I nod, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “I wanted to have kids,” I say. “We were trying to get pregnant before my husband died.” A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it down before I continue.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Now I don’t know if I could handle it,” I say. “I guess it’s like when you’re a child. You walk and run without fear because you’ve never fallen over, but then, after the first time you really hurt yourself, you walk and run with the prospect of hurt always in the back of your mind.”
“And that’s how you feel?”
“Yeah. Losing a husband was hard enough, but losing a part of yourself, a child. I know I wouldn’t survive.”
I look away because I don’t want Ryan to see that my eyes have welled with tears. I feel the warmth of his skin as he takes my hand in his. It’s the most tender touch I’ve felt in so long that it forces a tear free.
“People survive even the hardest things, Jessie.”
I shake my head because although I know he’s right, I know how I feel in my heart.
“But there are things that are too much, Ryan.”
“Yes.”
“Do you fear death?” I ask him. If we’re gonna have this kind of deep conversation, it’s not going to be one sided.
“Yes,” he admits. “I suppose it’s not actually death that I fear. More the process of dying. Losing control. Knowing what’s is going to happen. Becoming diminished. Others being hurt by my passing.”
“But that is all part of it,” I tell him.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he means when he lets go of my hand and stands. “Are you hungry?”
Even though I ate way too much for breakfast I feel ready for lunch and a change of scene.
“I could be.”
“I’m going to take you somewhere,” he says. I don’t know how but he always seems to make the shortest sentences sound exciting.
“Okay.” We walk back to the car and I strap in. Ryan seems to be less preoccupied and the music he chooses is lighter.
“Where did you grow up?” I ask him.
“Boston,” he says.
“But you don’t have an accent.” I imagine how he might be different if he had a real Southie accent like Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting. There’s something sexy about the roughness of the way they speak there.
“I worked hard to lose it,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because people don’t trust men with accents like that to be anything great, Jessie.”
“That would be very judgmental.”
“The world is a judgmental place.”
“So you left and changed your accent?”
“Yes. And I put myself through college, and I got in with the right crowd, and I made sure I impressed the right people, and I got lucky.”
“It doesn’t sound much like luck. It sounds a lot like hard work and dedication.”
He seems to like that but I’m not saying it to flatter him. If what he’s saying is true and he’s made such a success of his life without a family to give him a hand up, then I have nothing but respect for him.
“And you, Jessie?”
“I grew up on the other side of town from where I live now.”
“And you were married?”
I nod because even now talking about that time in my life feels like daggers in my heart.
“And now you’re working at The Kitty Cat Club?”
I don’t think he means to sound like such a judgmental prick but it still stings. There I am raising him up and he’s trying to work out how I’ve fallen so low. “I am,” I say plainly.
“Why?”
“…I’d rather not talk about this,” I tell him. He doesn’t need to know that Jackson left me with debts that no ordinary job will ever repay.
“Would you rather not work there?” This guy doesn’t know when to leave it.
“What do you think, Ryan? It’s not exactly top of every little girls list of future career options.”
“Some women like it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not for the right reasons, though.”
Ryan seems to put his foot down the deeper we get into conversation. The road is winding enough that the car moves like a snake across the tarmac. “We all do what we do for money,” he says.
“There’s a big difference in using your mind versus your body, though.”
“Is there? In the end it’s all an exchange of labor for cash.”
“You can’t seriously be suggesting that the exchange of labor for cash that an accountant makes is the same as a stripper?”
“Why? Because you think a stripper needs to compromise herself more than an accountant?”
“Yeah… she’s exposing her body for the pleasure of other people.”
“And what if the accountant has to falsify figures to keep his job? What if he knows his clients are trying to avoid paying tax that they should pay but he’s under pressure to keep those clients for the firm? He’s having to compromise his morals and values in the same way.”
“I guess, but that’s a pretty extreme example.”
“Life isn’t black and white, Jessie. We’ve all had to do things that we wouldn’t necessarily choose to make it through to the next part of our lives.”
“Yeah,” I say, equal parts pissed off and interested with my new employer. “What have you had to do, Ryan?”
He glances across at me, taking his concentration off the road for longer than I’m really comfortable with. His eyes pierce mine, dark gray and intense. “I worked for a man I knew was involved in some seriously bad shit. I found proof of things that would have put him away for the rest of his life, but for the sake of my reputation I kept it quiet.”
“And you wish that you didn’t?”
“If there had been no consequences to reporting him, I would have done it in a heartbeat. We all have to weigh up what we’re prepared to do in life to get by. Sometimes, we end up doing things that surprise us, that we may never have thought we’d be capable of doing.”
“Yes,” I say.
“You never planned to work in The Kitty Cat Club.”
“No.”
“But you are because you have your reasons.”
“Yes.”
“There’s no judgment from me, Jessie. You do what you need to do with grace and class. That makes you someone to respect and someone to admire.”
I grip my purse and press it tightly against my body because I feel more naked from this conversation that I did last night when I stood before him. There doesn’t seem to be any lighthearted conversation with Ryan. Just the kind of deep trawling that leaves a person feeling raw and exposed.
