by Holly Hart
A bouncer stands at the entrance. I slow, expecting to have to hand over ID – and realize that I’ve been such an idiot. When it comes to drinking with Robbie, or my other friends, my age is no big deal. No one in Brooklyn cares about serving underage kids – and when you grow up homeless, alcohol isn’t exactly a big deal.
Charlie gives me a questioning stare and tugs me along. “What are you waiting for?” He asks.
“Good evening, Mr. Thorne,” the suited bouncer says. He lifts up a small velvet rope and lets us through without so much as a word of complaint.
“Nothing,” I say, half-stumbling by Charlie’s side.
My heart thuds in my chest.
I feel like I’m being so rebellious: as if I’m pulling off the heist of the century, not heading to a fancy society event on the arm of one of New York’s wealthiest men. I’m such an idiot. I should have realized that no one would’ve stopped me – but this isn’t my life. I don’t know the rules here. I don’t know how this rarefied world works.
A concerned look flickers across Charlie’s face. He hides it quickly, and winks at me. “Don’t be nervous,” he says. “Trust me; no one here’s going to have a problem with you.”
“How do you know?”
A smile breaks on his face. “Because they all want my money, that’s how,” he says. “And they sure won’t get it by insulting my wife…”
I’m still processing that sentence when Charlie starts walking again: his wife. That’s what I am, and no matter how I got here – I need to act like it. I haven’t met many, but I doubt that billionaire’s wives act like nervous little schoolgirls.
We walk through a small, but beautiful garden. Thousands upon thousands of tea lights flicker everywhere: hidden in the bushes; ringing each section of the grass. My expensive Italian heels click against the asphalt path.
“Charlie,” I mutter quietly.
My eyes dart from person-to-person as we thread our way through a group of people my date appears to know. They all greet him.
“Yes… Honey?” he replies. I can’t be certain, but I think he deliberately raises his voice.
I elbow him. “Don’t do that,” I say. “Do we have a story?”
“– a story?”
“Yeah, you know. Like how we met. Have we been on holiday together? What’s our favorite show on Netflix –?”
Charlie’s eyebrow wiggles upward: “Netflix?”
The question rocks me backwards. For the first time, I truly feel like Charlie and I are from entirely different worlds. “You can’t be serious?”
The corners of his lips kick upward. “I’m just playing with you, girl,” he says. “Of course I know what Netflix is.”
A whoosh of breath escapes my lips. It’s more than just Charlie’s joke: it’s everything. A wave of nerves overcomes me. I cling to Charlie’s arm. “Well, I didn’t know,” I mutter. “For all I know you fly the actors in and –”
Charlie’s face wrinkles in feigned confusion. “Doesn’t everyone? How do you meet the actors if you don’t?”
“Shurrup,” I groan. “You’re not as funny as you think, you know that?”
Charlie shrugs. “That’s cool,” he says. “As long as I’m as funny as I look, I’ll manage.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “What’s our story?”
Charlie grins. It’s a wicked, mischievous smile that makes my heart sink. “You tell me,” he says. “Let’s play a game: anything you say, I’ve got to go along with.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s a terrible idea. You want this whole thing to unravel? I’m no good at thinking on my feet.”
“Are you sure about that?” Charlie replies. “Sure didn’t seem to stop you deciding that we were married…”
“Are you going to hold that over me for the rest of my life?” I say.
“As long as you’re my wife: at least,” he admits. “Wouldn’t you?”
I stop dead. This is too unsettling. We’re acting like a couple who’ve loved each other for years – not known each other for days, yet Charlie doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know that I’m only here because I’m after his money.
It doesn’t matter why I need it – just that I do.
“Fine,” I grimace, covering the momentary pause. “You made your bed, now you’ll have to lie in it.”
Charlie’s eyes rake my body. If I wondered whether he was checking me out before, now I know for sure. The heat of his stare travels from my heels up the slit that runs down the side of my dress, and lingers at my plunging neckline, before finally meeting my eyes.
