Making Out with the Billionaire

by Swann, Marcella

  “I’m Roxanne Georgescu.” She held out her hand and beamed at Kerry with a broad smile. Her weak hand limply shook it.

  “I’m Romanian. Transylvania, you know? Dracula and that whole thing. Well, I’m not from there. I was born in Buffalo. My family’s from there. I’m sure I come from a family of witches. Certain of it. I mean, right? Probably had a whole clan of covens all over the Carpathians. My parents are grocers, so it all makes sense. I could definitely see my people going town to town, coven to coven. We’re very charismatic people. Whoa, TMI. Sorry.”

  She drew a breath, and before Kerry could react, Roxanne had moved over to the seat next to her. “Did you know that witches—historically speaking—were good? It’s the church. No offense if you’re religious, but those Catholic bastards turned witches into like wicked beings. But before all that, witches were like local healers. They were badasses, I mean . . .”

  Again she drew a breath and pulled back. “Let’s slow it down, Rox,” she said, clearly talking to herself now. “Contain the beam. You know what I’m saying?”

  She winked, and for the first time since her world had gone dark, Kerry smiled.

  “I’m Kerry. I’m not a witch. I’m just a girl who can’t find a man.”

  She took her shot glass and held it out toward Roxanne, goading her to meet her in her forlorn toast. Roxanne clinked the glass and Kerry downed her drink. Roxanne sipped hers and set it down.

  “Man trouble. I knew it. I can help you with that.”

  “Oh, no. Not with that asshole who dumped me at the airport, second only to the altar in worse places to dump your girlfriend. And then he pulls a chicken shit Bill Clinton on me by cheating with his grad student. Can you freaking believe that?”

  “I hereby cast an evil spell on him.” She raised her glass and finished the rest of her drink. “I’m actually not yet at that level. I don’t know any spells, but it’s the thought that counts. But I can help you with that, seriously.”

  “How?”

  “I’m a profile pimp.”

  Kerry crumpled in a heap on the bar, her head resting on her arms.

  “A what?”

  “A profile pimp. A writer. I pimp guys’ profiles, you know, on Tinder and Match.com and all that stuff. It’s all about Zen and the Art of Pumping Stuff Up, you know. My going rate is 150 bucks an hour.”

  “People really do that?

  “Yup. How do you think I can afford to live in San Francisco?”

  “I need another drink.” She signaled the bartender who leapt into action.

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a psychologist. I guess we’re both in the people business. I help people, mostly overindulged and pampered athletes achieve their highest selves.”

  “Was your boyfriend, or I assume he’s your ex-boyfriend, an athlete?”

  “Hell, no. He’s a professor. A shit-for-brains one. Jackass.”

  “C’mon. I could write you a helluva profile. Beautiful, voluptuous, ravenous, and brainy Marilyn Monroe type looking for love . . .” Roxanne held her breath, and then they both burst out laughing. When the bartender served them both up a round of drinks, they toasted each other and ordered again.

  “Roxanne, do you realize I’m getting old? I’ll be 33 in October. Sure, the career stuff is good, but I’m running out of time to get settled down. I’m boyfriendless. Husbandless. Childless. Life really sucks the big one right now.”

  “No, not at all. You’re right where you should be. You’re a total free agent. You can make your destiny as you see fit. To get love, you have to make love.”

  “Wiccan wisdom.”

  “My friend, Martine, she’s 29 and already a sage. But, seriously, just let yourself go and make things happen.”

  Kerry was numbed by the booze, but there was something that was stirring inside her. Roxanne had something there. She tried to clear her head and think through things.

  Kerry sat up straight and looked at Roxanne.

  “You know what? You’re right. I’ve been playing this game all wrong.”

  She grabbed the ice pack and rubbed it over her arm, feeling it soothe her bruise.

  “That’s basically what I tell my clients. Don’t react to your environment. Tame your environment. Create your world, first internally, and then externally. Roxanne, you’re freaking brilliant.”

  “Uh . . . okay.”

