by Linnea May
He casts me a concerned look. “And you didn’t?”
I blushed. That was a stupid thing to say. Why did I have to keep insulting him?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Of course I did. I didn’t mean to –”
“Forget about it,” he interrupted, handing me a little card. Not a real business card, just a little note with his name and his number on it.
"It's up to you now," he said, as he sent me off.
Up to me. Again. As pushy and confident as he is on the one hand, he sure wants to be certain that the interest is mutual.
I try to be as quiet as possible when I enter the apartment. It is not even ten a.m. and both Yuka and I are usually still asleep at this time, if possible.
Much to my surprise she is already up, though. I find her sitting at our small kitchen table, reading a magazine and sipping on her first morning coffee.
She grins at me. "Good morning, party girl."
"Good morning, bar slave," I reply. "How come you're up already?"
She rolls her eyes. "Brunch date with someone who thinks that it's okay to chase people out of the house at eleven a.m."
"Mean," I comment, as I pour myself a coffee.
"So," she says after I sat down opposite of her. "How was it? Nice guy?"
I smile. "I wouldn't say 'nice', but interesting and fun for sure."
Yuka raises her eyebrows. "Ooh, that sounds intriguing! I'd pester you with questions, but I haven't even taken a shower yet and really need to get ready."
Thank God.
"Have fun," I say as she gets up from the chair.
She winks at me. “Oh, don’t think you’re getting away that easily. I’ll haunt you with indecent questions later!”
I reply with an awkward laughter and wave her off. She casts me one last menacing look before she leaves the kitchen.
I languidly reach over the table to pull the magazine she was reading over to my side. Yuka is a sucker for the kind of women's magazines that report about nothing but fashion, make-up and gossip about famous people, who I could care less about.
I never actually read anything in them, but they are a good way to kill time when there is nothing else to do than to drink my desperately needed morning coffee – and to get him off my mind. For now.
The night was too intense, too confusing and overwhelming. I have no idea how to handle this one. All I need is some distraction and time to myself.
In that regard, browsing through that ludicrous magazine was the worst idea I have had all morning. After just a few pages, I end up at the VIP gossip section, the most ludicrous of all.
And there he is, smiling back at me.
Evan Beckhart – smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor? The subject of a picture plastered article that belongs to a series about 'The country's hottest billionaire bachelors.'
I almost drop my coffee mug as a cold shower of realization is running down my spine. It's really him. Evan.
CHAPTER VII
Evan
I send her on her way even though it’s the last thing I want to do. If it were up to me, we’d continue where we started last night. I feel like I only got a faint taste of what could be between us. This was nothing, just a start, and at the same time it was everything I could ask for.
I want more. Her surrender tastes as luscious as expected, if not better. She surprised me, too. I didn’t expect her to be so compliant so early on. She danced like a puppet, making me the master who held her strings. The way she went along with our play was surprisingly smooth. Yet, she still has a lot to learn and I want to be the one to lead her down the road of submission.
She’s a perfect match for me. But with her strong will, I expect more resistance when I start to really push her boundaries.
If she lets me.
I put matters into her hands for a reason. While I enjoy chasing after what belongs within my touch, I don’t like to do all the work if it’s not appreciated.
There’s a thin line of between too little and too much. If she becomes too clingy, too desperate for my attention, I know I will get tired of her quickly. But I don’t expect that to happen with her. She’s too conflicted, too stubborn and strong. What happened last night was new for her and she’ll need some time to process.
I on the other hand, am as smitten as can be. Right after she left, I find myself sitting in the restaurant on the uppermost floor of the hotel we spent the night at, sipping on my usual black coffee and smiling like a dumbass.
Be careful. Don’t let another one grab that stony heart of yours.
I have to keep my head clear. She’s fun. She’s fucking sexy, enticing, delicious and there are a million things I want to do to her. But I have to stay clear of emotional trouble. It’s destructive. I can’t have that.
But just as that thought crosses my mind, I’m reminded of another thing that makes her so alluring to me.
She has no idea who I am.
Not only does she not care about my money at all, she also doesn’t know anything about me or my background. Of course, that’s subject to change. I won’t be the one to tell her, but with the life I’m leading, things can’t stay a secret forever, and she would have to live under a rock not to find about everything sooner or later. If I’m lucky it will be rather later than sooner. I’d like to have the chance for us to get to know each other without that shit interfering.
Dating Sheila has left a mark on my life in more than one way. I wouldn’t say that I regret being with her. Only weak people regret their own decisions. But I could do without the repercussions that came with it. I’d hate for them to impact my chances with Nicky.
When I left her standing in front of that club, turning my back to her and leaving the decision to follow or to stay with her, I wasn’t sure about anything. I saw that I had an effect on her, it was obvious. But there was no certainty. Nicky left me wondering. She made me feel the same insecurity that I’m sure feels normal to most people in situations like these. But I’m not most people. I always get the girl, and usually I don’t even have to do a lot to succeed.