“That’s the plan,” he growls.
The sound of Charlie’s voice and the masculine certainty of his stare combine to send a shiver running up my spine. My inner thighs tingle, too, and I clamp my legs together to stifle the sensation.
We walk inside. The ballroom is vaulted; arched ceilings soar up above us. I know it isn’t cool to stare, but I can’t help myself. The room is dazzling. It’s laid out for at least a hundred and fifty people, and a fifteen-piece band is playing at the far end.
A waiter hands me a glass of champagne, and I sip at it greedily. Like I said, I’m no stranger to alcohol. Maybe that isn’t right, and it’s definitely not legal, but that’s just the way it is. When you’re trying to keep warm on the streets of the Big Apple in mid-February, anyone trying to take the fifth of vodka out of my hands had better bring a knife…
“Like it?” Charlie asks as he leads me through the sea of people. Some are dressed for dinner, just like we are, but most are servers.
I nod. “Are we early?” I ask.
“A little,” Charlie allows. “I’ve got a few things I need to sort out, first.”
I don’t ask why. My eyes linger on some signage for the Pediatric Cancer Fund. “I’ve never heard of this charity,” I say.
“You wouldn’t have,” Charlie says. “That’s the whole point. We don’t advertise. Every penny we raise goes to the kids.”
I arch my eyebrow; “every penny?” I say pointedly.
“Every one, Penny,” Charlie says. He smiles to himself – pleased with his play on words.
“Then what about tonight?” I ask. “It seems like renting out a place like this must cost a whole heap of cash. Shouldn’t that go to the kids as well?”
I’m spoiling for a fight. I can sense it. I don’t want to be a bitch – I really don’t – but sometimes I feel like that side of me is lingering just underneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity to escape. I look around this room and I see obscene wealth. I see rich people buying their way to an untroubled night’s sleep.
I don’t see charity, I see people playing at being generous.
“Every penny,” Charlie repeats. “You got to spend money to make money,” he says. “It’s just the way the world works.”
“You couldn’t just donate it instead?” I reply. “Or is it not the same if people don’t see you doing it…”
Charlie’s gray eyes flash with a glimmer of hurt. However, he hides it quickly. “Maybe you’re right, Penny,” he says. “Maybe there are better ways of doing it. But you see all this?” He gestures around the spectacular ballroom.
I nod.
“I’m paying for it. Every… penny,” he adds, unable to help himself. “And I’ve invited anyone who’s anyone in New York. You know there are more billionaires per square foot in this city than anywhere else on the planet?”
I shrug, pretending that I don’t. In truth, I do. I know that fact very well. Robbie and I did our research before selecting Charlie as our – my – target. Now, though, the evidence is stacking up. We didn’t do our job properly: first I find out about Tilly, and now I discover that Charlie’s a bleeding heart philanthropist as well.
It was easy enough to talk myself into lightening Charlie Thorne’s pockets when I thought of him as a big bad billionaire. But now: it’s not so easy.
“Hey, earth to Penny,” Charlie says, with a quizzical half-smi
le; “anyone home?”
I shake myself out of my trance. For some reason I’ve got Kanye lyrics playing in my head. What’s fifty grand to a motherfucker like me, will you please remind me?
Except instead of Kanye’s angry rap, I’ve got Charlie’s gravelly bedroom voice in my head. I rationalized stealing millions of dollars from a heartless, ruthless billionaire. I thought his money was just going to knocking down homeless shelters. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.
But I know one thing for sure – if I go through with my planned con –
“Sorry,” I freestyle. “I lost myself in my own head. I didn’t realize you were paying for all of this.”
Charlie brushes the comment aside. He takes me by the waist and spins me. It’s a delicate, first-date touch that sends thrills running up my spine, and sparks running down to – well, you know where.
“You see all these rich guys?” He says, pointing out a sea of gray-haired men with platinum blonde, twenty-year-old hopefuls around their arms. I’m still recovering from his touch when he pulls me in to his side. He does it without thinking, but it’s all I can think about.