  “You’re not getting it, are you? I’m going to take your advice. I’m going to go out and create my dreamboat, my Prince Charming. And you’re going to help me.”

  “I’m only an apprentice witch. I don’t know how to do that.”

  “I’m one of the country’s leading sports psychologists. I do.”

  “I knew you were a witch. A good witch. But love isn’t like baking cake, right? Love is about letting go, not taking control.”

  At that moment, on a large screen behind the bar, the local news began flashing a story of Dorran Knight, the bad boy billionaire founder of Hail, the ridesharing service. Rumors were flying that he was about to get ousted as CEO for his bad boy antics.

  “Wow. He’s hot and rich and yummy,” Roxanne said. Kerry didn’t even turn to look, she was too wrapped up in her idea. This could work. She was going to make it work.

  “You are wise beyond your years, Roxanne Georgescu from Buffalo.” Kerry held up her drink. “Come hell or high water, within a year, I am going to create the man of my dreams through sheer force of will and little psychological razzmatazz, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Not really.”

  Kerry winked at her. “No more leaving this up to the fates. You want love, you gotta make love. No truer words were spoken. To hell with My Fair Lady. We’re going The Full Monty with this one. You with me, Roxanne Georgescu?”

  Roxanne didn’t balk. She lifted her drink to Kerry’s. “Let’s go make ourselves some man meat we can freakin’ marry and make babies with and live happily ever after with and . . . I guess that’s pretty much it.”

  After they swigged their drink and set their glasses down, Kerry finally looked up to the TV screen with images of Dorran Knight.

  “So, who’s gonna be the lucky guy?” Roxanne asked.

  That was the big question, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Two

  Expensive sunglasses shield a pair of bloodshot blue eyes. All Dorran could think of was that it was way too early for a meeting. He rubbed his cheeks and then pulled himself from one of his various, outrageously pricey sports cars. The lime green McLaren 570S still had that new car smell. Was there anything better than that? In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he should have been driving in his condition, but his grandmother had called a meeting. She was the chairman of the board. Or was it chairwoman? Confusing.

  He could still taste the alcohol from last night. Flashbacks of last night flickered through his mind. He’d bought round after round at the club. That he could remember, for sure. The rest - the women, the dancing, the dangling from a chandelier - was a bit of a blur.

  Was that whisky or tequila on his breath? Whatever poison he had chosen for the night, it’s lingering effects had him unsteady. He stumbled to the other side of the car, opening the door slightly and the hydraulics on the low-slung and sleek McLaren doing the rest for Lisa.

  That was her name, right? He wasn’t sure.

  A tall, model-like woman slipped out of the car, grabbing onto the side of the vehicle for balance. She was clad in a shiny, sequined party dress that reflected like a disco ball in the bright Californian sun. The cut was low, and the dress was short. They both still reeked of alcohol and her cheap perfume.

  What was left of last night’s makeup was now tragically smeared. Dorran wasn’t sure if she had even looked in the mirror this morning. What were beautiful curls last night seemed to be a rat’s nest this morning. She tried to wear one of his shirts, but he had vetoed that before she could even get the first button done. The beautiful, well put together woman from last night now looked rough and defi
nitely hungover.

  “Thanks, Dory,” she purred. What was he, some kind of idiotic fish?

  Dorran shot straight up at the thought of Dory. Jesus. In that second, he felt ill. “It’s Dorran.” He wrapped his arm around her as they staggered into Hail’s lobby. Although the front of the building was classic Silicon Valley bland, the inside was all Violet Apson elegant. When they’d built their headquarters, his grandmother had made sure it would be impressive.

  Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, illuminating the marble that covered almost every inch. Had he not been so hungover almost every time he came in, he might appreciate the grand effect of it all and how beautiful it looked.

  At his side, Lisa seemed enthralled by anything shiny she saw. Knowing his own taste in women lately, Dorran wasn’t exactly surprised that she was impressed. She’d likely be excited by anything big or shiny, just like a kitten.

  “I’m so glad you brought me to your little meeting this morning.” Her voice seemed so much more annoying than it did last night. She couldn’t have possibly sounded like that when he picked her up at the club.

