The Bad Boy Billionaire: What a Girl Wants

by Maya Rodale

  “If we’re in bed, we’re not going to be talking.”

  Our eyes met over the breakfast table. I had wicked thoughts. I know he did, too.

  “I want to be there for you,” he said.

  “I know,” I replied. I did want him there with me.

  “Well,” he sighed. “If that’s really what you want.”

  “I think it’s best.”

  “I’ll get a driver to take you out there and bring you back to me.”

  “Thanks, Duke.”

  “Will you come down to Wall Street to ring the opening bell with me? It wouldn’t have happened without you Jane, and I can’t imagine that moment without you by my side.”

  “Of course,” I said, smiling. This was a great reason to be late for work. “I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, Babe.” Then Duke checked the time on his phone and swore. “Shit, we have to leave here in thirty minutes.”

  “So much for this breakfast,” I said with a sigh as I headed off to the shower. After blowing out my hair, I dressed in one of my sweater sets, a pleated skirt and black patent wedges. It wasn’t the most practical of outfits, but Duke’s driver would pick us up or we would just get a cab—right?

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  EVEN UNDER IDEAL circumstances, getting from the Upper East Side down to Wall Street would be time consuming. We were not under ideal circumstances. The subways were still shut down. Cabs were scarce. Buses were slow, crowded and confusing.

  “Where is your car and your driver?” I asked as we stood on the corner of Sixty-third and Madison with our hands in the air, trying to hail a cab.

  “The Tesla is in a lot downtown and my driver can’t get into the city from his place in Queens.”

  “Don’t you have a backup car and driver? Aren’t you a billionaire or something?”

  “Not yet,” he said through gritted teeth, after glancing at the time on his phone again. “The backup car and driver are also stuck in traffic.”

  “What about Citi Bike?”

  “Good idea, Jane.” He gave me a quick kiss on the lips, grabbed my hand and we rushed over to the nearest docking station, in front of the Plaza Hotel at Fifty-ninth and Fifth Avenue, just south of the park.

  “Aw come on!” Duke shouted at the empty docking station. “My luck has fucking run out.”

  I winced. That was my fault. Maybe. I looked around, hoping to spot a cab. Everyone was unavailable or off duty. Oh hell and damnation. He couldn’t miss this! And then my gaze landed on something unexpected: the Regency answer to transportation. A horse and carriage, empty, and awaiting a customer.

  “Excuse me, sir, can you take us down to Wall Street?” I asked.

  The driver laughed in my face. “I can’t leave the park, lady.”

  “Please,” I begged. “He’s got to get down to Wall Street by 9 a.m. to rig the opening bell. His company has a $20 billion IPO this morning.”

  The carriage driver looked over at Duke, with his disheveled hair, Project-TK T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He burst out laughing. Again.

  “I’ve seen plenty of fat cat business men and he ain’t it, honey. Cute story, though.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said to the driver. “When I first met him, I thought he was an out-of-work actor tending bar at some hovel in Brooklyn. But it turns out, he’s the founder and CEO of Project-TK. Which, as we mentioned, is about to have a $20 billion IPO this morning.”

  The driver eyed me and Duke.

  I turned to Duke: “Can’t you offer him stock options or something?”

  “If he’d believe me,” Duke muttered.

  I glanced around, hoping for something to just . . . work. My gaze settled on an old man on a bench reading a copy of the New York Post. Duke’s picture was splashed across the front with the headline declaring him the Brawling Bad Boy Billionaire. The accompanying photograph showed Duke throwing a punch at Sam. I snatched the paper out of the old man’s hands, apologized profusely, and held it up next to Duke’s face.

  “See! He’s about to be a billionaire and he’s very generous.”

  “And dangerous,” the driver muttered.

  “Jane . . .”

  “No, this is your moment,” I said. “I can’t let you miss it. And neither can this driver who I will immortalize in my next book as either a hero or a villain, depending on if he’ll drive us downtown or not.”

  For a moment, he thought about.

