Very Bad Billionaires (43 page)

CHAPTER 6

Did he need company? He didn’t look lonely but he didn’t look overly friendly either. I couldn’t be sure, and squinted at his face and body language, trying to figure it out. With his arms crossed and body pointed directly at the bar, he certainly didn’t look like he was seeking a companion, at all.

But I couldn’t stop moving toward him. My legs worked in a clumsy, clopping manner, like a marionette with an amateur operator. Every step felt like I had barely escaped crumpling into a pile of twigs and fabric. The worst part was that I could see it all happening, but I couldn't stop it.

I eventually made my way to where the man sat, leaning my top half over onto the bar and taking a few deep, ragged breaths in celebration of reaching my destination. The air coming into me was too hot, like I was breathing in a jungle.

“Well, hello,” he murmured in a low, purring voice, leaning away from where I stood too close. Taking a moment, I tried to get his vitals: silky smooth but hard jawline, platinum watch, no wedding ring, exposed stitching on his suit lapels that meant
handmade
and
expensive as shit
.

He was just the right sort of man, just like Rachel would want, but now I didn’t know what to do with him. What would she do? I tried to still see myself as her but the image was fading fast. With every second, I was forgetting how she smiled, how she stood, how she talked so easily to people.

“Hey, hi,” I muttered, my voice a strange bark. “I’m new here. I’ve never been here.”

What am I even saying? What does that mean?

“Well... all right,” he said with a bemused squint. “I confess I’m not very familiar with this place either. Seems friendly enough. May I buy you a drink?”

I nodded haltingly. I could feel how ridiculous I looked, a half-paralyzed marionette. With a determined, quick breath I stood up tall, tits out, and steadied myself with one arm against the bar.

“I think so, yes. Thank you,” I mumbled, unable to think of what else to say.

The man nodded slowly, then sat up and let his hands drop to his lap, lacing his fingers together there.

“Two dirty martinis, Belvedere,” he said to the bartender who had efficiently appeared, just loud enough to be heard.

“That’s a great name for a bartender,” I said, my words garbled and thick in my mouth.

“It certainly would be.”

Swallowing, I smiled as pleasantly as I could. “It would be?”

He cocked his head half-sideways with a sympathetic squint.

“Belvedere is a vodka,” he explained in a low voice.

Embarrassment curdled on my tongue. “Of course it is. I knew that. That’s why I said—”

“—Of course you did,” he interrupted, shaking his head.

He chuckled and smiled from one corner of his mouth. I could feel it—he was mocking me. I couldn't blame him.

Belvedere… I mean it was a TV show? Is that what I was thinking? That this guy in a suit worth more than my aunt’s truck would be familiar with Nick At Night sitcoms? God I’m an idiot.

I should go. Run away. There must be other men.

As if to defy myself, my right foot hooked around the back of my left ankle. I wasn’t going anywhere. Instead I threw my weight out over one hip, leaning against the rail like a teenager. Closing my eyes, I sought the beat of the techno music and tried to tether myself to it like a towrope. In a few moments I could feel it seeping through me, pulsing in my arteries, bright and hard as a mallet strike.

“Oh, you're... you're a bit tipsy already, aren't you?” he murmured, watching me intently. That low voice made me want to lean in farther and farther.

“I might be, just a little,” I admitted, glad to clear the air. “No sense in stopping now, I suppose.”

The bartender slid two martinis toward us, the glasses nearly opaque with frost. Taking the stem between my fingers, I threw the stranger what had to be the most awkward wink in history, and he laughed openly. It was good-natured enough, but I was fuming behind the veil of the drug-induced bliss.

I couldn’t tell how much of an idiot I looked. I felt like a drunk driver in my own body, swerving all over the road despite two hands on the wheel. Was it passable? Squinting through a sudden blur caused by a change in the music, I laughed breezily back at him and held the glass in a polite salute. His smile seemed like an endorsement of my act. With a small shake of his head, he moved toward me, glass held aloft.

Placing a hand at my thigh, he gave a sudden, secret squeeze as he leaned in, tipping the rim of his glass against mine. I breathed slowly, trying to process the sensation of his fingers through my skirt. It was such a strange transgression, so immediately close to my sex and not entirely gentle. Yet as the bright feeling pulsed hotly, it didn’t seem entirely out of place. It seemed almost necessary, as though I had been craving exactly that touch for a long time.

