The Billionaire's Kitten: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “It’s not a lie,” I said slowly, “and yes, I am the delivery man. It’s just that I wear a lot of hats. I’m not just the delivery man, I’m the CEO, the boss, the task master, the guy who runs this place,” I said, staring into her eyes. “I play a lot of roles and delivery man happens to be one of them.”

  Laurie just shook her head.

  “But I don’t get it,” she said, lips pursed. “I mean, why were you making deliveries that first night to my apartment? And if you are the CEO, why didn’t you tell me?”

  I began slowly.

  “Honey, part of my job is to understand the concierge business through and through. There isn’t any way to make informed decisions unless I get my hands dirty, get into the nitty-gritty of things. So yeah, I make deliveries on occasion, putting on the jacket and hat, going up and down stairs, getting a feel for the job itself. Because how can I understand the job unless I actually do it myself?”

  And that seemed to penetrate the fog of rage surrounding her.

  “Okay, I get it,” the brunette panted softly, still angry. “But why didn’t you tell me? What was the point of this charade? Did you not trust me or something?”

  And this was gonna be the hard part.

  “Of course I trust you,” I said, warmth in my eyes. “But honey, when women get a whiff of how much I’m worth everything changes. It’s hard to describe but there’s a breed of women in Manhattan who are all about the money. I could be a complete fuck, treat them like shit, and they wouldn’t care so long as I gave them an allowance, bought them clothes and jewelry, set them up in an apartment. They’re after one thing only, and it’s called cold, hard cash.”

  She paused for a moment.

  “And you thought I might be one of them?” she asked tightly.

  I shrugged.

  “Honestly, yeah. I’ve gotten burned from experience, I’m thirty-five now, it’s not like I’m an untrained newbie going out on a couple dates, getting my dick wet for the first time. These women are all over Manhattan, and the minute they get a whiff of a dude like me, the claws come out, they’re in it to win it.”

  Laurie paused, thinking.

  “But what does that have to do with me?” she asked again, tilting her head to the side, eyeing me speculatively. “Why did you have to ‘test’ me?” she said neutrally. “I live in a tiny walk-up on the Lower East Side, I’m poor, it’s obvious.”

  And that was it exactly.

  “Honey, you’re assuming that the only women with their claws out are rich bitches, women with designer clothes and shoes, skinny and mean. But the fact is that women of all stripes, of all economic means are after me. Trust me, I’ve had poor women come after me too, girls who worked as nannies, who were struggling students. Just because you’re poor doesn’t make you a saint.”

  And something changed in the brunette then.

  “So you thought I could be one of them, that maybe I just wanted you for your bank account, huh?” she said softly. “Maybe I was just another girl out on the hunt.”

  And I had to be honest.

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m thirty-five, I’ve been dating in NYC for decades now. Trust me, I know women.”

  And that final statement broke the camel’s back. Because all the light went out of my best girl’s eyes, her shoulders slumped, her vivacious energy shut off like a light socket gone dark. Instead, Laurie was subdued now, not meeting my eyes. She fingered the cuff of her blouse, biting her lip.

  “Thanks Tucker, I get it,” she said softly, still not meeting my gaze. “I’ll let you get back to work now.”

  I strode over to the brunette and grabbed her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me. But the brown eyes were shuttered, shielded, and gave nothing away, merely reflecting my own.

  “Listen,” I growled. “This isn’t over, we’ll talk more when I get back tonight, alright? I promise.”

  And she nodded slightly before breaking free, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

  “Sure, no problem,” she said with a slight smile. “I’ll see you at home okay?” And was it my imagination, or had Laurie’s lip trembled on the word “home”? But I couldn’t focus on that now, there were a million things to be done at work, investors were coming later today and we still had a shit-ton of prep to do. So I watched silently as the curvy girl left the conference room, slipping out and shutting the door quietly behind her. This wasn’t how I wanted to end the conversation but at the moment I didn’t have a choice. Come eight p.m., we were going to have a real conversation to set things straight, get everything in order … because Laurie was mine and that was that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Laurie

  I sat in the library, my laptop open on a huge, wooden desk, far from any other users. I typed in “Tucker McGrath” and held my breath as the machine hummed. And sure enough, a dozen results popped up.