  “You’ll cover the fines I’ll get?”

  “And more,” Duke said. He held out his hand to shake on it.

  “Climb in, kids,” he said gruffly. We did.

  Before we could get comfortable on the red velvet upholstered seats, the driver cracked the whip and the black horse burst into a trot and pulled us out into traffic. We rode down Fifth Avenue, past Tiffany’s, the Prada Store, the line outside the Abercrombie store (Or more to the point: the line of girls waiting to have their picture taken with the scantily clad model with his six pack abs and low slung jeans). We passed Saks, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Rockefeller Center, the New York Public Library where I would have to work a few hours from now, and then down past the Empire State building.

  Around Madison Square Park we got caught in a snarl of traffic. The police cars and fire engines I saw suggested we might be parked here for a while and time was running out. I drummed my fingers along the side of the carriage, trying to calculate how many blocks we’d have to run in order to make it on time. I looked over at Duke; his head was bent over his phone.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “A YouTube video on how to ride a horse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think we have to do that next if we’re going to make it.” Duke then leaned forward to chat with the driver, Gregory, who would certainly appear favorably in my next novel.

  “What’s this horse’s name?” Duke asked.

  “Scout,” Gregory answered.

  Before I knew it, Gregory had climbed down and was unhitching the carriage from Scout and giving Duke instructions on how to ride.

  “Ready?” Gregory asked me.

  “No! I don’t have the right outfit for this,” I grumbled. Heels and a skirt were not ideal for riding astride. I had not factored horseback riding into my outfit selection this morning. I was wearing a skirt for lord’s sake.

  But ready or not, this was our only chance to get downtown in time. Gregory cupped his hands, indicating that I should step there to launch myself up onto the horse.

  “You’re kidding,” I said flatly.

  “You paid for a horse, not jokes,” Gregory replied.

  I climbed atop the horse and Duke climbed on after me. We both held onto the mane. Then Duke dug in his heels and we were off. On horseback. Through Manhattan.

  The horse galloped down Broadway, past Houston, past Canal Street, past City Hall. Its hooves clattered on the macadam. The cars didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, the horse seemed happy to be untethered from the carriage and exploring the city. Horns blared at us, people shouted at us, pedestrians got out their phones to take pictures and video. I held on tight, curled my toes in my shoes to keep them on, and held my breath.

  By some miracle, no one was hurt, including the horse.

  By some miracle, we arrived on time.

  After being rushed through security we found ourselves on the podium at 8:59. A sea of guys in suits—traders—stood on the floor before us. Duke squeezed my hand. After a quick kiss on my lips, he rang the bell and the day of trading began.

  By the end of the day, it was official: He was the Bad Boy Billionaire with the cash in the bank to prove it.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  The Milford Country Club

  Jane’s high school anniversary reunion

  THIS TIME YESTERDAY I had been so sure of my decision to attend this stupid party on my own. And now I was definitely regretting it. I stood off to the side of the main ballroom in the
Milford Country Club checking Twitter. There were tons of tweets and twitpics from Duke’s party. Everyone looked deliriously happy and utterly triumphant.

  I was anything but deliriously happy and utterly triumphant as I strolled through the crowd of my former classmates on the terrace of the country club. For a moment I paused to watch the golfers on the course that lay just beyond the big, perfectly manicured and unnaturally green lawn that was probably loaded with toxic chemicals.

  I sipped my warm chardonnay and glanced around for someone to talk to. I recognized a bunch of people from Facebook, but so many people were strangers. If I hadn’t talked to them in high school, what did I have to say to them now? I shouldn’t have come.

  “Hey Jane.”

  I turned to see Steve Prewitt, a longtime friend of Sam’s who was branch manager at the local bank, coached the Little League and had married an elementary school teacher. He and Sam often got together to watch football games and do the sort of guy stuff I tried to avoid. But he was a nice guy, so I smiled and said, “Hi Steve.”

