I said to Digby. "That's the most amazing thing I've ever seen."
"And it's just your first day," Digby said. "Believe me, you haven't seen anything yet."
"Let me get this straight," Wendell said to Digby. "I can bang any of those French Maid chicks anytime I want? Just snap my fingers and BAM?"
"Like I said, that's what they're here for. You could even have more than one if you like."
Wendell issued a lustful moaning sound, then turned to me, eyes wide with a billion possibilities. "Matt, we really gotta have that party. Dude, what do you say?"
Once again, I was about to make Wendell's dreams come true when I was distracted by a disturbing thought. What if Reba was one of these Babeboids? She was beautiful, sexy, and she worked for Zillion. Was it possible? But the more I thought about it, the more the idea seemed ridiculous. I met Reba in the middle of New York City, not cooped up in a mansion or on an airship where she could be closely monitored. Secret technology or not, there was no way Babeboids could be sophisticated enough to function in the real world. Could they?
Admittedly, I was eager to experiment with the high-tech sex dolls... but I was even more eager to get with Reba. True, she was just leading me on during our first encounter, but still, I sensed a connection. And from the way Reba flirted with me on the helicopter; at least I'm pretty sure she was flirting, I think she senses a connection too.
Then again, if she really was one of those babeboids, wouldn't she be programmed to flirt?
"Matt," Wendell said. "Come on, dude. What about the party?"
Before I could respond, Digby said to me, "Actually, I think a party might be an excellent idea. A perfect way to introduce yourself to the new world you're entering. There are a lot of people who'd like to meet you."
"See," Wendell said. "A party's a good idea."
Digby continued, "Just let me know when and how big. I'll have Reba arrange everything. If nothing else she's incredibly efficient."
"Is she one of them?" I said to Digby.
Digby looked confused. "One of who?"
"You know, one of those Babeboids. She's pretty, sexy, flirtatious. I'm thinking maybe Reba's a more advanced model."
Digby laughed. "No, I can assure you Reba is definitely not a Babeboid... because she's my daughter."
"What? She never said anything."
"She wouldn't. Reba's very professional. I bet she didn't mention that she's engaged as well."
A pit opened up in my stomach. But was I crazy? I had just inherited everything, but the thing I really wanted was suddenly out of reach.
"Engaged?" I said to Digby. "I don't remember seeing a ring on Reba's finger."
"Because she hid it from you," Digby said with a laugh. "You know, for that seductive little ruse she pulled on you in New York. Derek, her fiancé, is a great guy. Smart, funny, wealthy. Not as wealthy as you, of course. But who is? Anyway, you'll love him. I'll invite him to the party. I mean, assuming there is a party. I don't believe you've made a decision yet. Have you?"
"Dude," Wendell said. "Let's do this."
"Yes," I said. "There's definitely going to be a party. A big party." I turned to Digby. "And definitely make sure you invite Reba's fiancé. I can't wait to meet him."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The night of the party arrived one week later.
As pounding music shook my bedroom walls, I stood before a full-length mirror scowling at my reflection. I was decked out in a stylish burgundy tuxedo originally designed for my father, but felt as if I were wearing a Halloween costume. If nothing else, my first week as head of the Zillion empire had taught me that being a billionaire wasn't all fun and games. I spent my days being briefed on the hundreds of businesses controlled by Zillion Worldwide and my nights trying to alleviate the resulting migraine.
Wendell and I had a great time fooling around with the French maids, but knowing that they were super high-tech toasters, kind of took the thrill out of it.
Wendell, of course, didn't have this problem. Sometimes he'd disappear for the better part of a day, beckoning the mechanized French maids to his room, one after another. On one occasion he asked me to join in on a threesome, and I quickly declined. I had no desire to engage in a sexual act with Wendell in the same room, much less within arms reach.
As I was exposed to more and more of the inner-workings of Zillion Worldwide, I became awed by the scope of my father's achievements. But by the same measure, my confidence began to wane. With each impressive business portfolio and breathtaking earnings report, came the sinking feeling I would never live up to the gargantuan scale of my new responsibilities.
