Temptation (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #4): A Second Chance Billionaire Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

  CHAPTER THREE

  Greer

  Lying in bed, I can’t help but think about our dinner tonight. Steffen was nice. He’s interested and has already texted me—Good night, beautiful—but I don’t know. He was tall and very handsome, and the German accent is a little sexy. I can see why Vanessa would think he’s a good catch for me, but he’s a little too attentive, and he didn’t wow me. Not many people seem to wow me anyway. I’m still licking my wounds. Mark was my world for many years, and I used to be his. Then one day I wasn’t.

  Losing him was worse than anything I’ve ever been through. We’d made so many plans for our future. I helped him get elected to San Francisco’s City Council. Together we found issues that he and his constituents could be passionate about. He’s charismatic and well-liked by everyone.

  Then one day he met me for lunch and told me I was a liability to his political career. Me? No, it really wasn’t me. My mother was the liability, and because of that, he cut me loose. No regrets. He walked away, and I haven’t received one phone call, text, or e-mail since.

  I wake to my cell phone alarm, still tired and hungover. Too little sleep makes my head pound like a jackhammer chewing up a concrete city sidewalk.

  Emerson, Sara, and Hadlee arrive today. It’ll be nice to have all of my friends together for a fun weekend without the boys in tow.

  I glance at my phone and see a text from Steffen. Good morning, beautiful. Can we meet tonight? I’d love to see you. Ugh. That’s two texts within twenty-four hours, and I never responded to the first one. He’s laying it on a little too thick for my taste. It’s too much.

  Instead, I text Vanessa.

  Me: Hey, thanks for arranging dinner last night. It was great to see you and Angus.

  Vanessa: Steffen seems pretty smitten.

  Crap. I’m so not interested.

  Me: He’s texted me twice. Once to say “Good night” and then this morning to ask me out for tonight.

  Vanessa: Uh-oh. Do you want me to explain to him what “take it slow” means?

  As much as I’d like to just ignore him, or let her tell him, I need to own this. I didn’t give him any signals I was interested in him last night. I swear, sometimes men are like cats; if you ignore them, they seem to circle.

  Me: No, that’s okay. I’ll try to figure out how to politely let him know.

  Vanessa: When do the girls arrive?

  I roll over and do some quick math.

  Me: Three hours and eighteen minutes. But who’s counting?

  Me: That would be me! All of my favorite females in New York at the same time. Makes me so happy.

  Vanessa: Are we still doing a sleepover tonight at your hotel?

  Me: Yes!!! But I totally understand if work pulls you away.

  Vanessa: I have it all under control. See you girls at the Metro Composition suite in four or so hours.

  Me: Love you!

  Vanessa: Back atcha!

  I get into my running clothes, put on a wool hat and a pair of mittens, and head downstairs toward Central Park. I’ve done this run a thousand times, and I enjoy it no matter the season.

  I love running. The first half mile is always miserable, and I always want to stop at that point, but once I push beyond that feeling, I start to get that runner’s high. I started on this route when I was in high school to manage the stress of school and everything going on at home. Now I run because my job is very stressful. The endorphins kick in after a while, and I figure out how to fix problems plaguing me at work or at home, and start to feel like I can do anything. It’s really helped me manage the breakup with Mark, keeping me from falling into a bottle, sleeping with anyone with a pulse, or taking a long walk off a short pier.

  It’s a three-mile run, and I do it in seventeen minutes. It isn’t super-fast, but it works for me.

  I cool down quickly in this weather, then head up to my room and wander to the bathroom to start the shower. Jet lag kills me, but a nice hot shower and a carafe of coffee after my run will make me human again.

  As I prepare to step into the shower, I hear my cell phone ping. I’m sure it’s Vanessa again, or maybe the girls, who are on today’s red-eye from San Francisco.

  Steffen: I got reservations at The Gilded Lily—hardest place in town to get into—for us tonight at 10. I’ll have a car pick you up at your hotel.

  I never told this guy I was available. Do women in New York jump like this?