“Sure,” I whisper.
I swallow, and drag my tongue across suddenly dry lips. I try and concentrate on what Charlie’s saying, but it’s hard. The sharp, springtime scent of his aftershave invades my nostrils. My skin is on fire.
“They’re assholes, all of them.” Charlie speaks with a tone of scorn to his voice.
“Rich assholes, though: they don’t want to give their money away. If it was up to them, they’d let their accountants stash it in some Panamanian bank account where Uncle Sam can’t get his hands on it. That’s why I do this.”
“Do what?”
Charlie’s hand rides up my lower back. I pay attention to every nerve ending as they fire in delight.
He grins. “Fleece ‘em, of course. Lighten their pockets so they can show off to the hooker they booked for the night.”
“What do you mean?”
“They can’t help themselves,” Charlie says, wincing with distaste. “These guys will drop fifty grand on a painting they don’t want in the charity auction just so they feel like they’ve worked for the hooker’s lips around their cock. But I don’t care how filthy the money is, and the sick kids don’t either.”
I don’t know why, but an overwhelming urge to rest my head on Charlie’s shoulder washes over me. My hair brushes his shoulder when I’m interrupted.
“Charles,” a low, patrician voice says.
It brings the temperature in the ballroom down a dozen degrees, and a morbid shiver running up my spine. I feel like I’ve stepped into an abattoir. Charlie’s body stiffens.
“How positively lovely to see you; and who is this wonderful… young girl?”
Chapter Eight
Penny
“Landon,” Charlie growls. His lips pucker with a distaste he doesn’t bother to conceal. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the invitation list.”
My eyes coast across the new arrival’s face. I would recognize him anywhere. He’s been plastered across every magazine and newspaper in the city for the last couple of years.
He’s handsome, in a Nazi recruiting poster kind of way. His coloring is classic: blonde hair; blue eyes. However, it’s coupled with a cold, creepy demeanor that you don’t pick up from the pages of a carefully stage-managed interview in a glossy magzine, but that is definitely evident in person.
Yep: it’s Landon Winchester.
He happens to be the second wealthiest man in New York. Or the first, depending on which article you read. Either way, Charlie and Landon are neck and neck.
The blonde billionaire sticks out his hand. His eyes glitter with an evil humor; like winter sunshine reflecting off a frozen lake. Charlie doesn’t move.
“Come now,” Landon says. He holds his palm completely steady. He’s like a statue. Evil carved out of stone. “You wouldn’t want all these people to see you like this, would you, Charlie? It wouldn’t play into your carefully-crafted PR strategy.”
“I don’t do PR,” Charlie says. His voice is crushed stone. “I don’t care about seeing my face all over the news, Landon. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Landon’s face flashes with concealed anger. His cheeks twitch, but his hand still remains perfectly still.
I see an event photographer approaching us out of the corner of my eye. I subtly elbow Charlie. My mind might not be made up on whether he’s a good guy or not, but I know one thing for sure: Landon’s definitely not. In this fight – at least – I’m in Charlie’s corner.
“Or maybe you should, Charles,” Landon says.
“After all, it’s not my company that’s in danger of being taken over, is it? You will never understand that Wall Street’s just a game, Charlie. Investors love me. And when Thorne Enterprises becomes just another arm of Wincorp, I think I’ll take your office. Enjoy the view out of those plate glass windows. It won’t last.”
He grins. Then he turns his attention to me. “Say, Charles: does she come free? Perk of the CEO’s chair?”
Charlie grimaces. I feel the bristling anger transmitted through his tight, tense muscles. I lean into him, trying to silently relieve some of the strain. The thought strikes me that this is exactly what a real wife would do, but I push it out of my mind.
“Show some manners,” he growls, “when you speak to my wife.”
Landon shrugs disinterestedly, but his forehead dances with interest. I practically watch the gears turn in his mind. That same sneering, calculating grin creeps across more of his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s like a stone in someone’s shoe, or a splinter under their fingernail.