For this reason, I had been looking forward to the party. It would be a chance to forget balance sheets and briefings and have a damn good time.
I gave Reba a blank check with instructions to throw an event that would make headlines the following day. She did me one better. During the week leading up to the big night, the Zillion bash dominated every celebrity news report. Stories of who was and wasn't invited became a nightly feature. The first question every late night talk show host asked their celebrity guests was, "So, did you get an invite?" The second question was also always the same. "What will you wear?"
When Digby first suggested I wear my father's custom tux, for what was essentially a coming out party, I thought it was a great idea. If you Googled images of Max Zillion, you'd find plenty of photos of him posing on red carpets in his iconic burgundy tux. Apparently, the world also loved the idea. Somehow word got out; probably due to Wendell's big mouth, and my chosen wardrobe instantly became part of every Zillion party story. Everyone loved how wearing the classic Max Zillion tux would honor my birth father and also show that I was now stepping into his shoes.
But the shoes didn't fit.
Not even close.
And the longer I stared at myself in the mirror, the more ridiculous I felt.
Someone knocked at my bedroom door. Judging by the escalating volume of music and chatter of excited voices, I assumed it was Wendell coming to drag me down to the party.
I was wrong.
Stiletto heels clicked as Reba strode into my bedroom wearing a body clinging, low cut, red dress. If she exposed any more cleavage, she'd be topless. The air in the room brightened with the scent of her perfume. Reba looked stunning, even more so because I'd seen little of her the past week due to her busy party preparation schedule.
"Wow," she said, beating me to the punch. "You look fantastic in your father's tux."
"I was about to say the same about you. Not about my father's tux, of course. I mean that dress. It looks amazing on you."
She did a slow little spin to give me a better look. "You really like it? It's new."
"I don't like it, I love it. And I'm sure your fiancé will too?"
Reba smiled at me, then said, "Oh he will. Red's his favorite color."
The few times we had crossed paths during the week, Reba and I never discussed Derek. I was a bit disappointed by her lack of a reaction when I brought the subject up out of the blue. Either she didn't care how I felt about it, or she was playing it very cool.
I pointed to her left hand. "Can I see it?
She looked confused.
"Your engagement ring."
"Oh. Sure."
Reba stepped closer. I took her left hand in mine and stared at the ring. I didn't know much about diamonds, but it was big, crystal clear, and sparkly.
"Very nice," I said. "Very big too. This guy must really love you."
"That's what he said when he gave it to me."
Still holding her hand, I looked at her. "And you must really love him."
She giggled. "Of course. He's pretty great. I can't wait for you to meet him." With that Reba tried to pull back her hand, but, clearly crossing a line, I held onto her fingers.
She playfully cocked her head at me, as if to say, "What are you up to?"
Eyes locked with hers, I said, "Can I ask you a question?"
One
perfectly trimmed eyebrow went up. "Okay."
"Why did you spin around just now?"
She made a face. "That's your question? It was just a spin."
"You know as well as I do that was a very sexy spin."
"Maybe a little."
It was my turn to cock my head. "Reba, are you flirting with me?"
She didn't answer right away. Then a guilty smile pushed through. "Maybe a little. I know I shouldn't but--"
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. She stiffened at first, then withered in my arms. The kiss was hungry and sweet at the same time. Perfect. My hand slid up the curve of her back and found her dress's zipper, but suddenly she stepped back out of my arms.
"Uh, uh," Reba said waving a finger at me like I was a naughty boy. "You know we can't do that."
"Why not?"
She rolled her eyes and flashed the rock on her finger. "Hello."
I shrugged. "Just give it back to him."
Reba laughed and shook her head.
"I'm serious. There's something between us. I feel it and I know you feel it too."
"You're right. I was attracted to you the first day we met. But you're also being very silly."
