Billionaire Daddy's Virgin

by Bella Love-Wins

  “Oh, it was one of those weird flukes. At least that’s what Dylan said. Apparently, Jackson came home high as a kite one night when Mr. Knight was home. Jackson was so wasted, he passed out for an entire road trip to some place in Kentucky that his dad drove him to. Anyway, three days later, for what Dylan calls the ‘fishing trip from hell’, Jackson ended up saving his dad from an overturned boat out in the middle of nowhere. That was it, I hear.”

  “Fear of loss always seems to win out,” I remark.

  “I guess saving his dad reminded him that he hadn’t lost everything, so he didn’t have to keep going around like some grungy, grieving pothead anymore. Anyway, Jackson’s working his ass off at Knights Capital now.”

  “That’s good. I’m happy for him.”

  “You know, I did just mention that Jace is around,” she pushes the issue.

  I turn over to start tanning my back and look over at her with a grimace. “Why would I care? I wasn’t kidding when I told you I’m done crushing over him.”

  “Maybe you’re done, but from what I’ve been hearing, he’s not done with you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugs. “No idea. I’m not around the guys enough to get all the juicy details. I just hear the odd whispers here and there. But don’t worry. If he shows up, I’ll make sure you behave.”

  “I don’t have a choice. My dad’s doing a lot more business at Knight’s Capital. I won’t risk fucking that up by getting wasted or doing something stupid anywhere near a single member of the Knight family. Or Dylan. Or Caleb.”

  “Add Foster to that list.”

  “What? He works there too?”

  She nods. “Yup.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Why would that matter? It’s not like they’re your close friends.”

  “It just means I can’t let loose around them. At least not while my father finally has a chance to see what it’s like to do business above board for a change.”

  “They won’t give a crap. Those guys used to party harder than anyone I know. A couple of them probably still do. Trust me, there’s nothing you could do that they haven’t already done.”

  “You’re probably right, but just to be safe, I’ll take it easy if we do end up going to Club Zen.”

  “And what does taking it easy entail? Just so I can support you.”

  “Two-drink maximum, no dancing on tables, no hard drugs. Cigarettes and weed are probably okay, though.”

  She lets out a loud laugh. “I’ve never seen you smoke or take drugs. Well, not since that one party in high school.”

  “Right, and I’ll be sure to stay away tonight at Club Zen too. But forget about me for a minute. What about you and that guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “I don’t remember his name. Maybe Austin or Dustin or something? Didn’t you go on a date or something?”

  “Aww, hell no. I don’t even want to repeat his name. That night turned into a date from hell, with no chance of an encore, unless I’m looking to get myself a criminal record for assault and battery.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “And then some. First of all, he shows up to our dinner date an hour late, and half drunk. Then he spends the night talking about himself and completely ignoring me. The arrogant prick screamed at the wait staff and complained about the food, which he sent back to the chef twice, I should mention. And after all that, we go to some new dance club in Soho, and can you guess what that jackass did?”

  “I don’t think I can guess. Just tell me.”

  “He hit on every female in our section of the dance floor. Every fucking female except me. Can you believe that asshole? I grabbed my purse and got the hell out of there when he started grinding on the fourth or fifth one.”

  I flip over to tan the front of my body again. None of it surprises me because, well, it’s Vanessa. She serial dates like no one I’ve ever known before. There’s bound to be some nightmare stories. “I’m burning up. Want a refill of iced tea?”

  Vanessa forgets all about her date from hell too. She smiles and sits up as I get to my feet. “We should probably take a break from this before we go lobster red like last year.”

  “You’re probably right. How does my back look?” I ask, turning around for her to check.

  “You need a much higher SPF for next time. Your shoulders are getting pretty red. Cherry red,” she adds with a chuckle.

  I twist my neck halfway to the porch sliding doors to try and see for myself. “Let’s get inside. I need to see it.”

  “Don’t get all burnt up the first time, hun. You’ll end up looking like those overbaked perpetual tanning ladies. The only thing you’re missing now is the big hair and tons of mascara,” she jokes, following me inside to the kitchen.