  “And I’m so glad I always pack ibuprofen.” Either she ignored his snarky remark, or it went over her head. He would bet it was the latter.

  God, his head was throbbing. The shrillness of her voice combined with the bright lights and none of it was helping. He was already late. Perhaps he should have stopped for some food before finally making his appearance. It might have helped absorb some of the booze still lingering in his system.

  As they made their way across the lobby, people stopped what they were doing to stare openly. It wasn’t unusual for Dorran to attract attention. It had taken only five years, but Hail was now the undisputed king of ride-hailing companies. The app was now securely fashioned to millions of smartphones across the U.S. and in twelve markets around the world. Over that five-year period, Dorran Knight had gone from the boy wonder of Silicon Valley to its enfant terrible to its increasingly reckless bad boy.

  He was devilishly handsome, and he knew it; with messy sandy brown hair and piercing blue-green eyes that always had a hint of mischief hidden in their depths. His bad boyness had always attracted the opposite sex, and now that he was worth a billion bucks, the partying was endless. Life was a dream.

  Most of the time, the attention he received was positive. People would crowd around him, asking him questions about his personal life or how the company was going. Paparazzi liked to flash pictures of him at inconvenient times. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

  Checking his watch, he realized he was fifteen minutes late. Hell, what kind of billionaire playboy would he be if he didn’t show up fashionably late? Being on time was his brother’s thing, not his.

  Although he knew that his grandma and brother Stan would have something to say about his tardiness, Dorran didn’t worry about it. His grandmother, although sassy, understood him better than anyone in the world. The bond between them was the one true thing in Dorran’s life. Stan, on the other hand, would bitch about it. What a drag.

  “Is this your company . . . Dory?” The girl at his side giggled to herself.

  Dorran flinched again and took his arm from around her. Are you freakin’ kidding me? You’re gonna call me that?

  Dorran put his index finger to his mouth. “Shhhh. Yeah. Welcome to my little bundle of joy. Hey, listen. I kinda have a meeting I got to be at, like right now. So here’s the deal. You should stay outta sight, you know what I’m saying? This is my office right here. And this is Joy. Hi, Joy.”

  They both turned to the woman seated behind a computer. She was about 50 with graying black hair, wearing a pair of bright yellow Nike Frees and a pair of glasses with black a strap that draped around her neck.

  She leveled Dorran with a forced smile and eyes that could kill.

  “Good morning, Mr. Knight.”

  Dorran tried to communicate with his eyes. Help me out here.

  But Joy didn’t say anything else and his date frowned. “I’m hungry.”

  “Joy here, my trusty admin, will get you all taken care of. We keep a fully stocked lunchroom, so you’re all good. Now in you go.”

  At that moment, the doors to the board room flung open.

  “Fuck,” Dorran mumbled under his breath.

  The senior staff began to file out, each giving Dorran and his guest odd looks. Once they had cleared out, Violet and Stan emerged.

  “Well, I do believe the prodigal son has returned,” his grandmother said conversationally. “Good morning, dear.”

  Dorran took a breath and tried to steady himself. He turned to his grandma and beamed a toothsome smile.

  “How’s my best girl?” He hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek. Violet wrinkled her nose, and he knew she was reacting to the strong stench of booze.

  “I know you,” his companion said. “I mean, I’ve seen you on TV. You’re like a hundred years old but all fashiony and stuff. You’ve got like a bajillion Instagram followers. Oh, my god. You’re like my hero. And I love that scarf.”

  Dorran cringed, and Violet was nonplussed.

  “Bless your heart. Thank you, dear. Yes, I’ve always had a thing for fashion. But no, I’m only 82. Hate to disappoint. And it’s 4.3 million to be precise. I have 4.3 million followers on Insta. Lovely people, really.”

  Violet turned to Dorran and raised an eyebrow.

  “Grandma, this is . . .” Dorran quickly tried to scan his brain for the answer. What was her name. Dancing. Kissing. Strobe lights. Loud music. But her name. Her name. . .