My brow wrinkled. Her casual dismissive reaction was confusing the shit out of me. "What is it?" I said. "You think I'm too young for you?"
"No. Of course not. Derek's only a year older than you."
"Then what is it?"
"Mathew, you have all the money in the world, and you can pretty much have any woman you want. Yes, including me. But do you really want me? Do you want me like Derek wants me? Or do you want to just fuck me once in a while?" She raised a hand. "I don't expect you to answer that because it's a silly question. And anyway there's nothing wrong with you wanting to fuck me. Hell, I want you to fuck me. But I'm also an adult and I can't always act on my impulses. And neither can you. We have to do what's best for ourselves without hurting anyone else. Derek is a fantastic guy. He's in love with me, and three months from now I'm going to marry him. Another thing that's important to me is my job. I love working here. Working for you. If we gave into desire and did what we really want to do, that would ruin everything." She rubbed her lips. "Damn you're a good kisser." She plopped down onto the bed with a sigh. "Am I just babbling or does any of this make sense?"
As much as I hated to admit it, Reba was one hundred percent right. But ironically, her scattershot but somehow rock-solid common sense made me even crazier about her.
For that reason, I'm only slightly embarrassed about what I did next.
I sat down on the bed beside her and said, "Reba, I agree with everything you just said, but maybe we should hook up just once. You know, to get it out of our systems."
Reba gazed at me, leaned in to kiss me... then playfully slapped my cheek. "Good try," she said.
"Really? After that speech you're still teasing me?"
"And you're still trying to get into my panties, so we're even." She got up. "Let's get down to the party. They're all waiting to meet you."
I got up and walked back to the full-length mirror. Stared at a poor reflection of my father.
"I gotta be honest," I said to Reba. "I know everyone expects me to wear this monkey suit, but I'm not feeling it. I mean... it's burgundy. I don't think I've ever worn burgundy in my life."
Reba laughed and said, "Mathew, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Literally. Do whatever you want."
I turned and leered lustfully at her.
"Except that, silly," she said with a giggle.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Dude, guess who wants to meet you. Just guess."
I stared at Wendell like he was out of his mind. There were over six hundred party guest milling about. I had just spent the last hour floating through the crowd, shaking a billion hands. My jaw ached from smiling for endless selfies. My back was bruised from countless congratulatory slaps. I'd said thank you so many times that my tongue was beginning to swell. Good thing I swapped the burgundy tux for jeans, a button-down shirt, and Nikes because my clothes were stained with spilled cocktails and toppled appetizers. And now here was Wendell challenging me to some impossible guessing game involving one particular guest.
Raising my voice above pounding live music, I said to Wendell, "Why don't you just tell me?"
Wendell scowled. "That's no fun. I'll give you a clue." He took a gulp from whatever cocktail he was drinking, then said, "She's smoking hot."
I rolled my eyes. "That's the worse clue ever."
"Okay. She's like crazy famous."
The party was jam-packed with celebrities, from C listers to Hollywood royalty, so that was another lousy clue. I frowned at Wendell. "You're going to have to do better with the clues if you really want to play this game. Just tell me already."
"Okay. Prepare yourself." Wendell took another sip of his drink then spread his arms as if introducing a circus act. "Scarlet, mother fucking, Jolie. Can you believe it?"
I burst into laughter. To call Scarlet Jolie crazy famous was an understatement. She was a genuine living legend. An international sex symbol, slash recording artist, slash runway model, slash movie star. Her face was on more magazine covers than barcodes. Scarlet Jolie dated star athletes and billionaires, so why in the world would she want to meet--- Oh, right.
Suddenly I remembered the size of my new piggy bank.
Wendell seized me by the biceps with the urgency typically reserved for emergencies. "Matt, you have to believe me. I was just talking to her outside the Cirque du Soleil tent. She not only wants to meet you, she wants you to smash her."
"Yeah, right. Get out of here."
"She said she saw your picture on the news and thought you looked yummy."
I laughed harder. "She actually said that?"