  I want to text him back, but instead I call. He answers before it even finishes the first ring.

  “Hey, beautiful. You haven’t left my mind since we met last night. You were even in my dreams. You have no idea how much fun we had. I may have even taken care of myself last night and again this morning thinking of you.”

  Wow. That’s a bit too much information from a guy I only met less than twelve hours ago. “Steffen, I appreciate the offer of heading out with you tonight, but I can’t go. I have friends coming into town.”

  “They can’t get along without you?” he whines.

  “No, I’m not that kind of friend. When I commit, I commit. It was very nice meeting you last night.”

  “I know if Vanessa knew you were passing up The Gilded Lily, she’d be pretty upset.”

  “She might be, but she also knows I’m here to visit her and support one of my best friends at Fashion Week.” I can almost hear him thinking of a comeback, but before he can dig himself any deeper, I tell him, “I’m sure a man as handsome and accomplished as you are will be able to find someone to accompany you to The Gilded Lily tonight. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

  “Promise me you’ll call me the next time you’re in New York.”

  Not a chance in hell, but it isn’t worth being rude. “Of course. Goodbye, Steffen.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. I’ve never had anyone pursue me this aggressively before. It’s not a turn-on at all. I’m pretty sure I dodged a stalker with that one.

  My cell phone pings again. I almost hate to look, figuring it’s Steffen and he isn’t giving up after all. Instead it’s my friends.

  Emerson: We’re in the car and on our way. The driver tells us we should see you in less than an hour.

  I bounce like a schoolgirl in my seat and silently clap my hands together as my excitement bubbles to the surface.

  Yeah, my friends are here! May the girls’ weekend begin.

  Me: I’ll alert the media and let them know we’re complete and to look out!

  Emerson: Sara just snorted her water. See you soon.

  I text CeCe to fill her in.

  Me: The girls are on their way. Should be here at my hotel in about an hour. Would you like us to come to the suite to meet you?

  CeCe doesn’t immediately text me back, but I know it’s crazy busy for her this week, so I’m fine with that. If I don’t hear from her, we can decide as a group what to do.

  As I’m putting the finishing touches on my lip gloss, I hear the ping from my cell phone.

  CeCe: Come here when they’re ready. I have dinner reservations tonight, and my plan is to relax.

  Me: Great. Are you ready for tomorrow?

  CeCe: We just finished. Vanessa is a godsend. She’s joining us tonight, right?

  Me: Of course, but she has to stop calling you Caroline. I keep thinking she’s Sister Catherine at Convent of the Sacred Heart.

  Sister Catherine was our only teacher who insisted on calling her Caroline. We know when people approach CeCe and use her given name, they don’t actually know her.

  CeCe: I’ve asked a dozen times. We’ll work on her.

  Me: See you in a few.

  Moments later, the doorbell to my suite rings and I’m thrilled to see my other three best friends in the whole world. There’s a lot of screaming, laughing, and hugging. To strangers, you’d think we didn’t live in the same city and see each other regularly, but this is more a celebration of being together—and of course, we’re here at Fashion Week.

&
nbsp; “Hadlee! I thought you couldn’t get out of hospital stuff?” Hadlee is a pediatrician, and sometimes it’s a challenge for her to get time off.

  “I got someone to cover, and Cameron would’ve chartered a flight to make sure I was here for CeCe.”

  “Isn’t that sweet.” Cameron and Hadlee recently got engaged. They really do bring out the best in one another, and I’m so happy for her.

  She’s been friends with CeCe since kindergarten, I joined them in high school, and Emerson was CeCe’s college roommate. Needless to say, we’ve been friends for a long time. Sarah works with Emerson and me and is CeCe’s soon to be sister-in-law. We’ve become quite the group.

  “How long do you need to get ready to meet CeCe?”

  Sara volunteers, “I just have to pee.”

  “This is the beautiful people. I should do something with this mop of red mess on my head.” Hadlee announces, though she already looks amazing. Her auburn hair cascades down her tight black turtleneck sweater, which she paired with skinny jeans and knee-high stiletto lace-up boots.