You’re drunk, Jolie. You should go.

“I'm not usually a social drinker,” he growled, low and confidential in his throat. The words seemed to slide into me as his fingers left my thigh. They didn’t fill the bright void his absence made. In a few seconds, the impression faded, making me wonder if I had really felt it at all. Was that a dream? Maybe a wish?

“Well then I’m lucky I caught you on a sociable night,” I said, almost shyly. The cold glass fit perfectly against my lower lip and I let a small amount slide over my tongue. The salt was intense.

He chuckled suavely. “No… I should consider myself lucky to have bumped into a beautiful woman like you. Will you tell me your name?”

I gulped inelegantly. Rachel
did
say I was pretty, but... beautiful or interesting enough for a man like this, absolutely not. Especially not at that moment. I giggled, but it wasn't at his flirting—I just suddenly remembered that this strange drug had, in fact, apparently made me someone worth talking to, just as promised.

I slurred a bit but tried hard to make my mouth move properly at least. “I'm Rachel.”

My voice sounded so foreign I flinched from it. He raised a brow, letting his glass hover just over his open lower lip. Something hard flickered across his dark, shadowed eyes.

“Ah. I'm Rafe, but... you're not Rachel, no. Not at all. Such a naughty little liar you are.” He slid closer to me, his hand back at my thigh and tightening slightly.

I did feel that before. I did. That happened.

“Tell me the truth,” he growled, suddenly serious. The music rose around us, looping us together.

I shook my head tightly, my lips pressed together as though Rachel had cemented them shut.

He stood, rising from his bar stool to stand just inches from me. His face hardened into marble before my eyes as his fingers tightened around the muscle at the top of my leg.

“Tell me the truth.”

I couldn't decide whether the pounding of my heart was an effect of the drug or the electricity his touch sent up into me. He could have asked me anything in that moment and I would have answered. I tipped my chin up at him, bottom lip firmly between my teeth before I spoke.

“Jolie,” I admitted helplessly. “My name's Jolie.”

His breath fell over my cheeks as he paused, his eyes flickering over my face and the skin below my collarbones.

“That's better,” he said with a soft, relieved sigh. The tension between us seemed to dissolve like mist and I breathed in the spicy, piney scent of some expensive cologne. “A beautiful name for a beautiful creature. Very appropriate, isn't it?”

His hand slowly slid away from my thigh and he sat back in his chair, though he turned to face me more fully. I couldn't help but feel flattered by his words and that smooth voice seeming to come both from outside and inside my mind. When he smiled at me, a humid warmth percolated through my belly.

See? You did it. You did fine. Rachel would be proud.

Instantly, I found my eyes wandering the crowd for Rachel, to see if she had witnessed my tiny victory. Squinting across the darkened club, I could just barely make them out. Another man had joined the table, and while Rachel seemed to be sitting with her usual confidence and poise, Bronson looked less than pleased. Surly, even.

A sharp whistle drew my attention back to Rafe. “What's so interesting over there, hm?”

He leaned back from me and I shifted from foot to foot. I fought the urge to stand at attention, like a soldier.

“I'm not boring you, am I?”

“No, I’m sorry… I was just looking for my friend.”

“You’re free to go,” he said abruptly.

“No no!” I barked, jumping a little at the sound of my own voice. My hands flew up, palms out like I was surrendering.

“Then you'll pay attention to me when we're talking,” he nodded.

His voice was hard, and while it was definitely a command, it was said with the casual ease of everything else that had come out of his mouth since I came over. There was something about being directed that way that sent a shiver through me, and I found myself pressing in a little to listen to him.

“I will,” I promised, my voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded to reinforce the idea of my promise and stared down obediently at his clasped hands, waiting to hear what he wanted to say next. He had perfectly shaped, pale nails and long, thick fingers cupped around an empty space as though ready to catch something.

My pulse thrummed loud in my ears as I waited, hoping he would speak again. I kept my eyes demurely down so he would know I was sincerely waiting for his attention.

Every time he looked at me, I felt my heart race just a little. Then when he looked away, my skin cooled. His presence was absolutely massive, and made me feel at once safe and... hunted. I felt like willing prey before a benevolent carnivore, like he could snap me up at any moment and I'd be fine with it, but I knew he wouldn't.