It wasn’t until she showed up almost half an hour later that I knew I had won her, at least for the night. She had made up her mind by the time she walked through the door of that shisha bar. I could tell, because it was written all over her beautiful face.
I take another sip of my coffee while I scan the city below. Somewhere down there, Nicky is driving home with one of my drivers. I know her kind, and I know that she despises being spoiled like this, being subjected to a lifestyle that disgusts her for no good reason. She’ll have to endure a lot more of that if she agrees to become mine.
CHAPTER VIII
Nicky
Evan Beckhart – smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?
I cannot take my eyes off of the article. What a sneaky bastard! I had sex with one of 'the country's hottest billionaire bachelors' – and I didn't even know it at the time.
How could he not have mentioned this? Did he actively conceal it from me – or did he just expect me to know when he introduced himself? He could have used a fake name, after all. But he didn't. He actively ran the risk of me knowing who he is.
I feel so stupid.
What a great triumph it must have been for him to see me so unaware. The stupid hipster club girl who has no clue.
Then again, I never really asked him what he does for a living. Not once. I just shared my silly assumptions and – as he called them – prejudices. And he prohibited any further questions by the time we went to the hotel.
The expensive five star hotel.
"Damn," I whisper, still sitting at the kitchen table and staring down at the article.
"Did you say something?" I hear Yuka as from the hall.
Moments later, she appears at the door, tilting her head quizzically.
I hastily close the magazine and shake my head. "No. Just mumbling to myself."
"What have you been reading?" she asks, accompanied by an evil sm
irk. "You look like you saw a ghost."
In a way, I feel like I did. The shock and surprise would be equally strong.
"Nah, I'm just very... tired," I explain.
Yuka shrugs and disappears back into the hall to get ready for her brunch date.
"Take a nap until I come back," she yells. "I still want to hear about your date last night."
"Yeah, sure," I whisper absentmindedly.
As usual, she is in a hurry and storms out the door just a few seconds later, leaving me by myself with that confusing article.
I stare at the magazine in front of me, pondering whether I should read it. Maybe I really did see a ghost? Maybe it wasn't him after all. I only looked at the picture for a few seconds – and he could have used this name to impress me. Maybe he just looked similar to this guy and used it to his advantage to seduce an unknowing girl like me.
I should at least check and make sure that my shock is justified. Or if I should forget about him and write him off as a pathetic and deceitful liar.
But how could he afford the hotel then?
Maybe he stole that guy's credit cards, too. Maybe he is a thief – a mobster, as I jokingly assumed when we were entering the hotel.
I have to know!
I take a deep breath and open the magazine, slowly browsing to the page that displays his article.
Evan Beckhart – smart, handsome, rich, the eternal bachelor?
I am prepared this time and don't shy away as soon as his face appears in front of me. And yes, it is his face. There is no doubt about it. The guy I teased about being your average, boring office yuppie, the guy who somehow still managed to captivate me and lure me out of the club into his hotel room. The guy I have had one of the most amazing sexual experiences of my life with.
There is no doubt that it is the same man as the one who is the subject of this article. The picture of him appears to be from some kind of event for charity. He is dressed up to the limit, sporting an extremely well fitting black suit and a tie in steel blue that makes his dark eyes stand out even more. His hair is different, more organized and gelled to the side – but it is definitely him.
The article covers the entire page and there is a second photo at the lower end of it. It is much smaller than the other one and appears to be some kind of paparazzi picture that was taken of him and a woman as they left a coffee shop. He is holding her wrapped in his arm and tries to shield her from the photographer. Both of them are dressed casually.
I cannot help noticing that she bears a big resemblance to me. She is not only pale and slim and wears her long, dark brown hair in an equally messy way as I do. She is even dressed in a similar way with rugged jeans and an oversized, cut off t-shirt. Her skinny arms are decorated with a bunch of wristbands in all kinds of colors – and tattoos. Rather nice tattoos, I might add.
That – and the fact that she is prettier than me – might be the only difference between us, because I have not gotten around to ink myself. Yet. It has been on my wish list forever, but I just couldn't commit to a motif, let alone gather enough money for it.
As it is typical for these kinds of magazines, the subtitle to the picture is rather melodramatic: Did she break his heart? Sheila and Evan on a coffee run, only weeks before she disappeared from his life.
Disappeared? Did they break up? Did she die? Or did she actually disappear?
Curiosity gets the better of me and I start reading the article with my heart running wild behind my ribcage. Thankfully, the text starts with a brief introduction about the life and career of "mysterious billionaire bachelor" Evan Beckhart. Apparently he is a "geek turned successful entrepreneur from Silicon Valley" who had his breakthrough at an age when most people are attending college. He – or his small startup company – invented widely used office software that even I have heard of, even though I never worked in an office.