  “You look fantastic, but I totally get the pressure. I look at all the lithe models and want to go have a pizza and show them what it’s like to enjoy themselves.”

  At that, Emerson suggests, “I’m up for pizza whenever you are.” We all smile.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re caught up on last night and their flight out. We alert Carleton that we’re on our way down, and he’s waiting for us at the door in a warm car to drive us to the Four Seasons.

  As we continue to chat and laugh, I lead everyone into the suite where CeCe’s talking to someone with a camera around their neck. She waves us over and introduces us to Nicky.

  She turns to CeCe. “Are they wearing your makeup?”

  “They’d better be,” CeCe says without a second thought.

  We all nod, because of course we are. We’d pay for the makeup if she’d let us, but most of the time she supplies us with everything so we’re always sporting the latest colors.

  Turning to us, Nicky asks, “May I photograph all of you? I think you’re a perfect representation of Metro Cosmetics.”

  What a compliment!

  She brings in the models and does all sorts of poses, mixing us in with them as well as taking photos of just us. She makes it a lot of fun.

  As we all pose together with CeCe in the middle, she says, “I hope you’ll share that group photo of us.”

  We finish forty minutes later, our group standing in a daze.

  “How did that happen?” Emerson asks.

  “She’s with Women’s Wear Daily,” CeCe explains, “and they’re doing another highlight of our line in tomorrow’s Fashion Week Daily.”

  “That’s fun,” Hadlee shares.

  “This is all due to Vanessa’s hard work. We really do appreciate all she’s done to get us here and make sure we’re a success,” CeCe gushes, giving me a hip bump. “And she never would’ve taken us on as a client without you asking her to, so I owe you big, lady.”

  I laugh. “We aren’t even close to even. I owe you so much more. But this isn’t a contest. I’m just glad to see Metro get all it deserves. When does your mom arrive?”

  “We’re doing a big founders event on the last night, so she’ll come in for that.”

  “She’s so proud of you,” Sara assures her.

  “She’s driving me crazy right now. I put her calls on silent. That way I don’t have to ignore them outright.” Looking around, she continues, “If she wanted to have input, she should’ve come earlier and been part of the planning for the week.”

  Hadlee gives her a big hug. “This is all fantastic. What can we do to help?”

  “I need retail therapy,” CeCe exclaims. “Let’s get out of here before someone else wants something else from me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Greer

  Stepping onto my flight home, I’m exhausted. I have an eye cover, a seat that will recline completely, and I plan on sleeping the entire flight home and all day tomorrow.

  I can’t say my vacation was a vacation, but I had a great time at Fashion Week helping one of my best friends pull off a successful event. This week was so much fun. Between the parties, fashion shows, hanging out in the suite, and helping where they would let us, I got hardly any sleep, but it was worth it. CeCe had a great time, and I loved spending so much time with my friends.

  I think my favorite was the Versace show, which kept CeCe super busy. It was typically Versace unique and very sparkly. Personally, the highlight of the New York shows would definitely have to be the Monica Adams collection. From the inspiration behind the garments to the execution of the show, every element was spot on. Being able to distinctively witness the sneaker-inspired dresses, pants, tops, and bags was very comical for me. But I did the most damage to my bank account when I added several items from up-and-coming designer Julia Seaman. Her clothes are my style—professional, tailored and made for my itty-bitty-titty figure.

  A car picks me up for my ride home, driving me from the airport into the stop-and-go traffic. I push my sunglasses farther up my nose and read the San Francisco Chronicle.

  Opening up the Local section, I see a big picture of my ex-fiancé. Mark is announcing his bid for Congress. By his side is his wife and she’s huge. No fucking way she’s pregnant. We just broke up eight months ago. My heart skips a few beats as I read the article through the sting of bitter tears. She has the life I wanted with the man I thought was my soul mate. I can’t help but be sad at the same time. This is the life we planned for us.

