Keeping His Promise (Year of the Billionaire Part 3)

by Falls, K. C.

  "I've seen the pictures, too, Mr. King. I don't imagine myself to be as glamorous as the ladies on his arm on the internet."

  "Plastic, all of them. I meet plenty of that variety myself." He fixed me with his dark enigmatic stare. "You know about the girl?"

  "You mean Elsa?"

  "I had hoped that she would . . . that she could be the one who healed him. I never met her."

  That surprised me. I felt a selfish sense of satisfaction that I was the one who he'd brought to meet his father. "Tristan has a lot of hurt in him." Then I said something that I thought I might regret. It just came out. "You could be part of healing him, too, Mr. King."

  The mask just crumbled in front of my eyes. I saw it as clearly as if he had reached up and peeled off a false face. "I would love to be part of that." To my utter surprise, he reached over and took my hand. "I'm getting old enough to have regrets. And one of my biggest regrets is my only son. Success is a cold companion, Raina. I don't want Tristan to wind up like me."

  "Why don't you talk to him?"

  "What can I say? 'I'm sorry I ruined your childhood'? 'Forgive me for not having the strength to bear the tragedy'? 'Let me make up for abandoning a poor child whose heart was breaking?' I can't go back and fix what I broke."

  "No, you can't go back. But you can go forward." I wanted to gather the man in my arms and tell him it would be all right. I squeezed his hand. "Right now, you've got a son who speaks to you like you're a distant acquaintance. What have you got to lose by trying to break the pattern? People can change, Mr. King."

  He put his other hand over mine and gave me a smile that was as kind as his former one had been cold. "You remind me of my late wife. Her optimism was like a lighthouse to everyone who knew her. I wasn't the easiest man to live with. But I loved her. I still do."

  "That's a wonderful thing to say."

  The look on Tristan's face when he found me sitting with my hand in his father's hands was priceless. For a man in perpetual control of his emotions, the shock on his face was almost comical. I had to stifle a laugh but couldn't help but give him a slightly self-satisfied grin. It couldn't have been more obvious that I had the salty old dog eating out of my hand.

  He was visibly trying to gather his wits as he settled into his chair. Mr. King and I dropped our hands and both of us looked at Tristan. He cleared his throat. "I guess you two found something to talk about."

  "We were talking about you," I said. It was a bold admission and I meant for it to shake Tristan's composure. The whole idea of keeping a distance from your own parent appalled me from the first time I learned of it. It was unnatural and painful.

  Tristan shifted uncomfortably. "I see. Well."

  "Raina has a way of cutting to the chase. She may be young, but she has the courage to speak her mind."

  "Father, truer words were never spoken. Sometimes she says things that are better left unsaid." Tristan shot me a look that was a mixture of contempt and--could it be?--fear.

  "Don't blame her. She only brought out something I've been keeping in for too long."

  Tristan cocked an eyebrow at his father and waited for him to continue.

  "Okay. Here it is. I'm tired of the distance between us, son. I read every word I can about you and your life and it's precious little. I can't turn back the clock, but as Raina pointed out to me, I can move forward. I want to get to know you. I want . . . to be a father to you. If it's too late, I'll accept that, but I don't want to die without having tried to make it right with you."

  Tristan looked at his hands and his jaw clenched. "Are you sick? Is there something you're not telling me?"

  Bradley King threw back his head and laughed. "Do you imagine that only my imminent death would bring this on?"

  Tristan folded his arms across his chest and just looked at his father.

  "No, I am not dying."

  The arms dropped.

  "I'm finally old enough to know what's important. And you, son, are important to me."

  There was an eternity of silence. "You're important to me, too, Dad." It was almost a whisper but we both heard it. I felt like I was going to cry with pure happiness.

  "Then we'll build on that." Mr. King flagged a waiter down and ordered a bottle of champagne. "To toast new beginnings."

  For the first time since we sat down, I saw Tristan's face relax. The tension left his jaw and he smiled with something closer to genuine contentment than I had seen outside of the bedroom.