  “It’s not so bad,” I tell her.

  “I don’t know if I can say I agree. If you keep this up, by the time you get back to Manhattan, we’ll need an intervention for your face.”

  “Hush. Don’t be mean.”

  Vanessa folds her arms and looks outside toward the pool. “What if we hosted a party here?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Would be nice to do something small, quaint, like the complete opposite of Club Zen. A dinner party.”

  “I don’t know, hun. Dad won’t care, but are you really in the mood to organize it?”

  She laughs and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “That’s what caterers and event planners are for.”

  I give her a sideways glance. “You’re starting to sound like one of those meddling daytime soap opera busybodies. Or those socialite friends of our parents who can’t get enough of the fake shit.”

  “Like Peggy? Or is it Kiki now?”

  I don’t answer her because I can already see the party planning cogs turning as Vanessa stares at the pool, probably to figure out her guest list, or the party décor theme, or something just as unappealing.

  I pick up my phone from the counter. “You’re more than welcome to set something up. Just promise me that all the planning will be one hundred percent on you. Meaning leave me out of it.”

  “That I can manage,” she says, checking the screen on her own phone.

  I can see in her eyes that she’s already loving the idea. It’ll probably all be set up by tonight, because with Vanessa, there’s no time like the present.

  Her phone rings as she places it back on the countertop. She snatches it up to check the number, and goes all goo-goo eyes. “Uh, I need to take this.”

  “Who is it?”

  “The guy whose name I won’t mention,” she giggles.

  “The same guy you were just talking about? The one who went all downtown grabby on every girl at that club except you?”

  “Uh, yes, but maybe he has some redeeming qualities. After all, he’s phoning me. Give me a second, I’ll find out.”

  Vanessa leaves, disappearing into a room down the hall to take the call alone. I’m still looking at the utter lack of activity on my own phone and sipping on lemonade when she emerges from some other part of the house five minutes later. “Hey, uh, will you be okay if we skip out on Club Zen, and on your dinner party idea?”

  “The dinner party was your idea, Vanessa, and yes, I don’t mind at all. Let me guess. You’re going on a date with nameless grabby dude?”

  Her eyebrows raise high up her forehead. “Kind of. He wants to make it up to me. Thanks for understanding! Crap. I need a dress for this. Feel like a quick shopping trip?”

  I shake my head because I don’t do shopping trips with Vanessa anymore. Not unless I’m in the mood for five to seven hours of combing all the stores, only to go back to the first dress she finds at the first store. It happens. Every. Single. Time. “Um, you go on and have fun, girlie! Let me know how it goes with your date!”

  She gets her bags and starts walking to the main floor powder room to change. “Only if you’re sure!”

  Hell yes, I’m sure.

  I shake my head as
she skips off, but at least she’ll have some stories to tell her grandkids. All I’ll have is one story about that one time I gave it up for the man I thought was my soulmate. But with my luck, I’ll end up a crochet-knitting spinster. With no hookups, no boyfriend, no husband, and no kids, therefore no grandkids.

  10

  Cherry

  I arrive at the sorority house just as the Pi Sigma Beta house president calls the chapter meeting to order. It’s my last year at college, and thankfully, I’m closing in on the end of my active membership in the sisterhood. Don’t get me wrong. There are benefits of membership, but most of those perks are only accessible after graduation. Especially if I’m to make my way in life without my father’s wealth. I have a business or environmental sciences career ahead of me. Or something in between. It helps to look the part by being involved with some of the women who will one day run this city or hang off the arms of the men who do.

  At least they let me retain my membership even though I won’t live at my chapter house anymore. Thank God. Two years of insanity was enough. This feat—retaining my membership without living here—took a lot of convincing, negotiating, and agreeing to take on extra leadership roles. So here I am, in my senior year, balancing the roles of Sorority Alumni Director, Member Education Director, and Assistant Social Director. It’s a mouthful, but juggling these responsibilities is nowhere near as taxing as living among eighteen to twenty young socialites-in-training, many of whom would feel they will accomplish their life’s mission by becoming any wealthy or influential man’s mattress accessory.