  Looking out the window, I watch the cars in the neighboring lanes inch along and think about our conversations about why he didn’t want children. He didn’t plan on being around. His star was rising, and they would slow him down. It was perfect because I didn’t want children either. Now she’s pregnant, and it seems everything he ever said to me was a lie.

  My disappointment moves from sad to angry very quickly. I wasted too much time on him. He was only interested in my money. My friends and I knew that with growing up as part of the 1 percent, we needed to be cautious and on the lookout for those people who were only using us for something, but he played me so well that I chased him. Fuck him!

  Finally home, I drop my bags just inside the front door and walk to my bedroom, the exhaustion pressing down on me as I’m feeling overwhelmed all at once. I crawl between the sheets and sniff the orange blossom scent the housekeeper uses in the dryer, letting it relax me as I drift into a restless sleep.

  I wake to my phone ringing. It’s after three in the afternoon, and the sun is at its warmest of the day. CeCe’s calling, but I don’t even have the energy to be happy for her success at Fashion Week, so I ignore her call. I’m a terrible friend, but I don’t want to deal with anything or anyone.

  Putting my phone on silent, I walk into the kitchen to find something to eat. Opening the fridge, everything I have seems to be growing legs and ready to walk out of my fridge on its own. Mental note: Have the housekeeper clean out my fridge. Yuck!

  Moving through my apartment, I walk into my living room and pour myself a deep glass of Johnnie Walker Blue neat. I want to numb my feelings.

  Sitting in my garden patio, I watch the sun begin to set behind the Golden Gate Bridge. Time to put my big-girl panties on and stop crying over Mark. When he first left me, I took all of the things he left at my house and donated them to a homeless shelter. Then when I found out he’d cheated on me with Sydney, I took all the jewelry he gave me to a jeweler I knew and sold it, then donated that money to a food bank. I was hurt then, but now I’m angry.

  I’m wallowing in my own self-pity, and if I’m not careful, it’ll become a black hole I’ll struggle to get out of. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and see what CeCe needed. Maybe I can talk someone into going out to dinner with me. Picking up my phone, I see twelve missed calls and a dozen text messages.

  CeCe: I just saw the news. Are you OK?

  CeCe: I’m getting on
my flight with my mom. Do you want to have dinner with us tonight at my parents’?

  CeCe is a true best friend. She’s just coming off two weeks of constant work and no sleep, and now she’s worried about me.

  Hadlee: Cameron and I are thinking of you. Do you want to meet us for dinner?

  Emerson: Hey. Fuck Mark. Do you want to grab something to eat?

  CeCe: I’m thinking of you. I also donated $5,000 to his opponent, Jennifer Chang. I know nothing about her except that she’s running opposite of him. Mom and Dad each donated to Jennifer’s campaign, too. He’s going down!

  Trey: Hey. He’s a loser. Don’t let him get to you. Sara and I will also be donating to Jennifer Chang per CeCe’s orders. :)

  Sara: I echo everything Trey has said. You’re such a class act. Fuck Mark.

  CeCe: Sydney’s a cow. She can’t hold a candle to you.

  I adore my friends. They stick with me regardless and have for years.

  Before everyone comes to my door, I send a group text to the partners from work and my friends.

  Me: I’m fine. Mark is an asshole. Please come to my house this evening and bring whatever you want to throw on the barbecue. I have wine and Johnnie Walker Blue, so if you want something other than that, bring it. Come whenever you can.

  I then set out to decide what to put on the grill to prepare for my impromptu dinner party. I haven’t even finished when Trey and Sara ring my doorbell, arms laden with grocery bags. They live just a few blocks away, so it makes sense that they made it so quickly.

  “We were coming whether you invited us or not,” Trey announces.

  Sara hugs me and hands me a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “We were at the grocery store when we got your text. Perfect timing.”

  I’m beside myself at the generosity of my friends, fighting back a couple tears that are threatening.

  My doorbell rings again a moment later, and I open the door to Cynthia. “I heard there was a party, so I ditched a bad date and picked up some wine.”