  “Internet billionaire bad boy does it again!” screamed one headline.

  “Will McGrath break the new economy?” blared another.

  And the worst: “Tucky Tuck gets his duck on with Laurel Hardy,” read the caption with a picture of Tucker, handsome and arresting, blue eyes piercing, in a tux with a beautiful woman on his arm. The skinny blonde was the opposite of me, ten miles tall, thin as a whip, with perfect make-up, perfect hair, her lips painted in a wide crimson smile.

  And I died inside, absolutely shriveled up and withered to nothing. It was like Tucker had had been playing with me, stepping out of his “real” life to have some fun. Because the real Tucker seemed to be someone else completely. The “real” Tucker was a self-made entrepreneur with more money than God and a taste for fancy things, be it the latest sports car, luxurious yachts, or expensive vacations. And there were pictures of all this on the web, all of them with a different woman, a different perfectly made-up, camera-ready model with a set of manicured fingernails and a smiling, lipsticked mouth.

  I’d never felt more dumb. Why hadn’t I googled Tucker earlier? Why hadn’t I done like normal people do and get on the internet immediately, searching for anything and everything about my new guy? I guess it was because I didn’t want to jinx myself, I was so traumatized from my marriage and divorce that I didn’t want to open up any closets and face the skeletons, I wasn’t ready for that. So instead I’d gone the opposite route, sticking my head in the sand, seeing only what I wanted to see, willing myself to believe in the fairy tale.

  But I cursed myself because there’d been so many signs, the luxury apartment, the friends who didn’t exist, the way Tucker never batted an eye about money. I shook my head, defeated. Even the wine we drank each night was expensive, there was no way a delivery man could afford even that. Shit. It was my own fault, and I only had myself to blame.

  So I sat back, my shoulders trembling, the air heaving in my chest. I’d packed a suitcase and had it with me now, the little travel-sized case humble and tiny. And the thought of my drab, bare apartment on the Lower East Side was depressing, but at least it was still mine. I dreaded going over there, dreaded letting myself into that lonely, cold room, but the library was closing soon and I’d have no choice. Suddenly, a ring jolted me from my stupor. Picking up my cell, I saw that it was my mom.

  “Hi Linda,” I said, speaking quietly into the receiver. “Let me go outside.” Slowly, I tiptoed out of the reading room and into a common area filled with light and the buzzing sound of conversations.

  “Hi Ma,” I said a little louder, standing in a corner, plugging up one ear with a finger. “I’m at the library so I can’t talk long, but how are you? How’s your vacation going?”

  “Hi honey,” squealed my mom. I held the receiver away from my head, wincing. So much for my warning, Linda never took instruction well. “How are you baby?” she trilled. “I haven’t talked to you in so long!”

  My mom had been sailing the world with her new beau, a silver fox who wined and dined her like no tomorrow. But Charles was genuinely nice, and I was glad my mo
m had someone to spend time with.

  “How are you hon?” repeated my mom. “I’ve missed you! Tell me everything,” she gushed.

  “Well, you know I’m divorced now,” I started slowly.

  But my mom just pooh-poohed.

  “Oh honey, Gary was never right for you. I know you dated two years and all but some people are able to keep things hidden for years, for years baby. Remember that douche Michael that I dated back in ’05? He was in the mafia and I didn’t even know until after we broke up.”

  I winced at that one. Linda was still beautiful at forty and had dated non-stop since I was two, my dad leaving when I was just a baby. And I agreed, the whole mafia situation had been unbelievable. We’d thought Michael was an insurance salesman, a totally blah white-bread dude, but instead he turned out to be not Michael, but Massimo of the Valetti Crime Family, a hired assassin who’d committed countless atrocities. And as the kicker, it was only when the FBI came knocking that my mom and I found out.

