His Beautiful Revenge: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Michelle Love

  She tapped the screen on her phone, pulling up a free music app. An edgy, modern classical music underscored by techno beats, flooded out of the tiny speaker. Music like that, dynamic and free flowing, was Aullie's favorite art music. The ever-changing beat was great fodder for ever-changing inspiration and ideas.

  The inspiration, however, wasn’t coming. Her blank, dark phone screen had her feeling very distracted. She finally turned it over, willing herself to focus.

  She started by scribbling. Just scribbling. Slowly, as she began to lose herself in the music, the erratic lines began to take form. The raw sketch took the shape of a deer, a beautiful, thick chested stag with a wide set of antlers. His noble face, and the collar of light flowers that seemed to just appear around his regal neck occupied her entire mind.

  It was over an hour before the spell was broken and she jerked away, breathing heavily. She loved getting lost in her work and she shamelessly admired her newest creation. She’d finished the head and the body down to the fluffy tail, but the beefy stag stood on little outlines of unfinished legs. Suddenly exhausted overwhelmed by the music volume, Aullie picked up her phone to turn it down.

  She broke into a grin.

  -Do you still want to see me? You can pick what we do- Forty-five minutes earlier. Then, twenty-two minutes later. -I’ll bring the bug, I promise-

  Maybe he’ll assume I’m asleep too, Aullie thought as she turned out the light and wriggled under the covers. She was too tired to respond anyway and happy to keep the rich boy waiting until morning.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Aullie was thankful for her indigo curtains. Not only was the dark color beautiful but the thick silky fabric blocked out all the blaring sunlight that came through her East-facing window. Since she was such a night owl, and her job rarely required her to be up before eleven, she enjoyed her ability to sleep in.

  After she rolled out of bed around ten-thirty, she brewed a cup of coffee. While the dark liquid trickled slowly into yet another eccentric mug, Aullie pondered what she should say to Weston. She still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that seeing him again was what she wanted, but she was probably up to about eighty percent and figured that was enough.

  -Sorry, I passed out early last night. As long as you bring the bug, we can do whatever you want :)-

  As soon as the send button was pushed, she instantly regretted it. Not only was her hard-to-get game ruined but she had meant to come across as flirtatious, not sexual. The way she had worded that could totally be taken that way.

  ‘Shit’, she thought, wondering if maybe she should just drop the whole thing. Until recently, Aullie wasn’t really the dating type. She liked to meet guys, befriend them, have sex with them and then keep it that way. It wasn’t that she was a slut, she just usually preferred to keep things low stress.

  With her ever-climbing mountain of student loans and their subsequent pressure, it wasn’t like she could afford the drama, and all this unnecessary stress with Weston was exactly why.

  “This isn’t who I am,” she grumbled to herself as she choked down the bitterness of cheap black coffee. Perching her perky little butt on top of the huge turquoise table, she considered the painting she had done the first night she had really met Weston. She reminisced about their time together; his fun little slug bug, the unique hole-in-the-wall place he had taken her to, his names for all the plastic birds.

  Aullie had thought she had an idea about the man. He was smart but quirky, down to earth and working hard to make his own way, just like she was.

  He was not only rich but practically famous. She wondered what he actually did for work, if anything, considering how loaded his family was, what his house looked like, and if his Aston Martin was even his only fancy car.

  She had let herself feel, so strongly and recklessly, that she had attached herself emotionally to a man she hardly knew. Stupid, stupid, stupid, was becoming her mantra.

  It was time to shower if she was going to make it to work on time, and she didn’t even bother checking her phone. After her little rumination, Aullie was no longer so sure about what she really wanted. She thought and brooded through her shower, scrubbing her body clean and working her rosemary-mint shampoo into her long black hair. After she dried off and blew her ebony mane dry, she stared at herself in the mirror.

  Aullie could admit that she was pretty, but more like waitress-in-a-bar pretty not pretty-pretty. She had pretty, slightly hooded eyes and full lips, but her nose was a little small and she hadn’t quite kicked her acne yet, so she was usually adorned with a few noticeable blemishes.