His company was acquired by a much bigger one a few years ago, and since then he has been steadily increasing his wealth by smart investments in promising startups that never failed to succeed. He really seems to have a knack for the young and upcoming technology market and has been making a lot of money by investing in social apps.
Even with my general aversion toward this glutted market of gadgetry and seemingly useless innovations, I have to admit that I am impressed. He certainly never had anything handed to him and worked hard to be where he is now. He also seems to be involved in charity activities and is described as living a rather frugal life despite his immeasurable wealth.
Well, he still lures his nightlife acquisitions into five star accommodations, so I would certainly disagree in regard to the "frugal lifestyle".
If anything, he tried to be one of us last night, the low budget hipsters who live in crappy little apartments, that they could not even afford on their own and thus opt for shared living arrangements. Us, who have to think twice for every drink they allow themselves when they are going out.
The article goes on to his private life, wondering why a man like him – handsome, stupidly rich and seemingly good-hearted – is still single while he is approaching the age of 30. He appears to have been by himself for most of his life – except for that one woman he had been seen with a few years back.
If I had shown even the slightest interest in gossip magazines, I would have known who he is right from the start. Apparently, he has been in the spotlight for a few years, not only because of his own success story, but also because the woman he was dating is a well known soap opera star, another area about which I have absolutely no knowledge.
They even used to live together after he moved here to Pasadena where she was working at the time. Or still is. What do I know? I have never watched the TV show that she stars in and I have never heard her name before. I am still taken aback at the fact that she looks so similar to me, though.
I continue reading to find out more about them and how things ended, but the article does not give away much about the latter. At some point, it seems, they broke up. Or she did. Much to the sorrow of the article's writer – and many readers, I am sure – it was never revealed who ended the relationship and for what reason. All that is known is that he moved out of their home and was neither heard of nor seen for months after the separation, while she continued to do her job and be just as public as she was before, but denying any comments in regard to their relationship.
"Not one word ever crossed her lips," the article concludes. Of course, provided with so little information, the author feels inclined to make assumptions about a terrible heart break that Evan went through. This is purely based on the fact that he disappeared from the spotlight, while she didn't. Never mind the fact that she is an actress, while he is just a self-made billionaire and entrepreneur who does not necessarily feel drawn or connected to the world of TV and movie stardom and the publicity that comes with it as much as she did.
But who cares about logic and facts, right?
I am shaking my head as I continue reading. Every sentence reminds me of why I loathe these magazines so much. So many assumptions, melodramatic thoughts and words put into people's mouths that it's sickening.
The lack of real information in an article of this length is astonishing. I don't feel like I have learned a lot more about him or his ill-fated relationship than I already knew from reading the subtitle beneath the second photo and the quotes that are spread across the page in big colorful letters.
There are interesting facts that seem to be relevant to me, though. The first one is his former girlfriend's appearance and the uncanny resemblance I share with her. And the second is the fact that he is still living in this city, instead of going back to the outskirts of San Francisco, which would have made perfect sense since that is where his home was before he moved here for her.
Their break up took place more than a year ago. Is he still mourning and trying to fulfill his longing by fucking random girls who bear a resemblance to her?
After all, that might have been the reason for him to appr
oach me in the first place. Erratic dancing and free spirit my ass – maybe it was just the fact that I reminded him of her. That I look like her.
I have a lump in my throat and feel utterly betrayed.
No matter how great the sex or how enticing this man was – I will not be somebody's placeholder. If he is still mourning his ex-girlfriend and I just happen to look like her, then I should write him off as soon as possible.
Then again, he did leave it up to me to contact him. Despite my complete ignorance during our first night, he must be aware of the risk of me finding out about all of this. This magazine article is less than two weeks old, it is current news about him. He and his failed relationship are no secret to the public – or at least to the part of the population who actually cares for irrelevant news such as this.
What am I supposed to do? Just a few minutes ago, I was rather certain that I wanted to see him again. I would make him wait a little, maybe. But I was ready to contact him again. I wanted more.
But now I am anything but sure about this. I am confused and hurt. And I feel extremely stupid for not knowing who he was before.
Yuka is going to have her fun with that story for sure.
She might be the best person to ask for advice in this manner anyway.
For now, I decided to follow her first advice and take a long and good nap until she comes back.
CHAPTER IX
Nicky
Much to my surprise, I fall asleep within just a few moments after resting my tired head on the pillow. I am woken up by Yuka's characteristic slamming of the door when she returns from her brunch date. I really like her, but consideration and thoughtfulness toward her roommate are truly not her strong sides.
She is a tiny person, but manages to trample through the place like an elephant, making enough noise for three people, slamming doors and constantly causing things to fall off the shelves. She is clumsy, too. Once, she tripped over something that she had placed on the floor in the hall so badly that she literally fell through my unlocked door, landing on her behind on my room's floor while cursing the hell out of whatever had been put in her way.
