shower, and then spent far too long trying to decide what I wanted to wear. A dress? Jeans and a nice top? A skirt and a slouchy t-shirt, for the casual-but-classy look? I had finally settled on skinny jeans and a silky blouse when my doorbell rang.

My hair was still wet, and I hadn’t put on an ounce of makeup. I swore a blue streak. Whatever. Sadie and Ben had seen me looking worse, and Carter would just have to cope. I pulled on my coat and clattered down the stairs.

Carter was waiting for me in the vestibule. He was wearing—oh God—his usual outfit of wool slacks and a dress shirt, overcoat slung over his arm. At least his sleeves were rolled up. I should have told him to dress down. We were just going to dinner at Sadie’s apartment; he didn’t need to look so fancy.

I opened the door. “You’re early,” I said. “I mean, you’re not early, you’re right on time, but I lost track of time, and—I didn’t have time to do my hair, or—”

He smiled and touched my wet hair. “So I see. You look wonderful.” He bent to kiss me. “Are you ready? Henry’s waiting outside.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” I said.

We went outside and climbed into the warm car. “I’m afraid I’m a little overdressed,” Carter said. “I came straight from the office. I hope your friends won’t mind.”

Guilt washed over me. Of
course
he’d been at work, even though it was Sunday. He wasn’t trying to show off, or make Sadie and Ben feel inadequate. He just hadn’t had time to change. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. “I hope you’ll talk a lot about how you had a long, exhausting day at the office and make them both feel really lazy,” I said.

He grinned. “I’m sure that will endear me to them. It wasn’t
that
exhausting.”

Double guilt. “I didn’t mean to—I wouldn’t have asked you if I’d known you were working all day. If you want to just go home and relax, I’m sure they’ll understand. It’s not—”

He took my hand. “That’s not what I meant. Being with you
is
relaxing, Regan. I would much rather do this than go home to my empty apartment.”

I couldn’t think of any way to respond that didn’t involve bursting into tears, so I slid across the seat and leaned against him, resting my head against his shoulder and letting him wrap one arm around me and hold me close.

His warm and solid presence made me realize how nervous I’d been all day. I was worried about what he would think about Sadie, and what Sadie would think about him. I wanted them to like each other, and I was afraid that they wouldn’t, and I was annoyed with myself that it mattered so much to me. I was an adult, and I could make my own decisions. I didn’t need anyone’s approval.

“Sadie asked me to bring wine,” Carter said. “I picked up a couple of bottles.”

I tensed. “What kind of wine?”

He kissed the top of my head. “Cheap wine. Twenty dollars a bottle.”

Twenty dollars a bottle still sounded like a lot. “I just don’t want you to think you have to spend money on me,” I said. “Or that I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Seeing as how you get that horrified look on your face every time I try to do something nice for you, it would be difficult for me to believe that you’re using me for my money,” Carter said.

I covered my face with one hand. “Horrified?”

He laughed. “Like you’ve smelled something repellent. It’s very sweet, and I’m glad to know you like me for more than just my credit card. Although I do wish you would let me spoil you a little.”

I didn’t reply. I was still trying to figure out how I felt about Carter’s money. It was a fact of his existence, just like his blue eyes. I wouldn’t ever be able to strip away his wealth and find the “real Carter.” Money wasn’t a veneer concealing his true self. It was part of him, an inextricable part of how he interacted with and thought about the world. I thought that probably a lot of the things I liked about him—his self-confidence, his easy charm—existed
because
he had money. It was easy to be confident when you never had to worry about paying rent.

And so even though I sometimes wished that he were an ordinary person, that he took the subway and bought his toilet paper at a corner store, I knew that it didn’t work like that. Without the corporation and the money and the tabloids, he wouldn’t be Carter. He had been shaped by his environment the same way I’d been shaped by mine. I couldn’t reject his wealth without rejecting
him
.

“What are you thinking about?” Carter asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Dinner. I’m hungry. Sadie’s boyfriend is making Indian food. Did I tell you that?”

“She did, when I spoke to her earlier,” Carter said. “She sounds very nice.”

“She didn’t say anything embarrassing, did she?” I asked. That was exactly the sort of thing Sadie would do—go behind my back and tell Carter all sorts of humiliating stories about me.

“Not at all,” Carter said. “We spoke very briefly.”

I squinted up at him, suspicious, and even more suspicious when he gave me a look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I’m not sure I should believe you.”

He leaned down and kissed me. “I cannot tell a lie.”

“Okay, George Washington,” I said. Sadie probably told him about that time I got really drunk and threw up on the subway. She
always
told that story.