  Why me?

  If this man, this rich, sexy, accented man, wanted any woman in the world, he could probably have her. Exotic beauties, waif-like supermodels with extreme cheekbones, or curvaceous centerfolds. He had said something about liking her for not being interested in his money but she just didn’t understand why he was so fascinated with her.

  As she fastened the buckle on her belt, Bruce emerged from whichever of his many hiding spots that he had been enjoying all morning and came to rub against her legs and purr like a little Diesel engine. While his concern that her jeans weren’t covered in enough cat hair was touching, she shooed him away.

  As she gathered her keys, coat, and wallet, she also grabbed her phone. There were two texts, one from Brittany, asking if she wanted anything from Starbucks, the other was from Weston.

  -Well I have a few ideas :)- he had typed, Aullie was grateful it was a smiley face and not a wink. -I’ll call you on Monday, we can work out a time. However, I’m about to catch a flight, I may be out of cell range through tomorrow night. Have a great weekend.-

  Aullie was actually grateful to have a few days to herself, to decide if pursuing a relationship with a man so far out of her league, who apparently also traveled for his fancy-schmancy job, was a good investment of her time and effort.

  Problem is, she thought with a sallow smile as she walked out the door, we artists aren’t known for being especially logical thinkers.

  Chapter 4

  The weekend passed in a blur of work, coffee, and sore feet. Monday morning broke, and Aullie was actually happy to get an email that her Monday class had been canceled. Though she usually resented any stolen opportunities to create, but she was so tired and achy that she almost hoped that Weston wouldn’t call so she could just lay in her blanket burrito all day.

  Of course, the sexy Brit was a hot topic of gossip with the Tackleman’s crew. Aullie was so thankful that Brittany had known better than to tell everyone about his money too. If she had, Aullie imagined that most of them would fall in love with him right then and there, then she’d never get them to shut up. However, their encouragement had built up her confidence in her choice to see Weston again.

  Around noon, semi-surprised she hadn’t heard from him at all yet, Aullie finally decided to get up. She brewed some energizing tea and lit some incense, happy that she had a little break to do some yoga. She powered up the yoga app on her phone and spent half an hour bending, lunging, stretching and moaning for the first time in weeks.

  As she lay in savasana, consciously relaxing from her toes to her fingertips, she turned her mind inward. She realized how many parts of herself, of her life, that she loved and that she wasn’t making time for lately. No wonder I’ve been so moody, she thought.

  Standing up, with a heady rush of endorphins, Aullie wandered into her little excuse for a kitchen and checked her fridge. There wasn’t much there; she really needed to go get some groceries. Her hunger overrode the nagging voice in her head that reminded that she really should try to eat better, though, as she nuked a frozen dinner in the microwave. It’s just a chicken breast and some mashed potatoes, how bad can it really be? She justified to herself.

  Bruce stood up and stretched, his stripy gray back arching up toward the raw concrete ceiling, as Aullie plunked down next to him on the couch. The soft plastic slid and bent as she cut her food into bite size pieces and mixed
it all together into a brownish, gravy soaked pile.

  She ate, her lazy, exhausted body thankful for the bland food, and checked her phone. It was just past one, and still nothing from Weston. She wondered if she should call him but immediately dismissed the thought. This whole thing was his idea, and he had been almost too insistent.

  Hmm, what to do now, she thought. There was a home painting project due in her class next week that she foolishly hadn’t even started yet. Her medium of choice had always been oil paint, the texture, and depth it provided was unmatched, but it was infamous for its incredibly long dry time. She’d have to do a quick drying base background layer in acrylic, then layer the wetter paint on top in order to finish it.

  Once her easel was set up, over a tarp to prevent staining the floor, Aullie selected a medium-sized canvas from her stockpile. Often, she took advantage of art sales, she usually bought tons of them at a time and never seemed to be out of them, which suited her just fine.