Wendell tugged me forward. "Just come meet her. Come on."
But as Wendell towed me through the crowd, I heard a female voice call out, "Matt, wait."
I spotted Reba waving as she worked her way towards me. She was trailed by a tall man who I assumed was Derek. They both held glasses of red wine high over their heads to protect them from jostling partygoers.
Eager to meet the lucky fiancé, I hit the brakes and promised Wendell I'd find him and Scarlet later. Flummoxed by my lack of interest, Wendell snatched a handful of crab appetizers from a passing server and disappeared into the crowd.
Reba made the introductions. Derek was square-jawed, fit, and exceptionally well dressed. He had the handshake of a gym rat and a perfect smile.
"Reba's told me all about you," Derek said. "I made a promise to myself not to ask you any of the same boring questions everyone else asks."
"Good luck with that," I said, with a laugh. Reba was right. Derek seemed pretty cool. I'd just met the guy a minute ago and I already liked him.
"So here's the question," Derek said. "If you and I had a fist fight, who do you think would win?"
"What?"
"Derek!" Reba said. "What kind of question is that?"
Derek shrugged. "It's just a question." He took a step closer to me, his eyes locked on mine. "So what do you think? Would you kick my ass, or would I kick yours?"
It turns out Derek wasn't such a nice guy after all. The animosity he radiated felt like heat from a blast furnace. I wondered if Reba told him about our little heart-to-heart in my bedroom. Why Reba would share something sure to generate tension between Derek and I was a mystery, but that had to be the reason. I couldn't think of any other explanation for why he'd be all up in my face.
"Back up, now!" One of my bodyguards barked at Derek as he wedged himself between us. Two more bodyguards suddenly flanked Derek, looming and glaring like gorillas ready to pounce.
Not only had Digby insisted on airport level security for the party, including full-body X-Rays, metal detectors, pat downs, and no bags or liquids allowed. He also contracted three black-suited, former secret service agents, complete with coiled earpieces, to shadow me the entire night. These guys
were so good at remaining inconspicuous that I totally forgot about them... until they were at Derek's throat.
"Okay, relax," Derek said, backing up with his hands raised. "I was only asking a question."
"It's okay," I said to the bodyguards. "I'm fine. Thanks."
The bodyguards nodded and melted back into the scenery.
Derek laughed and said to me. "Of course I was referring to a fair fight between us. No goons allowed. So could you take me or not?"
"Alright, Derek, that's enough," Reba said. Then she turned to me. "I'm sorry, he's had a little too much to drink."
"No," I said. "It's okay. I'll answer his question." I took a moment to look Derek up and down. "You're a little taller and you look pumped. You'd probably have the edge."
Derek grinned at me, but his eyes conveyed a clear warning. "Damn right," he said.
"Happy now?" Reba said to Derek, grabbing his arm. "Let's go find you a ride home." She apologized to me again then tugged her fiancé through the crowd towards the exit.
As I watched them go, I felt an odd mix of elation and guilt. I was all set to give up on Reba, but now it was clear mister right wasn't perfect. Which meant I still had a chance. But at the same time I also knew how much Reba was looking forward to marrying the guy. That last thing I wanted was for her heart to be broken. Then and there I decided to hope Derek pulled his act together and turned out to be the good guy Reba deserved. But, if he didn't... I'd do my damnedest to make Reba forget-- My thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind me. A very sexy and familiar voice.
"Well, well, well. You look just as yummy in person."
Scarlet Jolie stood there, literally glittering, in a short, silver mirrored sequined dress. Her plump breasts seemed capable of bursting free from the low cut garment at any moment. She had golden hair, pouty pink lips, and smoldering light blue eyes.
Wendell stood beside her, grinning at my stunned reaction.
The movie star extended a hand studded with fat ruby and diamond rings. "Hi. I'm Scarlet. Nice to meet you."
Despite the bling, her hand was delicate and soft. I murmured, "I'm Mathew Grant- I mean Mathew Zillion."
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