Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  So why is this nonplayer female character so pathetic—one of a long line of pathetic females? Why can’t she defend herself? Why can’t she pull some kickass moves, steal the jailer’s weapon and keys, bash in some bad-guy heads and save herself? Why must she sit and wait, imprisoned, and in the process become just an object to save?

  It’s time for the pretty princesses of Yondareth to rebel! Fight your own fight and stop waiting for some dudes to do it for you.

  A few days before I was set to leave on a red-eye from LAX to Amsterdam, I went to Heath’s house to go over the details of the trip. He printed out my ticket and whistled, waving it under my nose. I snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it into my bag.

  Heath’s green eyes sparkled as he laughed at me. He had unruly dark blond hair and his cheeks were roughened with a few days’ growth of golden whiskers.

  “British Airways, first class. So high class, Mia. LAX to Heathrow for a layover and then on to Amsterdam.”

  I sat on his plush couch shaking my head while he tapped away at the computer. I’d only flown a few times before—all domestic flights. The farthest was a trip to Washington, DC with my eighth-grade class. I’d never flown out of the country and in fact had only just received my first passport the month before in anticipation of the auction.

  He hit a few more keys. Heath typed fast, but always with only two fingers at a time—his pointer fingers. I often teased him about his hunt-and-peck approach, but he never bothered to learn how to use the home keys. “He e-mailed me a signed PDF of the contract, which I printed. So, you need to sign a copy, too. Not that this thing would be legally enforceable, mind you. It’s an illegal agreement in our country, but it’s couched in all kinds of verbiage. Either one of you could weasel out of it. He doesn’t pay any money until you put out and you won’t put out until you see that the money is safely set aside for that purpose. Strange little situation, with these holding accounts.”

  I sighed. “I’m so glad I have you and your bestie Joe to work this stuff out for me. There’s a reason law school never interested me.”

  “I had a nice long talk with Drake when I got the contract. He’s pretty easy to get to know. He’s not a bad guy—for someone who’d pay almost a million dollars to pluck a virgin flower, that is.”

  My mouth quirked at the irony. What type of person was I, for selling it in the first place? I took a deep breath. A practical person, I decided.

  “I made sure to emphasize certain stipulations—once the contract has been ‘fulfilled,’ there is to be no further contact between you. No phone calls, no e-mails. Essentially like a restraining order, though we won’t have to go that far unless one of you loses it.”

  I looked away, ignoring a weird twinge at the thought of one of us possibly getting obsessed over the other. “Uh huh.”

  He tilted his head at me, the glow of his computer monitor reflecting on his stern features. “So, you think you can do this? You were pretty annoyed with him after that first meeting. I knew you were into him in other ways, but you were so determined to go with someone else until something changed your mind. What was it?”

  He kissed me and it blew my mind, I thought. How ridiculous. A woman my age being reduced to a blithering moron by one kiss from a desirable—albeit insanely desirable—male.

  “I just…did a lot of thinking. He’s young. He’s attractive. It could be a lot worse.”

  Heath gave a dry chuckle. “Attractive. Huh. I’d say he’s smoking hot, but maybe that’s just me. He’s not even my type, either, but I’d do him.”

  I smothered a giggle at that mental image.

  “So I thought Amsterdam was a good choice, given their legal support of prostitution.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can we stop using that word?”

  Heath smirked at me. “Doll, you can call it a freaking clown rodeo if you want. Still won’t change the fact that you are going to have sex with a man and he is going to pay you for that privilege.”

  I looked away but my cheeks heated. I fiddled idly with a hole in my jeans—fraying it so that it grew. I shook my head. I was not a prostitute and I wouldn’t be a prostitute after this whole thing was finished. It was one night of my life. Just one. I was empowering myself—

  And I was going to have sex with a man. That man. His hands would be on my body, that lush, hot mouth on me. I stayed silent and didn’t meet Heath’s gaze.