  But the situation with Tucker was different. I mean, Michael being a hitman was so far-fetched to be almost ludicrous, straight out of a movie. But my life was no movie, and the current situation didn’t have a happy ending.

  So I began explaining to my mom, slowly at first, then picking up steam. Linda and I don’t talk that often, she’s always traveling on some jaunt or another, so this was as good a time as any, and once I got into the groove, it all tumbled out, the deliveries that went awry, moving in together, my lover’s horrific betrayal.

  “So let me get this straight,” said Linda slowly. The satellite phone was so good, so sensitive, that I could almost feel the sway of the boat she was on, hear the lap of waves against the hull. “The man you’re dating is incredibly successful, and not a delivery man at all,” she said slowly.

  “Sort of, yes,” I acknowledged. “But there’s a bigger point. Tucker lied to me, he could have told me the truth at any point but he never said anything.”

  I could almost hear my mom shaking her head.

  “But what did you expect?” she asked. “That your man was going to be upfront and open with you from the very beginning, especially given his past experiences with women?”

  I paused for a moment.

  “Well yes,” I said righteously. “I mean, you should always give your lover the benefit of the doubt. If you start off on a suspicious note it just gets you off on a bad foot, poisons the well.”

  My mom was silent for a moment. I was obviously touchy and she didn’t want to set me off.

  “But honey,” continued my mom gently, “this guy Tucker explained why he didn’t tell you his identity at first, why he kept it a secret. He was afraid that you might only want him for his money because that’s what women in his past found most attractive.”

  “But that’s not me! He didn’t have to test me!” I cried vehemently. “I work in government for crying out loud, helping translate signs so that immigrants and new Americans know where the bathroom is. Of course I’m not about the money, why would I take a job like this? I could be working anywhere else and make twice as much.”

  My mom paused for a moment.

  “Honey, don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that you’re a do-gooder but I think you’re mixing two things up,” she said gently. “Just because you work for nothing doesn’t mean that you’re not interested in money. The two don’t cancel each other out, and one doesn’t necessarily imply the other,” she said.

  I paused for a moment contemplating. Sure, I guess bad people sometimes do good things, and good people do bad things. But my commitment to helping others surely telegraphed that I wasn’t on the market for a rich husband, right? Wasn’t that obvious? But before I could speak, my mom continued.

  “And besides,” said Linda, “Tucker’s been the target of dozens of ladies, probably hundreds of women, young and old, would love to be Mrs. McGrath, die to have his ring on their finger.”

  That made a shiver run down my spine. Another woman as Tucker’s wife? The thought made me blanch, keel over with pain. But I had my pride.

  “I’ve never said anything about marriage,” I said stiffly. “I only just got divorced.”

  “Of course honey,” my mom said in a conciliatory voice. “Of course. But you do understand why Tucker is the way he is? It sounds like he’s had to ward off golddiggers a couple times, and just like you, once burned, twice shy. He’s careful now, he doesn’t just open up his soul to anyone. The walls come down slowly as two people get to know one another, build bridges of trust and understanding.”

  And I snorted a little rudely then.

  “Okay Ma, you sound like Dr. Phil or some radio station love guru, but I guess you’d know, you’ve been married four times,” I said snarkily.

  But my mom took the insults in a breeze. I guess being a parent helps the comments roll off, impertinent kids are par for the course.

  “It’s not the four marriages,” replied my mom lightly. “It’s that I’m older now, been through a lot, had my heart broken a couple times and picked myself up along the way. Trust me honey, this isn’t the disaster you’re making it out to be. In fact, this guy sounds like he really loves you baby, really respects you for your choices, the fact that you’re clearly not about his wealth. Give him another chance,” she said persuasively. “You owe it to him … and yourself.”

  But I wasn’t having it.

  “I don’t owe Tucker McGrath anything,” I snapped, “Nothing at all.”

  And my mom just sighed, her voice crackling a bit with static.