  Okay, so I’m a bit of a feminist. By my definition, I would be a two on a scale of one to ten for feminism—one being moderately aware of the concepts, and ten as a radical, card-carrying, bra-burning, defy-the-gender-stigmas, redefine-love-and-romance, forever-advocate-for-equity radical. But here among my Pi Sigma Beta sisters, I’m way off the deep end. I don’t delude myself. I love the opposite sex and want to find Mr. Right just like the next gal. Hell, I enjoy the feel of Mr. Right Now between my legs. I’m just not willing to go goo-goo eyes over just anyone. Call me picky.

  Especially not after what Jace did to me.

  For the sake of getting through my college degree without clawing my own eyes out from sorority frustration, I moved into the nearby dorm. My best friend, Vanessa, shares a tiny dorm room with me and helps me preserve my sanity. It’s not that dorm life is much of an improvement, but no one is looking to me for fashion mentorship, and I can be myself.

  “All right, ladies,” Liana Silverman, incoming House President says confidently, looking around the room from her seat at the head of the large mahogany dining room table. “I believe we’re all here, except for the excused absences of Joanne Smith and Hanna Peterson. Anyone else missing?”

  “Grace Thomas isn’t here,” says Michelle Denver, House Secretary.

  “List her as an unexcused absence. She can make up for it at the next fundraiser. We have a quorum, so let’s proceed.”

  I nod through the reading and finalization of the last meeting’s minutes, drone through the treasurer’s report, and all the other officer updates until it’s my turn. Given that I have three updates to deliver, my goal is to keep it brief and to the point.

  But my President is anything but brief.

  “Can you clarify?” Liana asks after my spiel.

  “On which part?”

  “Let’s start with recruitment, as Hanna isn’t here. You’re her backup today, right?”

  “I sure am. Well, our new pledge candidate names list is growing. What’s working well is our new requirement for sophomores and juniors to provide three new candidate recommendations. Our girls are doing well out there. In terms of offers, four candidates moved to the ‘yes’ list, so yay!”

  “Nice!” she says emphatically, mirroring my contrived zeal. “And the Education plan?”

  “Our first post-bid day and post-pledge meeting is in a couple of weeks. Fifteen members are signed up, so I’d say we’re in good shape.”

  “Excellent. And how’s the alumni event plan progressing?”

  “Good,” I answer. “On track. Our main event is Alumni week, which has a firm kickoff date at the end of next March. We’re still in the process of securing a location, but I’d say we’re in great shape to make it a successful week. Once bid day is over, I’ll start recruiting some new volunteer to help with the planning. Some of the usual speakers have already contacted me about presenting. Stella Rogers will cover financial management fundamentals again, and she suggested a few speakers to cover newer topics like entrepreneurship, home ownership, and insurance basics. I’ll have a more detailed agenda update after bid day.”

  “Perfect.” Liana continues with her updates on general business, and then, she turns to me again. “Are we all set for tonight’s pre-bid mixer?” she asks.

  I nod, but inwardly roll my eyes that she would call tonight’s party a mixer. It’s the sorority’s version of a kegger, except we sisters have to prance around in formal cocktail dresses, designer shoes and more makeup than most sci-fi movie special effects departments, while everyone else is in casual varsity gear.

  “Yes. All set. Joanne is coordinating, and she has a slew of volunteers, including me. It’ll be grand.”

  That answer seems to satisfy her. Less than an hour after getting here, the motion to adjourn carries. I can finally leave. Sure, I’ll be back here tonight for the mixer, but small doses ensure my continued state of good cheer. And hey, maybe tonight I’ll get laid by a decent looking guy at the party. All I ask for is almost as much going on between his ears as in his pants. Okay, half as much.