  "As long as we're celebrating, there's some good news I'd like to share. Father, I'll tell you the whole story in just a minute, but first let me tell Raina something." He turned to me and took my hand. It seemed a day for hand holding. "They caught your mother's kidnappers."

  I saw Mr. King's eyebrows shoot up but he let Tristan continue on uninterrupted.

  "Archie's hunches usually turn out to be true. He thought they'd be right in your neighborhood and he and his men made contact with an amazing number of shopkeepers. Everyone knows Marjorie and Don and you'd be amazed at the cooperation they gave him. It was all a matter of tracking the serial numbers. Once the bills started showing up, Archie was able to zero in on a couple of places and drill down to who was passing the bills."

  "Was it someone we know, like you thought?"

  "Yes, unfortunately it was. It was Vito Caperelli."

  "Oh no. He was Dad's friend."

  "He was broke. He was into the local numbers game way over his head. Apparently, Mrs. Caperelli couldn't resist telling her crummy brother-in-law all about you and I. He saw an advantage and took it. Working with your father, he knew all about the union trouble and probably thought we'd assume, as we did, that they were behind it. It might have worked if they hadn't dropped your mother's nickname."

  "But mom would have recognized Vito!"

  "He hired three guys from out of town. He paid them off, paid off the numbers guy and still had cash to spend. That's how he got nailed."

  "Mrs. C?"

  "The only thing she's guilty of is being a terrible gossip. Archie says she's broken up. She blames herself."

  Tristan filled his father in on the whole story including my father's continuing clashes with the union and how he and Archie intended to get to the bottom of that situation as well.

  "You know, if I hadn't met Raina I'd probably tell you to walk away from the whole mess. You're putting yourself in a vulnerable position. But," he smiled my way, "I have met her. All I can say is if there's anything I can do to help . . ."

  "Thanks, Dad. And I may call on you. The guys stirring up all the trouble aren't from New York. They're from Chicago. Your influence might be useful here."

  Nine

  We were sitting on the stuffy sofa in our hotel living room. The early afternoon sun slanted through the buildings and onto the lake outside. I snuggled against Tristan's shoulder and basked in what I considered a major accomplishment. There were no material things I could give him, but I had brought his father back into his life. To me, it was important. It balanced us, just a little.

  He didn't look at me when he began to speak. "When I was in college, I decided that I couldn't really love a woman. The ones I met were so fucking shallow or so painfully stupid or both that I wasn't able to get beyond it. Women--girls really--pretty much threw themselves at me the entire time I was at Wharton. My father's success, my academic track record . . ."

  "Your mouth-watering good looks," I couldn't help add.

  "Thank you, yeah I suppose that too. Those were the qualities the women saw and that was why I attracted their attention."

  "Well, all those things are part of you, aren't they?"

  "A very superficial part. I couldn't put labels on what it was I wanted. I just knew I hadn't found it." He sucked in a deep breath. I could see him will himself to go on. "And, although I didn't really admit it to myself, my mother's death had left me with . . . God I hate this term . . . fear of abandonment. It was, and still is, a deep scar."

  This was it. Elsa.r />
  "When we met, I knew she was utterly different from any woman I'd ever known. For one thing, she seemed completely unimpressed by me and not at all attracted."

  "I find it hard to believe any woman could fail to find you attractive." He ignored my comment.

  "We shared a study group and those can get very intense. You get cases assigned and as a group, you have to present your findings. One lazy ass or one fuck up and you're dead. At the same time, the MBA program is cutthroat--a lot like law school. Graduating at the top of the program is critical."

  "I wasn't concerned about that because I had already made up my mind which direction I was headed in. I wasn't going to be looking for any job; I was going to start my own firm. Elsa," he seemed to almost choke on the name, "was talented without being ego driven. Frankly, in spite of her brilliance, I didn't think she had the balls to succeed."