  “We also went over what he can and can’t do. I wanted to be very clear on that. No kink. No bondage of any kind. Straight vanilla all the way for my girl.”

  “Vanilla is a very tasty flavor, in my opinion.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “You haven’t lived, my dear. But just wait, once you get a taste, I have a feeling you’ll be wanting all sorts of flavors after this.”

  I blew out a breath. I highly doubted it. This was a business deal and I was benefiting from something that not only mattered little to me but had only served as a burden up until this point. I wanted to be rid of the stigma of being the twenty-two-year-old virgin without having to deal with any messy entanglements. I hadn’t wanted a relationship for quite some time and didn’t see that changing at all in the foreseeable future.

  “And no oral, right?” Heath asked.

  I looked at him like he was an idiot. As if he had to ask that. “That hasn’t changed and it’s not going to.”

  He sat back against his computer chair, which squeaked in protest. His gaze grew intent. “The man might want to get his money’s worth, after all…” Heath said. He tried to give it that jokey air that he gave most of his words, but these held a dark edge.

  A cold pulse thumped at the base of my throat. “Don’t go there, Heath.”

  His stared at me. “I don’t think you’re ready for this. You can’t even talk about it.”

  “I can talk about it. I have talked about it. You know everything.”

  But despite his words, I still couldn’t get the picture out of my mind…that dark summer night, dry winds coming out of the foothills. Out on the edge of town, watching the lights, and I was sobbing, on my knees. Hands wound into my hair so tightly, pulling so hard that my scalp would ache for days afterward.

  I shook my head, my hands crunching into balls. “Stop it. I’m fine.”

  He shrugged, that nonchalance returning. “Okay. If you say so. Let’s see…what else did we talk about? Oh yes, one night of straight vanilla sex. Positions of your choice and comfort.”

  My eyes bugged. “Positions? It’s just one night.”

  Heath seemed to be stifling laughter. “Yeah—one night, but who knows how many times that means? He’s young, very fit—he’s probably good for at least two, probably three. More if it’s been as long as he says it’s been. Eight months. Christ.”

  “What?” I screeched, horrified.

  “Doll, you act like you’re getting your legs waxed or something—well, admittedly it’s your first time so it will hurt a little, but I can guarantee you’re going to be having too much fun to notice. Just hope that he’s not really big—”

  I clapped my hands over my ears as if to block off the rest of his diatribe.

  “Mia,” he said and waited until I dropped my hands. “Mia, I’m not shitting now. If you can’t even talk about it like this, how in the hell are you going to go through with it?”

  I watched him for a moment. My best friend since the eighth grade. We were each other’s only comfort during some of the worst years of our lives—growing up in a small high desert community as awkward misfits, the both of us. When he came out in the ninth grade, I was the first person he told. When my boyfriend sexually assaulted me in the tenth grade, he was the first person I told.

  I shook my head. “I thought it would be just as simple as me drinking a bottle of wine and then lying back and thinking of medical school.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “It’s never even occurred to you that you might enjoy it, has it?”

  I shrugged. “You’ve screened the guy.
You say he’s trustworthy. He won’t hurt me?”

  Heath shook his head. “There are no guarantees. You’ve got to trust that he won’t. I tried my hardest. Had him investigated. No criminal record, no dirty rumors of deviant behavior.”

  I ran a hand through my hair and began to twirl the dark brown ends of it nervously around my forefinger.

  Heath cleared his throat. “I gotta ask and I know it’s a really personal question but… did you start taking your pills from Planned Parenthood?”

  I nodded. I’d had my period four weeks before and began the Pill at the prescribed time.

  “He’s cleared, medically. I saw the report with my own eyes.”

  I fidgeted. I wanted to back out. But I’d never in a million years admit that to Heath because he’d jump on that hesitation like a golden eagle swooping down on a rattlesnake.

