The Bad Boy Billionaire's Girl Gone Wild

by Maya Rodale

  I strolled over. I blamed magnetism.

  “What if I changed my mind?” Duke asked.

  “Did you?” I asked.

  “Did you?” He echoed.

  “I’m writing another book,” I told him.

  “What’s this one about?”

  “Another wallflower. She’s been far too good for far too long. It’s gotten her nothing but this awful fiancé and she’s trying desperately to get out of the engagement.”

  “Why would she want to do that?” he asked softly. We weren’t just talking about my characters anymore.

  “Because she wants real love,” I explained. “True love. Shout it from the rooftops love.”

  “Given that we’re on a rooftop, is that a hint? Should I shout out my love from you from this rooftop, right now?”

  “Only if you meant it. Or else if you didn’t . . .”

  “You know, I’ve been working like crazy. We’ve started prepping for an IPO.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “You don’t get what that means, do you?” There was a spark in his eye that made my heart beat faster. “Once the bell rings at the stock exchange, I don’t have to worry about what anyone thinks anymore.”

  I got it. Oh, I got it. Once that bell rang, he’d be a billionaire. He’d have broken the curse. He’d be free to do whatever he wanted—like be with me. For real.

  “And then what will you do?” I asked, linking my finger around the belt loop of his jeans.

  Duke lowered his head. I turned my face up to his. His lips claimed mine for a delicate, tentative kiss.

  If I grabbed a fistful of his Chartbeat T-shirt and pulled him closer . . .

  If we didn’t have to worry about what people thought anymore . . .

  I’d feel his rock-hard body against mine.

  If I felt his body against mine, I’d start to lose my mind and everyone at this party would start talking about it. There would be a video online of me losing control and I’d never live it down.

  Duke cupped my face in his hands, holding me gently like I was the most precious thing in the world. My hands slid down the length of his chest, down along his back to rest against his ass. Urging him against me I felt just how much he wanted me. I sighed, desperate to satiate my desire for him.

  My lust for Duke had a way destroying my best intentions and annihilating my better intentions.

  If I went home with him now . . .

  Then I’d be breaking all our rules.

  Why, why, why did that have to make everything so much more appealing? The good girl thing to do would be to disentangle myself immediately and put myself in a cab.

  “What if I do this?” Duke whispered as his hands slid under my silk camisole to caress my bare skin.

  “Then I’d find it harder to say no,” I moaned.

  “What if I do this?”

  “You’d cause a scene,” I murmured. “We are causing a scene.”

  “Shhh. So what if we did?” He gazed into my eyes. Our faces were just inches away. Our lips were so, so close.

  “I would sell more books and get rich and more successful at your expense. You would piss off Augustus. You might lose everything you ever worked for.”

  “What if I don’t want it like I used to?”

  “If that were true, then I’d say take me home. Because I—” Oh my God, I almost said because I love you. “I don’t think you really mean it. I can’t let you mean it.”

  “Just one last kiss until we IPO.”

  His mouth claimed mine and for one exquisite moment I didn’t say no. I said yes.

  And that’s when the crowd erupted in cheers. I turned around to see everyone at the party applauding, cheering and watching us. I gazed up only to see that the camera had been projecting Duke and I up onto the wall. Everyone at the party saw. Everyone on the street could see it, too. One glance at the wall broadcasting the tweets confirmed it: dozens and dozens of tweets were being posted, along with twit.pic links and vines. All of them include hashtags like #GetARoom, #SuckingFace or #KissMeBabyOneMoreTime.

  This was a disaster. In real time.

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  The next day

  FROM THE MOMENT I opened my eyes and realized that I had slept through my alarm, I knew it was going to be one of those days. I had lost my mind last night. Blame it on the wine, blame it on the vodka, blame it on pheromones, an insane and potent attraction, or whatever. I had acted recklessly.

  It’d been late when I got home. Even later when I finally drifted off to sleep.