  The theme of this painting was structural abstract, which meant a lot of free reign. She thought back to her recent deer drawing; if she kept it more vague, let the missing legs fade into a colorful background, that could work.

  Standing back, considering the canvas, Aullie considered how she felt. A color came to her, and then two. Yellowy green and a warm relaxing blue. Before long a pallet was mixed and the oceanic colors faded into one another, the bleak white surface coming to life in full color. The plastic-like scent of the acrylic paint infected the air, she was really on a roll.

  An entire hour passed before the creative spell was broken, she had done what she could. Probably the most frustrating part of creating art was the dry time, when the inspiration and drive to bring a vision to life needed to be halted for hours or days at a time.

  Just gone two hours, and still no call.

  Slightly disappointed, but sure there had to be a valid explanation, Aullie accepted she probably wasn’t going to see him that day. ‘He’s probably busy with his big billionaire job’, she thought bitterly.

  However, just as she began to get herself worked up with doubt, her phone began to ring. There he was. Feeling stupid, she swiped the screen to answer with a polite, “Hello?”

  “Hey Aullie,” he said, his accented voice punctuated by heavy breaths, “Sorry to call so late in the day. I hope you haven’t given up on me and made other plans.”

  ‘So he’s beautiful and psychic’, she mentally mused. “No, not yet,” she teased.

  “Good, glad to hear it.” Aullie could hear the smile in his voice.

  “So… What are we doing then?” she asked, uncertain little butterflies beginning to prickle in her stomach.

  “Well, I have a surprise for you if you’re up for it.”

  Aullie hated surprises, but at least he was trying. “Sure, what time?”

  “How close to now can you be ready?” he asked.

  “Probably about…” she trailed off, considering her un-showered state. She still wasn’t totally sure about the whole thing and decided it wasn’t worth washing her hair for. “Half an hour?”

  “Great, the bug and I will see you then.”

  Aullie smiled. “Okay. Bye.”

  After she hung up, she sprayed dry shampoo into her roots and brushed it through. As Aullie weaved her short bangs into a tight braid, she considered the decisions she was subconsciously making. She was choosing to show him her whole face, to see him at less than her best so early in their relationship. It was almost as if she were daring him to change his mind, to break whatever spell she had on him.

  She decided that she was okay with it.

  Chapter 5

  Aullie dropped herself onto the rustic old seat in the bug. Weston smiled at her from the driver’s seat, hair casually swept back, hazel eyes adoring, and very un-British straight white teeth. Even in a red and white raglan t-shirt and jeans, he looked like a million bucks. ‘Or a billion, I guess’, she thought.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she replied, doing her best to keep her nerves and uncertainty out of her voice.

  Weston fumbled with the gear shift, and the rattly old bug lurched and groaned as they rolled away. The heater clicked and whirred loudly, filling the car with hot, dry air.

  The small talk between them, as he drove, was generic and somewhat awkward. The weather was indeed getting colder, winter was on its way, it was outrageous how early some places put out Christmas decorations, and yes, all the sounds the bug made were pretty much normal.

  As they approached downtown, Aullie couldn’t wait anymore. “Where are we going, Weston?”

  “Well, I might as well tell you. There’s a touring Wassily Kandinsky exhibit, and according to Wikipedia, he’s credited as being the first real abstract painter and a genius art theorist who revolutionized expressive art. I don’t have any idea what any of that means, so I figured you could teach me.”

  Aullie was suddenly overcome with excitement. Kandinsky was one of her all-time favorite painters, one of her biggest inspirations, and when she and her friends from class had tried to get tickets to the exhibit they had all been almost instantly sold out. She should probably wonder how he got them, but she was truly too excited to care.

  “Are you serious?”

  There was that devilish smile again. “Yes, I’m serious.”

  He pulled the bug into a parking spot outside the art museum. The gray clouds, and the silvery sunlight that broke through them reflected off the beautiful mirrored building. It was such a unique building, specially crafted by an edgy, modern architect, the work of art itself was the perfect place to house other masterpieces.