I stared at his hands for a few long moments, then let my gaze wander over his cuffs then coat sleeves, wondering if he was going to make me stop. I mentally traced the creases in his fine coat at his elbows, and lingered along the ziggurat of his lapels. I could practically feel the fabric under my fingertips.

He sat, still and taut as though ready to pounce. But I didn’t feel threatened. I knew he was allowing me to inspect him. Not a single one of his jet black hairs was out of place. His suit was tailored and beautiful, just as black as his hair—and, perhaps a bit more unsettling, his eyes. I rationalized to myself that it was simply the lighting, but there was an indistinct, inky depth behind them.

His full lips pouted ever so slightly with every word that came out of his mouth, and I soon found my eyes fixated there, rather than on his dark eyes. For a brief moment I realized he was speaking again and then his words seem to drift away, the world vibrating and hushing like I'd been plunged again deep underwater. Only when he cocked his head to the side a bit, his brow raised, did I understand that I'd entirely missed what he was saying.

“I—I'm sorry, I... I didn't catch that. The music, it's so loud,” I stammered.

I brought my eyes to his quickly, realizing that they were still focused on those full, beautiful lips.

“No, it's not.”

He stood then, smoothing his suit and buttoning the trim jacket. “I told you to pay attention.”

“No, wait—”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the bar. I watched him leave, surprised to find myself unconsciously swaying after him like a reed in a wind, a choking whimper caught in my chest.

CHAPTER 7

I slipped down from the bar stool to chase after him, but my legs threatened to give out beneath me if I tried to do much more than wobble over to another place to sit. Instead, I shakily made my way to the bathroom, holding onto the wall as I went, no doubt looking completely and utterly smashed.

Faltering a few times, I clawed tight to the cherry wood trim on the wall and eventually made it to the end of the darkened hallway. Not that I particularly had to go to the facilities—it was just guaranteed to be a more stable, quiet place than the shifting, pulsing world outside.

Happily, I was alone in the porcelain-tiled room. I gripped the sink, staring down my own reflection. I expected some horror movie version of myself: strung out and bug-eyed, hollow cheeked and scraggly. To my surprise, my hair was in slight disarray, but otherwise I was fine. I heaved a soft sigh of relief before letting my head drop a bit, trying to collect myself.

Beautiful, huh?

If I raised my chin just so… Under the soft chandelier light, I supposed I looked all right. Not terrible anyway. Blonde hair, grey eyes. I could have been Rachel’s little sister in another life.

The tap came on automatically when I waved my hand under it and I splashed water over the insides of my arms. I pushed my damp fingers through the back of my hair and luxuriated in the hazy surface buzz of that feeling, finally enjoying the effects of the drug in my skin and muscles.

In all probability, I might have played off half that conversation as a reasonable person. I had just psyched myself out. But look, I wasn’t a disaster. I gave myself a wink in the mirror. With my arms up and in my hair, I looked a bit sassy. Maybe confident.

Yes, that’s all right I guess. See? Disaster-free. He didn’t see the trainwreck that I feared. He didn’t even have a sober Jolie experience to compare it to.

Oh man. I can't believe I let him go.

I had talked to him for a grand total of ten minutes, but those ten minutes were the best of the night by far. Maybe for many nights before this too. That thrill every time he looked at me, the way my breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t felt anything like that in a long, long time. His smile, his deep laugh, those eyes. They pulled me in completely, and just as quickly, they were gone.

Nice move, Jolie. Can’t you ever just do what you’re told? Would it really have been so hard to listen to him?

With a resolute growl, I dropped my arms back to my sides and turned and made my way out of the bathroom.

The crowd had seemingly multiplied since I sat down with Rafe. I felt pressed in upon as I moved through them, trying desperately to make my way back to the table where Rachel was waiting for me. I was ready to be through with the night. The deal must have been made by then, and I wanted to go home.

Predictably, when I made it to the table, she was nowhere to be found. I clumsily climbed up onto the chair. Kneeling on it, I pointedly ignored a few surprised stares and looked out over the crowd. She should have been easily enough picked out by her swinging blonde hair and red dress, but there was no sign of her.

Nice. Thanks again, Rachel.