  “Lisa?” There was a question in his voice that made it even more insulting. The growl that came from the woman matched the anger on her face.

  “Joy, can you help . . . her get something to eat, please. Now.” Dorran practically shoved the woman to Joy.

  She stood up and gave him another withering look.

  “Certainly, Dory.”

  As the two women walked away, Dorran heard his date say, “Lisa? My name’s Raquel.”

  Dorran rubbed his face and turned back to his family. “OK, that’s all taken care of. I’m ready for the meeting. Let’s do this. Grandma, by the way, you do look especially lovely today. Are those new glasses?”

  “We just had a meeting,” Stan said. His tone was flat but hardly hid his distaste for that whole scene. “That girl you’ve brought is utterly delightful, by the way, Dorran. Or is Dory now? I guess Andy Warhol was right. We’ve all got our 15 minutes coming to us at some point. And they are indeed.”

  Dorran ignored his brother’s jeering words and turned back to his grandma. She held her hands to the dark rounded glasses that framed her face. “Rara Avis by Iris Apfel.”

  “Nothing but the best,” Dorran said, smiling.

  “Nothing but the best,” his grandma repeated.

  “I thought the meeting was at 9.”

  “It was,” Stan said.

  “I’m not that late. What’s going on?”

  Violet nodded toward the board room. “Come. Let’s talk.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Dorran said. “I gotta get something . . . from my office.”

  “Jesus, Dorran. We need to talk,” Stan said.

  Violet gently tapped Stan on the shoulder. “Make it quick, Dorran.”

  Ten minutes later, Dorran walked into the board room. Stan looked disgusted and didn’t bother to look up. Violet was seated beside him, looking as graceful as always, sipping a steaming cup of hot tea. She smiled at Dorran.

  “It better have been number 2.”

  They laughed. Even Stan couldn’t help it. Dorran took a seat at the table across from them, glad to feel some of the tension leave the air for a moment at least.

  “I love a good potty joke, Grandma. Sorry to keep you waiting. My office is a mess. I gotta clean it one of these years. But I found it.”

  He placed a book on the table and slid it across to his grandmother. It was a first edition of The Kentucky Countess: Mona Bismarck in Art and F
ashion.

  Violet did a double-take. Her eyes grew wide as she leaned in for a closer view. She grabbed it. “It’s been out of print for years.”

  Dorran was beaming and Stan was steaming. “Look inside,” Dorran said.

  Violet opened the book. “It’s a first edition,” Dorran said. “And I tracked down the author. Had him sign it. For you, gram.”

  She looked at him with awe.

  “It took me a while to track him down. He retired years ago, living out in Florida somewhere. It’s inscribed to you.

  “You know my family knew Mona Von Bismarck out there in Lexington. She was one great lady.”

  “I know.”

  “Come here and give me a hug you big old goof.”

  After they’d hugged, Dorran sat back down and looked at Stan.

  “So what’s up?” Dorran asked.

  Stan had sat through the whole thing deeply annoyed. He’d seen this kind of charm on full display since they were boys. Genetically, he’d been gifted with none of it.

  Stan shook his head without so much as taking a breath, his lips pursed. “You.”

  “My favorite subject.” Dorran was trying to be cool, but the headache just wasn’t cooperating. All he could muster was a feigned smile.

  “Dorran, I think it’s time we had a talk.” Violet’s voice was smooth yet maintained a gravitas both men had come to know and respect. She sipped her tea once more before setting it aside.

  “Definitely. I have this idea. I think we need to up our funds for the company retreat this year. I’m thinking we take the entire company to Vegas and set them loose.” The mischievous glint in his eyes was met with a serious look from his grandmother. For a moment, he got nervous. He could feel a lump growing in his throat.

  “I’m being serious. I understand that’s something hard for you to do lately, but this is about your stake in this company.”

  Dorran wanted to laugh. “My stake in this company? You mean my company? That I started?”

  “With my initial seed investment.” Violet’s tone was pointed but not unkind.