  Thus, I slept through my alarm. I quickly jumped out of bed, and stumbled into the kitchen. It seemed Roxanna hadn’t come home, so I started a pot of coffee and got into the shower and rushed through my morning routine in an effort to get to work on time.

  So I didn’t see Page Six of the New York Post until I was waiting for the subway. The businessman next to me had the page open to my favorite gossip column and the headline caught my eye:

  Silicon Alley’s Bad Boy Billionaire Makes a Scene with His “Fiancée”

  One day I would like to be his fiancée, not his “fiancée.”

  A girl could dream.

  A girl could also, as surreptitiously as possible, lean over the shoulder of this businessman and try to read the rest of the column.

  Proving he still puts the “bad boy” in billionaire, Duke Austen caused a stir at a party on the Gawker Roof last night when he was caught on camera making out with Jane Sparks, librarian by day, published romance novelist under the pseudonym Maya Rodale and “it’s complicated” fiancée of tech’s newest titan in the making.

  “It didn’t look complicated,” said a source. “They kept running into each other all night and eventually they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”

  The couple broke up after Sparks’s publication of The Wicked Wallflower, which many took to be a confession that she and Austen faked their relationship in order to secure funding for his company, Project-TK. Many assumed art imitated life and that their relationship was fake. Until last night.

  There was another paragraph left in the article when the businessman’s subway arrived. He snapped the paper shut and boarded the train. I stood on the platform tapping my high heels until my own train rolled into the station. Then I made a beeline for a seat next to someone reading the Post. I waited and waited and waited until she turned to Page Six and then I scanned the page to pick up where I had left off.

  “When the camera projected the video of them kissing on the wall, everyone started cheering,” says a source. Numerous videos of the incident are on YouTube, each with a few hundred thousand views so you can see for yourself: are they faking it?

  “Whether they’re faking or it not isn’t really the issue,” says a source close to Austen. “Augustus Grey hates that Duke’s personal life overshadows Project-TK, especially when they’re laying the groundwork for an IPO. I wouldn’t be surprised if Augustus asked the board to fire him.”

  When the train stopped at 42nd Street, I numbly stepped off and climbed the stairs up to street level. In a daze, I walked crosstown through Bryant Park on my way to the library.

  I just wanted to love him. I tried to stay away because I wanted him to succeed. And with just one kiss I might have ruined everything.

  Might have. I turned to Twitter to see if there was confirmation one way or another. My heart sank when I saw the tweet from TechCrunch.

  @TechCrunch: Bad Boy Billionaire DukeAusten given ultimatum: stay off Page Six or get out of Project-TK http://bit.ly/1hi0Yzi

  Of course I clicked through to the article.

  Will Project-TK IPO without Its Bad Boy Founder?

  They called him the Bad Boy Billionaire because he lost a billion bucks and his two previous companies tanked. Now the name fits because Duke Austen just can’t stay out of trouble—or the gossip columns. Last night, he was caught on camera making out with his “fiancée.”

  “We all thought
their relationship was fake after that book of hers,” says a source. “But maybe not. They looked pretty into it.”

  Either way, Augustus Grey is once again royally pissed that Duke is once again making headlines for his personal life instead of the accomplishments of his company.

  “Yeah, it sucks that our work doesn’t get recognized,” says a member of his team, “It’d be nice to read about our products instead of his stupid romantic drama.”

  Sources also tell us that Augustus Grey called an emergency meeting with the board of directors this morning. After a tense, 45 minute meeting, Austen was called in. Word has it that Austen was given an ultimatum: stay out of the gossip columns or stay out of Project-TK.

  I felt sick to my stomach as I read it on my iPhone while standing outside of the library.

  After heaving a sigh, I dropped my phone into my M.Z. Wallace bag (a splurge I expected to pay off when my first royalty check arrived) and headed into work.

  I had only just started shelving books when I overheard someone asking for me. Glancing up, I recognized the woman. After a moment, I placed her. She had inquired with the guard about me before. In fact, my co-workers had told me she’d come by a few times asking to talk to me. Assuming she was a reporter, I ducked behind a bookshelf and peeked out to hear how Tina, my co-worker, would respond to her.