I felt a strong hand circle my arm and reflexively yanked back and away.

Bronson pulled me down from the barstool, his bleary eyes seeming to hardly  focus on mine. He was out of his mind—drugs, alcohol, and who knows what else? Probably the same stuff I had but a lot more, by the look of him. He leaned in, the grip tightening by the moment as I squirmed and pulled back.

“Come on! I— hey, what do you want? Let me go!”

I gave a hard tug but got absolutely nowhere. I'm not sure if the alcohol had anything to do with it, but the grip he had on my arm was concrete. I was going to be bruised, and I knew it. He leaned in, reeking of smoke and whiskey and gave the most unsettling smile I've ever seen.

“Where’re you going, Rachel? I need to talk to you about a few things.”

He snorted out a strange sort of half-chuckle, tongue coming out to swipe his lips. Another man stepped up, placing a hand at Bronson's shoulder and asked him if there was some kind of problem. He released my arm just long enough to face the man, arms out and ready. I bolted. There was no way I was sticking around to find out how that was going to turn out.

Legs still rubbery and disobedient, I walked as quickly as I could back to the entrance and out into the night, gulping lungfuls of prickly, misty air. After a few deep breaths, my head seemed to settle into clarity. I could feel like myself again, mostly.

But standing on the sidewalk, I found myself completely at a loss. What was I going to do? I rode there with Rachel in a cab. She had all the money. Cab drivers don't accept gratitude as payment, generally. I paced back and forth, throwing nervous glances back toward the bar, sure Bronson was going to come storming out any minute and do something horrible.

The worry must have been plastered all over my face. I tried to control myself but could do little besides walk in a tight path and hug my arms to my body. One of the women at the front of the now-thinned line seemed to be considering checking on me, concern shading her eyes.

Don’t be that girl, Jolie. Don’t be the hysterical mess at the bar. Control yourself.

I gave her a confident but shrugging smile as if to say
What a night, eh?
She shot me an uncertain nod and stepped back to her friends, glancing back again once or twice.

Pacing more slowly, I studied the black iron railings of some high-rise’s manicured landscaping like I belonged there. The low rumble of an engine came from behind, and I turned to see a long black limo pulling up quickly. The window slid down.

“What are you doing out here?” Rafe’s voice emerged from the dark interior. He rested his arm on the frame and I squinted into the limo, trying to see his face.

“Nothing. Just waiting on Rachel. She's coming right back for me. She had to make a run to get something from the apartment.”

The lie must have been even more obvious than when I was totally stoned, because he leaned forward into the wedge of light from the streetlamp. His brow lowered in something bordering on anger and I saw the quick flare of his nostrils.

“No, she's not. Get in the car.” He gave a loud snap of his fingers, motioning to the seat beside him. “Now.”

I hesitated, then quickly shook my head.

“I told you, I'm waiting for my friend. I don't even know you.”

“Yes you do, and you'll not refuse my command. I said
get in.
”

Another shake of my head, but it was a lot less enthusiastic. I was beginning to think it might be best to obey him.

Rafe heaved a heavy sigh. The black door swung silently wide and he stepped out of the limo, walking quickly to me. I shrunk back reflexively, but he simply came to stand beside me.

“If you won't capitulate, I'll wait. Either your friend shows up in five minutes or you're coming with me. Simple as that, yes?”

I stared up at him. The streetlight bounced off the tiny water droplets in the air, haloing his jet-black hair. Before I knew it, I was nodding.

He stood entirely too close to me, and I felt totally dwarfed. Even though the real difference may have only been a matter of six inches, his presence made him seem like a giant. The fact that I was halfway hunched over and away like he was about to abduct me probably wasn't helping that impression.

The woman with concern in her eyes seemed entirely satisfied when I glanced over to her again. Apparently a limousine is enough to make people think that nothing strange is going on.

But maybe I was just being paranoid. There
was
nothing strange going on. Rafe was trying to look out for me, even being as bossy as he was. He was apparently pretty rich, and rich people usually get their way. Maybe he was just a gruff recluse. He did say he didn’t get out much.