  Vanessa and I decide to walk from our dorm to the party. I may not want to be at my soro, but the upside is there’ll be lots to drink. Getting my buzz on will also make the night pass faster, so walking there and back makes sense. Vanessa and I are in matching form-fitted cocktail mini dresses with halter backs and plunging necklines. Mine is black, and Vanessa’s is cyan. Both outfits belong to Vanessa. I don’t have a single dress here at the dorm. My closet is packed with yoga pants, scrubs and tees, which I feel are perfectly fitting for the casual nature of campus life—for me anyway. I’m here to ace my courses and graduate summa cum laude, so I’ll have a fighting chance of making it on my own.

  “It’s no fun getting here this early,” Vanessa tells me, smoothing out her perfectly pinned brown hair, which is in a tight and slick Asian-inspired top-knot updo high on top of her head. I admire my masterpiece for a moment. It looks hot as hell, and she managed to pull it off with only a couple hundred hair pins.

  She’s right about showing up early. It’s barely seven-thirty on a late August evening. It’s not even dark yet.

  I look over at her and do my best to smile. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, bestie. Three of my volunteers haven’t replied to my emails or texts all week. Then, I didn’t hear back from Joanne after the soro meeting. I have no idea if she’ll show up, or what I’m walking into, so it’s all hands on deck.”

  “It’s all right. The week before the semester starts is like this every year.”

  “True, but Joanne is the Social Director. She should know better. Remember that I’m the assistant? That should suggest that I’d be the one flaking out and taking my time to get back to campus. Especially as I’m covering for three of the other directors.”

  “This is what we get for not moving away for college. We live in town. Everyone expects we’ll be around…all the time.”

  “Yeah. Sucks to be us.”

  Vanessa pushes my windblown-styled hairdo to one side and squeezes my bare shoulder. “Two more semesters.”

  That reminder helps to take the scowl off my face. “Thank the Lord.”

  “So, tomorrow’s the big day, birthday girl!”

  I nod. It’s yet another reason I’m not too excited about the mixer tonight. Getting all this work dumped on me on the eve of my twenty-first birthday sucks ass. “Yep. We’re still on for mid-afternoon
shopping followed by drinks at Club Platinum, right?”

  “Of course. I can’t wait to celebrate.”

  “Sweet. And you’re positive that your mom or my dad didn’t wrangle you into any kind of surprise party?” Not that I expect my father to do anything that involves his showing up, but he does remember the date and always manages to give me everything I could ever want for my birthday—but nothing that I really need or value.

  “Positive. They haven’t texted or phoned, so it’s a good sign. They know you wanted something less…animated than last year.”

  “I want something less animated every year. Low key is the new black,” I say with a slight smirk of a smile.

  We’re walking up the driveway when my phone buzzes in my clutch purse. I cringe in anticipation of bad news, and am dead right as I unlock the phone screen and read the message from Joanne. “I’m screwed. Fuck.”

  “What happened?” Vanessa asks.

  “It’s Joanne. She’s not coming at all.”

  “Crap. That sucks. Want me to see who I can round up?”

  “Nah,” I tell her, stepping inside. “Let’s see who’s shown up already, and what work is still outstanding.”

  Vanessa peeks her head into the living room. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

  I realize she’s right after I check it out and make an assessment. Decorations are up. The DJ is here, and music is on. The four snack tables are packed, and in the kitchen, the ice cold kegs of beer and the extensive wine and booze stash are set up.

  “You’re right. Looks like Joanne’s volunteers came through for us. I need two or three of them to keep the food and drinks coming, and maybe one or two for ongoing cleanup.”

  A smile lifts up her face. “I’ll help. Hauling trash is probably the best way to steer clear of the drunken jocks and other dickheads. And one in particular.”

  “Smart play, hun,” I agree.

  Vanessa has been avoiding any emotional attachment to men since she dated and broke up with Kaden Wilmington, an ultra-rich and equally cocky polo superstar on the college team. Kaden was mostly upset that she dumped him before he got to pop her cherry. Not that it stopped him from bragging that he took her virginity. She didn’t care. She was just happy to be rid of him. Somehow, not everyone believed Kaden, which is why he has not left her alone, and makes a move on her each and every time he sees her.