He admires me.
That isn’t an easy thing to accept, especially under the circumstances. There are days where I don’t feel like that about myself. I try to keep true to the person I am inside but it’s so hard. And if I do accept what he says, how would that make me feel any different about myself or the situation I find myself in?
Just as I’m trying to fathom what the hell I’m going to say next, Ryan takes a left and we end up in front of the most amazing restaurant I’ve ever seen. I guess I’m about to see what it’s like to dine like a rich person.
10
RYAN
Fucking hell. This girl. She’s the full package. Gorgeous, intelligent, not afraid to speak her mind. Values that I haven’t found in a woman before.
I knew I felt a connection with her from the first moment I saw her but that was superficial. Every moment I spend with her seems to uncover more about her that I like. This is a big problem.
I pull up in front of my favorite restaurant overlooking the ocean and the valet runs over to take the keys. This kid has a hard on for my car. His eyes are wide like all his Christmases have come at once, but I can see fear there too. Driving a million-dollar car, even for a short time, has gotta be a scary prospect for a guy making ten bucks an hour. I pul
l out my wallet and pass him a handful of bills. “Handle her with the respect she deserves,” I say and he practically hyperventilates in front of me.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
I walk around and open the door for my date. Her blonde hair glows in the midday sunshine and her freckles seem to be more pronounced. When she stands she looks around, taking it all in. “Wow,” she says under her breath. I look again at this place I come to whenever I’m in town and see it through new eyes. It’s my favorite. It is spectacular. It needs to be for the prices they charge. I love that she’s not afraid to express her awe and delight. Corina was so used to the finer things in life they’d become expected rather than appreciated.
“Let me show you inside,” I say and I put my hand on the small of her back and steer her gently towards the entrance.
The view is the first thing that hits when we get inside. Floor to ceiling windows showcase the spectacular view. The décor is minimalist and white so that it doesn’t detract. The maître d’ welcomes me by name and shows us to the best table in the house. When Jessie takes her seat I catch her inhaling deeply.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. Maybe it was my driving? Maybe she’s travel sick.
“It’s just so beautiful,” she says shaking her head as though she can’t quite believe it.
“You wait until you’ve tried the food.”
The waiter arrives with ice-water and a basket of gorgeous artisan bread rolls. Jessie looks at the menu as though she has no idea what to choose. I know how she feels. Deciding between all of the amazing options is tough.
“Do you like lobster?” I ask. It would be a good option for us if she likes seafood. It’s so fresh here.
“I’ve never had it,” she says sheepishly.
“Would you like to try it?”
She nods. “If you like.”
I order the house seafood plate. It’s a gorgeous selection of shellfish, all cooked with delicate flavors that accent the natural tastes of the sea. I also instruct the waiter to bring a bottle of the best wine available. While we’re waiting, Jessie gazes out of the window.
“I feel like Cinderella,” she says. “Like you came and claimed me from my wicked stepmother’s house and transported me to a castle.”
“Does that make me the handsome Prince?” I ask. Jessie blushes and her sea blue eyes meet mine.
“I guess so. Or you could be the hilarious Duke who tries to find the foot the fits the glass slipper.”
I laugh, remembering the Disney film from when I was a child. “I think I’ll stick with the Prince.”
I tear some bread and spread it with butter. “Anyway, I’m not sure I like the idea that I rescued you. I think it might be the other way around.”
She looks surprised. “Do you need rescuing, Ryan?” she asks.
“What do you think, Jessie.”
She takes a sip of water and the waiter arrives with a perfectly chilled bottle of heaven. When Jessie tastes the wine I can tell that she likes it from the way her tongue snakes out to lick the residue from her top lip. My eyes fix there, wanting to kiss her and taste the wine on her mouth.
“Can we play twenty questions?” she asks. It seems like a childish thing to do but I’m trying to step away from the boredom of my real life. Maybe this is exactly the kind of thing I should be doing.
“Mmm…I’m not sure. What are the rules?”
“We can ask anything and the other person has to answer. If they don’t, they forfeit five of their own questions.”
“Wow…five. That’s harsh.”
Jessie smiles and shrugs. “Honesty is the best policy, Ryan.”
I think of all the times that I haven’t found that to be the case. “Okay. I’m game. Ladies first.”
She sips her wine again, looking thoughtful. “Favorite song.”
“Wow…that’s a tough one.” I chew on more bread and wrack my brain. “Don’t you think it’s impossible to choose just one.”
“Yeah, but you have to.”
“Okay. It I had to choose just on it would be Wake up Time by Tom Petty.”
“Wow, that’s a good one.” Jessie looks ponderous as she chews on her own piece of bread. I wonder what she’s hoping to get from these questions. Does she think that knowing bits and pieces about my preferences will help her understand me better as a person? I think about the lyrics to that song. Maybe they do reveal something about me.
“So, what’s yours.”