I relaxed a bit and finally looked up to him properly. He was staring straight ahead, hands in his coat pockets, his lips twitching to the side now and then. I found my eyes glued to them again, especially now that he wasn't looking at me. He had such a gorgeous profile—strong nose and jaw, deep-set eyes, full lips. I began to wonder if he might have made his fortune as a model, and couldn't help the giggle that slipped from my lips.

He looked down to me with those deep coal eyes, brow furrowing a bit.

“Is something funny, Jolie?”

I immediately quieted, shaking my head.

“No, nothing. Well… I was just wondering what it was you do, exactly.”

He squinted at me from under his perfectly shaped brows.

“What I do?”

“I’m sorry, is that too rude?” I babbled nervously. “I mean, you've obviously got some serious money, right? The limo, the suit, the whole... look, really. Must be some kind of rich. So, I just kind of thought... you know, maybe you might be a model or something. You kind of have that look.”

He was silent for a long moment, then gave a rumbling affirmative hum.

“That is a new one,” he said with a confused, almost bashful smirk. My heart leapt to see the emotion play across his face. Then he covered it with a quick scowl.

“You could totally be a model,” I insisted.

“Then you find me attractive.”

I flinched a little bit. I had said it, but I wasn’t prepared for him to be saying it.

What would Rachel say?

I pushed my arms down under my bosom, forcing myself to stand upright even as the drizzle seeped between my breasts like tiny icicle fingers. Boldly, I let my gaze drift over his profile and down into the open collar of his shirt.

“You could say that,” I said in a low voice that I hoped sounded Rachel-quality confident. 

He glanced down at me, meeting my eyes with a charged intensity that I struggled not to wince from.

“Interesting,” he growled.  “You have four more minutes.”

His gaze returned straight ahead then, and he didn't say another word on the matter. I expected a
little
something more. Maybe a thanks, maybe a confirmation or denial. He didn't seem particularly keen on discussing his money either, and I decided not to push the matter.

But without saying anything, I got edgier by the second. I wanted to hear his voice again, that low rumble, that weirdly bossy presence. I could still feel the imprint of his fingers at the top of my thigh from when he had (rightly) accused me of lying about my name. Weirdly, I ached to feel that again, and my belly twanged out a stuttering tattoo of want as soon as I thought of it.

We waited in silence for the longest four minutes of my life, standing quietly together staring at the wedges of light under the streetlamps. I couldn't bring myself to look up at him again, talk to him... nothing.

I shrank back into my blouse as the realization slowly dawned on me that Rachel really wasn't coming back. It wasn't so much that I expected her to, but I was really hoping. As attractive as Rafe was, he was unsettling. He was gorgeous and rich, but he was bossy and strange. Part of me kept cautioning me to think this through: was standing next to him really the right thing to do? Was I going to think so tomorrow? Maybe I needed space to clear my head.

He wasn’t like anyone I had ever met, that was for sure. The way he said
my command
as though that was a phrase normal people used, the way he just came right out and called me a liar, the way he mocked me in the bar—I wasn't sure I liked any of it, and I didn't want to put myself at his mercy while I was still tipsy and half-stoned. What if I regretted it later?

I heard a few heavy thunks at the top of the idling limo, and within moments, it was raining in earnest. I shivered hard, crossing my arms over my chest, staring at the ground.

Come on, Rachel. Please hurry up.

I felt a heaviness at my shoulders and gave a little startled gasp, my body tensing like a wild hare. Rafe had taken his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders, keeping the bitter wind from chilling me too badly.

“Stand closer to me.”

I looked up to him, pulling the jacket around myself.

“What?”

“I said: stand closer to me. Do you usually have this much trouble with directions, Jolie?”

He looked down at me briefly, a bolt of mild disdain. His exasperation made me fidgety and I felt my legs tense like I should be running. But running
to
him or running
from
him, I didn’t know.

He'd
gi
ven me his coat, and he was standing in the freezing rain with me, waiting for my friend. He couldn't be all bad, bossy as he was. I understood, a little. It takes that kind of determination to get anywhere in the world, and I found myself a little envious of his confidence. With a small nod, I stepped closer to him.

He turned toward me slightly, and the wind broke over his broad shoulders and back. He was actively protecting me from the worst of the chill, and even some of the rain which was blowing in near-sideways. I looked up to him, trying hard to give him a gracious smile.

“Thank you, Rafe. It's pretty cold out here,” I admitted.