  “Jane is shelving books,” Tina said with an impatient sigh, pushing her glasses up. “You’ll just have to walk around and look for her.”

  “Thanks, Tina,” I muttered.

  The next thirty minutes were spent in a delicate waltz in which the reporter roamed the aisle searching for me and I tried to shelve the books on my cart while avoiding her.

  In the end, it was inevitable.

  She found me in the section on New York City history.

  “Jane Sparks?”

  I looked up at her. She was a plain woman with a peevish expression on her face. She probably didn’t give a crap about me, or my romantic drama, or any of it. She was only here to get story and get out.

  I debated giving her a fake name. But then I didn’t, because if she was going to get a story, I wanted her to have mine. In fact, in a sudden surge of inspiration, I knew exactly what story to give her. If Duke was going to be on Page Six after that ultimatum, it would be in a way that would save him, not destroy him.

  “I’m Jane Sparks. How can I help you?”

  “Nancy Andrews. New York Post. You’re not wearing your engagement ring.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She gestured to my hand. The cubic zirconia stunner wasn’t on my ring finger, but at home in my jewelry box. I stopped wearing it ever since we had declared our relationship “complicated.”

  “I guess it’s gone from it’s complicated to it’s over,” she said frankly, and a little bit heartlessly. “But then again, considering what happened last night, it might not be over. Could you tell me what’s up with your relationship with Duke Austen?”

  “Sure, and if I knew I’d be happy to tell you,” I replied.

  “Hmmph.”

  Not big on the humor, that Nancy Andrews of the New York Post.

  “I just need to ask you a few questions,” she repeated.

  I hesitated. Duke valued his privacy and so did I. If I gave a story to Nancy Andrews, it would be all over the Post and then picked up by other news outlets. He’d probably be pissed and my book sales would get another bump. Augustus Grey would be even more pissed and I might inadvertently screw Duke over with that ultimatum. No more Page Six or no more Project-TK. Hopefully this would be an exception.

  Unless . . .

  “Let’s see if I can answer.”

  “Excellent. Tell me how you met Duke Austen.”

  “A chance encounter in Central Park.” I replied without missing a beat.

  “That gazebo in the rainstorm story was true?” Nancy looked at me skeptically.

  “Yes,” I lied. OMG I lied! To a reporter!

  “This on the record, you know,” Nancy said, frowning at me and fixing her perspicacious brown eyes on mine. And I had that feeling I had in tenth grade when Mr. Spalding wanted to know if I was chewing gum. I couldn’t just swallow it and say no. I had to confess and get a lecture in front of the whole class.

  But not this time. This time the success of my true love was on the line. I figured it was a greater cause. So I lied. Wow, was I living dangerously on the edge or what?

  “I am aware this is on the record,” I said, tipping my chin up with determination.

  “And is it true you two have broken up? Or is it still just complicated?”

  “Yes, we broke up,” I said, even though we hadn’t really. But this interview was my chance to save him from himself. I just had to have faith that it would all work out in the end. “When it came down to it, nothing matters more to Duke Austen than Project-TK, and he was prepared to make whatever sacrifices necessary to make it a success. Including me.”

  Tears stung my eyes. They were not entirely fake. I blinked quite a few times to make sure Nancy Andrews noticed and wrote it down in her notebook.

  “Did he break up with you because of your book?”

  “We really just wanted to focus on our careers at the moment and my book did prove to be an unanticipated distraction.”

  “Does art imitate life?”

  “You mean, did Duke and I fake our relationship?”

  “Glad you get my point.”

  “What we had was real. And special. And beautiful. I wouldn’t give up a minute of it.”

  I couldn’t help but remember the first time I laid eyes on him. It was at a party in this very room, in fact. I could tell he was Someone. I just didn’t know what a significant role he would play in my life. Sam was right—we held each other back. Duke and I—what we had was an attraction so powerful that it could either destroy us or save us.