  “That was a dick thing you did to Sam,” he said abruptly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Calling the cops on him when he’s already having a rough time of it,” Steve said, as if I were an idiot for not knowing what he was talking about. I hadn’t involved the cops—but I had decided to call a hotline to find out what my options were. I wanted to be counted. I was told investigators would follow up with Sam. It would be less confrontational than calling police. I wanted him to understand what he did wasn’t okay, and that he should get help. I wanted to do something to make it sure it didn’t happen again, to another girl.

  That was all—for now. I wondered how he found out.

  “But . . . but he attacked me,” I sputtered in response. How was I the one in the wrong here? I hugged my wine glass against my chest.

  “Like he needs more problems,” Steve said. “Especially after your ‘boyfriend’ beat the crap out of him. Did you know his nose is broken? I was in the ER with him.”

  I mumbled a sound of sympathy and then asked, “Is he here tonight?”

  “Why, so you can call the cops on him? What, did you get a restraining order, too?”

  I wished Duke were here. Steve’s confrontation was making me feel sick—my heart was racing and my palms were sweating. I just wanted to get away. But then I could hear Roxanna in my head: “What a dick. Are you seriously going to let him talk to you like that?”

  “Mind your own business, Steve,” I said, forcing my voice to be strong. Then I walked away. It was just small town gossip. It was just Steve defending his friend in his own bone-headed way. But I still turned away, shaken.

  I started heading toward the bar thinking I’d have one more glass of warm chardonnay and then get in the car and have the driver Duke hired take me back to the city. Everyone was looking at me and whispering. It seemed everyone knew what had happened, and were, unbelievably, taking Sam’s side. But then again—he was one of them and I wasn’t. Not anymore. It was time for me to go.

  Skipping that last drink, I headed toward the exit but then I was interrupted by a pregnant blonde woman.

  “Jane Sparks, is that you?”

  After a second I placed her name.

  “Allison! I haven’t seen you since seventh period algebra.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she said. “How is the writing going? I’ve been reading your books when I’m up late feeding the baby,” she said, rubbing her belly in that way pregnant women did.

  “Already?” She only looked a few months along.

  “Oh, Dakota who is a year old, and Madison, who is 3.”

  “Wow. You must be so busy.” If I had stuck to my life schedule, I’d be pregnant with my second now, and working part time. I could not fathom it. I felt that I was exactly where I needed to be in my life. I also felt that I didn’t belong here anymore.

  “Oh, I am. I’m sure it doesn’t compare to your fabulous life in the city,” she said with a laugh. “But I’m happy. We’re happy.” She smiled radiantly. I didn’t doubt her joy for a second nor did I think she was at all jealous of my “fabulous life” in the city. We were right where we were supposed to be.

  “Well, I can’t imagine fitting all those kids in an NYC apartment,” I said.

  “Are the rents as crazy as they say?” A woman I vaguely recognized from U.S. AP history asked, cutting in. I couldn’t remember her name at all.

  “Let’s just say I could have a three-bedroom house here for what my roommate and I pay in Chelsea.”

  “I don’t know how you stand it there, Jane. All the noise, and commotion, and rats!” Allison said. “Everything is so expensive. And dangerous.”

  “It’s pretty safe,” I said. I couldn’t say that the city wasn’t a huge noisy commotion with rats. It was. I loved it. I was totally, madly, completely in love with the city. Why had I come to this party when I could be with the guy I loved in the city I loved?

  “But what about what happened with you and Sam?” Allison asked, lowering her voice.

  “What happened with you and Sam?” The woman from U.S. history asked. Was her name Melinda? Melissa?

  “Nevermind,” I said at the same time Allison said, “I’ll tell you later.”

  “That could have happened anywhere,” I said, though inside my brain was shouting what does that have to do with anything? Why does everyone know? Can this party get any worse?

  The answer to that last question was yes. This party could get even worse. And it did, with the appearance of the sort of tall, gorgeous, mean blonde woman who tended to make everyone else feel so inadequate, otherwise known as Kate Abbott.