  "By the time we graduated, Elsa and I had become good friends. I had already decided she'd be a great addition to my team and that working for me would be a good way for her to cut her teeth in the business and maybe harden up a bit. She became my right hand. She seemed to know what needed to be done before I told her and her business sense was totally in sync with mine."

  "We were together constantly. One day, I just realized I was in love with her. It hit me hard. When I admitted it to her, she just told me she'd been waiting for me to get my head out of my ass long enough to see it." He grinned ruefully and flexed his fingers in front of him. Then he got up and stood by the window, half in shadow and almost turned away from me.

  "We had it all. The world was ours. We mapped out a perfect life, planned all of the things couples plan. Her parents were elated, my father was mostly indifferent."

  Tristan gazed out at the lake, graying in the fading afternoon.

  "When she died, all those plans were buried under a mountain of snow. I was directionless. I threw myself into work, as people tend to do, and that translated into the fortune I have today. I treated every deal as if it was the last deal I'd ever do. I worked, literally, as if there was no tomorrow. Because, for me, there wasn't."

  He walked back to me and stood in front of me, taking both of my hands in his.

  "I hope you can understand now. I promised you that I would tell you why I ask you to live without expectations. Because . . . because expectations hurt. Expectations get crumpled under a semi on a slick highway or buried under an avalanche in the Alps."

  He looked at me with such sadness that I wanted to weep for him.

  "I know that this isn't what you want to hear. But I told you at the beginning and I'm telling you again now. If you can be happy what I have to give you, I promise I'll be very good to you. I know that the time may come when you won't be satisfied with those limitations. When that day comes, I'll deal with it with as much grace as I can muster."

  I took a deep breath. I had thought about how I would handle this all weekend long. It was time. "Tristan, I do understand. And, within your . . . limitations . . . I'd like to continue to see you and enjoy you."

  His face lit up, victorious. But I wasn't through.

  "However, I'm going to have to impose some limitations of my own."

  "I guess that's only fair."

  "And it may be that you can't live with them. That's a risk I have to take." I paused to hold on to my composure under the look he was giving me. It was enough to tear my resolve to pieces.

  "Go ahead."

  "First, you have to stop using your money to 'help' me or my family. I am grateful for all that you've done, but I want you to bow out of the union situation with my father. He's a big boy and he can take care of himself."

  "Second, I'm going to be working now and making a decent living. No more wardrobes, no more jewelry. I can dress myself. If I have the time to take a trip, I understand you have a plane and I won't refuse to fly in it. But tone down the billionaire routine. It makes me uncomfortable."

  "Third, we're going to limit the time we spend together. You know that you're the most amazing, mind-blowing lover I could ever hope to have. But sex isn't everything. I can't be in your bed every night and have a real life away from you. And I need a real life away from you if I am to continue to enjoy you. You can't be my life if there's no chance we'll ever have a life."

  He waited a moment before he spoke. "So, what's the limit? On the time we can spend together?"

  I hadn't really gotten that far in my thinking.

  "Really, Raina," he pressed, "Twice a week, three times a week? If I don't see you one week can I get four days in a row?" He spat the questions out with some bitterness. It clearly wasn’t what he wanted. Well too fucking bad. It isn't really what I want, either.

  "A few times a week. Don't get petty about it. I'm not going to keep a calendar and check off days."

  "Does lunch count or are we just talking actual dates ?"

  "Tristan, please."

  He was pissed that he couldn't have everything his way. But I could see him soften. I wasn't being unreasonable, after all. How could he expect me to turn my very existence over to a man who adamantly rejected a future?

  "Very well, then. But one last thing."

  "Shoot."

  "You have to keep the stuff I've already bought for you."

  "Okay."

  "And I think I ought to be able to give you gifts. What's the use of having money if I can't spend some on you?" I had to laugh at the little boy way he almost whined that out.

  "What's wrong with flowers . . . or chocolate?"

  "Hmmpff," he pouted.

  "Most men would be thankful that I'm not a gold-digger."

  "I'm not most men."