She wrinkles her nose. “The ones I used to love, I just can’t listen to anymore. Music I grew up with just reminds me of…” She trails off but I understand that she means her late husband. “But I heard a song on the radio. It’s called the Waitress Song by this band called First Aid Kit. It’s got a country vibe.”
I’ve never heard it but her choice is interesting. “Are you a closet country girl, Jessie?”
She blushes again. “Maybe a little. There’s something about country music that just captures so many of the feelings that life throws at me.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“Favorite color?”
I smile. That’s easy. The color of her eyes. I tell her and she puts her hands up to her face. “You’re making me look like a beet,” she laughs.
“What about you?”
“The color of the sea on a still summers day. Favorite meal?”
“The one we’re about to have. Favorite place?”
“The beach. Anywhere near the sea. Favorite movie?”
“Twelve angry men.”
“Oh my god, that’s so heavy going,” she laughs.
“It’s a fascinating portrayal of how one man can influence and turn a whole room of people to his way of thinking.”
“Ah…I get why you like it now! Is that how you became successful, Ryan. You learned to manipulate people?” Her expression is cheeky so I’ll let her get away with that one.
“I think manipulate is an ugly word, Jessie. Helping people see the right way isn’t manipulation. It’s altruism.”
Jessie rolls her eyes. “You’re a very confident man, aren’t you Ryan?”
“Is that one of your questions?” She nods. “I guess I am in some ways. Maybe the important ones to succeed.”
“But not in all ways?”
“That’s another question!” Jessie looks annoyed but I grin anyway. “Not in all ways, Jessie. I’m just a man and all men have insecurities. We all have voices inside our heads that tell us we’re not good enough or our decisions are the wrong ones. I just try to ignore those voices, always.”
“You must be very good at it,” she says.
“Maybe.” I wait as the waiter brings the food and lays it all out in front of us. Jessie eyes the shellfish nervously. “Don’t worry,” I laugh. “I’ll prepare it all.”
“Favorite drink?” I say. She watches as I extract meat from the long crab legs and lobster claws.
“Iced tea,” she says. “With lots of lemons.”
As we eat, I get to know Jessie. Little by little, pieces of her history and choices are revealed and I find I like this game that she’s suggested. We eat and I relish the food and the company, and about halfway through our main course, I make a decision.
I’m going to kiss Jessie when this meal is over.
I’m going to taste the wine on her mouth and show her what my favorite pastime is, even though she never asked.
11
JESSIE
All day we’ve been playing a kind of weird game of conversational tennis that has me totally confused. On the way to the restaurant it had been all friction and debate. Then in the restaurant Ryan seemed to change. I don’t know why but as we get back to the house I feel like crying. I didn’t expect to like him. He’s gorgeous and wealthy but looks and money don’t make a man. There has to be something inside, a core of something good and respectable. Goodness and respectability don’t usually go hand in hand with the other qualities. It’s as if, when life comes too easy to a person, that the other thin
gs fall by the wayside.
Ryan’s not like that, though. Maybe because life hasn’t come easy to him. He’s clawed his way up, seen the unpleasant side of business and been forced to compromise himself in ways that made him uncomfortable. He’s also suffered the death of someone he loved. It’s sad that grief and hardship are what are required to round out a person but it’s often the case.
I find that I like him a lot. Maybe because my heart is still raw. Since Jackson died its felt swollen in my chest, like an overripe fruit that looks okay on the outside but is too tender to touch without damaging. Liking Ryan isn’t part of the plan. This is a one-month commitment and I know I need to keep my distance, because I’m not going to be capable of walking away and dealing with more heartbreak. As hard as it is, I need to keep some professional distance and remember that this is all just about temporary companionship in whatever form Ryan needs.
We enter the house the same way but this time, as we walk down the hallway, Ryan grabs my hand. I stop as he stares at me, pushing a loose curl behind my ear and stroking my cheek. I can’t look him in the eyes so I fix my gaze on his shoulder.
“Go and freshen up and meet me in my suite,” he says softly.
My pussy clenches involuntarily because his intentions are so obvious. Maybe this will help. If we move onto the mechanical parts of this arrangement, maybe I can maintain some emotional distance. It sounds stupid because sex has always been a very emotional thing for me, but the way Ryan was last night has me thinking he’s going to approach sex in a detached way. I hope that’s the case.
“Sure,” I say.
“Wear something white.” His face has gone back to the impassive expression he seems to wear when sex is the topic of discussion.
“Okay.”
He leaves me at the bottom of the stairs and I ascend quickly, conscious that he’s still standing and watching me. In my room I strip, throwing all my clothes in the basket and getting into the shower immediately. I don’t want to think about this. I know if I do I’m going to shake and I don’t want him to know I’m not in control. I soap myself gently, feeling the heavy heat of arousal between my legs. My nipples are hard even under the warm stream of water.
Sex seems like a distant memory. Something I used to do so regularly but that now feels like a completely new experience. I wonder what he’ll be like. The feel of him inside me, the smell of his skin. How will he touch me? More gently than Jackson or with more urgency?
BILLION DOLLAR DADDY Page 6