  “Hey Jane,” Kate said, striking a pose, as she looked me up and down in such a judgy way.

  “Hi Kate,” I said, mustering a smile. I stood a little taller in the “totally fierce” black satin heels and “totally hot” little black dress that Roxanna persuaded me to buy at Barney’s, both of which were totally uncomfortable and a little too done up for this crowd. In this moment, the dress and the shoes were totally worth the splurge and discomfort.

  Then Kate made a big show of looking to my left, then to my right, and then all around. She was obviously looking for someone.

  “Where’s your billionaire boyfriend?” Kate asked, the question oh-so-cutting. “I don’t see him.”

  I gave a tense smile. “He’s at his own party tonight, so he couldn’t make it.”

  Allison, Kate, Arwen Kilpatrick, Melissa (Or Melinda?) and a few others all pulled faces of disappointment. They clearly were hoping to meet the Bad Boy Billionaire tonight.

  I didn’t know if I was madder at Kate for being so provoking, or with Duke for not showing up for me when we had a deal. It was for moments exactly like this that I had wanted a hot, successful guy by my side. But the looks and the money didn’t matter now. I wanted my guy who I loved, who loved me back, to hold my hand and say something devastatingly romantic and to show the eternally vexing Kate Abbott that she couldn’t bully me.

  “Are you sure he’s not your pretend boyfriend?” Kate, of course, burst into laughter because she was so funny. “I read on the Internet that the whole thing was a sham!”

  “If you read it on the Internet, it must be true,” I murmured.

  “I was just so surprised when I heard about it,” Kate said. “Little busty bookworm Jane Sparks with the hot billionaire tech guy. You just can’t make this stuff up. Or can you?”

  “We were hoping to meet him,” Allison said.

  “We all thought you would bring him,” Melissa (Melinda?) said.

  “I’ve never met a billionaire before,” another woman added. I recognized her as Kelly Wheaton who had snagged the starring role in every school play and musical.

  “I wanted to see if The Ashbrooke Effect was real. Is it real, Jane?” Allison asked.

  “Or is that something else you made up?” Kate asked.

  I kind of sighed, because Kate was starting too fixa
ted on this. Plus, I gathered she hadn’t actually read my books, otherwise she’d know that I named the mean girl of Regency London after her.

  I wasn’t the only one finding Kate a bit tedious—Arwen Kilpatrick, a girl I’d been friendly with, rolled her eyes, which made me smile.

  “So when is the wedding?” Melissa (Melinda?) asked. “I heard you were engaged.”

  “Arwen does weddings now!” Kelly exclaimed. “She’s a big deal wedding planner in New York City. She’ll have to do yours.”

  “I’d be happy to!” Arwen replied.

  “We’re not engaged, but I’ll definitely keep you in mind if he pops the question,” I said. “You can make my Pinterest board a reality.”

  She laughed and said, “I do that all the time.”

  “I thought you were engaged. I wanted to see the ring,” Kelly said with a pout.

  “We called it off,” I explained. God, why couldn’t he have just showed up for me? I should probably tell Arwen there wouldn’t be a wedding because I was going to murder/maim Duke for not being here right now.

  “But now you’re back together,” Melissa (Melinda?) said.

  “Yes.”

  “But he’s not here. Is it because of what happened with Sam?”

  And then I kind of snapped. “You know, there’s more to me than my boyfriends, past, present and possibly future. I write books. I have friends. I have a job. You could tell me what you have been up to since we graduated. Why does it always have to be about men?”

  My tangent kept going, but no one was listening. Their attention was fixed on an ever-increasing commotion behind me. The wind picked up, whipping everyone’s hair into a frenzy. I turned: a helicopter was landing on the lawn. It was the churn of its blades that had drowned out my rant.

  I soon gave up speaking and gave in to the same pangs of curiosity affecting everyone present.

  Who would arrive at the Milford High School reunion in a helicopter?

  Once it touched down on the ground and the blades stopped spinning, the door opened and . . .

  Duke stepped down.