He laughed. “Is there anything I should know going in? Sore subjects to avoid?”

I thought about it. “Not really. I don’t want to tell you too much about them because then you won’t have anything to talk about.” Maybe Carter didn’t have that problem, though. He had probably been glad-handing since before he could walk.

The car pulled up in front of Sadie’s house. We got out, and I stood on the sidewalk while Carter spoke to the driver. The car pulled away, and Carter took my hand and smiled at me. “Ready?”

“I guess so,” I said, and we climbed the steps of the brownstone.

There was a note on the front door: “Buzzer broken, come on in!” The door was propped open with a brick. I rolled my eyes. The buzzer had been broken for at least a month. Sadie’s slumlord tried to cut corners whenever he could. I kept trying to convince her to move out, but she said the rent was so cheap she would put up with just about anything. It was like her landlord didn’t realize that Carroll Gardens had been gentrified.

Carter was holding the wine, so I opened the door. We went inside and climbed the stairs to the top floor, where Ben and Sadie lived. Well, technically Ben didn’t live there, but he only went back to his place to pick up clean clothes. I wondered if they were ever going to bite the bullet and officially move in together.

I knocked on the door, and it swung open immediately, letting out a wave of curry-scented air. Sadie must have been waiting just inside.

“Welcome, welcome!” Sadie said, beaming. She had combed her hair out into a fro, and her highlights made it look like a golden halo around her head. Between that and her red lipstick and her teal dress, she looked like someone in a magazine.

“You look incredible,” I told her, leaning in to give her a hug.

“Hey, what about me?” Ben asked, coming up behind her.

“Don’t you think Sadie looks incredible?” I asked him, and gave him a hug too.

“And this must be Carter,” Sadie said. I moved aside and let her and Ben shake hands with Carter.

“Thanks very much for having us over tonight,” Carter said.

“Regan’s been trying to hide you,” Sadie said. “Can’t have that! Come in, come in.” She ushered us into the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready, I think.”

“Ten minutes,” Ben said. “Speaking of.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“I brought wine, as requested,” Carter said, handing Sadie the paper bag he was carrying.

“Aren’t you a doll,” Sadie said. “I’ll open it right now. You two sit down.” She followed Ben into the kitchen.

I sat on the tufted green velvet sofa—we’d rescued it from the sidewalk, three summers before—and patted the cushion beside me. “Best seat in the house,” I said. “Sorry she’s so intense.”

Carter sat beside me. “I think she’s delightful.”

I pursed my lips, unconvinced. Seeing Sadie through Carter’s eyes, as a stranger, made me all too aware of how high-energy she was, and sort of bossy. Sadie and I got along great because I was a follower, not a leader; but I didn’t know how Carter would react to being gently ordered around.

Sadie came back into the room, somehow carrying three full wine glasses in her hands. I was glad I always got to use a tray at the club. “This wine looks awesome,” she said to Carter, handing him a glass, and then moving one to her now-empty right hand before she passed it to me. “Did you go all out? I thought I told you not to go all out.”

“Don’t worry,” Carter said. “It came from the liquor store, not my private cellar.”

Sadie laughed. “Do you really have a wine cellar? Is it underground? Regan, you didn’t tell me anything about this!”

“It’s a crypt,” Carter said. “Medieval. I had it imported from France.”

“I like him,” Sadie said to me. She sat down across from us. “Tell me everything. Do you know George Clooney? I would leave Ben for him in a hot second.”

“I heard that!” Ben yelled from the kitchen.

“I’ve met Mr. Clooney, yes,” Carter said. “I think he has a girlfriend, though.”

Sadie made a dismissive gesture. “That won’t last. They all start talking about marriage, and then, well...” She shook her head. “Women really need to stop viewing marriage as the be-all and end-all of female aspirations.”

I rolled my eyes. Sadie was
really
into feminist theory, and I found it interesting and worthwhile, but maybe not the best topic of conversation when you were meeting your best friend’s new boyfriend.

Was that what Carter was? My boyfriend?

Man companion?

Boy-toy?

Whatever he was, he said—to my surprise—something about Betty Friedan and
The Feminine Mystique
, and then he and Sadie were off and running. I sat there like a useless lump while they debated the merits of third-wave feminism and intersectionality. I didn’t know enough about it to have anything useful to contribute. All of my reading couldn’t compensate for the fact that I didn’t have a college education, and college seemed to be where people learned how to argue. At least, that was the impression I’d gotten in my two semesters at CUNY.