  “He’s in the UK, rolling out the European launch of the latest game expansion. But it’s not too late to back out of this.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please, Heath! Don’t keep saying that. I need your support right now. I don’t need you to talk me out of this.”

  “I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t try to talk you out of this.”

  And then he approached, plopped himself down on the sofa beside me and wrapped me in his big arms. I planted my face against his broad chest. He smoothed my hair and the panic melted away.

  When I left an hour later, I was calm. Reserved. Resigned.

  I took the entire week off before I left so that I could write, plan and schedule my blogs to be published during my absence. I hoped this would throw readers off the track about what was going on in my personal life. I planted seeds of diversion by mentioning how busy I was getting with my day job. How I’d have to work double shifts for the next little while. White lies to throw the gossips off the trail.

  The gossips were already out discussing on other sites when and if the transaction would take place. I had mentioned, briefly, that I would not be able to discuss the results of the auction for many reasons. I’m not sure how many were really interested. My site was about gaming, after all. Most of those guys would rather go on epic raids for their elite gear than get laid—or hear about me getting laid. I understood that. I was one of them.

  I also took care of one last thread of unfinished business by telling my mom I was going to be hitting the books heavy for the next few days so I’d be unplugging my phone. It’s true that I was bringing study materials on the plane, but the less I told her, the better.

  “You sound tired, Mia. Are you sure you haven’t been studying too much?”

  “There’s no such thing as studying too much, Mom. People in my study group have private tutors and one went to a special test prep retreat.” I sighed inwardly, wondering how I would be able to compete with the myriad of hopeful medical students who went to these measures to succeed on their exams. Especially when I’d already proven myself a failure. My chest tightened thinking about how, if I had scored well last year, I’d have my acceptance letter to begin med school in the fall already in my hand.

  “I worry that with all you’ve got on your plate between your jobs and studying, you are burning the candle at both ends.”

  “I have no classes this semester. Believe me, if I could do all this while I was going to school, I can do it now. Don’t worry, Mom. Now I get to ask you how you’re doing.”

  “Oh,” she said lightly. “I’m just great. Things are looking up for me.”

  I frowned. Looking up? Had she gotten to be a better liar when I wasn’t noticing or were things actually improving for her? “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

  “I’m—I’m not really ready to talk about it.”

  I sat back, bewildered. Was Mom finally dating again? I blew out a breath. She’d never had any relationships the entire time I was growing up. She had male friends in the community and I knew some of them may have wanted a romantic relationship, but my mom had never been interested. When I was a teen, I’d asked her why she never dated and she’d shrugged and said she was waiting for me to grow up. Well, I was grown up now. Had she finally decided to get on with her life?

  “If it was something serious, you’d tell me…right?”

  “Of course,” she said evasively.

  We hung up a few minutes later and I stared at my phone for long moments. That was one of the weirdest phone calls I’d had with my mom in a long time. She was always an open book with me.

  But who was I to talk, really? I was keeping one hell of a secret from her. One that, if she ever discovered it, would hurt her. I had no right to go digging in her business if I wasn’t prepared to open up about mine. But still, I was worried. I was protective of my mom and given her experience with the Biological Sperm Donor, she hadn’t chosen well in the past.

  But Mom was smart and I had to trust that she’d learned from her mistakes. So to take my mind off of my worries and also because I didn’t have much to pack, I spent most of the day before my departure wasting monsters on Dragon Epoch. I kept checking the player list for FallenOne but I was not in luck. My notifications list said that he hadn’t logged in since that day we had played together weeks before.

  The next day I was on a flight to Amsterdam with a small overnight bag. I had packed light, per Adam’s instructions. He’d clarified in later e-mails that he’d gotten my dress size from Heath and would have some clothes waiting for me. I’m sure he guessed, after spending five minutes in my little dive, that I wouldn’t have clothing fit to be seen at a place like Amstel Amsterdam.

  I traveled in my most comfortable pair of jeans, a T-shirt and walking shoes, with a small bag of toiletries and unmentionables tucked under the enormous recliner in first class.