  “Well have it your way, but take it from someone who’s been through marriage four times,” she said wryly. “This guy sounds like a catch and he seems to really be into you. Don’t lose it just because of something small, because you might not be able to get it back,” she said with a rueful sigh. “Even if you apologize, sometimes it’s never the way it was.”

  And I paused for a moment, suddenly alarmed. A pit opened up in my stomach and my brain froze like ice. I’d acted completely on impulse, storming to NYC Concierge, busting in and confronting Tucker before all his employees, making a scene like none other. Had I crossed a line already? Was it too late, the damage done?

  And I dropped my head miserably, trying not to cry. I had no idea how to proceed next, what to do, how to help myself and I felt all alone with no support, no shoulder to lean on. Oh god, was I already yesterday’s trash to the big man, left out on the sidewalk to be hauled to the dump? Had I mixed myself up to the point where there was no return, no going back? Suddenly, I was miserable and lost … without Tucker.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tucker

  I have to say Laurie had some nerve. Showing up at NYC Concierge unannounced, making a scene in front of my employees, raining fire and brimstone with that curvy, fine form on display for all to see. I shook my head because fuck, it all belonged to me, and I loved seeing her rage, her energy, that earthiness brought to life.

  And that’s what I love about the sassy female. Laurie’s not afraid to hold back, she tells me what’s real, calls me on my shit and that’s what a partner’s for, right? Someone to tell you when you’re off, earning your respect without putting you down. Okay, it hadn’t been the most tactful way of pointing out my weaknesses, but we could work on that, there were years ahead together, wrapped around each other, fighting, loving, laughing, while nurturing our mutual love. I knew now for certain that she was right for me, my missing other half, and I couldn’t wait to get the ring on her finger.

  And I wasn’t too worried. Sure, Laurie had disappeared, some of her stuff was gone, a suitcase missing from the shelf, but she’d be back. Because she’d forgotten something important – the key to her old apartment. Oh yeah, I’d started paying the rent on that place over her insistent refusals. If the brunette wanted to keep an empty apartment as a back-up, fine, but I drew the line at her paying rent. I wasn’t going to let her keep forking over eight hundred dollars a month on a government employee’s salary, so I�
��d taken over the lease, my name at the top, and I had the key now.

  And sure enough, come ten p.m., the front door creaked open, revealing my best girl looking a little bedraggled, dragging her suitcase behind her.

  “Hey,” I drawled, eyeing her up and down. “How’s it goin’? About to attack me again?”

  The brunette’s eyes immediately shot sparks, and I laughed aloud, loving the fire within.

  “Very funny, Tucker,” she said, giving me the stink-eye.

  “Very funny what?” I asked innocently, my hands up in the air.

  “You know,” she replied huffily. “I don’t have the key to my old apartment anymore. You do,” she accused.

  And I held my hands up again in a take-no-prisoners style.

  “Of course I do, honey, I pay the rent on that place, or have you forgotten?” I asked smarmily.

  My clown act really annoyed her and she frowned, a hot flush running over her cheeks and down her chest, disappearing into her blouse. Fuck, just the thought of those nipples turning rosy, becoming luscious red cherries made my dick pop out, my boner start singing.

  But Laurie just shook her head, eyes closed, as if really tired. And suddenly a wave of concern came over me. My little girl had been walking around the city for hours now, dragging this suitcase behind her, probably seeking shelter in coffee shops, park benches, and the local McDonald’s. My heart twisted and I jumped up.

  “Here baby,” I said, my tone rough, vacating my stool at the kitchen counter. “Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Because I stand by my previous assessment that Laurie would look better heavier, and I’d been working on that the past couple months, ordering trays full of food, high calorie options like mashed potatoes and chocolate cake whenever I could. I love my girl curvy and with just a little more, a little more heft, more swing, she’d be a fifteen on a scale of ten, her boobs, ass and hips the stars of the show.

  And Laurie gave in, heaving herself onto my vacant stool with a sigh, but not before pinning me with a stare.