  “Who do you date now after you’ve dated the bad boy billionaire?” Nancy asked gruffly. My thoughts flitted to Sam.

  “Like I said, Duke and I broke up so we could focus on our work. He and his team are building something really amazing with their new product. And I’m working on a new book, called Wallflower Gone Wild.”

  “Way to get reporters off your back with that one,” Nancy said in a deadpanned tone that indicated exactly the opposite. “I suppose we can count on outrageous antics from you as research, right?”

  “Again, it’s all fiction,” I said evenly.

  “Except your love. That was real, right?”

  “Was,” I said. “It’s over now. Duke Austen broke up with me so he could be 100 percent focused on Project-TK.”

  And then I turned away. My hands were shaky as I returned the books to the shelves.

  “Thanks for the story, Ms. Sparks,” Nancy called out over her shoulder as she walked away.

  “Shhh,” I whispered under my breath.

  258 West 15th Street

  THE NEXT MORNING, I was on the cover of the New York Post. Nancy or some other photographer had caught me leaving the library. The headline: Jilted Romance Author Tells All About The Bad Boy Billionaire Who Broke Her Heart.

  Roxanna and I read it over breakfast. By breakfast I mean coffee. I should also note that we didn’t sit down—we stood side by side with the paper spread out before us on the kitchen counter.

  Nancy had portrayed me as a tragic heroine who lost her true love to his work. She painted Duke as a brilliant man so devoted to his company that he would sacrifice the real love of a good woman. All in all, it couldn’t have been a better article than if I had written it myself.

  I only hope Augustus Grey saw it.

  And Duke.

  I hope he saw and understood this little Valentine.

  “Way to manipulate the media, Jane. I’m so proud,” Roxanna said, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes. “First thing this morning I’ll post a blog about this which will make sure everyone sees it.”

  “Everyone being Augustus and Duke, I hope.”


  “This bit is a particular gem,” Roxanna said. Then she began to read from the article. “Ms. Sparks seems genuinely anguished, calling into question the rumors that they faked their engagement. Rumors which started, it should be noted, with the publication of her book, The Wicked Wallflower. Readers desperate to know more about the on-going drama with the bad boy billionaire and the librarian/romance novelist may want to pick up her next book, Wallflower Gone Wild.”

  “I couldn’t resist a little shameless self promotion,” I confessed with a sigh. “I wonder what Duke will think.”

  “If he’s not a complete moron, he’ll think you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He owes you waaaay more than just a date to your high school reunion.”

  “Haha,” I said with a shrug. “That. I had kind of forgotten.”

  Roxanna looked at me incredulously and then smacked the invitation that had been stuck to our refrigerator.

  “You forgot about this? Your desperation for a date to your ten-year high school reunion started this whole drama.”

  “Actually . . .” I was about to point out that she started this whole drama with her Facebook post announcing my engagement to Duke. I was distracted by a text message. “It’s a text from Duke. It says ‘thanks babe.’”

  “If you love something, set them free,” Roxanna quipped. “I’m off to work. Another day, another drama to write about on the Internet. Drinks at Bar Veloce after work?”

  After that, Duke all but disappeared from social media. Every morning he checked in at the offices of Project-TK, often at the unfathomably early hour of 7 a.m. or even earlier. I had to wonder if he even left at the end of the day. One night I was out with Roxanna and some other friends on the Bowery. Looked up. His windows were dark. I thought about throwing pebbles up, as if in an old-fashioned romance. But there weren’t many pebbles laying around on the Bowery and even if there were, no way was I going to throw high enough to hit the windows of his penthouse apartment.

  Instead, I went home and wrote. I fell into a new routine with each day: work at the library, drinks or take-out with Roxanna, followed by late nights writing a new novel. My heroine was caught up in a relationship that forced her to choose between her dreams and happiness and her reputation. She started acting out and testing boundaries in the hopes of finding herself—kind of like me. But she kept coming back to her hero. Kind of like me.