  I’d gone through every short line at the airport and not a single person had blinked an eye at my scruffy clothing and threadbare backpack. Everything was full service and everybody catered to my whim.

  I’d had a glass of chilled white wine at the first-class lounge. It took the edge off of traveling alone and the uncertainty of what I’d be facing in the Netherlands. I snacked on smoked salmon and crème fraîche to go with the wine. The jitters only dulled instead of dissipating.

  But the plane ride was something else entirely. I’d have fifteen hours of travel yet before I would touch down in Amsterdam. So I enjoyed myself in the top floor, front row of the immense 747. Shortly after takeoff for a direct flight to London, I was served more wine and handed a full menu. Dinner came on a white tablecloth with china and full silverware. I unabashedly enjoyed the pampering and the lovely, lilting British accents spoken all around me.

  I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane—staying true to the term “red-eye” flight as my eyes were scratchy and gritty by the time I’d deplaned.

  Upon our arrival in London, an airline employee greeted me, holding up a card with my name on it. She showed me down to the Heathrow First Class lounge and spa, giving me a list of all the appointments she’d made on my behalf. I was treated to a manicure, pedicure and facial before being handed a towel and a shiny green-and-gold shopping bag. Then she led me into a private bathroom with shower.

  After the long plane ride, it felt like heaven. And I still had a few hours before the flight to Amsterdam. The bag contained new clothes—the tags still on them from Harrods department store. A smart dark-green-and-black sundress and even new underthings—silk panties and a matching lacy bra. I blushed to look at them but felt so pretty when I wore them that I could hardly be upset at the presumption.

  I’d never been spoiled before. And I could definitely see the appeal. I applied my makeup and dried and styled my hair, feeling like a fresh, new person. I’d stepped into a whole new world, like a modern-day fairy tale. It was just a short one-hour hop from here to Amsterdam, and Adam, who was waiting for me.

  In Amsterdam, a driver met me and whisked me off to the hotel, speaking cheerfully in almost perfect British-accented English, though he was clearly Dutch. He
had the white-blond hair and pale blue eyes of his Viking ancestors.

  I arrived at the hotel just around noon and checked in, per Adam’s instructions. The clerk handed me an envelope and inside was a smart phone. I asked the clerk if it would work in Amsterdam and he gave me a puzzled look and nodded. I glanced at it and noticed a waiting text message from Adam. It told me to order myself some lunch in the suite and he would see me at three p.m. for a day of sightseeing.

  The bellhop guided me through a palatial lobby carved out of white marble and up an elegant Y-shaped, carpet-covered staircase to the elevators. I’d learned online that the majestic building dated from the nineteenth century and featured all the exquisite architectural details of an earlier era. The bellhop loaded me into a small elevator—the type that had been fitted in as a nod to modern conveniences and seemed alien in this elegant, old-fashioned building.

  On the top floor, he directed me to the penthouse suite. And inside I found a space that could have fit my studio four times over. It was appointed in antique furnishings, with a bedroom and bathroom on the lower floor as well as a sitting room with couch and bar. A dark wood staircase led up to the unknown and I stared at it for a moment, determined to go exploring the minute I was alone. I wasn’t set to meet Adam for another hour, so I had no idea where he was or if he had checked in yet.

  “Mr. Drake…” I said to the bellhop.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. I do not know. You can call down to the lobby and ask.”

  I smiled. “That’s okay. I can text him.”

  The bellhop, who had insisted on carrying my ratty backpack for me, didn’t even hesitate or wait for a tip. Instead, he bowed himself out.

  A tingle of anticipation started at the base of my spine. I punched in a message on my phone.

  Am here. Waiting patiently.

  I hadn’t seen him in three weeks and in my mind he’d steadily grown more attractive and delicious. Hell, he’d reached almost godlike proportions by now in my imagination. I was anxious to see him again. This would be the next and the last day that I would.