  Still bubbling, Aullie resisted the urge to jiggle restlessly as they waited to have their tickets checked. Once they had, she secured a tiny square museum pass sticker under the left lapel of her burgundy cotton button up shirt.

  “Where would you like to go first?” Weston asked, standing close. Their shoulders almost brushed each other, but Aullie didn’t feel invaded.

  “Well, you were the one asking for a lesson, so why don’t we hit the exhibit first and then I can show you around some more since I do come here a lot.”

  “I can imagine you would,” he said with an endearing smile. “Lead the way.”

  Aullie was almost sure her leader status was just so he could walk behind her. She wore a pair of dark, hip hugging jeans and she had printed a pair of wide, white eagle’s wings across the back pockets, almost like a tramp stamp. Suffice to say she had gotten compliments on them before, she felt his eyes on her lower half and added a little more sway to her step. The desire she was almost sure he felt, that sexual power she had established over him, boosted her confidence and she became significantly more relaxed.

  The temporary exhibits were on the third floor, and they hustled up the three flights of stairs together under a rain of silvery things dangling from the ceiling. The stark white stairs glittered with reflections of cool sunlight off the mirrored adornments, it almost felt as if they were in a snow globe. It really was beautiful.

  “Here we are,” Aullie said, pushing on the door to the traveling exhibit. Right in front, there was a huge picture of Wassily Kandinsky, in an aged sepia. A plain looking man with a narrow chin, round wire spectacles and an expressionless face. Underneath, in a neat typewriter font, was a short biography detailing the life of the Russian artist.

  The first painting on display, frameless against a beige wall, a single soft light illuminating it from above, was a four by three grid of square shapes with circles of descending size in various colors.

  “This one’s interesting,” Weston commented, though he sounded unsure.

  “Hilariously enough, it’s actually just called Square in Concentric Circles,” Aullie replied.

  “What a fitting, clever name,” he joked.

  Most of the other visitors in the exhibit were elderly women in semi-formal dress which quickly changed Aullie’s mind about her jeans. Discreetly k
eeping her hands over her butt, the two moved through the maze of walls art museums always built to maximize the surface area of the room. Keeping their voices and giggles low as to not disturb the ladies, they stopped in front of a new painting, an interesting piece of geometric-esque shapes on an off-white background. It was titled The Rider, and Aullie pointed out the vague shapes in the middle that represent a horse’s head and the jockey riding him.

  “It’s really amazing,” Weston said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “I mean I have no artistic ability, none, so it always amazes me to see things like this. To see the way that other people see the world.”

  “That’s why I love it so much,” Aullie gushed. “So many different views, so many different ideas and visions and mistakes and passion. Like, here.” She pointed to a dark, brownish abstract that was alive with colored streaks. “Composition 6. There’s no structure here, no subject. These colors, these patterns, the way this all fits together is one hundred percent emotion. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Yes,” Weston said, eyes not on the painting but firmly on her. “It really is.”

  Oh, how that voice got to her. Aullie blushed and dropped her eyes, almost wishing she’d left her bangs down so that she could hide behind them. Slowly, gently, Weston stepped closer and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened at his touch initially, but eventually she softened into his side. He was warm, so tall the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and his dark, musky scent was exceptionally heady. She didn’t know what it was about him but she was beginning to feel like he had said before: bewitched. Almost as if a spell had been cast upon them.

  The pair wandered through the rest of the Kandinsky exhibit, Aullie exceptionally moved by his work and Weston extremely moved by her passion. The strange young bond between them became even stronger, even more magnetic. By the time they’d finished, their fingers were loosely entwined, and Aullie felt surprisingly comfortable and happy.

  They made their way back down the stairs, taking time on each floor to appreciate different exhibits; bold Native American art done in earthy colors, bright expressionist classics, and gigantic rooms packed with portraits that were hundreds of years old. The conversation flowed between them, light and easy until Weston rolled up his sleeve.