  "That much I know." I pulled him down beside me on the couch and kissed him with affection and desire. "It won't be so bad, you'll see. Let's just enjoy each other."

  He pulled me tightly against his chest and breathed against my hair. "Let's not waste any time. Let's start enjoying right now."

  So began the edgy dance that would carry us along for many weeks.

  Ten

  My life at Clemson's Bookmark, on both floors, was more than I could have expected. Manhattan was a different world than Brooklyn. I had grown up in New York City, but Manhattan made me feel like a country hick. I had many occasions to be thankful for the wardrobe Tristan had supplied me for our trip to Chicago. It made feel less a rube when I walked down the busy streets full of finely dressed professionals hustling about their daily lives. Of course there were bums and eccentrics garbed in all sorts of outlandish outfits, but I wanted to fit in with the purposeful men and women who dressed like they were going somewhere.

  When Jenn finally made it into the city to see my apartment on her winter break she couldn't believe my luck. Mom had helped me brighten it up with some colorful prints and the worn, but still nice rag rug from my bedroom was just the trick to liven up the living room. I had fresh flowers in every room. True to form, Tristan had held me to my word on accepting flowers and sent me fresh bouquets several times a week.

  "So you're still with Tristan." It wasn't a question. It was more of a challenge.

  "I wouldn't say 'with'. We're still seeing each other." I tried to sound casual as if going out with a gorgeous billionaire I was crazy about was just another every day part of my life.

  "C'mon. You're talking to me here, Rains. Truth time."

  "That is the truth. We made a deal. He won't commit farther than next Monday and I won't let have my life one day at a time. Let's say I'm on a diet--a Tristan King diet."

  "So how often do you see him and what do you do?"

  "Twice a week, sometimes three times. A lunch now and then when he can get away from his desk. There's a big push at the end of the year in the world of high finance."

  "And?"

  "And . . . we eat at one fantastic restaurant after another. He's got a box at Lincoln Center and season tickets to everything whether he uses them or not. I had two days off in a row and we flew to Bermuda for a 48 hour getaway. See a
ll these flowers? I could open my own funeral home. Check the refrigerator. Bet you won't recognize some of the chocolates in there. I hardly have room for actual food."

  "And?"

  "And . . . each evening we spend together ends in atom splitting, planet shifting, nuclear meltdown worthy sex."

  "Sleep over?"

  "Sometimes, if I don't have to work. Mostly I come home, though. It's a little easier on me. He lives at the Dakota, you know. It's only a dozen blocks."

  "How convenient."

  "Yes and I see where you're going with that. I thought maybe there was some clever engineering going on with the job, too. At the beginning when Mr. Clemson talked about his grandson being behind the whole computerized book catalog, I thought maybe Tristan had pulled some stunt. But last week I actually met Boyd Clemson. He's genuine, and a nice guy, too."

  "Looks like you've come to an arrangement that works. Good for you."

  "It works . . . to a point. Tristan still takes up most of my conscious thought, though. The more I'm with him, the more I want to be with him. But I've got to keep control of it or I'll lose myself like I almost did before. I can't let him make me crazy, Jenn."

  "What about other people? Is this thing with Tristan exclusive?"

  "We've never discussed it. Bizarre, huh? But I think that exclusive would definitely fall under the category of some sort of forbidden expectation of commitment."

  "Maybe you should see someone else. Get a perspective on normal."

  "Jenn, other guys aren't even alive to me anymore."

  "That's not healthy or fair to you. You think that limiting yourself to seeing Tristan a few times a week somehow gives you control but that's an illusion. He runs you just as if he had you 24/7."

  "I can't imagine wanting anyone but Tristan to touch me."

  "Who said anything about touching? But if you don't at least expose yourself to other men, you could be on this merry-go-round with Tristan King forever. Or at least until he get tired of you and trades you in on a more cooperative model."

  That thought ran cold through my blood. The thought of Tristan doing to some other woman the things he did to me was almost unbearable. And that bit of self-discovery brought me up short. Jenn was right, the devil's bargain I had made was an illusion.