“No, Charles. Perhaps you should show some manners.” Landon jerks his head at the photographer. “This gentleman has been patiently waiting to take a photo of us. What do you say; shall we give him what he wants?”
Charlie turns, and I follow, mainly because I’m attached to him. The photographer is hiding behind his camera with an expression on his face that makes it perfectly clear he knows he stumbled into a cold war, and there are a million places he’d rather be.
“It’s for the charity website,” the man croaks, almost apologetically. “I can –”
Charlie shakes his head. He tries to hide the sigh that escapes his mouth, but I feel it. “Of course,” he says, taking Landon’s hand and shaking it for the camera.
The camera clicks several times, and the photographer disappears without another word. I see him bow his head with relief as he walks away.
“Good to see you, Charles. And, I’m so sorry young lady – I didn’t catch your name…”
“Penny,” I say.
“Well, Penny,” Landon says, appraising my body with his eyes. “I look forward to… seeing… you around.” Landon disappears, tapping something into his phone.
“What was he talking about?” I ask. “What merger? Is it as big a threat as Landon says?”
Charlie takes a long time to reply. His face is a riot of anger and dismay. After seeing the calm, collected version of the man by my side for the last couple of days, this incarnation of Charlie is a complete surprise. I don’t know how, but Landon’s completely knocked him off balance. Finally he masters himself.
“It’s fine,” he says in a tone that makes it perfectly clear it’s not fine.
“He thinks he’s pulling together enough investor money to mount a takeover bid, but there’s no way he’ll drive Thorne Enterprises’ share price that low.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say. The words coming out of my own mouth surprise me. I actually do hope that Charlie wins this battle. The jury’s out on Thorne Enterprises; but if Wincorp’s anything like its owner, then I don’t want Landon to win his battles.
Charlie relaxes. “Me too,” he admits. Then he rolls his neck to relieve the tension and smiles at me. It feels genuine, and I grin shyly back.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s not let that asshole rui
n tonight. We’ve got a Billionaire Blowjob Fund to build!”
I set my cutlery down.
Hands down, that was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life. Of course, the competition’s not exactly that high. When the rent on a five hundred square-foot Brooklyn apartment takes up the vast majority of your income, you don’t exactly get to splash out on Michelin star cooking.
“That was amazing,” I said.
Charlie shrugs. “It was okay. The salmon was a bit overdone –”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding?” I say. “Seriously, Mr. Thorne, you need to get out more. Trust me; most normal people don’t get to eat a meal like that in their entire lives.”
“Don’t you Mr. Thorne me, Penny,” Charlie grins.
I go along with it. It feels nice; like a break from the mistrust and worry that has filled the last few days.
“Why not?” I ask. I bite my lip. I know what reaction it’s going to provoke, but I can’t help myself. I want to be desired. Charlie’s eyes flare with hungry interest. Every time I’ve done that, he’s reacted the same way. It’s more than just a pattern. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Do to you?” Charlie says, kicking his eyebrow. “Who mentioned doing anything?
I neatly fold my napkin, place it on the table in front of me, and stand up.
“Where are you going?” Charlie asks. His cheeks are flushed; and judging by the heat on mine, I look the same way.
“To wash up,” I say. I glance left and right to make sure no one’s listening. In a low voice, I say, “coming?”
I don’t know what’s coming over me. Pardon the pun. Oh God: that thought fills my mind with images of a very explicit nature.
Charlie grimaces. “You’re bad for my health, Penny, you know that?” he says. His voice is hoarse.
He leans back in his chair, and subtly adjusts the fabric around his crotch. I can’t tell who he’s hiding the act from: me, or the rest of the room. Either way, he doesn’t do a very good job.
“Is that a yes?” I say, doubling down on the innuendo. My cheeks pulse with warmth. I can’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth. I’m still Penny – a nineteen year-old virgin – and yet I’m toying with the ripped, experienced Charlie Thorne.
